Flynn ploughed on. ‘If nothing else I need details of the boys in Mr Thomas’ classes. His extracurricular duties and the boys who took part in those.’

  ‘Is all this absolutely necessary?’

  ‘Yes, Ms Stafford, it is. If Mr Thomas was murdered, I’m sure you’ll want the matter dealt with quickly and quietly. And if it was suicide, then I’m sure you and Mrs Thomas would like to know. Maybe you can stop it happening to other teachers. But to achieve that I need information. And as you’re a school with hundreds of pupils and a large staff, there will be lots of it. Please email it all over to me,’ and Flynn handed her a card.

  He then stood and left her office, as she stared after him, dumbstruck.

  5

  Flynn stopped at his car before walking through the school grounds to Carl Thomas’ house, to grab his mackintosh and flat cap. Considerably more comfortable in the elements, Flynn stood by the car and discussed the case with Mabel.

  ‘Have you seen the Headmistress again as she requested?’ she asked.

  ‘More like demanded,’ grumbled Flynn. ‘Anyway, unfortunately, yes. Don’t like her much, do you?’

  ‘No, a cold fish that one,’ replied Mabel, earning herself another strange look from Flynn.

  ‘Yes, well, ignoring fish for the moment,’ he said, ‘as I’ve no idea what that’s got to do with anything… we have more important matters to deal with. So come on, let’s get a move on.’

  As they approached the cottage that had housed Carl Thomas, Mabel commented, ‘That’s nice. Very English country cottage.’

  Flynn had to agree. The stone-built house was something that a child would draw. A grey painted front door was framed by two windows on each side with two windows above those. A slate roof had patches of moss on it and the guttering was full of it. Flynn couldn’t help noting that that could cause maintenance issues in the future if the gutters weren’t cleaned out.

  Mrs Thomas had obviously seen them approach as the door was flung open. ‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘Is it him?’

  ‘Mrs Thomas,’ Flynn said, brandishing his ID, ‘can we come in?’

  ‘Oh, very well,’ she turned, and her high heels clipped on the tiled floor of the hall as she walked back indoors.

  Flynn and Mabel rolled their eyes at each other, and Flynn followed Mabel through into the house.

  Mrs Thomas was waiting for them in the sitting room, standing before the fire. She was stick thin, with a brittle air about her. Flynn was afraid her legs and arms might break at any moment and her strange ginger hair was cut in a severe bob and didn’t move at all. He wondered if it was a wig.

  ‘Please, Mrs Thomas, sit down.’ Once she’d complied, sitting sideways on the settee, knees and ankles together, Flynn spoke, ‘I’m sorry but we believe your husband has passed away in his study at school. He was found an hour ago by Mr King.’

  ‘The caretaker,’ she said.

  ‘Yes. Your husband’s study door was open, and he spied his body as he walked past.’

  Mrs Thomas never moved, keeping her rigid posture. There were no tears, just a faint quivering of her body. ‘Oh well, that’s that then.’

  ‘What’s what?’ asked Flynn, wondering at the lack of emotion shown by Mrs Thomas.

  ‘I shall have to move.’

  ‘Really?’ Flynn thought that a very strange first reaction to being told your husband was dead.

  ‘Yes, the house belongs to the school. Oh well,’ she stood. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  Flynn could see Mabel frowning at Mrs Thomas’s strange behaviour.

  ‘We may need you to identify the body.’ Flynn cringed as he said it, but he had to tell her.

  ‘Very well,’ she said and opened the front door, clearly wishing them to leave.

  ‘And I’ll have to return later today,’ Flynn said.

  She merely nodded her head.

  As Flynn and Mabel left the house, the door was quickly closed behind them.

  ‘That was the strangest interview,’ said Mabel. ‘Do you think she cared at all? Her husband is dead and there was nothing. Barely a flicker.’

  ‘Mabel, women - indeed people in general - have always been beyond my understanding. As such I have no preconceptions as to how they should behave. But yes, there are usually tears when told that a loved one has died. So perhaps she didn’t love him at all.’

