Murder In School (19 page)

‘You see, Inspector, this was Querrell’s
bag.  They say he’d organised the challenge single-handed since the
nineteen seventies.  It wasn’t until Friday night after chapel that it
dawned on me that it was on our plate.  I was left with a skeleton sports
staff on Saturday because most of the masters were away with their cricket
teams at Ampleforth and Durham.  If I’m honest with you, we were flying by
the seat of our pants.’

‘What about the boys reaching the
summit?’  Skelgill squints past Greig through the long landscape window
where the green bracken of the fellside is darkened by the lowering sky.  ‘Presumably
you had to count everyone through the trig point?’

‘Correct, Inspector.  I did it
myself.  Brutal it was – made the Highveld seem like the Bahamas. 
My waterproofs didn’t live up to their billing.’

Skelgill nods sympathetically.  He
was out running himself, and had surely spared a thought for the small skinny
schoolboys for whom the wilds of Cumbria were far from a natural habitat.’

‘They all made it to the top, Inspector
– all sixty-two of them.  I admired their guts, if not their fitness
in every case.  Querrell had certainly done a fair job whipping them into
line.’

‘What were the timings?’

‘A good three-quarters of an hour between
the first and last.’

‘No wonder you got soaked.’

‘I’ll tell you this, Inspector – I
tried an umbrella, but it took off and I reckon it must have landed on the Isle
of Man.’

Skelgill grins.  He refrains from
correcting the South African’s geography (given the prevailing wind direction),
and instead replies, ‘The hillwalker’s brolly has yet to be invented.’

Greig shrugs sheepishly and continues, ‘I
made sure they all went the right way, then after the last runner came through
I followed the course down to the school – in case there were any
stragglers needing a kick up the rear.’

‘And were there?’

Greig shakes his head.  ‘No –
they couldn’t get home quick enough.’

Skelgill nods.  ‘There was some
mention of a marshal?’

‘Ja – we had another master
stationed where the downhill path crosses the lane that leads back to school
– to make sure they carried on into the grounds.’

‘And what was his report?’

‘Same as the other, I’m afraid –
once he’d seen four blue Helvellyn shirts come through, he called it a
day.  He phoned me for approval – I’d had to draft him in from weekend
leave as it was, so I felt a bit guilty about keeping him out there to no
purpose.  I figured if a few of the boys cut the corner at that stage it
didn’t matter – it wasn’t going to affect the result.  Much as it
goes against my principles, I think being soaked to the skin put me in a
conciliatory frame of mind.’

Skelgill nods.  ‘So the last record
you have is the boy made it to the summit of Skiddaw – what time would
that be?’

‘They went off at ten a.m. – I’d
say about eleven forty-five, ja.’

‘Was he alone?’

‘To the best of my memory, ja.  The
gaps between them got bigger.’

‘And after that he may have completed the
proper course or could have used the short cut along the lane?’

‘Correct.’

‘What about when you walked back –
did anything strike you as unusual?’

Greig considers this question for a
moment, but shakes his head.  ‘Nothing I could put my finger on.  I
can’t say I was at my most observant – near the path I would have noticed
anyone in trouble, but I had my head down like everyone else, ja?’

‘How familiar are the boys with the
route?’

‘Pretty well – Querrell had them running
it every month – so they’ve been up there, what – eight or nine
times?  The first time they walked it as a group to identify the landmarks.’

‘Do you have a map?’

‘Nothing formal – but I can show
you.’  Greig gestures to the wall behind Skelgill, who turns to see it is
papered floor to ceiling with the complete set of two-and-a-half-inch Ordnance
Survey maps of the Lake District.

Skelgill admires the neatly dovetailed compilation. 
‘I’m getting office envy, Mike.’

‘Ja – it’s an impressive sight when
you see it spread out like that.  I tell my folks back home: it might be
small in the scale of Africa, but it’s not to be taken lightly on foot. 
Never mind the weather.’

Skelgill nods proprietorially, and
automatically gravitates to the north-western quarter that holds Skiddaw and
Bassenthwaite Lake.

‘You got it, Inspector.’  Greig
points with a finger at a red circle.  ‘There’s Oakthwaite.  ‘The route
basically uses two public footpaths... this one to go up... and this one to
come down.’

The circuit is roughly triangular, and
its main landmarks correspond to those outlined to Skelgill by Dr Jacobson.

