Free Cherringham--A Lesson in Murder by Neil Richards Page A

hands, folded together tightly as if they’d go flying away if they weren’t being held like that.
    “I will. And thank you. I know this has been hard. I’ll go find Sophie now …”
    And Sarah stood up and walked out of the dorm.
    A few doors now open, the girls all coming back from the games, still time to enjoy the free day.
    Soon they’d all know about the accident.
    And would Cherringham Hall ever be the same?
    *
    Tahir walked out to his dark, disorderly living room with the steps of someone who knew something bad was about to happen.
    “Have a seat,” Jack said.
    The thing is — Jack knew — when people had secrets, even if you didn’t know what they were, you could use that.
    That — and their free-floating guilt.
    Tahir plopped down on his couch. Bare feet, black T-shirt tight. Frayed jeans. His day off about to be ruined.
    “What is it?” he finally said. “This thing that I want to know?”
    A bit of the old bite in Tahir’s tone.
    “Bad news, Tahir. Emily Braithwaite apparently killed herself last night. Jumped right in front of a fast-moving train. Imagine that? Killed herself.”
    Then Jack added for especial emphasis. “Apparently …”
    He thought that the young caretaker instantly turned a shade whiter.
    “Now, I thought of you. Taking care of this place. Seeing things that you weren’t supposed to tell anyone. Thought: why maybe there were things about Ms. Braithwaite you knew.”
    Tahir rubbed his cheek.
    Jack had given the young man some valuable thinking time, and now his brain was probably in overdrive. If Tahir knew something that could come back and bite him, he was probably weighing sharing that.
    Unless — it was worse than a bite.
    Jack waited.
    Then: “So do you? Maybe have something to tell me? That you didn’t before? About the dead teacher, about—”
    Tahir raised a hand.
    “All right. Enough.” Then, his voice low, resigned. “ Enough . See, I’m only human, right?”
    “Don’t get you, Tahir.”
    “I mean, I hate this bloody place, so pompous, so much money. Spoiled brats they are. But I’m only human. All those girls.”
    Jack could guess what came next.
    “You became … friendly with one?”
    A nod. “We started just chatting, when she was outside, you know, in the grounds. She was nice. Different from the other girls. Not one of them stuck-up English brats.”
    “She came here? To your cottage?”
    “Once maybe. Twice. But sometimes we’d meet in an empty room, late. She found it exciting. She was one of them that likes that kind of ‘kick’.”
    Tahir stopped.
    After a moment, Jack said: “So — doesn’t seem so strange. Things happen. Not the first time …”
    Jack was seeing the connection now — the girl, the tyres, the rats, maybe even Braithwaite’s terrible death …
    Tahir tilted his head, near wincing as he told Jack …
    “Then we got caught. One night, right as we … we got caught.”
    Another pause and Tahir moved from his slouch on the big chair and leaned forward. “And it was that nosey bitch Emily Braithwaite that caught us. Threatened to get me fired.”
    “But she didn’t?”
    Tahir shook his head.
    “No. Because you see, it wasn’t me she wanted to punish. It was the girl. Didn’t understand it then. Maybe still don’t.”
    The room felt so quiet; the rain spatters against the windows muted.
    “She punished the girl. You see, that’s what she wanted to do.”
    When secrets start getting revealed, Jack thought, you never know where they’ll take you …
    Jack didn’t need to ask who the girl was.
    He had another question for the angry, haunted caretaker.
    “And you think that what happened, with you, the girl, getting caught, has something to do with what happened to the school … the rats, to Braithwaite’s car?”
    Tahir smiled ruefully.
    “Don’t think, Mr. Brennan. Know . I know it does.”
    Jack nodded, smiled back.
    “So whose idea was it?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “The rats. The tyres. The food