They talked, argued and made notes for three hours. And they were still in the dark.
‘What about the teachers?’ Jill murmured. ‘Phil McKay’s too worried about the school’s reputation to be of much help, but the other teachers must know something. They must. It’ll be something they’ve dismissed as unimportant, but the kids must have mentioned someone –’
‘We’ve questioned every last one of them.’
‘Donna Lord’s your best bet. She’s worked at the school for two years, yes? She’s bright and clever, and, more important, she gets on well with the kids. Yes, yes, I know you’ve spoken to her, but perhaps it’s worth having a good long chat, off the record, to see if she can come up with something. Someone has been behaving out of the ordinary. Someone must have aroused the kids’ interest. She’s on the same wavelength as her pupils, Max.’
‘It’s worth a try, I suppose.’
‘It’ll be a terrible hardship for you, I know,’ she said sarcastically.
He let that go. ‘We’re missing something here, Jill.’ He’d felt that all along. There was something vital they’d overlooked.
‘Like the killer’s identity?’
Yes, that would be a help . . .
It was four in the morning. Max couldn’t decide if it was worth trying to sleep for a couple of hours or not. Probably not.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Max wouldn’t be surprised if Donna Lord stood him up. He wouldn’t be too bothered, either. He’d had one hell of a day.
Credit where it was due, though, Phil Meredith had been a star. Apart from muttering about pulling Max off the case because it had become personal hell, it was always personal with Max he’d been great. He hadn’t so much as hinted at the word shoestring. The force might never have had to run to a budget. Everything Max needed was at his disposal.
He had detectives posing as electricians at Harrington High School and he had DS Bradley and DS Forrest taking turns to ‘babysit’ at his house. Harry and Ben had been within sight of damn good coppers all day.
He’d had to tell Harry what was happening and, typically, Harry saw it as an adventure. He wasn’t in the least worried. Why should he be? Like all fourteen-year-olds, he considered himself immortal. Besides, his dad was the ace detective, wasn’t he?
While Max had been chasing round all day, Jill had been at the nick going over every piece of information they’d gathered on this case and there was plenty. She was still there now.
Max had been talking to Philip McKay, the headmaster, about security for his boys this morning and, when he’d left him, he’d seen Donna Lord.
She’d been a bit cool, probably because he’d turned her down, but he’d thought Jill’s idea had merit. She was right; Donna was on the same wavelength as the pupils.
‘I need to talk to you,’ he’d told her, ‘and I’d far rather do it over a drink. Can I tempt you?’
‘Am I getting preferential treatment, detective?’
‘You are. If you want it, that is.’
She gave him that coy smile of hers. ‘Why?’
‘Have you looked in a mirror recently?’
She smiled at that. Flattery went down well with her.
‘OK,’ she said.
‘The Chameleon?’ he suggested. ‘Seven o’clock?’
‘OK.’ She tapped her fingers against his tie. ‘See you at seven, detective.’
It was seven fifteen and there was no sign of her. He’d give her until seven thirty then take it he’d been stood up. It was a long shot anyway. As ever, he was clutching at straws.
He was emptying his glass when the doors swung open and she rushed inside. It was seven twenty-nine.
‘Max, I’m so sorry.’ Her hand rested on his arm as she spoke. ‘I forgot all about our date. I thought you would have given up on me.’
‘Almost,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d found something better to do.’ He nodded at the bar. ‘What can I get you?’
‘White wine, medium, please. I’ll grab us a table.’
As he waited to be served, Max was pleased to see her sit at a table on the far edge of the room. He glanced up at the ceiling; they should be far enough away from the speakers to make conversation relatively easy.
She looked stunning, he couldn’t help noticing. The dress she wore was pale grey wool and it clung to her figure like skin. Her curves were in all the right places and her legs seemed to go on forever. In a word, she was gorgeous.
‘Here’s a coincidence,’ she said when he joined her, ‘my hairdresser is Sarah Hayden. Martin’s sister. I only found out today. I turned up for my appointment, asked where Sarah was and had the shock of my life when they told me. She looks nothing like her brother.’