‘Here’s the lane where we had the marshal. 
Across that and they’re in the grounds of Oakthwaite.  They run down to
the lake and pick up the jogging track that follows the shoreline to the
gatehouse, then it’s left along the main drive to the school.’

Skelgill is nodding thoughtfully. 
He says, ‘So apart from the lane, there’s no advantage in trying to take a
short cut across the fell at any point.’  It’s a statement rather than a
question.

‘I reckon you’re right, Inspector. 
I believe old Querrell devised the route with cheating in mind – wander
off track and you just make it more difficult for yourself.’

Skelgill takes a hard look at the map and
then closes his eyes, as if he is committing its contents to memory.  Then
he turns to face Grieg.  ‘What did you do when you got back?’

‘I came directly here to shower and
change – all my dry gear was in the locker room downstairs.  Then I
spent a couple of hours doing admin and ringing round the other schools to
check the weather status, agreeing how long to wait before calling off the matches. 
Turned out it stayed dry over at Durham – hard to believe when you
consider what it was like here.’

‘They have to have some advantages, over
in the east.’

Greig smiles, enjoying the competitive
remark.  ‘After that I locked up around mid-afternoon and that was me
finished for the weekend.’

‘Do you live in at the school?’

‘No – my girlfriend and I rent a cottage
at Grasmere – she’s working as a water sports instructor for a firm in
Windermere, so it’s a good halfway house, ja?’

‘So you didn’t see the boys after the
event?’

‘To be honest, Inspector, I don’t have a
lot to do with the first-formers – by tradition Querrell broke them in. 
The PE Department gets involved from second year onwards – when they move
up into the main school.  One of those Oakthwaite quirks, I guess.’

‘What did you make of Mr Querrell?’

Greig produces a short ironic laugh. 
‘Oh – he soon put me in my place.  I figured since I was only here
on a short-term exchange there was no point rattling his cage.  He was a
tough old cookie – didn’t stand any nonsense as far as I could see. 
Decent enough underneath, though, I reckon.’

Skelgill watches thoughtfully, but Greig
seems quite relaxed in formulating his responses.  Assuming a confiding tone
he says, ‘Mike – this latest incident aside – we’ve obviously had
the sudden deaths of Mr Querrell and Mr Hodgson.  As someone who is a bit
more detached from the school than most, can you cast any light on these
events?’

Greig digs his hands into the pockets of
his tracksuit bottoms and turns out his lower lip.  He swivels about and
steps across towards the window, head down as though he’s trying to wrestle up
some intractable notion from the unyielding depths of his perception. 
After a few moments he turns again to face Skelgill and says, ‘Inspector
– don’t get me wrong, this is a bit of a strange place compared to what
I’m used to, ja?  There’s more than a touch of the cult about being a
member of the Oakthwaite community.  But I reckon you’ve just got a string
of coincidences on your hands.  I’m sure the boy will surface –
don’t be surprised if it turns out to be a dare among him and his mates.’

Skelgill’s shoulders perhaps slump a
fraction in response to what is a popular but unhelpful theory.  He takes
a couple of strides about the room and picks up a cricket bat that leans in a
corner.  He weighs it for size but replaces it; perhaps before the
temptation to attempt a practise shot becomes too great.  Then he asks, ‘What
about the groundsman – with the cricket season in full swing aren’t you
going to miss him?’

‘I might have to do a bit of mowing and
rolling myself – but I certainly shan’t miss him, Inspector.’

‘No?’

‘He was not what you would call
Oakthwaite material – even for ancillary staff.  Not keen on taking
orders, especially when he’d been out to the pub at lunchtime.  I’m amazed
they let him loose with the shotguns.’

‘Were you surprised to hear what happened
to him?’

Greig shrugs nonchalantly.  ‘Ach –
you never know what’s going on in people’s minds.  Where I come from an
unexpected death rarely hits the headlines.’

Skelgill makes a face to show he comprehends
the statistical divide that in this regard separates Johannesburg and the Lakes
like a great rift valley.

‘Look, Mike – I ought to get going
– I think you’ve told me all you can about the boys – I better see
how my Sergeant’s getting on in tracking him down.’

‘Sure – if I can be of further help
just give me a shout.’

Skelgill reaches into his top pocket for
a card, but to no avail since of course the jacket is not his.  Indicating
the desk pad and the pen lying upon it, he says, ‘Can I write my number here?’

