A Trio of Murders: A Perfect Match, Redemption, Death of a Dancer

by Jill McGown

  ‘And then?’ she was asking.

  And then. Philip felt the heat on his face. ‘I needed fresh air,’ he said, not looking at either of them. ‘I ran down the window and, as I did, I thought I heard someone’s feet on the fire-escape. I got out of the car, and walked over, but I couldn’t see anyone, so I thought it must have been a shadow or something.’

  Lloyd shook his head. ‘Not much there to get your clothes covered in mud and blood, is there?’ he said. ‘When’s this fall supposed to have happened?’

  Philip’s head went down.

  ‘All right,’ said Lloyd. ‘Let’s talk about Mrs Hamlyn. She made advances to you, didn’t she? In the bedroom of the Hamlyns’ flat on your very first night at the school. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, baffled.

  ‘And you turned her down.’

  ‘Yes. How do you know that?’

  Lloyd smiled. ‘There was someone else in the room, Mr Newby,’ he said.

  Philip shook his head. ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’ Lloyd sat back. ‘The thief, Mr Newby. The ever present thief.’

  Oh, my God. ‘Who?’ asked Philip.

  ‘Well, since everyone else in the school knows, why shouldn’t you? Matthew Cawston.’

  ‘Is that why you took him away?’ he said. ‘Sam Waters said you thought he’d killed Diana.’

  ‘Mr Waters is something of a sensationalist, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘He’s something,’ agreed Philip.

  ‘But back to Mrs Hamlyn. Did she give up?’

  Philip shook his head.

  ‘Did you give in?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What did she say to you at the ball?’

  ‘She asked how my leg was.’

  ‘That’s more or less what she asked you in the Hamlyns’ bedroom, isn’t it?’ Lloyd got up as he spoke, and walked round the table, in slow strides.

  ‘Yes,’ said Philip. ‘Matthew seems to be a reliable reporter of the facts.’

  ‘So – this time. Was she making another pass?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps.’ Lloyd left a space between the two syllables. ‘You went out to your car. Did you see Mrs Hamlyn?’

  He shook his head. He didn’t know what else to do.

  ‘You’re sure about that?’ Lloyd waited.

  Philip wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t answer. He didn’t have to tell them anything. But they’d got his suit, and the car. His reasons for staying silent didn’t exist any more, except that he had stayed silent, and they had found out anyway. So his silence looked worse than ever.

  ‘Did you see Mrs Hamlyn?’ the sergeant asked.

  ‘No.’ His eyes were shut. No one spoke. He could hear Lloyd come closer, and sit down. ‘I got to the Barn,’ he said. ‘And as I went in I could see the rear door of the car standing open.’ He looked up. ‘I thought someone must have been trying to steal from it,’ he said. ‘One of the Barn doors had been opened a couple of feet, and I’d left them shut.’

  They waited for him to go on, neither of them speaking.

  ‘I looked into the back, and . . .’ He looked down. ‘And her tights and . . . things were on the floor of the car. And her bag.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Lloyd’s voice was light.

  ‘I stuffed the things into her bag and threw it out,’ Philip muttered. ‘I was angry.’

  ‘And yet you considerately put her underwear in her bag before throwing it out?’

  ‘I didn’t want any of the boys finding it,’ he said.

  ‘What about her shoes? What did you do with them?’

  Philip shook his head. ‘I didn’t see her shoes,’ he said.

  ‘You drove over one of them.’

  ‘I didn’t see them! I drove off, and did what I’ve already told you umpteen times.’

  ‘But you haven’t told us this umpteen times, have you? You didn’t tell us this at all. Why?’

  Newby shook his head. ‘I – when Sam said you thought she had been raped, I thought she was just making trouble for him for some reason. Then you said she was dead. And you’d been looking at Sam’s clothes. I thought . . .’ He dropped his head in his hands. ‘I didn’t want to get involved,’ he said. ‘I knew what it would look like, if you saw my clothes.’

  Lloyd sat back, hands behind his head, smiling at him. ‘That is what it looks like, Mr Newby,’ he said. ‘Your story explains away any evidence of Mrs Hamlyn’s presence in your car, and any of your prints that we might find on her bag. Very good. But it doesn’t explain one thing.’

