Deadly Waters (11 page)

Cantelli continued. ‘According to Susan Pentlow, the sun shone out of Jessica Langley’s backside. She joined the school ten years ago as an administration manager and a fortnight ago Langley promoted her to the position of business manager.

I would say the promotion is too much for her.’

‘Langley’s special pet?’

Cantelli shrugged.

Horton said, ‘I’ll talk to her after Edney’s announcement.

She might know more about Langley’s movements than Edney and Janet Downton. Langley might have confided in her.’

‘Are you going to hold up the building work?’

‘We have to check the connection between the break-in and Jessica Langley’s death even though I don’t think it’s got anything to do with the case.’ He certainly wasn’t going to give Uckfield the opportunity to say he’d messed up. This one was going to be a belt and braces job. ‘I want all the contractors questioned and their whereabouts between eight p.m. and three a.m. verified.’ He quickly relayed Dr Clayton’s findings to Cantelli, then asked, ‘What did Langley’s solicitor say?’

‘She’s left everything to the Royal National Lifeboat Institution.’

‘Which confirms our belief that she was a sailor. And the Queen’s harbour master?’

‘No one went out of Portsmouth harbour last night or early this morning except the Isle of Wight ferry and a couple of fishing boats at five a.m.’

‘We’ll need to talk to them.’

‘They’re not back until tomorrow morning.’

‘Ask the harbour master to notify us when they radio up and we’ll get a unit over there to meet and interview them.

Anything from the Town Camber offices on the boat owners?’

‘I haven’t had a chance to check yet, and everyone in the team seems to be otherwise engaged. I’ll do it after this.’

Horton noted that Cantelli was less than his usual enthusi-astic self. He’d seen Cantelli on the edge of exhaustion before and he hadn’t sounded like that. Or looked so drawn. He said,

‘You OK?’

‘I’ll live, just a headache.’

The door opened and Edney stepped inside. The room didn’t immediately fall silent like the saloon bar when John Wayne walked in – Edney certainly wasn’t any John Wayne or Gary Cooper – but there was a noticeable hiatus in the conversation.

Edney appeared to have aged about ten years since Horton had seen him at the mortuary. There was a grim and haunted expression on his lean features.

In a low voice, Edney said to him, ‘I’m going to tell the staff that they must either stay tonight to make their statements to the police or come in tomorrow, Saturday. Is that all right with you, Inspector Horton?’

‘Yes. I doubt we’ll get through them all tonight.’

Edney nodded, squared his shoulders, and called the room to order. Horton’s eyes fell on Neil Cyrus, the assistant caretaker. He was talking with an older man: grey curly hair, ruddy complexion and steel-rimmed glasses. Horton assumed it was Bill Ashling, Cyrus’s boss, as they were wearing the same kind of uniform: dark trousers and sweatshirts.

Edney surveyed the crowd over the top of his bifocals.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I have a very serious announcement to make.’

Horton wondered at his choice of words: Edney didn’t say upsetting, tragic or distressing. Still, as the man had told him at the mortuary, there was no affection between him and his head teacher. Horton glanced at Janet Downton, Langley’s secretary, who was perched stiffly on the edge of a chair by the window. Her expression softened as she gazed on Edney, and Horton guessed that Jessica Langley had been right about the affair.

Edney continued. ‘This morning Ms Langley was found dead. The police are treating her death as suspicious.’

There was a stunned silence before a murmur spread around the room like a bush fire. Horton’s eyes flicked around the occupants: he registered shock and bafflement. Neil Cyrus glanced across at him with a slightly alarmed expression on his round features. Perhaps he was trying to recall his conversation with them earlier to see if he had said anything that might implicate him. Bill Ashling’s face flushed, his eyes darted about nervously; Janet Downton looked righteous and smug. Susan Pentlow looked as though she was going to faint, and Timothy Boston looked set to catch her if she did. He put a comforting hand on her arm.

Edney held up his hands for silence, and was immediately obeyed.

‘The police will need to take statements from you. You are to give them your full co-operation. The sooner they find the culprit for Ms Langley’s death, the sooner the school can return to normal.’

He had stumbled over the word death, but there was no talk of justice. No expression of sadness. At least, Horton thought, he couldn’t accuse the man of being a hypocrite.

