Cherringham--A Lesson in Murder (4 page)

“You been here long — Fliss? Mind if I call you Fliss?”

“Three years,
Mr.
Brennan.”

Right
, thought Jack.
So we’re all on first name terms here — unless you’re the hired detective from the village …

“You only work for Mr. Ward? Report just to him?”

She nodded briefly and then pointed down the path. Jack followed her gaze.

“Here’s the sports hall,” she said.

Jack looked at the steel and glass structure which loomed ahead of them in the now-steady rain. It looked as big as a aircraft hangar. Jack could see the name of the building etched into the brushed steel over the double doors in foot-high block letters:

“The Prince Said Building,” he read as they reached the doors. “Doesn’t sound like an old pupil.”

“One of our many benefactors,” said Fliss. “We’re so very grateful to them all.”

“I bet you are.”

He pulled open the door to let Fliss in and followed her into a broad carpeted lobby. He looked around. The place was empty.

A door opened and a young man in a dark blue overall walked in. Jack watched him approach. He looked to be no more than twenty, soft features, dark eyes, and matching dark hair, so long in front he had to keep sweeping it away from his eyes.

Jack smiled, but he ignored him, and went straight to Ms. Groves.

“I haven’t got time for this,” he said, frowning.

Ms. Groves didn’t blink: “Mr. Ward understands that, Tahir. But he insists you show Mr. Brennan here the pool.”

“I’m really busy, you know. This rain is mucking up the work on the field. It’s a mess, and—”

“I appreciate that,” Ms. Groves said.

“You know, I’m happy to look around on my own,” said Jack. “Just point me in the general direction.”

“That wouldn’t be appropriate,” said Fliss. “Tahir is the acting caretaker and
he
will show you the pool. Isn’t that right, Tahir?”

Jack watched her outstare the young man until after a few seconds he seemed to give up.

“All right,” he said with a sigh, and then turned, without once catching Jack’s eye, and headed back across the lobby to the door from which he’d entered.

“And when you’re done, please bring Mr. Brennan back to the main house,” Fliss said to the caretaker’s back. “Mr. Brennan?”

Jack acknowledged the instructions with a wave, took that as his cue to follow Tahir and headed after him. Tahir swung the door wide open and Jack caught it, then followed him into the sports hall.

No love lost between these two members of staff. Or who knows, maybe … Too much love lost?

Something there,
he thought.

*

Tahir opened the door to the changing rooms and Jack followed, looking around quickly as he went. The place looked meticulous — spotless white tiled floor, lockers all shut with keys in place, mirrors sparkling.

No sign of the horrors that had taken place just hours before.

“Looks pretty tidy,” he said. “Considering …”

“The boss got cleaners in straight away,” said Tahir over his shoulder.

Still no eye contact,
thought Jack.
What’s he hiding?

“The boss? Mr. Ward?”

“Him? No,” said Tahir. “Mr. Weiss.”

“I thought Mr. Ward was the headmaster …”

“He is,” said Tahir. “But Mr.
Weiss
is the Business Manager.”

“Oh right,” said Jack, still not understanding. “Guess a big ritzy school like this needs one of them. Haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Weiss yet.”

Tahir shrugged, and opened another door, and Jack followed him into the pool area.

Quite the pool.

He’d been expecting the kind of setup a high school might have back home. But this was way more impressive. It looked like a professional training pool: fifty metres in length with an elevated balcony lined with spectator seats. Banks of lights blazed.

“Wow,” he said. “Gotta be Olympic size, huh?”

Tahir shrugged. “Lot to keep clean and chlorinated is all I know.”

“Guess old Prince Said was a very grateful parent. Where are the light switches?”

“Just there,” said Tahir, pointing to a panel on the wall.

Jack walked over to them. He heard Tahir following behind.

“Wow. Lot of switches,” he said, looking at the panel. “Pretty complicated. I’m guessing it would take a few seconds to turn all these off?”

The caretaker nodded.

“But this morning I gather the lights went out—”

He clicked his fingers.

“Click. Like that. In an instant.”

