Pix (Volume Book 24) (Harpur & Iles Mysteries) (19 page)

Shale did not like the way the headmistress suggested it would be better not to use the phone for what she had to say, but could he come to see her? This made it sound like she believed Manse was the kind who would have a police tap on his line. He found it a damn slur, coming from a teacher. There might be smirks and winks in the staff room if someone mentioned his name, like for Al Capone or Tony Soprano or Frank Sinatra. How could that school head know anything about the commercial scene that Manse glittered in and collected in?

But he did not argue with her. Perhaps she'd get difficult about letting the children stay on at Bracken Collegiate if he turned roughish. And, of course, cleverest not to chatter too much because there
could
be a police tap on his line. Why did Iles and Harpur turn up at the rectory like that otherwise, staring at the redecoration? Fucking telepathy? But Manse did not want some snobby, interfering headmistress from the private sector to behave like there would obviously be a police tap on his line, even if there was. This he considered a smear and very hurtful in view of the fees he had to pay.

And then women as women – another aspect that confused him. Always Manse had tried to treat them decent. He truly believed you should do what you could to give equality and some gentleness. Often this would cost you nothing. He definitely considered quite a few women deserved proper regard. There was many a type of woman. But think of the one who arrived so unexpected at Ralphy Ember's place with the picture of that nearly decapitated lad who Manse naturally recognized right off
from his staircase. He could not tell her this, could he? Didn't that whole incident have to stay secret?

It seemed hard, though, to say he didn't know nothing about him and let her go on searching and hoping, taking holiday time from work. She obviously loved that lad or she wouldn't be so sorrowful and keen to find him. But then, look at it different. Would it of been kindness to answer, ‘Oh, yes, as a matter of fact I seen this one not long ago with his throat cut in my place, the day the pictures went from the walls?' All right, Manse could agree it might of been done more gradual and tender than this, but at the end it came out the same, didn't it? If he had said to Meryl Goss, like slowing it down and softening it: ‘Ah, yes, I believe he
does
remind me of somebody I saw not so long ago, as a matter of fact,' she would grow excited and ask, ‘Oh, are you sure? Please say you're sure.' His reply: ‘Yes, pretty sure.' Goss: ‘But where? Was he all right, Mr Shale?'

Then he could not dodge no further and must reply: ‘In the rectory. On my staircase, first floor.' She would cry out in amazement, maybe with a little puzzled laugh, ‘On your rectory staircase?' Ralphy and Margaret and Sybil would also probably of cried out the same, ‘On your rectory staircase, Mansel?' By then they'd have the idea that something must of been wrong with him, to be on a staircase – not moving on a staircase, up or down, just
on
. And this would mean Meryl Goss felt prepared a bit better for what had to come next. She might ask again, ‘Did he seem all right?' Manse would have to say, ‘I regret I got to tell you, Meryl, no.' ‘Oh!' Margaret would say, or Sybil, or both. Goss might sense things and ask, ‘Dead?' And perhaps Margaret or Sybil or both would whisper sadly, ‘Oh, don't say that, please don't say that,' but knowing it must be right.

Ralphy might ask, ‘Dead how?' because he was one for details and into tactics and action replays. Manse would still hold back and say, ‘Dead.' ‘But how?' Ralph would say, keeping on and being dogged. ‘Dead,' Manse might reply again. Eventually, though, she would of had to be told, ‘I'm afraid with his throat cut causing bad stains to
the stair carpet and wallpaper, though please don't feel guilty about that, in the awful circumstances, Meryl.' Even if he could spin it out like this, as far as eventually, she would still get a rotten shock. He could not decide now whether it was more tender or less tender to say the way he did say at Low Pastures after dinner that he never seen the lad in the picture before, and shaking his head to pile on the no-ness of the ‘No.' This was the kind of thing he meant by confusion. This was why if he went to a psychiatrist he would want her to keep all of it very tight under her bonnet.

