Elementary Murder Page 3

  Detective Sergeant Brennan had given his superior the bare outlines of the unfortunate discovery at George Street Elementary School and had informed him of his intention to regard the death as suspicious until he could prove otherwise. But instead of a cursory ‘Carry on’ or even an expression of doubt as to the desirability of continuing with the investigation, he merely sat back and placed his hands together on his chest, a dreamy glaze in his eyes.

  ‘When I was in India, visiting Jeypore, Sergeant, I took a stroll in the public gardens.’

  ‘Really, sir?’

  ‘A fascinating place. There’s an educational museum there. Believe it or not, it’s housed in a building they call the Albert Hall.’

  He paused, waiting for the amused glint in Brennan’s eye that never came.

  ‘There’s a department of crime in that museum, you see? They have little puppets, very life-like they are too. They reenact every crime you can think of. From drunkenness to murder most foul. They even have models showing the most efficient way of disposing of a murdered person. One way was to cut the poor chap up into little bits and drop them in a postbox.’

  ‘Ingenious, sir.’

  ‘Evil beyond measure, Sergeant.’ Captain Bell’s eyes flashed a cautionary glance in his direction. ‘Another group of figures shows a Thug throttling a British soldier. The poor fellow’s face is purple like a bursting plum.’

  Brennan, who couldn’t think of anything remotely appropriate to say, kept silent.

  ‘The point I’m coming to, Sergeant Brennan, is this. In the museum’s courtyard there’s an inscription – a saying of Akbar’s.’

  ‘Akbar, sir?’

  ‘The one buried at Sikandra. The Emperor.’

  ‘Oh that one.’

  Captain Bell blinked but carried on. ‘It read, “I never saw anyone lost on a straight road”.’ He paused, waiting for the wisdom of the maxim to permeate his sergeant’s brain.

  ‘I see, sir.’

  The chief constable unfurled his fingers. ‘Quite plainly you do not see. I was merely trying to point out that you have a tendency to deviate into all manner of byroads and pathways when the simplest way is forward. Forward on a straight road.’

  ‘You wish me to accept the woman’s death as suicide?’

  ‘What makes you think otherwise? The note she left would seem to be conclusive. Her failure to secure a position. The shame of going home jobless. The inescapable fact that she locked herself in the classroom so she wouldn’t be disturbed. What more evidence do you want?’

  ‘It’s nothing very definite, sir. It just seems strange that Miss Gadsworth should choose to end her life in a school rather than the confines of a hotel room. Why go back there at all? And how did she manage to enter a locked building? Furthermore, how did she know where the classroom keys were kept?’

  ‘She wished to torture herself in the place where she suffered rejection,’ Captain Bell offered with a frown of understanding and conveniently ignoring the subsequent questions altogether. ‘The surroundings gave her the impetus she needed to do the deed. Poison, you suspect?’

  ‘Indeed, sir. The signs were unmistakable, though we’ll see what the post-mortem tells us.’

  ‘Well then.’

  ‘I’m still rather curious as to how she got into the school in the first place. According to the headmaster, there were no indications of a forced entry.’

  Captain Bell looked through his window for an answer. ‘Loose window?’ he suggested with little conviction.

  ‘A possibility, sir. I suppose.’ He examined his fingers before adding, ‘And another thing. Why did she faint?’

  ‘Faint?’

  Brennan explained.

  ‘Isn’t it obvious? She wasn’t up to the job. And seeing a school inspector walk in … well, shrinking violets don’t like the heat of the sun.’

  It wasn’t a saying Brennan had heard before, but he gave a short nod as if he had.

  ‘Well, Sergeant. It’s clear you haven’t finished your enquiries yet.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘But I wouldn’t want you to spend an unprofitable length of time on what appears to be a sad case of a woman scorned. Not by love, on this occasion, but by her own inadequacy. Very sad, but if people took their own life whenever they met a rejection, where would that leave us, eh? A melancholy mountain of bodies, Sergeant.’ He shook his head as if the vision were set clear before him. ‘But remember what I said. The straight road, Sergeant. The straight road.’

