Yet far from being troubled by Benji’s body being dispatched to the Midlands for examination, the coroner, an amiable chap called Tim who was also a prominent and long-serving solicitor in Mansell, told Maggie he welcomed the advancement of non-scalpel post-mortems.
‘There were lots of families who objected to a post-mortem on religious grounds and telling them that we didn’t need their permission to carry one out was distressing for everyone involved,’ he said. ‘It felt like we were riding roughshod over their wishes, so I think it’s marvellous these scans are now available.’
‘But are they as thorough?’ asked Maggie. She found it difficult to believe they would be.
‘Yes, they are. Some police forces now request them as the first option in forensic cases because a digital autopsy enables the body to be secured in its natural state. I would say that in the majority of cases a DA is rigorous enough to establish cause of death. However, if for some reason it doesn’t, a traditional post-mortem can still be carried out.’
‘So you think it’s fine in this case?’
‘I do. The cause of death should be straightforward given the head injury the child sustained in the fall, so if it brings the mother comfort to know her son’s body remains intact I’m all for it. But I also believe it is prudent to warn her that if the results are inconclusive we shall have to insist on a surgical post-mortem. Prepare her for every eventuality.’
Maggie didn’t relish that conversation.
Phone call to the coroner done, she sneaked in a quick call to Umpire.
He sounded so pleased to hear her voice when he picked up that for a moment she felt bad about sulking.
‘I missed you last night,’ he said. ‘I’m going to leave at a decent time tomorrow night so I can come to yours and be there on your birthday morning. You might need helping out of bed now you’re getting on a bit,’ he teased.
‘If turning thirty makes me old then you are officially ancient,’ she laughed.
They chatted a bit about work, then Umpire said he needed to go.
‘Before I do, I have some good news,’ he said.
‘What’s that?’
‘I felt bad about us having to cancel going away so I had a long chat with Sarah last night and she’s agreed it’s time you met the kids.’
‘Oh. Right.’
‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ he said, sounding confused. ‘It means we can see each other when the kids are here.’
‘I am pleased,’ she said, trying to sound convincing. ‘I’m just surprised by the sudden change of heart.’
‘Sarah admitted that she’s been worried about the kids getting attached to you and then being upset when we broke up.’
Maggie bristled. ‘What makes her think we’ll break up?’
‘She thought you might not see it as a serious relationship, because you’re younger and haven’t had kids of your own. In a way I can see what she means – it is a big thing, taking on someone else’s children.’
‘I think you’re forgetting I had a pretty big hand in raising my niece and nephews,’ she said, outraged by the suggestion that she was clueless when it came to parenting. ‘I did everything for them a mum would do.’
‘I know, that’s what I told Sarah and that’s what changed her mind. So, you do think we’re serious?’
‘Why, don’t you?’
‘Absolutely.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘These last few months with you are the happiest I’ve been in years.’
Despite her anger at his ex’s comment, Maggie found herself smiling.
‘Me too.’
‘So you’ll meet Jack and Flora?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Amazing. They’re great kids, I know you’ll like them.’
Maggie was gripped with apprehension. Yes, but would they like her?
30
Ewan had always been adept at dodging discussions he didn’t want to have, but since storming out of the police station he’d excelled himself. He knew Julia was dying to ask him about Poppy’s visits to Imogen’s house but he was making certain she had no opportunity to get him on his own.
After leaving the station he marched the three of them straight round the corner to a street that was lined with legal practices, not far from the magistrates’ court. They went into the first to be told there was no one free to see them, so Ewan huffily told the receptionist to forget it and went two doors along to the next one, where a solicitor who specialized in criminal law was happy to squeeze them in.
The solicitor’s name was Darren and Julia wasn’t sure she liked him much: he spoke flippantly and aggressively and his manner was as oily as whatever it was he’d rubbed in his hair that morning to slick it down. She also found his approach baffling – Darren didn’t ask Poppy any questions directly and didn’t seem concerned with knowing the details of what had happened. But Ewan clearly liked him and Julia knew it was a done deal when the solicitor took the names of the detectives investigating the case and said he would make them aware he was now Poppy’s legal representative.
Afterwards they drove directly to Cath’s house to collect Dylan; Ewan turned the radio up so loud that conversation in the car was impossible. Cath invited them to stay for a coffee, which Ewan eagerly said yes to, so Poppy plonked herself down on the sofa next to her brother to watch TV and the adults retreated to the kitchen so the kids couldn’t hear them talking.
‘She did really well,’ said Ewan, ‘right up until the police got nasty.’
‘In what way?’ asked Cath.
‘They tried to imply it was all her idea to break into the school.’
As Ewan filled Cath in, Julia sipped her coffee in the hope it would settle the gnawing in her stomach. Had they made things worse by pulling Poppy out of the interview? To her horror, Cath seemed to think they had.
‘I understand why you walked out, but refusing to cooperate might force the police’s hand to arrest and interview her under caution,’ she said. ‘Rather than go in all guns blazing with a lawyer, try to smooth it over.’
