look of sympathy.
‘I hoped you’d give us some information, that’s all.’
Della snorted and turned her attention to an article on how to please your man in the bedroom.
‘It’s about your old school. Chadleigh Hall.’
Della looked up from her magazine. ‘What about it?’
‘When were you there?’
She thought for a moment. ‘1960 to ’67. Why?’
‘It’s a bit of a long shot but a skeleton was found in a small sealed chamber off one of the first-floor rooms.’
Della raised her eyebrows, suddenly interested.
‘Of course, it could have been there for years, but I wondered if there was any building work done in the time you were there.
Or anything strange you remember. Did any of the girls go missing or were there any stories you remember hearing about the
house . . . or any rumours? Anything, really. We’re clutching at straws but we’ve got to start somewhere.’
Della frowned. ‘Whereabouts on the first floor?’
‘If you go up the main staircase and turn left you go through one large room and then on into another. It was probably a bedroom
when the hall was built. There was a small room, about eight foot square, leading off the second room, and it had been sealed
up with the skeleton inside.’
Della sat in silent concentration, dredging the memories of her distant schooldays. After a couple of minutes she spoke. ‘That
would have been the headmistress’s room. I remember it well. I spent a lot of time waiting outside it. There were workmen
about when I was . . . Oh, let me think . . . I must have been in my fourth or fifth year. That would have been 1964 or 1965,
I suppose. They did a lot of work on the building. I think they knocked old Frostie’s room about a bit, but I can’t really
remember.’
‘Old Frostie?’
‘The headmistress. Miss Snowman. Commonly known as Frostie.’
Wesley nodded. He had always felt some sympathy forteachers with unusual names, knowing the cruelties of the young.
‘The workmen must have thought their ship had come in – all those nubile young virgins who hadn’t seen anything male in years
apart from the ninety-year-old gardener and his neutered tomcat.’
‘And do you remember if any of those nubile young virgins went missing around that time? Did any girl leave unexpectedly?’
She closed her eyes, trying to recall the past. ‘I seem to remember hearing that one of the older girls had run away around
that time but I shouldn’t have thought that was uncommon at boarding schools in those days. I think the average modern women’s
prison would seem like a holiday camp compared with what we had to put up with. Cold baths and lots of jolly hockey. I contemplated
running away myself at times. I’ll have a think about it and see if I can remember anything more. After all, there’s nothing
much else to do in this place, is there?’
They took their leave of Della, not knowing whether she had told them anything useful or not . . . and promising that next
time they visited they would bring a discreetly hidden bottle.
When Gerry Heffernan walked into the CID office he had a sudden feeling that there was something out of place in his domain.
Then he saw what it was. Harry Marchbank was sitting at Steve Carstairs’ desk, scratching his thinning hair. When he spotted
Heffernan he stood up and the DCI halted suddenly. Wesley Peterson, following behind, narrowly avoided cannoning into him.
It was Heffernan who spoke first. ‘What are you doing back on my patch? I thought I’d got rid of you a couple of years ago.’
The boss’s words lacked their usual good humour. He meant what he said. As Wesley had always got on well withGerry Heffernan, this was a side of the man he rarely, if ever, saw.
Marchbank had the good grace to look embarrassed. ‘I’m, er . . . here on official business, sir. I’ve reason to believe that
a murder suspect from our patch has headed this way and my guvnor’s sent me to track him
‘I hoped you’d give us some information, that’s all.’
Della snorted and turned her attention to an article on how to please your man in the bedroom.
‘It’s about your old school. Chadleigh Hall.’
Della looked up from her magazine. ‘What about it?’
‘When were you there?’
She thought for a moment. ‘1960 to ’67. Why?’
‘It’s a bit of a long shot but a skeleton was found in a small sealed chamber off one of the first-floor rooms.’
Della raised her eyebrows, suddenly interested.
‘Of course, it could have been there for years, but I wondered if there was any building work done in the time you were there.
Or anything strange you remember. Did any of the girls go missing or were there any stories you remember hearing about the
house . . . or any rumours? Anything, really. We’re clutching at straws but we’ve got to start somewhere.’
Della frowned. ‘Whereabouts on the first floor?’
‘If you go up the main staircase and turn left you go through one large room and then on into another. It was probably a bedroom
when the hall was built. There was a small room, about eight foot square, leading off the second room, and it had been sealed
up with the skeleton inside.’
Della sat in silent concentration, dredging the memories of her distant schooldays. After a couple of minutes she spoke. ‘That
would have been the headmistress’s room. I remember it well. I spent a lot of time waiting outside it. There were workmen
about when I was . . . Oh, let me think . . . I must have been in my fourth or fifth year. That would have been 1964 or 1965,
I suppose. They did a lot of work on the building. I think they knocked old Frostie’s room about a bit, but I can’t really
remember.’
‘Old Frostie?’
‘The headmistress. Miss Snowman. Commonly known as Frostie.’
Wesley nodded. He had always felt some sympathy forteachers with unusual names, knowing the cruelties of the young.
‘The workmen must have thought their ship had come in – all those nubile young virgins who hadn’t seen anything male in years
apart from the ninety-year-old gardener and his neutered tomcat.’
‘And do you remember if any of those nubile young virgins went missing around that time? Did any girl leave unexpectedly?’
She closed her eyes, trying to recall the past. ‘I seem to remember hearing that one of the older girls had run away around
that time but I shouldn’t have thought that was uncommon at boarding schools in those days. I think the average modern women’s
prison would seem like a holiday camp compared with what we had to put up with. Cold baths and lots of jolly hockey. I contemplated
running away myself at times. I’ll have a think about it and see if I can remember anything more. After all, there’s nothing
much else to do in this place, is there?’
They took their leave of Della, not knowing whether she had told them anything useful or not . . . and promising that next
time they visited they would bring a discreetly hidden bottle.
When Gerry Heffernan walked into the CID office he had a sudden feeling that there was something out of place in his domain.
Then he saw what it was. Harry Marchbank was sitting at Steve Carstairs’ desk, scratching his thinning hair. When he spotted
Heffernan he stood up and the DCI halted suddenly. Wesley Peterson, following behind, narrowly avoided cannoning into him.
It was Heffernan who spoke first. ‘What are you doing back on my patch? I thought I’d got rid of you a couple of years ago.’
The boss’s words lacked their usual good humour. He meant what he said. As Wesley had always got on well withGerry Heffernan, this was a side of the man he rarely, if ever, saw.
Marchbank had the good grace to look embarrassed. ‘I’m, er . . . here on official business, sir. I’ve reason to believe that
a murder suspect from our patch has headed this way and my guvnor’s sent me to track him
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