by Silver Abi
“That’s interesting. Once they’ve finished with it, perhaps we can get to see it. And that area in front of the fire, very cosy, isn’t it? A place where secrets could be shared, perhaps.”
Constance slipped her phone into her pocket and followed Judith’s gaze; she had already photographed that area several times from various angles and, apart from the upended chair, she could see nothing special about it.
“And I wonder if that mud on the floor is significant or not?” Judith pointed to a cluster of crumbs of dried soil on the carpet, just a few centimetres from where they were standing. “Can you see if forensic checked that out, please, too?” Judith lapsed into a lengthy silence, breathing deeply as she continued to look around the room.
“Do you want to see anyone whilst we’re here?” Constance asked Judith when the latter gave no sign of speaking again or moving on.
“Yes. Naturally. I called Mrs Taylor, the secretary, to set things up when you were collecting your coat earlier. Have you finished here now?”
Constance’s serene expression quickly changed to one of dismay. Judith’s comments had floored her, albeit only momentarily. It was more than an oversight for Judith to have failed to mention that they were to interview witnesses on this visit. What if Constance had omitted to bring along their original statements or anything on which she could make notes? Of course, she did have them to hand; they were all on her laptop, but Judith wouldn’t have known that. Or perhaps Judith thought Constance was of no importance, just there for propriety’s sake, that she could not make any real contribution to Raymond’s defence?
Judith turned on her heel with a nod and led the way along the freezing corridor towards the main school building, a faraway look in her eyes, rehearsing over and again how Mr Davis’ room could have ended up in the state they had found it and how he might have ended up dead on the floor of the kitchen. But Constance was bristling with indignation. When they reached the swing doors, serving as the frontier into the main body of the school, Constance spoke out.
“Judith. I would have really appreciated it if you had told me, before we left the office, that we were seeing witnesses today, rather than just reviewing the scene.” She articulated the words gently but the thrust of her remarks was clear.
Judith stopped dead in her tracks and glared at Constance fiercely. She blinked heavily twice. Did this girl really believe that she had been deliberately excluded? Didn’t she comprehend how much they were required to achieve with so little time and resource and that Judith had ignored protocol and made the call herself simply to speed things up? Then her expression softened and she nodded once, as if reminding herself of something she had left behind.
“Yes. You are quite right,” she replied. “It seemed obvious to me that one would follow the other as night follows day. However, perhaps, to be certain, I should have said something before we left. But you have all you require, don’t you?”
“Well. I always keep my laptop with me and the statements are all there.”
“So, there you are then. No harm done.”
Constance frowned. It was an apology of sorts, she supposed. “But we haven’t discussed who we will see and what we will ask them.”
Without any sign of having heard Constance’s last comment, Judith began walking again and Constance had no choice but to trail her. With Judith in the lead, they followed the signs to the headmaster’s office and Judith knocked briskly at the door. A woman of about 50, small in stature and with short, mousey-coloured hair, opened it and stood nervously on the threshold.
“Mrs Taylor?” Judith enquired amiably, every trace of the frostiness she had exhibited in the corridor wiped away.
“Yes.”
Judith extended her hand. “I am Judith Burton and this is Constance Lamb. We spoke earlier – about Mr Davis.”
“Yes. I thought it was you. Did you get to see what you wanted?” Mrs Taylor asked.
“Almost. I’m afraid we may need to come again when the police have finished. Have they indicated when they will complete their enquiries?”
“No. I’m so sorry. I just know we’re not to go in there or even near till the Inspector says we can.”
“Yes. I’m sure. Mrs Taylor, I know you are busy, but do you have a few minutes to spare, to talk about the statement you gave to the police, like I mentioned when we spoke?”
“Now?” Mrs Taylor’s voice traversed the scale with her doubting response.
“Well, now would be perfect. We are a little before the appointed time to see Mr Glover and I should like to hear from you first, if that is all right, given that your evidence is of such significance.”
Constance watched Judith at work and marvelled at how, despite her imperious and long-winded manner, she had managed to flatter Mrs Taylor sufficiently for the older woman to blush a deep purple. “School secretaries are notoriously undervalued,” Judith had remarked to Constance afterwards. “I was simply telling her, in an indirect way, that I understood her importance to the smooth running of the place.”
“Yes. I’ll just switch the answer phone on then and we can sit next door,” Mrs Taylor replied, still warm with the glow of Judith’s appreciation, as she led the way into a high-ceilinged room with a large rectangular table down the centre. All three women sat down and Judith unbuttoned her jacket and leaned forward towards Mrs Taylor.
“So, Mrs Taylor. Tell us about Mr Davis in your own words. What was he like?”
Mrs Taylor’s nerves were clearly still affected by the events of the last week. She attempted to speak but then promptly lay her head in her hands and burst into tears. Constance swallowed hard; she was still smarting from Judith’s failure to treat her as an equal earlier and she contemplated whether providing consolation to this crying woman, the second she had encountered in as many days, was just another menial task she had been brought along to perform.
