A Deadly Lesson. Paul Gitsham

gates and into the school car park.

      Three patrol cars sat parked in the visitors’ spaces, their blue lights flickering maddeningly out of phase. Beside them, a Scenes of Crime van straddled a disabled spot. Both its sliding side doors and rear doors were open, allowing glimpses of the stacked shelves of equipment stowed neatly within.

      ‘Get yourself suited and booted, Moray, I’m going to have a word with the attending officer.’

      The bearded young DC unfolded his substantial bulk from the passenger seat and headed towards the van to find a paper suit, plastic booties and a hairnet.

      Warren recognised the uniformed sergeant standing by the reception desk.

      ‘DCI Jones, this is Mr Ball, head teacher.’

      The man next to him was about sixty years old, Warren judged. With a slim build and thin spectacles, he looked more like an accountant than the highly regarded head teacher that he had heard his wife talking about. By all accounts, Noah Ball was a strict disciplinarian, who’d led the struggling Sacred Heart Catholic Academy from Needing Improvement to an Outstanding OFSTED. At this moment, he was pale and shaken.

      ‘I believe that you found Ms Gwinnett’s body? She was the school’s deputy head, I understand?’

      The man nodded, before taking his glasses off and rubbing them vigorously with his tie.

      ‘I wonder if you would mind taking me through what happened?’

      ‘Yes, of course.’ Despite his appearance, the man’s voice was deep and steady. ‘I arrived at about 7 a.m. and went immediately to my office.’

      ‘How did you enter?’

      ‘Through the fire exit at the end of the admin corridor.’ He held up the ID badge on the lanyard around his neck. ‘The swipe cards of senior members of staff are programmed to allow us out-of-hours access.’

      ‘And I assume that would include the victim, Ms Gwinnett?’

      ‘Yes, her car was already parked in its usual spot. I just assumed that she had got in before me.’

      ‘Is that normal?’

      ‘Sometimes. As I said, we all have out-of-hours access.’

      ‘Could she have been here all night?’

      ‘I guess so. I didn’t actually see her leave.’

      Warren made a note.

      ‘When did you find her body?’

      He took a shuddering breath.

      ‘About fifteen minutes after I came in. She was supposed to be hosting a re-admission interview mid-morning for a young man who got himself suspended last week. I wanted to go over the behaviour contract that we were going to insist that he and his parents sign. No big deal really, just don’t swear at staff, do what he’s asked to do first time and meet all deadlines…’ He was starting to babble and Warren cleared his throat to refocus him.

      ‘I’m sorry, please forgive me. Anyway, I knocked on her door. There was no answer and the privacy shutters were across. I assumed that she’d gone to the bathroom or was off doing some photocopying, so I returned to my office, printed a copy of the contract and went to put it on her desk.’

      He paused.

      ‘I didn’t see her at first, since the blinds were down and it was still quite dark. But then my eyes adjusted.’ He swallowed.

      ‘She was slumped forward on her desk. I called her name, but she didn’t move. I think I already knew she was dead. I guess I assumed she’d had a heart attack or something. I went to shake her and she sort of rolled over. That’s when I saw the colour of her face and the red welts across her throat. I checked her pulse – well, you do, don’t you? But I knew it was too late. Then I backed out and called the police.’

      ‘Was anybody else in school at the time?’

      He shrugged. ‘I saw Stanley Cruikshank, the deputy site manager walking across the car park. He’d just opened the main gates. But the side entrance to the building is open to the rest of the staff from 7 a.m. I know that some colleagues prefer to do their planning and photocopying first thing. Admin and finance usually come in between seven and seven-thirty.’

      ‘Would you be able to find out who was in the building or on site during the last few hours?’

      He thought for a moment.

      ‘Not really. All staff use swipe cards to enter the buildings outside of 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., and to access the school site through the main gate at other times, but we don’t log whose card is used.’ He grimaced slightly. ‘The unions didn’t like the idea that we could spy on staff’s working hours, not to mention the expense. Besides which, colleagues routinely leave and enter the building together.’

      ‘And once a person is inside the school building, can they move anywhere?’

      ‘Pretty much. Some of the offices which contain sensitive information have locks restricted to certain swipe cards to stop unauthorised access, and there are keypads on the computer suites and the Science and Technology labs to stop students messing around in there when staff aren’t present.’

      ‘What about Ms Gwinnett’s office?’

      ‘Her door lock is restricted to SLT swipe cards.’

      ‘SLT being Senior Leadership Team?’

      ‘Yes, sorry.’

      ‘When did you last see Ms Gwinnett?’

      ‘We had an SLT meeting yesterday evening. It finished about six-thirty and Jill headed back towards her office.’

      ‘Was anybody else with her?’

      Ball shrugged. ‘Sorry, I left immediately. I can give you the names of everyone else who was present at the meeting.’

      ‘Thank you, that would be very helpful.’ Warren snapped his notebook closed and called over the sergeant who’d greeted him at the door.

      ‘Can you escort Mr Ball outside and take a list of names from him.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘We’ll be wanting a full statement later, of course. I’m afraid that we’re going to have to ask for fingerprints and a DNA sample. Purely for exclusionary purposes.’ Warren looked carefully at 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