Medburn had been different, Ramsay thought as he parked his car in the playground, avoiding a crocodile of children returning from a nature walk. Medburn had been larger than life, a worthy victim of murder. At times, when he was almost faint with sleeplessness, he could imagine the headmaster taunting and teasing him. He knew that to be ridiculous, but the personality of the victim, his own pride and his guilt at Kitty’s suicide made this case special. He was determined to get a result.
Ramsay knew that his visits to the school had begun to irritate the staff, and as he approached the building he thought he could already sense their hostility. Jack Robson was seldom there now. Since Kitty’s death he seemed only to go to the school early in the morning and last thing at night. Occasionally Ramsay did meet him and then he was withdrawn and resentful.
There had been changes in the school. The vicar’s wife had come in as supply teacher to take Miss Hunt’s class while she was acting head teacher and the secretary, an elderly lady, had resigned with accusations and floods of tears. She had seemed to think that death, like the measles, was contagious and she could not stay there without being affected. Perhaps she was right, thought Ramsay, remembering Kitty Medburn and Paul Wilcox.
Ramsay went into the school and along the corridor to Matthew Carpenter’s room. He knew his way round now. He knocked at the door and the teacher came into the corridor to speak to him. As if I’m infectious too, Ramsay thought, and the children might catch something from me. Inside the children were painting.
‘Yes Inspector,’ Matthew said. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Just a few more questions.’ In interview the young man had always been pleasant and polite. He had already answered Ramsay’s questions about the bonfire, the children’s attempts to dress the guy as a witch. But now Ramsay wanted to ask about the rumours that Matthew had been threatened by Medburn with dismissal. He wondered if Carpenter would be so eager to discuss that.
‘Could you wait for five minutes?’ Matthew asked. ‘The children will be going home then and we can talk in peace.’
Ramsay nodded and prowled along the corridor, as if by being in the building, by walking as the headmaster had done, he would receive some inspiration about who had hated the man so much to kill him and then to dress him up in such a grotesque and undignified way. He felt he had wasted time. He had believed so strongly that Kitty had killed her husband that he had not taken sufficient notice of the other people involved while they were still shocked by Medburn’s death and might have given something away. The fingerprint and forensic tests had not helped. All the fingerprints in the school belonged to people who had a reason to be there and that only reinforced his theory that the murderer was connected with the school.
A bell rang and the children pushed into the corridor, then ran into the playground. In Matthew’s classroom the two men sat on children’s desks. Ramsay began his questions gently, retracing old ground about the bonfire, asking for the names and addresses of the children who were there. Then he began to inquire about Matthew’s relationship with Medburn.
‘You didn’t get on with Mr Medburn, did you?’ Ramsay asked.
‘We had different ideas about teaching.’
‘But he was a headmaster and you had just qualified so he was in a position to impose his ideas on you?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Isn’t it true that he didn’t think much of you as a teacher?’
‘I don’t know,’ Matthew had begun to stammer but he remained polite, quiet. ‘Perhaps I wasn’t as strong on discipline as he would have liked.’
‘I’ve heard that he was going to get you the sack.’
‘I don’t know where you could have heard that.’ Matthew’s voice was louder and he was starting to lose control. ‘You shouldn’t listen to the parents’ gossip.’
‘But you’ve been happier here since Mr Medburn died?’
‘Yes. If you’ve been talking in the village you’ll know that I’m happier now. So are all the children.’
Without a pause Ramsay changed the subject of his questions.
‘Were you drunk on the night of the Hallowe’en party?’
‘Yes!’ Matthew was almost shouting. ‘I’ve admitted that before.’
‘Why did you get drunk?’
‘I don’t know. I was lonely, unhappy, homesick. I missed my friends.’
‘Do you lose control when you’re drunk?’
‘Not enough to commit murder.’
And although Matthew was angry and frightened, nothing Ramsay could say would shake him from that. Ramsay was surprised, throughout the interview, to see Irene Hunt looking in from the corridor, watchful and protective, as if she had coached the young man in what he would say and she wanted to ensure that he was word perfect. Her presence encouraged Ramsay in the belief that Carpenter had something to hide. He began to feel happier.
Ramsay had spoken to Miss Hunt earlier in the week and the memory of that interview remained with him in perfect detail. In her bungalow she had struck him as relaxed, human. He had liked her. At school she was quite different. She had seen him in the headmaster’s office and had been as imperious and distant as Medburn himself. She had intimidated Ramsay with her sharp, honest intelligence and her refusal to compromise. And because she was a teacher of such an age and type, he admitted to himself later. As a child he had been terrified of a schoolmistress just like her. He’d had nightmares about her and dreamed she was an ogre.
Miss Hunt had answered his questions readily enough. She admitted to having been blackmailed, but then refused to give Ramsay her daughter’s name and address.
‘I can find it out,’ he said, with a spasm of desperation and spite.
‘I can’t stop you doing that,’ she said, cool and haughty, ‘though I don’t imagine it’s as easy as you think. She changed her name of course when she was adopted and when she married, and she’s moved several times. Even if you find her it’s not important. I’ll know that I’ve not betrayed her.’
Ramsay had set a constable to trace the daughter but without much urgency or hope of success. There had not yet been a result. Miss Hunt had been paying blackmail to Medburn for years. After that time it surely must have become a habit, a minor irritation and hardly a motive for murder. Besides, if she were to be believed she no longer had any reason to pay.
Out in the corridor Miss Hunt caught his eye and walked away. Matthew Carpenter stood up suddenly and began to clean the blackboard. The rubber was dusty and chalk was smeared across the blackboard, despite the young man’s vigorous, almost frantic, actions. Ramsay watched with a growing joy. Carpenter was frightened. He knew he had to act carefully now. It was vital to show that the teacher had access to Heminevrin. He could not take Carpenter in on suspicion for questioning without that proof. He had done that to Kitty Medburn and his superiors would need evidence before they would allow it to happen again. They were too sensitive to criticism by the press.
‘You live above a chemist’s shop, don’t you?’ he asked.
Matthew looked round quickly and the blackboard rubber banged to the floor.
‘Yes,’ he said as he bent to pick it up.
‘Is there any way into it from your flat?’
‘No. I’ve got a separate entrance.’
‘So there’s no way you could get into the shop if it’s closed?’
‘Oh yes,’ Matthew said. ‘The pharmacist rented the flat to me on the condition that I keep an eye on the shop. It’s been broken into a couple of times and sometimes the burglar alarm goes off by mistake. I’ve got a spare key.’