The School of English Murder (7 page)

‘Which is?’

‘The publicity material is very specific about enrolments. Just the first Saturday morning of the month. Each course starts the following Monday and lasts for four weeks.’

‘Now according to Central’s information, the beautiful people—’

‘Let’s call them the BP’s, Ellis.’

‘OK.’

‘— the BP’s are students from abroad who come to the school for highly intensive courses in conversational English. According to Jenn, most of them are here as much to have a high old time as to improve their English. At the moment they’re taught exclusively by Rich, Cath and Gavs, while Jenn stands in to show them videos, television programmes and that sort of thing. Her main work is as a kind of social secretary cum escort. And of course she’s a reserve teacher for the prefabs.’

‘That’s right. She went on about her important work in arranging what she termed “extra activities” and as I said earlier, the wink, nod and nudge she then produced led me to suppose she organises more than opera tickets.’

‘Although as you also said, she might well be a bit of a fantasist.’

‘I’d say exaggeration rather than fantasy.’

‘Right.’ Pooley picked up his notebook. ‘Now here are the questions I think we need to have answered. How did Rich get in on the act? How did he and Wally really get on? Did Rich have a serious motive for murder? What is the legal nature of the partnership between Ned and Rich? Are they lovers? Does Rich stand to gain if Ned dies? (We know he had an alibi for the night Ned was attacked, but of course he could always have hired someone.) What are these extra activities?—’

‘Stop, stop, for God’s sake,’ yelled Amiss. ‘How in hell am I supposed to keep up with all that?’

‘Oh sorry, Robert, I got carried away. I’ll write them all out for you before you go.’

‘And you’d like the answers after work on Monday.’

‘Well, you will have lots more time, won’t you?’ Pooley looked at him innocently. ‘After all you said that as a full-timer you only had to do twelve shifts a week.’

‘Quite true. The only snag is that I’ve very little access to information. I’ve no excuse to be in the main building except to see Rich or Ned. And I doubt if I’ll often be able to coax Ned out to lunch. He prefers to mess up his desk at lunchtime while he slurps yoghurt and eats organically-grown bean sprouts. And I wouldn’t fancy my chances of getting any more information out of Jenn — at least not until I can get her drunk again — which I refuse to do before I’ve invested in a chastity belt.’

Pooley looked crestfallen.

‘Don’t worry, Ellis, I’ve got a few ideas up my sleeve.’

‘E.g.?’

‘I’d rather not talk about them yet, if you don’t mind.’

Pooley hid his disappointment. ‘Oh, yes, of course.’

‘Now, from your end—’

Pooley put up his hand. ‘Let me guess. You want me to try to locate some people who worked at the school round about the time Rich Rogers came on the scene and have them discreetly pumped.’

‘Got it in one, Ellis.’

Amiss looked at his watch, saw that it was after one and got up to go.

‘Why don’t you come to me next Saturday? Though I have to warn you it’s a small flat and if you want to pace you’ll have to do it outside.’

‘Great. And obviously if anything much comes up, we’ll try to get together during the week.’

‘One last thing,’ said Amiss, as he put on his coat. ‘I’m having dinner with Jim Milton tomorrow. What do I say? It’s really very difficult being friends with both of you at a time like this.’

‘What would you normally tell him?’

‘Everything.’

‘Then that’s what you have to do,’ said Pooley. ‘Leave it to him to do the worrying about how to handle this three-cornered relationship. He’s the Super, and he’s used to making decisions. We have to trust him not to come the heavy.’

9

«
^
»

Bloody young fools, thought Milton. He accelerated into the fast lane, where he remained until he noticed his speedometer was registering almost 85 m.p.h. Guiltily, he joined the law-abiding motorists in the middle lane.

But come to think of it, were they bloody young fools? After all, he had given his tacit approval to getting Amiss involved in the first place. Why had he poured so much cold water on his ideas the previous night, simply because he had been talking about mysterious foreigners rather than about tangible evidence? This was a friend of his who had been a doughty ally in the past, strong on useful information and sound deduction and rarely if ever given to flights of fancy. That was more Pooley’s style. Then he remembered that it was Pooley’s flights of fancy that had led only a couple of months before to the arrest of the BCC murderer.

