An Education in Death (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 9)
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‘Some nice schmutter in the wardrobe,’ said Nash. ‘A dinner suit and three others, bespoke.’ He held one up.
‘Italian styling,’ said Felix, glancing at it.
‘Yes, I prefer an English cut myself. Not cheap anyway. Nothing in the pockets. Nice shirts and trousers too.’
‘I’ve noticed you’re looking rather dapper yourself these days,’ said Felix. ‘Do I detect the influence of a good woman?’
‘She said I looked like a razor-boy before,’ said Nash indignantly.
‘You did,’ said Yardley, blowing away some surplus powder. ‘All ready for you now.’
While the camera flashed, Felix took his turn at the wardrobe. ‘No sports coat or blazer,’ he said, poking about, ‘He must have had one. That suggests he was wearing it when he met his end. I must ask Benyson. Assuming it can still be identified of course. It might tell us something.’
‘The suits rather suggest a turn in his fortunes, don’t you think?’ said Rattigan. ‘Or did buying them get him in a mess in the first place?’
◆◆◆
Howard Benyson, Chief Forensic Surgeon to Scotland yard, looked up from his work and gave a little salute, his smile of greeting concealed behind his surgical mask. ‘I’ll say one thing for you, Miles, your corpses are seldom dull, and this one’s a beauty. You probably think he was stabbed, don’t you? Puttick certainly did.’
‘That’s what he told me,’ said Felix, turning with revulsion from the blackened horror on the slab. ‘Wasn’t he, then?’
‘No, he was shot, probably with a crossbow or bow and arrow.’
‘A crossbow! Good heavens.’
‘I thought that would surprise you. Once in the semitendinosus – can you see? – and twice between ribs three and four, one nicely penetrated the heart. Suggesting, incidentally, some slight knowledge of anatomy. It’d be easy to mistake it for a stabbing, given the charring and so on, and it’s still tricky if you go in and look.’
‘So how can you tell? From the size and shape of the hole, I suppose.’
Benyson shook his head. ‘That would be suggestive, certainly, but not enough on its own. It could conceivably have been some sort of narrow tool, a screwdriver for example, and I could never have been absolutely sure it wasn’t. They’d pulled all the bolts or arrows out after shooting him but unluckily for them they left one of the heads in.’ He passed over a kidney dish containing a bullet-shaped piece of metal. ‘It’s not my field, of course, and it’s only a guess but I’d say homemade. Ballistics will probably be able to tell you.’
‘Homemade, eh? That should help considerably. Anything else?’
‘Nothing that will interest you, I doubt. He was a rather splendid specimen, for what it’s worth. Superb muscular development and fit as a flea. A games teacher, I understand.’
‘Well that’s who’s missing. It’s going to be a job to find someone to positively identify him, though, given the state of him.’
‘You won’t need to,’ said Benyson smugly. ‘I took a chance and telephoned for his dental records. I doubt there are two Franklin Willoughbys in Berkshire with identical choppers. Or at all, come to that.’
‘Howard, you’re a marvel! Thank you very much. You know, I begin to fear for the Royal Mail when it’s so easy to elicit information on the telephone.’
‘It wasn’t that easy,’ said Benyson. ‘It took a little time to get hold of the right people, and then they were a bit suspicious of my short circuiting the system as they saw it. In fact, I’d say you owe me a drink.’
‘I’ll do better than that,’ chuckled Felix. ‘Come to dinner. You haven’t seen Abby since she started walking. Can you tell me anything about his outer clothes at all? It could be quite important.’
‘Houndstooth sports jacket, blue shirt and grey flannels. That’s from the seams and under his belt, which was brown leather. The rest was hopelessly charred.’
Chapter Four
‘You could have this,’ said the Headmaster a little doubtfully. He opened the door to a tiny room. ‘As you see, we use it to store paper and exercise books and that sort of thing. And this other one might suit your fingerprint men. We’ve brought in some tables and chairs for you, and there’s a telephone instrument in the School Secretary’s room, next door. Her name is Mrs Andrews and she runs on tea so she’ll be happy to make you one if you ask. There’s also our typist, Miss Green, if Mrs Andrews is not around.’