  ‘I’ve told you. I fell.’

  ‘No, not that. We’ll come to that later. No – what bothers me is why she was in your car.’

  What was wrong with the man? He’d just told him why she was in his car. ‘I would have thought it was obvious,’ he said. ‘I was a decoy. That’s why she came and spoke to me. She had arranged to meet Sam. It’s obvious!’

  ‘Don’t you lock your car, Mr Newby?’

  ‘The back door doesn’t lock.’

  ‘Who knows that?’ asked the sergeant.

  ‘I don’t know! It’s not a secret.’

  ‘So you think that she was in your car with Sam Waters,’ said Lloyd.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But she thought that you would be in the Hall until the small hours. Sam would have had the flat to himself. Why the back of a car? Why the back of your car, Mr Newby?’

  Philip shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think – I just . ..’

  ‘I think I know why,’ said Lloyd. ‘I think it was you she was meeting. You expected to find her in your car, and you did. But Sam had left early, so your flat wasn’t available, and Mrs Knight was in the Hamlyns’ flat – the car had to do.’

  ‘No,’ said Philip.

  ‘Doesn’t that make more sense?’

  ‘It isn’t true!’

  ‘Look,’ said Lloyd, crouching down beside him. ‘I don’t think you set out to rape her. But after giving you every reason to believe that she was ready and willing, I think she changed her mind. I think perhaps she was more interested in a stolen pen than she was in you, and you didn’t like that.’

  The frown deepened. ‘What?’ said Philip.

  ‘Matthew had run away. She wanted to go after him, maybe. I can imagine she might have felt torn between you and carrying out what seems to have been regarded as her job. Pastoral care, Mr Treadwell called it. So, she let it go too far before she changed her mind.’

  ‘What?’ said Philip.

  ‘Well, of course, that’s just my scenario. For whatever reason, she changed her mind.’

  ‘What?’

  Lloyd rose. ‘You do see what I’m getting at? I mean – whichever – she was obviously co-operating at that stage. But then – to go back to my scenario – she says, “It’s no good, I’ll have to try to find Matthew,” or “I’d better speak to the headmaster,” or her husband, or whatever. It was something like that, wasn’t it?’

  Philip’s head was just shaking, all the time. He had no idea what the man was talking about.

  ‘Well, maybe she was just fickle,’ said Lloyd. ‘But she changed her mind, and you didn’t like that. She ran away from you, but you caught her, and you raped her. She got away again, you chased her on to the field, and this time you killed her. Otherwise how did your suit get covered in mud and blood? How did your stick get broken? You went back to your car, and that’s when you threw out her bag.’

  ‘Me?’ said Philip. ‘I chased after her? Like this?’

  ‘Ah, but that’s another point,’ said Lloyd. ‘You weren’t like that, were you? You could move pretty fast before, according to everyone I’ve spoken to.’

  ‘Not that fast.’

  ‘How fast was that? How fast was she running?’

  Philip sighed.

  ‘Well,’ said Lloyd. ‘I’m afraid you are going to have to accept our hospitality for the night, Mr Newby. The forensic and pat
hology tests which we are doing will produce all the evidence we need to charge you. I suggest you think again about legal help.’

  Philip shook his head. He didn’t need legal help. Roll on tomorrow.

  ‘What in the name of God Almighty is going on here, Treadwell?’

  Thus had the chairman of governors greeted Treadwell, who had been home from the pub for about half an hour; long enough to consume one more large Scotch, and pour a second. The man must have been lying in wait for him, watching for him coming back.

  Marcia had been home, but it transpired that she had stayed in the back room, not answering the phone, not going to the door. Because of the newspapers, she had said, when Treadwell had taxed her with it.

  ‘Theft, rape, murder – suicide?’ He came in, uninvited, past Treadwell; a small, round ball of self-importance with a ginger moustache and a bald head over which he persuaded lacquered strands of hair from a parting above his left ear. ‘A pupil arrested – a teacher arrested? Do you imagine for one moment that the school is going to survive this?’

  Treadwell shook his head. ‘Drink?’ he asked, waving his own glass by way of encouragement.

