Moon (14 page)

    'That's all right, I feel the same way.'

    'I'll call you if I learn anything definite, then. It may be a while.'

    When Overoy replaced the receiver he stared down at his notepad for some time. Childes was sincere, he was sure of that. A bit weird, perhaps, but that was hardly surprising with the extra sense he possessed. And then again, it was really the gift that was strange, not Childes himself.

    The policeman stubbed out his cigarette and examined his fingers, frowning at the nicotine stains between them. He lit another cigarette, then reached for the pumice stone which doubled as a paperweight and began rubbing it vigorously against the stained skin. Childes had been right about the dead boy, yet had needed prompting over the prostitute, and even then had been vague. So what was he, a so-called hard-bitten, cynical police detective, to make of it? Maybe nothing. Maybe something. He scanned his notes again. This grisly business of the old man - what the hell was that all about? Overoy dropped the pumice stone and circled one word with the pen.

    
Straps.
Childes had said the old man had been strapped to a narrow bed. And the room had been sparsely furnished - how had he put it? Stark, that was it. What kind of place…?

    Overoy stared hard at the circled word, then looked blankly at the wall opposite. He could see movement in the outer office through the frosted glass, hear typewriters, telephones ringing, voices, but none of that registered. There
was
something, a tragic incident the previous night. Could there possibly be a connection?

    Uncertain, but more than curious, Overoy picked up the phone.

    

    

    The policeman waited by the arrivals gate, conspicuous in his uniform of light-blue epauletted shirt and dark trousers. His height made him even more noticeable, and one or two of the passengers who had just alighted from the Shorts SD 330 from Gatwick and were approaching the Customs desk eyed him nervously.

    The small airport was crowded with seasonal tourists and businessmen. Outside, the sun blazed with a summer intensity, any lingering chill in the air fiercely shrugged off by now. A constant stream of vehicles prowled the non-parking zone, spilling passengers and their luggage, swallowing up arrivals. Inside, the rows of seats were full with travellers, bored, scampering children tripping over stretched legs, weary mothers pretending not to notice, groups of healthy-looking holidaymakers laughing and joking, determined to enjoy even the last few minutes of their vacations.

    Inspector Robillard grinned when he spotted the familiar figure striding along the arrivals corridor. At first glance, Ken Overoy didn't appear to have changed much over the years, but as he drew closer, the thinning, sandy-coloured hair and the slight bulge of his waistline became more apparent.

    'Hello, Geoff,' said Overoy, switching his overnight bag to his left hand and extending his right. He ignored two Customs officers waiting by their desk. 'Good of you to meet me.'

    'No problem,' said Robillard. 'You're looking well, Ken.'

    'Yeah, who you kidding? Island life looks good on you, though.'

    'Put it down to weekend sailing. It's great to see you after all this time.' The two police officers had met while Robillard was on a CID training course at New Scotland Yard and later when both were attending an Inspectors course in West Yorkshire. Robillard had kept in contact with Overoy through the years, always seeking him out whenever excursions took him to England, enjoying the stories of intrigues that inevitably went with policing the nation's capital, so different from law enforcement on the island - although Robillard had to admit they had their share of skulduggery. On this occasion, he took pleasure in being of assistance to the London detective.

    He led Overoy from the air terminal to the waiting vehicle outside, a white Ford, the island's crest on its sides, a blue light mounted on the roof.

    'How's crime here?' asked Overoy as he tossed his bag onto the back seat.

    'Increasing rapidly with the start of the tourist season. Wish you'd keep your tearaways over there where they belong.'

    The other man laughed. 'Even villains need a break.'

    Robillard switched on the ignition and turned to face his companion who was settling into the passenger seat and lighting a cigarette. 'Where to first?' he enquired.

    Overoy consulted his watch. 'It's just after three, so where's he likely to be at this time of day? In school?'

    The inspector nodded. 'Let's see, it's Tuesday, so he'll be at La Roche.'

