Cherringham--A Lesson in Murder (8 page)

But not just ordinary letters,
thought Sarah.

The last bundle was the most recent, bearing a postmark just a month ago. Sarah untied the braid and carefully laid out the contents on the desk top. She looked at the photo. The same pose as the others. Perhaps even the same location? This girl had frizzy blonde hair and a nose stud.

She looked at the envelopes. Some were marked US Mail. She opened the top one in the batch and started reading.

Dear, dear Emily …

This is so unfair. Why haven’t you written? You know I’m going crazy here. Please — you must write me!!

Sarah heard the bang of a door shutting. It was the door to Florence House. She stopped reading and waited, holding her breath, listening.

Now the sound of a key in the lock.

Damn, somebody’s coming in.

She grabbed the bundle of letters and shut the desk, then went over to the light switch, turned it off, and stood behind the half-open bedroom door in the darkness.

She heard the door open, and shut.

Then the sound of someone walking down the corridor and into the main sitting room.

What am I doing here?
Sarah thought.
What an idiot! If it’s a member of staff — or even the police, I’m in big trouble …

Whoever was in the flat now walked back down the corridor. Sarah pressed flat against the wall as the intruder came in.

Sarah watched the figure walk over towards the bed and turn the bedside light on, then turn —

In an instant, Sarah knew who it was.

“Freya DeLong,” she said as the girl saw her and flung her hand to her mouth to suppress a scream of shock.

“What? Who the hell are you?” said Freya.

Sarah had to admire the girl’s speed of recovery. Her own heart was still racing.

“I’m the person who’s got the letters,” she said, slowly holding them up. “Your letters. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

Sarah watched the girl take out a mobile.

“You’re a thief,” said Freya. “And
I’m
going to call the police.”

What is it they teach these girls,
thought Sarah.
How can they be so cool?

“I really wouldn’t do that, Freya.”

“You know my name. How do you know my name? We’ve never met.”

Sarah watched her put her phone to her ear, about to speak, about to summon the police …

“I’ve seen your photo, Freya. With Ms. Braithwaite. And I’ve seen your work too — on Sophie White’s door. And I know what’s in these letters. Your feelings, then … your threats.”

Sarah stared at the girl, silently willing her to put the phone away, not wanting to show weakness now, this moment too important.

Freya snapped her phone back into its holder. “Well?” she said, her voice a challenge.

“I think we ought to talk — don’t you?” said Sarah.

“Talk? What about?”

“About Emily. And you. And what’s been going on in the school this last month.”

Sarah watched Freya’s shoulders slump.

“All right,” she said. “But not in here.”

She walked out of the bedroom and Sarah followed her.

Sarah sat at Emily Braithwaite’s kitchen table facing Freya DeLong. The girl was almost impossible to read. When Sarah had told her — as gently as she could — about Emily’s death she’d hardly reacted.

Just shrugged.

Such a tough shell these kids develop,
thought Sarah.

Or is it just the icy student?

So Sarah had asked her about her friendship with her House Mistress.

Freya had given her a matter of fact account of the relationship.

Right from the beginning of her first year in Sixth Form, Freya had said, Emily had given her extra tuition, helped her with her university applications, given her personal advice. Yes, they’d been close friends, closer perhaps than was usual between a pupil and a teacher. But so what?

Freya had shared a lot of personal ‘stuff’ with her — and that was why she wanted her letters back. What was the big deal?

“So, what went wrong, Freya?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Why did it end — this special friendship? What happened?”

Sarah watched Freya as she sat motionless, her face showing no feelings.

“I don’t know.”

“But it did end — yes?”

Freya shrugged.

“When was that exactly?”

“God! Do we have to talk about this?”

“I’m afraid we do.”

“All right. End of the summer term she started to get distant. Then when I went back home to the States in the summer she didn’t write. And this term — she just blanked me.”

“Talked to Sophie White instead.”

“Ugh, you’ve been talking to that goodie-two-shoes have you? God, poor you, having little miss honeypie chucking up platitudes—”

“You don’t like her?”

