‘Miss Foreshore. Won’t you sit?
A part of Cori couldn’t resist the impression that she was here to be asked about her homework.
‘Please don’t tell me one of the children are in trouble. What have they done now?’
‘It’s not that. No one’s in trouble.’
‘Then it’s a parent. Oh Lord. Which child? I’ll fetch them for you.’
‘No, please don’t worry. It’s not that,’ she repeated. ‘We are investigating a serious matter, but one that I’m sure none of your children will prove to be caught up in.’ A white lie, but necessary for the lady’s nerves.
‘Oh?’ the secretary was still far from settled.
‘I wonder, do you know a Ms Stella Dunbar?’
‘She’s one of our tutors.’
‘I’m afraid she died last night.’
‘And you want to tell her students? I understand. She was English Lit., wasn’t she?’ The lady began rustling through her well-organised desk drawers.
‘She seemed like a few different subjects.’ Cori remembered the books on Stella’s dining table. ‘But what I really need are the names of those who saw her.’
‘Well that’s why I ask her subject: you see we only keep a list here of those qualified tutors we know in the area, to recommend to parents. But as for the students who were seeing them at any one time, well, that’s a private matter between the tutor and the parents.’
‘And do you remember recommending any parents?’
‘Well… there are several tutors, and so many parents; and it might not have been me here when they came in to ask… Ah, here we are.’ Miss Foreshore pulled a piece of paper from the cantilevers and dividers, ‘So what do we know about her? Oh yes, there’s almost every subject listed here, and all ages too. That will be trickier.’
‘Why so?’ asked Cori as she took the piece of paper offered.
‘Well often the student’s teacher in that subject will know if there’s a tutor, might even have recommended the parents to them. Had she taught only one subject I would have known the teacher to ask. As it is, the best bet will be for me to announce the news in the Staff Room tomorrow morning before registration — that’s the one time all the teachers are guaranteed to be there. They need to know in case they have students with appointments: we don’t want a child going around there after school and finding she’s not there. I wonder, could I ask?’
‘Of course. I’m afraid her death appears violent… though clearly not the work of a child,’ added Cori quickly to reassure the secretary.
‘And do you know who..?’
‘I’m afraid not; however a student was there that day and might have seen something.’
‘Poor dear, I do hope not.’ The secretary pondered a moment, before asking, ‘You’ll have been through Stella’s things: she didn’t leave any record of who she was tutoring?’
‘Only a diary with what we think may be initials: EN and SK; and we believe one was a girl with long dark hair, and that she had a female friend.’
‘But you don’t know which was the long-dark-haired girl? You’ll see that doesn’t give me much to go on. I can look through the registers and see if a name jumps out at me — it’s hard to think with just the initials; but otherwise we’ll have to hope a teacher knows something tomorrow.’
‘Then thank you. Can I ask, did you have any dealings with Ms Dunbar?’
‘Well only occasionally through the office. She was always very professional.’
‘And what did people think of her generally? Did you recommend her often?’
‘Oh yes, we did recommend her. Her fees were at the high end, but she earned them, Sergeant. In fact… she could rather embarrass a teacher with the effect she could have on a student: twenty, even forty percent improvements in grades when she really connected with them. There are a lot of people in this town with passes who wouldn’t have them if it hadn’t been for her. She will be missed.’
‘Here’s my number — call me any time with the slightest thing.’
Cori thanked Miss Foreshore, and skipped quickly from the low-ceilinged building, off to walk the short way back to the station and prepare for school two.
Rossiter’s Solicitors in Law had been a long-standing feature of Southney’s High Street, one of those shopfronts that remained the same decade in-decade out and which reassured in the belief that some things could be permanent and may endure. Of course Rossiter himself could not have endured for so long as the shop, and Grey, who hadn’t been in there for years nor could remember who had attended him then, assumed it would be a partner or descendant that he would need to speak to on this occasion.
It was a woman buzzed by the secretary and who brought Grey into her office, calling for coffee to be provided,
‘Raine Rossiter, Inspector. I’m the third generation; and as long as there’s a Rossiter to run the shop we’ll be here on the High Street. Of course I’m married, this is only my professional name; like an actress,’ she giggled in a way Grey might normally have found irritating.
‘I’m afraid it’s sad news that brings me here.’
‘As is so often the case.’ Her mood changed in an instant. ‘A will, a loved one — people rarely visit us out of joy.’
‘Not sad for me personally, but thank you.’
‘I know, your assistant called ahead.’
‘Then you know about Ms Dunbar.’
‘Stella, dead.’ She shook her head.
‘I’m afraid so.’
Who could imagine?’
‘How were you told?’
‘Rachel called me this morning.’
‘Now, you represent Ms Dunbar and the Trust?’
‘My father is the Trust’s named solicitor, but I do the day-to-day work around here now. But,’ her mood changed again, ‘a death at the Cedars doesn’t normally bring out an Inspector.’
‘I’m afraid it was no natural death. Stella was murdered.’
At that moment the receptionist brought in the coffee.
‘Oh Andrea, you won’t believe what the Inspector’s come about.’ Raine Rossiter turned quickly to Grey, ‘You don’t mind if I tell her..? Andrea, Stella Dunbar’s death wasn’t natural, she’s been murdered.’
Andrea’s reaction was no less dramatic than her employer’s; who instructed,
‘Call Rachel for me, will you, and tell her I’ll call myself as soon as I’m finished with the Inspector.’
Andrea disappeared leaving the coffee unserved.
Grey resumed, ‘There are certain details of the Trust I must know.’
‘They’re happy for you to know?’
‘They know it’s a murder investigation.’
‘There are several files — where should we start?’
‘The Trustees?’
She took a card folder from a filing tray in her desk, the tray presumably for those papers she needing keeping handy, opened the folder and read,
‘The Cedars Trust, registered sixteen years ago; with Ms S Dunbar as a Trustee, along with a Mr D Waldron as the only other original one still listed, I notice. There’s a whole inventory of names here, past and present. Do you want them all?’ He nodded and she passed him the paper, ‘Ask Andrea to make you a copy on your way out.’
He read the names, several recorded as long deceased while others were familiar from the day’s enquiries. One name jumped out,
‘Rachel Sowton is a Trustee?’
‘Yes, made so five years ago.’
‘And there’s a name missing here.’ He looked up and down the list again. ‘Charlie Prove.’
‘Charlie’s never been a Trustee,’ she said matter-of-factly.
‘But he should have been made one a decade ago.’
Grey may have phrased this as a statement but would till have liked an answer. None forthcoming, he
