Free The Floating Body by Kel Richards Page A

gone and the second will ring any minute. You should be at your desks.’
    Hamilton, the leader of the group of boys confronting us, said, ‘If you please, sir, we have a problem, sir.’
    I asked him what the problem was.
    ‘Well, we’re supposed to have a mathematics lesson, sir, and Mr Fowler is . . .’ His voice faded away, indicating that no further explanation was necessary.
    ‘So who will do trigonometry with us this morning?’ added Clifford, the keenest young mathematician in the group.
    ‘It’s not trigonometry this morning,’ boomed a voice from the far side of the milling group of schoolboys. The group parted to reveal the school’s History Master, Geoffrey Douglas, ambling towards us in his usual relaxed manner.
    ‘It will,’ he continued as he approached, ‘be an hour on Roman Britain—so take your seats and get out your history books.’
    The boys obediently filed into the classroom.
    ‘Morning, Morris,’ murmured the History Master as he passed. ‘Difficult days, difficult days. The whole school is in uproar.’
    ‘Morning, Douglas,’ I replied. ‘If there’s anyone who can settle the boys down, it’s you.’
    He nodded in reply and went into the room.
    As the form room door closed and a hush settled, our little group—consisting of Locke, Jack, Warnie and myself—proceeded on our way.
    Rounding a corner we found ourselves confronted by the Head Master, Dr Rogers, looking more magisterial than ever.
    ‘Ah, Inspector Locke. I was hoping to find you.’
    Locke waited, expectantly and politely.
    ‘I have just been engaged in telephone conversations with several members of our board of governors, informing them of this most . . . ah . . . unhappy . . . ah . . . incident. They asked me to do all I can to ensure that the police presence in the school, and any police disruption of the school, be kept to an absolute minimum.’
    He stopped and raised one eyebrow until it almost curled into a question mark. Clearly he was hoping for some reassurance from the policeman. He didn’t get it.
    ‘We will, of course, do what needs to be done to investigate this murder,’ Inspector Locke replied, with a quiet intensity.
    ‘Oh, dear me, dear me,’ murmured Dr Rogers gloomily. Then he brightened up as a thought occurred to him. ‘You do know, don’t you,’ he asked rhetorically, ‘that the Chief Constable is on our board of governors?’
    ‘I do, Head Master,’ replied the inspector. ‘And knowing that, I made a quick phone call to Sir Edgar before I drove up to the school this morning.’
    ‘Oh, did you?’ muttered the Head gloomily, suspecting that this was not a good sign.
    ‘And he assured me,’ Locke continued, ‘that I had his full support in taking whatever steps I deemed necessary. In his words, “The murder investigation must take priority.” However, I’m sure that, for the most part, the school’s activities can continue without being disturbed by us.’
    A sour look came over the Head’s face as he muttered, ‘Very comforting, I’m sure,’ then turned his back and walked off down the corridor.
    Freed from the Head’s concerns, Locke led us quickly up the rear stairs to the top landing.
    Here we found ourselves facing the solid, ladder-like steps, bolted to the wall, that led from the landing to the roof.
    ‘How did Fowler get his deckchair up these steep steps?’ the policeman asked, speaking his thoughts aloud and directing the question at no one in particular.
    ‘With some difficulty, I imagine,’ said Warnie with a chuckle.
    ‘He was a fit young man,’ I volunteered. ‘I think he could have easily enough manhandled something as light as a deckchair up onto the roof.
    ‘And he clearly did,’ Jack added.
    Inspector Locke led the way up the steep, narrow steps, threw open the trapdoor at the top and clambered out onto the roof. We followed him.
    By the time all three of us had emerged from the trapdoor, Inspector Locke was standing in the middle of the roof,