  Brennan took the wave of his thin hand and the slow shaking of the head as signs of dismissal. He stood up and left his superior gazing through his window, but whether he saw the tram shuttling its way up King Street, some resplendent garden in India, or a pile of rotting suicidal corpses it was difficult to say.

  By the time Brennan and Constable Jaggery returned to George Street later that afternoon, a sizeable crowd had gathered. Pupils, home for their dinners, had spoken of classrooms filled to the rafters with bits of dead bodies, and word had got round the town that something serious had taken place at the school. Passers-by, curious as to what was going on, had been given increasingly gruesome distortions of the grim truth through the school railings by children eager to show they were at the centre of events.

  A woman wi’ ’er eyes cut out …

  I ’eard she’d been etten by rats …

  Aye, ’er ears an’ nose bitten off …

  And ’er ’ead …

  Wi’ ’er innards all over t’floor.

  Most of the parents were at work – down the mine or in the mill – but others had taken their place and muttered darkly of the poor little buggers being taught in blood-stained classrooms, and what the hellfire did that headmaster think he was doing letting a murderer loose near the littluns anyroad?

  The two policemen ignored the more salacious questions hurled at them. Brennan paused at the railings to make a short and terse statement.

  ‘A young woman has died. She isn’t a teacher at the school. If any of you are waiting for your children, they’ll be out at the usual time.’

  There were mutterings, but the way Constable Jaggery clutched his truncheon and faced them with his considerable bulk subdued the more vociferous.

  Once inside the building they were immediately met by the headmaster, who, Brennan supposed, had been spying out for their arrival. Along the arched corridor were a number of classrooms, each with its door firmly shut. From one classroom – the nearest – they could hear the lacklustre chanting of times tables.

  One times two is two

  Two times two is four

  Three times two is six

  Four times two is eight

  Five times two is ten

  As they walked along the corridor towards the headmaster’s room, Brennan overheard a loud clatter from another classroom. He glanced through the upper window of the closed door and saw a class of around thirty very young children seated at their desks, all of them watching with interest a confrontation involving a young girl – around five years old – who was standing defiantly before her teacher. The teacher herself seemed very young and looked uncertain what to do.

  ‘I said pick it up, Sadie Gorman.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘You have broken your slate!’

  ‘You said take away six from three.’ The young girl’s voice rose in anger.

  ‘I said no such thing. I told you to take three from six.’

  ‘You can’t take six from three.’

  Mr Weston gave an apologetic cough. ‘Excuse me, Detective Sergeant. I may have to intervene. Miss Mason is a pupil-teacher. An excellent one, but not quite the finished product yet, I’m afraid. Should have another teacher in with her but as we’re so short-staffed …’

  Before Brennan could reply, the headmaster burst into the room with all the force of a gale. The pupils immediately stood up. Brennan saw the young teacher swirl round to face Mr Weston. He noticed the glimmer of tears in her eyes as she briefly turn
ed her face to the window. Her eyes widened in what looked like shock when she caught sight of Constable Jaggery’s uniform.

  A brief exchange took place between herself and the headmaster. After a few seconds of listening with her head bowed low, Miss Mason gave a sharp nod and, with the presence of such reinforcement to support her, she raised her head and once more instructed young Sadie to pick up the cracked slate. The pupil gave a furtive look in the headmaster’s direction and then stooped low to do as she was told.

  ‘I trust you will deal with this she-devil in the appropriate manner, Miss Mason?’ said Mr Weston in a loud voice that carried to the back of the room. ‘Violence, vandalism and defiance – an unholy trinity indeed in one so young, Gorman.’ He then glared at the rest of the class as if they were somehow equally to blame. ‘Today of all days!’ he said darkly. ‘Today of all days!’

  With that he breezed past the tearful Miss Mason and slammed the door shut behind him.

  ‘No idea how to behave,’ was his only comment to the two policemen as he led the way to his study at the end of the corridor.