‘Be my guest.’

Skelgill obliges, and then says, ‘By the
way, I borrowed what I assume was Mr Hodgson’s quad earlier – I put it back
when I came over just now.’

‘I was watching as you went past –
another of your hidden talents, ja?’

Skelgill pulls the ignition key from the
pocket of his baggy jacket.  ‘Probably best if you keep this away from the
machine – in case one of the boys gets the same idea.’

Greig wrings a wry grin from his thin
lips.  ‘Let me tell you this, Inspector, we don’t want any more accidents.’

‘Blimey, Guv – it don’t half pen. 
That’s rotten fish, that is.’

‘You’re getting it cleaned, aren’t you,
Leyton?’

‘Just as well, Guv – the missus
wouldn’t let me bring this back into the house.’

‘I can only smell bacon – I think it’s
your imagination.’

DS Leyton’s complaint might be more
vigorous if he knew the full circumstances.  Skelgill, in furiously rowing
his boat back to Peel Wyke, had rather carelessly arranged the borrowed jacket
on the bow thwart, only for it to slip off onto his sodden slime-and-scale
encrusted landing net and spend a good quarter of an hour mingling with its questionable
delights.  Of course, he has not related this detail to DS Leyton, who
therefore seems only mildly regretful about his generosity.  Now he holds
the suit still scrunched inside the plastic carrier bag passed to him by
Skelgill, who has clambered into his car clad in waterproofs, gaiters and
walking boots.

But at this moment the mobile phone mounted
upon the dashboard lights up to indicate an incoming email.  DS Leyton stoically
tosses the suit into the back seat and takes up the handset.

‘From the school, Guv – it’ll be
the photo and the boy’s personnel file.’

Skelgill, however, is already distracted
by the task of finding his way into the brown paper bag that holds his order of
bacon rolls.

‘Holy smoke.’

‘What?’ Skelgill sounds only vaguely
interested.

Guv – you won’t believe it –
it’s Cholmondeley!’

‘What’s he done?’

‘No, Guv – the missing kid –
the Chief’s son – it’s Cholmondeley!’

Skelgill squints at the grinning flame-haired
boy whose image fills the screen.

‘Bloody hell – of course.’

‘Guv?’

‘The name – I knew it rang a bell.’ 
He snaps the fingers of his free hand. ‘The Chief goes by her maiden name,
doesn’t she?  That’s right – her old man’s a Cholmondeley. 
I’ve seen him once or twice with her in photos – you know, in the local
rag, the court and social pages.’

‘And the ginger hair, Guv.  Stone
me.’

Skelgill nods.  ‘Yeah, the ginger
hair.’

‘Guv – it explains why the
Housemother gave me a queer look when I referred to him by the Chief’s
surname.’

Skelgill nods.  ‘They’ll know both
names – she probably assumed we use the mother’s.’

DS Leyton shrugs.  ‘Yeah.’  He
scratches his head rather distractedly.  ‘Guv...?’

‘Aha?’  Skelgill takes a substantial
bite of his roll.

‘You don’t think we spooked him, do you?’

Skelgill swallows with difficulty and
pauses to take a swig of tea before replying.  ‘You mean
you
spooked him?’

‘Aw, Guv – give me a break –
I was really diplomatic – I’ve got kids, remember?  He was happy as
Larry when I last saw him.’

Skelgill shrugs, conveniently glossing
over the fact that it was at his behest that DS Leyton was despatched to hunt
down Cholmondeley.

‘If it’s any consolation, Leyton –
no, I don’t.’

DS Leyton looks thankful.  After a
minute, while Skelgill continues to work his way through his meal, DS Leyton
says, ‘Strange to think I know him, Guv – he’s a pleasant little nipper.’

‘Must take after his father.’

‘Guv, that’s harsh.’

‘But accurate.’

DS Leyton feigns a flinch, as if they are
being overheard.  Then a worried look clouds his features.  ‘Think
it’ll land us in it, Guv – talking to him, I mean?’

Skelgill is pulling a recalcitrant
face.  He shakes his head.

‘But we’d better report it?’

‘In good time.’

‘But, Guv...’

Skelgill holds up a hand like a traffic
cop.  ‘Leyton – we’re the investigating officers.  We
know.  If it’s useful information, we’ll turn it to our advantage. 
If you were the last person to see him – different matter – but you
weren’t.’

