38

‘Well, we now know he has a temper,’ Ian said to Geraldine as they walked away from the interview room.

‘That’s hardly a crime,’ Geraldine replied. She laughed. ‘If we’re going to treat everyone who has a temper as a suspect, there won’t be many people we won’t have to interview.’

‘It suggests he might have killed David in a fit of rage.’

‘It no more points to him being a suspect than anyone else. He had good reason to be annoyed.’

‘Well, of course it doesn’t mean he’s guilty, but it does make it seem plausible that he killed David Armstrong. We know that he had reason to hate him, and now we’ve established he has a temper.’

‘And what about Jason?’

Ian looked sombre. ‘You heard what the pathologist said. He doesn’t think one killer was responsible for both murders.’

Neither of them suggested they go to the canteen, but they walked there almost without thinking. Before Ian’s wife had returned to him, he and Geraldine had frequently gone to the canteen together to chat over a mug of coffee. Usually their discussions had centred on work, and this occasion was no exception. They sat down at their favourite corner table where they were able to converse without being overheard, and could watch their colleagues hurrying in and out.

‘The pathologist was only voicing his opinion, based on limited information,’ Geraldine said as she took her seat.

‘Exactly. He was drawing conclusions from information which is incomplete,’ Ian grumbled.

It wasn’t the first time he had criticised the pathologist for being too free with his speculation.

‘Yes, you’re right, of course, but –’ Geraldine hesitated.

‘But what?’

For the first time since Ian had moved out of her flat, she looked up and stared directly at him. Their eyes met, and for a moment neither of them spoke. Knowing each other so well, it was difficult to hide their feelings from one another. Seeing the misery in his face, Geraldine wondered if her own feelings were as obvious to him as his were to her.

‘Playing strictly by the book isn’t always the most useful approach,’ she murmured.

Ian frowned at her words. ‘Geraldine, what are you talking about?’

She tried to explain that Jonah sometimes gave her useful insights that he would be unable to voice if he were to restrict himself to what he was allowed to tell her.

‘The point is,’ she concluded lamely, ‘he gives me helpful details, off the record. He wouldn’t be able to do that if he could only tell me what he’s actually allowed to say.’

Ian scowled. ‘He has no business saying anything he’s not allowed to say.’

Clearly Ian disagreed with Jonah speaking so candidly to her. Geraldine wasn’t sure whether Ian was being pedantic about the rules, or if he was feeling jealous of the friendship that had sprung up between her and the tubby little pathologist who, in any case, was happily married. The thought that Ian might be feeling possessive about her gave her an unexpected thrill, although it was just as likely he was asserting his authority as her senior officer, but she made no comment. The police station canteen was hardly the place for an emotional scene.

Leaving him in the canteen, gazing morosely at his mug of lukewarm coffee, Geraldine drove to the primary school where Jonathan Edwards had worked. The school was situated at the end of a cul-de-sac of square brick houses. Leaving her car beside a tall hedge at the end of the road, she rang the bell beside a gate in the high metal railings that surrounded the site. A woman’s voice answered over a crackly intercom and Geraldine identified herself. Crossing a tarmac car park, she entered a two-storey flat-roofed building with large square windows. A sign by the door showed a name which was also displayed by the gate: Clifton Primary School. She pushed open a door marked School Office and a middle-aged woman looked up at her with a worried smile.

‘How can we help you, Sergeant?’ the secretary asked when Geraldine introduced herself.

Geraldine hesitated. She had come there to talk to the head teacher, but the school secretary might have useful information.

‘Do you know a man called Jonathan Edwards who used to work here?’ she asked as she stepped into the room and closed the door gently behind her.

The secretary’s neatly permed brown curls bobbed around her ears as she nodded her head.

‘He left us last year,’ she said, adding tersely, ‘cutbacks.’

‘What can you tell me about him?’

‘Has something happened to him?’

‘No.’

‘Is he in trouble?

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Only that you’ve come here asking about him.’

Geraldine smiled. ‘He’s not in any trouble as far as I’m aware, and I don’t know that anything’s happened to him. We’re speaking to him as we think he might be able to help us with an enquiry.’

The secretary’s worried expression cleared. ‘Is there anything we can do to help?’

‘No, thank you, I just wanted to make a few enquiries. We need to establish how reliable he might be as a witness,’ Geraldine said, hoping her explanation sounded sensible. ‘Did you find him honest?’

The secretary frowned at the question. ‘I should certainly think so,’ she replied, sounding slightly affronted. ‘I don’t think Mr Brice would have kept him here otherwise. Working with children we have to be scrupulous about our staff.’

The head teacher smiled sadly when Geraldine explained the purpose for her visit.

‘He was a loss,’ Gordon Brice said, nodding his head solemnly. ‘Jonathan was a dedicated member of our staff here, and he did good work with the children. It’s not easy encouraging them to read, and it gets harder every year. There are so many other sources of entertainment for them these days, mostly online. We do our best, of course, but the parents aren’t always on board, and without their support we’re fighting a difficult battle. We need all the help we can get. I have to tell you, Sergeant, these latest cutbacks have been disastrous. I don’t think we’ll ever fully recover.’

From what Geraldine heard, Jonathan had been quiet and hard working, liked by the children and the rest of the staff, although none of them had known him well. The headmaster seemed bemused and even faintly entertained at hearing how his former librarian had been a vocal opponent of the leader of the council, but his smile faded abruptly when he learned that David had been murdered.

‘Murdered?’ he repeated, frowning. ‘And you’re telling me you suspect Jonathan may have been involved? Surely not. No, I can’t for one moment believe Jonathan would have had anything to do with – with the councillor’s murder. No, Sergeant. That’s not… it’s not possible. Not Jonathan. He was a gentle, kind man. He worked with children!’ he added, a note of outrage creeping into his voice.

‘Even people who work with children have been known to commit terrible crimes,’ Geraldine replied softly.

‘Listen, Sergeant, Jonathan was a harmless man. A little odd perhaps, but harmless.’

‘In what way was he odd?’

The headmaster sighed. ‘Please, don’t go getting the wrong impression,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean odd in a bad way.’

‘What did you mean by it?’

‘Just that he was the kind of man who struggled to relate to people, other adults, that is. He lived with his mother and I don’t believe there was ever anyone else in his life. After his mother died, he told me he only lived for his work here. He was dedicated to the children.’

‘Did you really know him?’

The headmaster shook his head, his kindly expression overshadowed by regret.