Murder In School (Detective Inspector Skelgill Investigates Book 2), page 16
Rather hopefully, he says, ‘Surely it’s right, though, Guv – about him being somewhere around? Easy enough to hide, size of the place.’
‘For the best part of forty-eight hours?’
‘But, Guv – he might only have vanished this morning. Maybe he’s bunked off because he doesn’t fancy the exams?’
Skelgill shrugs. His immediate suggestion to this effect had been informed by the prospect of his fishing trip being wrecked. ‘Let’s hope so, Leyton. On which note, speak to the Housemother – see what she knows, and if it’s possible to tell from his belongings what he’s wearing, what he’s taken with him.’
‘Sure, Guv.’
‘And put in a call to HQ – get one of your DCs to check out family and friends – anywhere he might have gone.’
Skelgill studies his wristwatch. ‘Failing other developments I’ll meet you at the burger van at one.’
*
Mike Greig’s office sits at the rear of the upper deck of the cricket pavilion. It boasts an impressive outlook directly onto the rain-soaked lower slopes of Skiddaw. Though Skelgill has telegraphed word and purpose of his impending arrival via the school reception desk, the diminutive Director of Sport is nonetheless momentarily startled as the detective enters his airy modern quarters. Standing behind his desk, and engaged in listening on the telephone, a flicker of recognition disturbs his relaxed features. Still clasping the handset to his ear, he leans forward as far as the tangled cable allows, and reaches out to shake Skelgill’s hand, and then gestures for him to take a chair. He holds up an index finger, as if to indicate only one minute, and picks up a pen to jot down a series of brief notes upon the desk pad before him. He ends the call with a ‘Thanks, Jim,’ replaces the handset and resumes his seat opposite Skelgill.
‘Inspector, welcome – again. When reception phoned through, I didn’t realise we’d already met.’
‘As your Headmaster put it, sir – if it's Monday it must be the CID.’ There’s the hint of a twinkle in Skelgill’s eye.
Greig grins knowingly, as though he’s amused by the fact that last week Skelgill had gone along with his erroneous conclusion that the detectives were parents supporting the opposing school. ‘Please, Inspector – call me Mike.’
‘Sure.’ Skelgill nods, but doesn’t remind the South African that he’d previously introduced himself by his own Christian name.
Greig seems keen and able to get to the point. He gestures to his telephone. ‘The missing boy – that was one of my colleagues. I was just trying to find out what we know about Saturday.’
‘He made it back?’
‘We’re not certain.’ Greig punches a fist into the opposing palm in a gesture of frustration. ‘The official finishing line was just in front of the main school – but the conditions were so bad, as soon as the trophy was won they packed up and went inside. There were Mars Bars and hot chocolate laid out in the junior common room.’
‘When you say the trophy was won, Mike, how does that work?’
Greig drums the desk with his pen. ‘The winning house is the first to get four boys back, ja? Helvellyn are really strong this year – they had four finishers in the first ten.’
‘So the rest of them weren’t recorded?’
‘Let me tell you this, Inspector.’ Greig employs the ostensibly aggressive form of delivery characteristic of his countrymen. ‘In the circumstances – understandable. In light of the outcome – an oversight.’
Skelgill sits impassively, and the short silence succeeds in drawing an explanation from Greig.
‘You see, Inspector, this was Querrell’s bag. They say he’d organised the challenge single-handed since the nineteen seventies. It wasn’t until Friday night after chapel that it dawned on me that it was on our plate. I was left with a skeleton sports staff on Saturday because most of the masters were away with their cricket teams at Ampleforth and Durham. If I’m honest with you, we were flying by the seat of our pants.’
‘What about the boys reaching the summit?’ Skelgill squints past Greig through the long landscape window where the green bracken of the fellside is darkened by the lowering sky. ‘Presumably you had to count everyone through the trig point?’
‘Correct, Inspector. I did it myself. Brutal it was – made the Highveld seem like the Bahamas. My waterproofs didn’t live up to their billing.’