  ‘Such a shame,’ said Mabel. ‘And there was I feeling sorry for her.’

  ‘What’s a shame? His death?’

  ‘Oh, well yes, that as well. But to lose your husband and then your home is a bit harsh don’t you think? Maybe she’s in shock.’

  Flynn thought Mabel was being generous. But who knew?

  7

  Flynn found Mabel in the school kitchen where she was just finishing a cup of tea and presumably a cake. The crumbs on a nearby plate telling their own story.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Mabel,’ he said.

  ‘Hello, Flynn, do you want a cup of tea? Or coffee? The cook has been very kind and set it up for me.’

  ‘No thank you. Too much to do. Come along.’

  ‘Oh, very well.’

  Mabel quickly gathered up her things and trotted along after Flynn. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To see Trudy Thomas again.’

  ‘Must we?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

  ‘There’s something about that woman, she gives me the creeps.’

  ‘Well, Mabel, that’s as may be, but we have to continue to investigate and after all she’s a key witness, being as how it’s her husband that’s dead.’

  Once at the cottage, Flynn rapped on the door, and it took a few moments for Mrs Thomas to answer. Flynn stared at her keenly to see if there were any signs of grief written on her face, but there was nothing. Just the same stony façade. Not even red eyes.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Thomas,’ said Flynn. ‘We need access to your husband’s papers, his laptop, etc.’

  ‘Why?’ she held the door open, but didn’t invite them in.

  ‘Mrs Thomas, this could well be a murder investigation and any information held here in the house could turn out to be a key to cracking the case. Now, do I need to get a search warrant? Or will you co-operate?’

  ‘Oh, very well, come in.’

  She might not have appeared very emotional, but Mrs Thomas was at least pragmatic, thought Flynn as she showed them where her husband’s study was, next to the kitchen at the rear of the house, and then left them there. He stood in the small space, with Mabel looking on from the doorway, as there wasn’t room for both of them. The room was crammed with furniture, papers and books. There were piles all over the place, which at first glance didn’t seem to be in any particular order.

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Mabel. ‘What a mess. However are you supposed to make sense of this lot?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Alright then, the royal ‘we’.’

  Flynn turned and frowned at her. ‘The ‘royal we’? I can assure you there is no royal blood in my family. Am I missing something?’

  ‘No, Flynn, no. Take no notice.’

  ‘Ah, so it’s one of your sayings. I must say, Mabel, you seem to have a bottomless well of the blasted things.’

  As he was speaking, Flynn moved a pile of exercise books that were balanced on the small desk, finding a laptop underneath them.

  ‘Ah, this is a good start,’ he said. ‘I’ll get someone to collect the rest of it, we can’t possibly carry this lot. Come on,’ and he moved through the house to find Mrs Thomas.

  ‘How often did your husband use his office here?’

  ‘If he was home, he’d work there every evening.’

  ‘And this is his laptop?’ He showed her a smart silver machine.

  She nodded.

  ‘Do you know if there is a pin number to gain access?’

  ‘It’s the day and month of his birthday, 0207.’

  ‘Thank you. I appreciate your co-operation. Someone will be along to collect the papers from the office and once we’ve finished, we will return them to you.’

  ‘I don’t want the bloody things,’ she hissed.

  ‘But there may be personal papers in there as well,’ said Mabel. ‘I’m sure you’ll need those back.’

  Mrs Thomas stared at Mabel. ‘Oh, very well,’ she said, her tone dismissive. Whether of Mabel or her husband and their life together, Flynn wasn’t sure.

  ‘Have you ever looked at this?’ he indicated the laptop.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘It’s a straightforward question, Mrs Thomas. Have you looked at your husband’s laptop?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she gasped. ‘That would be a gross breach of his trust.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Flynn, slowly nodding his head not sure he believed her at all.

  ‘When did you last see your husband?’ Mabel questioned.

  ‘What?’ Mrs Thomas swung to regard Mabel with that dead stare. ‘Oh, um, yesterday morning when we woke up and he got ready for school.’

