solemnly. ‘We have reason to believe Mrs Kirby was murdered. Can you think of anyone who might have done this to her? Anyone with a grudge –’
The secretary interrupted her. ‘Inspector, this is a school, not an institution for delinquents. If Mrs Kirby was murdered, I'm sure no one from Harchester School was involved.’
Geraldine sighed. She wished she could feel sure of anything. ‘Would you say anyone on the staff has a temper?’
The secretary looked surprised. ‘I expect they all do, but not so that I would see it.’
‘Does anyone on the staff drink?’
The secretary laughed unexpectedly. ‘They all do. All the young ones, that is. And most of the older ones too, I daresay. They're teachers.’
‘We understand you wish to remain loyal to your colleagues, but if you know of anyone who might have had a grudge against Mrs Kirby, you have to let us know.’
‘It's not a question of loyalty, Inspector. I'd help you if I could. Only if you want to know the names of staff who fell out with Mrs Kirby, well, it could be just about anyone. She had a knack of upsetting people, as I said. She was obsessed with bringing in new policies, and not everyone wants to change, do they? But I'm sure no one would have wished her to come to any harm.’
‘Someone did,’ Geraldine heard Peterson mutter under his breath.
12
Waste
I t perplexed him that people made such a disproportionate fuss about killing, because that was the easy part. Disposing of the body was trickier, but he managed it without a hitch. With meticulous preparation he couldn't go wrong, as long as no one saw him. If there had been a war on he would have been feted as a hero; as it was, he had to be discreet.
There had been no need to move the girl. After heaving her off the balcony it had been easy to slip away and establish his alibi. The headmistress had been more of a challenge because he had taken her home with him and needed to dump her somewhere away from his house. After scouting around he had chosen a clearing in the woods beside waste ground. It was suitably isolated, so perfect for the purpose that he half expected to stumble across another body while he was looking around.
But there were no dead bodies in sight as he skulked among the trees, only discarded beer bottles, cigarette packets and a few condoms. In the summer he might have come across youngsters shagging in the bushes, but at this time of year the woods were deserted. It was ideal. A wasteland for a wasted life.
No one had seen him return there late one night and find his way in the moonlight, lugging the headmistress through the trees to the long grass in the clearing. Afterwards he wasn't even sure exactly where he'd left her. It wasn't important. She meant nothing to him any more, even though he knew they were connected as irreversibly as if they had been parent and child, except they were joined by death not life.
He poured himself a glass of brandy. So far, so good. Everything had gone exactly as planned and there was nothing to stop him finishing the job. Most crimes were solved as a result of stupidity. Murderers were even known to disclose the whereabouts of their dead victims. He swilled the brandy in his glass and wondered why anyone would remember where they had disposed of a body. It puzzled him that people took the trouble to hide their victims. For his part, he really didn't care if the headmistress was found or left to rot among the trees beside the wasteland. No one could implicate him in her death, so whatever happened to her from now on was of no consequence to him. He had to focus on what did matter to him – covering his tracks – because he couldn't allow anyone to stop him before he'd finished.
Two down, two to go. He had dealt with the girl and the headmistress. Now, only the doctor remained and then he would be free to put an end to it all.
He knew where the doctor worked. It wouldn't be long now. He smiled. It was almost too
The secretary interrupted her. ‘Inspector, this is a school, not an institution for delinquents. If Mrs Kirby was murdered, I'm sure no one from Harchester School was involved.’
Geraldine sighed. She wished she could feel sure of anything. ‘Would you say anyone on the staff has a temper?’
The secretary looked surprised. ‘I expect they all do, but not so that I would see it.’
‘Does anyone on the staff drink?’
The secretary laughed unexpectedly. ‘They all do. All the young ones, that is. And most of the older ones too, I daresay. They're teachers.’
‘We understand you wish to remain loyal to your colleagues, but if you know of anyone who might have had a grudge against Mrs Kirby, you have to let us know.’
‘It's not a question of loyalty, Inspector. I'd help you if I could. Only if you want to know the names of staff who fell out with Mrs Kirby, well, it could be just about anyone. She had a knack of upsetting people, as I said. She was obsessed with bringing in new policies, and not everyone wants to change, do they? But I'm sure no one would have wished her to come to any harm.’
‘Someone did,’ Geraldine heard Peterson mutter under his breath.
12
Waste
I t perplexed him that people made such a disproportionate fuss about killing, because that was the easy part. Disposing of the body was trickier, but he managed it without a hitch. With meticulous preparation he couldn't go wrong, as long as no one saw him. If there had been a war on he would have been feted as a hero; as it was, he had to be discreet.
There had been no need to move the girl. After heaving her off the balcony it had been easy to slip away and establish his alibi. The headmistress had been more of a challenge because he had taken her home with him and needed to dump her somewhere away from his house. After scouting around he had chosen a clearing in the woods beside waste ground. It was suitably isolated, so perfect for the purpose that he half expected to stumble across another body while he was looking around.
But there were no dead bodies in sight as he skulked among the trees, only discarded beer bottles, cigarette packets and a few condoms. In the summer he might have come across youngsters shagging in the bushes, but at this time of year the woods were deserted. It was ideal. A wasteland for a wasted life.
No one had seen him return there late one night and find his way in the moonlight, lugging the headmistress through the trees to the long grass in the clearing. Afterwards he wasn't even sure exactly where he'd left her. It wasn't important. She meant nothing to him any more, even though he knew they were connected as irreversibly as if they had been parent and child, except they were joined by death not life.
He poured himself a glass of brandy. So far, so good. Everything had gone exactly as planned and there was nothing to stop him finishing the job. Most crimes were solved as a result of stupidity. Murderers were even known to disclose the whereabouts of their dead victims. He swilled the brandy in his glass and wondered why anyone would remember where they had disposed of a body. It puzzled him that people took the trouble to hide their victims. For his part, he really didn't care if the headmistress was found or left to rot among the trees beside the wasteland. No one could implicate him in her death, so whatever happened to her from now on was of no consequence to him. He had to focus on what did matter to him – covering his tracks – because he couldn't allow anyone to stop him before he'd finished.
Two down, two to go. He had dealt with the girl and the headmistress. Now, only the doctor remained and then he would be free to put an end to it all.
He knew where the doctor worked. It wouldn't be long now. He smiled. It was almost too
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