Shame the Devil, page 12
‘I’m Rachel Atherton,’ she said with a stern smile. She was an efficiently dressed woman in her early forties, with neatly styled hair. She had an air about her of someone who disliked having her authority challenged. ‘How can I help you, DS Fisher?’
Molly sat opposite Mrs Atherton, trying her best not to be intimidated. Up until now any dealings she’d had with a head teacher had not been on favourable terms.
‘I’m enquiring about two people who may have worked here. A Susan Elliot – though she might have been known by the name Milton – and a Kieran Judd. Judd would have been a teaching assistant, and Susan Elliot or Milton a teacher.’
Rachel Atherton stared at her for a few moments, possibly sizing her up. But Molly Fisher had toughened up over the years and wasn’t about to allow herself to be intimidated easily, especially not by someone who was more at home bullying young children than squaring up to world-weary adults. ‘What, exactly, would you like to know, sergeant?’
‘Anything you can tell me about them would be helpful. For instance, how long did they work here? Why did they leave? Did they have much contact with each other?’
She sat back in her chair and seemed to give the matter some thought. ‘It was some time ago and there’s really not much to tell. Susan Milton certainly worked here as a teacher. However, she was only here for a couple of years and, I’m sorry to say, failed to make much of an impression. I don’t really remember much about her.’ She steepled her fingers together and observed Molly. ‘And as for the other name… remind me?’
‘Kieran Judd. He would have been in his early to mid twenties at the time he worked here.’
She shook her head. ‘No, I’m sorry that name doesn’t ring a bell.’
‘Maybe you could check your records? According to his CV, he definitely worked here. He would have left about two years ago.’
Rachel Atherton pressed her fingers against her lips. ‘Oh yes, I remember now. He left at about the same time as Susan Milton.’
‘Really?’
She dropped her hands and gave Molly a pleasant smile. ‘There was nothing strange about that. Schools often have a high turnover of staff, including teaching staff. If I remember rightly, Susan wanted a promotion and it was made clear to her there were no sufficient opportunities here for that. Kieran, again if I remember rightly, decided the job wasn’t for him. Not uncommon. As much as we like to try to attract men into teaching assistant posts – it’s always good for young people to have positive male role models – it generally tends not to be the kind of job that appeals to young men.’
‘So that was it. There was no other reason why they left?’
‘There were certainly no disciplinary matters, if that’s what you’re suggesting. Both had a solid work record: turned up on time, did the job. From what little I remember, both were very professional, and well regarded by their colleagues.’ She stared unblinkingly at Molly. ‘Can I ask what this is about?’
‘Both Kieran Judd and Susan Elliot have been murdered,’ Molly said. ‘Stabbed to death. We have reason to believe they were deliberately targeted.’
Molly watched her reaction. Just for the briefest of seconds there was a slight flinch, as though Rachel Atherton had received a mild electric shock. But she quickly regained her composure. ‘Oh my gosh. I did see something on the television about a couple of people being stabbed, but I must admit I didn’t pay too much attention to the names. I assumed it was just down to some maniac on the loose.’ She gave a slight heft of her shoulders as though an attempt at a shrug. ‘Is there anything tangible to suggest their murder is in any way connected to this school, DS Fisher?’
‘Apart from both victims having worked here…?’
The head teacher gave Molly a tight smile. ‘As have many people over the years. This could be nothing more than a coincidence, do you not think?’
‘Perhaps. But it does prove that there’s a connection between Susan Elliot and Kieran Judd. That raises the possibility that someone killed them because of something they knew or something they did.’
Rachel Atherton offered another tight smile. ‘I really wish I could help you more. But while I’m very sorry about what happened to Kieran and Susan, I really don’t think it has anything to do with anything that happened at this school.’
Molly was slightly shocked by her apparent detachment. They were discussing the murder of two former staff members and Rachel Atherton was presenting a face of efficient professionalism. There was something about Rachel Atherton’s demeanour that she found slightly disconcerting.