  Brennan wasn’t sure whom he was referring to.

  The hand bell was clanging at the far end of the corridor, the boy from Standard 6 heaving it from shoulder to knee with great gusto. Within seconds there was a communal scraping of chairs; doors the length of the corridor were flung open and children of various age and size came rushing out. As they neared the outside doors held open by the caretaker, the noise increased until the playground became a frantic blur of bodies running, jumping, scuffling and kicking their way to the school gates, where a larger than normal group of onlookers – including some parents – were waiting to greet and interrogate them.

  Richard Weston stood at the window and gazed out at the noisier than usual scene in the playground. He refrained from commenting, however, and turned to face Detective Sergeant Brennan, who was scrutinising the sheet of paper he had presented to him.

  ‘I see Mr Tollet, the school inspector, lives in Blackburn.’

  ‘That is his address, yes. It is what you asked for.’

  ‘It certainly is. I see that the vicar isn’t down to speak with me this evening?’

  ‘Unfortunately, according to Miss Rodley, Reverend Pearl has other commitments to carry out, so he is unavailable for interview. I’m sure you can make alternative arrangements?’

  Brennan grunted his assent.

  ‘You’ll notice that I have placed Miss Mason first on the list, Sergeant Brennan. She is, as I explained, a pupil-teacher, and she has an hour’s study from five o’clock until six. I am helping to prepare her for the Queen’s Scholarship Examination.’

  ‘What’s that then?’ Constable Jaggery, who was standing by the door in readiness for his role as usher, looked puzzled. ‘She’s a teacher, ain’t she? Thought examinations were done with by the time you pick up a stick o’ chalk.’

  Mr Weston gave a condescending smile. ‘At the moment she is merely a pupil-teacher. Until four years ago she was herself a pupil in this school. Then she became a monitor. One of the very brightest children I have ever met, despite her rather harrowing background. The man who called himself her father was a profligate and the only favour he ever did for her was to die. The poor girl’s mother died, too, soon afterwards, and her grandmother has taken sole responsibility for her upbringing. She has few friends now – her former classmates seem to have frozen her out because she chooses to work in a school instead of the cotton mill. And yet, despite all that, the girl shows great promise. In other schools they allow the children to address pupil-teachers by their Christian name. You may notice that does not happen here. She is always Miss Mason. Once we iron out some of her verbal lapses, and if she passes the Queen’s Scholarship with a first class, she will be able to go to training college for two years. With my assistance.’

  ‘She might be wed by then,’ Constable Jaggery added. He was about to make further pronouncements on the general desirability of women to become mothers at the earliest opportunity when he caught sight of Brennan glowering at him.

  ‘Very well,’ said Brennan. ‘If you’ll be so kind as to bring the child in, I can begin.’

  ‘She isn’t a child, Sergeant Brennan. For the purposes of her standing in this establishment she is not to be referred to as anything other than a teacher, albeit a pupil one.’

  With that, he left the room.

  Constable Jaggery gave a chuckle. ‘Touchy bugger, Sergeant.’

  ‘A man under pressure, Constable. It’s not something they train you for in headmaster school. Finding dead bodies in a classroom.’

  ‘Didn’t know they ’ad schools for ’eadmasters an’ all,’ said Jaggery with a shake of the head. Humour, unless of the vulgar and violent sort, often passed him by.

  A few minutes later, they heard mumbled whispers from the corridor, before the door swung open and Mr Weston escorted the young pupil-teacher into the study.

  Brennan stood and moved around the desk to sit in the headmaster’s chair while indicating with an outstretched hand that Miss Mason should sit facing him.

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me, Miss Mason,’ Brennan began. But before he could go any further there was an irate cough from Mr Weston, who was glowering at him.

  ‘Ah,’ said Brennan, understanding at once the reason for the interruption. ‘I won’t be occupying your chair for long. And as you won’t be staying …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s better I speak to the staff alone.’

  ‘But they are my staff, Sergeant. They may need support.’

