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The Teacher: A shocking and compelling new crime thriller – NOT for the faint-hearted!
Katerina Diamond
‘A terrific story, originally told. All hail the new Queen of Crime!’ HEAT‘A web of a plot that twists and turns and keeps the reader on the edge of their seat. This formidable debut is a page-turner, but don’t read it before bed if you’re easily spooked!’ SUNYou think you know who to trust? You think you know the difference between good and evil? You’re wrong …The body of the head teacher of an exclusive Devon school is found hanging from the rafters in the assembly hall.Hours earlier he’d received a package, and only he could understand the silent message it conveyed. It meant the end.As Exeter suffers a rising count of gruesome deaths, troubled DS Imogen Grey and DS Adrian Miles must solve the case and make their city safe again.But as they’re drawn into a network of corruption, lies and exploitation, every step brings them closer to grim secrets hidden at the heart of their community.And once they learn what’s motivating this killer, will they truly want to stop him?SMART. GRIPPING. GRUESOME.This is a psychological crime thriller in a class of its own.WARNING: Most definitely *not* for the faint-hearted!
KATERINA DIAMOND
The Teacher
Copyright (#u40bb2ac7-9c81-5001-90eb-62d1cc622c8f)
Published by Avon
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
The News Building
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2016
Copyright © Katerina Diamond 2016
Katerina Diamond asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008168155
Ebook Edition © March 2016 ISBN: 9780008171339
Version: 2017-05-15
Table of Contents
Cover (#u36c7d812-6377-59b7-8785-6d3cf26b69ab)
Title Page (#uf76b3fb3-35f6-5ea0-b9c7-b5f4f35dddcd)
Copyright (#u49f18306-37f9-550b-91ff-e27efb8d25b5)
Chapter 1 (#ucfae755c-10f1-50af-9779-282c434f1c10)
Chapter 2 (#u94d20115-ae3e-5dba-ae57-9cb24c298ee6)
Chapter 3 (#u385edcaa-fa5c-5fb4-b541-245bc2ed7200)
Chapter 4 (#u0adce157-4294-5110-b6d0-4e1467a9acbc)
Chapter 5 (#u352cbde9-14b1-5010-99ab-80634101acd6)
Chapter 6 (#u17c04355-6e5d-56e6-b238-de120cd871f2)
Chapter 7 (#u38bed5af-6bd9-57fd-9fb1-a76c0687c347)
Chapter 8 (#ud1478f84-8ac9-5b35-a091-096290fffe80)
Chapter 9 (#udd41024d-65e1-588a-863d-a757e97e67a5)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#u40bb2ac7-9c81-5001-90eb-62d1cc622c8f)
The Headmaster
Jeffrey Stone looked over the sea of despondent young faces as he gave assembly, occasionally glancing up at the steel frame of the atrium. At this time he had no idea that come the morning he would be discovered hanging from it by his neck.
The crisp white shirt collars and fresh faces stared forwards, past Jeffrey and into the space beyond; waiting for that bell. Everyone loved the idea of assembly until they were actually in it and were painfully reminded of the tedium. This ceremony was a strange limbo between work and rest; the calm before the storm. Jeffrey felt as though the clock was louder than his voice. With every tick and pause he expected the bell to ring, to rescue him from the apathetic gaze of both students and teachers. All feigning interest and failing; trying not to excavate their twitching noses. Jeffrey was always as relieved as they were when the end finally came, no longer forced to regurgitate anecdotes that no one wanted to hear, least of all himself.
The first clue to his forthcoming demise came when Jeffrey returned to his office and found the parcel on his desk. Tentatively he tore open the brown paper, as though something about the size and weight of the gift was familiar to him, from a time that he had tried to put out of his mind. Jeffrey’s face paled as he stared at the contents of the package. It was an old German book. Of course he knew what it meant. It’s not as if this was a bolt out of the blue but it had been twenty years since he had seen this book, twenty years since he had given it as a gift to someone; a ghost. The book was a surprise, but not the unspoken message its very arrival conveyed. It meant the end.
He put the book in the desk drawer, he would deal with it later. He picked up the wrapper and scanned it for information, he saw the handwriting, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as it occurred to him the package had been hand-delivered. Why now? What was different about today? Not that today wasn’t as good a day as any to die but over the years Jeffrey had presumed he had been forgotten. Got away with it, maybe. But now he knew that he had not.