Ewan’s face darkened but he didn’t retaliate straight away as he would with most people. Cath was one of the few people he held in high regard and in return she was one of the few people who thought nothing of putting him in his place when he was being out of line.
Perhaps it was because of her age that Ewan respected her. Cath was two decades older than them, a retired civil servant who lived alone, her husband dead five years now and their two sons grown up and both living in London. She appeared on their doorstep the day they moved in, clutching a bottle of wine and a lasagne she’d made, to save them the worry of cooking on their first night. Ewan’s initial critique was that she was pushy and entitled but over time he’d come to like her as much as Julia did.
‘What should we do?’ Julia asked her worriedly.
‘Tell them you were upset and that you’ll bring her back in whenever they want,’ said Cath. ‘You’re gambling with Poppy’s future if you don’t.’
‘I’m not sacking the solicitor,’ said Ewan huffily.
‘I’m not suggesting you do. Frankly, you should’ve had a solicitor with you from the first moment—’
‘That’s what I said,’ Julia interrupted. ‘I even started looking for one.’
Ewan wasn’t impressed. ‘Really, Julia, you think this is the time to start point scoring? I’m sorry I’m such a crap partner that I didn’t back you up,’ he pouted.
‘I wasn’t saying you were!’
An uncomfortable silence fell over the kitchen. Cath offered to make more coffee.
‘No, thanks,’ said Ewan. ‘I thought we could take the kids somewhere fun before tea. I was thinking swimming at the Lido.’
Julia was alarmed. What if someone had a go at them like earlier?
‘I don’t think it’s a good idea,’ she began.
‘I think you should go,’ said Cath. ‘The kids can’t stay indoors roasting all afternoon. It’ll be nice and cool in the wat
er.’
‘But what if someone sees us?’ Julia fretted.
‘If we hide ourselves away it looks worse,’ said Ewan.
‘He’s right,’ Cath nodded.
‘That’s settled then,’ said Ewan. ‘We can go for pizza after. I’ll tell the kids.’
Cath waited until he was gone.
‘You okay?’
‘I’ve had better days, but it’ll be fine. I’m sure the police will believe Poppy,’ said Julia, trying to sound positive.
‘That’s not what I meant. I mean you and Ewan. I get that he’s stressed but that doesn’t excuse him talking to you like that.’
Julia’s cheeks mottled. ‘Like you said, he’s stressed. I’ve been snappy with him too.’
‘But he’s always like that with you.’
‘No, he’s not.’
‘But he—’
Julia hastily got to her feet.
‘We’d best get going if we want to take the kids swimming. Thanks for the coffee and for having Dylan.’ She quickly hugged her friend and made for the door.
Cath called after her. ‘I’m here if you ever need to talk.’
But Julia had already bolted from the room.
31
Thursday
Alan’s lunchtime pint in The Wheatsheaf had led to another, then another, until it was eight in the evening and Doug was calling time on him, saying he’d had enough and wouldn’t be served anything else even if he asked nicely.
Alan didn’t remember much about getting home – he had a vague sense of weaving along a street he didn’t recognize, past houses whose occupants were strangers to him – then the next thing he knew he was waking up in his own bed at six in the morning with a clanging headache, parched mouth and a soreness down the right-hand side of his face.
Stumbling to the bathroom, he checked his reflection in the mirror over the sink and saw there was a thin but vivid red graze scoring his cheek from temple to chin. He rubbed it gingerly and winced. He must’ve caught it on a bush on his walk home.
He checked his phone and there was no message from Mrs Pullman telling him to stay off work again, so he had a bracingly cold shower that took the edge off his headache, downed two cups of strong black coffee, gagging only the once, and made a sandwich for his packed lunch using the few scraps of ham left in his fridge.
His stomach clenched with nerves as he walked through the school gates at ten to seven, only relenting when it became apparent that he was alone as usual.
This was his favourite time of day . . . a brief window of solitude before the rest of the school descended. His first task was to walk round the site and complete a Health & Safety check – once that was done he could open up the gates. He knew he’d have to give a statement at some point to H&S inspectors to explain how the kids had managed to get into the grounds so early; their investigation had begun in tandem with the police’s.
Bang on seven thirty Alan bumped into Mrs Pullman and the deputy head, Mr Lincoln, as they headed into the main building on their way from the car park.
‘How are you?’ asked the head, cupping Alan’s elbow briefly as a gesture of comfort.
‘I’m okay,’ he said, hoping his rigorous teeth brushing had eradicated the worst of the stale alcohol on his breath. ‘I know you said I could stay off but I want to get back to work, get on with things.’
‘What happened to your face?’ asked Mr Lincoln.
‘Gardening. I caught it on a twig.’
The deputy head smirked.
‘We’re closed to pupils again today but I’m sure you’ll find plenty to keep you busy,’ said Mrs Pullman, before taking a pause. ‘There will be counsellors on standby when the school reopens to talk to the children affected by Benji’s death. Would you like to talk to someone too?’
‘Not really my cup of tea,’ said Alan. ‘But thank you.’
‘Didn’t see you as the stiff-upper-lip type,’ said Mr Lincoln mockingly.
