by Alice Castle
The school had been going from strength to glossy strength for hundreds of years, then she had arrived. Suddenly, there was a dead body on the premises and the place was full of police cars. It all seemed surreal. There was a SOCO van right outside the building, and other police cars kept piling in; she could tell from the monotonous blue flashing outside. The hum of the school continued, but something was out of joint. A tragedy had struck here, and you could feel it in the lowered voices and darting glances.
She was surprised the school was still open, but perhaps it was too difficult to send the children home, now that so many parents – even in Dulwich – were working. And she didn’t suppose for a moment that there was a mechanism in place to deal with a situation like this. Ben’s little school had a snow protocol, where every parent at the top of a class list had to call the one below, and so on. But not even super-smooth Wyatt’s was going to have a Sudden Death List ready to roll.
The police constable’s radio burst into life with a ferocious crackle of static. She was amazed he could understand what on earth the control station was saying, it was so garbled. Then two words jumped out of the babble. ‘Body’ and ‘knife’.
She eyed him nervously. ‘Do you need to go and find… something?’ she said, not sure whether she should let on what she’d heard. Accidentally eavesdropping on a police radio was another situation that she wasn’t equipped for.
‘No, that’s fine, miss. There’s a team out in the playground dealing with… all that,’ said the constable. ‘Now, if we could just go over one or two points again, if you’re feeling up to it?’ He was looking at her as though, like a Victorian heroine, she might need to avail herself of a chaise longue and some smelling salts at any moment.
She sat up a little. ‘Of course, I’m just not sure how much I can really help. I hardly know… knew… Dr Jenkins. It was my first day at work.’ Despite herself, she knew her bottom lip was wobbling. She bit it.
‘And you’re sure that’s who it was?’ said the constable, leafing back through his notebook.
She nodded silently.
No-one had asked her the cause of death, and she didn’t like to broach it herself, but she had seen a lot of blood. Now this mention of a knife over the police radio. Jenkins couldn’t have fallen on the knife by accident, surely? He had been lying on his back, although his face was covered. For the first time, she wished she’d got closer and been able to see what it was over his face. But the fact that he’d been covered up certainly implied that there’d been a second person present when Jenkins died.
Unless he’d pulled something over his own face as he expired? No, ridiculous. So, with the knife, the covering, the blood…. the whole thing was beginning to look a lot like… murder. This time she was beginning to feel distinctly nauseous.
‘Now, you don’t look too clever,’ said a man in the doorway. It was a deep voice, with a trace of an Irish accent.
Beth looked up quickly, brushing strands of fringe out of her face. She could feel that her forehead was clammy, her upper lip prickled with sweat. She knew her appearance didn’t matter a jot, yet somehow she felt she’d been caught out, found wanting. All right, she was a bit dishevelled – was it any wonder? How would he feel if he’d just stumbled on a dead body? she thought crossly. Then she realised that, though he wasn’t in uniform, this was definitely a policeman. He’d strolled in as though he was in charge – because he probably was. And he stumbled across dead bodies for a living. Or at least found murderers.
She glanced at the constable opposite, who had also straightened himself up and was now looking alert and expectant, a tiny bit like a dog who’s been promised walkies. This new arrival was clearly the boss. Well, good. She might get to go home soon, then. So far, there had been very little sense of urgency since the police had arrived. The whole operation had been concentrated on locking things down, keeping adults from leaving the school, cordoning off the playground as much as was possible, and then waiting.
This man, it seemed, was who they had been waiting for. Already the atmosphere had changed. Maybe it was his outdoorsy air, but there seemed to be more life in the stale office now. He was wearing a dark navy pea coat and, from the ruffled dark blond of his hair and the colour in his cheeks, it looked like he’d hiked across country to get here. That seemed very unlikely, but the speculation was helping Beth’s wave of sickness to pass.
‘You need some oxygen, let’s take a bit of a walk,’ said the man decisively.
She immediately looked to the constable, who closed his notebook eagerly and looked ready to fetch his lead to come, too.
‘Take a statement from the Bursar and the Head now. I’ll be back in a while,’ the man ordered, dismissing the deflated officer, then turned back to Beth. ‘I’m Detective Inspector York. Harry York,’ he explained. ‘Now, let’s get you sorted.’
He held her coat for her and she struggled a bit to put it on, then nearly forgot her handbag. It had been quite a day. Suddenly she wondered what the time actually was. Ben! She had to pick him up at 3.30. It was after 2pm already.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll be away in time to get your son,’ said York, seeing her worried glance at the office clock. Beth wondered for a moment how he knew about Ben, then mentally kicked herself. He was the police. He knew it all.
‘So, I don’t want to drag you through everything again, but it would be really helpful if you could just take me through the events of the morning. I know you’ve had a shock,’ said York, holding the heavy main door open for her.
They emerged by the rectangle of lawn in front of the Grand Hall. It was the most perfect patch of grass she’d ever seen, its stripes rivalling Wimbledon. Not a single weed or bald patch marred its smooth green surface. Today, its effortless perfection seemed incongruous. Blue lights still flashed from the police cars flanking the long windows of the Grand Hall, and a uniformed officer stood at the entrance to the playground, his high visibility jacket garish against the muted red brick of the venerable school buildings.
