“So Duncan, if you remember anything else, any detail no matter how small, be sure to let me know,” said police officer Jane Rooke. “You know, if there’s anything on your mind or anything troubling you, you can trust me. A problem shared and all that.”
Duncan was sitting on the edge of his hospital bed and feeling decidedly uncomfortable. He had already told Officer Rooke that he couldn’t remember anything from the fall but he hadn’t been entirely truthful. The last thing he could recall before plunging headlong in to the river was being tripped by a cord or thin line as he tiptoed across the old bough.
“Here’s my card. You can call me any time,” she said and with that she left the room. Once in the hospital car park, she called the station to speak to her supervising officer.
“Seems he can’t remember a thing Sarge but I get the feeling he’s holding something back. I’m going back to Sweetheart Abbey just to tie up a few loose ends but unless we get more information, I can’t take it further.”
Constable Rooke stood there patiently as her sergeant responded and once he finished she protested: “It’s not my imagination. Some things don’t add up and I did find a piece of twine dangling from the bough at the scene. And sir, just for the record, I resent being called Miss Marples,” added the policewoman.
Jane Rooke was frustrated. Her sixth sense was telling her this was no accident but her sergeant thought otherwise. Back at the station, as he put down the phone, Sergeant Donald Gilchrist told colleagues: “Rooke is trying to turn that schoolboy’s accident into an attempted murder case. She’s a bloody nightmare, fresh out of probation and trying to fast track to detective. And now she’s just told me off for calling her Miss Marples. The last thing I need is some politically correct PC!”
As the young policewoman finished her conversation with Sergeant Gilchrist, she saw Dr Geraint Jones pull into a pick up bay in the distinctive Sweetheart Abbey school mini bus. “It’s Dr Jones, isn’t it?” she said, extending her hand as he stepped out of the vehicle. “I’m Constable Rooke. I’ve been assigned to the case involving your boy Duncan Dewar.”
Dr Jones looked surprised. “Case? What case? It was an accident, wasn’t it?” Rooke, realising she had over-stepped her brief, pulled back immediately and said: “Oh, nothing to alarm you, sir. I’m just tying up a few loose ends, protocol and all that. He’s a nice lad and I’m just glad he’s fine and well. Have you come to collect him?”
“Yes, I have. He’s doing a solo performance at the school concert tonight. Look here constable, why don’t you come along? There’s a small reception afterwards and I’d like to show my appreciation – here’s a couple of VIP tickets for you and a friend.” Dr Jones reached back into the car and pulled a couple of tickets from the glove compartment and gave them to the officer.
After a few more pleasantries, he headed towards the hospital and went to the room where Duncan was ready and waiting. “Feeling better, Dewar?” And without waiting for a response, Dr Jones continued: “We’ve got a hectic day ahead with rehearsals, timings etc. Somehow you’ve got to fit in some rest. Oh, and your grandfather is heading for Sweetheart this afternoon and will stay at Mr Petrie’s cottage on the estate.”
As the pair drove towards the school, Dr Jones excitedly told Duncan about the trip to St Petersburg in more detail adding: “Now I don’t want to put you under any pressure but you have a solo spot singing ‘Walking in the Air’. You must have heard of it…it was written by Howard Blake back in 1982.”
Duncan looked slightly overwhelmed: “You mean The Snowman song? But I don’t know the words. I’ve never sang it…I…I…”
“Ssssh, don’t concern yourself boy. I’ll get you through the rehearsals but your focus will be on tonight and then we can work out a schedule over the Christmas that’ll suit everyone. The patron wants you to sing it and so that is what you will do. Svetlana Volkova calls the shots, young Dewar. And you know what they say: He who pays the piper calls the tune!”
As the minibus pulled up outside the gravel car park, Dr Liam Wallace emerged to greet Duncan. “How are you, Dewar? I’m told you must try and rest before your performance at the concert tonight, but before you go to Plato, the head would like to see you. Oh, and Mr Petrie is expecting you to take tea at his home when your grandfather arrives.”
Duncan was glad to be back in familiar surrounds but was apprehensive about seeing Dr Collins. As he walked to the head’s room, his PA, Miss Jennifer Hunter, smiled and offered him a seat. “I’ll call the head and let him know you are here. He’s anxious to see you and find out how you are.”
Never before had he received such a warm welcome on walking in to the head’s office but he was still apprehensive. Moments later, Dr Collins appeared and ushered Duncan in to his room. “Well, you certainly gave everyone a bit of a start yesterday morning, Dewar. Excuse the pun, but run me through what happened.”
Duncan sat there and recalled events exactly as he had told Constable Rooke. Again he omitted how he suspected he was deliberately tripped as he stepped over the old bough. As he reached the end, Miss Hunter knocked on the door and interrupted: “Sorry, but you did say I had to remind you to get these signed off today before the afternoon post.”
