Читать книгу Missing Pieces - K L Harrison - Страница 7

Late July

The tourists only ever see a small part of Oxford. They come for the ghost tours through Jericho, to drink in Morse’s favourite bar, to imagine Harry Potter and his friends in Hogwart’s Hall, or to be photographed under Hertford Bridge. They do not venture out to places like Blackbird Leys. The town and gown divide of the city remains as strong as it ever was.

Constable Gary Wicks was a Blackbird Leys boy and proud of it. He was never happy if his work took him anywhere near the gleaming spires; Cowley Road or the Kassam Stadium, the home of his beloved Oxford United, were where he felt at home. And today his work was going to take a football direction.

Wicks and his partner, Constable Jenny Atherton, were heading south along Banbury Road from police headquarters in Kidlington on a routine patrol. Jenny Atherton slowed down as they passed through Summertown; there had been reports of drug dealers in the area. As they approached the South Parade intersection, Wicks’ radio burst into life.

“Body found in Botley Park close to the West Oxford Community Centre. Can you deal Gary?”

“On our way Sharon. Let’s go Jen.”

Jenny Atherton became energised. She was recognised as one of the force’s best drivers. With the blue light flashing and the siren blaring, the police Astra ate up Banbury Road and was soon at St Giles, turned into Beaumont Street past the Ashmoleon and onto Walton Street. Within minutes they were heading west along Botley Road.

Jenny Atherton expertly pulled up onto the pavement opposite the Twenty Pound Meadow allotments. By now there were two other squad cars there. A small crowd had gathered not far from the West Oxford Bowls Club. Wicks and his colleagues pulled them back, started taping off the area and waited for CID officers to arrive.

Gary Wicks walked over to the body. He looked down.

“Shit! That’s Alan Ramsay.”

“You know him Gary? Is he a friend of yours?” asked Jenny Atherton.

“Not bloody likely. He plays midfield for Swindon Town. They signed him on loan towards the end of last season from Norwich City. He’s a bloody good player. Was. What the fuck is Alan Ramsay doing laying on his back with his throat cut from ear to ear in Botley Park Oxford?”

Mid November

“God it’s cold. So much for global warming. What do think WPC Grant?”

Spence could not help himself. He knew that Joanne Grant was a keen supporter of Greenpeace and Save the Tigers, Save the Penguins or Save the Giraffes or whatever environmental cause was the flavour of the month. She knew that the price of working with Spence was putting up with this sort of ribbing. She had also learned that if she was ever in trouble, she knew she could turn to Spence.

“Traynor, you take WPC Grant. Ferguson you come with me.”

They headed off north along the A419. It was a slower drive than normal; there had already been a couple of nasty smashes just outside Blunsdon. Black ice!.

The search of the Davidson house had not revealed a great deal. Nigel Ferguson was a man who liked things neat, tidy, in their place and ordered. However, even he thought that the Davidson home was sterile.

“It lacked that lived-in feel Spence. No newspapers, no book next to the bed, no CDs lying about. Even the garbage bin was pristine.”

“No porn? No copy of The Sun? No William Hill betting slips?”

“When we arrived yesterday afternoon, do you know what Felicity Davidson was doing?”

Spence glanced at his DS.

“She was polishing the cutlery! Now a psychologist might suggest this obsessiveness was her way of coping with what had just happened to her husband.”

“But you don’t think so Detective Sergeant.”

Ferguson paused, and then said, “I think she’s a cold one Spence. Totally devoid of emotion. All that screaming the other night, for our benefit I’m sure. That certainly fits in with what Joanne reported.”

Spence paused for a few seconds and asked Ferguson:

“So what do you think Ferguson? Do you think Felicity Davidson has cold-bloodedly had her husband murdered for reasons of, what, jealousy, passion, boredom? What’s your gut telling you Sergeant?”

One of the first things Spence tried to impress on Ferguson was to be willing to trust one’s instincts. Evidence is crucial, listen to Josie Collins, but try to understand what your gut is telling you.

“Too early to tell Spence. I’m thinking ‘No’, but I’m going to keep an open mind with this woman. I’m sure we’ll learn more when we start talking to people at Woodlands.”

Spence smiled. Their guts were in sync.

“What about Mrs Davidson’s late night phone call that WPC Grant interrupted?”

“We checked her phone. Must remember to give it back to her too. Random number, couldn’t get an identity just yet. Could be anyone. And I am guessing that there was even less love between father-in-law and son-in-law than between husband and wife.”

