Mortal Taste (8 page)

In particular, he would be interested if there was anyone in the room who could throw any light on why their late head teacher had gone to the park where he had been killed. There was an electric silence after this request. He caught one or two swiftly exchanged glances among his audience. He invited questions or observations, but received none.

No one came to speak to him when the meeting broke up.

‘Go away! Just bugger off, will you! We've nothing to say, so leave us alone!' The youth had desperation in his voice. Having to act as the man of the house had come too suddenly for him.

‘We're not press,' said Lambert sympathetically, showing his warrant card. ‘I'm sorry we have to come at a time like this, but we do need a few words with your mother.'

The young man hesitated, looked for a moment as if he would bar their way. From the hall behind him, his mother's voice said, ‘It's all right, Matt. Let them in, if they're police.'

The youth stood back and motioned them past him, looking anxiously down the drive for the journalistic jackals who were not there. Then he followed them into the hall and said, ‘I'm sorry. They've been hanging around all day. I'm trying to keep them away from my mother and Catriona.' Bert Hook felt very sorry for him. He was trying hard to behave like a mature man, and paradoxically it made him look more of a boy. Having ushered them into the room, he stood self-consciously beside them with his weight all on one leg. Then he self-consciously folded his arms; he looked like an actor trying to play an older man in a school play.

The sitting room had a scattering of empty cups and mugs on most of its flat surfaces. Matt eventually went and took up his position by his mother, so that she was framed by daughter and son, standing stiffly on either side of her like protective sentries. Perhaps the older woman, even in the distress they were trying to defend from outsiders, recognized something ridiculous in this little tableau, or perhaps the little smile was the conditioned middle-class reaction, welcoming strangers, however intrusive, into her home.

She said, ‘You will have gathered that I'm Jane Logan. This is my daughter, Catriona, and my son, Matt.' The boy moved half-forward to shake hands with the introduction, then realized that this was not an occasion for that. He stood uncomfortably gauche, with his left hand by his side and his right one still half-extended towards the CID men. He said, ‘Can't this wait? Surely you don't need to push your way in here on this of all days.'

Lambert said, ‘I'm afraid it can't. We can leave a more formal interview until later but we need to ask one or two preliminary questions immediately.'

Matt would have protested further, but his mother said calmly, ‘You'd better sit down,' and set the example by doing so herself in the middle of the wide sofa. Her children hesitated, then sat down one on each side of her, while Lambert and Hook planted themselves gratefully in the two armchairs opposite them.

Jane Logan looked quite composed, with her fair hair perfectly in place, despite the strain around eyes which had probably been tearful for most of the day. The younger face of Catriona Logan at her side seemed more puffed with grief, more tremulous than hers, but this was probably the first real tragedy in a young girl's life. Lambert said, ‘Just a few initial questions, as I said. I understand Mr Logan was in Birmingham on the day of his death.'

‘At a one-day conference on trends in secondary education, yes,' said Jane Logan.

‘He was giving one of the papers in the morning,' said Catriona, her pride in her dead father peeping through her ravaged face.

‘Dad was something of an authority on comprehensive schools, you see,' said Matt, anxious to support his sister.

‘So I understand. My wife's a teacher: she told me how eminent your Dad was.' Lambert smiled from one to the other, then said to the woman in between them, ‘Was he staying overnight in Birmingham?'

There was a tiny pause before she said, ‘No. But I wasn't expecting him back until late. Ten thirty or eleven, perhaps.'

‘You didn't report him missing until the next morning, though.'

Perhaps it sounded like an accusation, for Catriona put her hand upon her mother's, would perhaps have spoken if Jane Logan had not said calmly, ‘No. I just presumed Peter had been delayed by something. I went to bed at eleven and promptly fell asleep. It wasn't until the next morning that I realized that Peter hadn't come home.'

Catriona said protectively, ‘Mum had been to the gym that night after a day's work. She was tired out,' and her mother smiled her affirmation, as if a little embarrassed by the unnecessary detail.

Lambert would have liked to ask her mother a supplementary question, but that would have to wait. Instead, he said, ‘I'm sorry to have to bring you these details now, but it appears that your husband was killed by person or persons as yet unknown. You know where he died. Have you any idea why he should have been visiting that area of the town at that particular time?'

‘No. None at all.'

Her denial came so promptly that her son glanced sharply sideways at her. Matt said, ‘Wasn't Dad taken there under duress by someone? That's what we assumed.'

Lambert said, ‘He might have been. I'm afraid we know very little about the circumstances of the death yet. Your father might have been compelled to go there. He might have arranged to meet someone in that park, someone who then chose to kill him. He may even have gone there for some other purpose entirely, and been surprised by the person who killed him. We shall know more in a few days, but only by asking questions such as this. Eventually we shall find someone who can offer us significant information.'

The boy nodded, digesting it carefully. He said inconsequentially, ‘I came home from the Freshers' Conference at university as soon as I heard. But we don't know why Dad was there, do we, Sis?' He spoke as though they might have known things their mother did not; it was probably just that he had been discussing why his father should have been in the park while he was alone with Catriona during the day. The girl shook her head to support him, while her mother remained still as a statue between them.

Lambert said, ‘Just one more question, then we'll leave you in peace. A simple one, for all three of you, if you like. Can you think of anyone who might have wished to offer Mr Logan this sort of violence? Each of you knows far more about the life he led than we do, who never even knew him. It doesn't matter how unlikely any suggestion you make may seem. If it proves baseless, it will go no further than this room.'

The three faces opposite him looked from one to the other. Jane Logan was beginning to shake her head when her daughter said suddenly, ‘There are drugs at the school, you know. I don't know where they come from, but someone's making a lot of money out of supplying them.'

