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  Horton turned his attention to the desk. Langley's in-trays were piled higher than his and that was saying something. Either she was very disorganized, which he guessed would really get up Janet Downton's nose, or she was grossly overworked. Glimpsing through the memos, letters, reports and printouts they seemed to be full of the same mindless bureaucracy that burdened him and his fellow police officers. He shoved them back in the tray with contempt, and with the feeling that Langley had done the same. He smiled at the thought, getting the impression that Langley was very much her own woman. Taking out his mobile phone he rang Walters.

  'There's no previous on Langley. Not even a traffic offence,' Walters said gloomily.

  Horton wasn't surprised. He gave Langley's address to Walters and said, 'As she's only been in Portsmouth since Easter there's a chance she rents her apartment. Her bank should be able to give you the address of the landlord.' Horton consulted the file. 'It's in Wadebridge, here's the telephone number.'

  'It looks like a call centre number, which means I'll probably end up speaking to someone in India,' Walters grumbled.

  'If you can't get a key, then we'll force an entry.' Horton relayed Langley's car registration details to Walters, and asked him to put out a call for it. Then he said, 'Phone me as soon as you've got access to her apartment.'

  Horton tried the desk drawers. There was little in them except some school papers, correspondence and stationery and that was thrown in any old how. Sitting back he glanced around the office, frowning in thought. There were two things missing: a diary and a computer. Perhaps she had kept her diary on her computer. He glanced down at the scuffed skirting boards and under the desk, nothing but a load of old dust and a pair of off-white training shoes. No computer cables. He couldn't envisage any school or business being without one, so perhaps Langley had used a laptop computer. He'd need to check.

  Horton eased himself back into Langley's swivel chair and opened her file. Her CV was impressive. She was forty-two and single. She held a Bachelor in Education and a Masters in Business Administration. She had started her teaching career in a comprehensive in Cornwall before becoming subject coordinator and then had moved to a school in London as head of department. Next came deputy headship and a stint at two inner city London schools as head teacher, where Horton assumed, she had made her mark as a super head before coming here. Neither her CV nor file said where she had been born, brought up or had gone to school.

  He rose and turned towards the dusty windowpane, which gave on to the car park. To his left was the building site. How had Jessica Langley got on with her deputy head teacher and sour-faced secretary? They had shown no affection or warmth towards her on the news of her death. Langley and Edney seemed to be as different as chalk and cheese. Sometimes that could work, each person utilizing the strengths of the other, but here? He got the impression not.

  And then there was the crisp efficiency that Cantelli had spoken of which somehow didn't go with the chaos in this room and her lack of responding to official memos. He was getting the impression of a complex woman and a character of contradictions.

  His mobile rang. It was Uckfield.

  'I've already had the media on my back. Who's going to make the formal identification? We need it quickly, Inspector.'

  Horton explained about the serious lack of next of kin. 'Dr Clayton should have finished the autopsy by three p.m. I'll ask the deputy head if he'll do the honours.' How would he take that, Horton wondered.

  'That's a bloody long time to be hanging around.'

  Horton couldn't help that, but he didn't say so. Instead he told Uckfield where Langley lived. Uckfield made no reference to Horton's escapade in that vicinity last night. The news hadn't reached him. There was, after all, no reason why it should. It was strictly a CID matter. Horton added that Walters was tracking down the property's managing agent. Uckfield agreed with Horton's decision to appoint Marsden as liaison officer between the media, the school and the LEA, and then rang off. As he did the door opened and a troubled man entered.

  'Mr Edney, do you know where Ms Langley was born and raised?'

  Edney looked taken aback for a moment. 'I've no idea where she was born, but I do know that she lived in Portsmouth as a child. The media were particularly fond of labelling her as the local girl made good, returning to her roots, that sort of thing.'

  In that case, wondered Horton, did she have any family in the area? If she did they weren't mentioned on her file, but the media would already have sniffed them out for previous features so he could check the newspaper archives. But Walters hadn't discovered anything. Still that was hardly surprising, given it was Walters. He probably hadn't even started on that yet. Horton had detected a slight note of bitterness in Edney's tone, which was interesting. For now though he decided to ignore it.

