Some particular evil, p.22
Some Particular Evil, page 22
McFall gnawed at his lower lip. ‘I’ll have a go now. I don’t want to have to come back and go through all this again.’
‘We might need to talk with you later. I can’t promise we won’t,’ Frank said.
‘Ay, I realise once you’ve told the police something, they always want more information. Like bloodsuckers ye are,’ he said, glancing at Elderkin, but with a sly smile on his face.
Elderkin didn’t react, but took out a pencil-sharpener and worked the end of his pencil to a fine point. He looked at McFall, pencil ready to mark his notebook. ‘Don’t think of us as bloodsuckers, Mr McFall – just industrious ants, working away for justice.’
‘You don’t look like an ant, Sergeant Elderkin; more like a big, old bumblebee.’
Elderkin nodded, as though pleased by the simile.
Frank was unsure where this zoological story was going. He was afraid McFall might start referring to leeches or mosquitoes, and any goodwill would be lost. ‘When you’re ready, Mr McFall.’
McFall frowned, squeezed his eyes shut and clasped his bony hands tight. ‘It was a few days before she disappeared. I can’t remember the exact day … I expect if I looked at an old calendar I might be able to work it out.’
Frank didn’t break in but made a mental note to find one and get McFall to look at it.
‘I was in the games hut, sorting out things; putting the rugby and hockey balls away and seeing which tennis rackets needed restringing, getting things sorted for the summer term – if I didn’t the staff wouldn’t. Not like our new senior mistress, Miss Bowman. She’s on the ball.’
You can say that again, Frank thought.
‘There was this little knock on the door. So gentle I hardly heard it. She was standing there smiling at me. “Hello, Felicity,” I said, “come on in. So you had to stay in school. Couldn’t your aunt have you this holiday?”
“No, she’d going to see her son in New Zealand, she’ll be away for a month. I don’t mind not going to stay with her, but I don’t like being here in the holidays.”’
‘I could understand that, it’s a lonely place at the best of times. “Are you still doing a lot of practising on the piano? You’ll enjoy that, won’t you?”’
‘Her face lit up. “Yes, Mr Ringrose is hearing me play for an hour every morning, and I play by myself in the afternoon. But he’ll be going on holiday soon.”’
“‘They can’t leave you on your own. Who’ll be around next week?”’
“‘Some of the staff and matron will be here, but Miss Piff has said I can stay with her. I like Miss Piff, but I don’t know if she’s got a piano. I don’t like to ask her, it sounds as if I’ll only go there if she’s got one. Although I’d rather be with Miss Piff than stay here. I hate it at night. I’m all alone in the girls’ house, apart from matron. She’s had to move out of her cottage to keep an eye on me. Sometimes she doesn’t come in until after dark. I hate being alone in that big house, I keep imagining I hear noises. I know I shouldn’t be frightened at my age but …”’
‘I felt sorry for the lass. “You know you’re welcome to come and visit me, Felicity. If you want to spend a few evenings with me in my flat, you can stay until late and I’ll walk you back to the girls’ house. I don’t know what I’ve got that would interest you, but we can listen to the radio; I expect I can find some classical music. Can you play chess?” She nodded. “You’ll have to ask matron’s permission of course.” She looked real pleased. Poor girl she must have been desperate for a bit of company if she thought it would be fun to spend a few evenings with an old lag. Though of course she didn’t know that.’
As McFall talked about Felicity, flesh seemed to grow on the bones Frank had seen lying on the table in the morgue. She was becoming a real person, a young, sensitive girl, alone in the world except for a distant and possibly uncaring aunt. Her hope in life: a talent for music; her ambition to be a concert pianist. The photograph of her showed a slim girl, looking younger than her seventeen years; an attractive elfin face with small fine features and large eyes framed by full, pale eyelashes. A young life taken. How she’d died they might never know. The damaged hyoid bone suggested strangulation, but the sea and its creatures had eaten away her flesh, and with it any clues to how she died and who’d killed her. He didn’t like to think what had happened to her before she died; but he couldn’t afford to push aside the horrific details of her death.
