Turn a Blind Eye. Vicky Newham
how come you know this and I don’t?’
Dan had his hands raised in a don’t-shoot-the-messenger gesture.
I felt a wave of annoyance. ‘Twenty-four hours? If he wanted to help, he could authorise the fast-tracking of the toxicology and forensic results and get over here.’ I drew breath and took stock. ‘Okay, shall we go through the key staff at the school?’ I re-arranged the photographs, placing the two senior managers next to each other. ‘There’s the assistant head, Shari Ahmed. She’s in charge of the sixth form. And the bursar, Neil Sanderson, who’s in charge of staff and budgets. Do you think they’re involved?’
‘Haven’t noticed anything to indicate they are.’
I was silent for a moment. ‘What about Roger Allen?’ I tapped his mugshot. ‘He’s the deputy head of curriculum. Also part of the school management team.’ I shifted his picture underneath Shari’s and Neil’s. ‘How does he fit into things? Where the hell is he today? You’d think unless he was critically ill, he’d have managed to get himself in for the first day of term.’
‘It’s pretty odd behaviour. Certainly puts him in line as a suspect, but it might be a coincidence. He’s the only person we haven’t spoken to. And Linda’s husband.’
‘Which means when all the staff leave here shortly, unless we get to Allen first, he can get the run-down from someone before we speak to him.’
‘He’s still AWOL.’
‘Where on earth has he disappeared to?’
‘No idea at the moment. We’ve tried to track his phone but it’s switched off.’ He checked his watch. ‘I need to go. Neil Sanderson and Shari Ahmed are about to brief the staff and I want to be there to observe. I’ll bring Sanderson back with me to interview.’ Dan weaved his way round the canteen tables towards the doors.
I rubbed my eyes and rested the palms of my hands on my face for a moment. Frustration was biting. The two people we most needed to interview, we couldn’t.
The staff were still stuck in the staffroom, waiting for news or to be told they could go home. In the kitchen area, a few people were chatting by the fridge when Steve wandered over.
‘Anyone want a cuppa?’
‘It’s Steve, isn’t it?’ a friendly-faced woman asked.
Steve recognised the person who’d brought him into the staffroom from reception earlier when he arrived.
‘You’re covering for Zoe, aren’t you, teaching psychology? I’m Andrea. In English. I think I saw you at your interview.’
‘Hi. Yes.’ Steve was relieved to have a distraction. ‘Have you worked here long?’
‘Oh, years. Nearly seven? Something like that. It’s a great school. Sure you’ll love it.’ She had a Welsh accent and the sort of impish face and choppy, short hair that made her look fun. ‘I started on a temporary contract, bit like you, and ended up staying on. The senior managers are decent and we’ve got a great team of school governors.’
‘I’m glad to get back to London. I grew up here.’
A sneering voice interrupted them. ‘Hope you’re not telling the new boy all our ghastly secrets.’ It was Moira, who was still nursing a sour face and had the staffroom copy of the TES tucked firmly under her arm. ‘He’ll be running back to his training supervisor asking for another job.’
Andrea glanced at Steve and, in full view of Moira, rolled her eyes. ‘What secrets, Moira?’ she simpered patronisingly.
But Moira wasn’t finished. ‘You do know Linda and Roger —’
‘Moira – enough.’ Andrea faced away from the woman and looked at Steve. ‘Don’t take any notice of her. She delights in winding everyone up. Let’s go and sit down.’ She pointed at some chairs on the other side of the staffroom. ‘You’ve gone green. Don’t want you passing out on your first day, do we?’
But Moira was tailing them, muttering to herself. ‘What happened when you went to fetch Linda? Was she —’
‘For goodness’ sake.’ Andrea whirled round. ‘Do you ever stop?’ And to Steve she said, ‘C’mon, let’s go and sit over there.’
They carried on chatting as they walked over to some seats.
‘Training supervisor? Have I got a flashing neon L-plate on my forehead saying I’m a newly qualified teacher?’
They were out of Moira’s earshot now.
‘Don’t take any notice of her. She’s a nasty piece of work. Always tries to intimidate new staff. She’s the staffroom bully and a dreadful gossip.’
‘That’s good to know, I guess.’ Steve managed a tiny laugh.
‘Listen. A few of us are going to the Morgan Arms after school if you fancy it. It’s the pub on the corner as you walk towards Tredegar Square.’
They sat down.
‘What a good idea,’ said Steve. ‘Talk about a nightmare day.’
‘Yes, I don’t remember covering “What to do if your head teacher carks it” on my PGCE. Did you?’ She grimaced. ‘Which is not exactly in good taste. I’m sorry. It’s the . . . Oh bugger. I have no idea what to say so I think I should just shut up.’
They both blushed.
‘Dreadful thing to happen and she was a really nice lady,’ Andrea continued. ‘I’ve been to school social events with her and she was always friendly to everyone and good value. Not hoity-toity and aloof like some heads are. Bizarre to think of someone planning her —’
‘Was she married?’
‘Yes. Peter. He’s a really nice man. Another teacher. Retired now. Something to do with his heart, I gather, and pretty much house-bound. They always seemed really happy. Goodness knows how this is going to affect him. I heard Linda had some kind of a health scare not long ago too. I wonder if she had a heart attack? Shit. Listen to me. I sound like bloody Moira. Shoot me now.’ She pretended to hold a gun to her head.
An unsettled feeling overcame Steve as he remembered how Linda had looked: on her back on the sofa, her wrists bound, and her face all puffy. The image certainly didn’t suggest that she had a stroke or a heart attack. It occurred to him that the killer could be one of his colleagues. As he surveyed the room, he felt his pulse begin to quicken.
The killer could be in here with them. Not only that, but whoever it was could be watching . . . and waiting to make their next move.
After the staff briefing, Dan brought Neil Sanderson to the ground-floor room they were using for interviews. Off the stairs and with no natural light or ventilation, the room was cold and dingy. All it contained was an old wooden table, which looked like it had been rejected from all other locations, and four plastic chairs. On the table was an empty tissue box with a lidless biro popping over the edge.
Neil shuffled into the room with his hands in his pockets. His lowered gaze betrayed not hostility so much as frustration and impatience, eyes glancing sideways.
‘Have a seat.’ I pointed at the chair opposite Dan and watched the man get settled. I introduced myself. ‘You’re the school bursar. Is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was Rich Griffiths at the staff briefing you’ve just had?’
Neil hesitated. ‘I’m not sure. I was concentrating