Deadly Waters (10 page)

‘Yes. And I have an excellent track record.’ A spark flickered in Edney’s eyes and his colour heightened. ‘Who do you think managed to raise all that money to build the new hall and drama suite? Me. And what kind of reward do I get for that? Nothing.’

‘Why didn’t you apply for a headship elsewhere?’

‘Why should I? That was and is
my
school. I’ve been there twenty years.’

Yes, thought Horton, and was that enough of a motive to kill for?

‘You see, Inspector, I don’t seek self-publicity. My job is running a school and ensuring that the pupils are given the best education within my powers. Clearly, that wasn’t enough for the governors.’

Horton left a silence to allow Edney to calm down. ‘What will happen to the school now?’

‘You mean who will take over the headship?’

Horton nodded.

‘The board of governors and a representative from the local education authority will decide that tonight when they meet.’

‘But you’re expecting to be appointed.’

‘Yes.’

Horton watched Edney climb into the waiting police car.

He certainly had a strong motive for killing Langley. He hated her and she had pipped him to the promotion post. Could Edney handle a boat? Did he have a boat? Horton didn’t even know where he lived yet. But somehow he couldn’t see Edney stuffing money wrapped in honey inside Langley’s knickers.

And he couldn’t imagine him dumping her on the mulberry in the middle of the harbour on a cold, wet and windy night.

But it didn’t do to discount him, not yet. Horton had met less likely murderers in his time with imaginations so wild behind a meek outward manner that they made Dr Jekyll’s Mr Hyde look normal.

He called Uckfield to tell him they had a positive ID.

Uckfield said the press conference would go ahead at three forty-five, just after Edney had informed the staff. Uckfield and the chief executive of the local education authority were already ensconced in Uckfield’s office at the police station, and Marsden was with them. The PR lady was organizing the media and would usher them all into one of the conference rooms in half an hour’s time.

Next Horton called Cantelli.

‘Any joy with matching the MO or Johnson’s associates?’

‘No, but I haven’t finished checking yet.’

He caught a hint of weariness in Cantelli’s voice. ‘Hand it over to someone else; call Small and Babcock, Langley’s solicitors. Find out who her beneficiaries are. Edney’s given us a positive ID. Then meet me at the school in about twenty minutes.’

Horton glanced at his watch. Mention of solicitors had reminded him that the clock was ticking away to his appointment with Catherine. He toyed with the idea of calling her to change their meeting and then dismissed it. It would only confirm to her how unreliable he was and therefore give her further ammunition for a divorce, and for preventing him from seeing Emma.

He wanted to be at the school when Edney made the announcement to the staff to see the reactions to the news that their head teacher had been murdered. Before that though he had time to have a quick word with Dr Clayton about the findings of her autopsy. Something, just possibly, might have emerged.

Horton was irritated to find she wasn’t alone. Gaye’s visitor swivelled round in her seat and gave him a perfunctory smile, which he returned, noting that her short greying hair was unkempt and her oval face etched with fatigue. He put her about mid-fifties, but she could have been younger. Her maroon suit was crumpled and he noticed that the pale blue blouse underneath the jacket needed an iron. Gaye furnished an introduction.

‘This is Dr Woodford; she’s Jessica Langley’s GP.’

Horton covered his surprise. His annoyance quickly evap-orated. This could be helpful. Would Dr Woodford reveal something about Langley’s medical history that would give him a lead? He sincerely hoped so. He wasn’t about to look this particular gift horse in the mouth.

He shook her hand – it wasn’t as firm as he had expected– and eased himself on to the seat next to her, and in front of Gaye’s cluttered desk.

Dr Woodford said, ‘I came to see Gaye about another patient of mine who died last night. There was nothing unexpected in
his
death. He had a severe heart condition. He shouldn’t have needed a post-mortem but he also had asbestosis and that does require one. I promised his widow that I would make sure everything was done . . . properly. I know it will be, but a promise is a promise. I’m sorry, Gaye. No aspersions on you.’

‘None taken. Relatives are naturally anxious about post-mortems.’

Dr Woodford addressed Horton. ‘I could have saved the person who identified Ms Langley the time and distress if I’d known. Who did you get?’