  ‘Why not?’ he said, sinking into an armchair, where the light from the table-lamp glinted on his frameless spectacles.

  ‘I’ll resign, of course,’ said Treadwell, handing him an equally large whisky.

  ‘Too bloody true you’ll resign!’ He took a gulp of his drink. ‘But what good’s that going to do? How many of them have already taken their boys away?’

  Treadwell shrugged. ‘I’ve been out all day,’ he said.

  ‘Who was minding the shop?’

  Treadwell smiled weakly. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘in view of the depletion of our ranks, I think probably Caroline Knight would take over.’

  ‘Then we’d better find out.’

  ‘Marcia!’ Treadwell sat down on the sofa as his wife came in from the kitchen. ‘Go and ask Caroline if she’ll be good enough to join us,’ he said, and watched her scuttle off.

  ‘It was touch and go as it was, Treadwell. This place has been trading on a reputation it hasn’t had for years.’

  ‘Well,’ said Treadwell into his glass, ‘it’s got one now.’

  ‘I seem to remember you went on the wagon after you got banned.’

  ‘Yes.’ Treadwell topped up both their drinks. ‘Struck me as silly. If I couldn’t drive, why the hell shouldn’t I get drunk?’

  ‘Because you’re supposed to be in charge of this place!’

  ‘Now wait a minute,’ said Treadwell. ‘I didn’t employ these people – I didn’t employ Hamlyn or his wife. I didn’t employ that so-called artist—’

  ‘What’s Sam Waters got to do with anything? You employed the murderer!’ He leaned forward. ‘And the so-called artist has been telling me some very interesting stories,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll bet he has.’ The chairman seemed to be regarding Sam in a rather more favourable light now that he was comparing him to rapists and thieves.

  ‘Like how you found Mrs Hamlyn in the Barn with some oddjob man or other.’

  Treadwell had another swallow of the water of life.

  ‘How come the governors didn’t hear about that? How come you sacked this man and kept Hamlyn on?’

  ‘I didn’t find Hamlyn in the Barn with the odd-job man.’

  ‘You knew what that woman was like, and you did nothing about it. You railroaded Hamlyn’s promotion through. You employed Newby – you insisted that we keep his job open. If you had acted responsibly, neither of these people would have been here, and none of this would have happened.’ He finished his drink. ‘Have you any idea how difficult it is to keep this place going at all?’ He shook his head. ‘We won’t survive this,’ he said again.

  Marcia ushered in Caroline Knight. Treadwell looked up. ‘Ah, Caroline,’ he said. ‘Have a drink. We’re celebrating the demise of St Rasputin’s School for the Sons of Gentlefolk.’

  ‘No, thank you, Mr Treadwell.’

  ‘Am I right in assuming that you took charge of the exodus?’

  ‘Mr Dearden did, really. I manned reception when we realised the scope of the enquiries, and Mr Dearden actually spoke to them.’

  ‘People wanting to know if their sons were still alive and kicking?’

  Caroline’s eyebrows rose slightly. ‘Basically, yes,’ she said. ‘Most of the young ones have actually gone. Their parents haven’t withdrawn them,’ she said to the chairman. ‘Most of them just said they would rather they had them at home until this was all sorted out.’

  The chairman looked at her bleakly. ‘Do you think they’ll be back?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  She looked tired, thought Treadwell.

  ‘This chap Newby,’ said the chairman. ‘He was pestering you a bit, wasn’t he?’

  ‘No,’ said Caroline.

  ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Waters said something. Perhaps I misunderstood.’

  ‘Or perhaps Mr Waters misunderstood,’ said Caroline. Treadwell made the mistake of draining his glass; now he’d have to offer his guest another. On the other hand, perhaps he just wouldn’t. He picked up the bottle. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘They’ve got him now. So it is sorted out, isn’t it?’

  Both the others looked coldly at him.

  ‘Why don’t we just ring these people up and tell them it’s all right?’ he said. ‘The police have got him, and their children will be safe and snug in the corridors of St Bluebeard’s for another term.’

  The chairman rose. ‘Well – thank you, Mrs Knight,’ he said, and turned to Treadwell. ‘You’d do well to leave that alone,’ he said. ‘The papers have got on to this – they’ll want interviews, I expect. It seems that Mrs Hamlyn’s activities are already public knowledge.’