‘This’ll suit us very well,’ Felix assured him. ‘How shall we arrange things? You have nine teaching staff, I believe, not counting Willoughby.’
‘Yes, we have. It would have been rather difficult to pull them out of class so we’ve organised a cross-country run for the whole school. That’ll last most of the morning and the prefects will supervise, which will free the masters to be grilled. Please don’t feel under pressure to finish by lunchtime but it’ll at least get you started.’
‘Thank you, Headmaster,’ smiled Felix. That’s most helpful. Ah! And here’s our first victim. Come in, Mr Campling, and take a seat.’
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Dr Armitage. ‘Morning, Campling.’
As Rattigan went through the usual catechism: name, address, date of birth and so on, Felix watched the man while pretending to take notes. Sometimes he found this surreptitious surveillance instructive but there was, he decided, no side to Mr Campling. He was what he appeared to be: agreeable and perhaps a little naive. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘With your long service you must know the staff and boys as well as anybody and better than most. Whom do you suspect of this crime?’
Campling contemplated his reply for a while. ‘The problem,’ he said, ‘is motive. Willoughby was a bit of an enigma, from our point of view. He had no close friends among the staff and scarcely mixed with us socially. That said, he seemed perfectly content to go his own way.’
‘A loner?’
‘No, I wouldn’t say that. He spent a lot of time at the Spotted Cow, and seemed quite convivial whenever anyone encountered him there. Preferred their company to ours, I suppose — farmers and tradesmen and so on.’ He paused. ‘I’ve often wondered if he felt inferior to us in some way, though I hasten to add that he needn’t have done. There are no great minds at Thirkettle. We’re all just ordinary, workaday schoolmasters; although some are inclined to tease, you know, and have a rather sharp wit. Burstow and Crockford are the worst offenders, but they’re lovely chaps with no malice in either of them.’
‘Had he any enemies?’
‘No, I don’t think so, not among the staff anyway. He wasn’t much liked, I’m afraid, but not what you’d call enemies.’
‘Why wasn’t he liked?’
‘Because of his manner, Chief Inspector. Arrogant and confrontational, which of course is the inferiority complex coming out. People tended to steer clear of him.’
‘What about the boys? Did they like him?’
Campling shrugged. ‘Oh well, there’s always a boy or two that doesn’t like you. Clash of personalities and all that. And vice versa of course. We’re only human.’
‘Has any boy ever complained to you about him? To you in your pastoral role, I mean.’
‘No, I don’t believe they ever have.’
‘Do they ever complain about anybody?’
‘Sometimes. But it’s usually something quite trivial, you know, and easily put right. All that boys need in most cases is kindness and a firm hand. They are not complicated creatures.’
‘Mr Campling, are there boys in this school who might be capable of murder? Who might, indeed, have murdered Mr Willoughby?’
Campling looked genuinely surprised. ‘Goodness me no, Chief Inspector! There’s not the slightest chance of that. Any boy with such unnatural tendencies would stick out like a sore thumb at Thirkettle.’
‘All right. Do you think a boy or boys might have created the dummy? Rat
her a fine effort, I’m told.’
Campling shook his head. ‘I don’t think they could have, Chief Inspector. They’re capable of it technically of course, but where would they have got the manikin? They’re not allowed into town on their own.’
‘Not ever?’
‘Not unaccompanied, no. They always have a master or a prefect with them. And how would they have got it back here? Not, surely, on the bus?’
‘Fair enough. Now, perhaps you will take me through your day?’
‘No depth, no insight,’ growled Rattigan when he’d gone. ‘As soon as you hear that psychological tripe you know you’re wasting your time.’
‘I wouldn’t go to him for a character analysis,’ agreed Felix. ‘However, he may yet reveal something useful. He may be right about the dummy though. Who’s next, I wonder?’ He turned at a sharp tap on the door. ‘Yes, come in!’