DS Leyton again appears relieved. 
‘Do you reckon there’s any connection, though, Guv?  It’s a bit of a
coincidence – four hundred kids and our one goes missing.’

‘Maybe the Chief’s pulled a
flanker.’  Skelgill tips the second roll from the crumpled bag, showering
himself with crumbs.  DS Leyton seems not to notice, and perhaps has long
given up despairing of the daily mess his superior deposits in the footwell of
his car.

‘How do you mean, Guv?’

‘What if she’s spirited him away to give
us an excuse to turn the place upside down?’

DS Leyton acts a little shocked at this
suggestion.  ‘Surely not, Guv?  I spoke to her myself – she was
on the verge of tears.’

‘I’d say that was impossible, Leyton
– but I’ll take your word for it.’

‘But you can’t be serious?’

Skelgill casually shakes his head. 
‘It’s not a theory I’ll be suggesting to her, Leyton.  But perhaps now we
know why she sent us into Oakthwaite in the first place.  Remember
Jacobson told us Cholmondeley was sixth generation.’

‘So the kid’s father would have been a
pupil there.’

‘And the rest of them.’

‘They would have known Querrell, Guv.’

Skelgill nods thoughtfully.  ‘They
would, Leyton.’

DS Leyton leans back in his seat and
exhales heavily.  But before he can expound his thoughts Skelgill says, ‘Anyway,
park that for now – we’ve still got to find the kid.  Give me the
lowdown on your interviews.’

Two handed, Skelgill determinedly tucks into
his bacon roll.  DS Leyton pulls his notebook from his inside jacket
pocket.  He flips through several heavily annotated pages and settles upon
one headed ‘Saturday’.

‘What happened was, Guv – because
of the weather they abandoned having the finishing line outside the front of
the school...’

Skelgill cuts in, ‘Yeah – I got
that from Greig – they only recorded the first ten.  Cholmondeley
was near the back of the field.’

 ‘That’s right, Guv.  So the
rest of the runners went straight to the changing room in the first-form
block.  They were trailing in for the best part of an hour according to Mrs
Tickle.’  He breaks off to glance at Skelgill.  ‘It really is her
name, Guv.’

Skelgill forms a silent expression of
surprised acceptance.

DS Leyton continues, ‘The boys have free
association on Saturday afternoons, so they could go to the junior common room,
or to their dorms, or off to do activities or whatever.  There was a film
being shown in one of the other houses that they could watch.’

‘And what mention of Cholmondeley?’

DS Leyton shakes his head. 
‘Nothing, Guv.’

‘Nothing at all?’  Skelgill sounds disbelieving.

DS Leyton winces as if he’s being accused
of laxness.  ‘Straight up, Guv.  They’ve questioned the boys –
but because they arrived in dribs and drabs – they weren’t looking out
for anyone in particular.  Then they assumed he’d been picked up.’

‘Picked up by one of his parents, you
mean?’

‘That’s it, Guv.  It was optional weekend
leave for any boarders whose families live near enough to get them home. 
Apparently there’s up to a dozen that do this – couple of times a term
– Cholmondeley being one of them.  They can go at one p.m. on a
Saturday and have to be back in for Headmaster’s assembly on the Monday
morning, followed by registration – that’s when he was missed.’

‘What made the school believe he went home?’

‘Natural conclusion, I suppose, Guv.’

‘You’d think they’d have a notification
system.’

DS Leyton taps his notepad on the
steering wheel.  ‘They’ve got a signing-out book at the entrance to the
first-form house.  It’s self-administered by the boys.  Part of the
idea is to teach them to be responsible.  I got Mrs Tickle to show me
– there were eight other kids who definitely
did
go home –
and three of them forgot to sign themselves out.’

Skelgill raises his eyebrows, as if to
acknowledge he would have been one such boy, had he benefited from a similar scholastic
opportunity as Oakthwaite.  ‘They’ll have to tighten that up in future.’

‘They know, Guv.  I just think what
with Querrell and then Hodgson and it being exams and this fell-running event
and whatnot – things have got a bit on top of them right now.  Even
Snyder admitted that.’

Skelgill pouts, as if disinclined to believe
this declaration.  ‘So what did he have to say?’