For instance, he would not like the psychiatrist to visit some chum for what would be called ‘a second opinion', about whether Manse must try to find Meryl Goss and admit he lied, and now frankly inform her of the staircase. They done a lot of that, medics and psychiatrists – getting second opinions. It was their way of making work for one another. But this was how dangerous facts got around uncontrolled. When two people knew something it could be a trillion times more than one knowing it. Cummerbund Spilsby gave him this guidance very early on Manse's career path. Naturally, that unusual word ‘trillion' stuck in Shale's memory. This could be why Cummerbund picked it. He had a lot of wisdom and a lot of experience, in jail and out.

It was about Matilda. Shale didn't discover more than this from the headmistress on the telephone because of her buttoned lip. Extra confusion? He had certainly worried about Matilda lately. She did not seem the same after she said at breakfast it was blood under the sauce on the stairs. Some kids would most probably be all right in a while if they discovered blood under sauce on the stairs. Laurent seemed all right. Matilda, no. This blood under the sauce really registered with her. Maybe it was just a boy-girl thing, boys being able to think, if life had to be like that it had to be like that, such as that Golden Oldies number, ‘Che Sara Sara', meaning what will be will be, though women sang that as well as men.

Shale went out to the school. He did not speak to Sybil
about the call, not at this juncture. It would take her time to get used to being a mother again, and he must not shove a crisis on to Syb yet. She might rebunk to Ivor in Wales if pressures started. Women sometimes seemed weak. That's why they needed plenty of care and politeness and should only be told items simple to handle, such as social matters and holiday ideas. Syb was a mixture. She could be a fighter, but, also, there would come days when she didn't want to bother.

Manse wondered whether Ember schemed it for that woman, Goss, to come to Low Pastures as a way of getting at him, like setting up a great dinner and good feeling and politeness, then suddenly smash it for the sake of giving a shock. But Ralphy could not of known about her, could he, nor about the man on the stairs and his photograph? Could he? Ember picked up all sorts of information somehow, mostly from the club. And it was the kind of ploy the sod might pull. That sudden invitation to Low Pastures – perhaps Ralph only offered it to bring Manse up there and get him troubled. Why, though? Manse failed to sort it out, but Ember had all sorts of smart tricks to get his firm ahead. He was not just them fucking wool letters he wrote to the papers about topics, nor he wasn't just the mad jerk who thought he'd make that tip, the Monty, clean and blessed and chic any century now. No human being could be made up of only them sides of him or he would be just a laugh. Ralphy knew how to push people under and hold them under, especially people you would of thought was his friends, such as Manse.

He regretted now putting his status suit on and spending so much time choosing the mauve shirt. Ember obviously did not respect that kind of effort at all. Manse felt slighted, or what the young called ‘dissed' – that is, given disrespect. He considered he might of taken such care with his garments just to step into a trap. This hurt. Respect had become important lately. A political party called itself that, and the government also thought more people should get respect and more people should show it. Shale felt he deserved some, and not only because of the
suit and shirt, which could be regarded as nothing more than surface, obviously.

‘Stressed, Mr Shale,' the head teacher said. ‘Yes, we feel Matilda has been unusually stressed of late.'

‘Children have their own private anxieties which might seem slight to me and you, but to them they are really real,' Shale said. He had practised a bit of a purr for talking to this headmistress of a very pricey school. You never knew what kind of gossip about him someone like this had picked up, so he wanted to make sure he sounded the refined and thoughtful sort, not some fucking rough hick trying to bulldoze everyone.

‘And I thought it only right to discuss matters with you, Mr Shale, in case there are factors in Matilda's life we should, perhaps, know about, and possibly could help deal with. May I ask, have you, yourself, or your . . . or anyone adult in your household . . . noticed unusual tension in your daughter recently?'

‘My wife, you mean?' He felt a real victory with that. Clearly, she didn't know Syb had returned. Of course, she would of heard on the rumour circuit that Syb went, and maybe about Lowri or Carmel or Patricia, and this was why she stopped herself saying ‘wife', and picked instead that bit about adults in his household, meaning women. There might have been gossip, although he had made damn sure that none of them, not Carmel nor Lowri nor Patricia, ever went near the school to his knowledge. He would definitely not take one of them to a parents' meeting.