  Constable Jaggery, standing in his usual position by the door, also gave a cough, but its genesis lay more in concern for the headmaster’s well-being.

  ‘They’re answering a few questions, Mr Weston, not facing a mob.’

  During the brief exchange, Miss Mason kept her eyes cast down. It was clear she had never heard the headmaster being spoken to in such a way.

  Constable Jaggery held the door open.

  ‘In that case I shall be in the staffroom. Unless, of course, you have an objection to that, too?’

  ‘None whatsoever.’

  With that, the headmaster left with his head held high.

  Once Jaggery had closed the door, Brennan leant forward and gave Miss Mason a reassuring smile.

  ‘As I said, just a few questions, Miss Mason. I’m trying to build up a picture of what exactly happened to the unfortunate young woman who was found this morning.’

  At last she raised her head. Close up, Brennan was struck by how young the girl looked. She’s really no more than a child herself, he reflected, and recalled the look of panic in her eyes when faced with a naughty child and the wrath of the headmaster. Although her hair was tightly braided, a few strands had slipped free, giving her a somewhat harassed appearance. She was pretty, though, he thought.

  ‘It was horrible,’ she began in a low voice. ‘I only caught a glimpse of her lyin’ there this mornin’ but … after seein’ her so full of life only last Friday …’

  He gave her time to recover. For such a young girl, the sight of death in such incongruous circumstances, a room normally associated with all the spirited exuberance of life, must indeed have been a shock.

  ‘Mr Weston said she’d took her own life,’ she whispered, her words low and tremulous.

  ‘Well no one knows that for sure,’ Brennan said gently. ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’

  The girl frowned. ‘But if you find out she didn’t take her own life, that’d mean …’

  He held up a hand. ‘Let’s see what we can find out, eh?’

  She gave a short nod, clasping her hands together.

  ‘The woman’s name is Dorothea Gadsworth,’ he began. ‘She was here on Friday to be interviewed for a position in the school.’

  ‘Yes. I was introduced to her then.’

  ‘What can you tell me about her?’

  The question seemed to flummox the girl.

&n
bsp; ‘I only met her proper that once. At playtime.’

  ‘Did you speak with her?’

  ‘She said she hoped I would pass me scholarship. That ’er time at training college was the best time of ’er life. That she’d met such wonderful and interesting people there.’

  ‘She was pleasant with you then?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘What mood was she in?’

  Miss Mason thought for a while before replying. ‘Seemed all right. I remember thinking how she’d be in class. Y’know, stood in front and getting them in order. She said Standard 6 had been a handful but they weren’t as bad as some she’d taught over in Salford.’

  ‘Were you alone with her?’

  ‘Oh no. All the others were there – the other teachers, that is, and Miss Rodley, o’ course. She was showin’ her round t’school. It’s her job she was here for. Miss Rodley’s leaving, see? Gettin’ wed to the vicar. Reverend Pearl. We spoke to each other no longer than a couple of minutes.’

  ‘You were there when she fainted?’

  ‘It was a shame. One minute she was, like, happy an’ then ’er legs buckled.’

  ‘This was when Mr Weston, the vicar and the school inspector Mr Tollet came into the staffroom?’

  Her brow darkened. ‘Aye. He’d make a donkey faint, I reckon.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘That inspector bloke. One o’ them as is all smiles an’ all the time makin’ notes. You don’t know what he’s puttin’ down, see? Mr Edgar reckons all inspectors should be drowned at birth.’ She gave a shy smile and looked down at her hands.

  Brennan had some sympathy with the view. He recalled ruefully the visit of Sir Herbert Denman, Her Majesty’s Inspector of Northern Division, earlier in the year. Captain Bell had put all of them through a torturous course of drill in the week leading up to the visit and had made it clear that any member of his force letting him down would suffer a fate of biblical proportions. He had given Brennan the dubious honour of showing the great man the cells which had been scrubbed overnight, a fact that Sir Herbert’s nose detected at once.