A big, cheery-looking man with curly fair hair stepped confidently into the room.
‘George Burstow,’ said Burstow. ‘Senior English.’
‘Ah! My favourite subject,’ said Felix. ‘Take a seat, sir.’
‘To what level?’ demanded Burstow.
Felix chuckled. ‘Two-one in English and History, since you ask.’
‘Same as me,’ said Burstow, throwing himself onto the proffered chair. ‘What am I doing in this one-eyed dump? Bone idle and no ambition. Mind if I smoke?’
‘Feel free, sir.’
‘Pipe?’
‘By all means. We’ll join you. I’m Chief Inspector Felix and this gentleman is Sergeant Rattigan. He’ll be taking notes.’
They shook hands across the table.
‘You want to know what I was doing on Sunday?’
‘If you would be so kind. May we have some personal detail first?’
‘All right. George Edwin Burstow, age thirty-seven, married, two kids. Been here nine years and one term.’
‘You came straight from the army?’
‘Yup. Had it lined up. I was in the RFC with our Deputy Head, Brian Wayland. One night, in our cups, he offered me English, silly beggar. Perhaps he hoped I’d cop one and wouldn’t take it up.’
‘Address, sir?’ chuckled Rattigan.
‘Five Church Road. Which means we can rise reasonably late and still make some show of attending to our immortal souls. We have to suffer the bells though.’
‘And afterwards?’ said Felix.
‘A couple of pints in the Spotted Cow and home to lunch. We have a rota for marching the boys down and back but it wasn’t my turn on Sunday.’
‘Was Willoughby in church?’
‘No, never. He was a dirty atheist. So am I, come to that. He gets posthumous points for having the courage of his convictions.’
‘Was he in the pub that day?’
‘I don’t believe he was, no. He did sometimes come in of a Sunday morning but I didn’t see or hear him on that occasion. He had a particularly penetrating sort of voice so it would have been difficult to miss him. Eric Campling was there, though, with his missus. They usually are after church.’
‘With you?’
‘No, they have their own friends. Church people.’
‘Do you regularly visit the pub at all? Would you be aware of Willoughby’s habits in that regard?’
‘I wouldn’t say regularly, I’d soon be in trouble for that, but I know he was often in there. If you live in school, which he did, there’s nowhere much else to go of an evening. I don’t think he was a toper though, just social drinking.’
‘No other vices? Gambling?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. We don’t have a card school among the masters and no-one runs a book; no-one’s got any money for that sort of thing. There might be something in the village but I doubt it. It’s a small place and I know most people in it. He did go into town on a Saturday night, though. I’ve seen him at the bus stop, all dressed up. I don’t know what he did there.’
‘Liked the ladies, did he?’
Lighting his pipe, Burstow shook his head. ‘Historically? I’ve no idea. You knew he was engaged to Emily Armitage?’
‘Yes, we did. Did you like him?’
‘Me personally? No.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Not my sort. Noisy and confrontational. Always had to be right and ignorant with it. I don’t know what Emily saw in him, frankly. We’re all rather quiet types here, which is one of the things I like about the place. Willoughby wasn’t.’
‘Were you surprised when they got engaged?’
‘Yes, I was, and her such a nice girl. Animal magnetism I suppose, all that rippling muscle and thew.’
‘Did anyone have special reason to dislike him — something beyond a clash of temperaments?’
Burstow considered. ‘I don’t know. They haven’t told me if so.’ He observed them wryly. ‘And if they did, would I tell you? I don’t know that either.’
Felix smiled. ‘That’s probably my cue to ask about your Sunday. Just one thing, which you mustn’t feel obliged to answer. You said just now that no-one’s got any money. Is a teacher at Thirkettle well rewarded? Would you expect a bachelor like Willoughby to be able to live comfortably on what he’s paid?’