‘The media attention this incident will bring us is, of course, unwelcome,’ Edney went on, ‘but there’s little we can do about it. We must ride the storm. A statement will be issued immediately after this announcement. If journalists approach any of you, you are to refer them to me. On no account must you speak to the press unless you have been given my express permission to do so. This is merely to safeguard the school.

We all know how the media can twist even the most simplest and innocent of remarks.’

There was a slight murmur and shifting of positions, which made Horton think that Edney had been caught out once or twice. He had some sympathy with him, recalling his own brush with the media after the fall-out from Operation Extra.

‘I ask you all to remain here. Anyone unable to stay, please give your details to the officers and they will take your statements tomorrow. I’m sorry that you might have to come into school on a Saturday morning, but with half term next week it gives us a chance to get the school back to some kind of normality before the new term commences. Do you have anything to add, Inspector?’

Edney swivelled his gaze to Horton, so did everyone else.

The door behind Cantelli opened and uniformed and non-uniformed officers entered.

‘I am Detective Inspector Horton, and in charge of this inquiry.’ But not for long, said a small voice in the back of Horton’s mind. He angrily pushed it away. ‘It is important for us to build as clear a picture as we can of Ms Langley and, of course, her movements in the last hours of her life.’

He noticed a small moon-faced man taking off his spectacles and polishing them with vigour. An athletically built fair-haired man in his early thirties, wearing a school sweatshirt, rubbed his nose and stared downwards.

‘I need hardly add that murder is an ugly business and this death tragic.’ Somehow he felt he owed it to Jessica Langley to stress that someone should feel sadness at her premature loss of life. ‘I, and my team, shall make every effort to catch whoever is responsible for Ms Langley’s death. If anyone knows anything about her family, or was a special friend of hers, then I would be very interested to talk to you. Thank you.’

Most in the room burst into animated discussion, but Susan Pentlow wasn’t one of them. As Horton headed towards her, the crowd parted before him, making him feel like Moses at the Red Sea.

‘Mrs Pentlow, could we have a word?’

She started violently, let out a gasp and looked so alarmed that he thought she might faint. With a terrified expression she glanced up at her Cary Grant.

Taking his cue, he said protectively, ‘Susan isn’t feeling very well. She’s had a terrible shock. We all have. Can’t this wait?’

‘It won’t take a moment.’ Horton reached out a hand to guide Susan away from the tanned, good-looking teacher, wondering if there was something going on between them.

Boston scowled at him and then turned to Susan. In a gentle voice that didn’t quite ring true with Horton, he said, ‘Would you like me to come with you?’ His eyes flicked to Horton’s and were full of hostility, as if he thought Horton was going to torture the hapless Susan or clap her in irons.

Susan Pentlow made an effort to pull herself together. ‘No, I’ll be fine.’

Boston squeezed her arm. ‘That’s my girl.’

Horton thought she’d bristle at Boston’s patronizing tone, but she responded with a twitch of her lips that Horton interpreted as a nervous smile. Boston spoke again before Horton could steer her away from her knight in shining armour. ‘What will happen about the building works? Only it’s imperative that it be completed on time.’

Horton studied Boston, the man was so full of his own self-importance that Horton would have thought
he
was the deputy head and not Edney. Horton replied, ‘We will do our best not to hold up the development any longer than necessary, sir.

Why do you ask?’

‘It’s my project and it means a lot to the kids and to the future of the school. It also meant a great deal to Ms Langley.

I wouldn’t want to see it ruined and neither would she.’

So that explained his attitude. Horton guessed it wasn’t so much Langley that Boston was thinking of, rather he was worried about seeing his moment of glory slipping away. This was confirmed by Boston’s next words. ‘Confidentially, Inspector, we have a royal personage lined up to open it.’

Edney hadn’t mentioned that. Horton managed to extricate Susan Pentlow from Boston. ‘Let’s step outside for a moment,’

he suggested.

Again eyes travelled with them and a low murmur accom-panied their passage across the room.

Horton pushed back the door of the classroom opposite.

‘Would you like a seat?’

She shook her head. ‘No.’

