never occurred to me. No, I’ve never met any of them. And as far as I know, none of them had any connection with FODA.’
‘FODA?’
‘Friends of the Double Aitch. It’s an alumni organization that organizes reunions and raises money. I’m surprised you’ve not been approached to join.’
Kevin gave him a flat, level stare. ‘Apart from the footie, it would be fair to say that these were not the best days of my life.’ Without taking his eyes off Foster, he pulled out his notebook. ‘We believe Tom Cross was lured to his death by someone purporting to be you,’ he said.
Foster literally flinched, as if Kevin had slapped him. ‘Me?’ he yelped.
Kevin glanced at the notes he’d taken from the conversation he’d had with Carol Jordan only minutes before meeting Foster. ‘A letter on what appears to be the school’s headed notepaper was sent to Cross, apparently from you, asking for his help arranging security at a charity fundraiser for the school.’ Kevin showed the phone number to Foster. ‘Is this the school number?’
Foster shook his head. ‘No. Nothing like it. I don’t recognize it.’
‘It connects to an answering machine that says it’s Harriestown High. According to Superintendent Cross’s widow, her husband left a message on the machine and someone claiming to be you called him back.’
Foster, agitated and twitchy, said, ‘No. This is all wrong. Nothing remotely like this ever happened.’
‘It’s all right, sir. We’re not treating you as a suspect. We think you’ve been impersonated. But I need to run these things past you.’ He almost wanted to pat Foster on the knee in a bid to calm his twittering.
Foster sucked his lips in and made a visible effort to pull himself together. ‘OK. I’m sorry, it’s just a little shaking to be told you’re implicated in a murder inquiry.’
‘I appreciate that. The fundraiser was supposed to be at Pannal Castle?’
‘No, this is mad. I don’t know Lord Pannal or anybody connected to him. I mean, it would be wonderful to do an event there, but no. Nothing has ever been suggested, never mind planned.’
Kevin continued without a pause. ‘Now, again according to Mrs Cross, the person claiming to be you told her husband to liaise with the event organizer, a man called Jake Andrews. Have you ever worked with anyone by that name? Jake Andrews?’
Foster breathed out heavily. ‘No. That name means nothing to me.’
Kevin, watching him carefully, saw nothing to indicate the man was lying. ‘I need you to check the school records,’ he said.
Foster nodded, his Adam’s apple bouncing up and down. ‘We’ve been computerized for a few years now, but all the old stuff is still on paper. I’ll call the school secretary. She knows where to find it. If there’s any record of this man, we’ll find it.’
‘Thanks. Sooner the better, really. We may want to come back and talk to some of your longer-serving staff members,’ Kevin said, getting to his feet. ‘One last thing–where were you yesterday lunchtime? Around one o’clock?’
‘Me?’ Foster seemed unsure whether to be angry or upset.
‘You.’
‘I was birdwatching at Martin Mere in Lancashire with a group of friends,’ he said, standing on his dignity. ‘We arrived around noon and stayed till sunset. I can supply you with names.’
Kevin fished out a card with his email address. ‘Send them there. I look forward to hearing from you.’ He gave the pitch a last lingering look, then walked away, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t often life presented him with the chance to make a teacher miserable in the course of duty. It was petty, he knew, but he’d enjoyed taking a small revenge on behalf of his sixteen-year-old self.
The Campion Locks had started life as a boatmen’s drinking house back when the canals of the north of England had shifted coal and wool back and forth across the Pennines. It was set back from the canal, near the basin where three major waterways came together. When it had been built, Temple Fields was a literal name for the area. Now, instead of animals grazing outside the pub, the Sunday-morning crowd grazed on bruschetta and bagels, calming their scrambled stomachs with eggs and smoked salmon.
As they approached, Chris checked out the eclectic mix of customers. She nudged Paula in the ribs and said, ‘Now this is a bit of all right. Jordan should send us places like this more often. We fit right in here, doll. I’ll have to bring Sinead down here one of these Sundays, remind her what young love feels like.’
‘You’re lucky you’ve got someone to remind,’ Paula said. ‘I’ve got to the point where sex feels like a past-life experience.’
‘You need to get out more. Find some gorgeous girl who’ll bring a smile to your chops.’ Chris steered a path through the drinkers milling around on the paved area beyond the tables, waiting for seats to be vacated.
That is so going to happen in this job,’ Paula said. ‘Every time I get a night off, all I want to do is sleep.’
They walked through the doors. It was almost as thronged inside, but much noisier because of the slate floors and low ceiling. ‘Speaking of which…’ Chris said. ‘How are you sleeping these days?’
‘Better,’ Paula said curtly, head down as she rooted in her bag for the photo of Jack Anderson.
‘Glad to hear it.’ Chris turned and gave Paula’s elbow a squeeze. ‘For what it’s worth, doll, I think you’re doing brilliant.’
They made it to the bar, where three bar staff and a waitress struggled to keep pace with orders for drinks and food. Chris flashed her warrant card at one of the barmen who laughed out loud and said, ‘You’ve got to be kidding. Come back in an hour when the rush has died down.’
Normally, her eagerness to get the job done would have made her remonstrate with the barman. But the sun was shining and they’d both seen too much unpleasantness in the past twenty-four hours. So much death had reminded Chris that there were times when it was important to pause and smell the flowers. So she smiled. ‘In that