  'What was Ms Langley wearing yesterday?' he asked.

  It took a few seconds for Edney to recall. 'A black trouser suit with a green blouse.'

  The clothes she had been found in. 'Was she wearing a jacket?'

  'Yes.'

  She hadn't been when he'd seen her on the mulberry and it wasn't here in her office; perhaps they'd find it in her apartment. Perhaps it was in her car. Why hadn't Langley changed out of her work suit if she'd been killed between nine and eleven p. m? Had she been attacked shortly after leaving the school? Perhaps she had gone on to a meeting or not left here at all.

  'When you left the school last night, was there anyone else still here, apart from Ms Langley?'

  'No. Mr Forrest has asked me to convene an emergency meeting of the governors for this evening, so if you don't need me, I have a great deal to do-'

  Edney was already reaching for the door handle when Horton said, 'We will need a formal identification. As Ms Langley hasn't any known relatives, I would like to ask you to do that for us please. We'll send a car for you at two forty-five.'

  Edney started violently and looked horrified at the prospect. 'I can't possibly do that. School finishes at ten past three and I need to be on hand to tell the staff.'

  'We'll get you back in time, sir.' Horton held his gaze. He saw a frightened man. Was it just the thought of seeing his dead head teacher or was there more behind the fear? If so, he wondered why Edney was afraid.

  'If I must,' Edney mumbled and scuttled out.

  What had Langley made of her deputy head? Horton asked himself. He saw a weak yet methodically minded man. Had Langley seen the same?

  Horton's phone rang. It was Walters.

  'The flat is managed by PMP Limited in London Road. I'm on my way to pick up a set of keys.'

  'Wait outside until I get there,' Horton instructed. He locked Jessica Langley's office and pocketed the key. He didn't want anyone, including the officious secretary, nosing around inside and removing anything.

  'Did you keep Ms Langley's diary?' he asked Mrs Downton.

  'No. She kept her own on her laptop computer and most inconvenient it was too.'

  He had been right about that then. Was that in her flat, he wondered. 'Did you, or did anyone else in the school, have access to it?'

  'No. I had to check with her all the time if anyone wanted to see her.'

  And how that must have put your big fat nose out of joint, thought Horton with secret delight. He guessed Langley had sussed out her secretary.

  'How did the staff get to see her?'

  'She held briefings with the senior management team every morning. Ten minutes, on a timer, which she'd set. It would ring when the time was up and it didn't matter if someone was in the middle of a sentence, Ms Langley would simply walk out of the room. She liked to delegate responsibility.'

  It was expressed as a negative quality rather than a positive one. Superintendent Reine would have agreed with Jessica Langley's methods though. It was what Horton should have done last night with the Mickey Johnson operation: delegate. But he was never one for sitting behind a desk, though it was a prerequisite of higher management. Maybe he was better off staying an
inspector. Though he wasn't convinced he really wanted that.

  'How did Ms Langley handle staff and parental matters?'

  'She held a clinic for the staff every Tuesday between three and five p.m. and one for parents every Wednesday, between four thirty and six thirty p.m.'

  So, last night, Thursday, was free. 'Do you know if she had any appointments arranged for yesterday after seven o'clock?'

  'As I said, Inspector. I didn't keep her diary.'

  More's the pity, he thought, and went in search of Cantelli.

  Five

  'If I'd known I was going to be wading through the battlefields of the Sir Wilberforce Cutler I would have worn my wellies,' Cantelli said, staring at his muddy brown shoes. 'These cost me nearly ten pounds, five years ago.'

  'About time you had a new pair then.' Horton knew Cantelli's sense of humour well. The sergeant was a generous man who cared little about money and even less about the clothes he wore, preferring to spend it on his wife and children.

