Murder In School (Detective Inspector Skelgill Investigates Book 2), page 12
‘I’d have thought she eats them rare, Guv.’
‘You’re thinking of her subordinates.’
‘Ha-ha, Guv.’
‘I’m not joking.’
‘So we’re to keep looking?’
‘Continue fishing in the dark.’
‘At least that’s your forte, Guv.’
This apparent compliment could be metaphorical, literal or indeed an attempt at wry humour, but before Skelgill can fashion a response DS Leyton pulls open the passenger door.
‘Look – here’s Leyton – I need to go – keep me posted.’
*
‘You already had one, Guv?’ Leyton indicates the brown paper bag screwed up on the dashboard of Skelgill’s car.
‘Just a provisional, Leyton – didn’t know how long you’d keep me waiting.’
DS Leyton protests. ‘Like clockwork, me, Guv – I’m as keen on a bacon roll as you are.’
Skelgill looks across with an ironic expression as DS Leyton pats his ample stomach.
‘I dunno where you put ‘em, Guv.’ DS Leyton sounds a little defensive. ‘My missus reckons you must have a tapeworm.’
‘It’s called an appetite, Leyton – comes from the uneven terrain by which we’re surrounded, in case you hadn’t noticed.’ Skelgill gestures with his roll in a circular motion. ‘Not that there’s a lot to be seen right now.’
‘That suits me, Guv – stick to the level, that’s my motto.’
Skelgill nods pensively whilst chewing. After a moment he says, ‘Yeah – I hadn’t realised how flat London is until just the other day.’
‘Home sweet home. The good old Smoke. How did you get on down there, anyway, Guv?’
Skelgill takes another bite of his roll, perhaps to buy a little time in composing his response. ‘Let’s just say it looks like Goodman might be up to something.’
‘In what way, Guv?’
‘Trading places at the school for more than the market rate.’
DS Leyton frowns in a perplexed manner. ‘Is that illegal?’
Skelgill shrugs. ‘Probably not. It’s a private school.’
‘Unless he’s taking backhanders, Guv?’
Skelgill taps the plastic lid of his disposable tea cup. ‘That could be tough to prove.’
DS Leyton nods, and for a while both detectives alternately munch and slurp their way through their takeaways.
After a while, DS Leyton pipes up, ‘That cricket pavilion, Guv – that was paid for by a parent.’
Skelgill nods. ‘Maybe he just liked cricket. Or was so impressed with the school.’
‘Be nice to have that kind of bangers and mash to spare, eh Guv?’
‘These people operate in a different world from us, Leyton. You should see the buildings in...’
Skelgill stops himself mid-sentence, presumably realising his next word would be Singapore.
DS Leyton looks a little bewildered, until he concludes his superior has finished speaking. Tentatively, he offers, ‘Still, Guv – it could be the connection we’re looking for – I mean, what if old Querrell was on to him? That Jacobson reckoned he was none-too-keen on Goodman’s policies.’
‘But Querrell committed suicide, Leyton.’
‘Maybe Goodman had something on him in return – threatened to expose him if he came clean about he was up to? Enough to push him over the edge.’
Skelgill flicks a sideways glance at DS Leyton. Then he shakes his head and says, ‘Where’s the crime in that?’
DS Leyton looks a little exasperated. ‘But, Guv – two suicides in a week – the second one in Querrell’s cottage. There’s something not right here – we both know that. It’s beyond the normal.’
‘The school isn’t a normal place, Leyton.’
‘I see that, Guv – but, look, take Hodgson. While you were down south I occupied myself with digging into his background – seeing as with Querrell we’ve hit a dead end. Turns out he was more than a nasty piece of work around the town.’
‘In what way?’
‘Remember I said he’d been sacked from his last job as a gamekeeper for intimidating some walkers with a loaded twelve-bore?’
‘Aha.’
‘Well, that wasn’t the full picture.’
‘So?’
‘It was just the excuse his employer needed to get shot of him – no pun intended, Guv.’
‘No, Leyton.’
‘So I called round at the estate office, across in the Eden valley – talked to the factor. There’d been a catalogue of problems.’
‘Such as?’