‘Well, yes, your wife,' she said.

‘Tension?' Manse replied.

‘As if abstracted.'

‘Abstracted?'

‘Her mind elsewhere.'

‘I –'

‘Why I asked whether there might be factors, special, new factors, affecting her. Family? Domestic? Health? Anything.'

‘Matilda's always been a sensitive one,' Shale said. ‘I remember when she was only a baby that –'

‘When I say “special”, in part I mean special to Matilda. Her brother seems quite as ever.'

‘Chalk and cheese. It's what I had in mind about sensitive,' Shale said. ‘Perhaps it's girls. So, I didn't mention to anyone that I was coming here today. I thought Matilda might grow anxious – on account of being sensitive if she heard.'

‘She's wholly unwilling to discuss some matters.'

Well, I should fucking hope so – or just ladle out lies
. But what Shale said was: ‘Like I mentioned, they have their private anxieties. Youngsters will seem relaxed and carefree and noisy as a zoo, but underneath they –'

‘We keep a very careful check on children who take lunch on the school premises,' she replied.

‘Wise.'

‘We don't allow them to wander off, especially the girls – girls of their age.'

So, what the hell was this to do with?
‘I'd agree with that, oh, definite in this country as it is now.'

‘The other day Matilda disappeared throughout.'

‘Throughout?'

‘She ate no meal here and could not be found. Her brother said he didn't know where she was.'

You let her fucking slope off somewhere alone for ninety minutes, you idle, casual, money-grubbing, slack cow?
However, Manse reshaped this thought: ‘A few days ago? Disappeared? Let me just send my mind back a bit.' He did a pause, then smiled, but not an easy smile, a smile that had built-in apology. ‘Ah, I think her mother might of picked Matilda up for some shopping. They had lunch in a café, I expect. Yes, I do remember now, they mentioned that. Matilda must of forgotten to notify the school in advance. Wrong of her. I'll definitely have a word with Matilda re that kind of thing in future.' Another slice of guidance from Cummerbund Spilsby was, if a conversation looked dangerous and you couldn't tell which way it would go, shut it down, like rats would not go around the
S bend in drains, Cummerbund said, because they could not see ahead. Although such a conversation might turn out harmless or even helpful, don't risk it, stick the stopper on earliest.

‘As a matter of fact, she did come back in a car with a woman driver,' the head said.

She fucking what?
‘Yes, that would be it, I expect. My wife, Sybil.'

‘We were concerned not just about Matilda's absence, but also whether she'd had something to eat. On that matter she consented to talk and assured us she ate a proper lunch, with pudding and ginger beer. But we could not discover where she went.'

‘It was good of you to worry, but Sybil would be extremely particular about nourishment for her.'

‘A teacher had gone out looking in case Matilda was outside school grounds but in the neighbourhood and saw her put down some distance away, apparently so the car wouldn't be spotted. Matilda walked from there.'

‘And was back in time for afternoon lessons. That's a relief!'
So, what fucking car and who fucking drove?
‘You know how children can be. They don't like their friends to see parents fussing over them.'

‘Because of our anxiety, the teacher noted the car's registration number. A silver Astra. We haven't done anything about it. I thought I'd speak to you first and get your opinion.' The headmistress passed Shale a piece of paper.

‘Ah, Sybil's. Yes,' he said, glancing at it and nodding. ‘But I'm sorry we've give you so much trouble.'

‘At least it's good to solve that mystery,' she said.

Shale did not like the ‘at least'. He could tell it meant there would be more poking about and curiosity, but he shifted in his chair as if to leave now the lunch-break problem was settled. But would she of asked him to see her just for that?

‘We come back to Matilda's general state,' the head said. ‘The signs of strain.'

‘I don't think I've noticed any, I got to say,' Shale replied.
‘High spirits, oh, yes, but that's natural to a growing girl, don't you think, even a good thing?'

‘And your wife?'

And my wife?
What did a question like that mean? The headmistress had adapted very quick, hadn't she? She spoke this word now just like it was natural. ‘My wife?' he said.