Jack searched Tahir’s face for a tell. The guy was hiding something, he was sure. But was it this? Was he the rat man?

“So Tahir, hang on a second. I’m thinking whoever did this must have turned all the lights off in one go at some kind of main fuse box. Then slipped into the pool area with the rats and tipped them in.”

Jack watched Tahir frown.

“I’m guessing … that there must
be
a main fuse box?”

“Yeah, there is.”

He speaks …

“
Over there,” Tahir said after a few seconds, pointing towards a small door marked ‘Fire exit’ under the balcony at the far end of the pool.As they walked towards it, Jack could see in the corner a group of cleaners in white overalls spraying and mopping.

And now he noticed that the water level was very low.

“You emptying the pool?”

“Mr. Weiss wants everything steam-cleaned, hundred percent new water, no trace of …”

“Rat?”

Tahir nodded then opened the fire exit door and went through.

Jack followed into a brightly lit narrow concrete corridor. The door swung closed behind him. On each side, he could see big insulated pipes and conduits for cables, stretching away towards what looked like a store room at the end.

“These are the main fuse boxes for the whole building?”

Tahir nodded as he gestured to a rack of heavy electrical switches on a board on the wall.

“Still looks pretty complicated. I mean to get all the lights off fast.”

“Not when you know the layout.”

There we go …

“And you do?”

“Course. My job.”

“Who else knows?”

“Todd Robinson. Y’know, the electrician down in the village. But he only comes up to the school when there’s a problem.”“Okay — so which one of these turns off the lights in the pool?”

“Um … This one here.”

“And what about the lights here — in this corridor?”

Jack watched as Tahir peered at the panel.

“This one, I suppose.”

“You don’t know?”

“It’s never turned off.”

It must have been this morning,
thought Jack.
Or the light would have spilled into the pool when the rat man opened the door …

He would have been seen.

Jack nodded towards the end of the corridor.

“What happens down there?”

“Store room. Exit. That’s all.”

Maybe. Maybe not.

“Show me. Please.”

“Hey — is this going to take all day? Only I am busy — you know?”

“Sooner you show me — sooner we’re done.”

Jack watched him shake his head, then turn, and head down the corridor, muttering to himself.

Tahir was getting riled — which was exactly what Jack wanted.

He followed as the young man crossed the store room, then pushed at the bar of a fire escape door.

It swung back and they were suddenly out in the open in the driving rain. Jack could see deserted hockey pitches, and a distant line of hills which he knew looked down onto Cherringham village on the other side.

“Satisfied?” said Tahir.

Jack reached round to the door and pulled it almost closed. He didn’t see a handle on the outside.

Just an exit.

“So you can’t get into the pool through here?” he said.

“It’s a fire door. It’s
always
closed.”

Jack took a last look at the lock mechanism. No sign of tampering.

“Come on — we’ll get soaked out here,” he said.

And he ushered Tahir inside. They walked together as far as the store room.

Then Jack stopped.

“One more question. Where are the rats?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Someone got them out of the pool — no?”

“Guess who.”

“You did. So where are they?”

A small grin and Jack wondered whether Tahir had a snappy comeback he wanted to say. But instead:

“I put them in the incinerator.” A smarmy grin. “They’re all gone.”

“Terrific.”

“Mr. Weiss told me to.”

“Mr. Weiss again.”

Tahir finally looked directly at Jack. Jack smiled at him.

“So you’re telling me that everything’s been cleaned up and the only evidence has been destroyed. That right?”

“I suppose so. If you put it like that.”

Jack stared at the young man. He wiped his hair from his brow, face expressionless.

Something not right here,
he thought.

“That’s a big shame,” he said.

Tahir shrugged.

“Acting caretaker, huh?”

Tahir nodded.

“Where’s the real caretaker?”

“In hospital.”

“Really? What happened to him?”

“He was mowing the grass banks. The mower tipped and fell on him.”

“Badly hurt, huh?”

“Very. Lot of blood.”

“So you took over?”

“You are a detective, aren’t you?” Then: “Yes.”

Jack knew he was definitely hitting Tahir’s buttons.

