‘We’re always here,’ Derek said.

  ‘If you want anything,’ Fiona said. ‘Even just a cuppa and a piece of cake!’

  Flynn nodded and backed out of the kitchen. Looking at his watch and then consulting the school timetable, he found some of the teachers would be in the staff room and he made his way there with the helpful map he’d been given yesterday.

  11

  Flynn found his way to the staff room in time for the Nursery and Infants School break. He walked into a wall of sound. The women all seemed to be talking at once and didn’t stop when Meena trundled in a tray of what Flynn assumed would be coffee and tea in large pump flasks. These were accompanied by a mouth-watering display of cakes and biscuits.

  The women fell upon the trolly like locusts. Flynn would have liked a coffee himself but by the time the women had served themselves, the flasks appeared to be empty and there was one lone muffin and an equally lonely biscuit left.

  ‘Can I help you?’ one of the women said.

  Flynn fished out his warrant card.

  ‘Oh, so you’re the policeman,’ she said. Turning to her colleagues she called, ‘Listen up ladies, the police are here.’

  As one they shut their mouths and turned to watch Flynn with interest.

  Squirming under their inspection, Flynn was convinced he was blushing and really wished he had Mabel with him. She would have known what to say. Still, he had to get on with it.

  ‘Ladies,’ he began. ‘I’m at school today investigating the death of Carl Thomas. If anyone knows anything, saw anything, or just wants to pass on their opinions of the teacher, then please don’t hesitate to contact me, I’ll be available in the school most of the day. I’ll also leave cards with my contact details on, here in the staff room and down on reception. Thank you.’

  He was very grateful for the women turning to each other and chatting, presumably about Carl Thomas and his death. So, he kept his head down, mouth shut and wandered among them listening.

  ‘Terrible letch…’

  ‘Hated him…’

  ‘Not been here long…’

  ‘Wished he’d buzz off…’

  ‘I feel for his wife…’

  ‘Serial flirter…’

  ‘And worse…’

  ‘She threatened to expose him you know…’

  ‘No! Really?’

  Then Flynn spotted a lone man at the back of the room, sat on a comfy looking chair, reading the paper.

  Flynn walked up to him and cleared his throat. When the man looked up over the top of his paper Flynn said, ‘DS Flynn Moran, Muddlebay Police. And you are?’

  ‘Thomas Four, only male in the lower school.’

  Flynn settled into the empty chair next to him. ‘Did you know the deceased?’

  ‘More by reputation than anything. We didn’t have much to do with each other.’

  Flynn cocked his head at the collection of ladies. ‘He wasn’t well liked according to the female staff members.’

  ‘No. Old school misogynist. Smarmy, overly suggestive. God knows why the head appointed him. If she hadn’t been so desperate for staff, I doubt she would have done.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t people want to work here? Good food, good accommodation. What’s not to like?’

  ‘The salaries. She pays a pittance. If you pay rubbish rates, you’ll get rubbish teachers is what I say.’

  Flynn was beginning to see that, since his earlier chat with the Headmistress.

  Mr Four then stood and said, ‘Sorry, duty calls,’ and Flynn watched him saunter away, wondering if what he’d said was true, and if so, why Mr Four himself was still a teacher at Muddlebay Manor.

  But Flynn had no time to stand and wonder, it was time for the Upper School break and Flynn had more teachers to interview.

  12

  He realised that ‘interview’ was a fluid concept. Once again, a rabble of teachers gathered to eat, drink, chat and gossip. One or two were sat in chairs trying to get some peace it seemed, but not managing it. Others edged out of the door early before anyone saw them. Of those left, Flynn guessed they were the most opinionated. He decided to listen to their conversations and was proved right.

  ‘I heard he was a serial flirter.’

  ‘Yes, but that wouldn’t be a reason to kill him, surely?’

  ‘It depends who he flirted with, don’t you think? You never know if the woman was made of sterner stuff and decided he needed taking to task.’

  ‘No! You don’t seriously think so?’

  ‘Absolutely. I reckon he stepped out of line one or two many times and paid the price.’