Beth had already digested the inherent contradiction in what York had said – he didn’t want to drag her through events, but he did want a complete run-down of what had happened. She sighed just a little as they strolled back and forward and she told him everything. Well, almost everything. She wasn’t sure if she should mention that flash of fuchsia which she might – or might not – have seen, and she also didn’t say anything about her own burgeoning dislike of Dr Jenkins, which had been cut short by the discovery of his body. He was dead, and wasn’t there that whole thing about not speaking ill?
But it seemed that York had sensed something in her account. He listened attentively and scribbled a couple of notes. Unlike the constable, he didn’t feel the need to capture every syllable of her tale. His first question was, ‘And what did you actually think of Dr Jenkins? Did you know him? Like him?’
‘I didn’t know him at all, really. I’d only met him once before this morning, at the job interview, and today I was barely with him for ten minutes. I don’t know anything about him as a person.’ Beth knew her equivocating was telling its own story. She might as well be honest.
‘There was something about him that was a bit…’
‘A bit what?’ York was alert.
‘Well, old-fashioned in his attitudes.’
York looked baffled. She tried again. ‘He didn’t seem very politically correct.’
‘You mean he was racist, homophobic, what?’ York asked.
‘Nothing like that… It was the way he kept looking at me… It was a bit Jimmy Savile, if you know what I mean.’
The penny finally dropped. ‘He was leering at you?’ York clarified.
Beth nodded gratefully. ‘I was pretty certain he was. There was something sleazy about him. I’d only just met him, though. Maybe I was imagining it,’ she said, trying to give the dead man the benefit of the doubt.
‘But you don’t think you were?’
She took a breath. ‘No. I don’t.’
Why not say it? He would hear it from other sources, even if she were discreet herself. A man like Jenkins who, even on two minutes’ acquaintance appeared to have no respect for boundaries, had to have a track record. It was the kind of thing that women had once had to take with a pinch of salt, but she was pretty sure that nowadays there would at least have been gossip in the staff room about his behaviour.
‘Interesting,’ said York.
‘Has anyone else said anything?’ said Beth, hoping for some corroboration.
‘So, what time was it when Dr Jenkins left you?’ York turned the subject neatly.
Beth thought back, her forehead wrinkling under the thick fringe.
‘It can’t have been much after 9 o’clock, maybe ten past, something like that? I tried to get here a few minutes early – well, it was my first day – but getting a security pass and so on ate up a bit of time. I caught up with Dr Jenkins on the way to the office. He was in the playground already, and he walked me to the building and then right up to the archives office door. He opened it with his key, but he didn’t go in. He gave me his own spare key, from his keyring. And that was it. I didn’t see him again until – well, later, by the bins. You know. It all seems like weeks ago now,’ she added quietly.
York looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘So, he went out, basically, and never came back? He was gone for what, several hours? And you didn’t wonder where he’d got to? Or think to go and look for him when he didn’t come back to the office?’
‘Well, yes, I did wonder what he was up to, because I wasn’t really sure what I was supposed to be doing. It was my first day, as I’ve said, so I had assumed he’d go over things, give me an idea of what his expectations were, certainly give me a couple of things to get on with. As it was, I didn’t quite want to go searching for him and asking a lot of questions. I mean, he had a perfect right to be having meetings and so on without me. I had no idea what his daily timetable was.
‘I thought it was really strange that he’d just gone off,’ she carried on, ‘but I wanted to show that I could get on with the job myself. After all, it was one of the things that kept cropping up in the interview, and it was even in the job ad: “Must be a self-starter, able to work independently”.
‘I suppose I thought it might be a sort of test, leaving me like that. I didn’t want to come over as, well, needy,’ said Beth, frowning. ‘Also, I had absolutely no idea where he would be, so I couldn’t actually go after him… it’s a big school… and he could have gone anywhere, been talking to anyone…’
It was York’s turn to frown. She wondered if he’d spotted the way Jenkins had played on his new assistant’s inexperience. He’d basically left her entirely to her own devices – presumably for his own good reasons. Maybe he’d only intended to be out for a moment or two; maybe he just didn’t want anyone else around. Maybe he hadn’t actually wanted an assistant working with him in the first place.
‘As he went off,’ Beth continued, ‘he said he was meeting someone, and then he changed that to saying he ‘had an appointment’. That’s a bit odd, isn’t it? I’m not sure what the difference is, really. Maybe an appointment is more… official? He didn’t say who with, or I would have told you, of course. On the other hand, maybe he was just planning to be away for five minutes or so, and then someone, er, something, well, you know, then whatever happened, happened.’
‘Either scenario is perfectly possible,’ said York evenly.
‘I suppose it will depend on time of death and things like that?’ said Beth.
‘Yes, very much so.’ York smiled blandly, giving nothing at all away. ‘Now, back to when Dr Jenkins left you, at around 9.10 or thereabouts. He didn’t give any indication about who he was meeting? What was his manner when he was telling you? Was he matter of fact, nervous, relaxed?’
