One Last Lesson

by Iain Cameron

  ‘So how did she get involved with the web site?’

  He smiled at the memory. ‘I first saw her in the university bar; she was so tall and striking. I don’t know why I never noticed her before.’ He paused, fiddling with some papers. ‘How we met was more or less the same as any other girl that worked on the site. We spoke, we got to know one another better and later on, I asked her if she wanted to make some extra money, and she said yes.’ He shrugged his shoulders as if to say, ‘who wouldn’t?’

  ‘So where were you on the night she was killed, Monday 25th March?’

  Hobbs looked down at his notes although he knew them, more or less off by heart. She had spent the evening in the Preston View, a pub overlooking Preston Park, the largest park in the city with tennis courts, bowling green, cricket pitch and a lot more besides. It was a place he knew well as the Rockery across the road was where he and wife had pictures taken after their wedding at a hotel nearby.

  Louisa was with a group of students who lived in a house close to the pub and were taking part in a regular karaoke night, as she loved singing. They usually stayed until closing time before heading back to someone’s flat for more karaoke and more booze, but over the last few weeks she had been leaving early to check on an old woman who lived in the flat below the one she shared with two other girls in Queens Park, as only last week she had fallen over and broken her leg.

  She left the pub at ten to walk down the hill to the bus stop on Preston Road, the main road at the front of the park. She never made it and was never seen alive again and CCTV coverage at that end of town was practically non-existent, as much of that area is open parkland. Like Sarah, she had drunk more than was good for her and again, like Sarah, she was alone when she disappeared, strongly suggesting the killer was intimately familiar with their leisure-time routines and by implication, knew them well or perhaps was just bloody lucky. As a betting man, he would give short odds on the first and mighty long odds on the second.

  Lehman picked up a desk diary but didn’t really look at it, either because he was so well rehearsed or he had been looking at it so often it was now memorised. ‘I worked at the university all day until six. In the evening, I took tea in the coffee shop downstairs and then I went to the bar, where I stayed until the death and ended up legless, it’s what I do after a bad day. I spent a good part of the evening with a psychology lecturer at the university by the name of Kingsley Marsden and spent the night at his place, on the settee.’

  Hobbs noted this down and underlined Marsden’s name a couple of times, this was one alibi he wanted to check personally.

  ‘I was hardly capable of finding my way to the toilet in that maze of a house he lives in, so how could I drive a car, when I don’t even own one, and go and abduct poor Louisa and all the while the Marsden family were sleeping?’

  ‘Does your wife not object to you staying out all night, sir?’ Young said. ‘I’m sure mine would.’

  ‘Annabel and I are now separated and I live in a flat in Lewes, so I can come and go as I please. On that particular night, I decided it was safer for me to stay where I was rather than try to make my way back to the flat.’

  ‘Very sensible sir,’ Hobbs said. ‘Mr Lehman, in order for us to fully investigate the connection between your web site and both girls, I now would like you to supply me with a full list of all the university students that have appeared on the site and the names and addresses of all your UK-based subscribers.’

  He was about to interrupt when Hobbs held up his hand. ‘I haven’t finished yet, sir. As an interim solution, I would ask you and your associates to take this web site down until our investigation has been concluded.’

  ‘The first part, the names of the girls who have been models and a list of the UK subscribers has already been done.’ He reached across his desk and handed Hobbs a sheaf of papers. ‘So that you don’t think we are totally heartless, I have personally spoken to all the girls that have appeared on the site from the university and warned them to be on their guard. As for analysing the list of subscribers, I wouldn’t know where to start, short of talking to every one.’

  ‘We may have to do that but as a first pass, we’ll run the list through our computers and see who’s got form.’

  ‘That will be an interesting analysis, I’m sure but as for closing the site, I’m afraid we can’t.’

  ‘Can’t or won’t?’

  ‘There was a meeting of the um, directors and we decided it should remain up as we can’t see any value in closing it down.’

