Death of a Teacher, page 23
It had been really funny, because to be honest there had been nothing to it. Callie had been pretty drunk on the night in question too, though she could remember everything quite clearly. It had meant nothing to Callie except a bit of a laugh. She’d enjoyed Ray’s obvious embarrassment afterwards and the whole thing had been a bit of a joke. Of course nothing had happened. They’d chatted a bit. She’d offered him some gin from her hip flask and he’d gone out like a light, slumped in the back seat, snoring. Poor bugger. He’d had a pretty hectic first term and he’d relaxed just a bit too much at the Christmas party.
But Liz Rudder had seen them get into Ray’s car together, and noticed that the car was still there, with steamed-up windows, when her own husband came to pick her up fifteen minutes later. At that moment, Callie had got out of Ray’s car, and had caught John Rudder looking at her. She’d adjusted her blouse ostentatiously. No one else had really been aware of it. Still, afterwards there had been useful mileage in Ray’s guilt and confusion.
But now, thanks to Liz, she was embroiled in this stupid scheme and she knew she had overplayed her hand. She didn’t give a toss about Jonty going to Dodsworth House, and she was pretty sure that ultimately Ray Findley would brazen it out. Liz’s idea that Jonty might be Ray Findley’s son was all too far fetched. Callie knew very well who Jonty’s real father was. She shifted uncomfortably on the bench. What had started as a bit of teasing fun, putting the head teacher on the hop occasionally, now seemed disconcertingly out of hand. Callie was good at bullying and putting on the pressure. But real blackmail was a much bigger ball game.
Ray Findley’s car drew into the car-park. He got out and gave her a jaunty wave.
‘No, Callie, don’t move,’ he said cheerily. ‘I’m not worried about who sees us. Have another smoke. It’s a nice evening. You’ve still got some lager left, I see. This won’t take long.’ He dropped on to the bench opposite her.
Callie’s mouth swung open, and to cover her surprise she stuffed another fag in it. Ray made no attempt to produce a light for her. He went on brightly, ‘So you want Jonty to sit for the Dodsworth exam, do you? Well, on reflection why not? He’s a bright boy in a “native wit” kind of way.’
Callie started to cough. ‘But what about the rest of the fees?’ she rasped.
Ray leant forward. ‘Look, Callie, I’ve discussed this with Sheila. If Jonty’s my son, we’ll gladly pay the fees. It isn’t necessarily what I’d want, but you’re his mother and you know best.’
Callie began to feel the ground slipping from under her.
Ray said, ‘Although you’ve never given me the chance to know him, have you?’
Callie gaped at him. ‘You want to know Jonty?’
‘If he’s my son, isn’t that reasonable? And I’m happy to go for a paternity test any time you want.’
‘You are? But then everyone will know that we—’
‘Yes. They will, won’t they? But what exactly did we do, Callie? I should never have offered you a lift – I wasn’t fit to drive. But we never left the car-park. You say I acted unprofessionally, for ten minutes twelve years ago when I was new to the school, lonely and under pressure. But we’ve only got your word for it.’
Callie narrowed her eyes. She was never speechless for long. ‘She’s put you up to this, hasn’t she? Your bloody wife—’
Ray got up. ‘I’m leaving now, Callie. I’ll deny any assertion you make about us having a sexual relationship, and if necessary I’ll take a DNA test. How will that make you look? You might just have to come clean about who Jonty’s father really was. It’s laughable to think it might be me, and you know it. I’m happy to support any child in my school who wants to sit the entrance exam for Dodsworth, but I’m not paying for Jonty. Think about it and tell me tomorrow what you want to do. Now, can I offer you a lift? Or after last time, would you prefer to walk?’
Ro and Jed were back in the car. They had just left the Rudders’ house.
‘Isn’t that Ray Findley driving past?’
‘Looks like he’s just been in the Crossed Foxes. Let me pull away out of the village,’ Jed said. ‘I’ll park down the road and we can have a talk.’
He accelerated past the Crossed Foxes and parked a few hundred yards away, in the lay by, where the High Pelliter Road dropped down to the Marshes.
‘So what did you make of that with Kevin?’ Ro asked.
‘Well, we didn’t get anywhere, did we?’