  Treadwell raised his glass to him. ‘You shall have my resignation in the morning,’ he said, and smiled at Caroline. ‘You could do worse than make Mrs Knight the head teacher, you know.’

  ‘Head teacher of what?’

  The door banged, and Treadwell looked up at Caroline. ‘I’ve never actually closed a school before,’ he said. ‘I’ve had to resign before, but up until now I haven’t had to count the dead and injured.’

  She didn’t speak.

  ‘Oh – don’t worry. You won’t find me in a haze of carbon monoxide. You see, I don’t think it was my fault.’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  He was a little surprised. ‘Ah – you agree with the revered chairman. I insisted on employing Newby – yes, I did. I thought he’d had a raw deal. Still do. It was probably because of the accident that he . . .’ The booze was making him less inhibited than usual. ‘Don’t think he was quite . . . you know.’ He searched his pockets for a cigarette. ‘Do you smoke, Caroline?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ah, no vices.’ He tapped his glass. ‘I have a vice. A couple of vices. But – you shouldn’t be here, you know. We only take flawed human beings at St Judas Iscariot’s. Seconds. Factory rejects.’

  ‘I think I’ll go now, if you don’t mind, Mr Treadwell.’

  ‘I blame . . . well, I blame the school – evil spirits. Who do you blame, Caroline?’

  She looked at him. ‘Not Philip,’ she said.

  ‘No. We agree on that. Not Philip. Philip was a victim of circumstance.’ He nodded. ‘Good night, Caroline.’

  He finished his drink, and got to his feet. A little unsteadily, he walked round the room, switching off the umpteen table-lamps that Marcia favoured, lighting-wise. She had gone to bed, of course. She always did when he was drinking. Silly place to go, since that was where the one thing she was hoping to avoid always took place. No barns for Marcia. No back seats.

  No, Barry. He could hear her already.

  *

  Monday morning, and Matthew’s parents were rowing, as usual. Only this time they were rowing in public, in Chief Inspector Lloyd’s office, with Lloyd and the sergeant as their audience.

  His father had made him apologise. T
hey had been rehearsing all morning in the hotel room, until someone came to see his father, and released Matthew for half an hour.

  So he had apologised. Then they had all started chatting about him as if he wasn’t there.

  ‘We’ll have to find another school,’ his mother had said. ‘But I’m sure he can manage without for a week or two – he’s had a terrible shock, poor lamb.’

  That had started it. The poor lamb sat back and closed his eyes while they argued. He’d have liked to smoke, but neither of his parents knew that he did, and there would be hell to pay if they found out, even from his mother.

  ‘He’s got exams,’ said his father. ‘In three months.’

  ‘He’ll pass anyway,’ said his mother. ‘If he could get all these O levels at that place, he can pass a couple of A levels standing on his head.’

  ‘He can’t pass them if he doesn’t sit them!’ roared his father.

  ‘Well,’ said Lloyd, obviously trying to bring the interview to an end, ‘I’m sure you have—’

  ‘He is not going back to that place!’

  Matthew knew his mother was more than a match for any chief inspector.

  ‘This isn’t really any of our—’ tried Lloyd, and gave up.

  ‘Why not?’ demanded his father. ‘They’ve got him now – it’s all over.’ He turned to Lloyd. ‘Isn’t that right? You’ve got him?’

  ‘A man has been arrested and is being questioned about the incident,’ said Lloyd carefully.

  ‘All over?’ said his mother. ‘They arrested Matthew! What does that prove?’

  ‘They didn’t arrest Matthew,’ his father said, his voice quieter. ‘He confessed to stealing. And the school is asking us to keep him there when they could have been expelling him.’ He turned to Matthew. ‘Stealing!’ he shouted, aiming a cuff at him.

  Matthew didn’t even try to move out of its way, because it was never intended to land.

  ‘Well,’ said Lloyd again, ‘if you don’t—’

  ‘The school say they’ll forget about the thefts,’ said his father. ‘The police have got the right man now – Matthew’s got very important exams to sit. Disrupting his schooling now is—’