Spence glanced over for corroboration.

“Traynor spent a few hours checking the Davidson finances. Pretty uncomplicated, and you were right Spence. Their combined teachers’ incomes would have been hard pressed to maintain that little palace of theirs in Merton Ave, and the cars and the foreign holidays.”

“Daddy?”

“That’s right. Mrs Davidson’s father bought them that house, and Felicity’s bank account showed regular direct transfers from her father.”

Spence was about to suggest Ferguson interview the father –

“I’m going to see Felicity Davidson’s father this afternoon. He has a massive country house just outside of Marlborough.”

Spence nodded and smiled at his Sergeant. He didn’t need to say anything.

“Here we are Ferguson. Bring back happy memories does it?”

Ferguson grimaced. Spence laughed.

Spence drove to the main gate and exchanged pleasantries with the security guard. The guard directed them to a discreet parking spot behind the main administration building, and told them they were to go in through the back entrance. Robert Hamsby was obviously trying to ensure their presence remained as unobtrusive as possible. Traynor and Joanne Grant were already there. The four of them walked towards the rear door.

“Is it getting colder or what?” Spence said.

“No sir. I think perhaps you might just be getting older.”

Spence gave Joanne Grant a broad smile. Good to see she had a sense of humour.

Robert Hamsby was waiting for them. Once the introductions were out of the way, it was down to business. Hamsby had allocated four rooms for the staff interviews. Joanne Grant and Ferguson were given adjoining rooms in what was imaginatively called E Block. Traynor had the counsellor’s room in the admin block; Spence was given Robert Hamsby’s office.

Spence gave his final instructions.

“Now remember. Don’t get into any discussion about Roger Davidson’s murder, no speculation, no information about what happened to him. Keep it general. Did you know him well? What sort of person was he? How did he get on with everyone? You know the drill. Okay, let’s get to it. Thanks for setting this up so quickly Bob.”

“You’ll also find a list of names in each room. I got Miss Tims to work out a running order for your interviews.”

Miss Tims gave Spence a look that said she had spent hours on this particular exercise.

“I am most grateful Miss Tims. Your efforts will make our difficult task so much easier to perform. Thank you.”

Spence really could lay it on thick when he had a mind to.

“Right let’s get to it.”

Spence went into the headmaster’s office.

“Constable, the counsellor’s room is just down here, second door on the left.” Traynor nodded and took himself there.

He then spoke to Ferguson and WPC Grant, “I am afraid you are going to have to venture outside to get to E Block. Miss Tims will show you where it is.”

With as little enthusiasm as she could muster, Hamsby’s secretary led the two officers outside. It was going to be a busy morning.

“A word before we start Bob.”

“Of course, Winston.”

Hamsby led Spence into his office.

“Please, the headmaster’s chair, see how it fits.”

Both men smiled, and both shook their head.

“Give me a quick run-down of your staff Bob. Standouts, anyone left, new people?”

“My Deputy Bill Williams died in August, big loss. Two retired, three left in July, two of them promoted. Three new staff this year. It is a pretty stable staff here Winston.”

Spence was not surprised. Had he stayed in teaching, Robert Hamsby is the sort of boss he would have wanted to work for.

“What about the new people?”

“Leila Mohammed from Bradford, mid-twenties, Commerce and Economics, joined at the start of term. Great teacher, lucky to get her, I have to tell her to go home most days. Shane Tott from Southampton, joined us in January. Teaches Geography. A former colleague of mine recommended him. Not the sort of guy you would want to spend a couple of hours in the pub with, but his classes seem to go quite well. And Karen Turner, Maths, good girl, joined us back in April when her husband got a move to Swindon. He works for Northern Energy.”

Ferguson’s first interviewee was Charlie Page.

“Did you know Roger Davidson well Mr Page?”

“We were colleagues.”

“So it was a strictly work relationship?”

“Look Sergeant, it is well known around here that I couldn’t stand Roger Davidson. Him as Deputy Head was a bloody joke. Everyone knew it should have been my job. I would not wish him any harm, and I am sorry for Felicity, but I’m not losing any sleep over his demise either.”

Traynor found himself up against Deidre Palmer.

“How long have you been working here Mrs Palmer?”

“It’s Ms, not Mrs, Constable. And I am sure your Inspector does not want you wasting time your time with such pointless questions. Roger Davidson was a nice guy, got on well with most of the staff though I sensed he was out of his depth as Deputy. I felt sorry for him being married to Felicity, definitely not my favourite person. But it is Patricia Patel you need to talk to.”

