“Did she have any enemies you know of? Anyone that may had an issue with her?” I asked, an obvious question, but one I was sure someone had already asked.
“No, none,” he replied almost immediately.
“How can you be so sure?” Steph asked him, firing the question so quick, he took a second to register it.
“I can only speak on behalf of the faculty, I guess. Everybody liked her. I don’t know what she got up to when she wasn’t at work, but while here, she was a happy, young woman, in the prime of her life.” I felt his nerves rise slightly, a light bead of sweat break across his brow. The office had a large radiator on the far wall, and I could feel its heat from where I sat, but I didn’t think his sweat came from any heating device. Steph kicked my ankle lightly, and was just about to ask another question, when the door opened and Gladys walked in carrying a tray loaded with cups, a jug and a plate of biscuits.
“Ah, thank you, Gladys,” he said, almost relieved, standing immediately and taking the tray from his secretary. She muttered something at us as she turned to walk out, then closed the door.
“Please, help yourselves,’ he said, Gladys does make a superb drop of tea,” he said as he handed Steph a cup and lifted the jug. She held her cup up for George to fill, then dropped a couple of sugar cubes into it, using the dainty little tongs that sat beside the jar. I followed suit, minus the sugar.
It tasted fine, a little bitter for my liking, but full and rounded. Its warmth felt good when it went down, my middle feeling like it was glowing from the inside. Steph also took a sip and thanked our host, but didn’t waste time.
“Did you ever see Rita Carlisle outside of school hours?” she asked, as she put her cup on the desk.
“No, I don’t make it a habit to socialize with my staff.” He dropped his eyes into his cup as he took another sip.
“Oh?” Steph asked, tilting her head a little. George held the tea to his face for what seemed like a long time, almost trying to hide himself behind the tiny vessel. “I was talking to June Trapnell yesterday, you know, she teaches fifth grade? Well, she told me you had visited Rita at home one evening, not long after she had commenced teaching at this school. Popped right on up to the door, all unannounced like.”
“No, I don’t recall ever-”
“And the reason she could tell me that for certain, was because June had been sitting in Rita’s kitchen at the time. She only lived two or three doors down from her and had popped by to drop off some leftover casserole she had made. Mushroom and beef, I believe,” Steph said turning to me.
“No, I defin-” he tried to protest, but Steph didn’t give him an inch, enjoying watching him squirm.
“And there they were, just having a chat, when you knocked on her door. And come to think of it, June also did mention that you had dropped by her own house occasionally.” I could feel Steph’s anger build, her cheeks flushing with colour. George, on the other hand, also began to build his own colour, but looked more sheepish than angry, almost embarrassed. He was holding his palms up toward us, waving them from side to side, in a denying gesture. “In fact, June told me you came on to her quite strongly, wouldn’t take no for an answer, even blocking her door with your foot when she tried to close it on you.” His protests became more animated, his face now washed in a deep crimson, beads of sweat trickling down one side of his face. “Aren’t you married, Mr-” but that was when he finally stood, ending the questioning.
“Is this a formal interview, Constable?” he squawked, anger replacing embarrassment. “Because if it is, I believe I have a right to legal counsel.”
“Do you think you need a lawyer?” she asked, also getting to her feet. Steph took one final sip of tea from her cup, sat it down on the tray and thanked him for his hospitality. I quickly stood and followed her out of the door.
“Thank you for the tea, Gladys,” I said as we walked past her desk and headed back down the corridor. As we neared the door leading outside, I took a final look over my shoulder and saw George Bester standing in the door frame, one hand wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. As we stepped outside, a cold drizzle fell, the bell clanged loudly somewhere above, and in the far distance, the Cider Hill Fire Station Whistle announced Midday to the town.
7.
“What the hell was that?” Rademeyer said as he looked out of the small office window. I could tell he was pissed just by the lack of volume in his voice. The venom highlighted the fact. Steph sat next to me, her eyes looking into her lap.
“I wanted to ask him some questions, that’s all. He had a history with the victim.”
“Yes, he was her boss. I’ve known George Bester for going on twenty years, Constable. And if you want to conduct an interview with someone like that again, I strongly suggest you run it by me first. Because, I’m your boss, do you understand?”
“Yes,” Steph said.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“I said yes, Sir,” she repeated, the anger in her voice sounding raw.
“And you,” he said turning his attention to me. “I asked for your help to try to find whoever has decided to get some fame by mimicking the Devil. Not to harass respectable townsfolk. I appreciate you answering our call for help, Jim. But please, remember that some people have connections that go all the way to the top. Much higher than you or I.” He turned to Steph. “Would you excuse us, please?” Steph didn’t need to be asked twice, the door