‘Nothing they could pin on him for certain, but for instance they were losing a lot of game. A flock of ornamental Canadian geese were shot. They discovered some illegal pole traps set in the woods. Then there was a roe deer found dead in a snare. They suspected it was Hodgson, on a killing spree – flogging the meat on the black market.’
‘Did they confront him with the evidence?’
‘Yeah, Guv – but he just insisted it was poachers and went on the warpath. Apparently he came across a van parked in a gateway on the estate and slashed its tyres. Turns out it just belonged to a land agent who was doing some surveying.’
‘You’d think they would have got rid of him at the time.’
‘He denied it – though it wasn’t all that long before the confrontation with the walkers, so by then the estate had had enough.’
‘The school evidently didn’t check his references too thoroughly, eh Leyton?’ Skelgill squints thoughtfully out through the windscreen. A small queue has formed at the burger van and Skelgill seems to be scrutinising it for suspects.
‘Maybe he spun ‘em a different yarn, Guv. Appears he wasn’t averse to the odd bit of fraud. The estate suspected him of embezzling from the petty cash – he had responsibility for buying the shooting supplies and the feedstuffs for rearing pheasants. And the factor said he’d heard talk that Hodgson short-changed the beaters – though with that being all cash-in-hand he came over a bit vague when I pushed him.’
Skelgill nods pensively. ‘Sounds like Hodgson’s financial crisis was nothing new.’
‘What if he’d gone to Querrell’s cottage to see if there was a secret stash, Guv – like as a last resort? I mean – the old boy – what did he spend his money on? Nothing that I could see – not even a telly, Guv.’
‘His salary would have been paid into a bank account – we can get that checked out.’
‘Maybe we should have looked under his mattress while we were there, Guv.’
Skelgill raises an eyebrow. ‘I rather got the feeling we wouldn’t have been the first, Leyton.’
‘Snyder – you mean, Guv?’
Skelgill shrugs. ‘Hodgson himself – when he was sent to look for Querrell. After that – who knows? It was the best part of a week between Querrell going missing and us turning up.’
‘Still might be worth a proper search, don’t you think, Guv?’
‘Too late.’ Skelgill’s tone is decidedly fatalistic.
DS Leyton looks perplexed, as if how could Skelgill be so certain. But he shrugs resignedly and says, ‘Well, I can’t help thinking there’s some connection, Guv.’
Skelgill cranes his neck and gazes wistfully up in the direction of where Skiddaw’s summit ought to be. ‘You ever tried to do a cryptic crossword, Leyton?’
‘Blimey, Guv – I wouldn’t know one if it came up and bit me.’
‘Thing is – try too hard to look for a connection and you get stuck in a rut. If you misinterpret the clue in the first place, you can never reach the solution. You know the old Lakes joke where the shepherd tells the tourist you can’t get there from here.’
‘I had no idea you were a crossword guru, Guv’
Skelgill frowns philosophically. ‘I’m not. Jones can do them. She was showing me, on the train coming up from London last week. She correctly came up with the name of a rare fish she’d never heard of.’
‘You had me worried there for a minute, Guv. I thought crosswords were a bit anoraky for the likes of you.’
Skelgill’s body language hints that he might disagree with this statement. ‘There’s a lesson, though, Leyton. About letting the clue unwind before you start pressing too hard.’
DS Leyton doesn’t appear convinced. He says, with a note of irony, ‘Have you tried this theory out on the Chief, Guv?’
‘Ha-ha, Leyton. But I’ll tell you something that’ll make you smile. When Jones had explained the method to me – she had this Daily Telegraph or something – then she fell asleep. I noticed there was an old lady in our carriage doing the same crossword. When she got off at her stop she left the newspaper, so I copied her answers and Jones thinks I finished the crossword.’
21. DR SNYDER
‘Dr Snyder, thanks for making time to see us again. You’ll appreciate we have to be meticulous about this investigation given there was a firearm involved.’
Dr Snyder nods somewhat reluctantly. ‘Inspector, I believed I had provided all the required information to your Sergeant.’