Skelgill nods sympathetically. He was out running himself, and had surely spared a thought for the small skinny schoolboys for whom the wilds of Cumbria were far from a natural habitat.’
‘They all made it to the top, Inspector – all sixty-two of them. I admired their guts, if not their fitness in every case. Querrell had certainly done a fair job whipping them into line.’
‘What were the timings?’
‘A good three-quarters of an hour between the first and last.’
‘No wonder you got soaked.’
‘I’ll tell you this, Inspector – I tried an umbrella, but it took off and I reckon it must have landed on the Isle of Man.’
Skelgill grins. He refrains from correcting the South African’s geography (given the prevailing wind direction), and instead replies, ‘The hillwalker’s brolly has yet to be invented.’
Greig shrugs sheepishly and continues, ‘I made sure they all went the right way, then after the last runner came through I followed the course down to the school – in case there were any stragglers needing a kick up the rear.’
‘And were there?’
Greig shakes his head. ‘No – they couldn’t get home quick enough.’
Skelgill nods. ‘There was some mention of a marshal?’
‘Ja – we had another master stationed where the downhill path crosses the lane that leads back to school – to make sure they carried on into the grounds.’
‘And what was his report?’
‘Same as the other, I’m afraid – once he’d seen four blue Helvellyn shirts come through, he called it a day. He phoned me for approval – I’d had to draft him in from weekend leave as it was, so I felt a bit guilty about keeping him out there to no purpose. I figured if a few of the boys cut the corner at that stage it didn’t matter – it wasn’t going to affect the result. Much as it goes against my principles, I think being soaked to the skin put me in a conciliatory frame of mind.’
Skelgill nods. ‘So the last record you have is the boy made it to the summit of Skiddaw – what time would that be?’
‘They went off at ten a.m. – I’d say about eleven forty-five, ja.’
‘Was he alone?’
‘To the best of my memory, ja. The gaps between them got bigger.’
‘And after that he may have completed the proper course or could have used the short cut along the lane?’
‘Correct.’
‘What about when you walked back – did anything strike you as unusual?’
Greig considers this question for a moment, but shakes his head. ‘Nothing I could put my finger on. I can’t say I was at my most observant – near the path I would have noticed anyone in trouble, but I had my head down like everyone else, ja?’
‘How familiar are the boys with the route?’
‘Pretty well – Querrell had them running it every month – so they’ve been up there, what – eight or nine times? The first time they walked it as a group to identify the landmarks.’
‘Do you have a map?’
‘Nothing formal – but I can show you.’ Greig gestures to the wall behind Skelgill, who turns to see it is papered floor to ceiling with the complete set of two-and-a-half-inch Ordnance Survey maps of the Lake District.
Skelgill admires the neatly dovetailed compilation. ‘I’m getting office envy, Mike.’
‘Ja – it’s an impressive sight when you see it spread out like that. I tell my folks back home: it might be small in the scale of Africa, but it’s not to be taken lightly on foot. Never mind the weather.’
Skelgill nods proprietorially, and automatically gravitates to the north-western quarter that holds Skiddaw and Bassenthwaite Lake.
‘You got it, Inspector.’ Greig points with a finger at a red circle. ‘There’s Oakthwaite. ‘The route basically uses two public footpaths... this one to go up... and this one to come down.’
The circuit is roughly triangular, and its main landmarks correspond to those outlined to Skelgill by Dr Jacobson.
‘Here’s the lane where we had the marshal. Across that and they’re in the grounds of Oakthwaite. They run down to the lake and pick up the jogging track that follows the shoreline to the gatehouse, then it’s left along the main drive to the school.’
Skelgill is nodding thoughtfully. He says, ‘So apart from the lane, there’s no advantage in trying to take a short cut across the fell at any point.’ It’s a statement rather than a question.
‘I reckon you’re right, Inspector. I believe old Querrell devised the route with cheating in mind – wander off track and you just make it more difficult for yourself.’
Skelgill takes a hard look at the map and then closes his eyes, as if he is committing its contents to memory. Then he turns to face Grieg. ‘What did you do when you got back?’