“Don’t get me wrong, Tahir — but aren’t you a little young for the job?”

“The caretaker is my father,” said Tahir.

Jack paused.

“Ah,” said Jack. “I’m sorry about the accident.”

“Not your fault. I don’t need you to be sorry.”

“Let me guess — this Mr. Weiss, he asked you to take over, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds pretty decent of him. So, why all the anger?”

“I’m
not
angry.”

“Come on Tahir. You’re pissed at something more than having to give me this tour. I’ve been doing this job a long time. I can tell.”

Jack could see his words were having just the effect he wanted.

“So who are you pissed at, Tahir? The school? Mr. Weiss? Your dad? You pissed enough to throw a sack of rats in here? Scare the shit out of all the little rich kids?”

Tahir clenched his fists, all buttons firmly pushed.

For a moment Jack thought that the acting caretaker was about to take the very un-wise step of throwing a punch.

“No!”

“Oh really? Because the way I see it, there’s only one suspect so far. And that’s you.”

“That’s not true!”

“You had the access. You know the building. You know exactly where the switches are. You showed me!”

“I didn’t do it!”

“If you didn’t — then you certainly helped the person who did.”

Jack stared at him. The guy was breathing heavily, his fists still clenched by his sides.

Outrage — or guilt?

“I think you’re involved in this, Tahir. And I intend to find out how. When you’re ready to talk, come and find me.”

Jack turned and headed back down the corridor to the pool.

He didn’t look round. He didn’t need to. He knew the young caretaker was watching him.

And he knew that in spite of his bluff he had precisely nothing on the kid.

Sarah pushed through the double doors that led into Florence House and stood for a moment in the tiled hall, expecting a hubbub of activity.

But the place seemed empty. Deathly quiet.

Of course. Saturday afternoon. Freedom. Nobody hung around their rooms on a Saturday.

She looked around. Ahead of her stretched a long corridor, lined with doors.

Those must be the dorms,
she thought. A bare stone staircase rose up three or four flights — more bedrooms, she guessed.

At one side of the tiled hall she saw a door marked ‘Office’. She went to it, knocked, and waited.

Tried the handle — it was locked.

Turning, she saw another door opposite, marked ‘House Mistress’.

So this is where the mysterious Emily Braithwaite lives,
she thought.

She tapped on the door. No answer.

Nothing ventured …

Checking nobody was watching, she tried the handle. The door was also locked.

Next to the door was a plan of the building, giving the layout of the rooms. Sarah ran her finger over it looking for the Sixth Form bedrooms.

Top floor.

She climbed the steps, her paces echoing.

At the very top of the building, the stone floor was replaced by warm carpet. Sarah walked down the corridor, past a kitchen, and a large airy common room with a wide-screen TV and lots of sofas.

Certainly seemed welcoming and cosy enough.

Past more rooms, individual bedrooms all with numbers and girls’ names in pretty stencils on the doors.

And at the very end of the corridor, she came to a door with a piece of art paper pinned to it. On the top of the paper was written ‘Beauty and the Beasts’. Beneath it Sarah saw a cartoon drawing: a girl in a swimsuit with a sash marked ‘Princess Sophie’ running in terror from a pack of snarling rats.

So this must be Sophie White’s room.

And someone’s not a big fan,
thought Sarah.

She knocked gently.

The door opened slightly and a face appeared at the gap: “Yes?”

“Sophie?” said Sarah. “I’m Sarah Edwards. I’m investigating what happened this morning.”

The door opened a bit wider and Sarah could now see the young woman wearing a big floppy cashmere jumper with leggings, and fluffy slippers.

She shook her head. “I’m Hannah.”

“Oh, sorry—”

“Sophie’s roommate. Come in. She’s just on the phone.”

As Sarah stepped in, Hannah saw the cartoon. Without saying a word, she ripped it from the door, crumpled it up, and stuffed it in the pocket of her jumper.

Sarah entered the room and looked around. Another girl in a dressing gown sat on a small sofa, face turned away, talking quietly but intently into her mobile phone.