Felicia Ireland knew her way round schools. A product of Westminster and Trinity College, Cambridge, she had, since the establishment of Forum Tutors, devoted herself to securing a comprehensive knowledge of the system she herself had sailed through so successfully. She had an agile brain and could absorb information quickly, so it didn’t take her long to master the details. Prospectuses. Websites. Inspection Reports. League Tables. The Good Schools Guide. Mumsnet. She set about her research with enthusiasm, coming to the conclusion so many others had reached – that when it came to educating your kids, the world was full of parents who only wanted the best and were prepared to go to extraordinary lengths (and fork out huge sums of money) to secure it.
She spoke to as many people as she could. Headteachers. Admissions Officers. Journalists. Parents. Pupils. Agencies. Tutors. She spread her net far and wide as she gathered insight into the world of tutoring. Soon she had what she felt was a sharp sense of the market’s possibilities and, with her husband, Roddy, launched Forum Tutors confident that, provided she recruited the right sort of people, there was an almost insatiable demand for what they would offer. 49
Roddy applied the skills he had gained from working as a graduate trainee in the marketing department of a large consumer goods company to examine the tutoring market with a different approach. His wife may have been adept at research, but he knew that her real understanding of the world was more intuitive than scientific. She liked to talk and pick up on gossip, listening to the rumour and speculation and working out what was being said round the dinner tables of the tutor-employing classes. Schools that were in and schools that were out. How to play the entrance exam game. How to get your kids into the best universities. How important extra-curricular activities were in any application. Felicia was a people person, not a numbers person, and Roddy liked to think he brought a much-needed business brain to the operation. He covered the stats and the percentages – most importantly, he came up with a sense of how much money they could make from the enterprise. Between them they covered the bases. Forum Tutors thrived and life was good.
Felicia liked to think her life was as comfortable as she could have reasonably expected it to be by the time she hit forty. An eight-year-old daughter (her name already pencilled in for a string of prestigious schools). A huge house in Barnes inherited from Roddy’s parents and the place from which they ran their business. A golden Labrador they walked each day on Barnes Common. And a wide circle of interesting friends, all of whom she was sure looked on her success with a degree of envy.
In the early years she had often felt the need to justify her involvement in the tutoring business, but now she felt on much safer ground. When they had started out, tutoring was something to be ashamed of. Private tutors were almost smuggled in through the back door with a sack over their 50head. Now they were picked up by drivers and taken in private jets to exotic locations. Not all of them, admittedly, but those whose face and CV fitted, those who could offer what her clients wanted or, more significantly, what they thought they wanted, could make very good money, a sizable percentage of which ended up in the Forum coffers. The very best tutors had become almost status symbols, and tutoring had moved from the back door to the shop window.
Ever since its foundation, Felicia liked to think that Forum Tutors did things differently from other agencies. They always went for the personal touch, with both clients and employees, and liked to look on themselves as an extended family. She knew the family analogy may have been some way from the truth, but the image appealed to her and she frequently used it – in interviews and in profiles and in the Forum publicity material. Felicia always had a good eye for the PR opportunity.
Now she was experiencing a family bereavement. A Forum tutor was dead – not just dead, murdered – and she was facing questions from two detectives.
‘I know this must be a very difficult time for you, Mrs Ireland,’ said the one who had introduced himself as Garibaldi. ‘We understand that Giles was one of your employees and we understand that he was here, in your house, on Saturday evening. Is that correct?’
‘Yes,’ said Felicia. ‘We had a party here for our tutors. We do it every year.’
‘And did you speak to Giles during the evening?’
‘Yes I did. We both did – Roddy and I.’
‘Roddy’s your husband?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And how did Giles seem to you?’
‘Absolutely fine. His usual charming self.’ 51
‘I see. And what time do you think Giles left?’
‘I have no idea.’ Felicia paused and took a breath. She couldn’t take it in. She was being bombarded with these questions as if she might somehow be involved. ‘Look, Inspector, I’m really struggling to come to terms with this. When you say murdered, where—?’