Kevin had ushered them into the overheated living-room where he had been sitting with John Rudder in his wheelchair, watching TV. He had offered them coffee, which they’d accepted, and they had sat in a friendly circle. Kevin had gone out of his way to make sure John was included, turning his wheelchair so he was illuminated by a soft pink lamp. It was a kind gesture to help a man who couldn’t communicate.
Jed had handled the situation well, Ro thought. He had explained that a Canadian visitor to Pelliter had been identified as a Mr Richard Rudder. Did Kevin know if the man was any relation to his sister’s husband? John Rudder had become agitated and attempted to talk, but Kevin had calmed him.
‘It’s all right, old chap. I’ll tell them. John hasn’t had much contact with his family for a long time so he’s understandably upset that you’re asking. John’s mother died when he was a boy. John’s from Newcastle, though Rudder is a Cheshire name, I think. Is that true old man?’
John had spluttered and bobbed his head.
‘Yes, I thought it was,’ Kevin had said. ‘But I don’t know anything about any other Rudders around here. There’s really no reason for any Rudder to come and see us, at least not to our knowledge. Liz and John certainly weren’t expecting anyone, or she’d have told me.’
‘Could this have been an unexpected enquiry? To do with family history?’ Ro suggested.
‘Hardly! Maybe there are other Rudders in Cumbria,’ Kevin suggested. ‘Have you thought of checking churchyards, registers, that sort of thing?’
‘Thanks. We’ll move on to that,’ Jed said in a neutral voice. This was proving to be a dead end. Literally.
Kevin smiled and shrugged. ‘I’ll ask Liz when she comes home, in case it’s something I’ve missed. She knows everyone in Pelliter, and who their grandparents were. And what they’re up to now!’
Including attacking people with hammers through windows, Ro thought. But Kevin probably knew nothing about that. He was a very different person from his sister, she thought. She had only met Liz Rudder once, but she could see a physical resemblance in their small but muscular build, which wasn’t replicated in their manner. Kevin was much more approachable.
He smiled. ‘I’ll ask her to call you tomorrow. She may well be able to come up with something.’
He had actually looked rather eager, as if he wanted to dredge up a Canadian connection just to help them. But then John Rudder had lashed out with his arm in an arbitrary jerk, and knocked over the lamp which had been giving out a soft light in the corner, despite the evening sunshine still coming through the window. The disturbance had seemed a signal for them to go.
In the car, Ro said: ‘Funny how they had the light on in the living-room, with the sun streaming through the windows.’
‘Yes. But maybe John’s stroke affected his eyes. Talking of which, how are the plans for Ben’s operation?’
‘Oh, going well. He’s scheduled to have it after they break up from school. It’s a risk of course.’ She tailed off. Suddenly the outlook seemed less promising, as the sun went down and grey dusk turned everything into a shadow.
Jed had reached the turn-off for Burnside. He said ‘Look, don’t be too upset, Ro. Police work is like this all the time. It’s only on the telly you get instant results.’
‘Shall we still ask the Canadian police to check on Rudder’s address in Toronto?’
‘Yep. It’ll take time, but if Rudder’s gone missing he could well be the dead guy. If that’s the case you’ll have been really helpful.’
‘But we’ll never know why he came here, and what really happened, so what’s the point? Thanks for encouraging me, Jed. But I feel it’s been a dead duck. I’ll leave this stuff to the real police in future.’
‘Goodnight, Ro. Don’t worry. Sleep well.’ But she knew she wouldn’t.
*
It was just after nine o’clock when Ro went in. Ben was perfectly happy on the computer, and still delighted with himself for being so independent that morning. Mrs Carruthers exchanged pleasantries and left. Ben settled into another game, though on school nights he was supposed to be in bed by ten. Ro was too tired to argue. But she was restless, too. Something was nagging in her mind.
She wasn’t hungry. She seemed to have spent most of the afternoon snacking in the canteen. And there had been more coffee and biscuits at the Rudders’. Kevin had been very co-operative and friendly. But he hadn’t been able to help. Then again, how much would he know anyway? He was only Liz’s brother. He wasn’t a Rudder himself.
