by P. Wish
“Yes,” Jane said, smoothing out her voice. “Muffins for breakfast, huh?”
He smiled. “Croissants aren’t popular down here,” he said, taking his hat off and exposing the greying mop of brown hair on his head.
There was nothing to do in that sleepy town except gossip, drink tea, drink beer, watch football and gossip again.
“You know how the bureaucracy works. We’ve all got to pay our dues,” he said, brushing his hand through his hair. “They needed somebody here, and I was transferred before I knew it. I don’t have anything to do in London, anyway.”
“Isn’t Tenterden too small for a homicide detective? It appears to be a safe town.”
“Not after yesterday. And, I am an inspector too.”
“The students said you suspect foul play.”
“News sure spreads fast here.”
“The walls have ears,” Jane said. “It was those marks on the neck and wrists, wasn’t it?”
“So, you saw them too.” Detective Myers said, almost as if he had expected her too.
“I mean….I came across the body and-”
“Save your explanations.” He said a twinkle lighting his eyes.
“Have you had the postmortem?”
“Not yet.”
“That’s why you’re here.”
Jane turned to the door. Detective Myers knocked, and when there was no response for five seconds, he pushed it open.
The sound of ringing telephones filled the air. Jane peered into the open office. Mrs. Wolverhampton sat behind the rosewood desk with a concerned expression pasted on her face. She was on the phone. Next to her, the two spare phones rang loudly. She spared Detective Myers a momentary glance and turned to her desk again. Jane hurried into the office. Mrs. Wolverhampton signaled her to answer the phone.
“Hullo?” Jane said into the phone’s speaker.
“Is my daughter safe?” a hysterical female voice blasted through the speakers. Jane distanced the receiver from her ear.
“Hello? May I know who I am speaking to?” Jane asked.
“I’m Mrs. Randall, Tina’s mother,” she said. “I heard a teacher was found dead on school premises. What is going on?”
“There’s nothing to worry about…uh…Mrs. Randall,” Jane said. “The local police are patrolling the school grounds. The detective is working on the case—”
“Detective? Just how serious is this?”
“We don’t know the complete details yet. We will have some news soon—”
“If something happens to my daughter—”
“She’s safe,” Jane said. “There have been no issues with the students. The school is taking measures. Classes are on as usual.”
Gary stared at her.
“How did this happen? Was this a murder? The killer could be on campus—”
“The detectives are working on it. We’ll have news soon. I would appreciate your cooperation—”
The woman hung up. Jane stared at the receiver, appalled by the rude gesture. She sighed. Gary’s eyes met hers from the other side of the room.
Mrs. Wolverhampton hung up. The three phones began to ring again. She sighed, ignoring the phones.
“I see the news has spread,” Gary Myers said.
“The parents are worried.” Mrs. Wolverhampton rested her face in her palms. “I don’t know where to start. The sooner this is over, the better.”
“I agree,” Detective Myers said. “I’m here to confirm a few details about Mr. Greene.”
Jane’s eyes remained on Mrs. Wolverhampton, who maintained a poker face. Jane sat on the spare seat facing the stern-faced principal. Detective Myers sat next to her. She felt a tremor in her breath as she faced Mrs. Wolverhampton. Prominent stress lines marked her forehead.
Mrs. Wolverhampton clasped her fingers and turned to Detective Myers. Her face turned at an angle. Light fell on her squarish diamond earrings, which cast a glare into Jane’s eye. Mrs. Wolverhampton tilted her chin closer.
“I would first like to ask you for his room keys.” Detective Myers pulled out a piece of paper and smoothed it before laying it on the desk.
“What is that?”
“A search warrant. I’d like to search Mr. Greene’s room.”
Mrs. Wolverhampton’s nodded. “Uhh…yes…I heard you asked Mrs. Maeda for the keys. Will you be using other school buildings as well?”
“I’ll be visiting the school regularly until we finish our investigation. I ask for your cooperation.”