Skelgill casts about the academic’s study, as if there is plenty yet that he would like to know. There are few clues to be had, however, in the starkly furnished apartment. Apart from a precise geometric array of certificates testifying to Dr Snyder’s qualifications, and – rather ominously – hung horizontally, an old-fashioned varnished cane curving above an oak mantelpiece, much of the remaining wall space is given over to ranks of unprepossessing grey filing cabinets marked with neatly typed labels too small to read at a distance.
Skelgill returns his gaze to the Deputy Headmaster. ‘Since you spoke with DS Leyton, has any alternative idea occurred to you as to how Mr Hodgson got hold of the shotgun?’
‘Unless he had a spare key, Inspector, I can only imagine he took advantage of my absence from my study and temporarily removed mine.’
‘How would he have come by a spare key?’
‘Well, of course, he was already employed here when I arrived – my predecessor supervised the important keys. I have no means of knowing how strict his regime was. For instance he may have put them in Hodgson’s possession long enough for a copy to be made. It would take forty minutes to drive into Keswick and back. Given his gamekeeping background, ostensibly he was a person to be trusted with guns.’
‘But you didn’t see it that way, sir?’
‘I wasn’t prejudiced against the man, Inspector. But risk assessment is part of my responsibility – limiting access to certain keys seems a sensible precaution to take.’
Skelgill folds his arms and stares evenly at Dr Snyder. ‘But not quite a sufficient precaution as it’s turned out, sir.’
Dr Snyder appears piqued. ‘I rather suspect, Inspector, that had the shotgun not been available, Hodgson would have found some other equally effective method to solve his problems.’
Skelgill now responds as if through gritted teeth. ‘Well let’s just say, sir – if I may use the word lucky in relation to this unfortunate event – we were all lucky that Mr Hodgson didn’t decide first to take out his problems on the school population.’
He allows the import of this statement to reverberate about the room. Dr Snyder has no answer and, if it is possible, his cadaverous demeanour seems to take on a more haunted expression. He makes as if to speak but his mouth is dry and he reaches with his long hands to pour water from a decanter on his desk.
‘You can see, sir, why our colleagues can be a bit jumpy when we know there are firearms around.’
Dr Snyder swallows rather uncomfortably. ‘Yes, Inspector.’
‘Was Mr Querrell involved with the shooting club?’
‘No, he was a conscientious objector – wouldn’t have anything to do with guns.’
‘How did he get on with Mr Hodgson?’
‘I believe they kept their distance from one another – although I imagine they crossed swords on occasion.’ Dr Snyder seems to have regained his composure. ‘Querrell would have required pitches prepared for his first form teams – and some of his outdoor activities took place in the school grounds. A case of obstinacy meets belligerence, Inspector.’
Skelgill sits back in his seat and rearranges his jacket. He says, ‘Investigations suggest Mr Hodgson’s private life was troubled – marriage, drink, finances. Does that strike any chords?’
Dr Snyder folds his fingers around the glass, as if to stabilise its contents. ‘Nothing that reached my ears, Inspector. The boys probably were the butt end of any ill temper that spilled over into his work – you know how teenagers can be rather irritating. Our Director of Sport might be able to cast more light on this subject than I am able.’
‘Mr Greig?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘We had a brief chat earlier in the week. Sergeant Leyton and I got a little lost and found our way to your new cricket pavilion.’
Dr Snyder nods slowly, but doesn’t offer a comment.
‘He was telling us the building was paid for by a parent?’
Dr Snyder takes another gulp of water. ‘Yes – we’re fortunate from time to time to have pupils whose parents are in a position to create a significant legacy.’
Skelgill nods and leans forward inquiringly. ‘How does that come about, sir? I mean, do you launch an appeal?’
Dr Snyder is already shaking his head, an expression of unconcealed distaste gathering about his haggard features. ‘Oh, no Inspector – that wouldn’t do. To hold out the begging bowl would send entirely the wrong message to parents.’
‘In what way, sir?’
‘Well, there are those who might be concerned if the school appeared unable to fund its investment programme. And on the other hand you have to bear in mind that many of our parents are stretched paying school fees as it is.’
Skelgill grimaces, as though he finds this hard to believe.