  Flynn thought this was as good a theory as any and turning, spoke to the ladies. ‘Good morning, my name is DS Flynn Moran. And you are?’

  ‘Oh!’ Both ladies had the grace to blush.

  ‘Sandra Strong, Upper 4th.’

  ‘Felicity Noakes, Lower 4th.’

  Flynn had no idea what the uppers and lowers meant, surely it was the 4th year plain and simple? Oh well, he’d have to try and get his head around the system here.

  ‘So, as far as you’re concerned, Carl Thomas was a flirt.’

  ‘More like a letch!’ exclaimed Sandra Strong, a petite woman, the antithesis of her name. She flicked her long blond hair over her shoulder and said, ‘He was a horrible man. I know he’s had a horrible end, but honestly I can’t feel sad over his passing.’

  ‘More like relief,’ Felicity said.

  As Sandra nodded enthusiastically, Flynn said, ‘Ladies can I ask where you were two nights ago?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Oh, are we suspects?’

  ‘No, we’ll be asking everyone.’

  Sandra said, ‘I was home. Alone.’

  Felicity said, ‘So was I,’ and both women flounced off.

  Flynn accepted that he needed help. Fisher and Elgin would have to come over and help him interview the staff, but first he guessed he’d have to tell the Headmistress of his plans. To him it was clearly a necessity, but he was circumspect enough to accept she might not see things his way. Looking at his watch Flynn saw it was two hours until lunch break. That meant a short space of time to put his plans in motion. He’d best get on with it.

  13

  By 6pm that night, Flynn was exhausted. Between the three policemen, they’d managed to quickly interview all the teaching staff and there was only the kitchen and office staff left. Flynn reckoned that Fisher and Elgin could manage those first thing the next morning. He, on the other hand, wouldn’t get much sleep that night as he had the statements to go through. Maybe Mabel could help. He washed his hands over his face and decided to call it a day, after all Baxter was waiting for him. A neighbour had kept an eye on him that day as there was no way Flynn could have had his little dog with him at school. Driving back to his small house on the outskirts of Muddlebay, Flynn had to admit that he’d missed both Mabel and Baxter that day. The three of them worked so well together and for once in his life he felt he had friends. Mabel was someone who accepted him for who he was and what he was. And Baxter loved him unconditionally, as only a dog could.

  Letting himself into his small house, Baxter leapt at him and as Flynn caught him, the dog began to lick his face.

  Spluttering Flynn put Baxter down on the floor and the two of them walked through to the kitchen. Grabbing the dog bowl and a tin of food, Flynn quickly emptied the contents into the bowl and left Baxter happily chomping his way through it.

  Flynn found a note by the kettle that said:

  All good here. Baxter walked twice today and I fed him at 5pm.

  Flynn looked at the note and then at the dog, who was speeding through his second dinner and managed a wry smile. He found a ready meal for one in the fridge and set it to heat up in the microwave, before walking through to the sitting room and putting on the television, just in time to catch Channel 4 News. Once he’d eaten and Baxter was happily licking out the carton Flynn’s meal had come in, Flynn grabbed the statements from the staff at Muddlebay Manor.

  To be honest they were confirmation of the kind of comments he’d heard that morning. People didn’t have a good thing to say about Carl Thomas. However, a number of the staff lived alone and had no alibi. None of which was terribly helpful.

  Glancing at the clock he saw it was 11pm and wondered where the time had gone. Time for a quick walk with Baxter and then bed. Tomorrow was going to be another long day.

  14

  Late morning the next day, Fisher and Elgin huffed into the police station.

  ‘Hells bells, Met,’ Fisher said, using Flynn’s hated nick name. ‘What a horrible place.’

  ‘Yes, I swear no one has anything good to say about anyone!’ Elgin threw his hat on his desk. ‘A hot bed of gossip and criticism.’

  ‘So, what did you learn?’ Flynn wanted to know.

  ‘Carl Thomas wasn’t liked.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ agreed Fisher.

  ‘Did anyone hate him enough to kill him, do you think?’