  In his opinion, the tame academics were out-voted by a greedy bastard called Dominic Green, more like. Making money was clearly more important than any sympathy they once felt for the victims.

  ‘I’m astonished to hear you say that sir, quite frankly. Two girls have died and the main thing that connects them together, other than their attendance at this university, is their pictures have appeared on your web site. Whatever the reason for their murders, how could you live with yourself if another girl is killed?’

  He paused a few seconds, his face dark and gloomy. ‘That’s a chance we’ll just have to take Detective but um, we are of the opinion that this psycho’s plan has already been formulated and it wouldn’t make any difference if the site was running or not.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  Henderson left the office at four-thirty and entered the Royal Sussex County Hospital for what he hoped was the last time. Rachel was already dressed as he approached her ward and hobbled towards him on crutches and gave him a clumsy hug and a big kiss.

  ‘Hey Henderson,’ she said into his ear, ‘I’ve missed this.’

  Her hair smelled clean and fresh and for a moment, it took away the institutional aroma of disinfectant and cooking that pervaded the air in here at most other times. A minute or so later, she pushed him away, balanced on one leg, turned and hooked the crutches firmly under her arms. ‘Let’s go get my stuff before we make a spectacle of ourselves.’

  ‘You’re getting good on those,’ he said as they walked across the ward. ‘It won’t be long before you’re sprinting across the room faster than Usain Bolt.’

  ‘I might be getting the hang of it but it doesn’t half wear me out.’

  ‘Did your folks turn up yesterday? Your dad said to me the other day he might have trouble getting away.’

  ‘He couldn’t make it in the end but mum did and she made one last push to haul me back in the family nest but I resisted.’

  ‘I know.’ She called him soon after she left the hospital and despite a calm tone, she was tearing her hair out with worry about the invalid and questioning if he was capable of taking care of her, as she didn’t believe Rachel could do it on her own. It was touch and go, but a determined session on the crutches gave Rachel the confidence to realise she wasn’t as immobile as she feared, and took the bold decision to return to her own flat and avoided the trial and trauma of going back to the parental home.

  ‘You might not be so confident when you’ve been cooped up in your flat for a couple of weeks, unable to get out.’

  ‘In that case, you’ll be receiving a frantic phone call, mate, don’t you worry. C’mon let’s make a move.’

  He picked up her bags and on the way out, stopped at the nurses station to thank all the staff for their help and attention, particularly a nurse called Gina, the one that gave Rachel the confidence to walk when all she wanted to do was lie in bed. Slowly they made their way to the lifts and stood with all the other partially broken and wounded people, and even though she was one of the lucky ones as she was getting out, it didn’t feel that way at the moment.

  To assist in the recovery process, the hospital was providing a nurse who would visit on a daily basis for one week or two and dress her wounds and he would do his best to get over to Hove as often as possible. It wouldn’t be easy as he usually arrived in the office before seven-thirty and went home after nine and some days he wouldn’t even be in the area, but he would find a way, because if it was only his slee
p and leisure time that were impacted, it would be a small price to pay.

  On balance, Rachel’s fourth-floor flat in a purpose-built apartment block in Hove was a better bet than his place in Seven Dials. Her building was equipped with a bank of lifts that worked and most of the fittings and appliances had been replaced or refurbished in the last six months, just before she moved in. Whereas at Chez Henderson, the moody washing machine only completed a cycle if there was a full moon and the noise the fridge made was capable of drowning out the rumble of traffic on the road outside.

  He eased her into the car with more care than he would with a handcuffed suspect and while he waited for her to get comfortable, realised that any trip out to the shops, the pub or the cinema would be a major undertaking and take just as long as it did when his own kids were small, and to think he once believed he would never have to face that again.

  He pulled out of the hospital car park and was soon driving down Eastern Road towards the Steine. ‘I think we’ll do the seafront this morning and behave like tourists. It’ll be easier on your leg, without all that turning and braking if we go the back way.’