Was he old at thirty-nine? Or sliding imperceptibly into the caution of the senior man? He tried to find some distraction on the radio, but the news programmes had nothing that held his attention. He saw the signs for a service station coming up, looked at his watch and pulled into the slow lane.

Amiss jumped out of his shower and dripped over the telephone.

‘Hello, Robert. It’s Jim.’

‘I thought you’d be on your way to Bramshill.’

‘I am. I stopped on the way to apologise.’

‘For what?’

‘For being a middle-aged stick-in-the-mud. I don’t know if you two are on the right track, but what you’re doing sounds worth a try, and if you ever need to call on me, don’t hesitate.’

‘Jim?’

‘Yes.’

‘I never thought I’d be reduced to saying “You’re a pal,” but I’m feeling inarticulate.’

‘That’ll be the day,’ said Milton cheerily and he rang off.

Amiss’s reluctance early on Sunday morning to expose his ideas to Pooley’s eager gaze had had little to do with the slight unspoken rivalry between them. It had had much more to do with a sudden embarrassed realisation that they were threadbare in the extreme. Idea One: Charm Rich into giving him a job with the BP’s. Idea Two: Hang around Jenn’s office pretending to be a bit struck on her. Terrific. Especially since he had no idea how to proceed with One, and was afraid of the consequences of proceeding with Two.

He mulled over the Rich problem on his walk to school. In a whole week he had seen the man only twice. Once to be sent chucklingly to the salt mines and once to be told with a mighty guffaw that he had ‘earned his spurs’ and was now ‘one of the little family’. At that rate it could take weeks to build up any kind of relationship and he did not have weeks. If murdering Ned was on someone’s agenda, there was no time to lose.

Amiss knew himself to be a better than average judge of character, and he felt fairly confident he had the measure of Rich. What was imperative was to get the proportions of flattery and cheek right. And, of course, on the assumption that Rich was running some kind of shady outfit, an absence of curiosity and scruple could only be bonuses. Of course, he also needed something to sell him.

He caught him just before nine. ‘Excuse me, Rich. Could we have a brief chat sometime today?’

‘What about, my dear man? Thought we’d fixed things up to your satisfaction.’

‘Yes, sure, but I need some advice.’

‘Not on matters of the heart, I trust,’ and the ‘har . . har . . har’ resounded around the building.

Amiss emitted a broad chuckle and stuck to his guns. ‘More of the head really.’

That seemed to delight Rich. When he stopped laughing he pulled his Filofax from under his arm, scrutinised his diary and went through a series of self-important mutterings. ‘Seven o’clock,’ he said finally.

Bastard, thought Amiss. He must know I finish at five. ‘Great. Thanks, Rich. See you then.’

He strode purposefully towards the door to the garden, almost sure he knew how to go about tackling the present continuous tense.

Rich was on the doorstep with an expensive middle-aged blonde and Amiss held back politely as they concluded their business. Rich kissed her hand with tremendous
élan
and a ‘Goodbye, dear lady. Arrivederci. I cannot wait’, and she sashayed away, turning back periodically to wave.

‘You’re some operator,’ said Amiss admiringly. ‘Do you do that to all the girls?’

‘Most,’ said Rich, eyeing his employee with some surprise. ‘Do you always dress like that when you want advice?’

‘What?’ Amiss seemed puzzled. Then he looked down at his dinner jacket and laughed. ‘Oh, this. Taking the mater to the opera. She’s a stickler for keeping up standards.’

‘Well, come in. Have a drink. You obviously haven’t got long.’ Rich exerted himself with commendable haste to get Amiss a gin and tonic from a little fridge behind the sofa.

‘You’re not a man who likes shilly-shallying, Rich, so I’ll come straight to the point. Is there going to be a future for me in the class end of the business? Or did you envisage me staying outside with the proletariat?’

Rich was so thunder-struck that he failed to produce any sound at all.

‘Fair’s fair, Rich. I can take a joke as well as the next man and I played along last week. But you’re a student of character and you must know very well that what I’m interested in is the high life and the perks.’

‘You were only given the job on Friday,’ said Rich in disbelief.

‘Come on, Rich. You’re pulling my leg. You didn’t seriously think I wanted to go into the same line of work as Ned, dear old boy though he undoubtedly is. You and I are two of a kind, for heaven’s sake. See an opportunity and go for it. Come on, what do you say?’

‘How do you know so much about this side of the operation?’