‘Did anything happen while they were working here?’ Molly asked. ‘For instance, were any allegations ever made about them?’
The head teacher looked impassive. ‘As I’ve already told you, there were never any disciplinary matters against either Susan Milton or Kieran Judd. And just to emphasise, there have never been any allegations made about any member of staff at this school.’
‘I wasn’t implying that…’ Molly took a breath and regained her composure. ‘I wasn’t suggesting that anything had actually happened. But sometimes allegations are made about teaching staff, which have to be taken seriously, even if they subsequently turn out to be false.’
Molly waited for Mrs Atherton’s response. Eventually she said coldly: ‘Neither Susan Milton nor Kieran Judd were ever the subject of any allegations – false or otherwise – while they worked at this school. Now, I’m afraid if you don’t have any further questions, I’m actually quite busy, as I’m sure you must be.’
She picked up the phone, pressed a number and asked the secretary to come to her office. A few seconds later, there was a tap at the door and the secretary appeared. ‘Alice, would you show DS Fisher out, please.’
Molly stood, nodding politely at the head teacher, who was already busying herself with some paperwork on her desk. ‘Thank you, Mrs Atherton,’ she said with as much sincerity as she could muster, ‘you’ve been very helpful.’
The secretary smiled at Molly and gestured to follow her into the corridor. She knew when she was being fobbed off, but Molly knew when and how to pick her battles, and this particular battle could wait until she’d found out more about Thomas Blake Primary School and its icy head teacher.
She walked along the corridor, quickly falling into step with Alice. ‘Have you worked here long?’ Molly asked, mostly by way of small talk but also to see if it was worth quizzing the secretary on the real reason Susan Elliot née Milton and Kieran Judd had left the school.
‘Not long,’ she said breezily. ‘Actually, I’ve only been here a few weeks. Mrs Atherton’s been great though. She’s really shown me the ropes.’ She turned and looked at Molly. ‘I know she probably came across as a bit of an ogre, but she’s actually very nice when you get to know her. I think she just puts on this tough front because she’s so determined to appear efficient and professional. By all accounts, she’s really transformed the school.’ She stopped talking, as though suddenly aware that she’d said too much.
‘Yes,’ Molly agreed blandly. ‘It looks like a lovely school.’
But she was thinking about Rachel Atherton. There was something she hadn’t wanted Molly to know. Her reaction when Molly had told her what had happened to two of her former colleagues: shock, yes, but something else: fear…?
Despite her cool detachment – her efficiency and professionalism – Molly reckoned Rachel Atherton had a pretty good idea why Susan Elliot and Kieran Judd had been murdered, and she would bet her pension that reason was somehow connected with something that had happened at this school.
They reached the main door that led out into the car park. Alice pressed a large button beside the door, which unlocked with a click. Once Molly was outside, the door closed behind her with another firm click.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Denning was unhappy at the lack of progress. He knew murder investigations took time, and despite the relentless detective work along the way, often you had to rely on a lucky break that came at you out of nowhere and pushed the investigation in the direction it needed to go. What he didn’t need was another setback, and yet suddenly, that was exactly what he was facing.
Helen Livingstone was sitting in her kitchen, crying into a clean hankie and sipping a mug of strong, sweet tea that had been made for her by one of the two uniformed officers currently keeping her company in her kitchen. A tall, awkward-looking man hovered nearby: a neighbour apparently. And, it seemed, their only witness to what had happened.
The kitchen looked new: smart white units and marble tops. Not too dissimilar, Denning mused, to the one he and Sarah had in their flat.
Helen Livingstone’s husband Euan was lying dead in the hallway of their detached house on a modern estate of ‘executive homes’ in Swiss Cottage. He’d been stabbed to death when he’d answered his front door.
By the time Denning arrived, the road had been cordoned off. Sheila Gorton and her CSIs were already suited up and going about their business.