‘He was found dead this morning in Barnes Old Cemetery.’
‘Where?’
‘Near Rocks Lane Tennis Courts.’
‘And how—?’
‘He was stabbed.’
Felicia covered her mouth with her hands. ‘I don’t believe it. I can’t …’
‘I hope you understand that we need to find out as much as we can about him and about his movements on Saturday evening.’
‘Of course. What can I tell you?’
Felicia looked at the detective. He took out his notebook. It seemed strangely old-fashioned, like something from a previous age.
‘Do you have a list of those who were at the party?’
‘I can get you one.’
‘With contact details as well, if possible.’
‘I can email it to you later.’
‘A printout now would be useful if you could manage that.’
There was something about his manner that Felicia didn’t like.
‘How long had Giles been working for you?’
‘Three or four years.’
‘Can you be more precise?’
‘I can look it up if you like. We have careful records.’ 52
‘I’m sure you do. And what was Giles like as a tutor?’
‘Excellent. One of our best. He was exactly what a lot of our clients are looking for. The right sort of background. Personable. Charming. Played by the rules.’
‘What rules are those?’
‘We expect high standards of our tutors. I don’t know how much you know about the tutoring business—’
‘I know it’s booming,’ said Garibaldi.
Felicia nodded. ‘It certainly is. Hundreds of agencies, but we like to think we’re different.’
‘In what way?’
‘We – Roddy and I – take great care over recruitment and keep a careful eye over what’s going on. Unlike many others, we take a real interest in our tutors. That’s why,’ she said, blowing her nose, ‘this is such a shock.’
‘How many students did Giles have on his books?’
‘I can’t remember offhand, but I can check.’
‘If you could. A list would be great.’
‘You don’t surely think that any of them—’
‘I don’t think anything, Mrs Ireland. I’m just trying to get a picture of Giles Gallen and what he did.’
‘You can’t for one second think that any of his students are involved. The parents will be so shocked when they hear and then to have the police—’
‘I’m not saying any of them are involved but we need to know who they are. We may need to speak to them.’
‘They’ll be devastated. Absolutely devastated. Especially the Rivettis.’
‘The Rivettis? The Italian family he went abroad with?’
‘Yes. How do you know that?’
‘His parents told us.’
‘But not all his pupils were like that. I’d hate you to get the wrong impression. You see, although we do have the 53very wealthy on our books, we don’t like to see ourselves as exclusive in any way. Not all of our tutors spend their time swanning round the Mediterranean on a yacht or in villas on Caribbean islands. And we do run a pro bono scheme …’
Felicia always enjoyed delivering the line. There was something about the very words ‘pro bono’. They lifted her onto the moral high ground, disarming those ready to criticise.
‘Pro bono?’ said the detective, as if there was something odd about the idea.
‘Yes. We do free work in several inner-city state schools.’ It was only one, but several always sounded better. ‘And Giles was one of the first to get involved. He still—he was working there only last week.’
‘What was Giles’s subject?’
‘He was an English graduate, so that was his speciality when it came to entrance exams, GCSEs, A Levels, university entrance. But we do expect our tutors to broaden their range and he would have covered other subjects, particularly with the younger students.’
The door opened. Felicia was relieved to see Roddy walk in. She had been beginning to feel very much on the defensive.
‘So sorry,’ said Roddy. ‘I was talking to a client. I do apologise.’ He sat down next to Felicia. ‘This is such a terrible thing. I mean, who would murder Giles Gallen? It’s unbelievable. Unthinkable. His students will be devastated. And their parents.’
‘To say nothing of his own parents.’
‘Of course. I mean—’
‘We need to find out as much as we can about what Giles had been up to, Mr Ireland. In particular, we need to know 54what he was up to on the night he was killed and given that he spent a large part of the evening here …’
‘I understand. And we’ll do everything we can to help.’
‘Well, that list would certainly be a great help.’
‘List?’ said Roddy.
Felicia turned to him. ‘Of who was at the party last night. I said we could provide one.’
‘OK,’ said Roddy. ‘Yes, we can certainly get that to you.’