    'La Roche it is then - I'll catch him when he comes out.'

    'You'll have a wait.'

    'Doesn't matter, I've got plenty of time. Maybe I could check into a hotel first, though.'

    'No way. Wendy would never forgive me if I didn't insist you stay with us overnight.'

    'I don't want to put -'

    'You won't. We'd be glad of your company, Ken, and you can fill us in on crime in the wicked city. Wendy'll love it.'

    Already beginning to relax, Overoy smiled. 'Okay. Let's talk on the way to the school, shall we?'

    Robillard soon forsook the busy main road for the quieter shaded lanes leading to the coast. The brilliant colours of the hedgerows and the sea-freshness of the air served to relax Overoy even more. He dropped the half-smoked cigarette from the moving car and took in a deep breath through the open window.

    'What d'you know of Jonathan Childes?' he asked, keeping an eye on the narrow road ahead.

    Robillard slowed the car, to allow an oncoming vehicle to squeeze past. 'Not too much, only what we sent you in our report. He's lived here alone for nearly three years, appears to take life fairly easy even though he's employed by more than one college. Keeps a low profile, generally. Funny enough, we asked the Met. for information on him ourselves just a few weeks back.'

    Overoy regarded him with curiosity. 'Oh? Why was that?'

    'A
conseiller
here who happens to be a member of our Police Committee asked us to look into Childes' background. Name of Platnauer. He also serves on the governing board for La Roche, so presumably that's why he was checking.'

    'But why now? Childes has taught at the school for some time, hasn't he?'

    'Couple of years or so. I have to admit to being puzzled myself by the sudden interest in the chap. What's he been up to, Ken?'

    'Don't worry, he's clean. Certain incidents have occurred that he may be able to give us a lead on, that's all.'

    'Now I'm really curious. The information, such as it was, was given to
Conseiller
Platnauer who passed it on to Miss Piprelly, headmistress of La Roche, and we've heard nothing since. Childes' assistance in police investigations three years ago on the mainland was documented well enough, but that was his only involvement with the law. As you were on that case, I'm surprised you weren't contacted personally.'

    'There wouldn't be any need; it's all on record.'

    'So come on, tell me what this is about.'

    'Sorry, Geoff, can't at the moment. It could amount to nothing and I'd hate to cause Childes any further embarrassment - I caused him enough last time.' Overoy took out another cigarette. 'I blew too much to the Press and they were on him like vultures on a fresh carcase.'

    'What is he, this feller? Some kind of clairvoyant?'

    'Not exactly. He's psychic, that much we know. But he doesn't have premonitions, or hear spirits of the dead - that sort of thing.

    He mentally saw where the bodies of those kids were buried three years ago and gave us enough clues about the killer for us to find him. Unfortunately, we were too late - already topped himself by the time we reached him.'

    'But how-?'

    'I've no idea; I don't even pretend to understand these things. Call it telepathy, if you like. All I know is that Childes isn't a kook of any kind - in fact, he seems to be more upset by what he can do than anyone else.'

    Overoy saw the girls college before his companion pointed it out to him. The main building, white and imposing, loomed up before them over the treetops as the police car rounded a bend, the sun striking its walls to dazzling effect. They drew up before the gates and the detective whistled as he looked down the long drive.

    'That's some setting,' he commented. Behind the tall building and its various annexes was the sea, a sparkling cobalt blue that challenged the sky itself for dominance. The lush greenery of the clifftops and surrounding woodlands provided a pleasing variation in tones, the colours of sky, sea and land blending rather than contrasting. Close to where they were parked were tennis courts fringed by lawns and flowerbeds; even the mechanical colours in the nearby carpark failed to intrude.

    'I could happily go back to learning if it were in this place,' said Overoy, waving cigarette smoke from his face.

    'You'd have to change sex first,' Robillard replied.

    'I'd even do that.'

    The inspector chuckled. 'D'you want me to take you right up to the school itself?'

