Murder In School (29 page)

‘Could that have been Jacobson, Guv?’

‘If I were a betting man, I’d say odds
on.  And once he’d got control of Querrell’s alumni files, the Jacobs
family would have become the Jacobsons.  The
Derwen
are in turmoil
as it stands.  He’d be just the man they need – hails from
Derwen
stock, favours the old-school traditions, eyes and ears on the ground.  They’d
probably have welcomed him with open arms.’

‘He’s played a long hand, Guv.  I
wonder if he had his sights on the Head’s job?’

Skelgill nods.  ‘We’re talking a serial
killer, here.  Causes the death of his brother.  Makes an attempt to drown
one rival and succeeds with another.  Blasts a blackmailer.  Abducts
the boy with intent to murder him.’

‘It’s going to be some size of court action,
Guv.’

Skelgill groans.  ‘And I thought we
were just investigating a bent Headmaster.’

DS Jones grins sympathetically. 
‘What of him, Guv?’

Skelgill shrugs.  ‘I think we’ll
leave that one up to the Board of Trustees.  I suspect he’s nearing the
end of his shift in Cumbria.  If they want to report him, we have a file
ready.’

DS Jones nods.  ‘So the Chief was
right to be suspicious about Querrell’s death, Guv – but for the wrong reasons.’

‘I think we’ll find all the answers we
need in here.’  Skelgill reaches out and taps the manila file that lies on
the table.  ‘But that’s tomorrow’s job.’

‘Inspector, it
is
tomorrow.’

The voice is that of Lord Copeland, and
he has silently approached bearing a tray with two filled liqueur glasses and a
small decanter.  He smiles benignly at DS Jones, for she is unable to
stifle a sudden yawn that comes upon her.

‘Since it is three a.m. I thought you
might both appreciate a nightcap, Inspector.  This is our secret family recipe
sloe gin – guaranteed to give a good night’s sleep, of which I am sure
you are in need.’

DS Jones, as the designated driver,
begins to hold up protesting palms, but Lord Copeland continues.

‘We are fully booked, as we tend to be at
this time of year.  However, we keep a VIP suite – the Derwent Room. 
You are welcome to use it – perhaps to snatch a few hours’ sleep. 
It has a large double, and a very comfortable chaise longue.  I shan’t
press you – but if you decide to avail yourselves, here is the key.’

He places the small tray carefully on the
table.  A key with an ornate oak fob lies between the two glasses of ruby
liqueur.

‘And now I bid you goodnight, officers
– if and when you do leave, if you would kindly pull the main door closed
behind you?’

He bows courteously and turns away, a satisfied
smile creasing the corners of his mouth.

Skelgill leans forwards and casually hands
a glass to DS Jones.  She appears to be daydreaming, her eyes fixed upon
the table, but then she reaches out and picks up the key.  She lifts it to
eye level, dangling the fob.

‘Look at this, Guv.’

Skelgill blinks several times, as if with
the pendulous motion she is succeeding in hypnotising him.  Then he
realises what she is showing him: the wooden carving has the shape of a Celtic
letter ‘d’.

‘Well, that explains a thing or two.’

‘He’s one of them?’

Skelgill shrugs, and then laughs, as DS
Jones suddenly downs her drink in one.

‘Guv – you know in your text
– the one where you said ‘
Screw Smart’...
?’

‘Yeah – cancel that.’

‘I did delete it, in case he saw it.’

‘How did you get away in the end?’

‘The operation got pulled.  The
Chief wasn’t happy with the evidence.’

Skelgill tastes the liqueur and smacks
his lips approvingly. ‘Shame for Smart.’

DS Jones suddenly raises her hand to
cover her mouth.

‘Oh, Guv – I’ve just thought.’

‘Aha?’ 

‘What will we do with Cleopatra?’

‘She can have the sofa-bed.’

***