Horton perched himself on the table at the head of the room, trying to put the woman at ease by adopting a relaxed approach, but he felt like a teacher with a trembling pupil in front of him.

‘Ms Langley was wearing a black trouser suit yesterday.

Was it usual for her to wear black to school?’

Her eyes came up like a petrified rabbit caught in the glare of headlights. ‘No. She only wore it when she had a business meeting to attend, or when—’

‘Yes?’ Horton encouraged gently. Cantelli was right, here was a woman on the edge.

‘When she had to discipline someone.’

‘And did she discipline anyone yesterday?’ Horton wondered if that person could then have killed her for revenge. He had to keep an open mind and consider all theories until he had more evidence. Had Tom Edney been the person who had been disciplined?

‘I don’t know.’

Horton scrutinized her. Was she telling the truth? If Langley had hauled someone over the coals then she would have done it in her office and Janet Downton would have seen who that was.

‘Did she have any meetings scheduled for yesterday after school?’

‘I didn’t keep her diary. She never said . . . She was such a fantastic person.’ Susan Pentlow began to cry.

‘Just one more thing,’ Horton said gently. He didn’t think he’d get much more from her now. ‘Did Ms Langley talk about any special friends, or boyfriends?’

Susan Pentlow shook her head. She couldn’t speak for her tears.

Horton rose. ‘Would you like to sit down? Can I get you a drink?’

Again she shook her head.

‘I’ll get someone to help you,’ he said, wondering if Timothy Boston was loitering outside ready to lend his arm for her to lean on, and his shoulder for her to cry on.

‘No,’ she finally managed to stammer as Horton opened the door. With a visible effort she pulled herself together. ‘I’m sorry. It’s the shock. I’ll be OK.’

‘Perhaps it would be better if you were to make your statement tomorrow.’ He thought they might get more sense out of her then. This woman probably worked the closest with Langley, being the school’s business manager. She didn’t come across as the sort of business manager that Horton expected; yet Langley must have thought something of her skills to have promoted her.

‘I’ll have to come into school anyway. They’ll be so much to do now that . . .’ The tears flowed again and Horton let her excuse herself. He guessed she was heading for the toilets, or her office.

He returned to the staff room, located Cantelli and beckoned him outside. He apprised him of his brief interview with Susan Pentlow. ‘Ask one of the officers to keep an eye open for her. If she comes back into the staff room, get them to note who she talks to. See if you can find out who went in and out of Langley’s office yesterday, Janet Downton should be able to tell you as they have to go through her office to reach Langley’s. We’re looking for a staff member who could have been disciplined, but get a list of anyone who saw Langley.’

‘You think our killer could be a teacher?’ asked Cantelli, looking incredulous.

Horton didn’t blame him for jumping to that conclusion.

‘Teachers can be villains too. But it might not necessarily be a teacher. All sorts of people visit a school of this size: community workers, careers advisers, youth leaders, sports coaches, social workers. Then there are cleaners, maintenance people, IT technicians, business people. I want a list of them all. Take a copy of the visitors’ book. They have to sign in.’ Horton warmed to his theme. ‘Our killer could be any one of them.’

Horton stared in the direction of Neil Cyrus. He was talking to a uniformed officer. Was he Langley’s murderer? They only had his word that Langley had left the school at seven fifteen p.m. He could have punched her, bundled her into her car and driven her to a boat.

‘Interview Cyrus, Barney. Did anyone see him on school premises before ten p.m. and does he have an alibi for after ten p.m? Has he ever owned a boat? Can he sail? What’s his background? What did he think of Jessica Langley?’ Horton glanced at his watch. He didn’t want to break away from the case, not when there were so many threads to follow and not enough time or manpower to do so, but he had no choice.

‘I’ve got a meeting with Catherine. I have to go. I won’t be long. I’ll see you back at the station, but call me if anything comes to light.’

Friday: 5.10 p.m.

She was late. He should have expected it. Catherine had never been early, or on time, for anything in their life together, a fact that had often annoyed him. He toyed with his coffee and watched the boardwalk for sight of her from his window seat in the pub at Horsea Marina. It wasn’t crowded because it was early, but there were more people here than he would have wished for, probably because it was a Friday.