Alan let the comment slide, unwilling to be drawn into a conversation with the deputy, who he didn’t much like. Mr Lincoln was among the handful of staff that spoke to Alan in a way that made him feel subservient and lacking. By way of payback he always put those teachers’ names to the bottom of his list if any of them wanted jobs doing.
‘Well, the offer stands should you change your mind,’ said Mrs Pullman.
She looked weary, the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth more pronounced than usual. Her hair, although cropped short and its natural grey, looked lank. The boy’s death must be weighing heavy on her heart and mind, thought Alan. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t her fault or that there was nothing she could’ve done to prevent it, he knew as head teacher she would feel responsible regardless. It made him feel even guiltier about what he was facilitating in the Pavilion.
‘Trust me, I won’t. Are the police going to be here today?’ he asked.
‘I think they’ll be popping in and out. It sounds like they’ve exhausted their search of the grounds, though.’
Alan’s stomach flip-flopped.
‘The grounds? I thought they were only checking the building site where it happened.’
‘That’s what I meant by grounds,’ said Mrs Pullman.
‘Right. Well, I should get on,’ said Alan, feeling more reassured.
The head nodded. ‘Thank you for coming in today, Alan, I do appreciate it. But if at any point you feel you’d like to go home, that’s absolutely fine. Just come and see me.’
He said he would, then excused himself and set off for his office below ground.
Paranoia made him double-check everything – the lock on his door to see if it had been forced open, the files on his computer to see if they’d been accessed, even whether his private stash of coffee had been tampered with. Everything about his office looked exactly as it should, with no signs of interference, yet still Alan couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had been inside, poking around.
He checked the list of jobs he’d been forced to abandon on Tuesday. Most were simple to rectify, such as a radiator cover coming loose in one of the classrooms and a toilet door that kept jamming. He then accessed the email account he’d set up on the school system for teachers to message him with repair requests and wasn’t surprised to find none had been sent in the past two days.
He decided to tackle the radiator cover first. His tools were secured in an outbuilding so after locking his office behind him he headed outdoors.
Yesterday’s phone call with Gayle was still weighing heavy on his mind and his preoccupation meant he didn’t notice someone following him until he reached the outbuilding and a hand grabbed his shoulder, making him yelp in surprise.
‘Sorry, did I startle you?’ said Gus, grinning.
‘You could say that,’ he wheezed, as his heart pounded against his ribcage.
‘I think we need a chat, don’t you?’
‘I’ve done my bit,’ Alan protested. ‘I told the police I thought it was an accident.’
‘You did, and that’s great. You did good, mate. But it’s the girls I’m here about now.’
‘The girls?’ Alan stammered.
‘I hear you went round to Ruby’s house last night, saying all sorts about me.’
There was an edge to Gus’s voice that scared him. Ruby was one of six girls who operated out of the Pavilion. Her, Lila, Celeste, Krysia and two others whose names he didn’t know.
‘Did I? I don’t remember doing that. I was absolutely bladdered last night – I’d been down The Wheatsheaf since lunchtime.’
He wasn’t lying either. He had no recollection of going to see Ruby, much less anything he might’ve said to her.
‘She was very upset you called her a whore.’ Gus took a step towards him. ‘But not half as upset as I am that you told her I was evil and that you were going to put a stop to my enterprise.’
Alan reeled back. Had he really said that? Shit.
‘She’s making it up,’ he said feebly.
�
�Really? Is that why she scratched you down your face?’
Alan’s hand flew to his cheek. Ruby did that to him? But surely he would’ve remembered her clawing his face, her fingernail marking him?
‘I honestly don’t remember going to see her.’
Gus inched closer. ‘Are you calling me a liar now?’
‘No, no, I’m not.’
‘Good. I don’t like it when my girls are upset.’
The way Gus said it made them sound as though they were his pets.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Alan.
‘Lucky for you I’m prepared to let it go this once, because I know it’s been a tough couple of days for you and because I don’t want to screw up the grand reopening.’
‘For what?’
‘The Pavilion, of course. Now the police are wrapping up I want it up and running again as soon as possible.’
Alan’s insides turned to mulch. ‘By when?’
‘Tomorrow. Friday night’s always our busiest time with everyone looking to let off some steam after a long week. So be a good lad and make sure it’s ready.’
As Gus sauntered off, Alan staggered into the outbuilding and sank down onto the floor in despair. He sat hunched over, forehead resting on his bent knees, feeling like he might be sick. What the hell was he going to do? Last night in The Wheatsheaf, before he’d got drunk enough to forget, he’d decided the only way out of this mess was to remove the Pavilion from Gus’s control. But how?
After a few minutes he raised his head. The outbuilding was dingy inside and Alan could barely see as he sat there in the gloom. Then, gradually, his eyes began to focus and they lit upon a container stacked on a pile of boxes right in front of him. As he idly read the lettering printed on the side, an idea came to him in a flash.
He’d found his way out.
32
Maggie set off for Imogen’s alone after that morning’s briefing. Byford had been ordered to area HQ in Trenton to tie up loose ends on a previous case and it would be lunchtime before he’d be back in Mansell.
False Witness Page 12