‘Her deputy head. It seems that Ms Langley didn’t have any living relatives.’

‘I didn’t know. She registered with my practice in Canal Walk in May probably because it’s the closest to her school.

I gave her a medical, as we do all new patients. I saw her a couple of times after that. Nothing serious, just the usual women’s things. She was very fit.’

‘I can agree with that, she was in very good condition,’

Gaye said.

‘What was your impression of her, Dr Woodford?’ Horton asked.

She considered this, then said, ‘Lively, dedicated, intelligent.’

After only a couple of visits, Horton couldn’t expect anything more revealing. So nothing there for him, he thought with a twinge of disappointment.

‘When was the last time you saw her?’

‘About a month ago. I remember her talking about the school, or rather her staff. She was having difficulty with one or two of them. I recall her joking about it raising her blood pressure.’

Horton’s interest quickened. ‘Anyone in particular?’ He saw Dr Woodford hesitate and hastened to reassure her. ‘It might have nothing to do with her death, but any information you can give me could help me to find her killer.’

‘Of course, I understand.’ Dr Woodford looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing, ‘She believed that her deputy head teacher and her secretary were having an affair and that she would have to take steps to remove one of them. They were both in critical positions of trust and she said it was hard enough trying to turn the school around, without them plot-ting and scheming behind her back.’

Horton recalled the secretary, Janet Downton, and how her manner towards Tom Edney had softened when she had addressed him. It was clear that neither of them liked Jessica Langley, but there was big step between not liking someone and killing them. It was, however, an additional nugget of information and an interesting one that told against Tom Edney, and edged him a step closer to becoming a suspect. But Horton hadn’t forgotten about Eric Morville and that note.

‘I’d like access to her medical records, doctor. Just routine,’

he added, when she looked alarmed.

‘I don’t mean to be difficult, Inspector. I’ll do all I can to help catch her killer, but I do need a warrant before I can release them.’

He nodded acquiescence. She rose.

‘I must get back. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork to do before surgery starts. Have you any idea who could have done such a terrible thing? Sorry, that was a silly question; you wouldn’t tell me even if you had.’ She smiled and Horton saw the traces of an attractive woman who had let herself go over the years through pressure of work and dedication to her duty as a doctor.

‘I’ll tell you what I can, when I can.’ It wasn’t much of a promise, and she knew it, but she smiled again before she left.

Gaye said, ‘She was exhausted, and then to walk in here and find another of her patients on the slab . . . I’m glad I don’t have her job. Dealing with dead bodies is much more straightforward; they can’t argue back or dispute your diag-nosis.’

‘Is that why you became a pathologist?’

‘That and my father.’ She swivelled a photograph on her desk so that Horton found himself looking at a lean man in his late fifties with intelligent green eyes and a broad smile.

‘He’s retired now but he was a Home Office pathologist. Dr Samuel Ryedon. Ah, I see you’ve heard of him.’ She smiled.

‘Who hasn’t in the police service? I had no idea you were related to a living legend.’

‘I like to keep it quiet, except for the photograph that is, and nobody really notices that.’

Horton frowned puzzled. ‘Why the Dr Clayton?’

‘The name you mean? I was married. I see I’ve startled you again, Inspector. It didn’t last long. You wanted to know about Langley.’ She sat forward. Horton hadn’t failed to note the abrupt change of conversation. Obviously Gaye wasn’t keen to discuss her marriage. Horton completely understood that.

‘Jessica Langley’s skull was fractured. The shape of the wound, and the fact that I found splinters lodged in the tissue, tell me she was hit with a heavy, flattish wooden implement—’

‘So there would have been blood.’

‘It would have splattered everywhere, including over the killer
if
it had been the cause of death, but it wasn’t. She was already dead. It is my belief she was suffocated. It’s difficult to say with complete certainty because there’s very little evidence in this type of case; there are no traces of any fibres inside her nose or mouth because the sea life and salt water destroyed them, but there are some tiny signs of facial oedema where the increased pressure caused tissue fluid transudation.’

‘And the marks on her arms?’