‘Just like Susan Elliot,’ Gorton had said as soon as she saw him walking up the driveway. ‘And Kieran Judd…’
Euan Livingstone had died where he fell: on the doorstep in full view of his neighbours. Only, nobody had seen anything. It was late afternoon. Although the Livingstones were retired, most of their neighbours were at work. However, someone in the house opposite worked from home. He’d heard a scream, and looked out of his window to Euan clutching his stomach, bleeding. The neighbour had glimpsed someone running down the street: hoodie, fast, average build. The description as vague as before.
The neighbour had phoned 999 and then rushed over to the Livingstones’ house. He was presently standing in the kitchen anxiously trying to comfort Helen Livingstone, and looking like he’d rather be somewhere else.
‘Same MO as the others,’ Gorton said, standing next to Denning in the kitchen. ‘I know that doesn’t necessary prove anything, but it suggests we’re looking for the same person.’ This was why she’d asked for Denning, even though Swiss Cottage technically fell under the jurisdiction of another team. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, this was down to their killer.
‘Mrs Livingstone,’ Denning began, ‘I’m DI Matthew Denning. I’m terribly sorry for what’s happened… I will need to ask you some questions in a minute.’
She looked up at him, her eyes red and glistening, and nodded. Denning turned to the neighbour. ‘You live opposite, I believe? I understand you may have witnessed what happened, Mr…?’
‘Wilde,’ the man said, extending a nervous hand, clearly not someone who was used to dealing with the police, thought Denning. ‘Charlie Wilde. I’ve already told one of your officers what I saw, which, I’m afraid, wasn’t much.’ He repeated what he’d already told the uniformed officers, apologising for not being able to add more. Denning could sense the man was uncomfortable, and probably wanted to return to his own home, having only come over to check on Helen Livingstone out of courtesy and concern.
Denning turned to Helen. She had stopped crying and was staring blankly at a cup and saucer on the draining board by the sink.
‘Are you OK to talk now, Mrs Livingstone?’ Denning asked gently. ‘I need you to go over what happened.’
‘The doorbell rang, he went to answer it. We were getting ready to go out. We were due to meet friends for dinner this evening. I was upstairs in our bedroom getting changed. He went downstairs and then I heard him scream. When I ran downstairs, he was lying in the hallway bleeding. Mr Wilde from across the road came over. He told me he’d phoned for an ambulance. They told me he’d been stabbed and had lost a lot of blood. They said it was too late. By that time the police had arrived and they took me in here and made me a cup of tea. But I just wanted to be with Euan.’
‘Did Euan say anything?’
She thought for a moment. ‘No. He was just lying there. He tried to say something, then he passed out.’
‘You don’t know what he was trying to say? I know it’s difficult, but anything you can tell us will be helpful.’
She shook her head. ‘He wasn’t making any sense. He was just muttering. If he was trying to say something then I couldn’t make it out. Then he just…’ She couldn’t finish the rest of the sentence. She started crying again and Denning realised he was in danger of pushing her too far. He felt guilty pressuring her like this, but the situation was getting serious. If it was the same killer, there was now an even greater urgency about this case. According to Gorton, Mrs Livingstone’s GP had been contacted and was on his way. It was likely he would give her a sedative. But in the meantime, Denning needed to gather as much evidence as he could while events were still fresh in her mind.
‘I am sorry, Mrs Livingstone, and I realise this isn’t easy, and I won’t keep you much longer.’ He paused, waiting for her to compose herself. ‘Did you hear anything on the doorstep? Any conversation?’
‘No. I told you… I heard the doorbell ring. Then I didn’t hear anything until Euan screamed. I was in our bedroom. It’s at the back of the house. I thought it might have been a delivery or something. Euan’s always ordering things from Amazon. Rubbish mostly. I’m constantly having a go at him about it…’ She realised what she was saying and stopped abruptly. ‘Why did this has happen to us?’ She looked at Denning when she asked the question, but he knew it wasn’t addressed at anyone specifically. ‘We’re good people,’ she continued. ‘Things like this shouldn’t happen to us.’