‘The mater again. She met some people skiing who swore by this place and said it was absolutely enormous fun. That’s why I applied.’ Amiss shook his head. ‘Now, Rich, you know women. You can’t expect me to tell her what I’m really doing. She’d have a seizure.’

Rich looked bemused. ‘Didn’t Ned tell me you used to be a civil servant? You don’t sound very like one to me.’

‘Foreign Office, actually. Loved the parties and all that. Afraid I got dumped for not taking all the backroom stuff seriously enough. So here I am ready and waiting to be your right-hand man. Game for anything, as they say,’ and both of them broke into a ‘har . . har . . har’ in chorus. Amiss fancied that Rich’s was a trifle forced.

‘Good Lord, is that the time? I must rush. She’s an awful tartar if she’s kept waiting. Let me know tomorrow, yah?’ And Amiss rushed from the room and the house calling loudly for a taxi.

Although Amiss still refused to let Rachel buy him a ticket to Paris, he had put up only a token fight to stop her funding their calls. The phone was ringing as he got through the door, and he took great pleasure in bragging about his
démarche
.

‘I never knew you had it in you,’ said Rachel.

‘Neither did I. Haven’t gone in for amateur theatricals since primary school.’

‘How did you work up the characterisation?’

‘Played it as a cross between Prince Andrew and one of the new breed of Tory MPs.’

‘Pretty sudden swing from vilifying Mrs Thatcher to poor old Ned.’

‘I hope it’s equally effective. Hard to tell. Anyway, if the worst comes to the worst, I’ve enjoyed it.’

‘What’s that gobbling sound?’

‘I’m eating fish and chips.’

‘Well, if the BPs live up to their reputation, it’ll presumably be quails’ eggs and champagne from now on.’

‘I should bloody well think so. Now, have I told you lately that I love you?’

And they fell to discussing matters of more pressing interest.

10

«
^
»

It worked. When Amiss came in the following morning, Rich was waiting for him. ‘Enjoy the opera?’

‘Awful. Walked out at half-time. Remind me never to go to modern English stuff again. Give me the Eyeties every time.’

‘When do you finish today, Bob?’

‘After the night-shift supposedly.’

‘Well, I’ll ask Jenn to take that class for you. Why don’t you join us tonight? Some of us are going out on the town. Dinner, dancing. It’ll be black tie. Meeting up at the champagne bar round the corner at eight. Hope you’ll have more fun than you did with your mater.’ They guffawed heartily.

‘And the rest of the week?’

‘We’ll talk about that tomorrow. Let’s see how you get on tonight.’

‘What’s your collar size?’

‘Fifteen.’

‘Excellent. Yes, I can let you have a dress shirt. Come round at six. In fact you’d better come again in the next few days and choose at leisure from my wardrobe. I’ve got a lot of stuff I rarely wear that should be perfect for squiring contessas. There was a stage when my mother used to take me shopping every time she came to town.’ There was a pause and Amiss heard Pooley say, ‘Yes, sir. Immediately, sir.’

He replaced the receiver.

At seven, just as Rich had retied his bow for the fifth time, the telephone rang and he had another of those arguments. ‘No,’ he said firmly, ‘I don’t know why you can’t accept what I’m telling you.’

‘But the offer that I am making to you is excellent.’

‘I know that, Sven, but it remains out of the question. My partner will not tolerate it.’

‘I think that you are losing a great opportunity. There is much money and tiny risk.’

‘I know that, but he is quite adamant. I’m sorry, but there is nothing I can do. Goodbye.’

It was midnight and Rich was in expansive form. Sophie, Galina, Ingrid, Davina, Fabrice and Marcello seemed to be having a whale of a time. Amiss was working furiously to charm the whole pestilential brood while avoiding up-staging his boss. He seemed to be succeeding. He had managed to make a virtue out of his inability to dance: there were squeals and giggles as the women tried in turn to teach him and his exaggerated helplessness underlined the prowess on the floor of Rich and Fabrice, both of whom could have made a living at it.

If nothing else, he was beginning to understand the attraction of Rich. He might seem on the surface to be a fatuous old fool, but to a lot of people, from decent old Ned Nurse through to the jaded cosmopolitan Galina, he supplied an infectious
joie de vivre
. Amiss was beginning to feel that Rich deserved every penny he could wring out of these desiccated people.