  ‘And not since?’

  ‘No, no of course not.’

  ‘He didn’t come home last night?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is that unusual? Weren’t you worried?’ Flynn said.

  ‘No, of course not, it was a regular occurrence if you must know.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He had meetings and boys to look after. It’s a very hands-on environment in a private school you know.’

  Flynn didn’t know and was rather glad of that. The thought of living with hundreds of other boys in dormitories filled him with horror. His hands sweated with anxiety just at the thought of it.

  ‘Well, I think that’s all, Mrs Thomas. For now,’ he clarified.

  Then he and Mabel got the hell out of there.

  8

  Flynn sat at home. It was the end of a long day. He’d dropped Mabel off at home and walked Baxter, and now he had to decide between relaxing and reading a book or looking at Carl Thomas’s laptop. But, of course, the itch was too strong. He had to scratch it and so he opened up the laptop.

  Sitting on the settee, with Baxter curled up next to him, he went through the machine.

  He first of all looked at the desktop. It was a familiar Windows set up, thank goodness, thought Flynn. He’d never got the hang of Apple.

  He first of all read the icons on the desktop. Word, Excel, and other software programs, then photograph and video folders. Carl appeared to use Chrome as his internet browser. The final folder was labelled ‘School’.

  Carl Thomas appeared to be a methodical man when it came to his school records. There were reports on each pupil, sorted by year group. It suddenly struck Flynn that he hadn’t asked what Carl Thomas actually taught. It turned out to be religious education.

  Front and centre was a definition:

  What is the role of religious education in schools?

  Learning about religion and learning from religion are important for all pupils, as religious education helps pupils develop an understanding of themselves and others. RE promotes the spiritual, moral, social and cultural development of individuals and of groups and communities.

  There then followed file after file for each year group, culminating with GCSE and then A level studies. Flynn wondered why religious education? What was the draw? And, more importantly, did Carl Thomas live his life according to those edicts?

  Flynn yawned and looking at the clock realised how late it was getting.

  But then he checked the internet history and reading what he found there, instantly dispelled any tiredness. Flynn had firstly stumbled upon pornographic sites. And then dating websites.

  9

  The next day, Flynn was back at the school. This time without Mabel who had to go to work. In fairness, Mabel was a civilian and Flynn knew that she couldn’t accompany him as much as she would like. She was very happy working at Muddlebay Library but was equally at home helping him with his investigations. Fisher and Elgin were back at the police station dealing with the minutia of life in Muddlebay. He’d also left them looking through the details provided by the Headmistress on the school, staff and pupils.

  He didn’t get a warm welcome from the Headmistress. ‘Is this really necessary?’ she queried. ‘I have a school to run, you know.’

  ‘And I have a murder to solve,’ Flynn retorted, disliking her the more he had to deal with her. ‘So, you either talk to me here, or I will insist you come to the police station. Now.’

  ‘Well, I never,’ she blustered, but sat behind her desk. ‘I have 10 minutes before assembly. So, if you could get on with it, please.’

  ‘Very well. What do you know of Mr Thomas’ private life?’

  She frowned. ‘Very little, why?’

  ‘I thought you must have some idea, seeing as he lives in the grounds and is in school more than he’s at home.’

  ‘No he’s not.’

  That threw Flynn. ‘No he’s not, what?’

  ‘In school more than he’s at home. Or at least wherever he goes when he’s not teaching.’

  ‘So, he’s not a workaholic who spends most of his time at school? That’s what his wife thinks.’

  ‘She’s either deluded or doesn’t give a damn. I’ve always found her a bit of a cold fish if I’m honest.’

  There was that talk of fish again. Flynn decided to ignore it for now.

  ‘You’re telling me you know nothing of his private life?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve just said. Look,’ her voice dropped, ‘it’s a very unfortunate incident but I have the pupils to think of and take care of. So, if you’ll excuse me, I have to take assembly.’

