Retribution

by Jay Nadal

  He imagined that at night very few people had a reason to be there. It was a cold and soulless location. There were no local eateries, cinemas or shops other than a local Morrisons supermarket off to his left and over the flyover. The fact that the location was not overlooked or busy at night offered the ideal spot for drug takers, vandalism and no doubt a few courting couples who could pull up for a quick bunk-up without being spotted or disturbed.

  He could see Cara and Abby approaching the tent.

  “Who found him?” Scott asked as he turned and leant back against the railings, exhaling deeply in the process.

  “It was a council worker who was coming to do a sweep of the car park. Fucking frightened the living daylights out of him, poor old sod. He’s been with the council nearly forty years and due to retire next year. Said he’s never seen anything like it in his life.”

  “Did you get a statement off him?”

  “Yes, Guv. Uniform has done that already.”

  “Mike, I want you to check for CCTV.”

  “Do we need to? He’s only a jumper?”

  “Ordinarily, probably not. They found evidence on the body, a white feather and the Latin inscription…the two events are connected.”

  Mike raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, shit. I’ll have a scan around and check with uniform to see if anyone in the crowd spotted anything.”

  “Okay, you do that. There’s not much else for me to do around here. Think it’s time I paid the principal another visit.”

  Abby was lurking around outside the tent by the time Scott returned. Cara had also completed her brief examination and was jotting a few notes whilst sitting on her silver medical examination case.

  “Great way to start the morning off,” Abby said.

  “The body in there looks to be of a teacher at Edmunston-Hunt.”

  Abby crossed her arms and pursed her lips. “Coincidence?” she suggested.

  Scott shook his head. “No, I don’t believe in coincidences. We need to go and have a word with Collier. There’s more going on at that school than he is letting on and he’s trying my patience now. Is there anything you saw that looks suspicious, Cara?”

  “Can’t be a hundred per cent certain, because it’s a bit of a mess. I could definitely make out some type of red banding around the deceased’s neck.”

  Scott nodded, that extra bit of evidence, if true, would lend even more weight to his theory that the two incidents were connected. The question was how.

  11

  In just over forty-eight hours, Scott found himself back at Edmunston-Hunt boarding school. On any other day driving up to the school, the smell of freshly cut grass wafting in through his car window, and the sound of birdsong reverberating around the grounds, would offer a peaceful and tranquil escape from the hustle and bustle of Brighton life. However, the death of a second teacher meant his visit took on a more sombre emphasis.

  As Abby got out of the car, she put on her scary face. “You ready for Cruella de Vil again?”

  Scott smiled as they walked through the main doorway. He’d forgotten about the charm of Mrs Hilary.

  Their favourite glorified secretary was busily tapping away on a keyboard whilst wearing headphones. They were the old style of headphones that sat over the ears and drowned out most of the surrounding noise. He doubted she was listening to anything vaguely resembling music and was probably typing from dictation. She cast a brief look in their direction and carried on typing. Scott leant forward on the reception desk.

  “Mrs Hilary, we need to see Mr Collier,” he asked putting on his politest voice.

  His enquiry was met by a wall of silence as she continued typing. Anyone would think that Scott and Abby were both invisible. Scott clenched his jaws and shot Abby a glance. Abby rolled her eyes in disbelief.

  Scott cleared his throat loudly, and knocked firmly on the countertop. Mrs Hilary stopped typing and paused for a moment, briefly staring at her screen, before slowly raising her eyes disapprovingly in Scott’s direction. She clearly wasn’t pleased at the interruption.

  “Mrs Hilary,” he repeated, his voice heavy with sarcasm, “we are here to see Mr Collier immediately.”

  “Mr Collier is busy. One moment, please. I’ll just finish this and get you booked in for an appointment,” she replied with a long-suffering sigh.

  With Scott’s patience both tested and exhausted, he placed his hands on the desk and leant forward. “I’m not asking you; I’m telling you. We’d like to see Mr Collier now.”