DS Leyton turns a couple of pages of his
notebook.  ‘Between you and me, Guv – I know he’s a miserable sod
– but he’s been pretty efficient.  He’d already gathered all the
details of Saturday, so I got the same version of events from him as Mrs
Tickle.  And he’s had the place searched.’

Now Skelgill’s expression is one of
reluctant approval.  ‘To what extent?’

‘He knows they can’t look in the likes of
attics and cellars – and that the grounds are too big – but he
organised for the staff and prefects to simultaneously search their own areas
– cupboards and under beds – the obvious places a kid could hide.’

‘And nothing?’

DS Leyton nods.  ‘No trace, Guv.’

‘What about his gear?’

‘Doesn’t appear to be anything missing,
Guv.  Clothes-wise Mrs Tickle thinks all his uniforms are there.  But
they don't have an inventory of casuals to check against.

‘How about sports kit?’

DS Leyton shakes his head, his loose jowls
giving him a despondent hangdog look.  ‘Sounds a bit chaotic, Guv. 
Everything goes into a communal laundry, and they rely on it all being labelled
at the start of term.  Trouble is, kids lose stuff, labels fall off, and
she says by the end of the year they’re all wearing one another’s kit, cobbling
together whatever they can.’

Skelgill looks displeased.  ‘Are his
trainers gone?’

‘Same thing, Guv – I don’t reckon
it’s going to be possible to establish if he’s wearing casual clothes or his PE
kit – unless we find a witness.’

‘Bloody brilliant.’

‘Sorry, Guv.’  DS Leyton apologises,
as though in establishing this ambiguity the cause of it is his fault, which is
the suggestion carried in Skelgill’s impatient undertone.

‘Did you ask Snyder – is this a
common occurrence?’

‘For a boy to go AWOL, Guv?’

Skelgill nods.

‘Not common, but not unknown –
first time this academic year.  He said the most usual thing is for a new
boy to get cold feet or be homesick in first term.  Then they might do a
bunk.  Unless they’re Chinese, I suppose.’

‘Can’t be easy to keep tabs on
everyone.’  Skelgill sounds a little more conciliatory.

‘They have a strict rule – up until
sixth form they’re not allowed to leave the school boundaries.  Except on
official trips and accompanied walking and running events like this Skiddaw
Challenge.  But he did say kids sometimes go off the radar in the grounds,
especially at weekends when they’ve got free time.  Or they might be doing
project work and forget to come back to assembly or chapel service and
whatnot.’

Skelgill peers up at the fells to their
left.  The drizzle has thinned to the faintest of opaque hues and there’s
a semblance of brightness in the cloud.  He blinks slowly a few times as
if he’s trying to accustom his eyes to the improving light.  ‘Sounds a bit
like an open prison, don’t you think, Leyton?’

DS Leyton ponders, tilting his head from
side to side.  ‘I reckon prison’s a softer option, Guv – no
fell-running and no exams.’

‘Maybe there’s a lesson there, Leyton.’

‘I reckon a fair few of the kids at my
school learned it pretty quick, Guv.’

Skelgill swallows the last of his tea and
crushes the polystyrene cup, which he absently hands to DS Leyton rather like a
child would to its parent.

‘So what’s Snyder’s view?’

‘He reckons the boy’s not on the site,
Guv.’

‘Which matches Goodman’s opinion.’

‘Suppose they’ve discussed it, Guv.’

‘Goodman was more concerned with PR as
usual.’

DS Leyton nods.  ‘He looked a bit
shocked when you mentioned that Marina place, Guv – where did you pull
that one from?’

Skelgill winks.  ‘Did you notice his
Rolex
?’

‘I did, Guv.’

‘I don’t recall him wearing it last
week.’

‘Think it’s a fake he picked up in Singapore?’

‘I think it’s from Singapore.’

DS Leyton purses his lips and nods thoughtfully.

‘How was Snyder – did he seem
concerned?’

‘I wouldn’t say concerned, Guv –
but he’s obviously taking it seriously.  I’d say he considers the ball’s
now in our court.’

Skelgill drums a
rat-a-tat-tat
with his fingernails on the dashboard.  ‘That would be fine if we knew Cholmondeley
left the school like the other boys.  At the moment it seems like the last
sighting we’ve got is by Greig at Skiddaw High Man just before noon. 
You’d better speak to the teacher who was marshalling the lane – get his
details from Greig.’