She handed him a series of letters which he carefully read through and signed, adding handwritten comments with his fountain pen where appropriate. As a fellow ginger, Duncan marvelled at Miss Hunter’s hair bob as she leant over the headmaster’s shoulder and wondered why it always fell neatly back in to place when she straightened herself. The silence in the room was, as usual, interrupted by the familiar sound of the ticking of the clock and the scratching of the pen nib.
To this day, Duncan still does not know what emboldened him, but as Mr Collins concluded his business and his PA left the room, the schoolboy said: "I notice your pen nib scratches on the paper, sir. I think this is caused by the flow of ink which lubricates the pen’s journey. So if the quick movement of the pen outpaces the lubricating flow of the ink, then it will make a noise.
“I believe your pen is moving faster than the ink flow can support, so maybe the nib’s tines need readjusting, sir,” he concluded.
Dr Collins was rarely lost for words but this observation by Dewar left him aghast and, if he dare admit it, slightly guilty because he had deliberately adjusted the tines on the nib of his pen so it would create the irritating scratching sound which so jarred with pupils who had the misfortune to be summoned to his office for a misdemeanour.
Hundreds of boys had been forced to sit silently in worried anticipation while enduring the ‘scratchy nib treatment’ in Dr Collins’ office. Today though the headmaster had been busted by the third former but he wasn’t sure if the boy was deliberately playing him or had made the observation in all innocence.
After an embarrassing silence, the usually unruffled Dr Collins said: “Thank you for that observation, Dewar. I see that bump on the head has not affected your analytical and observational powers. Good luck with tonight and I look forward to seeing and hearing you this evening. Do try and get some rest.”
Duncan was almost shaking as he left his office and shook his head in disbelief, wondering what had come over him to say such a thing. He wondered if it was the painkillers or other medication given to him at the hospital. Ironically, the very same thoughts entered Dr Collins’ head as he sat and wondered what had just happened.
When he walked in to the Plato common room, he was immediately overwhelmed by well-wishers until Dr Liam Wallace boomed: “I’m under strict orders to make sure Dewar gets complete rest and he can’t if you lot bombard him with silly questions. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Swithers take Dewar to his room and make sure there are no visitors for at least the next two hours.”
“Flippin heck, Dunc, I’m so glad to see you. You do know it was Thornberry and Sparrow to blame, don’t you? I told that Rozzer,” blurted Swithers once they got to their room.
“You did what?” asked Duncan. Ninian Swithers sat down his roommate and told him how he was sure he had heard some laughter when he fell into the river.
“When I looked around, I saw a flash of white blond hair streak past. It had to be Crispin Sparrow and wherever that minger is, Jacob Thornberry is not far behind. They had it all planned; that’s why they hung back when we set off.” Duncan raised his eyebrows and added: “Yes, but you’ve got no real proof, mate. Not unless they admit it.”
Ninian sighed: “I know that’s what that policewoman said.”
Duncan grabbed his friend by the arm: “You told the cops? I knew that policewoman was on to something. She was like a terrier this morning. She wouldn’t let go.” He then told his friend how he felt some twine around his foot causing him to fall.
“You see, I knew it. Let’s report them,” urged Ninian but Duncan added: "It still doesn’t amount to proof and unless this becomes an episode of CSI I hardly think the local force is going to set up an incident room and send crime scene investigators to find the rope that could hang those two bastards.
“By the way, Ninny, you are right about one thing,” smirked Duncan. “That policewoman is a bit of a babe, isn’t she? And she gave me her card as well. Look, here it is Constable Jane Rooke and, more importantly, her telephone number!” Ninian looked both delighted and shocked at his roomie since he’d never expressed any interest in the opposite sex before.
“So my friend, Duncan. You have an eye for the laydeees, especially blonde chicks, eh?” The two boys fell onto a bed in a heap of giggles as they made more inappropriate observations about the young female constable. After a moment’s silence, Ninian sat up and said: “You know I went to confront Sparrow and Thornberry.”
Duncan expressed amazement and surprise at his friend’s courage as Ninian was never one to go looking for trouble. “Oh, worry not, Duncs. I bottled it at the last minute but I did find out something interesting. Those two are planning to set up old Petrie and I think I know how.”
Ninian explained that in a burst of anger he went to Pythagorus’ House to confront the two suspects over his friend’s accident. “I really didn’t know if you were dead or alive, mate, and something inside me just snapped. But by the time I got to their room, I bottled it. However, the door was slightly ajar and I did overhear them talking. Instead of bursting in, I just earwigged and this is what I heard.”
He then regaled his friend with the details and afterwards Duncan said: “I’ve got to lie down and take all of this in. This needs some careful thought though and there’s not much time if it’s going to happen tonight. Okay, let me have a nap. We’ll speak later.” Duncan stretched out on his bed and rolled over as Ninian went to leave. Just before he opened the door, the exhausted schoolboy said: “Oh, by the way, Ninny. Thanks for saving my life. You’re the best friend ever.” Ninian grinned and then left the room so that his friend could rest.
***