incidents. She's put a lot of people out. It's not so much the changes, which have meant more pressure for all the staff here, it's her manner that upsets people.’ He hesitated. ‘There's been talk. Some of the staff have been going around criticising her behind her back.’
‘What sort of talk?’
‘Some of them accused her of being incompetent – not to her face, of course – and they've all complained about extra duties they've been having to do since she came, that sort of thing. They called a meeting to discuss their grievances but nothing ever came of it. They won't do anything, that lot, they just sit around and whinge. I've never known people grumble as much as teachers. You wouldn't think it, would you?’
They thanked George Ramsey for the tea and asked who else was in school over half term. The secretaries, IT support and maintenance staff would be working, he told them, and the deputy head was due in shortly, but the rest of the teaching staff were unlikely to appear on site during the half-term break.
Geraldine wanted to see the headmistress's study. ‘Please make sure no one enters the room. We'll put a constable on the door until a team has been in to make a thorough search, but I'd like to have a quick look round now, while I'm here.’
The caretaker led them across a concrete yard to the administrative building. They passed an unmanned reception desk, their footsteps echoing as they followed him down a corridor to a locked door. Once they were inside Abigail Kirby's carpeted office, they found everything easily accessible. Desk drawers were unlocked, unbolted filing cabinets held neatly labelled folders, the empty rubbish bin had a new plastic lining in place, waiting for the next day's detritus; everything in the room combined to give an impression of quiet efficiency.
Abigail Kirby had clearly been single-minded in her focus on work. There was nothing in the office that didn't relate directly to her professional life, no personal diary or notes, not even any photos of her family. They had almost finished flicking through the drawers and files when a man's head appeared round the door.
‘Hello?’ He strode into the room with an unmistakable air of authority. His lips pursed when Geraldine held out her warrant card but he introduced himself courteously enough as Derek Maloney, deputy head. ‘How can I help, Inspector? What are you looking for? And shouldn't we wait for Abigail? This is her office.’ He managed to look well turned out, even in casual clothes. Geraldine suspected his jeans had been ironed. Thinning hair slicked back across the top of his head failed to conceal the shiny bald pate beneath. The lenses of his glasses gleamed, masking his expression. ‘What seems to be the problem, Inspector? I'm not sure where Abigail is, but we're on half term. If this can possibly wait until next week –’
‘It can't.’ Briefly, Geraldine outlined the reason for their visit.
Derek Maloney was visibly shaken. He sat on the headmistress's sofa and gazed helplessly round the room. ‘She's dead? But – how? She was such a strong woman.’
Peterson described how Abigail Kirby's body had been discovered the previous afternoon.
‘And you're certain this was murder? She couldn't have fallen and hit her head against something?’
‘I'm afraid there can be no doubt she was killed, and the evidence suggests it wasn't accidental.’
‘This is terrible.’
‘Mr Maloney, it would assist our enquiries if you could tell us what you know about Abigail Kirby. Was she a popular head?’
‘Well, how can I put this? I can't say she won't be a loss to the school, Inspector, but –’
‘You didn't like her?’
Mr Maloney deliberated. When he finally spoke, it sounded as though he was rehearsing a speech. ‘I had the utmost respect for Abigail Kirby both as a colleague and as a head…’ He broke off and looked at Geraldine, stricken. ‘She's wasn't a likeable woman, Inspector. She didn't go
‘What sort of talk?’
‘Some of them accused her of being incompetent – not to her face, of course – and they've all complained about extra duties they've been having to do since she came, that sort of thing. They called a meeting to discuss their grievances but nothing ever came of it. They won't do anything, that lot, they just sit around and whinge. I've never known people grumble as much as teachers. You wouldn't think it, would you?’
They thanked George Ramsey for the tea and asked who else was in school over half term. The secretaries, IT support and maintenance staff would be working, he told them, and the deputy head was due in shortly, but the rest of the teaching staff were unlikely to appear on site during the half-term break.
Geraldine wanted to see the headmistress's study. ‘Please make sure no one enters the room. We'll put a constable on the door until a team has been in to make a thorough search, but I'd like to have a quick look round now, while I'm here.’
The caretaker led them across a concrete yard to the administrative building. They passed an unmanned reception desk, their footsteps echoing as they followed him down a corridor to a locked door. Once they were inside Abigail Kirby's carpeted office, they found everything easily accessible. Desk drawers were unlocked, unbolted filing cabinets held neatly labelled folders, the empty rubbish bin had a new plastic lining in place, waiting for the next day's detritus; everything in the room combined to give an impression of quiet efficiency.
Abigail Kirby had clearly been single-minded in her focus on work. There was nothing in the office that didn't relate directly to her professional life, no personal diary or notes, not even any photos of her family. They had almost finished flicking through the drawers and files when a man's head appeared round the door.
‘Hello?’ He strode into the room with an unmistakable air of authority. His lips pursed when Geraldine held out her warrant card but he introduced himself courteously enough as Derek Maloney, deputy head. ‘How can I help, Inspector? What are you looking for? And shouldn't we wait for Abigail? This is her office.’ He managed to look well turned out, even in casual clothes. Geraldine suspected his jeans had been ironed. Thinning hair slicked back across the top of his head failed to conceal the shiny bald pate beneath. The lenses of his glasses gleamed, masking his expression. ‘What seems to be the problem, Inspector? I'm not sure where Abigail is, but we're on half term. If this can possibly wait until next week –’
‘It can't.’ Briefly, Geraldine outlined the reason for their visit.
Derek Maloney was visibly shaken. He sat on the headmistress's sofa and gazed helplessly round the room. ‘She's dead? But – how? She was such a strong woman.’
Peterson described how Abigail Kirby's body had been discovered the previous afternoon.
‘And you're certain this was murder? She couldn't have fallen and hit her head against something?’
‘I'm afraid there can be no doubt she was killed, and the evidence suggests it wasn't accidental.’
‘This is terrible.’
‘Mr Maloney, it would assist our enquiries if you could tell us what you know about Abigail Kirby. Was she a popular head?’
‘Well, how can I put this? I can't say she won't be a loss to the school, Inspector, but –’
‘You didn't like her?’
Mr Maloney deliberated. When he finally spoke, it sounded as though he was rehearsing a speech. ‘I had the utmost respect for Abigail Kirby both as a colleague and as a head…’ He broke off and looked at Geraldine, stricken. ‘She's wasn't a likeable woman, Inspector. She didn't go
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