  ‘Thank you but I blame the driver. You drive this thing like a bus, get out my way everybody, I’m coming through.’

  ‘Listen to you, the one who’s just written off a new car! And don’t forget, this ‘bus’ will be your transport for the foreseeable, so show more humility. That is, of course until such times as you’re fit enough to drive again and can afford to buy a new car.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that.’

  ‘What? You’re just out of hospital after a car accident and you’re still thinking about buying a new car? It’s a bike you should be thinking about or a bus season ticket, not another car.’

  ‘Hear me out, Angus. I’ve decided it’s about time I gave up two-seater sports cars and bought something sensible.’

  ‘Hey did you see that!’

  ‘What? I didn’t see anything.’

  ‘Over there, I can see a flock of flying pigs.’

  ‘Daft idiot, but I mean it.’

  ‘Hallelujah, sense at last. Hang on though, I know that face. There’s a catch, with you there’s always a catch.’

  ‘Well, I obviously couldn’t go for the basic model with an eleven hundred cc engine or something with six seats, now could I? When I say I want something sensible, I mean it could be a hatchback but it has to be a bit nippier than normal, like a Renault Sport, a Mini Cooper or maybe the Seat Leon Cupra.’

  He shook his head but said nothing. She was just like his now-dead grandmother, a nice old lady but a stoic and stubborn brute, as nothing he could ever say would force her to change her mind even when they both knew she was wrong about something.

  Ashdown, her apartment block in Hove was filled with professional types who enjoyed living close to the cricket ground, pubs, restaurants and the seafront, and with an easy walk up to Hove railway station for the daily commute to London, which was required to pay for it all. She hobbled gamely through the entrance and into the lift and they reached her floor without incident but when they got to the door of her flat, her face was red and her breath came out in short gasps, and all she wanted to do now was collapse on the settee.

  She spent a few minutes recovering before she said, ‘hold your horses Angus Henderson, I do believe you’ve tidied up, or maybe it was my mother.’

  ‘Cheeky madam,’ he said sitting down beside her, ‘it was me, in my spare time.’

  ‘Oh you poor thing,’ she leaned over and gave him a hug and a kiss, ‘and you in the middle of a big murder enquiry and all. How’s all that going?’

  ‘Badly I would say.’

  He gave her a summary of the case, snippets of which she must have heard already while lying in her hospital bed, and told her what little they knew about the latest victim. When they started going out together, he was acutely aware of the place where she worked, albeit in the gentler pastures of countryside and environmental matters, and not with the hungry vultures in daily news, but he said little about his work as no matter how assiduous she was at keeping secrets, there were plenty in her office that were highly skilled at extracting information from the most unresponsive witnesses.

  ‘You’ve got to feel for their parents. You think when you’re sending your kids to university, it's a safe place and they’ll come back with a degree and not a death certificate.’ She put a hand on his leg but alas, it was not as a sign of affection but an aid to help her to stand. ‘Let me make you a nice cup of tea.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll do it.’

  ‘Stop right there, Henderson.’ She twisted round to face him, her face firm and resolute. ‘Let’s lay some ground rules here. I’m not an invalid but an able-bodied person who’s temporarily incapacitated, and as such, I’ll determine the things I can and can’t do. When I say, I’ll make you a cup of tea, I’ll do it, so please don’t volunteer to do it for me, ok? Now help me up.’

  She hobbled to the kitchen without falling over, which surprised him, as he didn’t think the crutch would find much traction on the polished wooden floor, while was following at a safe distance, safe from any accusations of interference and watched as she opened the fridge.

  ‘Oh my God, its full! Oh you lovely man. When did you do all this?’

  ‘It was nothing. I work beside a supermarket, don’t I?’

  He stopped speaking as she moved towards him and warm lips enveloped his mouth and a heavier than normal Rachel slipped her arms around his neck, the crutches falling uselessly to the floor.