“She makes me vomit. Next question.”

“Did you put the rats in the pool?”

Sarah watched the girl carefully.

“No way!”

Sarah knew she had to keep pressing.

“The thing is, Freya, you’ve definitely got a motive — and as far as I can see you’re the only person who has.”

“You are so wrong.”

“What about the other things — the slashed tyres, the food. Was that you?”

“You know what? This is just crazy.
You’re
crazy. I don’t have to listen to this. I don’t have to put up with the likes of you.”

Freya pushed her chair back and got up. Sarah sat and watched her.

“Why are you so angry, Freya?”

“I am not angry! You do not tell me I am angry!”

And with that she roughly pushed the table back and ran from the room.

Sarah watched her go, then heard the door slam.

Jack’s right,
she thought.
Sometimes if you push the right buttons people give you what you need.

She took out her phone and texted him.

Things were beginning to fall into place at last.

*

“So you think it’s all a tale of jealousy?” said Jack, winding down the window of the Sprite to let some cool air in and clear the mist.

“Freya was lying, I’m sure of it,” said Sarah. “Too cool for school — you know that expression? And yet, she got dumped, even with her rich father.”“You really think she’s the one behind it all?”

“There’s certainly a motive,” said Sarah. “Emily breaks Freya’s heart by making Sophie her new favourite — she goes straight into retaliation mode against the school.”

Jack looked through the windscreen as the rain swept in dismal waves across the gravel of the visitors’ car park. A stream of hockey players and spectators were making their soggy way from the fields back to the school and the coaches.

He watched them hunched against the weather.

“Okay. I can buy the fire alarm maybe. Even the potato surprise. But rats …” said Jack. “You really see the kid killing the lights and throwing rats in the pool? I mean, how’d she get the rats?”

“Maybe she had help?”

“The other girls in her set? Possible. Still … that likely?”

He looked at Sarah in the seat of the Sprite next to him: she shrugged a ‘don’t know’.

“Okay, switch tack. How does Emily’s suicide fit into all this? You think somehow the split with Freya was enough to push her over the edge?”

“Not sure ‘split’ is the right word,” said Sarah. “Sounds like Emily ended it. Ready for her next victim. These kind of relationships, they’re deep, but not like two lovers …”

“I dunno. Maybe there’s no connection at all,” said Jack. “Could have been other issues in Emily’s life. Other reasons to commit suicide.”

“Such as? You should see her place. Looks like she enjoyed her life quite a lot.”

“One of the few things I got out of Weiss was that Emily went to London yesterday for a medical appointment.”

“You think she got bad news — really bad news, and …?”

“Yeah. It’s possible.”

“What about the tyres though — why did Weiss and Gavin lie about that?”

“Weiss says the other cars were repaired by the main dealer in Oxford. Of course, he didn’t tell me who that was. Only Emily needed her car urgently. Wasn’t much I could say to that.”

“We can check with the dealer,” said Sarah.

“We’ll need to track him down,” said Jack.

He stared out of the window. A group of older girls in hats and coats stood under a tree, sheltering from the rain. As Jack watched, a familiar figure broke away from the huddle, jumped on a bicycle and pedalled away up the drive.

Tahir.

He nudged Sarah, motioned her to watch.

“That allowed?” said Jack. “Guy his age chatting up the girls?”

“I doubt it.”

“You think he lives here on campus?”

“I saw a small house on the way in marked Caretaker. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking … maybe you’re right. If Freya’s the bad guy — she’d need help from a pal who knew the layout of the pool.”

“Tahir?”

“He’s certainly no stranger to the girls.”

“So what now?”“Why don’t you see what impact Emily’s death has on with Sophie? She may open up about how these ‘relationships’ work …”

“Right. While you have another go at Tahir?”

Jack grinned. “Yup. Looking forward to it. He was all-evasion yesterday. Today — we’ll see about that.”

Jack looked at the rain, unrelenting.

“Meet you back here when done.”

“Great. And now,” Sarah turned and looked out the window, “a mad dash.”