‘No.’ He wouldn’t tell her they had different fathers. That was the Haydens’ business.
‘What a small world.’ She took a sip of her wine. ‘Ooh, delicious. Thank you, Max. Now, what do you want to talk to me about?’
Once again, he flattered her, this time by telling her how he realized she was her pupils’ best friend.
‘They’d talk to you about things,’ he explained, ‘whereas they’d be wary of the other teachers. Have any of the kids mentioned anything unusual? Has anyone unusual been seen hanging around the school? Anyone behaving oddly? Have any strangers approached them?’
‘I’ve thought and thought,’ she told him, ‘but nothing springs to mind. The boys are full of bravado, but they’re scared. They’re on their guard.’
‘That’s good.’
‘Yes.’ She was about to speak, but changed her mind.
‘What is it?’ Max pressed.
‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ she said, ‘but the other day, I noticed a bloke hanging around at the school gates. Whether he was suspicious or whether we’re so anxious that now everyone seems suspicious, I don’t know.’ She gave a self-conscious shrug. ‘Probably the latter.’
And probably not.
‘What was he like?’
‘A good-looking man, as far as you could tell. He was sitting in his car. Mid-forties, perhaps. Fair hair.’ She ran a finger round the rim of her glass. ‘The thing is God, this sounds crazy. When I saw him, I had the idea that I’d seen him there before. This is probably the sign of an over-active imagination, but I think he’s been there several times just watching from his car.’
Max was intrigued. ‘What sort of car is it?’
‘A big, flash silver thing. A BMW, a Mercedes or something like that.’
That description would fit Brian Taylor. Did he go along to see his son, Martin, or did he watch the other kids, too?
‘You said you saw him the other day,’ Max reminded her. ‘Can you be more specific?’
‘Yes, it was on Tuesday. I know that because I left early, at the same time as the pupils, and he was parked right in front of the gates, blocking my view as I tried to pull out.’
‘I don’t suppose . . .’ No, of course she hadn’t.
‘What?’
‘I was wondering if you noticed the number plate, but you wouldn’t, would you?’
‘Sorry.’ She grinned at him. ‘Hopeless, aren’t I?’
‘Not at all.’ She’d been more helpful than she’d know. What in hell’s name was Brian Taylor doing outside the school gates on Tuesday?
Had Taylor tried to get to his son and ended up killing him, losing him forever? Then, blaming Josie for the fact that he’d never known that son, had he killed her in the most brutal way possible? Perhaps he’d then acquired the taste for murder and gone after James Murphy and Jason Keane.
At best, that theory was weak.
‘Anything else?’ he asked. ‘Has anyone said anything?’
‘Not to me.’
The music was getting louder and the place was getting hotter.
‘What about Martin Hayden, James Murphy and Jason Keane?’ he asked. ‘Sorry, I know you’ve been asked about them before but’
‘I have. Countless times.’ She took a sip o
f her wine. ‘They were just normal kids. James, I know, is having battles with his parents. They’re suffocating him.’ She pulled a face. ‘Mr and Mrs Murphy come to every parents’ evening, every school play, every school fair, every sports day. Their world revolves around James. And poor James just longs to escape the apron strings.’
‘And Martin Hayden?’ Max asked. ‘Did he long to escape the apron strings?’
‘Who knows?’ She shrugged. ‘I would if I were him. Who’d want to live on a farm in the middle of nowhere?’
Max thought of the dull, dreary place that was Lower Crags Farm. ‘Not me,’ he admitted, and she smiled.
‘Someone was telling me that the police over there outnumber the residents now and I include the sheep in that.’
She was right. With two members of the family murdered, security was tight out at the farm.
‘Who told you that?’
‘I can’t remember. It was just something someone said in passing. Oh, I know, it was Alan Turner.’ At his frown, she added with a grin, ‘Geoff Morrison’s bit of skirt.’
Why had Morrison’s boyfriend been out at the farm?
‘So,’ she said, teasingly, emptying her glass, ‘is that it? As I can’t tell you anything useful, I suppose I have to buy my own drink?’