  ‘I’m not so incapacitated,’ she said into his ear, ‘that we couldn’t go to bed for a few hours.’

  He thought for a moment and his first reaction was no, he needed to get back, there were people to see, jobs to do, but hey, they could manage without him for a spell. Instead he said, ‘are you sure it’s ok?’

  ‘Yep,’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘Do I need to carry you?’

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Jon Lehman was still troubled by the visit of DS Hobbs and DC Young the previous day. Not that he was guilty of anything, so they couldn’t fit him up, even if they still did that sort of thing. His alibi was cast iron and there wasn’t a bone in his body that wanted to harm any of these girls. Why would he try to destroy something that was making him a mint and provided him with girls who occasionally invited him back to their place for a great night of fun, frolics and fantastic sex?

  He walked to the filing cabinet and fished out a bottle of vodka, purchased that morning from a local shop with a copy of the Guardian, and poured a large slug into a paper cup. He sat back in the chair, lifted the cup to his lips and took a big gulp.

  Certainly, that was how Green saw it, a moneymaking machine, a golden goose that laid golden eggs and would continue to do so as long as there was a bone in his body and ammunition in his weapon. Only last week, they were summoned to Langley Manor once again, like disloyal serving staff, caught dipping their fingers in the biscuit tin, only to listen to him while he fumed and flared and paced the room like a Pamplona bull eager for the off, as he was utterly convinced there was some bastard out there, determined to bring him down. Oh, how he wished it be so, because as much as he was integral in setting up the business and making it a success, his obsession with protecting his own arse, regardless of the feelings of everyone else, was now getting on everybody’s wick, especially his.

  In his opinion, the man was way off beam as there were easier ways of getting back at him, as he said himself, he took a regular Sunday morning walk along the seafront in Brighton, he dined once a month with the Mayor and other town dignitaries in English’s Seafood Restaurant in East Street in the Lanes, and if that was too difficult, his two daughters were well-known students at Brighton College, a top fee-paying prep school in the Kemptown area of Brighton.

  Once again, he demanded to know if he or Stark knew of any enemies, as he was desperate to pay them a visit and dole out vengeful violence on their pers
ons if they could produce even a modicum of suspicion. He said he was already been making his own enquiries but despite spilling much blood and breaking a few bones, he still didn’t have what he wanted. The thought of Green and his cronies, charging around the countryside, like a medieval band of witch hunters, meting out justice without recourse to the law or upholding the age-old principle of presumed innocence, filled him with dread.

  He was sorely tempted to spout out the names of all the people he detested, like a sixteenth century farmhand whose head was being thrust into a barrel of dirty water after he was caught masturbating, and then freely naming all his neighbours and relatives as co-conspirators in this evil deed. Into his head popped Professor Robert McLagan, the laird of all he surveyed, and master-in-chief of spouting crap in a public place. The thought of that pompous Scottish git nursing a broken face and shattered vertebrae, held together by a neck and back brace and confining him to a wheelchair for six months, almost made him smile but instead, he maintained a sombre expression and shook his head to indicate there was no one.

  Lehman always admired Alan Stark for his sense of timing, being able to say the right thing at the perfect moment, but his touch deserted him that night when he suggested to Green that they should take down the site, at least until the heat cooled down.

  Green rounded on him, his face dark and malicious, daring him to say more.

  ‘How the fuck can you suggest that?’ He shouted. ‘We’ve been doing so brilliant these last few months, only a fucking idiot would want to jeopardize that.’

  Green paced the room as if on speed and Lehman would not have been surprised if he suddenly produced a big hunting knife and rammed it into Alan Stark’s chest, such was his anger. A few nervous minutes passed, waiting like extermination camp prisoners, wondering if a recalcitrant hair on their head or an errant furrow of the brow would attract the attention of the commandant and invite him to bash their brains in with the heavy cudgel he carried.