Ottey appeared at work the next day. She wasn’t actually due back till the following week with the extension Carson had given her. But she’d had enough of dealing with her mother. Working a murder case would be light relief in comparison. The latest problem had been that Cherish did not like the red Ottey had chosen for the sitting room. She had described it variously as being like a Victorian funeral parlour or being back in her mother’s womb. Ottey had pointed out that it was her sitting room and she’d paint it black if she liked. Cherish had muttered even that would be an improvement. Since then, she was incapable of entering the room without sighing and it was driving Ottey mad. She felt that if she didn’t get out of the house and back to work, this new living arrangement with her mother had no chance of succeeding. Then it dawned on her that although she’d been kidding herself that her mother had come to live with them, she did actually half own the bloody house. She wasn’t going anywhere, and in her heart, Ottey wanted her there. She thought once they got back into the routine of her being back at work, things would settle down and they would find a way of co-existing.
She felt an immediate comforting sense of familiarity as she walked into the open area until she saw Warner in Cross’s office. She frowned and walked over. The door was open.
‘DI Warner, I presume,’ she began.
‘And you are?’
‘DS Ottey.’
‘Ah, Oddball’s partner.’
‘Excuse me?’ Ottey replied, not quite believing what she’d just heard.
‘Just a little James Bond reference,’ he explained.
‘Don’t you mean Oddjob?’ she asked.
‘Oh, that’s right. Doesn’t quite work, though, does it. Let’s stick with Oddball.’
‘Where’s George?’
‘I have no idea. Probably sulking somewhere.’
‘I’m guessing you two didn’t hit it off.’
‘I’m guessing not many people do,’ he replied.
‘And you’d be wrong. Most people do. Those who bother to get to know him, that is. But then again none of them made the mistake of moving a desk into his office,’ she replied.
‘Oh, that’s right. I just remembered you’re the full-time secretary of his fan club.’
‘Wow. Well good luck.’
‘What are you talking about? I don’t need any luck. The case is closed,’ he said, looking up, so that she could get the full benefit of his veneered smile.
She turned away and saw Carson waving at her. He was indicating he wanted her to join him in his office.
‘I thought you weren’t back till Monday,’ he said as she walked in.
‘I needed a break.’
‘I thought you were having a break.’
‘I needed a break from my break,’ she told him. He obviously didn’t understand. ‘Where’s George?’
‘In the basement. He’s working out of a stationery cupboard in evidence.’
‘That makes sense.’
‘Does it?’ he asked in a tone that implied he hoped she might explain it to him.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but what did you expect to happen if you let Warner move a desk into his office?’
‘They both put me in an awkward position.’
‘Oh come on, George didn’t do a thing. Well, at least the case is closed.’ As she said this she saw that Carson was far from happy.
‘George doesn’t think it’s closed, does he?’ she said.
‘No, and he’s making waves.’
‘So what else is new?’
‘Do you know who the victim’s son is?’ Carson asked.
‘Isn’t he that arsehole MP that just got sacked?’
‘Well, that would entirely depend on your view of the world,’ he replied. He then noticed Ottey’s enquiring expression and remembered his last unpleasant interaction with Sandy Moreton. ‘Yes. That arsehole MP,’ he said finally.
‘So, what do you want me to do?’
‘Well, you’re his partner. Get him to be discreet.’
‘Let me have a look at the case files.’
‘Thanks.’
‘A word of warning, sir. If George doesn’t think this case is closed I’d maybe distance yourself from anything that’s happening with it right now. Let Warner take his rightful credit.’
‘Good thinking,’ he replied after just a moment’s consideration.
*
‘Do you want to tell me what’s going on?’ asked Ottey as she walked into Cross’s temporary sanctuary followed closely by Alice who had shown her the way down.
‘I do,’ he answered. Then said nothing further.
‘Well go on then.’
Cross explained his findings. The change in Moreton’s well-established habits, the black Fiesta, Moreton’s oxy problem and the fact that Cotterell wasn’t holding the chisel in his hand on the CCTV.
‘Okay, and both Carson and Warner know all this?’ Ottey asked.