Ro mooched down to the kitchen and impulsively picked up the local phone directory from its place on the kitchen shelf. She looked up the name Rudder. Only one entry for the area was listed, John Rudder, High Pelliter, as Jed had thought. The phone number leapt out of the page at Ro. Would it do any harm to call Liz Rudder now, when she would be back from her Spanish class? Tomorrow Liz would be at school all day and doubtless Ro would be patrolling the streets of Norbridge looking for litter louts and stray dogs. It wasn’t late. Ro punched in the number.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Mrs Rudder? I’m sorry to bother you. It’s Ro Watson, PCSO. I’m sure your brother will have mentioned that we called to see you this evening.’
‘Yes, he did.’ Liz Rudder’s voice sounded like a high-pitched version of Kevin’s. ‘What is it now? I’ve only just got in from my evening class and it’s rather late.’
‘It’s about a man who was visiting Pelliter. A Mr Richard Rudder.’
‘But I thought Kevin told you everything. This Richard Rudder is nothing to do with us. Rudder is not an uncommon name.’
‘I realize that. But Richard Rudder was a Canadian and they’re often very interested in genealogy. Family history.’
‘I know what genealogy is,’ Liz Rudder said in a prickly voice. ‘But I can assure you, as my brother did, that the likelihood of anyone coming to Pelliter to seek out John for family history reasons is virtually nil. John cannot communicate with people. And he’s had no contact with his family since we married. They weren’t the sort of people with whom we associated.’
‘And there are no other Rudders you know of?’
Liz Rudder was getting crosser now. ‘Look, my brother has been very helpful to you tonight, and you have already upset my husband. I came home to find he had knocked over the lamp in the living-room and scattered his belongings everywhere. It’s very inconvenient. My husband has night blindness on top of everything else and he relies on that light at twilight.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You should be. We’ve really been quite disturbed by your call. I cannot think of any way in which we can help you and I’d be grateful if you’d let us get some peace this evening. In fact, I may well have a word with the proper police tomorrow about this.’
‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Rudder. Please forgive me. It was just a follow-up call and it will save any trouble in the morning.’
‘But enough’s enough. I’ve now got a mess to clean up in my lounge. Good night.’
‘Good night, Mrs Rudder. And thank you.’
Ro went thoughtfully back upstairs to the living-room. Ben was still playing on the computer.
‘Budge over,’ she said. ‘I want to use this now.’ She nudged him with her hips so that eventually he had to relinquish the seat.
‘Mum, this isn’t fair.’
‘Yes it is. Go to bed. There’s something I want to look up.’
Ben made irritated noises but he left her to it. She heard him bumping up the stairs. Ro wasn’t sure why she was doing it, but something about John Rudder and the twilight had intrigued her. She clicked on to Google and entered ‘night blindness’.
Chapter Twenty-three
Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius are hot and dry, choleric.
Commentary on Folio 14v Anatomical Man (illustration) Les Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry
Liz Rudder had put the phone down on Ro Watson. She was feeling distinctly out of sorts. She sat in her lounge with a nightcap glass of Rioja. John had been more animated after the visit from the police; his skin had looked pink and healthier. He’d only been grunting at her, but she didn’t like the fact that he seemed to have livened up. She’d been hoping he was in decline.
She hadn’t even enjoyed her Spanish class as much as usual. And her interview with Ray Findley after school had been quite disturbing. Clearly Father Peter Hodgson had failed to derail the head teacher. Liz held her hand out to the phone to call Brenda Hodgson for a good old moan, but it was a reflex action. Brenda was dead. For a moment Liz almost felt sorry.
But what about Callie? Callie was still onside. What had happened there? Callie had said that she was going to have a face-to-face meeting with Ray Findley that evening. Surely the head teacher would be a bit less chipper, now that Callie had given him her ultimatum in person?
Not so smart when it comes to keeping it in your trousers, are you, Ray, Liz thought. She knew Ray had been deeply ashamed of his dalliance with Callie in the Crossed Foxes car-park. Liz had watched him avoid Callie afterwards at school. He had obviously been relieved when Callie had gone off on maternity leave. But that had made Liz think. Liz knew that Callie’s husband had already absconded a good few weeks before that crucial Christmas party, because she had suggested that Callie ask John for some financial advice! So someone other than the disappearing Mr McFadden had to be Jonty’s father.