    Overoy shook his head. 'I'll wait for Childes on the bench over there by the courts; no need to draw attention.'

    'Up to you. His car's a black Mini.' He withdrew a slip of paper from his shirt pocket. 'Registration 27292 - I checked before I picked you up. Let's just make sure he's there before I leave you.' He smoothly eased the police car through the iron gates and drew up near the carpark. 'There she is,' he said, pointing, 'so he's still inside the school.'

    Overoy pushed open the passenger door and reached for his overnight bag lying on the back seat.

    'You can leave that there, if you like,' Robillard told him. 'I'll have to pick you up later, anyway.'

    'Just need something,' replied the detective, unzipping a side-pocket and delving in. He took out a plain brown envelope. 'No need to collect me, Geoff. Hopefully Childes will invite me back to his place so we can talk and I'll call a cab from there.'

    'You know our address.'

    'Yeah, got it.' Overoy stood outside the car, squinting against the sunshine. He leaned back through the open window for a moment. 'Oh, and Geoff,' he said, 'I'd appreciate it if you kept quiet about all this back at the station. I promised Childes I'd play it low-key.'

    'What would I tell anyone?' Robillard returned, smiling. 'Catch you later.'

    He reversed the Ford through the main gates and gave Overoy a wave as he drove off The detective stretched his back, then tucked the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket. He wandered towards a bench, bemoaning both the fact that he had neglected to bring sunglasses and that none of the older girls were playing tennis.

    

    

    Cars were pulling into a road on the other side of the courts and Overoy assumed the drivers were parents arriving to collect their day-girl daughters from a separate carpark near the rear of the buildings. He glanced at his watch: Childes would be out soon.

    The detective's jacket lay on the seat beside him and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, tie loosened around his neck. It had been peaceful to sit there in the sun with time to think for a change, and in many ways he envied his friend Robillard for the congenial atmosphere he operated in. Overoy knew, however, that attractive though the conditions appeared, they would soon frustrate someone too used to city life with all its corruption, seediness and villainy. Someone like him, who, at thirty-eight, revelled in the faster pace of city policing. Josie would love it, though, he thought, picturing his wife glorying in the relaxed way of life, the beaches, the barbecues, the freshness of the air - the fewer late-night calls for himself and less overtime. How bleak was it here in winter, though? There was the rub.

    A distant bell sounded within the college and soon girls began drifting from the various buildings, their chatter disturbing the previous quiet. It was still some time before he noticed Childes strolling towards him accompanied by a slim blonde girl in a yellow summer dress. As they walked, the girl reached around and did something at the back of her head, releasing her hair so that it swung loose in a tail. Overoy studied her as they approached: young, lightly tanned, and
very
pretty. He wondered if there was a relationship between her and Childes and the briefest touch of her fingers to the man's arm confirmed that indeed there was. Overoy stood as they drew near, swinging his jacket over one shoulder and sliding his other hand into his trouser pocket.

    Childes was about to enter the carpark when he caught sight of the detective. He became still and the girl looked up at him in surprise. She followed his gaze and saw Overoy as the policeman started forward.

    'Hello, Mr Childes,' he said. 'You recognise me?'

    'You're hard to forget,' came the reply and Overoy understood the rancour behind it. The two men shook hands, Childes reluctantly.

    'Sorry to surprise you like this,' apologised the detective, 'but I've been looking into the, uh, situation we discussed over the phone a week or so ago and thought it might be appropriate to see you in person.' He nodded at the girl, noticing her pale green eyes; close up, she was more than just
very
pretty.

    'Amy, this is Detective Inspector Overoy,' Childes said. 'He's the policeman I told you about.'

    Amy shook Overoy's hand and now there was suspicion in those eyes.

    'Can we talk privately?' the detective asked, switching his attention to Childes.

    Amy immediately said, 'I'll call you later, Jon,' and turned to walk away.

    'There's no need -'