  As Cantelli rubbed his shoes on a straggly bit of grass, trying to get the worst of the mud off, he said, 'The thieves took whatever they could lay their hands on: paint, cement bags, piping, you name it. The builders went off site at four p.m., so the manager has no idea what time the break-in took place. He's not a very happy bunny. Blames his bosses for skimping on security. Says it'll put the job back about a month, and it's the second break-in they've had in the last six weeks.'

  Horton made a mental note to check back through the incident reports. Not that he thought it would give him a lead on Langley's murder, but it was a detail nevertheless, and in a murder case even the smallest of details could turn out to be relevant. Like that message on the betting slip.

  'Did he know Jessica Langley?'

  'No. Most of his dealings were with the building superintendent, who's the caretaker to you and me. Otherwise he deals with the architect direct, or Mrs Pentlow, the business manager. What about you?'

  'Langley's photo checks out — unless she has a double — also a description of the clothes she was wearing yesterday. I've asked the deputy head to make a formal identification.'

  'How did he take it?'

  'Shocked. Horrified. Worried about the school. He didn't seem overly upset.' Then

  Horton told Cantelli where Jessica Langley had lived.

  'Well, I certainly didn't see anyone being murdered last night, or being dumped on a boat!'

  'She might not have returned home after school.'

  'Let's hope for our sake she didn't,' Cantelli replied with feeling, before sneezing. 'I think my cold's getting worse.'

  'Well, see if you can contain it until after we've caught our killer.'

  Taking out his handkerchief, Cantelli said, 'I hope that's bloody soon or I could end up with pneumonia.'

  And I could do with catching our clever Dick murderer, thought Horton, as well as Mickey Johnson's partner in crime. Horton could just imagine the stick he'd get if it proved to be the case that Langley had been murdered in her apartment. Uckfield's scorn would be unbearable and Horton guessed he could kiss goodbye to any chances of promotion.

  He glanced across at the men labouring on the building site and wondered for a moment what his life might have been like if he'd made a different career choice. For a brief time he had almost become a professional footballer until a motorbike accident had put paid to that. But the police service had always attracted him, or at least, he thought with a secret smile, Bernard, his foster father, had made him see that. 'It's like a family,' he had once said. 'You're on the inside and everyone else is on the outside. You look out for one another.' And, oh, how those magic words had touched a nerve. Horton had needed a family badly. Still did now that Catherine had chosen to ditch him. Cantelli broke through his thoughts. He was glad.

  'Hey up, we've got company.'

  Horton turned to see a short stout man with a goatee beard and a cross expression heading towards them on splayed feet.

  'Can't you see this is a building site? You should be wearing hard hats,' he complained, pointing at his own bright yellow one.

  Cantelli pulled out his warrant card.

  The man glanced at it, looked surprised and then sheepish. 'Sorry, didn't know. You should still be wearing hard hats though. Neil Cyrus, assistant caretaker. Is it about the break-in last night? I've already spoken to some of your lot this morning.' He gulped as he finished speaking as if he couldn't quite suck enough air into his lungs.

  A nervous mannerism, Horton guessed, which had become a habit. Horton recognized the name from the information that DC Walters had given to him earlier. Scrutinizing Cyrus, he tried to put an age on him yet found it difficult, he could have been anywhere between thirty and late forties. His pale brown eyes were like beads and set too close together.

  Horton said, 'I understand you were on duty until ten o'clock last night.'

  Cyrus looked slightly wary. 'Yes.'

  'And you were here early this morning. That's a long working day.' But not as long as mine, thought Horton, wondering when he might be able to afford the luxury of sleep.

  Cyrus's expression cleared. 'We do shifts, me and Bill Ashling. He's my boss. Yesterday I was on the late shift. Today I'm on the early shift, and Bill will come on duty at two o'clock, when I go off.'

  Tom Edney had said that no one else had been on the school premises except Jessica Langley when he had left. He was wrong. Perhaps, though, he hadn't thought to include the assistant caretaker because, in Edney's estimation, Cyrus didn't count, it was his job to be on site. Had Edney discounted anyone else?