“Why is that Mrs, Ms Palmer?”

“I’ll leave you to work that out when you get a look at her, Constable.”

“Hello Mrs Robertson, my name is WPC Grant.”

Dorothy Robertson was the epitome of the grandmotherly teacher: a buxom woman with permed grey hair and glasses, but behind her gentle exterior was the sharpest of minds. She understood quantum mechanics and could make some sense out of it to even to the most average A level Physics student.

“I teach Physics and Chemistry.”

“Oh, they were my best subjects at school. What can you tell me about Roger Davidson Mrs Robertson?”

“I hardly knew him dear. I doubt that I had spoken to him more than a few times before he became Deputy. I thought he was rather young to be Deputy, but he clearly worked very hard.”

Spence took a liking to Jack Deans as soon as he walked in. If Spence had stayed in teaching, he probably would have ended up like this Industrial Arts teacher.

“How did you find Roger Davidson Jack?”

“I liked him Inspector. Thought he was a bit young to be Deputy, but he seemed to be coping quite well. But I’ll tell you what, he was a great teacher. I never had to go in and help him out with discipline; he had the knack of getting the kids interested.”

“How did he get on with the other staff?”

“I’d say he was fairly well-liked. People like Charlie Page weren’t keen on him, but then Charlie Page isn’t keen on most people.”

They both laughed.

“Don’t know if I should say this Inspector, but I think he was having a fling with one of the language teachers, Patricia Patel. She’s waiting outside.”

“Thank you Jack. Sorry we could not have met under better circumstances. Could you ask Miss Patel to come in please?”

She walked in with the aim of making an immediate impact. Her black jeans were tucked inside her knee-length leather boots. “Is that a fur coat she is wearing?” Spence thought to himself. “Good job Joanne Grant isn’t interviewing this one.” Patricia Patel held out her hand.

“Patricia Patel.”

Spence shook her hand. Even he could not fail to notice the carefully applied red nail polish. .

“D I Hargreaves. Please take a seat Miss Patel.”

“As you know Roger Davidson was murdered on Tuesday evening. We are making some general enquiries, trying to develop a picture of the man, his work, his friends, that sort of thing.”

“I understand Inspector.”

“What sort of teacher was Roger Davidson?”

“I know the students really liked him. He even managed to get the tougher kids to work well. I would say he was a natural. I was not surprised when Robert Hamsby asked him to be Deputy.”

“Did you know him well?”

“No, not really. We would chat during morning tea. I did have to see him a few times this term, as I am in the process of organising an excursion to Paris in the new year. I teach Modern Languages.”

“How did he get on with the rest of the staff?”

“I would say he was very well-regarded. His appointment as Deputy was well-received. And of course his wife works here, as I presume you know. They are – were - a devoted couple.”

Spence could not decide whether he allowed this interview to stretch out because he knew that Patricia Patel was lying through her teeth, or because he was interviewing Patricia Patel.

Robert Hamsby made sure that each officer was supplied with frequent cups of tea and cakes, courtesy of the Year 10 Hospitality class. Miss Tims looked after Spence, and he could have sworn that she nearly smiled at him on one occasion. Nearly.

Fran Wilcox was annoyed at Davidson’s appointment but shocked at what happened to him. Tim Hawkins expressed incredulity. Trevor Manston seemed unconcerned at what had happened. “A real cold fish Spence,” was Joanne Grant’s opinion. Spence spoke to Shane Tott, and he felt Bob Hamsby was right, “I won’t be sharing a 3Bs in the Brewer’s with this guy. A bit of an odd bod,” he thought.

And so it went on…

By early afternoon they were finished. Robert Hamsby invited them to sample a Woodlands school dinner that had been put aside for them; they all politely but quickly declined. The drive back to the station was an exercise in concentration. The roads had become even more treacherous and nobody was in the mood for conversation. Once back at the station, Spence spoke to the three of them.

“Good work all of you. I think you’d agree that was a pretty tough session today.”

Traynor, with a broad smile on his face, said, “Next time Spence, you get “Ms” Palmer.”

“Bit of a man-eater eh? Okay, I want you all to go through your interview sheets and we’ll swap notes tomorrow morning. Good work on the finance checks Traynor. Ferguson, you head off to Marlborough. Take it easy. WPC Grant, you and I are going to pay a visit to Mrs Davidson, whom I suspect you would agree was not the most popular member of staff?”

Mumbles of agreement all round.