‘No more than any other school!' said her mother sharply, as if she needed to defend the reputation of a man who could no longer defend himself.

‘They were there though, Mum,' said Matt quietly. ‘Dad knew about it. He was trying to do whatever he could to control it.'

‘It's a good thought,' said Lambert. ‘Every secondary school has its problems. I would say Greenwood's are less severe than those of many schools of the same size, but there are inevitably some pretty nasty characters in the background. Well in the background, unfortunately, but we shall be looking for any connection.' He looked again at Catriona. ‘You're the only one currently in the school. Can you give us any more definite information about the drugs being sold?'

‘No. I've always kept well clear of them myself.'

Matt came in quickly. ‘And being the headmaster's kids, the pushers have always kept well clear of us!'

Catriona said, ‘I'll keep my ear to the ground when I get back to school next week. There must be people in the sixth form who know much more than me about it.'

Bert Hook glanced at Lambert and said, ‘Please don't do that. There are dangerous people involved in the drugs trade. They won't come anywhere near the school, because it's small beer to them. But if they hear you're playing amateur detective, there could be more violence.'

Lambert nodded. ‘You wouldn't get anywhere, in any case, Catriona. It's such a dangerous part of the criminal world that even the police have to have specialists. The Drugs Squad are quite separate from us. I shall be in touch with them over the next few days, to try to find out whether your father's death has a drugs connection. If you hear anything you think is useful, we'll pass it on, of course, but please heed what DS Hook says. Don't get involved with trying to find out where the drugs are coming from.'

Jane Logan put an arm round each of her children and drew them close, as she had been used to do when they were much younger. ‘Listen to that, kids! One death in the family is quite enough. I don't want to lose anyone else.'

Lambert and Hook left them like that, seeing themselves swiftly out of the house. The memory of that touching family triptych, with the mother protective of her issue, stayed with Lambert far into the night.

It would not have been possible to question Jane Logan further in front of her children. That was a pity, because he would have liked to follow up the one lie he was certain she had already told them.

He watched his hands tremble as he put in the number. He had not realized he was as nervous as this: he had to make three attempts before he was satisfied that he had tapped out the right figures.

The number rang three, four, five times, seeming to his heightened senses to take a long time to do so. He had almost given up hope of a response when the phone was picked up.

He was too distraught to introduce himself. ‘They've been into the school!' he said, his voice sounding strangely hoarse in his own ears.

‘Who's “they”?'

‘You know who I mean! The police. They've been into the school. After lessons were over, today.'

‘So what? You knew they were coming. Standard practice. Start in the victim's home and workplace.'

‘You know how they proceed with things like this?'

‘Course I don't. I use my common sense, that's all. It's what I'd do, if I was a copper, which God forbid!'

The voice allowed itself a snigger at the ridiculous nature of that thought, and he felt himself panicking. ‘You're not taking this seriously!'

‘No!' The voice was suddenly harsh with authority. ‘You're taking it
too
seriously, that's all. Just keep your head, or you'll have us all in trouble. Do you hear me?'

‘Yes. Yes, you're right. They don't know anything about us, do they?'

‘No they don't, and it's your job to keep it that way.'

‘It's easy to say that. You're not in the firing line!'

‘And I'd better not be, either!' There was a pause, perhaps to let the warning sink in. Then the voice came back in a less minatory tone. ‘What did the police say?'

‘It was two CID men, a superintendent and a sergeant, I think. They assembled all the staff in the main hall, ancillaries as well as teachers. They just asked if any of us knew anyone who might have wished to have Logan out of the way.'

‘And did anyone come up with any suggestions?'

‘No. Not while we were all together in the meeting, anyway.'

‘Well, there you are then. You've nothing to fear.'

‘But they invited anyone who had any thoughts to stay behind and talk to them privately. And they said that police from the murder team will be seeing each of us individually. Taking statements.'

‘Standard practice, again. Don't you ever watch crime series on television?'

‘No. Can't say I do.'

Another snigger. ‘Too busy with your naughty videos, I expect. Good, that last one, wasn't it?'

‘Yes. I – I wish I'd never bought it though, now.'

‘Can't turn the clock back, can we? And it's foolish to try. Just keep your head down and say nothing and you'll be all right. “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” Know who said that?'

‘No, and I don't think at this moment that—'

‘Franklin D. Roosevelt. Good old F.D.R. Bit of a lad himself, you know, old F.D.R. was. Got things done, though, didn't he?'

The last phrase rang ominously in his head. He decided to ignore it. ‘What do I say when they question me?'

‘Just play it straight. Tell them nothing. They've no reason to suspect you of murder, have they?'

‘No, I suppose not. But where do I say I was on Monday night when he was being killed?'

‘There you go already, saying more than you need to say. How do you know he was killed on Monday night?'

‘The paper said so, I think.'

‘You
think
? Hell, that's no good! Just don't give anything away. Let them make the statements, give you the information. You say yes, no, I don't know. Play schtum. Hell, it's easy enough, isn't it?'

‘It sounds it, when you put it like that. But you're not going to be in the hot seat, are you?'

‘And neither are you. You mustn't even think of it like that. You're just one of fifty-odd members of the teaching staff being routinely questioned. The more boring you can make it, the less you'll stand out and the quicker they'll give up.'

‘All right. I'll do my best.'

‘You'll do more than that. You'll make sure they think there's nothing worth following up.' The threat in the voice was unmistakable now as it tried to stiffen the resolve of the listener. ‘There's more than you will suffer, you know, if they get interested in our activities. And some of us wouldn't be very pleased with you if you let us down.'

‘All right.' He stopped himself just in time from saying again that he would do his best. He was suddenly anxious to terminate the conversation he had initiated himself. ‘As you say, it shouldn't be too difficult, if I'm careful.'