“Yes…yes… of course,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said.
“I will need the keys to Mr. Greene’s room,” Detective Myers said. “Nobody is allowed to go in there until I finish the investigation. Please let the staff know. I’ve put up tape, just in case.”
Mrs. Wolverhampton clasped her fingers tighter. “Anything else?”
“I’d like to ask a few questions about Mr. Greene and the school.”
The phone rang again. An irritable expression crossed Mrs. Wolverhampton’s face. It stopped before she could answer. She was relieved.
“I’d like the number of Mr. Greene’s family,” Detective Myers said. “I’d like to speak to them about his funeral arrangements.”
“Family…let me check,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said. She opened a drawer and pulled out a file, flipping through it.
“Uh…yes…his brother lives in America. He’s listed him as an emergency contact.”
“May I have a look at that?” Detective Myers said. Mrs. Wolverhampton handed him the folder. “Mr. Brian Greene…” Detective Myers flipped the pages. “May I have a copy of this?”
“Sure. I’ll have it xeroxed,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said. She rang a bell. Her secretary came in. Mrs. Wolverhampton handed the folder over and asked her to get a photocopy. Detective Myers sat down.
“What kind of person was Mr. Greene?” Gary asked.
“What do you mean?”
“How would you describe his personality in three words?”
“That’s a difficult question,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said. She thought about it for a few seconds. “He is responsible, hardworking and prefers to keep to himself.”
“What did you think of him as a teacher?”
“That is subjective,” she said. “I thought he was very competent. That’s why we hired him. He’d worked in Paris, London and Scotland before he came to us.”
“He was very experienced, then?”
“Yes.”
“How were his relations with the other staff?” Gary asked in a softer voice.
“I’ve never heard anybody complain about him. He liked to keep himself to himself, but Mrs. Maeda said he was always helpful.”
“What did he do when he wasn’t teaching? Any hobbies?”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” she said. “Though I saw him reading in the library more than once.”
“Is there anybody he was close to?”
“Nobody I know of,” she said. “We interacted only in a professional capacity.”
“What about his family?”
“Uhh…he was divorced.”
“Any children?”
“None that I know of, but he might have had children. Maybe they live with his ex-wife. I’m not sure, detective.”
“But you’ve never seen his children?”
“No.”
“Did he ever talk about them?”
“No.”
“Did he send them any money?”
“We don’t discuss things like that. I wouldn’t know.”
Detective Myers wrote that down.
“What about his professional references?”
“They were excellent. He used to teach mathematics at Eton before he came to us. We were very lucky to have him.”
“Eton?” Detective Myers’s eyebrows shot up. “Why did he change jobs?”
“He said he wanted to teach at a coeducational institution. As you know, St. Anne’s is one of the best boarding schools in the country. We are the first to
implement the latest technology, and we happen to be coeducational.”
“May I have a look at his resume?”
Her bespectacled eyes turned to an open drawer, which she reached into and pulled out a bunch of papers. She went through the pile, reading each page.
“It was somewhere in here,” she said. She opened the next drawer and pulled a few sheets out, sorting them hurriedly. “I forgot, it’s with Mary. She’ll have it photocopied.”
Mrs. Wolverhampton shoved the papers back into the drawer. Detective Myers’s eyes moved through the room, which was decorated with antique furniture.
“When was St. Anne’s established?” he asked.
“In 1922,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said.
“Are you a maintained school?”
“We’re a private school funded by trustees.”
“All members of the church?”
“Yes.”
“Catholic?”
“Yes.”
“Religious education is compulsory?” a rhetorical question.
“Yes. We also have a chapel in the school.”
Detective Myers nodded. “May I ask how long you’ve been at St. Anne’s?”
“Me? Twelve years,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said. Jane sensed caution in her voice.
“Has the school changed a lot in those years?”
“It sure has. We have all these computers now…and the Internet. It wasn’t that way when I started.”
Detective Myers leaned back in his chair.
