hopes rose and he felt his pulse racing. He rapidly assimilated the information and put it together with what the head teacher of Nettleside High, Simon Thornecombe, had told them, that Langley had visited that school on the day she had been killed. Perhaps it hadn't been until then that she had recognized the antiques thief and decided to blackmail him.
This is the way we go to school… This is the way we come out of school… And, if Horton remembered correctly, Jessica Langley would have driven past Nettleside High on her way to her own school and on her way home. Oh, they had a joker killer on their hands all right. And that wasn't all Horton learned from his phone calls.
In the car, as they headed towards Nettleside High, he said to Cantelli: 'Not only do all the grandchildren have keys to their grandparent's flats but they all attend after school drama classes, and who better to impersonate a police officer, fire safety officer, priest and a neighbour but a drama teacher?'
Cantelli let out a low whistle. 'He's smart this one.'
And wicked, thought Horton, as the image of Langley's body, abandoned on the mulberry with her flesh covered by the small crabs, assailed him, not to mention poor Tom Edney lying in that pool of blood with his throat slit. The poor man hadn't deserved that and Horton still felt some responsibility for his death even though he knew that he shouldn't do. He desperately wanted to catch this smart-alec killer and wipe the smirk from his face. He realized that this was now nothing to do with finding the killer before Tony Dennings took control of the case, or proving himself to Uckfield. It was simply a case of bringing an evil killer to justice.
He said, 'A drama teacher or coach would know how to disguise himself and put on an act. He could chat to the kids about their grandparents, take an impression of the keys whilst the little darlings are on stage, and if he doesn't get it right first time, he can always try again, the following week or maybe when they're in another class. All we have to do now is find out who teaches drama at Nettleside High and we've got him.'
'Sounds simple.'
'I know, and that's what makes me nervous.' Horton had learnt a long time ago that nothing in this life was ever simple or straightforward.
'And you reckon this drama teacher used Mickey Johnson and his mate to carry out the robberies.'
'The last one anyway. Johnson had to take the stolen goods to the victim's boat because our man was killing Langley on his boat and taking her to the mulberry that night.'
'It's bad luck for Johnson then that the drunk stumbled on to the boat and gave him away.'
Horton stiffened. Cantelli's words uttered so casually were like a dousing in icy cold water. They stole the breath from him. It couldn't be. But he was instantly sure that he was right. At last he was getting inside the mind of this killer. 'My God, Barney, this gets more complicated by the minute. I think that was deliberate.'
Cantelli threw him a puzzled glance before putting his eyes back on the road.
Horton continued. 'We got an anonymous tip off that something was going down at the Town Camber that night. We were even told which row of boats to keep under surveillance. That drunk appeared out of nowhere and knew exactly whose boat to stumble on and we know it wasn't his own boat. I think Johnson and his mate were set up by this drunk and he has to be our antiques mastermind, and our killer.'
'He took a hell of a risk.'
'Did he though? What happened to him in the mad panic after Johnson was rumbled?'
'I…er…I don't know. I grabbed Johnson, you went after the boy and Elkins jumped on the boat and got the holdall of stolen goods. The drunk sort of got shoved out of the way.'
'And did you get a name and address?'
'Shit!'
Horton knew it. It confirmed his theory. 'Don't worry. It would probably have been false.'
'We might have recognized him though.'
'Not this man. He's a master at disguise.'
'But why go to all that trouble?' Cantelli asked, swinging into the car park at Nettleside High School.
'We'll ask him, but I wouldn't mind betting it was for the hell of it, the thrill of the thing or because he thought it would be a good joke to play on us.'
'He's quite a card. Can't wait to meet him.'
Neither could Horton and soon they would.
They were ushered quickly into the head's office by Thornecombe's anxious secretary. Horton didn't waste any time with the preliminaries but came straight to the point. He was too eager to get this bloody killer.
'I'm sorry, Inspector, but we don't have a drama teacher. It's not on our curriculum.'
Horton's heart sank. This couldn't be another dead end, surely? This morning he had told Uckfield his theory and got a sceptical look for his troubles. Uckfield had grumbled something about letting his imagination run wild and that this wasn't Book at Bedtime, but he grudgingly admitted there might be something in it. Those telephone calls to the victims had surely proved he and Cantelli were right.
Horton persisted. 'But you do hold after-school drama classes.'
'Yes, on Tuesdays.'
Thank heavens for that. 'Who takes them?' Horton asked eagerly.
Thornecombe looked puzzled. 'Timothy Boston. He's an excellent teacher.'
Horton hoped he hid his surprise. He flashed Cantelli a look. The sergeant raised his eyebrows slightly as Horton quickly mentally recalled Boston: stockily built, clean cut and handsome, wearing a good suit and placing a comforting hand on Susan Pentlow's arm. A pompous man who had been concerned about delaying the building of the new drama suite, and who had also omitted to mention that he taught performing arts. Of course! Boston had a foot in both camps.
Cantelli said, 'But Mr Boston teaches at the Sir Wilberforce Cutler School.'
'We share resources. I mentioned that before,' Thornecombe replied. 'It was one of Ms Langley's ideas.'
It explained why she would willingly have gone to meet Boston.
Horton heard Cantelli ask: 'How long has Mr Boston taught drama here?'
Thornecombe addressed Horton. 'What is this about, Inspector?'
'I can't tell you yet, sir.'
'If it reflects on the reputation of my school then I have a right to know?' Thornecombe bristled.
Horton said firmly, 'Can you just answer the question, sir? How long has Mr Boston taught drama here?'
Thornecombe looked as though he wanted to explode. Horton saw it was an effort for him to hold on to his temper. This clearly was a man who was used to being obeyed without question.
Tight-lipped, Thornecombe relied, 'About six weeks, since the start of term, and he ran a summer school during the holidays.'
So, plenty of time to get close to the kids and find out about their habits and their doting grandparents. What a brain. But why do it and risk a good career? Was it for the money? But teachers weren't badly paid these days. However, Boston had been wearing an expensive suit and perhaps his tastes were bigger than his wallet.
Thornecombe said, 'Mr Boston has been cleared by the police and has impeccable references.'
Horton asked, 'Is he here?' It was Tuesday after all, and half term at the Sir Wilberforce.
'He will be later for the classes. They start at four p.m. Am I expected to cancel them? Only at short notice-'
'Carry on as usual, Dr Thornecombe.' If they didn't find Boston by then, at least Horton knew where he'd be later that day. There would be no reason for him not to turn up. Boston couldn't know they were on to him. The head teacher wouldn't be pleased at the disruption an arrest would cause him, but that was too bad.
After extracting a promise that Thornecombe wouldn't say anything to Boston about their visit, if he saw him before they did, Horton and Cantelli left him looking worried and very cross.
Cantelli zapped open the car. 'Boston never said he taught here. At least I don't think it's in his statement.'
'Why should it be? He wasn't asked that question, only where he was when Langley was killed.'
'Which, if I remember correctly, was at home watching The Maltese Falcon. And I thought here's a man with taste.'
Yes, the kind that needed robberies to fund them. And they were clever robberies at that. So was Boston the drunk on the pontoon? The build was right. Had Boston been the anonymous caller to CID on the morning of the last robbery and so had shopped Johnson and his mate? Horton guessed so. He had decided to silence Langley and put