‘Did she spend any evenings with you?’ Elderkin asked, frowning and looking at Frank.
‘Just the one – the same evening. She came over after supper.’ He sniffed and wiped his nose with a finger. ‘She brought me a bar of fruit and nut chocolate; we ate it between us. She was good company: we had two games of chess, she won the first and let me win the second, then we listened to the radio and I made us some cocoa before I walked her back to the house. It made me realise how much I’d missed of my daughter’s childhood. How I’ve missed out on having a relationship with her and how she must have missed having a father.’ He sat in silence looking at his hands.
‘Can you think of anything she said that showed she was worried by something a member of staff had done or said?’ Frank asked. The man was deeply upset as he remembered his time with Felicity. Had he told them everything? Could this be an elaborate lie to try and cover for what happened next? If so, he was a consummate actor.
‘There was only one thing she said, just before I walked her home, that I thought was peculiar. I told her I’d check up on it after I’d finished all the preparations for the next term.’
‘What was it?’
‘She said she felt as if someone was spying on her. I asked her what she meant. “I know it sounds silly, Mr McFall,” she said, “but when I’m in my room” – all the sixth formers have single rooms – “or in the bath,” I remember she blushed as red as a rose, “I feel as though someone is watching me.” She was getting worked up, twisting her hands together. I could see she really believed it was happening. “I don’t like getting undressed and I haven’t had a bath for two days. I hope I don’t smell.”’
‘I must admit I was a wee bit embarrassed; it didn’t seem right to be talking about having baths and someone playing Peeping Tom. I didn’t know what to say, but she was obviously looking to me to help her.
“‘Are you sure it isn’t being on your own in that big house by yourself, Felicity?” I asked. “I expect you’ve got a powerful imagination, you being an artist, a musician. Have you seen anyone you don’t know on the school site?”’
“‘No, there’s only the staff. I’m sorry I bothered you, Mr McFall, I expect I’m imagining it.”’
‘She didn’t sound convinced and I could see it had taken her a deal of courage to bring it up with me. “I tell you what, Felicity; I’ll talk to Miss Piff and see if she can have you straight away. What about that?”’
“‘Would you? Thank you, Mr McFall.’”
‘She was so delighted I thought she was going to kiss me, so I got up quick, put on my coat and took her home.’
‘Did you ask Miss Piff?’
‘The next day we had some trouble with a leak in the boiler room and by the time I got round to it, it was too late and Miss Piff had gone home. The day after Felicity had disappeared. I know if I’d got her out of this damned school she might still be alive. It’s someone in the school, isn’t it? One of us has murdered these two lasses. If I knew who it was …’
Frank placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’ve served one sentence for taking a life. If you find out anything or have any suspicions, you come and talk to me or Sergeant Elderkin. This person has committed two murders, and attempted a third – all women. It doesn’t mean he or she won’t kill a man if he thinks you know who the murderer is.’
McFall snorted. ‘You’re not telling me you think it’s a woman, are you? Can you see old Miss Letts, or Toni Habershon battering Mabel over the head?’ He stopped and stared at Frank. ‘Ay, you can, I can see that. I don’t suppose you’ll cross me off your list of suspects, will you?’
‘I’m grateful to you for coming and talking to us. What you’ve said has been very useful. I’ve got a clearer idea about the kind of girl Felicity was: a very shy, talented and lonely child. That helps tremendously. Until we find who did these murders, and have watertight proof, everyone without an alibi for the times of Susan’s murder and the attack on Mabel Grill remains a suspect. I don’t think you’d expect me to give a different answer.’
There was a knock on the door and the constable came into the room. ‘Miss Bowman wants to see you, sir.’
Damn. McFall was looking at him suspiciously. ‘Ask her to wait, please.’ He stood up. ‘Thank you, Mr McFall. You’ll remember what I said: no going off at half-cock.’
McFall got up from his chair. ‘I’ll remember.’ He tried to smooth his salt-and-pepper hair. ‘What will happen to poor Felicity’s remains? Will there be a funeral?’