  The woman’s attitude remained steadfast. This was turning into a battle of wills and Scott was in no mood to come off second best. “What is it regarding?” she asked.

  Scott lifted an eyebrow and glared at the woman to suggest really? They were hardly popping in for a cuppa. “It’s regarding the ongoing investigation and a new development. Would you like me to draw you a diagram?” he snapped.

  Scott’s sarcasm was lost on Mrs Hilary who continued to throw a disapproving look in his direction as she picked up the phone.

  “What did she think we were here for? A bloody parking fine? Swap knitting patterns?” murmured Abby as she stuffed her hands in her trouser pockets. Scott smiled, Abby didn’t suffer fools gladly either.

  Mrs Hilary replaced the phone receiver. “Mr Collier will be out in a moment. You can wait over there,” she said nodding in the direction of a cluster of low-level leather chairs provided for visitors and prospective parents by the front door. She crossed her arms in defiance.

  “Thank you, but no. We will wait here,” Scott replied knowing full well that invading her space as they were would only rile the woman.

  Mr Collier, impeccably dressed in a dark navy suit, crisp white shirt, and pale blue tie, arrived a few moments later. As he strode purposefully towards them, it reminded Scott of how army personnel marched, shoulders back, chest out, straight arms synchronised in a rhythmic swing. He looked concerned and frustrated, his eyes had narrowed, deep furrows lining his forehead.

  “Inspector, Sergeant.” His tone was strong; his words few and direct. “How can I help? Is this to do with Mr Johnson?”

  “I’m afraid not. Is there somewhere we can go that’s a little more private?” Scott asked, glancing briefly in the direction of Mrs Hilary.

  “Of course. Yes, come to my office,” he offered turning on his heel and striding off just as quickly as he had arrived without even glancing back to see if his visitors were following.

  Abby walked quickly behind him. Scott trailed a little further behind. He had slowed to look at the portrait photos that lined one wall of the corridor. Each photo depicted a teacher at the school. He could see that it was a collection of teachers both past and present judging from the dates. Many of the former teachers stared into the camera lens with sombre, serious looks. Grey backgrounds blanched their photos further. The most recent colour additions portrayed teachers in relaxed, side-on poses, with slight smiles that softened each image. They’d changed locations of the photo shoot Scott noticed. They were taken outdoors, from the looks of it on the main lawn, with the school as an elegant backdrop.

  Adrian Collier invited them into his room but on this occasion didn’t offer them a seat, choosing to stand impatiently behind the closed door, his arms straight by his sides. “What is this all about?” His words were short, sharp and deliberate.

  Scott rocked back and forth on his heels a few times. “Have you seen Giles Rochester this morning?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. I was made aware of the fact that he didn’t turn up for classes this morning. I sent a member of staff over to his cottage to see if he is unwell, but he doesn’t appear to be in, and his car was not there either.”

  “What car does he drive?” Abby asked.

  Collier looked in the direction of Scott, and ignored Abby. “He drives a silver VW Golf. Can I ask the nature of your enquiry?”

  “Do you have the registration number?”

  Adrian Collier looked perplexed as he scanned
the officers. “Not to hand, and I’m not sure why you need it?”

  “Mr Rochester may have come to some harm, so we are trying to establish some facts. It would be really helpful if you could provide us with his registration number.”

  Collier turned to his desk and dialled through to Mrs Hilary. “Could you give me the registration number for Giles Rochester’s car?” He paused for a moment clearly listening to the woman’s response. He lifted his head towards the ceiling in frustration. “Just get me the details…now.” There was a long pause whilst he waited for the details before he replaced the handset. “It’s FG15 FKL, Inspector.”

  Scott and Abby exchanged glances. It confirmed what Scott had suspected.

  “Mr Collier, a body was found this morning in Worthing. We believe it’s Giles Rochester.”