He walked through the intricate wainscoted corridors for what he assumed would be the last time, running his fingers along the grain of the oak panels, the arabesque carvings almost worn down completely. Churchill School for Boys had been his home for so long. He wondered who would take his place. This building was centuries old, important to the history of the city of Exeter, one of a handful of gems that survived the Baedecker raids in 1942, Hitler’s retaliation on Britain for bombing the towns of Lubeck and Rostock in Germany. It was a calculated attack by the Luftwaffe on the five most beautiful cities from a tourist-information book. During the raids a selection of the population hid in the underground tunnels built originally to bring fresh water into the medieval city. Now the city centre was a mish-mash of handsome old buildings either side of the road that ran straight through from east to west with large, ugly, square brick consolation structures squeezed in between them to hide the gaping holes where the shells had hit. Exeter was still littered with history but was an unforgettable testament to the atrocities that had befallen the country. But not this building, the school stood proud and alone, nestled among trees, a remnant of another time. The rich emerald ivy, always so thick and strong in the summer term, clung to the deep terracotta-red brick structure as though it were trying to pull it back into the ground, to reclaim it. This was one of the reasons he had so much love for the place. The traditional and exquisite among the ugly; the truth laid bare for all to see. This was his school, from the moment he had stepped through the gates as a student he was overwhelmed with a sense of belonging. Yes, Jeffrey could not imagine himself anywhere else.
‘Mr Stone?’
Jeffrey turned around to see Avery Phillips walking towards him. Avery was the head boy. His gait displayed a confidence seldom found in the young academics at this school. Avery presented Jeffrey with an envelope.
‘What’s this?’
‘It’s the money from the fun run at the weekend, sir. We raised over five hundred pounds.’
‘Marvellous, could you take it to the school secretary, though?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Avery turned about face and headed back down the hall.
‘Actually, Avery, would you mind coming to my office for a moment, I have an errand for you.’ Jeffrey stood to one side as Avery turned back and manoeuvred past him to take the pole position.
They walked briskly, Jeffrey trying to maintain focus on the back of Avery’s head and not those beautiful broad shoulders, or further down. Many a wet Friday afternoon was spent watching Avery and his cohorts scrumming in the mud, wading through the thick gravy in their black shorts, clawing at each other with a carnal rage that plagued Jeffrey’s dreams at night; he thought of these sixth formers and his chest would tighten with desire, and other parts besides.
Avery stood in front of the office door so that Jeffrey would have to lean in close to open the door before he could step inside, a wry smile on his face. Jeffrey often felt that Avery was a game player. As he lounged in the chair opposite Jeffrey’s desk he sat in what seemed to be the most provocative position, slumped right back with his knees apart, his thighs pulling hard on the seams of his uniform. His head was tipped down and his eyes burrowed into Jeffrey’s soul.
‘I’ll write you a pass, Avery. I need you to go off campus and deliver this note for me.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Avery’s eyes were dancing and the curve of his mouth was somehow conspiratorial, like he knew this was to be their secret.
‘It’s of the utmost importance that no one knows about this, Avery, no matter what happens.’
‘Of course, sir.’ He leaned forwards, never breaking eye contact once.
Jeffrey scribbled HE HAS RETURNED on to a piece of paper and stuffed it inside an envelope, writing the name STEPHEN on the front. On a separate piece of paper he scribbled an address and handed both to Avery.
‘Take it there, tell no one.’ Jeffrey paused, waiting for Avery to leave but Avery held his gaze. ‘Oh!’ said Jeffrey, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of notes. He handed them all over and the boy smiled. ‘I can trust in your discretion?’
‘Absolutely, sir.’
Jeffrey knew he could trust Avery because there was nothing he liked better than keeping secrets, Jeffrey had heard the tales of blackmail in the dorms, with compromising photos, exam cheats and even as much as him having dirt on the teachers – who was sleeping with who – to use as possible bribery material for better grades. Yes, Avery was a grade A student. If this hadn’t been the end then Jeffrey would never have given the note to the boy, but it was and so no matter the consequences, he had done his part.