‘I’ll buy it,’ Max said on a laugh. ‘It might help you remember something else.’
He fought his way to the bar, and waited to be served. One barmaid was moving at the pace of a comatose slug, and the other was taking a personal call on her mobile.
Eventually, he caught the comatose slug’s attention. ‘A medium white wine,’ he said, ‘and a double Scotch, please.’
He should take a cab home and leave his car here, but he needed it for the morning. Sod it, he’d have to be totally irresponsible and drive while over the legal limit. He was safe to drive, he just wouldn’t be legal. Yeah, and how many times had he heard Harrington’s morons come out with that logic?
He carried their drinks to the table and wished his gaze wasn’t constantly drawn to her cleavage.
‘Does the name Toby Campbell mean anything to you?’ he asked. ‘He gives guitar lessons. Has anyone mentioned him to you?’
‘No. Sorry, the name means nothing. Oh, wait. He’s not the weirdo who played at our school concert, is he? The Christmas one, year before last?’
‘I don’t know.’ But he’d like to. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘Phil McKay had this great idea of putting on a musical Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. The music teacher, John Higgs, said he knew a good guitarist and this weird bloke pitched up.’
Toby Campbell was weird.
‘What did he look like?’
‘Strange,’ she said on a laugh. ‘Like Quentin Crisp.’
That was Toby Campbell.
‘He wore strange clothes,’ she went on, ‘had long hair, and he was knocking on a bit.’
‘Yes, that sounds like Toby Campbell.’ There was no doubt about it. ‘What about the music teacher, John Higgs? How come I haven’t spoken to him?’
‘He left.’ She laughed again. ‘Soon after that disaster of a concert.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ She patted his knee, and an involuntary shudder trembled through his body. Donna Lord was too attractive for her own good. She was certainly too attractive for Max’s. ‘I’m not much help, am I?’
‘You’ve given me a couple of ideas,’ he assured her.
‘I have?’ Like a child, she was absurdly pleased.
‘You have. Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome, detective.’
She put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands, pouting slightly as she gazed at him.
‘So who are you going home to tonight?’ she asked him.
‘The same as ever. Harry, Ben and two dogs.’ He feigned regret. ‘What about you?’
‘An empty flat,’ she said with a shrug, ‘and an enormous bed.’
Silk sheets, he’d bet. Lots of pillows. She’d send a man blind . . .
‘Sadly, it really is time I was going. Can I give you a lift or call you a taxi?’
She looked around the room.
‘No, thanks. If you’re deserting me, I’ll have to see if I can find someone else to keep me company.’
She’d have no problems there. Max would bet his life that there wasn’t a man in the room who hadn’t noticed her. Noticed her and wanted her.
‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’ Her face brightened suddenly. ‘Next time, though, I won’t let you go so easily.’
He smiled. ‘I’ll keep you to that.’
She reached up, kissed him on the cheek, then walked over to the bar. Max watched her climb on to a stool next to a guy in his early thirties. Lucky devil.
Max stepped out into the fresh air and walked round to the car park.
Why had Brian Taylor been hanging around the school? How many times had Toby Campbell been to the school? And why hadn’t he mentioned it? Because you didn’t have the sense to ask him, a small voice mocked. What about John Higgs? Was he connected to this?
Chapter Thirty-Four
It had been a long, anxious day and Jill was shattered. She wanted to get to her cottage, order a takeaway, put her feet up with the Racing Post and relax. Last night, she’d only dozed for a couple of hours on Max’s sofa.
She was driving through Harrington when she saw the sign for the Blue Lodge Care Home. She drove past it, then stopped the car. Maybe it was worth having another chat with Rose Dee. The place depressed her, and she really did want to get home, but half an hour there wouldn’t hurt.
She turned the car around, doubled back on herself, drove along the driveway and parked as near to the front door as she could get. Deciding she wouldn’t be sorry if she couldn’t see Rose, she got out of the car and walked up the front steps and into reception.