  Collier fell silent. He stared momentarily at the floor before levelling his eyes with the officers again. His eyes searched theirs; he looked for answers. “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s tragic news. Are you sure it’s Giles?”

  Scott nodded. “We believe so, but we’ll need to formally identify the body. His car was found close by. Did he have any issues or problems that you were aware of?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know of any.”

  Scott didn’t want to release too many details or his suspicions at this stage about how the two deaths were connected. “Mr Collier, what concerns me is that in the space of forty-eight hours, two members of your staff have been found dead. Call me a cynic, but do you not find that strange or disturbing? Are you not concerned about the welfare and safety of your staff and pupils?” he asked, staring intently into Collier’s eyes.

  Collier shrugged. “I admit, it’s highly unusual. My job here is to run a school, provide an excellent teaching environment and deliver outstanding results. It’s not my place to delve into the private lives of my staff. As long as they do what they’re employed to, and get the results, then I’m satisfied. Of course the happiness and welfare of my pupils is important too, but we’re not a kindergarten. We turn out a certain type of young man.” The principal straightened his back, pulled his shoulders back and thrust his chest out in military fashion.

  “And what might that be?” Abby asked directly.

  Collier glowered, returning a steely stare. “We turn out fearless young men, the future captains, majors, brigadiers of the British Army, the leaders of FTSE 500 companies, the entrepreneurs that shape our world, world-class sportsmen and our future politicians. We have no room for weak-mindedness.” He turned and walked towards the window that looked out over the magnificent striped lawns. “In battle, it’s the cowards who are the instigators of defeat; bravery is a rampart of defence,” he said firmly as he straightened up.

  “So you’d agree with the quote, ‘Weakness of attitude becomes weakness of character’?”

  The principal turned and wryly smiled at Scott. “Ah, Inspector. Touché. Albert Einstein certainly had a point.”

  Scott let Collier’s reply hang in the air for a moment even though he disagreed. He was beginning to think that the man hadn’t really moved on from his days in the army. “Did he have any next of kin?”

  Collier thought for a moment as he rubbed his chin. “I believe he had a sister, but she’s in New Zealand.”

  “No one else in the UK?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  Abby interrupted him. “Are you sure that he doesn’t have any family in the UK?”

  “Is it necessary, Inspector?” he asked.

  Scott remained silent, surprised by Collier’s response. The principal clearly had an issue responding to Abby’s questions. Whether it was Abby herself, or the fact she was a female was hard to tell. Scott suspected the latter. Collier was no doubt used to commanding the superior high ground, and with his military background probably wasn’t used to be challenged, especially by a woman.

  “Mr Collier?” Abby pushed again.

  Collier sighed in protest. “As I said to the inspector, not that I’m aware of, Sergeant,” he replied looking down at Abby.

  Abby straightened her grey suit jacket, and reached for her phone before stepping away to call the office.

  “We’ll need to search his cottage, so can you arrange for us to gain access now please?”

  Giles Rochester’s cottage was much the same in size and sparseness as Christopher Johnson’s. Scott and Abby had taken the opportunity to look around and search for evidence to explain the last few hours of his life.

  Whilst Abby searched upstairs, Scott looked around the ground floor. The lounge had a large flat-screen TV mounted above the fireplace, a stack of country living magazines sat beside a leather armchair. As he wandered through to the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks. There on the table sat a large length of thick boundary rope. Scott examined it in closer detail, leaning over the table without touching it. Despite it being wrapped in a series of circles, he could clearly make out that one end had been tied off to form a loop…or noose. Scott’s mind whirled as he thought about why it was there. Was it linked…to the first incident?

  He was distracted by Abby’s shout from somewhere upstairs. He found her in what appeared to be the study. “We’ve got a rope similar in thickness and look to the one used in the first case,” he said.

  “Look at this,” Abby said waving a piece of paper between her gloved fingers.

  Scott looked at the note and scrunched up his eyes with suspicion, then read it out. “Giles you make my heart skip a beat, our secret meetings are what I live for…S xx”

  “Sound familiar?”

