CHAPTER NINE

 

 

"We can't go in there," Simon grabbed his friends arm. "It's got police tape around it. We'd be breaking the law!" But Nathan had already ducked under the blue and white tape and was walking around the outside of the house.

Simon sighed and followed him. "The bathroom window," he called out. "The latch is broken."

They wriggled easily though the window and jumped down into the bathtub.

"We really shouldn't be here," said Simon. "It just doesn't feel right."

"Don't be such a scaredy cat," Nathan scoffed. "We're helping the cause of justice, remember?"

The boys left the bathroom and started down the hallway.

"Where's Mr. Jones' office? We'll start looking in there." Nathan asked.

Simon led the way, reluctantly. Why on earth had he agreed to this? He half expected Mr. Jones' ghost to manifest from one of the doorways.

In Dorian's office, there was a desk, a table, and several chairs. An old computer sat in the middle of the desk, and there was an enormous bookshelf along the entire length of one wall. Nathan was busily pulling out desk drawers and rummaging through them. Simon felt a bit uncomfortable, as if they were disturbing the dead. He knew better than to say anything, though, and started sifting through books and papers on a nearby table. Suddenly, Nathan straightened up and slapped his forehead.

"Stupid! Stupid!" He looked at Simon. "Where's the best place to find something that's been hidden?"

Simon shook his head.

"Hiding in plain sight, of course." Nathan was heading towards the large book shelf. "You start at that end and we'll meet in the middle."

Simon groaned. It was going to take forever, and his mum would be home soon. He really didn't want her to come home to an empty house, but there was no denying Nathan. Reluctantly, he started checking the titles of the books on the shelf. The minutes ticked by. The old dusty titles seemed to blur and mix together. Poetry anthologies, growing vegetables in small spaces, how to do your own car service ...

"I've found it! It's his diary." Nathan stood holding a narrow red A4 sized journal. He started slowly turning the pages.

Simon came and stood behind him. There were reminders, timetables, and some really strange poetry.

Nathan wrinkled his nose. "Time to rest sweet prince, to cast off life's robes and wear the mantle of death. Bid the pain farewell as I move towards the light. Caring friends gather around to wish me peace ..."

"That sounds like a suicide note," said Simon. "I reckon Mr. Jones really did commit suicide. After all, the police said so. We're probably wasting our time."

Nathan continued turning the pages. "Here's something about Verity. That was his girlfriend, wasn't it?"

"What else can a man do? I have tried to call her. I have tried visiting, but she never answers the door. I must ..."

"Stop it!" hissed Simon. "We're prying into something that isn't our business. Put it back, Nate, and let's get out of here!"

But Nathan was still turning the pages as if mesmerized. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the air revealing swirling specks of dust from the book's pages.

"Listen to this!" Nathan exclaimed.

"He continues to reject me, he's as stubborn as a mule, but so beautiful that I can hardly breathe."

"Oh, Si. That's awful!" Nathan snapped the journal shut with a look of horror on his face. "He must be talking about Joseph!"

Simon snatched the book away. He could feel his stomach churning.

"We have to hand this in to Mr. Leibinger," he said, making his way towards the bathroom. "I'll take it to him tomorrow."

Surprisingly, Nathan offered no resistance. 'Maybe that's put him off wanting to be a private detective,' Simon thought. 'And a good thing, too.'

The boys clambered back out of the bathroom window and made their way towards the school in a much subdued frame of mind.

Reaching the school, they went their separate ways without speaking.

 After reaching home, Simon took the journal and opened the door of his room. He put the journal under his pillow and sat thoughtfully on his bed. Suddenly, he pulled the journal out again and started slowly reading ...

#

Jayne let herself into the small two-bedroom house. She was a secret believer in ghosts and wondered now if Dorian Jones' spirit had departed for the ethers or if it was still earthbound, unable to be free, until the injustice done to it had been rectified. If, indeed, there had been an injustice done at all. It was quite on the cards that Dorian Jones had taken his own life, either because of remorse or because of fear of prosecution. 'Indeed, that would be the most likely explanation,' she thought to herself, sadly. Anything else seemed rather theatrical, despite James' conviction to the contrary.

She rummaged through all the drawers and cupboards, not really expecting to find anything of great interest as the police had been through everything the day before. But even if she could get a clearer picture of what this man had been like, she would feel like she had achieved something.

An extensive search of the bedroom produced nothing more significant than a few clothes and the usual personal effects. Nothing much in the lounge either, apart from a few letters and bills in the bureau. There were a few photos of what must be Dorian with his arm around a wispy-looking girl in her twenties with light brown hair and sallow skin. Verity Sellars? Jayne studied Dorian closely. He was an academic type with lank dark hair and aesthetic features. ''Quite attractive if you liked that kind of thing,' she thought.

Feeling under the cushions on the sofa, Jayne extracted a few screwed up lolly papers. Had Dorian been a lolly eater? Or had one of his private math students screwed up these wrappers and pushed them under the cushions? She put them in a plastic bag in her pocket.