‘I came directly here to shower and change – all my dry gear was in the locker room downstairs. Then I spent a couple of hours doing admin and ringing round the other schools to check the weather status, agreeing how long to wait before calling off the matches. Turned out it stayed dry over at Durham – hard to believe when you consider what it was like here.’
‘They have to have some advantages, over in the east.’
Greig smiles, enjoying the competitive remark. ‘After that I locked up around mid-afternoon and that was me finished for the weekend.’
‘Do you live in at the school?’
‘No – my girlfriend and I rent a cottage at Grasmere – she’s working as a water sports instructor for a firm in Windermere, so it’s a good halfway house, ja?’
‘So you didn’t see the boys after the event?’
‘To be honest, Inspector, I don’t have a lot to do with the first-formers – by tradition Querrell broke them in. The PE Department gets involved from second year onwards – when they move up into the main school. One of those Oakthwaite quirks, I guess.’
‘What did you make of Mr Querrell?’
Greig produces a short ironic laugh. ‘Oh – he soon put me in my place. I figured since I was only here on a short-term exchange there was no point rattling his cage. He was a tough old cookie – didn’t stand any nonsense as far as I could see. Decent enough underneath, though, I reckon.’
Skelgill watches thoughtfully, but Greig seems quite relaxed in formulating his responses. Assuming a confiding tone he says, ‘Mike – this latest incident aside – we’ve obviously had the sudden deaths of Mr Querrell and Mr Hodgson. As someone who is a bit more detached from the school than most, can you cast any light on these events?’
Greig digs his hands into the pockets of his tracksuit bottoms and turns out his lower lip. He swivels about and steps across towards the window, head down as though he’s trying to wrestle up some intractable notion from the unyielding depths of his perception. After a few moments he turns again to face Skelgill and says, ‘Inspector – don’t get me wrong, this is a bit of a strange place compared to what I’m used to, ja? There’s more than a touch of the cult about being a member of the Oakthwaite community. But I reckon you’ve just got a string of coincidences on your hands. I’m sure the boy will surface – don’t be surprised if it turns out to be a dare among him and his mates.’
Skelgill’s shoulders perhaps slump a fraction in response to what is a popular but unhelpful theory. He takes a couple of strides about the room and picks up a cricket bat that leans in a corner. He weighs it for size but replaces it; perhaps before the temptation to attempt a practise shot becomes too great. Then he asks, ‘What about the groundsman – with the cricket season in full swing aren’t you going to miss him?’
‘I might have to do a bit of mowing and rolling myself – but I certainly shan’t miss him, Inspector.’
‘No?’
‘He was not what you would call Oakthwaite material – even for ancillary staff. Not keen on taking orders, especially when he’d been out to the pub at lunchtime. I’m amazed they let him loose with the shotguns.’
‘Were you surprised to hear what happened to him?’
Greig shrugs nonchalantly. ‘Ach – you never know what’s going on in people’s minds. Where I come from an unexpected death rarely hits the headlines.’
Skelgill makes a face to show he comprehends the statistical divide that in this regard separates Johannesburg and the Lakes like a great rift valley.
‘Look, Mike – I ought to get going – I think you’ve told me all you can about the boys – I better see how my Sergeant’s getting on in tracking him down.’
‘Sure – if I can be of further help just give me a shout.’
Skelgill reaches into his top pocket for a card, but to no avail since of course the jacket is not his. Indicating the desk pad and the pen lying upon it, he says, ‘Can I write my number here?’
‘Be my guest.’
Skelgill obliges, and then says, ‘By the way, I borrowed what I assume was Mr Hodgson’s quad earlier – I put it back when I came over just now.’
‘I was watching as you went past – another of your hidden talents, ja?’
Skelgill pulls the ignition key from the pocket of his baggy jacket. ‘Probably best if you keep this away from the machine – in case one of the boys gets the same idea.’
Greig wrings a wry grin from his thin lips. ‘Let me tell you this, Inspector, we don’t want any more accidents.’