Liz remembered that Callie had been rather nervous of her when she came back to school to show off her baby boy, but Liz had cooed over the buggy like everyone else. Then, when the others had gone, Liz had said, as if it were just coincidental, ‘You know, the baby’s got rather a clever look, hasn’t he? A bit like Mr Findley!’
She had watched the light and the relief dawn on Callie’s face.
‘Don’t worry.’ Liz had leant forward. ‘Your secret is safe with me. By the way, have you heard about these new teaching assistant posts? Why don’t you apply?’
From then on, Callie had been Liz’s secret weapon. With Callie as a teaching assistant and Brenda under her thumb, Liz’s position at St Mungo’s had been unassailable, culminating in the new deputy headship. The collapse of Sheila Findley had helped, of course. And with luck, and some effort from Callie, things would stay that way until John died. Liz just wished he would hurry up and go.
The phone rang out again, its trill bouncing around the room.
‘Hello?’
‘Ah, Mrs Rudder. Or, Liz, if I may be so bold.’ The fruity voice of Peter Hodgson boomed in her ear.
Good heavens, Liz thought. He sounded a little bit tiddly. ‘Father Peter. I gather you spoke to Ray Findley today about the concert?’ And a fat lot of good it did, she thought.
‘I most certainly did, but he was hardly sympathetic, I am sorry to say. I will though make my feelings known to Neil Clifford and to the bishop if necessary. But I don’t want to alienate the local clergy if what we really want is for St Trallen’s Chapel to be reconsecrated as a memorial to dear Brenda.’
‘Is that what we want?’ Liz said sharply.
‘Didn’t we both agree?’ I don’t remember agreeing anything of the sort, Liz thought. But Peter Hodgson was in full inebriated flow.
‘And, dear lady, we agree on so much! I must say I thoroughly enjoyed your outstanding hospitality on Monday evening. I wondered if you might consider joining me for lunch this coming Sunday?’
Liz had a vision of Peter Hodgson stuffing his fat face with roast meat at the Crossed Foxes Carvery – and grimaced. He had been about as useful to her as a chocolate teapot.
‘But I have to look after my husband, as you know….’
‘Ah, of course.’ Peter Hodgson’s voice grew even more enthusiastic. ‘So, if I may be so bold, why don’t I come and see you at your home for Sunday lunch? I could bring a bottle of sherry and perhaps contribute a dessert? Those delicious little profiteroles, for example.’
Liz felt nauseous. Frankly, Peter Hodgson was actually rather gross – and politically he had been worse than useless to her. His intervention with Ray Findley had gone nowhere: in fact, it had caused her greater embarrassment. He was just a nuisance.
‘Are you propositioning me,’ she snapped, ‘while my husband is in a wheelchair?’
‘That’s an outrageous suggestion! I was merely suggesting a pleasant social encounter. I can’t believe you could interpret my invitation in this way.’
‘What invitation?’ Liz Rudder was yapping. ‘You invited yourself. Now if you don’t mind, it’s late. And next time you call a woman at ten o’clock at night, I suggest you don’t go at the sherry first.’
Liz slammed down the phone. The conversation had left her seething but stimulated. She gulped her own drink, and then banged Callie’s number into the phone.
‘Callie? Liz Rudder here. How did you get on with Ray this evening? … What?’ She listened in growing anger as Callie described Ray Findley’s treatment of her at the pub.
‘Callie, that is quite dreadful. You must expose this man for the cheat and cheapskate he is. It’s too late to talk now. You need to think about what to do. Should we meet tomorrow after school? … What? … You’re going to Faye Armistead’s? Well, after that then. I’ll make arrangements with you tomorrow.’
She slapped the phone down.
Ro had a bad night. As ever, sleeping was one of her problems.
When she finally woke from drowsing on Thursday morning, she lay in bed wondering why it all felt so different. The excitement had gone. The urge to bounce out to the police station was exhausted. Anyway, she couldn’t dash off and leave Ben again. Once was fine, but he still needed a lot of help. She had noticed that his bedroom, always untidy, was even more of a tip because she hadn’t been able to go around after him on Wednesday morning.
