A Deadly Lesson. Paul Gitsham

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СКАЧАТЬ the man as he made his request. Ball nodded his compliance – he appeared more shocked than nervous at the request; no indication either way of his guilt, Warren decided.

      ‘Sir.’ The flick of the sergeant’s eyes over Warren’s shoulder and a slight smile heralded the return of DC Moray Ruskin.

      ‘I think I’m going to have to start carrying my own suits with me.’

      Warren was amazed the poor lad could breathe, let alone move around.

      ‘Sorry, sir, he’s a bit bigger than most of the SOCOs that ride in the van.’ The technician accompanying Ruskin looked apologetic, as she handed Warren his own suit.

      At six foot five and eighteen stone, Moray Ruskin wasn’t the biggest officer in Hertfordshire Constabulary, but he was certainly the largest detective in Middlesbury CID.

      ‘You can’t go in like that, Moray – as soon as you bend over you’ll tear it open and compromise the scene. Why don’t you see if you can get a list of everyone in the building at the moment, both teachers and support staff. Arrange with DS Hutchinson for them to have fingerprints and DNA taken and start organising interviews. I want to prioritise everyone who was in that meeting last night, but don’t let anyone else leave until I say so. I also want to talk to the school’s governors.’

      Mustering as much dignity as he could, the Scotsman headed into the main reception area, towards the gaggle of upset-looking staff. Warren suppressed a sigh. It was his own fault; the lad was still a probationer and it had never even occurred to Warren that he’d need to carry a supply of bigger Tyvek suits than the usual large men’s size. Gary Hastings had been an experienced detective constable before Warren had even arrived at Middlesbury and so all the teething troubles had already been ironed out. It was going to take some time to get used to his replacement.

      Warren slipped his own paper suit on quickly and efficiently, although as usual he needed to lean against the wall whilst manoeuvring the plastic booties over his shoes.

      ‘What have we got?’ asked Warren as he stood on the threshold of the late deputy head’s office.

      Crime Scene Manager Andy Harrison’s portly shape and Yorkshire accent made him recognisable even in his protective suit.

      ‘The deceased was found where she’s lying now, face down on this desk. According to Mr Ball, the desk was as you see it, and is uncharacteristically messy. Obviously, a full post-mortem will be needed, but preliminary indications are strangulation, probably by some sort of rough rope. You can see that by the marks on her throat.’ He held up a handheld infra-red gun. ‘Her core temperature is down eight degrees. It’s not a very reliable indicator, as you know, but my gut feeling is that she was killed last night, rather than this morning.’

      Warren looked around the room. The desk was a cheap, pine version, with a built-in set of three drawers by the occupant’s right knee. It had been positioned directly in front of the window, so that anyone working at it sat with their back to the door. In the centre of the room was a round wooden table flanked by two padded visitors’ chairs.

      Jillian Gwinnett’s head rested barely an inch from the open laptop’s keyboard. An upturned pencil pot had scattered its contents across the rest of the desk, and a pile of papers had been knocked so that half were on the edge of the table, and the remainder on the floor beneath.

      To the left of the room, and behind the victim, was an open archway. Warren walked across and looked into what seemed to be a narrow waiting room of sorts. Three hard-looking plastic chairs sat facing a wall adorned with a picture of Jesus and a pinboard covered in posters primarily dedicated to school rules. Four tall filing cabinets took up the remaining space. There was no natural light.

      Harrison had followed him.

      ‘I reckon this probably used to be a classroom, and that was the stockroom. Now it’s a waiting area for naughty kids.’

      ‘Could the killer have hidden in here?’ asked Warren.

      ‘Quite possibly. There’s no sign of forced entry, of either the office door or the window. The door has an electronic lock on it.’

      ‘So either the killer was already in this little corner area waiting for her, they entered with her, or they came in through the door and surprised her?’

      ‘I can’t imagine that they were able to surprise her, unless the victim was deaf. The electronic lock makes a loud whirring noise and an electronic beep for good measure.’

      ‘So that means they either came in with her – and so she knew her killer – or they were already in here, waiting for her.’

      ‘We’ll use UV to see if we can find any footwear impressions to give us a clue where the killer stood, but I wouldn’t bank on it with this type of carpet.’

      ‘What about other points of entry?’

      ‘The office is self-contained, with no connecting doors. The windows are double-glazed and can only be opened a few inches. There’s no sign that they’ve been forced wider than they should be.’

      ‘And what about exiting?’

      ‘You use a swipe card to enter, but there’s a mechanical handle to exit for fire safety. The victim still has her card. Even assuming that there’s a log kept of entry and exit, it would be easy to either walk in with someone else, or have them open the door to let you in.’

      ‘Anything else?’

      Harrison pointed to the desk.

      ‘The laptop is still switched on, but has powered down to hibernate mode. If Forensic IT can figure out when that happened, it might put some brackets around the time of death.’

      Warren made another note.

      ‘Any idea where the killer was standing?’

      ‘Assuming she wasn’t moved post-mortem, I imagine the killer stood directly behind her. Again, we’ll use the UV to see if we can find any footwear impressions.’

      ‘Any sign of the murder weapon?’

      ‘No rope at the scene. The pathologist is due in the next half-hour. When the body’s gone, we can do a proper finger-printing and trace evidence collection. I’ll try and send you a preliminary report by the end of today.’

      Warren recognised a dismissal when he heard one.

      * * *

      A murder inside a school, even out of hours, was the very definition of a major incident. There was no keeping it quiet; the first pupils were turned away by shellshocked staff – thus starting the social media rumour mill – before Warren had even been called.

      By 9.30 a.m., local media had got wind that something big was happening at the school, and by 10 a.m., the first long-distance images showing the activity around the school’s main entrance were being shown on the national 24-hour news channels. Nobody had released any information to the press yet, but that didn’t stop theories, ranging from a terrorist incident to a multiple shooting, being given airtime.

      In the briefing room at Middlesbury CID, Warren was more interested in dealing with facts.

      ‘The deceased is Ms Jillian Gwinnet, СКАЧАТЬ