'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 Cantelli'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.'
Ranson glared at him. 'I'd forgotten. Neil is quite correct. We were discussing progress, and whether or not the hall would be ready for the official opening in March.'
'And will it?' asked Cantelli.
'If we don't have any more break-ins, and we are allowed to get on with our work,' Ranson said curtly before storming off.
'He's temperamental,' explained Cyrus with a sneer.
Horton watched the architect as he crossed to talk to a man who was clearly the boss — he was wearing a white hard hat like Ranson's. The exchange didn't look as though it was a particularly pleasant one, but Ranson appeared to gain the upper hand. He was obviously a man who didn't like being thwarted.
Cantelli thanked the assistant caretaker but they had only gone a few paces before Horton turned back. 'How long have you worked here, Mr Cyrus?' he asked casually.
'Three months,' Cyrus answered, clearly surprised at the question. Horton also saw signs of the nervousness return. Well, if that made him anxious this next question was going to really make him sweat.
'And the name of your last school?'
'St Matthews, Basingstoke. Why?'
'No reason.'
Horton smiled to himself at Cyrus's anxious expression. As they made their way back to the car Horton said to Cantelli, 'Run a check on Neil Cyrus as well as Eric Morville when you get back to the station. And speak to Cyrus's last school. Ask if they have any unsolved break-ins.'
'You think it could be an inside job.'
'One break-in could be outsiders, but two looks decidedly iffy to me. And if it is two,' he added, peering into Ranson's Range Rover, 'does that make it more likely Langley was killed by Cyrus because she stumbled on a break-in or less likely?'
'Search me.'
'Is Ranson looking this way?'
'Yes.'
'Walk round the other side of the car, Barney, and peer inside.'
'Why?'
'Because I don't like Ranson, and I don't like his manner.'
Cantelli smiled. 'Sounds a good enough reason to me.'
'What's he doing now?'
'Frowning. He looks very annoyed.'
'Good.' Horton noted the manila files on the passenger seat and some toys and children's books on the back seat before looking up. 'I think that will do.'
As he crossed to Cantelli's car he glanced in Ranson's direction. The architect was indeed frowning at him, though Horton thought fuming would be a more apt description. Climbing into the car, Horton said, 'Head for Langley's apartment, Barney. Walters should be there by now.'
Soon they were turning into a residential street that ran almost parallel to the quayside of Town Camber. On the right and backing on to the small harbour was a stylish low-rise block of apartments. Cantelli swung the car into the entrance as DC Walters hauled his bulk out of his car and waddled over to the gate to let them in.
Climbing out, Horton scanned the car park in front of the building. There was no sign of Langley's car. 'Do these apartments come with garages?'
'No. Only residents' parking,' replied Walters.
Had there been a red TVR parked here last night, when he'd run past giving chase to Mickey Johnson's accomplice, the athletic youth? Horton tried to remember, but he'd been too preoccupied to notice.
He studied the impressive red-brick building. The plaque in the wall told him it had been built in the early 1990s. The architect had done a good job here, he thought, wondering if Leo Ranson had had any part in its development. It blended well with the old buildings and ancient harbour fortifications not a stone's throw away. This was a very select area of Portsmouth, and in complete contrast to where Eric Morville lived, both financially and architecturally. There surely couldn't be a link between Morville and Langley? Morville claimed not to have any family, but maybe he was lying. Could he have a granddaughter or grandson, niece or nephew at the Sir Wilberforce? It was possible. Perhaps something had happened at the school for which Morville held Langley responsible, and he had sought revenge. But then, Horton told himself sternly, Langley had only been at the Sir Wilberforce six months, and Morville had an alibi, which they would need to check out.
Horton pointed to the camera just above the entrance. 'That could be useful.'
But Walters was shaking his head as he pressed the key fob against the pad on the wall. 'It doesn't record anything, just lets the residents see who is ringing their bell, or who wants to come into the car park. The individual apartments aren't alarmed, unless a resident has installed one.'