  He said, 'Who was the last person to leave the school last night?'

  'Ms Langley at seven fifteen p.m.'

  'Was she alone?'

  'Yes.' Cyrus looked surprised at the question. He removed his hat. Horton noticed the small beads of perspiration on his brow. Why so nervous, or was Cyrus like this with everyone?

  'Can you tell me what she was wearing?'

  'What's that got to do with the break-in?' Cyrus exclaimed, taken aback.

  Horton said nothing. Cyrus flushed, then said, 'Her black trouser suit.'

  'Trousers and jacket?'

  'Yes, why?'

  'Was she carrying anything?'

  Cyrus frowned in thought. 'Her briefcase. She turned and waved to me before getting into her car. Is there anything wrong?'

  Horton wondered if the briefcase could have contained a laptop computer. 'You saw her drive off?'

  'Yes.' Cyrus shifted uneasily.

  There was no reason why Cyrus shouldn't be telling the truth. Horton gave what he considered to be a reassuring smile except that it seemed to make Cyrus even more nervous. Interesting.

  After a moment he said, waving a hand at the building site, 'What's this going to be then?'

  'A new hall, drama and media suite.'

  'Must be costing a packet?'

  'We got government money and raised some funds ourselves.'

  Horton noted with interest the slight defensive tone. 'We?'

  'The school, and Mr Edney. It's his baby really.'

  Why then hadn't Edney been more upset over the break-in when Horton had first arrived in Edney's office, before he'd dropped the bombshell of his head teacher's death? He'd have thought Edney would have launched a tirade on why the police weren't able to catch the criminals. And Edney had said nothing about it being the second break-in.

  'Do you have any idea who's doing the stealing?' Cantelli asked.

  'Could be anyone around here.' Cyrus's eyes swivelled round the area to take in the council maisonettes and tower blocks. 'It's probably one of the kids' fathers. You know, the kid tips him the wink that there's stuff lying around for the taking.'

  Horton wouldn't be surprised. He'd get the community police officers to sniff around. 'Who's the architect?' he asked.

  'Leo Ranson. This is him now.'

  Horton followed Cyrus's gaze as a black Range Rover slid in through the gates and drew up beside Cante
lli's car. A tall, stockily built man with dark hair beginning to grey at the temples, wearing a well-cut suit and sporting a yellow bow tie, climbed out. Horton watched as he threw a Barbour, which clearly wasn't as old as Dr Price's, around his shoulders. He pulled on a pair of green Hunters, grabbed a white hard hat from the back of the car and headed towards them.

  'Hello, Mr Ranson,' Cyrus greeted the architect cheerfully. 'Come to visit the scene of the crime?'

  Leo Ranson scowled. He had a strong face with a prominent nose and piercing blue eyes that were slightly hostile. He was, Horton estimated, in his mid-forties.

  'I don't think that's very funny,' Ranson replied sharply, and without any kind of accent.

  Cyrus flushed.

  Ranson turned his haughty gaze on Horton and Cantelli. 'And who might you be?'

  Cantelli did the honours and showed his warrant card. Horton remained silent. Assessing Ranson, he got the impression of a vain, disgruntled man, who looked as though he'd had a row with his wife or fellow directors, or both, that morning.

  Ranson's mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. 'Two plainclothes detectives and one of inspector rank to investigate a break-in. My, we are honoured.'

  Horton said evenly, 'We take theft very seriously, Mr Ranson.'

  'You haven't in the past, so why the change of heart?'

  Horton ignored Ranson's supercilious manner. But it was a question that maybe Edney and Cyrus should have asked. 'How often do you visit the site, sir?'

  'I really don't see what that has to do with the break-in, but, if you must know, once a week.'

  'And is this the first time this week?'

  'Yes.'

  'No, it isn't, Mr Ranson,' Cyrus volunteered with a gleam in his eyes that Horton interpreted as, I'll get you back for embarrassing me. 'You were here yesterday for a meeting with Ms Langley.'