‘I suppose I’d have to say he was a bit… secretive. He could have told me who he was seeing, if it was a work thing, and he could have explained what it was about. It would probably have been useful information for me. As it was, I had no idea what he was up to or why. Maybe he realised that if he had said a name, the chances were I wouldn’t recognise it anyway, as I hardly know anyone yet. Or maybe he just wanted to be mysterious.
‘I suppose I got the impression that he didn’t think he owed me any explanations – I was just an underling, and why should he explain himself to me? But I don’t know that. All I really know is that he didn’t say, and I wasn’t really in a position to ask.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Well, again, it was my first day on the job. I couldn’t really have cross-questioned him about what he was doing, could I? Even if he’d been an approachable sort of person. And he wasn’t. Or, at least, he wasn’t a person I wanted to approach,’ she qualified.
‘Did he make you feel welcome?’ York wondered.
‘Well, no, not at all. I don’t know whether the leering thing was something he tried on with everyone or… what, really, but it didn’t exactly make me feel at home, if you know what I mean. I don’t even know if he wanted an archive assistant in the first place, or whether the school just decided he needed one because the records are in such a mess,’ said Beth.
‘But, presumably, you can sort all that out quite quickly, if everything really is in such a state? You’re a trained archivist, aren’t you?’
‘It’s definitely in a state, I’m not imagining it,’ said Beth. ‘But that’s just the thing,’ she added miserably. ‘I’m actually not trained at all. You can do a postgrad qualification in archives and records, or you can have hands-on experience, or have worked in a library or public records office. But I don’t have any of that; I just have a history degree. I’m more of a researcher than a records person, though I am really organised. My background is in journalism. I was thrilled when I got the job, but I was surprised, too. It all feels… well, a little out of my comfort zone,’ she admitted.
York smiled reassuringly, but she could see his mind was ticking over; no doubt he’d get someone to look over the CVs from the recruitment process. If there had been candidates with more obvious qualifications, she wondered what that would say about Jenkins, or whoever had a say in recruitment?
Beth didn’t know if she should go ahead and speak her mind, but York’s stillness encouraged her to carry on. ‘I think, having just arrived this morning, I can maybe see the school a bit more clearly than someone who’s been around for years, and a couple of things surprise me.’
‘Oh, what are they?’ York’s slight smile was encouraging.
‘Well… The records are in such a mess. I was warned there was a lot to do, but there’s been a full-time archivist here for ages – Dr Jenkins himself. He’s been here for quite a few years, I think; I don’t know how long exactly, but he certainly gave the impression of knowing the school inside out, as though he’d been here forever, knew everyone… you see what I mean? So why hadn’t he sorted things out? And also, if the archives are important enough to be maintained by two people, why are they stuck out in the playing fields in a glorified shed? The rest of the school buildings are pretty plush. It’s… odd.’
Beth felt better for getting these observations out, though she wasn’t sure if York had really been listening. He didn’t acknowledge her comments and now he was squinting at his phone. She wondered if it would be incredibly rude to look at her watch. She was yearning for home now, for normality. And for a good, solid hug with Ben. She knew he was in no danger – he was nowhere near Wyatt’s, and had been safely tucked away in his own cosy little primary all day. But there had been a sudden death here. She needed to see him.
‘Could I ask you something?’ she said, suddenly.
York raised his eyebrows, neither permitting nor preventing.
‘Was it… murder? There was a lot of blood… And I heard one of your colleagues talking about, well, a knife…’
York’s mouth compressed into a thin line. ‘We’re not saying anything officially yet. You’ll understand that I can’t
go into details. We need to inform the family. I don’t suppose he mentioned anyone to you?’
Beth shook her head.
He scanned her face quickly before continuing, ‘I would appreciate it if you kept this quiet at this stage. It’s going to be hard enough for us once word gets out, and we need to use whatever advantage we have to find out as much as we can before people know.’
Beth smiled for the first time in what seemed like years. She had idly been wondering if York lived locally. Now she knew for sure he didn’t. Otherwise, he would have realised that, minutes after Dr Jenkins met his maker, the whole of the village would have known something was afoot.
This was Dulwich, after all.
Chapter Three
Beth wasn’t surprised, the following morning, to get the call announcing that Wyatt’s would be closed. It would be a lot easier for the forensic team to do their work without nearly a thousand schoolchildren milling around metres away from the crime scene. Not to mention the fact that few Dulwich parents would have been happy with their precious offspring so close to a grisly murder.
She felt sorry for Dr Grover – how on earth could he spin this? With a twitch of his Hermes tie, he would be more than capable of persuading parents that everything was fine if, say, the GCSE cohort dropped a couple of grades. But violent death? Right on the premises? During the school day? If anything, ever, was going to dent Wyatt’s reputation as first among equals in the Endowment School stakes, it was this. Their rivals, the College School, had never had a staff member removed feet-first from the premises in a body bag.
Even if her job had been temporarily shelved, Beth still had her hands full with Ben. She was worried he would have somehow heard about the murder, but the evening had been calm, and then he woke her with a bombshell of his own: a dinosaur project, which she hadn’t even known was looming, had to be given in by 9am.