25. THE BURGER VAN
‘Blimey, Guv – it don’t half pen. That’s rotten fish, that is.’
‘You’re getting it cleaned, aren’t you, Leyton?’
‘Just as well, Guv – the missus wouldn’t let me bring this back into the house.’
‘I can only smell bacon – I think it’s your imagination.’
DS Leyton’s complaint might be more vigorous if he knew the full circumstances. Skelgill, in furiously rowing his boat back to Peel Wyke, had rather carelessly arranged the borrowed jacket on the bow thwart, only for it to slip off onto his sodden slime-and-scale encrusted landing net and spend a good quarter of an hour mingling with its questionable delights. Of course, he has not related this detail to DS Leyton, who therefore seems only mildly regretful about his generosity. Now he holds the suit still scrunched inside the plastic carrier bag passed to him by Skelgill, who has clambered into his car clad in waterproofs, gaiters and walking boots.
But at this moment the mobile phone mounted upon the dashboard lights up to indicate an incoming email. DS Leyton stoically tosses the suit into the back seat and takes up the handset.
‘From the school, Guv – it’ll be the photo and the boy’s personnel file.’
Skelgill, however, is already distracted by the task of finding his way into the brown paper bag that holds his order of bacon rolls.
‘Holy smoke.’
‘What?’ Skelgill sounds only vaguely interested.
Guv – you won’t believe it – it’s Cholmondeley!’
‘What’s he done?’
‘No, Guv – the missing kid – the Chief’s son – it’s Cholmondeley!’
Skelgill squints at the grinning flame-haired boy whose image fills the screen.
‘Bloody hell – of course.’
‘Guv?’
‘The name – I knew it rang a bell.’ He snaps the fingers of his free hand. ‘The Chief goes by her maiden name, doesn’t she? That’s right – her old man’s a Cholmondeley. I’ve seen him once or twice with her in photos – you know, in the local rag, the court and social pages.’
‘And the ginger hair, Guv. Stone me.’
Skelgill nods. ‘Yeah, the ginger hair.’
‘Guv – it explains why the Housemother gave me a queer look when I referred to him by the Chief’s surname.’
Skelgill nods. ‘They’ll know both names – she probably assumed we use the mother’s.’
DS Leyton shrugs. ‘Yeah.’ He scratches his head rather distractedly. ‘Guv...?’
‘Aha?’ Skelgill takes a substantial bite of his roll.
‘You don’t think we spooked him, do you?’
Skelgill swallows with difficulty and pauses to take a swig of tea before replying. ‘You mean you spooked him?’
‘Aw, Guv – give me a break – I was really diplomatic – I’ve got kids, remember? He was happy as Larry when I last saw him.’
Skelgill shrugs, conveniently glossing over the fact that it was at his behest that DS Leyton was despatched to hunt down Cholmondeley.
‘If it’s any consolation, Leyton – no, I don’t.’
DS Leyton looks thankful. After a minute, while Skelgill continues to work his way through his meal, DS Leyton says, ‘Strange to think I know him, Guv – he’s a pleasant little nipper.’
‘Must take after his father.’
‘Guv, that’s harsh.’
‘But accurate.’
DS Leyton feigns a flinch, as if they are being overheard. Then a worried look clouds his features. ‘Think it’ll land us in it, Guv – talking to him, I mean?’
Skelgill is pulling a recalcitrant face. He shakes his head.
‘But we’d better report it?’
‘In good time.’
‘But, Guv...’
Skelgill holds up a hand like a traffic cop. ‘Leyton – we’re the investigating officers. We know. If it’s useful information, we’ll turn it to our advantage. If you were the last person to see him – different matter – but you weren’t.’
DS Leyton again appears relieved. ‘Do you reckon there’s any connection, though, Guv? It’s a bit of a coincidence – four hundred kids and our one goes missing.’
‘Maybe the Chief’s pulled a flanker.’ Skelgill tips the second roll from the crumpled bag, showering himself with crumbs. DS Leyton seems not to notice, and perhaps has long given up despairing of the daily mess his superior deposits in the footwell of his car.
