47
Six o’clock the following morning saw them up and drinking coffee while they waited for the Chief Constable’s car to arrive. The Today programme was burbling away in the background but neither of them was really listening. When they caught each other’s eye, they smiled.
‘Do you know,’ said Liz, ‘I’ve never been to bed with a chief constable before.’
‘And I hope there’s only one chief constable you’ll go to bed with again.’
The traffic was heavy but the driver was efficient at weaving his way through. Pearson was reading The Times while Liz sat comfortably beside him, trying to keep awake.
Her mind was on Martin Seurat, dead now for almost two years. Richard Pearson was the first man who had struck any spark in her since then and she wondered if she was feeling a twinge of regret – or even guilt – about this new man in her life. It must be even harder for Richard, she thought; his wife had died after years of happy marriage. She knew he had had relationships with other women since his wife’s death – he’d told her so – but nothing had proved serious. Which left unspoken what he thought would happen with Liz.
Now he reached over and touched her hand lightly. She smiled.
‘I was just thinking about Martin. I don’t think he would want his memory to hang over us now.’
‘Funny you should say that,’ he said. ‘I was just thinking the same thing about Lucy.’
By the time they reached central London they were travelling at little more than walking pace. The driver was an expert navigator, however, and managed to have Liz outside her Pimlico flat by eight thirty, which gave her time to change before going in to the office.
Pearson said, ‘After the Chief Constables’ meeting I have a call scheduled with my Police and Crime Commissioner – he’s asked for a briefing on what’s been going on at Bartholomew Manor. I won’t go into too many details, but we’ll have to say something to the press pretty soon, since quite a few people will have noticed there’s been extensive police activity at the school.’
‘OK, but can you keep it fairly general for the moment? I’ll be discussing the angles with my colleagues first thing – could you join us after lunch? We can talk then about what we need to do next and lines to take with the press.’
‘Of course. I’d be glad to.’
Peggy was at her desk in the open plan when Liz looked in and waved for her to join her in her office.
‘Well, what happened?’ Peggy looked at her questioningly. ‘You know,’ said Liz. ‘The important stuff.’
‘Do you mean my meeting with Miles?’
‘No. I mean your interview with the promotion board. How did it go?’
Peggy started to speak, then stopped. ‘Go on,’ said Liz. ‘Spill the beans.’
‘Well, not bad, I think,’ Peggy said slowly. ‘But I won’t know until later today. Officially, that is.’
‘And unofficially?’
‘I saw DG in the lift. He wasn’t on my board but he seemed to know all about it.’
‘And…?’
Peggy was starting to smile. ‘He said he’d heard I’d given a “cracker of an interview”.’ Peggy’s face lit up with a big grin.
‘Yippee,’ said Liz. ‘I knew it.’ She was delighted, though a little sad too, since it made it much more likely that Peggy would be moved out of her section. Her promotion meant that she had been flagged for greater things, and inevitably the Service would want to put her in different sorts of postings to broaden her experience.
The Geoffrey Fane who appeared in Liz’s office an hour later seemed a new man – or, rather, the self-confident Fane of old. He appeared to have recovered from the dreadful realisation that he had reached the age when he could retire. He’d had a haircut and it seemed he had paid a visit to his tailor; he was wearing an elegantly cut new suit of pinstriped grey. He sat down in the sole spare chair boasted by Liz’s small office and crossed one leg leisurely over the other, revealing bright yellow socks above his polished black brogues.
‘Smart socks, Geoffrey,’ said Liz.
‘Gift from a friend,’ he said breezily. He smiled in an avuncular way at Peggy, who was perched on the corner of Liz’s desk, as if to say that someday she might grow up to have friends too. Peggy and Liz glanced at each other. They were both thinking the same thing – Geoffrey’s got a girlfriend.
‘I’ve booked a meeting room,’ Peggy said, and they decamped from Liz’s tiny office to a roomier space along the corridor.
As they sat down at one end of the conference table, Fane said, ‘I was hoping to bring Bruno along.’
‘I didn’t know he was back. Congratulations on getting him out so smoothly.’
‘Thank you – it all went tickety-boo, if I say so myself. But he isn’t back yet. He said he had some personal business to attend to in Berlin. God knows what that could be; he hasn’t any German relations that I know of.’ He caught the slightest grin on Peggy’s face and the smile Liz was trying to repress. ‘Why are you two smirking? Is there something I should know about Bruno and Berlin?’
‘Not at all, Geoffrey,’ said Liz. ‘We’re just delighted that Bruno is safely out of Russia.’
Fane clearly didn’t believe her explanation and knowing him she was sure he would not rest until he had found out exactly what – or who – had taken Bruno to Berlin. ‘Anyway, he’s safe and sound – or as much as Bruno will ever be. But we can talk about Russia later.’ He looked at Liz. ‘You said there had been new developments on your side?’
Liz nodded and gave a quick summary of events in Suffolk in the last few days. She described their further investigation into Bartholomew Manor – Miss Girling’s suspicious death, the call from Thomma and her interview with him, and the raid on the college.
‘So, this Miss Girling was an old teacher who’d been at the school for years and had been kept on by the new regime.’
‘I think they were using her as a sort of respectable front if people applied to the school and wanted to look round,’ said Peggy.
‘Yes. Her job was to put off nice middle-class parents – though I don’t think she knew that’s what she was there for.’
‘And then they murdered her?’ asked Fane, puzzled.
‘That’s what the pathologist said. She was strangled before she was hanged with a rope. And we found the identical kind of rope in the wardrobe of the bedroom that the headmaster’s assistant Cicero had used. It’s not proof enough for a court, but it certainly wasn’t suicide and I’m pretty confident it was Cicero who killed her. He was a really sinister character. He followed me after I’d visited the school and I’m pretty sure he broke into my flat to scare me off.’
‘My dear Elizabeth. I hope you’ve had the locks changed. But why kill a harmless old lady?’
‘They must have been worried that she was spying on them and learning too much. What do you think, Peggy? You interviewed her.’
‘Yes. She certainly wasn’t a natural spy. I just hope it wasn’t what I said that caused her to act suspiciously.’
‘I think it was more likely that she had been taking a close interest in the boy Thomma. From what he said, she had promised to take him to church with her and they wouldn’t have liked that. That’s the obvious explanation, I think.’
‘I sense a “but”, don’t I?’ asked Fane.
‘Well, only because we’ll never know for sure. The three main characters have disappeared.’
‘That sounds like a regular balls-up. What happened? From what I’ve heard they should have been sitting ducks.’
‘I know,’ said Liz, annoyed at the suggestion in Fane’s tone that this was somehow her fault. ‘You can have apologies from Border Force, the Coastguard and the Suffolk Constabulary if that’s what you want. But it isn’t going to help. Those three got away. They could be anywhere.’