Free Dead Unlucky by Andrew Derham Page A

was certainly different now than on that Sunday morning when Annalee Hargreaves had been called from her breakfast to supervise the disaster. Then it was a frantic pandemonium packed with police officers, medics, people yelling and crying, and the stench of excrement. Today, it was empty of everything. Everything except that illogical eerie feeling that comes from knowing someone died there.
    As she let herself back into the corridor, Hargreaves knew that people would be poking their noses into the suicide again, now that Sebastian Emmer had been murdered. She had managed to sweep Nicola Brown under a great big carpet a few months ago, but it would be harder this time around. Her task would have been a lot simpler if that repugnant little policeman hadn’t been on the case.
     
    *****
     
    Mrs Morris arrived for her interview with a little black handbag dangling from the sleeve of a pale blue cardigan. Her grey hair was cut around her ears and she wore a wedding ring which sported a diamond of impressive size. Hart sat opposite her next to Redpath. He was still livid but something about Mrs Morris’s bearing began to calm him down; although a small woman, she exuded a wise authority.
    ‘I shall be forthright with you, gentlemen,’ she began. ‘Sebastian was not somebody I greatly cared for. And I shan’t make any unhelpful asinine comments about speaking ill of the dead, I expect you’ve heard enough of those already this morning.’
    At last, the singer of a different tune , thought Hart as he sat up straighter.
    ‘As a student, he was tolerable. Neither bright nor industrious, but passable and no trouble. Well, none of the students here are, really. It was as a person I was not too keen on him. He was forever gathering attention to himself; that seemed to be his only passion, his one joy in life. And, I think, what really irked me about him was that he was so blessedly successful at it. Perhaps I’m a little jealous, and I accept that does me no credit, but I disliked the way that some people fawned over him. They thought the Sun shone out of his proverbial bottom, and that was what he thought about himself, too.’
    ‘Did everybody think this, Mrs Morris?’ asked Redpath.
    ‘No, there were some who agreed with me. If you knew him well, you fell into one of two camps – you worshipped him, or you regarded him as a self-satisfied little twerp.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Now, let me tell you something which is not an opinion I would volunteer to anybody but yourselves.’
    ‘Please do go on,’ suggested Redpath, handing her a reassurance the woman didn’t need.
    ‘There are some staff, male staff, who comment about how pretty certain of their older female students are. I think they are very foolish to do that, it leaves them wide open to being misunderstood.’ Or, worse still, understood , the glint in her eye said. ‘But certain female teachers are prone to indulge similar sentiments about their male pupils, although perhaps they do so less obviously. I do not myself grade pupils according to the attractiveness of their faces or their bodies, but I will tell you, and I will only relate this estimation because it may be pertinent to your enquiries, that Sebastian was a very handsome young man. His face was adorable and he was tall and lean. It is sad but true that some members of my gender will pander to such a person, even if he is shallow or something of a bully. It is the looks combined with the brash confidence that they love, even if there is nothing substantial behind it all, only banality. I suppose it’s just infatuation, really. Sebastian could charm the pants off some women, and I have no doubt that he frequently did.’
    ‘What do you know about the death of a girl called Nicola, Mrs Morris?’ Hart noted that the delivery of his deliberate surprise left her unfazed, although acute pain rode across her face for an instant.
    ‘I was coming to Nicola, even though Mrs Hargreaves emphasised to