  Flynn stood to leave as she suggested, but at the door turned and said, ‘Why RE?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Carl Thomas. Why RE, do you know?’

  ‘Laziness I expect. Some people see that sort of subject as an easy way into teaching. You just make up some connection with a religion.’

  ‘And then take a teaching degree?’

  ‘Teaching degree? Of course not. In the public school system you don’t need to be qualified in teaching, as long as you’re proficient in your chosen subject.’ She shook her head. ‘I thought everyone knew that. Anyway, as I said, perhaps you’ll excuse me.’

  Flynn had no option but to leave her office. As he did so, he felt that the Headmistress had told him very little and was hiding behind her pupils and the public school system. But he recognised that it was more likely the parents and their money that she had on her mind.

  But that wasn’t the end of his work that morning. Far from it. He headed for the kitchens.

  10

  As he hoped, the kitchen was in full swing. With boarders to feed he’d guessed correctly that breakfast would have been over by now and preparations for lunch underway.

  He walked into the kitchen via the doors behind a serving station and stood looking. No one had noticed him, and he saw a portly gentleman working at one station and an equally portly woman working at another. In between them was an assistant of some kind collecting used utensils and dishes and ferrying them into a washing up area.

  Flynn cleared his throat, but couldn’t be heard over the radio playing, so he grabbed a stainless steel utensil and tapped it against the stainless steel workbench. Both cooks looked up to find Flynn stood there, stony faced, holding up his warrant card.

  ‘Oh, right, sorry,’ the woman said, or at least Flynn thought so as he lip read, and she turned to a stereo system and killed the noise.

  ‘DS Flynn Moran,’ he said. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Derek Cooke,’ said the man.

  ‘Mrs Fiona Cooke,’ said the woman.

  ‘Cooke with an e,’ explained Mr Cooke.

  ‘And you are?’ Flynn caught sight of a mousey haired woman peering around the corner from the washing up area.

  ‘Meena,’ she said and dropped her gaze.

  ‘She’s from Slovakia,’ explained Mrs Cooke, ‘and doesn’t speak much English.’

  Flynn nodded and turned his attention back to the Cookes. ‘I’m investigating the death of Mr Thomas.’

  ‘Oh, the teacher who was murdered!’ Mrs Cooke said with more enthusiasm than Flynn would have liked, accompanied by a wide-eyed stare.

  ‘Indeed. Did either of you know him?’

  Both shook their heads. ‘No not really. We saw him around, of course, and occasionally he’d eat with the other staff. We feed them as well, you know.’

  Flynn didn’t but didn’t want to interrupt.

  Mr Cooke took over from his wife. ‘We’re in a position of trust here, you know. And we’re not about to start speculating or spreading idle gossip.’

  ‘Idle gossip could well be of interest to me. Why don’t you let me decide what is relevant to my investigation and tell me everything?’

  ‘Well, he was a bit of a ladies man, if you know what I mean.’

  Flynn could have sworn the man just winked at him!

  ‘No, I don’t, please explain,’ Flynn was poised with his pen over his notebook.

  Mrs Cooke elbowed her husband in the ribs. Maybe to shut him up for she said, ‘He was a terrible flirt, always talking to the female staff and making them laugh. And it didn’t matter if they were married or not!’

  ‘Yes, it looked like anyone was fair game to him.’ Mr Cooke couldn’t seem to stop joining in.

  ‘Did any of the ladies ever complain about him?’

  ‘Well, the gossip was that his advances were pretty much rejected,’ sniffed Mrs Cooke.

  ‘Didn’t seem to stop him though,’ Mr Cooke nodded sagely.

  ‘Some of the staff wanted the Headmistress to sort him out,’ Mrs Cooke said. ‘But she didn’t seem keen, did she?’

  Flynn was becoming dizzy with the one/two from the Cookes. He noticed that Meena didn’t speak, just watched them both closely.

  ‘Meena,’ Flynn said. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Sorry, my English…’ she shrugged, turned away and began clattering pots and pans.

  ‘Well, thank you for your help,’ he said to the Cookes.

 

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