‘Now would be most helpful.’
‘Now?’
The detective said nothing, but his look made the ‘now’ very clear.
‘And if we could also have a list of who Giles was tutoring.’
‘Why do you need that?’
‘If Giles was tutoring during the day, we need to know where he was and who he saw. We might need to speak to them.’
Felicia sensed Roddy bristle.
‘You don’t think that his murder could be in any way connected to his work as a tutor, do you?’
‘At the moment, Mr Ireland, we are pursuing all lines of enquiry. We’re assuming nothing – all we’re looking for is as full a picture as possible of Giles Gallen and what he was doing yesterday.’
‘OK,’ said Roddy. ‘I’ll print them off for you.’
He left the room and Felicia felt uncomfortable again. Something about the way the detectives were looking at her, especially the man, was unnerving.
‘I suppose this will be in the news,’ she said, looking from one to the other.
‘I should think so,’ said the man. ‘A press release went out this morning.’ 55
‘What will it say about Giles?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Will it say he worked as a tutor?’
‘It may do.’
Felicia weighed up the PR implications.
‘And if it doesn’t,’ said the detective, ‘I’m sure people will find out, and I’m sure they’ll also find out that he worked for you.’
It was as if he had read her thoughts.
‘But there’s no connection between his murder and … and us. There can’t be!’
‘We can’t rule anything out.’
A sound of a whirring printer from the next room punctuated the brief silence that followed.
Felicia looked towards the door, desperate for Roddy to return with the printouts and for the detectives to leave.
There was something about the way they were looking at her, especially the one with greying hair and the Italian name. Every time she caught his eye she sensed he already knew, or would soon find out, things she’d rather he didn’t. Like her suspicions over the last year or so about Roddy – the way he acted as if he was hiding something, the way he so often showed the excessive charm of the guilty, the way uncharacteristic emotional outbursts had ruffled his customary calm. Sometimes she thought Roddy’s behaviour was a sign that he was having an affair, but sometimes she thought he was harbouring a different kind of secret, something to do with the business. The way he had reacted to the news of Giles Gallen’s murder, his uncharacteristic nervousness in the presence of the detectives – it all pointed to the possibility that he might have more to hide than an extra-marital fling.
Felicia was ruling nothing out and, as she looked at the 56Inspector’s dark probing eyes, she got the sense that he too was considering all kinds of possibilities.
Garibaldi paused outside Gail’s Bakery and turned to Gardner. ‘Fancy a coffee?’
‘Why not?’
‘And a pastry?’
Gardner patted her stomach. ‘Just a coffee.’
‘Yeah, I shouldn’t either. Tell you what, why don’t we share?’
‘Go on then, you’ve persuaded me. Didn’t take much, did it?’
It was warm enough to be outside, so Gardner pulled up a couple of chairs to a table, while Garibaldi went inside to order.
He came back with two lattes, an almond croissant and a Danish.
‘I thought we were going to share.’
‘We are.’ Garibaldi took the drinks and pastries off the tray ‘We’re having half of each. I’m going for a run later. What’s your excuse?’
‘Fitness DVD in the living room. No-one sees you, you can pause if you need a breather and you can fast forward if you want it to end quickly. In fact, if you feel like it you can just stop it completely, give up and have a cup of tea. Perfect.’
Garibaldi reached for the almond croissant and cut it in half. ‘So what do you make of them?’
‘I think I prefer the Danish.’
‘I meant Forum Tutors.’
Gardner smiled. ‘I can see their appeal.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘Pretty smooth, aren’t they? Posh. Charming. Clear idea 57of their market and how to appeal to them. Certainly give the impression they know what they’re doing.’
‘Oh they know what they’re doing, all right.’
‘And it seems that Giles Gallen was a bit of a star.’
‘Yeah. They rated him, didn’t they?
‘Nice work if you can get it. Summer holidays in luxury locations.’
‘There must be drawbacks,’ said Garibaldi, taking a bite of his croissant.
‘Such as?’