‘The blood had drained into surrounding tissue; I checked it under the microscope. It
was
bruising. I’d say she had been gripped with some considerable force at the top of both arms.

There were no signs of sexual intercourse immediately before her death.’

‘Was she killed on the mulberry?’

‘No. She was moved there after death.’ Gaye leaned back in her chair and swivelled it gently. ‘There is something else though.’

Horton saw the slight flush under her fair skin and the excitement in her eyes and hope rose in him. Would this give him that extra piece of information he needed?

‘Her jaw was dislocated. Someone hit her forcefully in the face with a fist.’

Horton didn’t like the sound of this. He gathered his thoughts, then said, ‘Our killer grabbed her by the arms, perhaps shook her in a rage, released her and then punched her in the face. After which he suffocated her, moved her to the mulberry and then struck her with a wooden implement.’

‘It’s a theory, but the colour and pattern of the bruising to the arms indicate that was done some time previously. She was punched on the left-hand side of her face, but she was struck on the right.’

‘Administered by two different people?’

‘Possibly. You could be looking for a right-handed person who punched her and a left-handed person who struck her with the wooden implement. Alternatively it could be a killer who is ambidextrous. Or perhaps he did that to confuse us.’

‘Great,’ Horton declared, thinking in that case he’d succeeded. Was Edney left-handed? He had clasped the beaker of water with both hands. And how about Morville? No, Horton was sure he had seen him roll his cigarettes and pour out his whisky using his right hand. Of course, the person who struck and suffocated her might not necessarily be the same person who had punched her.

Could Edney have punched Jessica Langley on the jaw?

Maybe she had taunted him once too often. Edney had flipped, struck her and then suffocated her. He had then used her boat to take the body as far away from the school as possible. But why not simply throw her overboard? Why take her all the way to the mulberry?

‘Have you any idea where she might have been killed?’ he asked.

‘There was nothing under or on her skin to give me any clues. I’ve sent fragments off for analysis along with her clothes. We might get something. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear. I’ll send over my full report when it’s ready.’

Horton headed back to the school thinking over what he’d learned from Gaye Clayton, Dr Woodford and Tom Edney.

So far, the information was like the pieces of a jigsaw lying in front of him. They didn’t fit together because some of the pieces were missing. He’d find them though, and before he was compelled to hand this case over to Dennings.

If her killing hadn’t been revenge motivated then why else would someone want her dead? And what, if anything, did the note found in her pocket have to do with her death?

A uniformed officer let him through the school gates. School was over and the building workers had been sent home early.

He parked his Harley next to Cantelli’s car and made his way to the staff room. As he stepped inside, all eyes swivelled to stare at him for a moment, freeze-framed as if someone had hit the pause button on a DVD. Then an expectant hum of excitement broke out. At a swift glance, Horton saw that the room was crowded with a motley crew of people of assorted ages, the majority female with about a dozen men thrown in.

He located Cantelli and caught his eye. Horton watched, as he broke off his conversation with a worried-looking dark haired man in his mid-thirties, smartly dressed in a good suit with a clean-cut, handsome face, which Horton guessed had the girls in a swoon – that’s if young girls swooned nowadays. It seemed too quaint a word for the modern emancipated female.

Horton and Cantelli drew further away from the crowd to stand just inside the door. In a low voice, Cantelli said, ‘They’re all on edge, trying to find out what’s going on. Most of them think it’s to do with the break-in, though Susan Pentlow asked me outright if Ms Langley was OK. She looks as if she’s on the verge of a breakdown.’

‘Which one is she?’

‘Over there, next to Cary Grant?’

‘Huh?’

‘The teacher I was just talking to.’

‘Not his real name I take it.’

‘Timothy Boston, but he thinks he’s Cary Grant. He looks a bit like him with that cleft in his chin and those dark looks, except for the height. Not tall enough.’

Horton knew that Cantelli’s passion was old black-and-white movies. He looked across to Cary Grant aka Timothy Boston who now seemed to be doing his best to console the thin, nervy woman whom Cantelli had identified as Susan Pentlow. She pushed her straight fair hair off her narrow face and nodded at what he was saying. She looked to be in her mid-thirties.