“I also had a few questions about the lake where Mr. Greene’s body was found. Is the lake used for educational activities?” Gary asked. Jane raised an eyebrow.
“No. We don’t use it at all,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said, lowering her voice. “It’s been that way for….uh….a few years.”
“I noticed.” Detective Myers scribbled something down on a piece of paper.
“Anything else?” Mrs. Wolverhampton asked.
“I’ll be visiting the school often to do my work. I wanted to let you know.”
Mrs. Wolverhampton didn’t say anything.
Detective Myers stood up. He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Jane heard the faint sound of his whispers in the corridor. Mr. Wolverhampton suddenly noticed Jane.
“Jane…when did you come in?”
“With Detective Myers.”
“Oh, I didn’t notice. Did you want something?”
“I wanted to ask you about my employee ID,” Jane said, moving closer to the rosewood desk. “I was trying to log into the system, but I can’t remember my ID.”
“Oh, I forgot,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said. She opened a drawer and looked through it, retrieving a plastic card, which she placed on the desk. “I wanted to give this to you yesterday. That’s your teacher ID card. You’ll need it to access staff-only areas of the building. I should’ve given it to you yesterday, but…things have been chaotic.”
“I understand. Thank you.”
Jane left the room with the ID card.
At 7:00 p.m., Jane entered the dining room, which was linked to the teachers’ dormitory through a long corridor. The sparkling chandelier cast a fuzzy reflection on the polished wooden floor. Jane’s shoes tapped on the hard floor, echoing through the noisy room. Jane saw Mrs. Maeda next to the dessert section. Her eyes traveled to the remaining rows. The dining hall was packed. On the right end of the dining hall, a solitary female student sat eating her peas while checking her phone for messages. Behind the student sat Mr. McEwan, whom Jane recognized from the previous day.
Jane moved to the buffet and filled her plate with food, then walked towards Mr. McEwan’s chair. He turned, noticing her silhouette. Mr. McEwan wore a pair of faded, tattered jeans with a grey sweater. His coat hung on the back of his chair. His hair was a silvery grey, almost verging on white. His clear blue eyes stared at her.
“Good evening, I’m Jane,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m the new biology teacher.”
“You were at the lake yesterday,” Mr. McEwan said, putting his silver spoon down. His eyes squinted and met hers in a direct gaze. Jane diffused his tense gaze with a smile. The angle of the lighting illuminated a tattoo that brushed the edge of his neck. Jane turned away from his neck and met his eyes.
“I lost my way,” Jane said loudly, cutting across the noise. His expression lightened. He shook her hand. Jane noticed green tattoos on his wrist.
“Nice to meet you, Jane. Welcome to St. Anne’s,” he said. “I haven’t seen a new face in some time.”
Jane took a bite of her dinner and washed it down with some water. “Do you live on campus?”
“Yes. I live in the teachers’ dorm. They’re quite good, I say,” he said. He fed himself some more mashed potatoes. “And you?”
“They are. I moved in there yesterday,” Jane said, taking another bite of the chicken breast.
“Do you like it here?”
“So far, I do. The buildings are beautiful. When you look at them, it’s easy to get lost in the history of this place.”
“We’re all proud of them. The main building is a Grade 1 listed building,” Mr. McEwan said before taking another bite of his potatoes.
“How long have you been at St. Anne’s?”
“Fifteen years.”
Jane’s eyes widened. You’ve been here for quite some time, then?”
“That reminds me how ancient I am. Time goes by so fast,” he said with a distant look in his eyes.
Jane spooned some vegetables into her mouth. Mr. McEwan ate the remnants of the pizza on his plate.
The dining hall door opened. Mrs. Wolverhampton walked in. Jane noticed how frail she looked from the distance. The calls were getting to her. She walked over to the plates.
“She doesn’t look well,” Mr. McEwan said.
“It’s been a long day. She must be tired,” Jane said. Mr. McEwan continued to look at her. Mrs. Wolverhampton saw them staring and waved.