When she failed to stir, Judith nudged her gently under the table, making it clear that she was to attempt to stem the flow of Mrs Taylor’s tears. Reluctantly, Constance shifted one chair to the left to sit beside the stricken woman. She reminded herself that she had chosen Judith and that she had agreed only a few hours ago to obey her every command. But she had not imagined then that Judith would set off at a gallop, leaving her to bring up the rear and shovel the manure.
Gently, Constance rapped on Mrs Taylor’s arm and murmured comforting noises. Mrs Taylor gradually straightened herself up, her hands shaking, forced herself to sit back in her chair and raised her head.
“Oh. Such a terrible, terrible thing to happen,” she moaned. “I can’t get over it. I’ll never get over it, as long as I live.”
“Yes. You have been through a truly monstrous experience,” Judith agreed, “one which would have destroyed most ordinary people.”
Constance shot a warning glance at Judith for overdoing the pathos but Mrs Taylor was already visibly brightening up. She sniffed once, removed Constance’s hand from her arm and focussed sensibly on Judith.
“Well, it’s nothing compared with what happened to that poor man. And his poor family.”
“Yes, so sad. What family does, did, he have?” Judith asked.
“He wasn’t married or anything but he had a brother, the police said, and his parents of course.”
“And where are they?”
“The brother lives abroad but he’s over for the funeral and the parents only live up the road. Mr Glover has the address. Such nice people. They kept saying how much he loved the school.”
“Thank you. That’s all useful background. Mrs Taylor, I will try to keep the questions as short as possible.”
Constance returned to her previous seat and opened her laptop, quickly retrieving Mrs Taylor’s statement to the police, in case Judith wanted to refer to it. But Judith was referring to her pale blue notebook, her eyes skimming over the questions she had prepared, seeking a convenient place to begin.
“So, in your own time. Mr Davis, what was he like?” Judith as
ked a second time.
“I didn’t know him very well because he kept himself to himself.” Mrs Taylor leaned heavily onto the table, thrusting her head forward as she spoke, as if the information she was imparting was confidential and sensitive. Judith leaned in towards her.
“More than the other teachers?” she enquired.
“Well, there are some that are in my room all the time, asking how I am, putting meetings on the school calendar, and then others, like Mr Davis. They only come by when they have a meeting with Mr Glover.” Mrs Taylor’s voice disappeared into a whisper when she uttered Mr Davis’ name, before resuming its normal volume.
“So Mr Davis was in the latter camp?”
Mrs Taylor looked confused, staring blankly from Judith to Constance and back again.
“Mr Davis only came if he had a meeting arranged?” Constance paraphrased Judith’s question and Mrs Taylor smiled gratefully.
“Yes. Thank you dear.” Mrs Taylor maintained her conspiratorial stance, nodding her head knowingly from time to time as she spoke.
“Was he friendly?” Judith continued.
“Oh yes. Well, not unfriendly. He was a bit lonely I think.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well the masters, they go out for drinks together, not all the time but on a Friday night. I don’t think he ever did. And he often ate lunch in his room, not in the lunch hall with the others. Not that people didn’t like him. He was a friendly enough young man, like I said, but he always seemed to be holding himself back a bit, I thought, a bit formal.”
“I see. That’s interesting.”
Mrs Taylor smiled again, evidently happy to be of service.
“What subjects did he teach?” Judith’s pen shifted down her list of questions.
“Maths and computing. He had excellent references.”
“Can I see them?”
“Yes. I can find them for you.”
“Thank you. And I should also like to see the timetable of classes he taught, and the names of all the boys he taught and those in his house.”
Mrs Taylor frowned for a moment, reflecting on the amount of administrative work that would entail, appeared about to object and then softened.
“Yes. In such a very serious matter you should have them all.”
“Did he have visitors?”
Mrs Taylor shook her head. “I usually leave by five o’clock and I’m not here at weekends, unless there is an event. I have my own family, you see.”
“And Raymond Maynard, the boy the police have arrested. Do you know him?”
“Yes, only a little.”
“When did you come across Maynard?”
“Well I remember when he first came with his mother for his interview. He was a shy little thing then, hardly said a word. Course he’s shot up now.”
“And after?”
“After that, I would see him in the corridor sometimes. And then when he started to do so well he came to see Mr Glover in his office.”
“Why was that?”
“For Mr Glover to tell him how pleased he was with his work.”
“And did you speak to him on any of these occasions?”
“Yes. He was still very quiet. He wouldn’t chat but always polite. He would just say what he came for and stand near the door looking at the floor. Some of the other boys are real charmers.”
“I can imagine. And on the day when Mr Davis died, you said that you were in your office. You mean the room next door where we found you?”
“I’m never far away from there. I joke that it’s my second home.”
“Quite. I can see that. Tell me about the circumstances in which you found Mr Davis. Why did you go to his room in the first place?”
“Ah. You have to remember what day it was.”
“Go on.”
