'Wouldn't your parents have questioned that? I wouldn't have thought they'd like their children mixing with state school kids,' Horton said, raising his eyebrows.
'It's a good point, Inspector, and no doubt I would have had quite a job winning over some of the parents. But my reasoning is that our pupils will need to mix with all sorts of people in this world, and it is wise to prepare them for that.'
Horton thought he should have brought Jake Marsden with him. He'd been privately educated and now mixed with all sorts of low-lives — and that was just the coppers.
'Maybe you can start again with the new head?'
'I hope so. It would be a pity to lose that vision. Mr Edney's an excellent deputy, good at the detail. Just what you need in a deputy, I can assure you of that. I'm just not sure he will have Ms Langley's drive and energy. People like Jessica Langley are rare.'
So he hadn't heard the news, which was surprising when it had been reported on the radio and television this morning.
'I am sorry to have to tell you, sir, that Mr Edney is dead. We are also treating his death as suspicious.'
'Dead! Good God! When? How? I don't believe it.' Thornecombe looked genuinely shocked. He sprang forward in his chair and stared at each of them in turn. 'But this is dreadful. What is going on?'
'That's what we're trying to ascertain, sir.'
Horton saw from Thornecombe's expression that he was very rapidly making the connection between Langley's death and their request to see the architect.
Thornecombe, clearly horrified, cried, 'But you can't think that Mr Ranson has anything to do with it?'
'Mr Edney was killed on Saturday evening. You hadn't heard?'
The slight pucker of Thornecombe's eyebrows and a flicker in his grey eyes told Horton that the head teacher was not used to having his questions ignored. Nevertheless he said, evenly, 'My wife and I have been away for the weekend, and I had an early morning meeting with prospective parents. I am appalled at this.'
And worried, thought Horton, that his architect and therefore his school might be dragged into it. 'Do you know of anyone who might have had a vendetta against both Ms Langley and Mr Edney?'
'A vendetta?' Thornecombe stared, aghast, at him. 'That's a strong word.'
'Murder is a very nasty business, sir.'
'Murder! Yes, of course. I suppose it has to be that. Good grief! I can't imagine anyone doing such a dreadful thing.'
'Unfortunately we have to imagine, sir, and the worse case scenario too.'
'I-' Thornecombe was interrupted by a timid knock on the door. 'Come in,' he barked.
A harassed-looking woman poked her head into the room. 'Mr Ranson, sir,' she announced hesitantly.
'Show him in, Joan.' Thornecombe rose, made to say something, then thought better of it as Ranson swept in with a face like thunder. Thornecombe didn't even look at the architect as he left the room.
As soon as the door closed, Ranson rounded on Horton. 'Just what the hell do you think you're doing, coming here, demanding to see me when I'm in the middle of an important project, treating me like some kind of criminal?'
If it was an act then it was a good one. 'Sit down, Mr Ranson.'
'No, I damn well won't,' Ranson hotly declared, glaring at him with the vivid blue eyes that Horton recalled from their previous meeting, only this time instead of haughty indifference they were shooting daggers.
'Sit down,' repeated Horton, firmly, as he walked around Thornecombe's desk and took the seat vacated by the head teacher. On the desk was a silver-framed photograph of a young man in a dog-collar who looked very much like a younger version of Simon Thornecombe.
'You don't intimidate me, Inspector. I'll sit when you tell me why I've been hauled in here,' Ranson blazed.
Horton gave a small shrug and sat back in the slightly rocking swivel chair.
'We need to ask you some questions about Jessica Langley.'
'For goodness sake! I really don't see what-'
'How well did you know her, sir?' interjected Cantelli casually.
Ranson swivelled his eyes to meet Cantelli's. Ranson would have to do better than glaring at the sergeant to make Cantelli react, thought Horton. But Horton could see that Ranson was uneasy. He couldn't maintain the same air of righteous indignation because now Horton guessed his mind was racing with trying to weigh up how much they knew about his affair with Langley.
Stiffly, Ranson replied, 'She was the head teacher at a school where I was the architect responsible for designing and developing a new building. Even you could have gathered that from our first meeting.'
Horton thought Ranson a bit heavy-handed with the sarcasm. Was it a defence mechanism perhaps? His experience told him that Ranson was clearly uncomfortable about something: was that murder? He had also avoided answering the question. Behind those piercing blue eyes, the bow-tie and the supercilious manner, Horton saw a worried man, and if Daphne Edney was correct, a man who had known Jessica Langley a darn sight better than just professionally. Time to ease off and make him think they believed him.
'You seem to specialize in school buildings.'
'We handle a variety of projects,' Ranson replied curtly, 'and if that's all you want to talk to me about then I suggest you make an appointment with my secretary.'
He had reached the door when Horton, his voice as hard as steel, said, 'We know about your affair with Jessica Langley.'
Ranson froze. His body tensed. Slowly he turned back and scrutinized Horton's face. 'Who told you?'
Horton remained silent.
After a moment Ranson crossed the room and sat in the chair that Horton had earlier vacated. The hostility had vanished and Horton was now looking at a nervous and worried man.
'When did the affair begin?' Cantelli asked.
Ranson tried a last-ditch attempt to give Cantelli a withering look, but it didn't come off and only served to make him look sheepish. Seeing there was nothing for it, Ranson reluctantly capitulated.
'About a month ago. It wasn't really an affair though.'
'Then what was it?' asked Horton.
Ranson pulled out a handkerchief, which he proceeded to wipe his hands with. 'Just a bit of fun. It didn't mean anything.'
Horton could see that Ranson was beginning to rehearse in his mind what he might have to tell his wife. Horton didn't think 'a bit of fun' was going to win her over though.
'I finished it a week ago.'
'Then why did you visit her on the evening of her death?'
'I didn't.'
For Horton, the too swift denial confirmed Daphne Edney's story. He threw the pencil down and slapped his hand on the desk. 'Stop lying to me, Ranson. Two people are dead.'
'Two?'
Horton said sharply, 'Tom Edney was brutally murdered on Saturday night. Where were you between three and seven p.m.' Horton knew of course, but no harm in making Ranson sweat, and he was sweating now.
'You can't think…I didn't have…I didn't even know he was dead.'
Horton contrived to look incredulous. Ranson flushed and mopped his brow with the handkerchief. He was clearly no longer the supercilious architect, but a very anxious and frightened man.
'I went sailing for the weekend with my family to Guernsey. I have witnesses,' he cried with a note of desperation.
'And for Langley's murder,' rapped Horton.
'I was at home with my wife.'
Oh, yeah, thought Horton, pull the other one; it's got bells on.
He said, 'Not according to our witness you weren't. Did you kill her?'
'Of course I didn't,' Ranson declared vehemently.
Did Horton believe him? It didn't look like an act, and the man had gone quite pale, but then Horton had seen some Oscar-winning performances before from murderers. 'You asked Jessica Langley to meet you on your boat at