‘Yes, although Warner excluded me from the investigation, which of course he has every right to.’
He might have had every right, but it was a mistake on two counts, Ottey was thinking. One, he lost out on Cross’s deductive skills; secondly, it just didn’t work, removing Cross from a murder investigation, as Carson had found out on several red-faced occasions. Once Cross had seen the victim’s body he’d made a subconscious, unspoken, irrevocable commitment to discover what had happened to them. He couldn’t let go of it until he had.
‘Okay, what can I do?’ she asked.
‘Have you been assigned to the case?’ Cross asked.
‘There is no case, George. It’s been closed,’ Ottey reminded him.
‘Fair point.’
‘I have been asked by our esteemed boss to find out what you’re up to.’
‘Esteemed in what sense?’ Cross asked.
‘What do we do next, George?’ Ottey asked, ignoring him.
‘Alice?’ asked Cross. ‘She’s been looking into Moreton’s background, particularly his time as a headmaster.’
‘And it just got a lot more interesting. Quite a few red flags, in my opinion. The man was a complete bastard, by most accounts. A tyrannical sadist. I came across an online group of incredibly angry and scarred men who claimed he was a serial abuser,’ Mackenzie began.
‘Sexually?’ asked Ottey.
‘I don’t think so. At least, not according to what I’ve come across so far. Mostly terrible beatings. He was a fervent believer in corporal punishment. Daily canings. Some of them talk about being locked in a place called “the hole”.’
‘What the hell was that?’ asked Ottey.
‘A small windowless room in the cellar.’ The irony of her saying this in Cross’s small windowless room wasn’t lost on the two women. ‘It’s basically solitary confinement like you’d find in a maximum-security prison,’ Mackenzie went on.
‘Bloody hell.’
‘You said it just got a little more interesting. What exactly did you mean by that?’ asked Cross.
‘Threats against Moreton and his son.’
‘The MP?’ asked Ottey.
‘Yep.’
‘Why?’
‘He became head boy in an unashamed act of nepotism, apparently. He was the most unlikely candidate. Others were expected to get it. Natural leaders. Sports captains. Sandy Moreton was an unexceptional little weasel,’ Mackenzie went on.
‘We should talk to him and see if he has had any death threats,’ offered Ottey.
‘He likes to brag that he has them all the time. He attracts a lot of venom with his political beliefs,’ said Cross.
‘Great advocate for the restoration of capital and corporal punishment, he even talked about the replacement of ASBOs with the birch. He later claimed he was joking,’ said Mackenzie.
‘Couldn’t these guys just be saddos who can’t move on from a terrible time at school? I mean, it was bloody decades ago,’ asked Ottey.
‘It sounds more like a borstal. The only difference being it cost their parents a small fortune,’ said Mackenzie.
‘Where is all this stuff?’
‘It started on an alumni page for the school. Then they set up a separate group called Victims of AFM – Alistair Franklin Moreton. There’s also a page called Boarding School Survivors where some of them have shared their stories,’ said Mackenzie.
‘Has there been any online reaction to Moreton’s death?’ asked Cross.
‘And how – comments about good riddance, people having no sympathy, couldn’t have happened to a nicer bloke, et cetera. But there’s one thread that begins with one of them joking that they hoped someone in the group was responsible for his death, which then descends into an “I’m Spartacus” moment with dozens of them writing “I did it!”’
‘What make you think it was a joke?’ asked Cross.
‘I don’t know. The sheer volume wanting to take credit. That and the “laughing so hard I’m crying” emoji that accompanied it.’
‘We should talk to some of these people,’ said Cross. ‘I’m not saying one of them did it. But it might provide us with an insight into the man and who might have done it. Does the site have a moderator?’
‘I thought you were pursuing the cuckooing theory?’ asked Ottey.
‘I’m not pursuing any theory,’ he replied.
‘You know what I meant.’
‘I’m merely investigating all possible leads. I think this is a possible lead,’ he continued in a way that made her think maybe she had come back to work too early and her mother’s annoying interference at home was preferable to this.