‘So it’s just a case of waiting to see who comes along with their chequebook?’
‘That is my understanding of what has happened in the past, Inspector.
Skelgill appears to stifle a yawn. Then he points a finger towards the certificates on the wall behind Dr Snyder. ‘What subject do you teach, sir?’
‘My qualifications are in English Literature. I specialise in Shakespeare.’
Skelgill purses his lips. ‘They make excellent spinning rods.’
Dr Snyder’s blank expression suggests he fails to recognise this statement as a joke. DS Leyton, who has been assiduously taking notes, glances up from his scribbling with an amused twinkle in his eye.
Skelgill now reaches into his jacket. He produces the first edition Wainwright borrowed from Querrell’s library and lays it on the desk between them. ‘Not exactly literary fiction, sir – but as good as it gets in my book.’
‘Ah – I shall replace it later.’
Dr Snyder begins to reach forward to draw it towards him, but Skelgill is quicker and places a palm flat on the book. ‘It’s okay, sir – we’re going to take another look around Mr Querrell’s cottage – if you can furnish us with the key, that is.’
Dr Snyder doesn’t reply, but ponderously unlocks a drawer to one side of where he sits, perhaps over-emphasising his newly improved security measures. He locates the required item and slides it across the surface of the desk beneath the tips of his long pale fingers, their nails perhaps surprisingly bitten down. ‘This was Mr Querrell’s personal key. I am not aware that another exists.’
Skelgill scoops up the hand-made iron mortise key and weights it in his palm as he rises to his feet. DS Leyton snaps his notebook shut and follows suit.
As they move towards the door Skelgill turns and says, in a casual tone, ‘Was English your subject in Singapore, sir?’
Dr Snyder hesitates for just a split second, as if he is carefully checking over the content of his intended reply. ‘I have only ever taught English, Inspector.’
Skelgill nods. ‘I’m surprised they didn’t fly you out this week to the convention – given your experience over there.’
Dr Snyder’s already-guarded body language hints at further retrenchment. ‘As I believe I mentioned previously, Inspector, the Headmaster handles all of our external affairs.’
Skelgill shrugs sympathetically. ‘Seems a shame – you could have popped into your old place – SIS wasn’t it?’
Now the academic seems to recoil involuntarily, a tremor in his ungainly frame belying his stern countenance. In a rather strained tone of voice he declares, ‘Maybe I shall have that opportunity in future, Inspector.’
‘Let’s hope so, sir.’ Skelgill nods to DS Leyton to indicate he should exit, and then crosses the threshold himself. ‘Well – thank you for your time – we’ll return the key before close of play.’
He backs out, closing the heavy oak door behind him. He turns to find the inquisitive gaze of DS Leyton trained upon him.
‘SIS ,Guv?’
‘Singapore International School.’
Skelgill sets off briskly along the corridor, forcing DS Leyton to break into a jog in order to keep up.
‘Since when did you become an expert on Singapore, Guv?’
‘Leyton – you’d be amazed what I know.’
DS Leyton shakes his head and pulls a stoical face. ‘Is that where you were, Guv?’
‘Leyton – would the Chief pay for me and Jones to fly business class to the Far East and stay in a five-star hotel drinking Singapore Slings?’
‘Well... no, obviously not, Guv.’
‘There you are, then.’
Despite his forced retreat, DS Leyton does not appear convinced. He says, ‘Well – you certainly touched a raw nerve, Guv – why might that be?’
‘I suspect there are one or two white lies on his CV.’
‘Significant, Guv?’
‘That is something I wish I did know.’ Skelgill vigorously rubs the top of his head with one hand. ‘Then again, I wish I could get a cup of tea – those bacon rolls don’t half give me a thirst.’
DS Leyton nods in agreement. ‘Fat chance of being offered one by Snyder – he was itching for us to leave from the second we arrived.’
‘Follow me.’ Skelgill suddenly veers to the right, away from the main doors, which they are approaching, and enters the long corridor that leads into the opposite wing of the school. The walls are bare and heavily coated with generations of cream gloss paint. At intervals classroom doors provide limited illumination through their windowed upper panels.