Denning didn’t have the heart to say that crime happened to anyone. You could make your home as secure as possible; ensure your life was as free from risk and danger as it could be, and still be a victim of crime. Crime didn’t discriminate. ‘I know it’s distressing, but we don’t believe this was an entirely random attack, Mrs Livingstone. We believe it’s possible your husband was targeted by someone he knew. Can you think of any reason why someone would want to kill him?’
She looked at Denning as though she’d asked an impertinent question. ‘Of course not. Euan was a good man. There was something on the news the other day about a man being stabbed on his doorstep somewhere in east London. The press seem to think it’s the work of a maniac. This could be the same person. Killing innocent people in their own homes for no reason at all.’
He’d read the stories in the press. The more sensationalist papers were running stories along the lines of there being killer on the loose in London targeting householders at random. McKenna’s refusal to condemn the stories merely added fuel to the fire. It was a double-edged sword: on the one hand it meant the press were being kept on the back foot as far as the murders were concerned, but it also served its purpose as far as newspapers were concerned and helped to spread fear and panic among its readers.
‘We don’t know anything for certain at this stage,’ Denning said calmly, ‘but we believe the murders are linked. And we believe there’s something that links the victims.’
She shook her head, trying to focus on what Denning was asking her. She looked at him like he was talking nonsense. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.’
‘I won’t keep you any longer, Mrs Livingstone. I just need to ask you one more question. What did Euan do for a living? Before he retired?’
‘He used to work in a primary school,’ she said. ‘He was a headmaster.’ A flicker of a smile twitched at her lips. ‘Although I believe they’re referred to as head teachers these days.’
‘Which school was that?’ Denning asked.
‘Thomas Blake Primary School,’ she said. ‘It’s in Chiswick.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘This is turning into something of a shitshow,’ McKenna said the next day.
They were in her office; McKenna behind her desk, her right hand clutching a tuft of her raven hair; Denning sitting opposite trying to look as though he was more in control of the situation than he felt. The atmosphere in the office was grim. ‘Now we’ve got a third murder on our hands,’ McKenna continued, ‘and still no idea as to who’s responsible or why.’ She removed her hand from her hair and started drumming her fingers on the desk. Both the hair clutching and finger drumming were a visual sign that McKenna wasn’t happy. ‘Are we certain these killings are linked, Matt? I mean, can we say for sure we’re dealing with the same killer?’
He repeated what Sheila Gorton had told him about the MOs being the same. And then there was the other piece of information that pretty much told them these murders were connected. ‘We know that Euan Livingstone had been head teacher at the same school where Kieran Judd and Susan Elliot née Milton had worked,’ Denning said. ‘That gives us something to work with.’
‘So we can now assume the school is the link?’
He nodded. ‘DS Fisher was there this afternoon, talking to the current head teacher, a Rachel Atherton. Apparently she confirmed that both Susan Eliot and Kieran Judd had worked there, though both left the school around two years ago. From what I can gather, Euan Livingstone retired not long afterwards.’
‘We’re assuming this isn’t a coincidence?’
‘According to Molly, the head teacher was deliberately vague, insisting Susan Elliot and Kieran Judd left of their own accord and weren’t involved in anything that resulted in a disciplinary matter. Naturally she’s following this up as we speak, but it does raise the question of why the head teacher was so evasive.’
‘You think she’s hiding something?’
He thought about this. ‘Possibly. Or it is just possible this has nothing at all to do with the school.’
McKenna stopped drumming her fingers on the desk and fixed Denning with one of her gimlet stares. ‘OK, let’s focus our attention on the school. We’ll need to speak to the head teacher again: find out what happened that could have resulted in three former staff members ending up getting stabbed to death in their own homes.’ She dropped the gimlet stare and resumed the finger tapping. ‘I presume we can now rule Tony Hallam out as being the original intended target?’
