Spence headed up the A 419, his mind drifted back to his sixth form days. He had cycled along this road to South Cerney more than once to visit Susan Pratt, in the vain hope of losing his virginity.
“It was you who was the prat, wasn’t it Spence?” The target of his affections – lust – ended up with Graeme Morris, Tony Smith, everyone it seemed but him.
As Spence turned into the Academy car park, he was stopped by the security guard. “Bloody hell, what’s this country coming to, security guards at schools. What next, PCs in the corridors like the US?”
“DI Hargreaves to see the headmaster. I’m expected.”
Spence flashed his warrant card and was directed to the visitors’ car park. Hopefully, Ferguson had managed to keep Roger Davidson’s demise under wraps because he knew it would soon be Swindon’s major story. It would probably be a national story.
As usual, Spence went for a wander to get a feel of the place. Buildings new of course, couple of football fields, a gym, the usual array of science labs, computer rooms and the like. It was clean, hardly a scrap of litter, no graffiti and the kids were smart. The boys had their shirts tucked in and ties done up, and none of the girls was wearing a skirt half-way up their ass.
Eventually Spence approached one of the boys, he looked about fourth form.
“Could you tell where the headmaster’s office is please?”
“Of course sir, I’ll take you there.”
Spence was rarely lost for words, but he was this time. He’d expected the boy to tell him to ‘fuck off’; instead he was calling him sir. They were soon in the headmaster’s waiting room.
“Thanks son.” The boy smiled and walked away.
Spence turned round to find a lady he assumed was the headmaster’s secretary. No more than five feet tall, dark eyes, grey hair and a bust bigger than anything he had ever seen.
“Yes, and you are?”
This was a lady who had perfected the art of imperiousness over the decades. Ah, this was more like school as Spence remembered it. Spence felt like he was there to get a belting for smoking behind the bike sheds.
“DI Hargreaves to see-“
At that, the headmaster’s door swung open. “Winston, Winston Hargreaves.”
Robert Hamsby thrust out his hand and the two men shook hands firmly.
“Miss Tims, could you please fix us up with a pot of tea?”
The secretary gave a true death stare and then walked away.
“Don’t mind her, she is fantastic. Wow, Winston, come on through.”
To the best of his knowledge, nobody ever called him Winston. Nobody that is except Robert Hamsby. They had been students together at Reading, and then young teachers in the wilds of west London many years before. They became front line colleagues and firm friends but lost touch when Hamsby took up an exchange job some years later at a school near Campbelltown in Sydney’s south western suburbs. Since then it was the occasional Christmas card but Christmas cards weren’t really Spence’s thing.
Robert Hamsby had never called him Spence.
“I couldn’t believe it when I learned I was going to be dealing with you Winston. I just wish it was under better circumstances. Dinner, my place this weekend. I want Jill to meet you. You must bring your wife.”
Spence gave his old friend the sort of look that said he had been married, to that bitch Caroline, it was a fuckin’ disaster and that he had become a pathetic lonely old bastard. Robert Hamsby clearly understood the look.
“We’ve a spare room. No buts!”
The warmth was genuine and mutual, and for several minutes the two old friends reminisced. Spence had always liked Robert Hamsby. But he also respected him, one of the sharpest minds he had ever come across. Who better to speak to about what was going to be a tricky case?
“Bob, I assume my DS filled you in on the basics.”
“Yes, I’m still stunned. He didn’t give away much, but I get a sense it was pretty brutal.”
Spence shared with Hamsby what he knew; Robert Hamsby could be trusted.
“Roger Davidson seemed pretty young to be a Deputy Headmaster at a decent place like this. How old was he, early thirties?”
“Not quite 30. It was my call Winston, my previous deputy died during the summer holidays, tragic loss. He was a good man. I took a punt on Roger. He’d only been teaching about six or seven years, but I sensed he was quality. A really effective teacher, smart, well-organised and totally on top of all the crap that goes to make up modern education. He actually knew what the word ‘pedagogy’ means. Ambitious. I wanted to give him a chance to prove himself.”
“No advertising, just your call?”
“Yes, not common practice but the Academy Council wanted minimum disturbance.”
“I would imagine you must have pissed off quite a few people at the time.”
“You can believe it. There were at least four, possibly six people who thought the job should have been theirs. And there were others who were just plain jealous. But Roger took the job on and, though I say it myself, I believe I made a good appointment.”
“I’ll need the names of your staff and we will have to speak to them Bob, the sooner the better.”
“Surely you don’t think one of my staff murdered him? If jealousy was a motive, why didn’t someone go after me, after all it was my decision that denied them the job.”
“Murder has been committed for a lot less. But no, it’s just routine Bob.”
Spence was in no hurry to leave and when Miss Tims brought in the tea Hamsby told her that he was incommunicado unless the school was experiencing a terrorist attack.
“Oh, and Miss Tims, could you print me off a full staff list please, with the mobile numbers and addresses?”
Miss Tims looked as if she had just been asked to write out ‘War and Peace’.
“Very well, headmaster,” she replied in the most disapproving voice that she could muster.
The two men talked for almost an hour, drifting in and out of the case, old times and ‘whatever happened to so-and-so?’ Just as he was leaving, Spence asked one last question.
“What do you pay a deputy here?”
“About forty five thousand, plus a few perks. Why?”
“No reason, just interested.”
“7.00, Saturday night. I’ll text you the address. Bring someone if you like. Anyone on the scene?”
Susannah Pearson briefly flitted through Spence’s mind.
“No, pretty quiet in that area at