‘The aunt’s been informed. I’m not sure when the … the body will be released. Do you want me to let you know when and where the funeral will be?’ Elderkin asked.
McFall nodded. ‘I’d like to go. I owe her that. Good night to you both.’
They looked at each other when he’d left the room. Frank sighed. It had been a long day. He needed some sleep. He wasn’t thinking clearly.
‘Cross him off the list?’ Elderkin asked.
Frank slowly shook his head. ‘The only people off the list are you, me, Laurel and Mabel. Let’s see what Laurel’s found out.’
23
Thursday, 17th September, 1970
The next morning Laurel closed the door of her office and walked slowly down the stairs. What was the point in planning lessons if the school was about to be closed? She paused half-way down. What should she do? What did she want to do? Yesterday, after she’d talked with Dorothy, she’d met up with Frank and Stuart Elderkin and they’d exchanged information. They’d been particularly intrigued to hear about Toni Habershon and Philip Nicholson’s affair. It had given her a real lift to be treated as a valuable member of the team.
Earlier this morning she’d looked for Frank to find out if anything new had surfaced; instead she ran into Elderkin who told her Frank had been called to Ipswich to see the chief constable. Elderkin looked distracted and she didn’t think she could ask him why Frank had been summoned. She hoped they weren’t thinking of bringing in someone else, as Nicholson wanted. Someone else wouldn’t take her into their confidence.
She looked into Dorothy’s office. No sign she’d been in and taken away her personal belongings. She’d said she probably wouldn’t come in today as she wasn’t feeling well. She nodded her head – yes, that’s what she would do. She’d walk into Dunwich and call on Dorothy and see if she could do anything for her. On the way she could phone her parents again from the public phone box. She needed to try and calm her mother down, her last words yesterday were: ‘I couldn’t bear to lose another daughter.’ She needed to reassure them. Also she might be able to find out more about Toni Habershon and Philip from Dorothy.
Should she tell someone where she was going? She was still a member of staff and she should act as though the term would start soon. She wasn’t supposed to know the governors were meeting this morning. No sign of them here.
She turned round and ran up the stairs, knocked on the headmaster’s office door and opened it. Shipster was crouched in front of the safe with the door open. He twisted his body, looking at her over his shoulder, his grey face ugly, open-mouthed, eyes wide with shock. He slammed the door shut and scrambled up.
‘Caught you red-handed, Mr Shipster. Not lifting the petty cash, I hope?’
His lips quivered and a red flush coloured his cheeks. ‘It’s no business of yours what I’m doing. I was checking something.’
‘Looking for the missing log book, perhaps?’
He took a step towards her. ‘What are you implying?’
‘You did tell me when we first met that you didn’t like Susan Nicholson. Perhaps she found out something about you, Mr Shipster. If she did threaten you the best thing you can do is tell Inspector Diamond.’
His eyes glittered above the darkening stain of his cheeks. She could feel waves of hate and frustration rolling towards her. She stood her ground, folding her arms across her chest, straightening her backbone. He took a step backwards.
‘You’d do better to mind your own business, or have you joined the police?’
‘I think helping to find the murderer of Susan Nicholson and Felicity, and the attacker of Mabel Grill, is everyone’s business. As for joining the police that’s not a bad idea, at least they don’t usually murder people; but they catch those who do.’
He muttered something and tried to push past her. His breath was rancid and he smelt as though he hadn’t bathed, or changed his clothes lately. She stepped back and he scuttled out of the room.
She was about to follow him when Philip Nicholson came into his office frowning. The skin of his face was taught, and blue shadows under his eyes suggested lack of sleep. ‘Miss Bowman, Laurel. What’s the matter with Mr Shipster? He ran downstairs as if a ghost was on his heels.’
Perhaps one was. Or perhaps there were two, both with red hair. ‘I don’t know, Philip. I came in and he was looking in the safe. He seemed upset I’d seen him. Why do you think he felt like that?’
