Free Murder In School by Bruce Beckham

still
not reckon we’ve got anything, Guv?’
    ‘Do you?’  Skelgill sounds scathing. 
He brushes crumbs peremptorily from his lap.
    ‘What about the computer, Guv? 
That’s definitely odd.’
    Skelgill purses his lips and shakes his
head.  ‘Yeah... but, we’re looking for what?  Signs of a possible
murder?  At the very least, malicious persecution that drove Querrell to
drown himself.  So, his computer may have been wiped – he could have
done it himself – maybe that was his routine after each time he used
it.  On its own it doesn’t mean a thing, Leyton.’
    ‘Well, that Snyder gives me the
creeps.  Imagine being a little nipper and having to go to him for the
cane.  Strike the fear of God into you.’
    ‘They don’t cane, Leyton – corporal
punishment was outlawed years ago.’
    ‘Oh – I thought maybe the private
schools still have it – Jacobson mentioned it, remember, Guv?’
    ‘I assumed he was harking back to the
good old days.’
    ‘Not so old, Guv – I recall it well
enough.’  DS Leyton affects a pained shudder.
    Skelgill stares through the windscreen as
if mesmerized by a memory.  A regular array of black-tarred toilet
outflows emerge from the roughly harled wall of the building at second-floor
level.  Diagonally, they join a horizontal that feeds into a downpipe. 
The corresponding washroom windows are frosted, while the smaller clear glass
ones on the floor above look like they might be dormitories, sporting stickers,
and the odd pile of books capped by a chewed soft toy.  It’s a contrasting
image of the school to that portrayed by the immaculate neoclassical
frontage.  After a moment he says, ‘You’re right about one thing, Leyton
– Jacobson was off message, as the spin doctors put it.’
    ‘How do you mean, Guv?’
    ‘Since he wasn’t on our official list he
hadn’t been briefed on the party line.  Snyder looked none too pleased
when he discovered we’d been in there.  I doubt he or Goodman would want
us hearing gossip about them putting the squeeze on old Querrell.’
    ‘I suppose Snyder being Querrell’s direct
boss – must be a pain if you’ve got an uncooperative subordinate you
can’t get of shot of.’
    ‘Tell me about it, Leyton.’
    ‘Ha-ha, Guv.’  DS Leyton grins
obediently.  ‘But, apart from the missing computer data, it’s just about
the only line we’ve got.’
    ‘Hardly grounds for suspected murder.’ 
Skelgill’s tone is scornful.
    DS Leyton shrugs resignedly.  ‘Thing
is, Guv, if you ask me all three of them were acting a bit queer – cagey,
like.’
    ‘I wouldn’t have called Jacobson cagey.’
    ‘Well, no, Guv – but... he was like
an old mother hen, clucking about in one corner of the yard so we didn’t notice
the nest over in the other.’
    A semblance of a grin creases the corners
of Skelgill’s severely set mouth.  ‘Thing is, Leyton – who doesn’t
have a guilty secret?  Coppers come poking around – you know how
folks are?  Think we’ve got x-ray specs and can read their mind. 
Might be nothing to do with why we’re there, but they behave suspiciously when
they hear the skeleton start rattling in the closet.’
    DS Leyton is beginning to look
exasperated.  He throws his hands up in frustration.  ‘Well, I wish
the Chief had given us more of a steer, Guv.  How are we supposed to know
why she’s got her knickers in such a bleedin’ twist over this one?’
    Skelgill’s phone rings – it’s an
unusual tone.  As he reaches inside his jacket he smiles inanely at DS
Leyton and says, ‘Shall I ask her now?’
    DS Leyton feigns injury as Skelgill
answers the call.
    ‘Yes, Ma’am?’
    He casts an optimistic glance at DS
Leyton.
    ‘Yes, Ma’am – we’re there now.’
    There’s a long silence as he
listens.  The subtle change in his features suggests the tenor of his
superior’s monologue is unfavourable.
    ‘Well, Ma’am – we... er...’
    Evidently he is interrupted.
    ‘No, Ma’am it