“I hope the whole thing ends soon. It’s hard to lose a colleague, but what I saw today…” Mr. McEwan’s voice faded. A shadow came over his eyes. Jane noticed his plate was empty. “It’s a memory that will haunt me for the rest of my life.”
Her gaze turned to the dining hall filled with high schoolers. In the distance, she saw the boy who had been bleeding last night. She stood up immediately. For a fleeting moment, she remembered the scars on his arm.
“Is everything okay?” Mr. McEwan asked.
She sat back down and pushed the peas around with her fork. She recognized the terror in his eyes. He had the same expression as…Charlie. Her son.
Images of Charlie’s red hair and broken smile remained in her memory a year and a half after his death. He was gone. Every time Jane remembered him, she felt guilty. If only she’d been a better mother, he would be alive.
Jarring images of Charlie lying on the floor filled Jane’s mind. His green eyes were closed. Her heart had constricted. She had run to him, trying to wake him up, but he was dead. Next to him lay the bottle of pills he had overdosed on. The tears had sprung from her eyes as her shaking hands touched his to check his pulse. Her fingers had trembled, and guilt had washed over her. Her ex-husband, Ben, had stood behind her, raking his hands through his hair. He’d dialed the ambulance almost immediately. Jane’s trembling fingers had reached for Charlie’s arm, but there was no pulse. Tears began streaming down her face. Her hands trembled with shock, anger and hopelessness.
“He’s dead,” Jane pronounced, breathless. Her sobs grew louder. Tears filled her eyes until the scene became a blurry patchwork of color. She pulled her hands away from Charlie, seeing his blurry body through the film of tears that lined her eyes.
Ben moved to her side. He lifted Charlie’s lifeless arm and saw the trail of scars that ran across it. Jane wiped her tears away and took a closer look at his arm. Ben remained silent.
“Oh god….” Jane said, looking at the scars. Since it was winter, she’d never asked Charlie why he always cove
red his arms. Only if….
“Did…did you know what he was going through?” Ben asked, a mix of anger and frustration coloring his tone.
Jane shook her head slowly, biting her tongue. Ben lost his cool. His hands balled up and banged against the wall.
“How could you leave your son to die alone?”
“Ben…you’re not saying—”
“You had no idea what he was going through. What kind of mother does that make you, Jane?”
For a moment, she stayed still like lightning had hit her. Her first reaction was anger.
“You can’t blame me for everything,” Jane said.
Ben raked his fingers through his hair and exhaled. “Jane, what did you say when you asked for custody?”
“That I’d take care of him. I’d be there for him.”
“You’ve failed to do either of those, haven’t you?” he said. “Charlie was depressed and you weren’t there for him. You were never here.”
“I need to work. I’ve got to pay the bills,” Jane said.
“This would’ve never happened if you’d paid attention to what he was going through. You let him suffer alone.”
“He didn’t say a word about it.” Jane turned away. Her eyes burned holes in the semi-dark wall. “I—I should’ve known,” she said to herself, exhaling.
And, the anger dissipated. With each passing moment, Ben’s words made more sense. He was right. It was her fault. She should’ve noticed. Now that she did, she could see that he’d been showing signs of depression. He’d told her he didn’t want to go to school one morning. He didn’t want to live. He saw no point in it anymore. Jane had dismissed it as one of his tantrums and packed him off to school. Maybe she should’ve listened to him. She should’ve asked him what he was going through and talked to him. Between pulling late nights and chasing suspects, she was never at home. She had failed as a mother. She looked at Ben, who’d started smoking. The cloud of smoke that he puffed out drifted outside the window.
Within her rose a heavy feeling of guilt—one that she hadn’t been able to shake off for the next year.
“Jane?” Mr. McEwan said. He examined the sudden flush that had broken out on Jane’s skin. The memories dissipated.
“Hi,” Jane said. She drank some water. Before she knew it, she’d finished the whole glass.