Julie was sitting at the main desk, tapping away at a computer keyboard. A smile of recognition crossed her face.
‘Hello, there, it’s . . .’
‘Jill. Jill Kennedy.’
‘Of course it is. And you’ve come to see Rose? Aw, that’s nice. She does like visitors. She’s in the conservatory where you saw her last time. Would you . . .’ She looked undecided for a moment. ‘I’d better come along with you,’ she said at last.
They walked along to the conservatory.
‘She’s had a very good day today,’ Julie told her. ‘She’s been quite lucid at times.’
‘That’s good then.’
The conservatory was cold again, but that wasn’t responsible for stopping Jill in her tracks. It was the sight of Rose. She looked like a jewellery stall.
‘She insisted on wearing her bits and bobs today,’ Julie told her in an over-bright voice. ‘It’s good to see them take care in their appearance, isn’t it?’
‘Er, yes,’ Jill agreed.
Julie reminded Rose who her visitor was, not that it meant anything to Rose, and left them alone to ‘have a nice chat’.
‘You’re looking very pretty today, Rose,’ Jill began. ‘Have you had visitors?’
‘I’ve got to go to work in a minute,’ she said, looking agitated.
Jill’s spirits sank. If this was lucid . . .
‘Where’s that? Where do you work, Rose? At Rockafella’s?’
Rose gazed at a gleaming rubber plant, her expression blank.
‘Did you like working at Rockafella’s?’ Jill asked her.
‘Had to leave,’ Rose said, her bottom lip quivering.
‘Yes, you had to leave, didn’t you? Why was that, Rose?’
‘Lies,’ she whispered. ‘It was lies.’ She began pulling at the string of beads around her neck. ‘She told lies!’
‘Who did, Rose?’
‘It was lies!’ The string snapped and plastic beads flew across the linoleum floor.
‘Oh, dear. Here, let me pick them up for you.’
Whil
e Jill went on her hands and knees, scrabbling under tables and chairs in an effort to gather up the beads, Rose rocked back and forth in her chair, tugging on another set of beads around her neck.
Jill wished she’d gone straight home . . .
‘Here we are,’ she said, putting the beads in a dish ashtray? on the table. ‘I’m sure Julie will be able to get them fixed for you.’
‘Lies,’ Rose whispered, still rocking back and forth.
Jill might as well not be there.
‘Who told lies about you, Rose?’ she asked softly.
‘She sent him away.’
They’d had this exact conversation before. Jill didn’t think it was due entirely to Alzheimer’s; this was something deeper, possibly brought on by Josie’s murder.
‘Who sent him away, Rose?’ There was no answer. ‘Was it Josie? Did Josie send him away?’
Rose started humming to herself, refusing to listen in a way that a temperamental child might.
‘Who did she send away, Rose? Was it Terry?’
Rose’s agonized scream rattled the conservatory’s glass. Her eyes were wide and blazing with passion.
‘Terry!’ she cried, and she burst into noisy, hysterical tears.
‘Now, now, there’s nothing to get upset about,’ Jill soothed her, putting an arm around those thin shoulders. ‘It’s all right now, Rose. There’s nothing wrong.’
After five minutes or so, with Jill expecting Julie to appear at any moment to evict her, Rose calmed down.
‘Brenda told me about Terry,’ Jill ventured, breath suspended. ‘She said you liked him a lot. He didn’t mind that you had a daughter, did he?’
‘Terry never touched her. Never.’ Each word was delivered with the force of a bullet. ‘She told lies about him. She made up filthy stories about him. He didn’t harm her. He wouldn’t, would he? She was only a baby. Only a baby.’
Rose began to howl again and, this time, the noise did bring Julie.
‘Have you upset her?’ she demanded, scowling at Jill.
‘Not knowingly,’ Jill said, ‘but perhaps I’d better go. She seems a little distraught.’
‘I think you had,’ Julie said, clicking her teeth. ‘Fancy upsetting her. And what happened to your beads, Rose? I’ve told you before about that. The last time this happened, you clogged up the Hoover. We can’t have that happening again, can we?’
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