mulberry, wondered Horton. It seemed possible. But where could that boat have come from? There were hundreds of places to keep a boat around the coast. Tracing it could be a mammoth task; it could take for ever. And he didn't have for ever.
'Would that blow on the head have killed her?' He pointed at the caved-in skull on the right-hand side of the victim's head.
'I won't know until I do the autopsy.'
'But if she was alive when she was struck surely there would have been blood.'
'Yes, and a great deal of it, and there is none on her clothes, or that I can see on the rest of her body.'
And Horton hadn't seen any on the mulberry, though the sea could have washed that away.
'Which suggests that she could already have been dead when she was hit, hence a limited amount of bleeding,' added Gaye, pre-empting him.
Cantelli looked up and with a click of his fingers cried, 'I've got it! I know who she is.' Then his elated expression clouded. 'But it can't be. Who would want to kill her, and like this?'
'Are you going to let us into your secret or do we have to play twenty questions,' Horton quipped.
'Sorry, Andy, it just took me by surprise. She's the new head teacher at Sir Wilberforce Cutler School.'
'Are you sure?' he asked, taken aback by Cantelli's pronouncement, recalling that the Wilberforce had a reputation that made Parkhurst Prison sound like a holiday camp, which was obviously why Cantelli was reluctant to send the third of his five children there.
'Positive. Charlotte and I met her in July, just before the end of term. Marie goes up to the big school next September, and Sir Wilberforce is one of the schools we've been told we'd have to consider if there were no places at our first two choices. She showed us around.'
'What's her name?'
'Jessica Langley.'
It didn't ring any bells with Horton. 'I've not heard of her.'
'You wouldn't. She only started there at Easter, in April.'
That had been when Horton had been on suspension. It was also when Catherine had kicked him out. He tried not to blame her for that but he didn't succeed. She should have supported him. How could she have believed he'd raped a girl? The thought still made him angry. Maybe if she had stood by him he wouldn't have turned to drink. Maybe then his marriage would still be intact. Maybe he would also have got the job he coveted. Life was full of bloody maybes.
'Do you know if she's married?' he asked, bringing his mind back to the case. He didn't have time for trips down memory lane or to waste on regrets.
Cantelli frowned, thinking back. 'I don't think so. We called her Ms anyway.'
'Who would want to kill a head teacher?' mused Gaye Clayton.
'A disaffected pupil or parent?' suggested Cantelli.
Horton hoped not. He didn't fancy organizing the interviewing of hundreds of school kids and their families. He said, 'A stabbing in the school playground or outside the school gates is more likely than stuffing her knickers with money, and dumping her body on the mulberry. This sounds too clever and calculated for it to be a Sir Wilberforce Cutler school kid or an irate parent.' And that would mean they would have to be even cleverer to catch her killer.
But that wasn't all. Horton saw by Cantelli's expression that he too had recalled there had been a break-in last night on a building site at the Sir Wilberforce Cutler School. Coincidence? Maybe. And though suspicious, Horton knew that coincidences weren't always significant. Dr Clayton put the time of death between nine and eleven p.m.; what time had the break-in taken place? Had their victim disturbed the thieves and been killed for her pains? But then why the devil put her on the mulberry?
Still, thanks to Cantelli, they now had something to start with. And confirming ID was one of the first things they needed to do. Horton knew that Joliffe, the forensic scientist would scrape some skin off their victim for fingerprints and take some DNA. So they should be able to match her prints with something taken from her office. DNA would take longer.
'Make for the Sir Wilberforce Cutler School, Barney,' Horton instructed, stretching the seat belt round him. 'I've got some calls to make.'
His first was to the local education authority. The second to the school, and the third to the station, where he asked to speak to DC Walters.
'Who reported the break-in at the Sir Wilberforce Cutler?'
'Don't know, guv.'
'Then find out,' Horton demanded tetchily. Walters seemed to take for ever. All the man had to do was look the bloody thing up on the computer. He heard Walters laboured breathing as he picked the phone up a couple of minutes later. About time!
'Sorry, guv. The computer's gone down. I had to find the file. A postman who was going into work at four thirty a.m. saw the school gates open and the padlock cut and thought it looked suspicious. A unit responded just after six a.m.'
'Did they find out when the break-in took place?'
'Only that it must have been between ten p.m. when the assistant caretaker, Neil Cyrus, left the premises and four thirty a.m. this morning when it was discovered.'
So it could have happened within the time frame in which Langley had been killed. 'Find out all you can about Jessica Langley. She's the head teacher of Sir Wilberforce Cutler School and our possible victim. I've already spoken to the local education authority and the school so no need to talk to them. See if she's got any previous, which I doubt, but check anyway. Look out any press reports on her. You know the drill.'
Walters did. He wasn't the quickest or brightest of detectives, and neither was he the most cheerful of human beings, but he'd do as he was told and that was about it. Initiative was another quality lacking in the DC. So how the hell had he got into CID? Maybe someone had owed him a favour, which made him think of Dennings. Had Uckfield owed Dennings? If so, why? Horton would like to know. Perhaps Walters had been shoved into CID because he wasn't any good at anything else.
Horton punched in Uckfield's number, a case of promoting, or moving someone beyond their competence to get rid of them. Had the vice squad wanted Dennings out of the way? No, that was unfair; Dennings had earned his promotion to inspector. Hadn't he? Cantelli didn't seem to think so.
'Inspector,' Uckfield snapped in answer.
Horton quickly and succinctly briefed him about Dr Clayton's findings and Cantelli's identification. Then said, 'The local education office say she isn't on a sabbatical or gardening leave. I didn't tell them why I wanted to know and didn't get her address either, until we're sure I don't want to alarm them. The school say she is expected in today, but hasn't shown yet. I'll get a photograph and we'll be able to match fingerprints. I might even find someone who will give us a positive ID.' He pitied the poor soul who would have to go through that ordeal.
'Does what was written on that betting slip have anything to do with the poem?' Uckfield asked.
'No. There is another thing, though,'Horton went on. 'There was a break-in last night at the school.'
Uckfield swore. 'Any connection?'
'Could be.'
'Keep me informed. I'll let the chief constable know.'
Horton rang off and stared out of the rain-smeared window. He watched the rain run in rivulets down the pane. The car heater was on full blast and for a moment sleep threatened to engulf him. He yawned widely and tried to marshal his thoughts. He had a week to solve this case and show Uckfield he'd made the wrong decision. He couldn't afford to be tired and neither could he allow himself to slip up on even the smallest of details.
He reached across and switched the heater off, then pressed his finger on the button and let the window glide down a few inches, allowing a chill damp blast of air to invade the car. Cantelli, who always seemed to suffer from the cold, shuddered elaborately and then, as if to remind Horton he had a cold coming, sneezed.
'We both need to stay alert,' Horton said. 'The fresh air will do you good.'
Cantelli didn't look convinced but said nothing.
Horton continued, 'This poem by Edward Lear, what significance does it have to the case?'
Cantelli chanted, ''O let us be married! too long we have tarried.' Perhaps Langley was running off with a lover, but something went wrong and lover boy stuffed her knickers full of money and honey.'