Burstow considered this. ‘Well he wouldn’t starve. We have junior and senior pay grades here. Junior isn’t very generous but board and lodgings are free if you live in so it’s more or less pocket money. Willoughby hadn’t been here very long, three years, so he was probably still junior. Perhaps he hoped the Head would look kindly on his future son-in-law and promote him. We all get annual increments of course.’
◆◆◆
‘Geography, at the moment,’ said Clive Nicholls, but I’m hoping I might get Games Master now. I used to supervise the cricket a lot of the time, and the tennis, while Willoughby did the rowing.’
‘That’d be a rather full programme wouldn’t it?’ said Felix, ‘To do all that and Geography too?’
Nicholls laughed. ‘Goodness, I wouldn’t do both! They’d have to get another Geog’ teacher.’
‘Oh, I see. Well you clearly don’t mourn his passing, if you’re already after his job.’
‘Mourn him? No, I don’t, and I shouldn’t think anyone else does either. Sad really, that one should be so universally disliked, but there it is. It was in his power to change if he wanted to. He must surely have known how we felt about him. You do wonder, of course, if it was one of us did it. Not a pleasant thought.’
Felix acknowledged this sentiment with a nod. ‘Yet, one assumes you had quite a bit to do with him, if you supervised some of his games; coordinating who did what and so on?’
Nicholls smiled. ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But he was a very peculiar chap, you know. You couldn’t really discuss anything with him; the capabilities of the various boys, for example, or which would be the best wicket for the first eleven to use. He had his opinions and that was that, you could take ’em or leave ’em. The only occasion I ever talked to him for any length of time was when we had a few drinks at the Spotted Cow.’
‘That’s interesting. What did he have to say for himself?’
‘It was only the once, when I hadn’t been here very long. He was a bit senior to me. I came here in twenty-six and he the year before, and I thought he seemed all right to start with. It was all a bit odd. Without showing the least interest before, he suddenly wanted to know everything about me — political opinions, likes and dislikes, previous positions, schools I’d been to, home life, what my parents did, girls I’d been out with, what sort of girls I liked! It wasn’t so much that he asked those things but I got the distinct impression he was working through some sort of list and noting it all down, more like a job interview than a friendly chat. Then, when he’d wrung the last bit of biographical information out of me, he seemed to lose interest and we never drank together aga
in; not that that was any loss.’
‘Take me through your Sunday, Mr Nicholls.’
‘That’s easy enough. After coffee I popped out to see my girl, she lives in the village, and stayed at her parents’ place, which she’ll confirm, until two o’clock when I had to get back for a meeting at the lodge.’
‘Was that with the Headmaster?’
‘And Dunston, yes. And Wayland of course. Then I went back to Doris and stayed until ten or so. When I came home, I went straight to bed, only to be rudely awakened, of course, by Gibbs.’
‘How long were you all at the boatshed?’
‘It felt like half the night. Crockford and I waited with Noble and Jackman at the lock house until the doctor came. They were in a lot of pain and it seemed a bit churlish to just leave them. I don’t know when the Head came away. I think he and Wayland waited with the body until the police arrived.’
◆◆◆
It had rained quite heavily in the night, and the cross-country course (three meandering circuits of the school grounds) had quickly been pounded into a squelching, plimsoll-sucking morass. The boys were now spread over its three miles or so, the older and faster ones lapping the others as they jousted for the finishing line. Most had long since cleared the riverside woodland with its wearying flights of steps and steep, winding paths, but not quite all.
‘Hang on, I’ve got a stitch,’ panted Nixon. Wincing he bent over and touched his toes.
Morley sighed and came back to him. ‘Well that’s that, then. Bang goes our chance of Athletic glory.’
‘Ha flippin’ ha! It’s always Price-Witherington anyway.’
Pink with effort and splashed to the thighs with glutinous mud they settled themselves on a convenient log. It was very quiet but for the sound of water rushing over the distant weir.
‘Got any fags?’ asked Morley hopefully.
Nixon produced a rather squashed packet of Woodbines. ‘There’s only one each, so make it last.’
‘Ugh! They’re all sweaty. Where did they come from, apart from your disgusting pocket?’