Free Murder In School by Bruce Beckham Page A

was...’
    And again.
    ‘I, er... think we got the names mixed
up.’
    Now follows a further soliloquy.  DS
Leyton shrinks supportively in his seat, pulling down an invisible tin hat over
his ears.
    ‘No, Ma’am – I mean yes, Ma’am
– we’ll do our best.’
    This remark brings a stinging rebuke, if Skelgill’s
involuntary wince is anything to go by.
    ‘Yes Ma’am, I...’
    But the Chief has rung off.
    DS Leyton slowly turns his head, his
expression one of a person anticipating a cuff across the scalp.  He knows
better than to ask a dumb question at this particular juncture.  Instead
he just says, sympathetically, ‘Ouch, Guv.’
    Skelgill slides the handset inside his
jacket and leans back in the passenger seat, folding his arms.  After a
moment he says, ‘Goodman’s phoned and given her a flea in her ear.  “Why
are coppers talking to my staff without permission?”  He knows about
Jacobson – obviously Snyder will have told him – and about Hodgson. 
Probably knows how many sandwiches we ate as well.’
    ‘Does he know she put us up to
it?’
    Skelgill shakes his head slowly. 
‘That’s the one small bit of credit we come out with, apparently.’
    ‘So, what else could we have done, Guv?’
    ‘Well, Leyton, we’re supposed miraculously
to discover something as yet unknown to man, in the dark, with both hands tied
behind our backs.’
    DS Leyton nods understandingly.
    ‘Oh – and we’ve got until close of
play tomorrow to do it, or else.’
    DS Leyton’s demeanour takes on a hint of
the hunted animal.  ‘Or else what, Guv?’
    ‘An everlasting , Leyton.’

13. THE
GATEHOUSE
     
    ‘Jones.’
    ‘Yes, Guv.’
    ‘Are you still on duty?’
    ‘Till late, Guv.’
    ‘Not the same stakeout, surely?’
    ‘Well, we’ve moved to another bar –
then it’s a club tonight – we’re not past the reconnaissance stage.’
    Skelgill audibly grinds his teeth, though
the sound probably doesn’t transmit over the airwaves.  But he evidently
decides to concentrate upon police matters.  ‘I need your help, Jones.’
    ‘Sure, Guv – whatever I can do.’
    ‘Firstly, see if your aunt can find out
where the Head and his Deputy came from.  Mr Goodman and Dr Snyder.’
    ‘Sounds like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, Guv.’
    ‘In this case I’m pretty certain there’s
two of them.  Snyder mentioned he’d been at a school in Singapore.  I
didn’t dare ask the Head, he was bristling as it was.’
    ‘I’ll pass on the request, Guv. 
It’s going to be tomorrow, though, before we get an answer – she’ll have
finished at five today.’
    ‘Just as early as possible – the
Chief’s on the warpath.’
    ‘That didn’t take long.’
    ‘You know me, Jones.’
    DS Jones inhales to reply, but then
checks herself.  After a second’s pause she says, ‘What else, Guv?’
    ‘How do you mean?’
    ‘You said firstly – I assume
there’s a secondly?’
    ‘Ah – Miss Marple.  What time
do you knock off?’
    ‘I think the club shuts at midnight
weekdays.’
    ‘Fine – then pick me up at one a.m.
on the dot.  I’ll text you the directions.  I may not be able to
communicate with you until I see you, so keep your eyes peeled.’
    ‘But... Guv, what exactly...?’
    ‘Thanks, Jones.  You know how the
signal can be...’
    Skelgill takes the handset down from his
ear and ends the call.
     
     
    *
     
    Breathing heavily and dripping water from
his hair, Skelgill gingerly wades barefoot through the rocky shallows on the osier-lined
eastern shore of Bassenthwaite Lake.  It’s a clear night and behind him a
waxing gibbous moon sails high over Thornthwaite Forest, illuminating his
approach to Oakthwaite’s landing stage and throwing inky shadows beneath its
spindly form.  He hauls himself with some care onto the splintering
timbers and turns to sit in childlike fashion, legs dangling, the water
droplets on his naked body glistening like beads of mercury.  It might be
a scene from a werewolf