The bathroom revealed a few sets of muddy footprints. It looked like someone else had visited since James. The footprints were smallish and the mud still damp. Whoever it was had not long departed.

Jayne wandered into the office. Here, there was definite signs of things having been disturbed. A nearby table showed small fingerprints in the dust, and the desk drawers were open. Wandering across the room, Jayne examined a large bookcase built into the wall. Here, books had been moved around, and there were more fingerprints in the dust. She didn't really consider it sinister. 'Probably a curious student trying to find clues,' she smiled to herself. Nevertheless, she would ask James to get the police to properly secure the house as there must be an open window somewhere. She whipped out some fingerprint tape and took an imprint.

The loud knocking on a door made her jump. Pulling herself together, she followed the sound to the front door and opened it cautiously.

"Miss Belmont?"

"Yes." What was a Greek God doing in a Palmerston high school? He was six foot of athletic body, with a fine head with almost perfect features topped with a crop of almost golden hair. 'Just as well she was off men for life,' Jayne mused, 'or this one might prove a sight too interesting!' The teal blue eyes were studying her appreciatively.

"Miss Belmont, I'm Marcus Wingate. I'm here with a message from Mr. Leibinger. He's got Mr. and Mrs. Mattiello coming to see him and was wondering if you wanted to sit in."

"I probably would," said Jayne. "If I knew who they were."

"Oh, sorry. They're the parents of Joseph Mattiello, the boy who made the complaint against Dorian."

"Of course. I'll come straight away. I'm pretty much finished here."

She pulled the front door of the house, which locked with a click. Together, she and Wingate made the short walk back to the school. Jayne found herself very aware of his presence.

"I didn't know James had called in an investigator," said Wingate. "I take it he's not satisfied with the suicide verdict?"

"I think he's going to speak to everyone about it tomorrow." Jayne wondered how much to tell him; technically, he was a suspect. "I think he just wants a few things checked out," she added vaguely.

"I know, I know. You can't say too much." Wingate looked amused. "Tell me this, though, who's paying for you, Miss Belmont?"

Good question! As yet, no mention had been made of money, neither had any contract been signed. Jayne, usually so meticulous in her business dealings, had been so carried away with this case that she found herself in danger of providing her services for free.

"It's all been taken care of," she fibbed. "What subjects do you teach, Marcus?"

Acknowledging her clumsy change of subject with a smile, Wingate launched into a description of his teaching career with Palmerston High. He told Jayne some amusing stories, and she found herself standing outside Leibinger's office before she knew it.

"Thanks, Marcus," she said. "We'll probably be bumping into each other sooner or later."

"I hope so." He gave her a casual wave and strolled off in the direction of the classrooms without a backward glance.

Jayne's eyes trailed after him. He had a graceful walk, controlled but sensual. She turned and knocked on Leibinger's door.

"Ah, come in Jayne. I'm expecting them any minute now." Leibinger pulled out a chair for her. "Just so you'll be prepared, Mr. and Mrs. Mattiello are still rather upset over the incident with their son Joseph and may not be very forthcoming. They're here at my invitation as I have offered them some financial support for their son's counseling sessions." At Jayne's questioning look, he went on. "I feel responsible for a lot of what's happened Jayne and, being financially quite well placed, I've decided to do what I can to help."

Jayne nodded. So that's probably where her fee would be coming from. She couldn't imagine the Education Department paying for her. However, now was not the time to discuss the matter.

"That's very generous of you," she said.

They were interrupted by a gentle knock from Andrea, the school administration assistant, ushering in the Mattiellos. They were a shortish couple in their late forties or early fifties, Jayne guessed. Both dark haired with dark eyes and smartly, if not fashionably, dressed, they seemed uncomfortable and unsure of themselves. Leibinger ushered them into the room and introduced Jayne without mentioning why she was there. 'Probably a wise decision,' she thought.

Leibinger spoke of the offer of financial assistance, and Jayne raised her eyebrows at the generous sum. Mr. Mattiello stood and offered his hand to Leibinger. His wife produced a tissue from her handbag and dabbed at her eyes. 'Probably relieved,' Jayne thought. The Mattiellos were probably not well off.

Leibinger leaned forward towards the couple. "There is another matter I would like to discuss with you." The couple nodded in silent acknowledgment. "As you may be aware, Mr. Jones has recently passed away and there is some doubt as to the cause of death. This is why I have employed Miss Belmont here to try to get at the truth. Would you mind if she asked you a few questions?"

The couple looked at each other in surprise. "Yes, we hear of this," Mr. Mattiello finally replied. "It says he kill himself, no?"

"I don't believe that is the case," Leibinger told them. "Which means that Mr. Jones may actually have been murdered. I was wondering if you could help us?"

"Why you care?" Mrs. Mattiello was on her feet waving her arms. "He bad man! He's dead, is good. Is God's justice!"

"Maria, is okay. Sit, sit." Mr. Mattiello rose and somehow managed to sit his wife back down. "We help if we can." He nodded at Jayne. "You ask."