'His accent was slightly West Country, but not quite as strong as Dr Clayton's. I haven't come across him before, and I don't believe a word he said.'
'Neither do I.' Horton recalled those pale, shifty eyes.
'Inside job?'
'Smells like it. There's another thing-'
'Yeah, I noticed. He's left-handed.'
'Nice to see your cold hasn't affected your sharp eye. Run a check on him as well as Morville, and that caretaker, Neil Cyrus.'
'We're building quite a list, aren't we?' Cantelli said brightly.
'Better safe than sorry.'
Horton's phone rang. He listened before saying, 'Get the report over to Superintendent Uckfield.' He rang off. To Cantelli he said, 'That was the lab. They've found two sets of fingerprints on that betting slip. One set belongs to Jessica Langley, which means that she either picked it up and stuffed it in her pocket, or that someone handed it to her.'
'If she picked it up thinking it was rubbish, wouldn't she have thrown it away?'
'You would have thought so.' Horton rang the station. 'The other prints must be Morville's.' He asked Marsden to check them against those they held on the database and to call him with the results. Then he said, 'Head for the school, Barney. I'd like another word with Edney.'
Cantelli had to toot his horn several times to get through the throng of journalists camped outside the gates. Officers were still questioning staff and Cantelli, sniffing and blowing his nose, headed off to the hall, which had been set aside for the task, whilst Horton made his way to Edney's office. He pushed open the door without knocking and was surprised to find Edney with his head in his hands.
Startled, Edney's head shot up. 'You could have knocked!' he protested, struggling to compose himself.
There were dark circles under Edney's bloodshot eyes and his face was haggard. His dark suit seemed to hang off him, as if he'd lost weight since yesterday. Horton knew that a man under stress could snap. Maybe Edney had cracked up the night before last and killed Jessica Langley.
'How did your meeting go last night? Have they appointed you as head?' Horton sat down.
Edney's lips curled in a bitter smile. 'It wasn't thought appropriate. They've given the job to a local head teacher on a part-time, temporary basis to see the school through its troubles,' he paraphrased with bitterness. 'They consider me too involved. For goodness sake, Inspector, they practically accused me of killing the blessed woman!'
'And did you?' Horton asked quietly.
Edney looked appalled, angry, and then deflated in turn.
Horton remained silent. If he hoped for a confession he was disappointed. Finally, when it was clear that Edney wasn't going to break the silence, Horton said, 'Do you own a boat?'
Edney snapped out of his reverie. His eyes focused on Horton. Alarm was reflected in them. 'No.'
'Can you handle a boat?'
'I've been on a couple of sailing courses,' Edney admitted reluctantly. His hands clutching his spectacles were shaking.
'Where were you Thursday between seven p.m. and seven a. m?' pressed Horton.
Edney put his glasses on his desk, took a handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers and blew his nose.
'At home,' he said eventually.
'All night?'
With an effort Edney pulled himself up. 'For heaven's sake, you can't really suspect me of having anything to do with Ms Langley's death! I don't know why you're hounding me, when her killer is out there somewhere.'
It was bluster. Edney was covering up something. Horton was becoming increasingly convinced that he was looking at someone who was involved in the death of Jessica Langley. He didn't think Edney had the bottle to do it on his own. Maybe his lover, Janet Downton, had helped him. Now there was a thought. 'You haven't answered my question.'
Tight-lipped, Edney replied, 'I had a community board meeting at seven fifteen. I left here just on seven o'clock and went straight to it.'
'Where?'
'Jenson House. It's one of the nearby tower blocks.'
Horton knew that. It was where he had lived with his mother on the twenty-third floor.
Edney explained wearily, 'One of the conditions of getting our money from the government for the new building is that we involve the community. Jessica Langley wasn't interested in that sort of thing, not high-powered enough for her,' he added with bitterness. 'Our community board meeting was in the residents' room on the ground floor. I arrived home at eight forty-five that evening and didn't go out again, until I came to school the next morning at half seven.'
Horton rose. 'We'll need to check with the community board and speak with your wife.'
Edney's expression turned to one of horror. He shifted position as if he had piles. 'I don't want you disturbing her.' A stab at defiance, perhaps the last, thought Horton.
'I don't think you've got much choice.'
Edney looked as if he was about to faint.
'Is there something you'd like to tell me about Ms Langley's death?'
Edney licked his lips, cleared his throat and clearly with an effort forced himself to hold Horton's stare. After a moment he said, 'No.'
It was a lie and with a bit more pressure Horton knew he would get the truth. For now, though, he decided to let Edney stew. He'd check out his alibi and then bring Edney in for further questioning. In an interview room at the station Edney would crumble, but Horton had a feeling that the schoolteacher would confess to the murder of Langley before then.
Eleven
'My husband was here all Thursday night,' Daphne Edney said crisply, in answer to Cantelli's brief introductory question. With reluctance she had shown them into a lounge that was so crowded with furniture, and so fussily decorated in swathes of pink and green, that it made Horton feel positively nauseous. The lamps were lit because of the dank, depressing day outside. It was still two and a half hours until sunset yet it felt like evening. Instead of making the room cosy, however, the dim lights only served to make it more cloying.
Horton took a seat on the sofa and glanced at the photographs scattered around the room. They were all of a young man at various stages of his development, including one in a cap and gown edged with white fur. The Edneys' son, Horton guessed, and clearly the apple of his parents' eye.
Daphne Edney perched on the edge of a chair to the right of Horton and smoothed her tight black skirt over her thighs, exposing her bony knees. She thrust her head up, set her shoulders back and glared at them. Her whole body seemed so controlled that Horton thought she might snap if she moved impulsively. She didn't offer them any refreshment. Horton wasn't surprised at this; she looked the sort of woman who wouldn't offer a glass of water to a man dying of thirst in the middle of the desert. She pursued her thin lips together in a small, sharp face. She had been a surprise; Horton had expected someone more homely.
He said, 'What time did your husband get in from school on Thursday?'
'Just before nine.'
'Did he go out again during the evening?'
'No.'
He wondered how much reliance he could put on the alibi she was giving her husband. If what she was saying was true then Edney couldn't have killed Langley. But Daphne Edney had made no protest over their visit, nor had she shown the slightest surprise when she had found them on her doorstep. Horton guessed that her husband had telephoned to warn her they were on their way.
Horton caught something in her glance before she looked away: was it defiance? No, there was an air of cockiness about her. He had a feeling that she was telling the literal truth, but leaving out a whole lot more. He wondered if she and her husband had agreed to answer the questions put to them truthfully, but would not volunteer information. So, she thought she was smarter than them.