  Fisher and Elgin just shrugged.

  ‘So, we’re no further forward?’

  Fisher and Elgin shook their heads.

  ‘Let’s hope the post-mortem can tell us something then,’ and Flynn began to get ready to leave.

  Baxter looked up, hopefully, from his bed under the window.

  ‘Sorry, Baxter,’ said Flynn. ‘The morgue isn’t the place for dogs. Fisher and Elgin, you’re on dog sitting duties. I’ll be back later when I’ve spoken to Jerome and Floyd.’

  The sun was breaking out from behind the clouds as Flynn climbed into his prized Morris Minor Traveller. He trundled out of town towards the District Hospital and the morgue, which was where Jerome and Floyd were based. He hadn’t wanted to attend the full post-mortem and was just going to get the low down on Carl Thomas’ death. If, as he suspected, Thomas had been poisoned, then maybe Floyd or Jerome would have a handle on what killed him.

  As Flynn pushed through the doors into the morgue, Floyd was there to greet him. Carl Thomas’ body was laid out on a stainless-steel table, and Floyd was just completing his paperwork.

  He turned at Flynn’s entrance. ‘Ah, Flynn, there you are. Poisoned, as we thought.’

  ‘With?’

  ‘Jerome will confirm but my guess is Strychnine.’

  ‘Really?’ Flynn was dropped on. ‘Isn’t that an old-fashioned poison?’

  Floyd nodded. ‘Very prevalent in years gone by, not so much now. Essentially rat poison.’

  Flynn shuddered.

  Floyd continued, ‘A common pesticide, strychnine isn’t as toxic as other poisons, but it gets style points for causing one of the most horrific deaths of all: Every muscle in your body spasms violently until you die from exhaustion or asphyxiation.’

  ‘I wonder who wanted him dead? Not just dead, but to die a horrific death?’

  ‘Not my area,’ said Floyd. ‘Although I hear poison is more often the preferred method of women killers.’

  ‘Thanks for that.’

  Flynn couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice. But it appeared to fall on deaf ears as Floyd said, ‘No worries, I’ll send over my full report tomorrow.’

  ‘I guess I’ll have to share that with Mrs Thomas.’ But as it was the last thing Flynn wanted to do, he said, ‘Perhaps I’ll take Mabel with me.’

  15

  Mabel wasn’t keen either but agreed to go with Flynn to tell Mrs Thomas what had happened to her husband. Flynn knew the ‘what’ but didn’t yet know the ‘why’. But to be fair, he wasn’t actually sure that Mrs Thomas gave a damn.

  They parked the car by the cottage. In the distance Flynn could see the magnificent building that was the school and the rolling green of the lawns. By the side of the school Flynn saw there was a tarmac circle that seemed to jar with the landscape.

  ‘Look at that, Mabel,’ he said pointing into the distance. ‘What on earth is it?’

  ‘Oh, that’s a helipad,’ she said.

  ‘You’re joking!’ Flynn was flabbergasted.

  ‘No, not at all. Last month was a prize giving and the special guest was a famous actor whose son is at the school.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And he arrived in a helicopter.’

  ‘They built it specially?’

  Mabel nodded. ‘It’s just the way it is here.’

  ‘Says who?’

  ‘The Cookes.’

  ‘Ah, the font of all knowledge.’

  ‘Works for me,’ she said. ‘They get the opportunity to watch people from the dining room, several times a day. They have valid observations.’

  Flynn couldn’t dispute that. The Cookes probably knew more about Carl Thomas than his wife, who hardly ever saw him and didn’t appear to much care if she did or didn’t.

  Flynn knocked on the cottage door and saw the curtain twitch in the lounge. Mrs Thomas checking who was there. After a moment she appeared at the open door. She looked Flynn up and down, then turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the door ajar. Flynn shrugged at Mabel and the two of them followed Mrs Thomas into the house.

  ‘Well?’ she asked once they were in the lounge and standing in a ragged circle, not being asked to sit.

  ‘We have more information about your husband’s death, Mrs Thomas,’ Flynn said.