‘I don’t know, but name me a job that doesn’t have bits that are shit. Maybe the kids are brats. Maybe the parents treat him badly. Maybe he gets sunburn.’
‘Even so.’
‘A couple of things I noticed about them. First was that they made a big thing of saying they’re not exclusive when they clearly are. And the second was that, although they were clearly upset about Giles, they seemed just as concerned about something else.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Have a guess.’
Garibaldi kicked himself. He’d promised to stop himself asking his sergeant to have a guess and also to stop giving her the look he was now giving her in the silences that tended to follow.
This time the silence was surprisingly short. ‘They were worried about damage to their firm’s reputation, weren’t they?’
He stopped himself adding ‘well done’, but took careful note. Maybe he shouldn’t quit the ‘have a guess’ thing after all.
‘My thoughts exactly. Their eyes were on the PR implications pretty quickly. Just like that pro bono stuff. Had to 58slip that one in, didn’t they? Makes them sound good when everyone knows it’s half conscience salve, half PR gimmick.’
Gardner’s look suggested that ‘everyone’ might be an overstatement and Garibaldi kicked himself again – this time for wondering whether Gardner thought pro bono might be something to do with U2.
‘Or maybe I’m just being cynical. I have been known to be.’
His phone rang. He reached into his pocket, pulled it out and looked at the screen.
Alfie.
He got up from the table and raised an apologetic hand.
‘I’m going to have to take this,’ he said, walking away.
‘Hi, Dad.’
‘Hi. How’s things?’
‘Good.’
Garibaldi crossed the road to Barnes Green and walked down the path towards the pond, trying to work out what kind of a call it was.
‘It’s about the Fulham game.’
A QPR call. His favourite.
‘Can’t wait,’ said Garibaldi. ‘Fulham. And midweek under the lights. Always tasty.’
‘Yeah, look, the thing is I … I won’t be able to make it.’
‘Really?’ Garibaldi couldn’t hide his disappointment. Home games were a bond established long ago, important fixtures in more than one sense.
‘Why’s that?’
‘There’s stuff going on up here.’
‘Stuff?’
‘Yeah. A party.’
A party? What kind of party was more important than a West London local derby? 59
‘I see. And you can’t …?’
Alfie wasn’t far away. Hop on the Oxford Tube and he’d be in West London in no time – comparative proximity was one of the few positives Garibaldi had been able to find in his son going to Oxford in the first place.
He’d missed only one or two home games in the last few years and always for good reasons – holidays, exams, illness. Even when Garibaldi had been unable to make it himself when he was on a case and working weekend shifts, Alfie had gone to the game by himself or taken along a mate.
And here he was, missing two games in succession.
‘But you missed the last one,’ said Garibaldi, trying to be adult about it but sensing he sounded like a whingeing kid.
‘I know, but—’
‘Couldn’t you come down and get back up in time? Parties go on till all hours, don’t they?’
‘It’s not that kind of party. It’s a dinner party.’
‘I see.’
‘And it’s in the country.’
Dinner Party. In the Country. The fears that had been brewing through Alfie’s first year seemed confirmed.
‘OK, Alfie. That’s no problem. But how about I come up and see you soon?’
‘Yeah, that’d be great. Mum wants to come up as well, so …’
‘Let’s fix up a date. Maybe Rachel can come as well?’
He hated it when anyone’s voice went up at the end of a sentence, but here he was, doing it himself, turning a statement into a question. Anyone would think he was insecure.
‘That would be good.’
He tried to gauge Alfie’s level of enthusiasm. He was desperate for him to like his partner in the way that he was desperate for him not to like Kay’s. 60
‘OK. Speak soon.’
He hung up and, instead of turning back to Gail’s, walked to the pond. He wanted time to sort himself out, to go through yet again what he felt about Alfie. Was it anger, or was it a sense of betrayal? Or was it a feeling of helplessness, a sense that he had no control over the decisions his son was making and there was nothing he could do about it?
He remembered a recent case which had brought him into contact with a group of smug, entitled, self-regarding Oxford graduates.
The thought that his son might end up like them was too terrifying to contemplate.