“Well it was the rugby match, the big final, against Hawtrees College. Everyone was invited, the whole school, but Mr Davis didn’t go.” Mrs Taylor’s eyes were wide as she embarked upon what she clearly believed to be a crucial part of her testimony.
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t, well, he didn’t like rugby.”
“How do you know that?”
“He said so, in the last staff meeting. I sit in to take minutes. Mr Glover announced the match, said it was a tremendous opportunity to showcase the school and he expected every teacher and every pupil to be there in support. Mr Davis said he wouldn’t go, just like that.” She sat back for the first time and folded her arms tightly, priding herself on having the answers to all these difficult questions.
“And what was Mr Glover’s reaction?”
“He said he would like to speak to Mr Davis afterwards.”
“And did they speak?”
Mrs Taylor shrugged. “He asked Mr Davis to stay behind at the end of the meeting but that’s all I know.”
“You didn’t hear anything?”
“I left with the others.”
“Were you in your office when Mr Davis came out?”
“Yes. And he wasn’t happy. He sort of stormed out, which wasn’t like him, and didn’t even speak to me.”
“I see. So how did you know he hadn’t gone to the match?”
“I didn’t, not at first. I thought everyone had. The other team arrived, parked their coach out there at the front. The match started at two and I wandered out once or twice to look across the field and try to read the score but I’d been asked to stay at school, to man the phones and keep an eye on things. Someone had to.”
“Absolutely. Very admirable. Then what?”
“Well, a call came through for Mr Davis. I said that he was at the match but the caller said she had just been speaking to him and had been cut off, so I put her through to his extension and he answered.”
“Do you know who the caller was?”
“No. I asked, like you do, not to be nosey, just so as I could tell Mr Davis. She just said ‘I’m an old friend and we were just speaking’.”
“What time was that?”
“Not long after the match started, I think about ten past two.”
“Go on.”
“About half an hour later I heard shouting.”
“Yes, I saw that in your statement. So, that was, what, about 2.40?”
“It was 2.50. I looked at my watch when I heard it.”
“Well done. Describe the shouting.”
“I couldn’t hear words, just voices raised.”
“Men, women, boys?”
“I think it was male voices, two voices. I didn’t hear any high voices.”
“And where was the shouting coming from?”
“From Mr Davis’ rooms.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, yes. There was no one else here.”
“How long did it go on for?”
“Not long, 10 or 20 seconds. Then it was quiet.”
“And what did you do?”
“I carried on working.”
“At what point did you decide to go to Mr Davis’ room and why?”
“I think it was another 15 or 20 minutes, so about ten past three. I just thought he might like a cup of tea, if he was in on his own.”
“Why didn’t you call him?”
“Ooh. No. He wouldn’t have liked that. I thought I would pop down and ask him. I walked along the corridor and when I got to his room the door, the first door, was open, not wide, just a little bit. I thought that was a bit strange and I thought I could feel a breeze, like a door or window was open somewhere inside. It was quite a windy day.”
“Yes.”
“I knocked at the door quietly, like I told the police. And as I did...” Mrs Taylor became quiet again; she put her hands up to her eyes and covered them and rocked gently backwards and forwards.
“In your own time. It’s important you take your time.”
“I heard something. Footsteps. Then he, Raymond Maynard, he opened the door wide and he stared at me.”
“Was he running?�
�
“I think he was running. The footsteps were loud.”
“Did he try to run past you?”
“No.”
“Did he touch you?”
“No. He was trying to say something, I think, but he couldn’t speak, not at first.”
“He couldn’t speak?”
“No. His mouth was opening and closing and his eyes were wild. It was terrible. And then I saw he had all this blood on his hands and on his shirt.”
“And what did you think?”
“I was confused. But the door behind him, the door to Mr Davis’ kitchen, it was open and I could see something, someone, lying on the floor.”
“Did you go into the kitchen?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Well then Raymond spoke. He said ‘We’ve got to call the police. It’s Mr Davis’.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said ‘what’s happened?’ And he said ‘Mr Davis is dead’.”
“What did you do then?”
“Well, I screamed. I feel a bit silly about it now but it was a shock. I screamed a few times but everyone was at the match. Then Raymond, he picked up the phone and he dialled 999.”
“And you didn’t go into the kitchen? You didn’t see the body?”
“No. There was no way I was going in there, not if he was dead.”
“Did you leave the room before the police arrived?”
“I, yes, I certainly did. I saw Mr Bailey, the groundsman, through the window and I told him to find Mr Glover.”
“Did you tell him what had happened to Mr Davis?”
“Yes. I must have done.”
“And then what happened?”
“I waited with Raymond and then an ambulance and the police arrived. They took Raymond away and I told them what I told you.”
“What was Raymond doing all this time?”
Mrs Taylor sat back in her chair for a second time and took a deep breath. She appeared about to cry again, but she swallowed, rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, clenched and unclenched her fingers and brought herself under control.
“He phoned the police,” she replied, inclining her head gently to one side to assist with her recall. “Then he just sat down. He was very white, even more than usual, and kept staring at his hands. He looked as if he might be sick.”