  He noticed that Mabel had sat on the settee without being invited, so he said, ‘Please sit down, Mrs Thomas.’

  The woman huffed and said, ‘Alright, alright, if it will make you go away quickly.’

  Flynn took a deep breath and said, ‘It seems your husband was poisoned, I’m sorry to say. He didn’t die of natural causes, he was murdered.’

  Mrs Thomas sniffed but didn’t say anything. She seemed dismissive, if anything, Flynn thought.

  ‘Do you have any idea why someone would want him dead?’ asked Mabel.

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘Would he have killed himself do you think? Committed suicide?’

  ‘I’ve no bloody idea,’ Mrs Thomas snapped, then stood. ‘I keep telling you both that I know very little about my husband. He was never here. He never talked to me. Now please leave. I wish to be left alone.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible, Mrs Thomas. We need you to view the body and confirm his identity.

  Her eyes widened in horror. ‘No, no, surely not.’

  ‘I’m sorry it’s a formality. You are his next of kin. A family liaison officer will come to the cottage and take you to the morgue. She’ll be with you every step of the way.’

  Mrs Thomas had shown precious little emotion during the conversation and with Flynn’s next question the shutters soon came down again, as Flynn said, ‘Mrs Thomas, do you have any pesticides here? In the garden shed, perhaps?’

  ‘No, no, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Perhaps if Flynn has a look around,’ Mabel said. ‘I can make you a cup of tea. What do you think?’

  Mrs Thomas sank back into her seat, apparently defeated and nodded her head.

  16

  Thirty minutes later, Flynn and Mabel were back outside the cottage on their own.

  ‘Well, we drew a blank there,’ Flynn said as they walked to the car.

  ‘What about the rest of the school?’ asked Mabel.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘There must be gardeners who are responsible for upkeeping the grounds,’ Mabel said. ‘I wonder if they are employees, or a company? No time like the present to find out.’

  ‘Oh God, that means talking to the Headmistress,’ said Flynn.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Mabel. ‘Let’s go and see the Bursar.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘A bursar is often an employee of a university or private school, who is in charge of supervising student enrolment fees, accounts, payments, and reports. A bursar must be optimistic, resilient, be experienced in general management, HR, legal knowledge, versatility, oh and have the ability to make quick decisions.’

  ‘Powerful position, then. Although you do sound like an advert.’

  ‘That’s because I read it in the Times Ed.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The Times Educational Supplement. It’s a newspaper that comes out weekly and specialises in all things teaching, including vacancies. We keep a copy in the library. Anyway, come on, I just happen to know this particular bursar!’

  Mabel had once again flabbergasted Flynn. Her knowledge of Muddlebay and its inhabitants knew no bounds. He doubted he’d have closed as many murders as he had without Mabel’s help.

  ‘How do you know him?’ Flynn asked.

  Mabel smiled. ‘The library, of course. He did an open university degree and I worked with him on finding and ordering in the books he needed, as he didn’t have the funds to buy his own copies.’

  ‘You could say he owes you then.’

  Mabel nodded and trotted happily in the direction of the school with Flynn running after her.

  17

  The Bursar no longer looked like he didn’t have the money to buy books. The dapper dresser stood behind his desk and made Flynn feel very dowdy in his dark trousers and tweed jacket.

  The Bursar was wearing a three-piece suit with an embroidered waistcoat and matching coloured tie. The effect was dazzling. There stood a man who didn’t mind standing out and who looked like he had set the dress code for the rest of the adults living and working at Muddlebay Manor.

  He'd greeted Mabel warmly and the man, who was introduced as Glen East, readily answered her questions and confirmed that they had full time employees who worked on the upkeep of the grounds and gardens.

  ‘Would they have used rat poison?’ Flynn asked.

  ‘I guess so, over the years.’

  ‘Would it be kept on site?’

  ‘Well yes, but always under lock and key, otherwise it’s far too dangerous to use in a school setting. I’d really be surprised if there was any left on site.’

  ‘Let’s go and find out then,’ said Flynn.

 

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