He watched Thornecombe cross to his wide desk and, unfastening the button of his double-breasted suit jacket, he waved them into comfortable seats opposite and then settled himself into his large leather chair with a concerned frown.
'I'm not sure whether this information is important, but I thought you ought to know that Ms Langley was here on the day she died.'
Horton hid his surprise. He had expected a lecture from Thornecombe on how important it was to keep the name of the school from the press if anything should come of their inquiries here.
'What time was this, sir?' Horton sensed Cantelli's interest beside him as he removed his notebook from his pocket and his pencil from behind his ear.
Thornecombe continued to address Horton. 'She arrived just after half twelve. I had sandwiches brought to my office and she left shortly before two.'
So, this was where she had been coming when she had been seen leaving the school at lunchtime, and Neil Cyrus had witnessed her return. One question answered and maybe a second one also: was this the reason why Langley had dressed more soberly on Thursday? Susan Pentlow had said that Langley wore black either when she had an important meeting to attend or when she was disciplining someone, and from the statements taken, she hadn't done the latter.
Horton wondered what Langley had been doing visiting a private school when hers was a state school.
'We were exploring how we could share our resources,' Thornecombe said, easing his squat figure back in the chair. 'I can see that you're sceptical.' He smiled knowingly. 'And I don't blame you but it's not improbable for private and state education to work together. Let me explain. I first met Ms Langley at a head teachers' conference in May. She struck me then as a forceful, vibrant personality who would be able to push through the changes that the Sir Wilberforce Cutler badly needed. Being popular wasn't important to her. Oh, it's nice to be liked, but leaders can't always be popular. One has to be thick-skinned.'
Horton thought of Uckfield. The superintendent was in the rhinoceros class when it came to the density of skin.
'We struck up a professional friendship almost immediately and began to explore how we could work together; especially once our new buildings are complete. The Wilberforce will have superb facilities for drama and media studies whilst we will have a swimming pool, gymnasium, tennis and squash courts. We both saw it as a pioneering project of co-operation between the state and private sector.'
'Wouldn't your parents have questioned that? I wouldn't have thought they'd like their children mixing with state school kids,' Horton said, raising his eyebrows.
'It's a good point, Inspector, and no doubt I would have had quite a job winning over some of the parents. But my reasoning is that our pupils will need to mix with all sorts of people in this world, and it is wise to prepare them for that.'
Horton thought he should have brought Jake Marsden with him. He'd been privately educated and now mixed with all sorts of low-lives — and that was just the coppers.
'Maybe you can start again with the new head?'
'I hope so. It would be a pity to lose that vision. Mr Edney's an excellent deputy, good at the detail. Just what you need in a deputy, I can assure you of that. I'm just not sure he will have Ms Langley's drive and energy. People like Jessica Langley are rare.'
So he hadn't heard the news, which was surprising when it had been reported on the radio and television this morning.
'I am sorry to have to tell you, sir, that Mr Edney is dead. We are also treating his death as suspicious.'
'Dead! Good God! When? How? I don't believe it.' Thornecombe looked genuinely shocked. He sprang forward in his chair and stared at each of them in turn. 'But this is dreadful. What is going on?'
'That's what we're trying to ascertain, sir.'
Horton saw from Thornecombe's expression that he was very rapidly making the connection between Langley's death and their request to see the architect.
Thornecombe, clearly horrified, cried, 'But you can't think that Mr Ranson has anything to do with it?'
'Mr Edney was killed on Saturday evening. You hadn't heard?'
The slight pucker of Thornecombe's eyebrows and a flicker in his grey eyes told Horton that the head teacher was not used to having his questions ignored. Nevertheless he said, evenly, 'My wife and I have been away for the weekend, and I had an early morning meeting with prospective parents. I am appalled at this.'
And worried, thought Horton, that his architect and therefore his school might be dragged into it. 'Do you know of anyone who might have had a vendetta against both Ms Langley and Mr Edney?'
'A vendetta?' Thornecombe stared, aghast, at him. 'That's a strong word.'
'Murder is a very nasty business, sir.'
'Murder! Yes, of course. I suppose it has to be that. Good grief! I can't imagine anyone doing such a dreadful thing.'
'Unfortunately we have to imagine, sir, and the worse case scenario too.'
'I-' Thornecombe was interrupted by a timid knock on the door. 'Come in,' he barked.
A harassed-looking woman poked her head into the room. 'Mr Ranson, sir,' she announced hesitantly.
'Show him in, Joan.' Thornecombe rose, made to say something, then thought better of it as Ranson swept in with a face like thunder. Thornecombe didn't even look at the architect as he left the room.
As soon as the door closed, Ranson rounded on Horton. 'Just what the hell do you think you're doing, coming here, demanding to see me when I'm in the middle of an important project, treating me like some kind of criminal?'
If it was an act then it was a good one. 'Sit down, Mr Ranson.'
'No, I damn well won't,' Ranson hotly declared, glaring at him with the vivid blue eyes that Horton recalled from their previous meeting, only this time instead of haughty indifference they were shooting daggers.
'Sit down,' repeated Horton, firmly, as he walked around Thornecombe's desk and took the seat vacated by the head teacher. On the desk was a silver-framed photograph of a young man in a dog-collar who looked very much like a younger version of Simon Thornecombe.
'You don't intimidate me, Inspector. I'll sit when you tell me why I've been hauled in here,' Ranson blazed.
Horton gave a small shrug and sat back in the slightly rocking swivel chair.
'We need to ask you some questions about Jessica Langley.'
'For goodness sake! I really don't see what-'
'How well did you know her, sir?' interjected Cantelli casually.
Ranson swivelled his eyes to meet Cantelli's. Ranson would have to do better than glaring at the sergeant to make Cantelli react, thought Horton. But Horton could see that Ranson was uneasy. He couldn't maintain the same air of righteous indignation because now Horton guessed his mind was racing with trying to weigh up how much they knew about his affair with Langley.
Stiffly, Ranson replied, 'She was the head teacher at a school where I was the architect responsible for designing and developing a new building. Even you could have gathered that from our first meeting.'
Horton thought Ranson a bit heavy-handed with the sarcasm. Was it a defence mechanism perhaps? His experience told him that Ranson was clearly uncomfortable about something: was that murder? He had also avoided answering the question. Behind those piercing blue eyes, the bow-tie and the supercilious manner, Horton saw a worried man, and if Daphne Edney was correct, a man who had known Jessica Langley a darn sight better than just professionally. Time to ease off and make him think they believed him.
'You seem to specialize in school buildings.'
'We handle a variety of projects,' Ranson replied curtly, 'and if that's all you want to talk to me about then I suggest you make an appointment with my secretary.'