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A Deadly Lesson
Paul Gitsham
‘Highly recommended. Crime Writing at its very best’ – Kate Rhodes on The Last Straw, book 1 in the DCI Warren Jones seriesDon’t miss A Deadly Lesson, the next instalment in the DCI Warren Jones series. Pre-order now!
PAUL GITSHAM started his career as a biologist, working in such exotic locales as Manchester and Toronto. After stints as the world’s most over-qualified receptionist and a spell making sure that international terrorists and other ne’er do wells hadn’t opened a Junior Savings Account at a major UK bank (a job even less exciting than being a receptionist) he retrained as a Science teacher. He now spends his time passing on his bad habits and sloppy lab-skills to the next generation of enquiring minds.
Paul has always wanted to be a writer and his final report on leaving primary school predicted he’d be the next Roald Dahl! For the sake of balance it should be pointed out that it also said ‘he’ll never get anywhere in life if his handwriting doesn’t improve’. Over twenty-five years later and his handwriting is worse than ever but millions of children around the world love him.* (#ulink_a13a5219-869b-596f-8e5a-b8ae046e2970)
You can learn more about Paul’s writing at www.paulgitsham.com (http://www.paulgitsham.com) or www.facebook.com/dcijones (http://www.facebook.com/dcijones)
* (#ulink_56ebac84-8eff-517d-b8fc-9e959f8194d0)This is a lie, just ask any of the pupils he has taught.
Also by Paul Gitsham, featuring DCI Warren Jones (#ulink_fa84c9ca-01cb-553c-8929-755af2b6561a)
The Last Straw
No Smoke Without Fire
Blood is Thicker than Water (A DCI Warren Jones novella)
Silent as the Grave
A Case Gone Cold (A DCI Warren Jones novella)
The Common Enemy
A Deadly Lesson
A DCI Warren Jones Novella
Paul Gitsham
ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES
Copyright (#ulink_38ea9daa-69d8-539d-8ed0-d4c5751ea441)
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019
Copyright © Paul Gitsham 2019
Paul Gitsham asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for 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, downloaded, 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.
E-book Edition © January 2019 ISBN: 9780008314378
Contents
Cover (#u354824f8-e1ad-5a7c-a6c5-73f1eeff3c3b)
Author Bio (#u17e714f3-3c71-5b59-8a3a-3e4277de5eec)
Praise for (#u216ed9df-4523-5453-80ff-a0e9d178e087)
Also by (#ulink_d0afd597-d992-5ac8-9025-967461711e23)
Title Page (#u39dc6036-1292-5c2f-96f6-2d486c910eff)
Copyright (#ulink_cad41dd3-ec1c-51e4-ab16-689f0137c031)
Dedication (#u4de681be-b9c3-5e87-b4d1-98cb946b7ddc)
Prologue (#ulink_8e7d2f9c-2215-55ab-b68d-ea333a20c307)
Day One (#ulink_44e905eb-3d80-5bf1-8d65-34734f74059a)
Day Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Day Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Day Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Day Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Day Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Backads (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Welcome to the world Oscar!
That’s a good strong name, I’ll have to use that one day.
Lots of love, Uncle Paul XX
Prologue (#ulink_ea5d7c9a-3cef-516a-bc8c-5ac6900245fc)
The rope bit deeply into her throat, the rough hemp abrading her skin. The surprise of the attack left her with no time to make more than a strangled gasp. She grabbed the rope, desperately tugging at it, but it was no use. Try as she might, she couldn’t loosen it. By now, her vision was starting to fade, pinpricks of light exploding in front of her eyes like tiny supernovae in the night sky.
Giving up on the rope, she groped blindly across the desk, her flailing hand knocking a pot of stationery over. Picking up a pencil, she struck out wildly over her shoulder, hoping to catch her assailant somewhere significant. A muffled grunt suggested that she might have struck something delicate, but there was no let-up on the pressure on her throat.
Abandoning the pencil, she continued her desperate search. By now the only sound she could hear was the loud booming of her heart. Her vision had shrunk to a tiny tunnel and so she identified the stapler by touch rather than sight. Lifting it, she flipped it open, like she had a million times before. Was it even loaded? Too late to worry about that now, the whole world had turned black. She lifted the stapler, seeking her attacker’s hand. All she needed was a few seconds’ respite. Just a few seconds to fill her lungs with air. Just a few seconds…
Day One (#ulink_e9eacc32-3833-5169-8d4e-0557bf8cc33d)
DCI Warren Jones leant on his car horn. Obligingly, the uniformed officer standing at the gate shooed the gaggle of school kids trying to see through the closed gates out of the way.
Ignoring the shouted questions from the nosy parkers, Warren pulled through the opening 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.