Jeffrey peered outside and watched from his office window as Avery left the school; leaving the sanctuary of the grounds. As Avery closed the gate behind him Jeffrey surveyed the area, looking across the empty courtyard at the more modest structure of the boarders’ residence. He wondered for a fleeting moment how much time he had left. He should probably call his wife, but what would he say? He picked up the phone and stared at the keypad for a few seconds before dialling zero.
‘Hold all my calls for the rest of the day, please, Elaine, I have some important paperwork to get through.’ Jeffrey sat in his chair and looked out of the window at the boys running through the grounds; nothing had changed much over his employment at this school, the world outside was different now but here inside the walls of this tribute to a past long since forgotten there was still a gratifying feeling of tradition and ritual that had stood the test of time.
The school day progressed with the usual tedium – he worked through his papers, tied up as many loose ends as possible – but occasionally Jeffrey’s mind wandered back to the curious book in his drawer. Jeffrey had always been so careful that no one knew about his proclivities, aware that it would be a career ender for him and he really did love his job, if people only knew how these boys made him feel. For almost thirty years Jeff had worked here, thirty years and no trouble as yet.
The wish to escape the grounds as soon as possible became evident about an hour before the final bell rang. The classrooms got noisier and during the final break of the day the corridors buzzed with the noise of the children who would ordinarily obey the stringent rules about the noise levels around the establishment. When the time finally came, silence overtook the main building as the boarders made their way back to the halls and the day students got on their buses and went home.
He pulled out the book and felt the outside; even the touch of it brought back memories like an old familiar friend. His heart thumped as he traced his fingers across the title of the book: Das Geschenk, The Gift. He opened the book and started to read, his German wasn’t what it used to be but he knew this book well anyway. A firm believer in the old ways, Jeffrey had acquired this book for its historical relevance, for its insights into his ‘condition’ and how to change it. The book itself was out of print, rare and hard to find. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to get this, and he knew who. It had been a companion to him when he had been searching for answers about himself, about why he was the way he was, why he needed to surround himself with pubescent boys, why even the smell of a woman left him feeling cold.
The half-light of the summer night pulled in and Jeffrey opened out his laptop, sure that he was now alone in the building; even the cleaners would be gone. He plugged in his mobile device, not wanting to use the school’s network, and logged into a secure online photo storage website, furtively listening out for any noise in the school before entering his password. Folders and folders, each titled with a different year group, and within that a different name in alphabetical order: Jason, Marcus, Robert and so on. Jeffrey’s favourites. He wasn’t one of these idiots who kept the evidence on his hard drive, he was smarter than that, and he paid good money for his security on the dark net. He clicked the first folder titled ‘Daniel’ but it would not open, asking for a secondary password – this was not supposed to happen. Panicking, Jeffrey tried to open the other files, but he couldn’t. He wanted them gone, deleted, but he couldn’t access them. No one knew about these photos, not even the boys themselves. Who could have found out, and how?
He found himself humming an old tune, he stopped but the music continued from somewhere else in the building, faint and familiar. His heart sank, his time had come. Mahler, dark at the best of times, rang out like a toll bell, the all too familiar melody signalling an end that had been written in the stars for decades now.
Jeffrey opened his office door and looked down the corridor, listening. The music was coming from the main assembly hall. He started walking and the music grew louder and more distorted with every step. He remembered the symphony well, today had been full of nostalgia for a time that maybe he shouldn’t yearn to return to, a time when he caused so much pain.
This particular piece had the appropriate amount of thrill and dread for Jeffrey’s purposes at that time, deliberately ironic that it should be the last thing he ever heard.
He opened the double glass doors and screwed his eyes shut at the volume of the music, the distortion cutting through him. On the elevated platform at the front of the vast room was a chair, hanging above it was a noose. To the left was a table, covered in a red velvet cloth, almost ceremonial in its appearance. On top of the table was a beautiful black wooden box. The music stopped but his ears continued to ring as they adjusted to the silence.
‘Hello, old friend.’ A man’s voice, he didn’t recognise it, but it had been so long.
‘What do you want?’
‘This is not about what I want. This is what must be done.’
‘Why today, after all this time?’ Jeffrey was afraid to turn around and look at his downfall.
‘You don’t know what today is? It’s been eighteen years. Eighteen years since I saw exactly what kind of monster you are.’ The voice was so slow, so completely resolute; it was not as he expected.
