‘I’d like to try and find him.’
He sat bolt upright. ‘You’d what?’
‘I mean it. I’d like to run a wee private-enterprise search for him. I don’t mean physically; I know I’m tied down for a while. But, as you’ll imagine, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about Mr Boras. That’s not good for me: it makes me obsessive. So I need to do something proactive.’
‘Such as?’
‘I don’t actually know. For openers, I’d like to see the file you have on him, the one that you and Bob Skinner put together, and I’d like to know everything that Bob found out about him in London.’
‘I don’t have that: it’s not on paper. It came from MI5. I’ve just given you the outline.’
‘Okay, I’ll talk to him.’
‘But what are you going to do with this information?’
‘I told you, I don’t know yet. I just want to read it, to think about it, and to see if I can come up with any ideas about where he might be. Even if I can’t, I’ll feel better for having tried.’
‘Mags, you realise that this isn’t even our thing, don’t you? He didn’t commit any crime on our patch.’
A look of real pain settled on her face. ‘It may not be “our thing”, as you put it,’ she said slowly, ‘but it sure as hell is mine. It was my husband he killed: that gives me jurisdiction.’
‘Okay.’
Her eyes brightened. ‘You’ll do it?’
‘I’ll do what I can. That means I’ll give you a copy of the report the boss and I handed over to Les Cairns in Northumberland; I don’t have anything else for you to go on. Yes, you should talk to the DCC and see what he’s prepared to tell you. I’ll give you his phone number out in L’Escala. Promise me one thing, though, Mags.’
‘Maybe.’
‘If he tells you to drop it, you’ll do just that.’
Her smile returned. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’ll promise you that. Because I don’t think there’s a chance he’ll try to stop me. You know Bob Skinner; you know how he’ll feel about Dražen Boras getting away with killing one of his people. I bet you he gives me all the help he can.’
Twelve
‘I’m sorry about the hour, Mrs Brown,’ said Becky Stallings.
A volley sounded in her ear.
‘Yes, I appreciate that it’s only half past four in Boston.’
The voice on the line did not sound mollified.
‘Yes, I know you’re on holiday and, no, I’m not a market researcher. I’m a police officer.’ Pause. ‘Yes, I said police officer, Detective Inspector Stallings, from Edinburgh. First of all, can you confirm that I am speaking with Mrs Grace Brown, the principal of Mary Erskine School?. . I am. Good. I was given this number by your school administrator, but you can’t be too careful.’
‘I suppose not,’ the drowsy voice replied. ‘Now that you have interrupted my sleep, what can I do for you? Has there been an incident at the school?’ A note of concern crept in. ‘Has something happened to one of the kids?’
‘No, to both questions,’ Stallings told her. ‘I want to talk to you about one of your teachers, Miss Dean. I believe she’s in your art department.’
‘Sugar? Yes, that’s right. What’s up?’
‘When did you see her last?’
‘The day before school broke up. That would make it the Thursday before last. I remember that, because she didn’t turn up on the Friday. Our last morning assembly of the session is a big event. All the staff are expected to be there, but Sugar wasn’t. I asked her department head whether she had called in, and he said that she hadn’t. I meant to call her myself, to see if she was sick, but the day got filled up, and it slipped my mind.’
‘Did she have any history of absenteeism?’
‘No, not at all. She was an exemplary staff member, but having been brought up in a teaching household, you’d expect that. Now, why have you woken me up to ask me this?’
‘Because the body of a young woman was found yesterday morning, in woods near Murrayfield golf course.’
Stallings heard a gasp. ‘Sugar?’
‘We don’t know. But the body had been there for some time; it would be consistent with the date you’re talking about.’
‘The school will give you a photograph; we have one on file.’
‘That won’t be enough, Mrs Brown.’
‘Oh, God!’
‘Let’s not jump to conclusions,’ said Stallings. ‘At the moment we’re trying to contact Miss Dean’s parents in the hope that she’s with them.’
‘She won’t be,’ the woman told her. ‘Sugar was planning to go to the South of France to paint. She told me that she had rented an apartment in a place called Collioure.’
‘Was she going alone?’
‘She didn’t tell me, but I suspect not.’
‘Why?’
‘She was friendly with a young man; she called him her apprentice. He was a pupil at our companion school Stewart’s-Melville. I use the past tense because he left at the end of term.’
‘She was in a relationship with a pupil? Is that allowed?’
‘Of course not, but it wasn’t regarded as a relationship. The boy is a very promising painter, and Sugar was giving him spare-time tuition, with the full knowledge of his parents and with my approval. However, I did hear that they were seeing a lot of each other.’
‘Did you do anything about it?’
‘I had a gentle word with her. She wasn’t upset. She told me, “Mrs Brown, I promise you that I’m not breaking any rules with Davis, nor will I.” Those were her very words.’
‘Davis?’
‘Davis Colledge, with a “d”. That’s his name. Very good-looking young man; and he didn’t have a girlfriend, hence the gossip.’
‘If it was only gossip, what makes you think they were planning to go off together?’
‘The way that she said it. I may be wrong but I took her to be implying that once he was no longer a pupil …’
‘There would be no rules to break?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Where can we find this young man?’
‘You don’t think he’d anything to …’
Stallings cut her off. ‘Until we identify the dead woman I’m not thinking anything, but if it is Sugar, we’re going to need to speak to him.’
‘In that case, you’ll have to contact the school, either directly or through the Merchant Company. I believe that Davis was a boarder.’
‘They do that?’
‘Of course, Inspector; so do we. We have a mix of day pupils and boarders.’
‘I see. Thank you, Mrs Brown. That’s all I need to ask you. Again, I’m sorry to have disturbed your holiday. I’ll let you get back to sleep now.’
‘Fat chance. Look, Inspector, you will let me know, won’t you, one way or another, once you identify this poor woman?’
‘Yes, I promise. ’Bye for now.’ She hung up and turned to Jack McGurk. We need an address,’ she told him. ‘Lad named Davis Colledge. . with a “d”. Until the week before last he was a pupil at Mary Erskine’s partner school.’
‘I’m on to it,’ the sergeant replied.
She turned to Haddock; he was standing solemnly by her desk, as if he had been waiting for her to finish. ‘Sauce?’
‘I’ve just spoken to John Dean, Sugar’s dad. He and his wife were at the shops when I called earlier; that’s why there was no reply. His understanding is that Sugar’s in France. In a place called …’
‘Collioure?’
‘That’s it, ma’am.’
‘When did they see her last?’
‘The last day of term, when she left to walk to work. He and Mrs Dean are both primary-school teachers; he’s a headmaster. They both finished at lunchtime that day, and headed straight up to Appin. As they understood it, Sugar was flying to Perpignan next morning.’
‘But they haven’t heard from her since?’
‘No.’
She looked at him. ‘Did you tell him why you were calling?’
‘I had to. He didn’t buy “routine enquiries” for a second. He and his wife are heading home straight away.’
‘Okay, Sauce, that’s well done. Breaking news like that is tough for me, and I’m longer in the tooth than you are.’