  “Just a bit. The handwriting looks the same. Get it bagged up. Any others?”

  “There’s a small pile in the top drawer of his desk. All pretty much saying the same stuff; all signed in the same way.”

  “Abby, the chances of him having next of kin in the UK appears slim. Grab his toothbrush, that mug on his desk, and see if you can pull some hair fibres off his bed pillow. We can give them to forensics to do a DNA match with our victim for completeness.”

  Scott was perplexed. Two bodies in two days. The same evidence found on both victims, and now both having similar notes from possibly the same person. Who was S?

  12

  Scott and Abby arrived at the station not long after lunch. Buried deep in their PCs, the rest of the team hardly glanced up to see them arrive. One by one they lifted their heads when the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the floor.

  “Grab yourselves a cuppa and a cake,” said Scott.

  They had stopped at Costa Coffee on their way back to the station, and selected an array of cakes including millionaire’s shortbread, teacakes, lemon tarts and chocolate tiffin.

  Mike’s large frame moved first as Scott had expected. His large beer belly hung over his trouser belt, the shirt buttons on his grey shirt fought a valiant battle to stop him from bursting out. Small hairy bits of flesh poked out between each button. A fine specimen of a man he certainly was not. Scott had seen pictures of Mike from his army days. Back then, he was a fit, large, well-built trained sniper that had seen two difficult tours of Afghanistan and spent time based in Germany and Africa. His active lifestyle had ensured he’d remained a healthy weight and size.

  Since becoming a civvy, he’d let it go. His hair had started to thin and grey. His trim, muscular frame had given way to an ever-expanding waistline, the consequence of a diet that gravitated towards convenience meals, Oreo biscuits and sampling craft beers. The Hare & Hounds in London Road was his favourite watering hole. He would find a corner to settle down with the paper in one hand, and a pint of Meantime’s unpasteurised, unfiltered, ‘straight out of the brewery,’ lager in the other. Mike would slowly sip his pint, savouring the slightly yeasty brew that offered a sharp hop edge and a twisting citric taste.

  He lumbered towards the desk and helped himself with a welcoming nod that would normally be reserved for the return of an old friend. He would happily have hoovered up the lot if given the chance.
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  Raj and Sian piled in, too. Sian, ever careful of her figure tiptoed around the food. She wrapped her dark brown hair behind her ears as she peered over the goodies. Her tortoiseshell-framed glasses slipped down the bridge of her pixy nose causing her to tip them back up. She gleefully glanced over the selection with her hands firmly tucked in the pockets of her light grey trousers that hugged her backside and accentuated her slim figure. Sian finally opted for a solitary teacake biting off the chocolate layer first like a child, leaving the biscuit base and fluffy marshmallow.

  DCI Harvey marched into the office. “Scott, a word please,” she hollered from the other end of the room causing everyone to spin round in her direction, before she turned and headed back out into the corridor.

  Scott swung through the double doors to find Harvey pacing up and down the landing. She looked concerned as she glanced at her feet, her arms tapping each thigh.

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “What’s the latest on the jumper this morning?”

  “Well, initially it could have been mistaken for being a suicide. However, I’m fairly certain it’s not.”

  “Go on.”

  “The victim appears to be a Giles Rochester, a teacher at Edmunston-Hunt School. DNA evidence should confirm that, but he looks like his driver’s ID and school photo anyway. Secondly, a Latin inscription and a white feather were found in one of his pockets. Exactly the same as in Johnson’s case.”

  This wasn’t the news the DCI was hoping for. If anything, it heaped more pressure on her shoulders. Her forehead furrowed as the two incidents ran through her mind.

  Scott sensed that Harvey was probably mulling it over. “What’s on your mind, Ma’am? I think I know you well enough to know that something’s bothering you.”

  Harvey hesitated for a moment. “You need to get a result on this one, Scott, and you need to get it fast,” she said firmly.