‘Can they do that, Gil? I mean, isn’t it illegal to stage cover-ups?’
‘Oh, I’d say it happens quite a lot, love. And Rebecca’s father was a councillor . . . had quite a lot of influence, apparently. A slippery character according to Noakes.’
‘Who told you about Phil Carmichael in the first place?’
‘Leo Cartwright. But he asked me not to quote him . . . Afraid he’d get into trouble. At the moment, it’s all pretty nebulous. That’s one reason why I held off pumping Mat.’
‘One reason?’
‘Well, I know this sounds bizarre . . .’ His voice trailed off.
‘Try me,’ his girlfriend said encouragingly.
‘I couldn’t bear to make Mat pick over another squalid episode from the school’s archives. He looks so happy in the new job. It felt like there’d be something heartless in making him talk about more skeletons in Hope’s closet . . .’
‘You’re right, Gil.’ She smiled warmly at him. ‘After what Mat went through in the Ashley Dean investigation — the accusations, the spiteful gossip, his private life being raked over — it’d be too close to home.’
‘Of course, we’ll end up chewing it over eventually. I’m just putting off the evil hour.’
‘Where do you think Leo Cartwright fits in?’ Olivia asked curiously.
Markham chose his words carefully. He’d refrained from disclosing Rebecca Shawcross’s ‘liberated’ lifestyle, including that friends-with-benefits arrangement with the drama teacher. De mortuis nil nisi bonum, he told himself, though in fact he was actuated more by a reluctance to unsettle Olivia than any respect for the dead. Like Mat Sullivan, she had been badly affected by the previous murder investigation at Hope Academy, and he shrank from filling her with mistrust for a colleague. Also, he reflected soberly, it might be dangerous if she knew too much.
‘Mat says Cartwright’s no murderer,’ he stated simply.
‘I agree.’ She nodded vigorously, copper tendrils spiralling round her lovely face. ‘A bit full of himself sometimes . . . a bit overly keen on “getting down wiv da kids”. But that’s par for the course in drama.’ She grinned. ‘And SLT scare the bejesus out of him . . . he turns into a right bottom feeder when any of them hove into view.’
‘Ah yes, I noticed his . . . deferential manner towards your esteemed assistant head.’
She made a sound that sounded very much like ‘Pshaw!’
They smiled at each other.
‘D’you know,’ said Olivia finally, ‘watching Mary Atkins in action makes me almost wistful for the likes of “Killer” Kavanagh.’ This being the sobriquet bestowed by Hope’s staff on a previous deputy head of unhappy memory.
‘Nostalgia ain’t what it used to be.’
The meal ended on a burst of shared laughter.
‘I’ll see you later at the crematorium. Twelve o’clock.’
She was serious once more. ‘I’ll be there, Gil.’
‘There’s some sort of bun fight afterwards . . . in the study annexe down at the community centre.’ He checked himself. ‘Sorry, bun fight’s not very respectful . . .’
‘“Funeral baked meats”,’ she intoned with mock piety.
‘Indeed.’
‘Will you be letting George near the vol-au-vents?’
‘Oh God. I suppose I’ll have to risk it. He’ll be in full eat-all-you-can mode, with everyone looking at us askance and marking the police down as complete barbarians.’
She giggled.
‘I’ll do my best to steer him towards the, er, healthy options.’
‘Well, if anyone can persuade him to walk in the paths of virtue it’s you, Liv.’
‘What about Kate?’
‘Well, Noakesy and Kate are quite . . . scratchy with each other at the moment, what with the stress of this case. It’s tough for Doyle playing piggy in the middle.’ He patted her arm. ‘Any “lifestyle tips” will be better coming better from you.’
‘Righto, sweetheart. I aim to please.’ She looked at him searchingly. ‘You’re really worried about this case, aren’t you?’
‘I just can’t seem to get a grip on it, Liv. And this third death . . .’
‘Hang in there, Gil.’ She gave a roguish laugh. ‘And keep George on a leash at the press conference.’
‘No bloodshed,’ he promised and kissed her.
* * *
‘If that dickhead had said “I think we got away with it” just one more sodding time . . .’
Markham laughed. In the circumstances, he felt he could cut Noakes some slack. ‘That’s Barry Lynch’s catchphrase, Sergeant.’
‘And he was pretty much right,’ piped up Doyle. ‘We did get away with it.’
‘Only cos Bazza had them two bouncers over by the door so Gavin Conors decided to keep it zipped . . . An’ where did they come from anyhow? Are they Lynch’s minders or what?’
Doyle grinned. ‘Maybe he needs protection, what with getting up so many people’s noses.’
Noakes clearly appreciated this sally. ‘Yeah, wouldn’t be surprised.’
‘Never mind where Lynch’s muscle came from,’ Burton snapped. ‘The point is, it meant an easy ride for all of us.’
‘Easier than I was expecting at any rate, Kate.’ Markham’s relief was very evident. ‘You and Carstairs did a great job with those glossy handouts. You could see Sidney was impressed with the graphs and statistics.’
‘Assaults in the NHS. Yeah, nice one, sarge.’ Doyle was enthusiastic. ‘Distracted ’em from asking awkward questions about randy teachers or dodgy doctors. And Sidney loved it . . . all that heroes-on-the-frontline stuff . . . He was practically purring.’
‘Oh aye.’ This was Noakes. ‘A real tear-jerker.