And she popped open the door to the Sprite and raced back across the gravel to the doors of Florence House.

While Jack started the Sprite; his destination … the Caretaker’s cottage.

Where Tahir was about to be surprised.

Sarah knocked at the door to Sophie and Hannah’s room. No taunting picture was stuck on the door today.

It took a few minutes before the door was opened by a sleepy-eyed Hannah.

“Huh?” she said.

“Sorry, Hannah. I was hoping to talk to Sophie again.”

“Um. She’s at the library. Some project …”

Hannah drifted away from the door, leaving it open.

“Oh. I wanted to tell her what happened to Ms. Braithwaite.”

And suddenly the sleepy Hannah stopped, and turned around.“What? What happened?”

Hannah — wide awake now.

“Last night, it seems …”

Sarah wondered whether she should even be telling the young girl the dark news.

“Ms. Braithwaite jumped in front of a train.”

Hannah’s eyes went wide, lips tight. For a moment she didn’t say anything. Then:

“God.” She shook her head.

“I felt Sophie should know … since she was looking after the Minnows for her, and—”

And then Hannah took a step forward.

“Do they … do you know that it was suicide?”

“It looks like it. Jumped in front of an oncoming train.”

Then, with an edge to her voice. “Are you sure?”

Sarah decided to take a chance.

“Hannah, do you know something about all this? Do you think what happened to Ms. Braithwaite … could it involve Sophie?”

Hannah seemed frozen, unsure whether to say nothing … or maybe say … everything.

“If you know something, Hannah — if you are Sophie’s friend — you should tell me.”

Then a slow nod. Hannah accepting the logic of it. The girl went to the door and closed it.

“I — I don’t know if I should tell you. But all of this, I don’t really know what it means. Can you understand? And Sophie won’t either. But I’m scared for her.”

The girl sat down on her bed. Sarah pulled a desk chair close, facing her.

“Maybe if you tell me what you do know … it can help.”

Hannah looked at Sarah. Took a breath.

“Things got bad … scary. Each thing that happened, was worse than the one before.”

Sarah not at all sure what Hannah meant.

“And now, this thing about the train, Ms. Braithwaite? It all … makes sense …”

And Sarah waited to hear just what that ‘sense’ could be.

*

“Rise and shine,” Jack said, just opening the door to the ramshackle caretaker’s cottage.

Not much to look at outside, and inside it looked as though Tahir was simply letting food, dishes, clothes … build up into piles.

Jack shut the door behind him.

A few steps into an equally dingy bedroom.

Tahir coming out of the shower, a towel wrapped around him.

“Bloody hell,
you
again. What the—”

“Hang on, Tahir. Felt we didn’t exactly have closure yesterday. Things … not exactly adding up?”

“This is my place and it’s my day off, so if you don’t mind just get your yank ‘ass’ out of it!”

Oh,
Jack thought,
I could have some fun with Tahir.

Back in the day he never let any punk talk to him like that. Sometimes they needed a little … reminder to respect the NYPD shield.

But here, Jack was just an independent citizen.

Not even one from this country.

“Got something you might want to know, Tahir. Thought it might inspire you to tell me more. About your life here. What you know. What you don’t.”

That tease made Tahir hold his tongue.

Then: “What is it? What do you think I want to know?”

“Why not get dressed and we’ll talk out in your, um, living room. It’s something — trust me — that you’ll want to hear …”

And Jack walked out to the small living room and removed an empty pizza box from a tattered easy chair while he waited for Tahir …

… who not only had been given time to dress …but also — more importantly — time to think … time to worry.

*

“Hannah — if you know something about any of this … maybe now you should tell me.”

The girl seemed tortured by the decision.

But then, in a move that made Sarah think of her own Chloe when they had their big talk last night about important things, Hannah took a big breath … and just blurted it out.

“Sophie was Ms. Braithwaite’s new special girl.”

“Special. In what way, special?” said Sarah gently, already knowing the answer.

Hannah shook her head, looked away for a moment, and then turned back to Sarah.