Philip stared at the safe as though it were a newly minted object. ‘I really don’t know. He has a key, but he doesn’t usually use it unless it’s to put in or take out exam papers. There aren’t any in there at the moment. The November resits don’t come until late October.’ He scratched the back of his neck, the frown lines increasing.
He looked tired and unsure of himself. She suppressed feeling sorry for him, remembering the way he’d treated Dorothy Piff.
‘I was thinking of going for a walk; is that all right or is there any job you’d like me to do?’
He looked up at her, blinking, as though he’d trouble focusing. ‘No. I can understand you must want to get away from here for a few hours. What must you think of it all? The whole situation has become a nightmare.’ He took a deep breath as though ready to blow away the clouds of suspicion hanging over Blackfriars with his outgoing breath. ‘Where are you walking to?’ he asked.
‘I’ll walk over the heath towards Eastbridge, or I might go to the bird reserve.’ The lie slipped from her lips as easily as shucking peas. She didn’t think it would be politic to tell him she was going to Dunwich to see Dorothy Piff.
She turned right at the school gates and, after walking three hundred yards down the road, turned right again, following a footpath through woods to Dunwich. The trees were a mixture of larch and sycamores, the needle-like leaves of the larch covered the path with a few early mottled sycamore leaves foretelling the coming of autumn. The wood was silent apart from sudden bursts of bird song. A few isolated houses sat to the right of the path, all deserted, their windows grey and lifeless, like the eyes of dead animals. She wished she hadn’t come this way and had kept to the road. Too late now, her pride wouldn’t let her turn back. She increased the length of her stride, almost breaking into a jog. If only she knew who the murderer was. It was unbearable not knowing. It had been the same at her old school. She had to know who’d stolen money from the cloakroom, who’d made obscene phone calls to staff, who’d scrawled graffiti in the girls’ loos. She hadn’t rested until she knew who’d murdered Angela. Should she have left that to the police? But would they have solved the crime? Would they have found enough evidence to make sure he went down? She hadn’t been able to leave it alone. She had to know. It had cost her dear. Would her desire to know who the murderer of Susan Nicholson was also have a high price? The footpath led onto a tarmac road in Dunwich. First stop the phone box, then she’d look for Dorothy’s home.
Dorothy had described the position of Greyfriars House, ‘Look out for the gates,’ she’d said. ‘We’re proud of our gates. Had them made by the local blacksmith.’
There they were. A drive, cutting through the grass verge, led to a pair of tall, wrought iron gates with the silhouette of a hooded monk on each, and above, the name, Greyfriars House. The gate was a work of art. This didn’t look like the drive to a neat little cottage, which is what she’d imagined the Miss Piffs lived in.
The gates were well-oiled and smartly painted, but the drive was patched with moss, growing in the cracks of the tarmac; it bent to the left with tall camellias and rhododendrons on either side hiding the house. There was an acrid smell – a stinkhorn? Another sign of autumn.
The drive formed a circle enclosing a lawn with a round pond in its centre; a stone dolphin spewed a feeble jet which dribbled down its stone scales into the green water. A sprawling Tudor house, built of mellow red bricks enclosed between black beams sat back from the drive. Leaded windows caught the sun’s rays and from one of several ornate chimneys, a thin trail of smoke spiralled upwards.
Laurel had imagined the Miss Piffs living in a neat cottage, two up, two down and everything securely in its rightful place, presuming Emily was as well organised as Dorothy. This was an English country mansion, probably dating back to a time when Dunwich had been an important port, before the sea-storms had clawed back the land, the town and eleven of its churches. How wrong can you be about people? You make assumptions, you impose prejudices upon them, and when these are swept away the ground shifts under your feet and insecurity sets in. The school secretary she imagined eking out her life on a small salary had in twenty-four hours turned into a woman who’d served in the armed services during the war and was part-owner of a Tudor mansion with presumably enough money to live in it. How many other assumptions about people – the murder suspects – had she made that had been wrong? Did Frank make the same mistakes? No. He wasn’t an amateur sleuth. Was that what she was? An interfering busy-body with no training in how to analyse the suspects and no right to feel she could help solve these murders?
