9. Another Death

The boy who found the body has been taken home, and then there's more news

Rufus Enderby was in no state to learn the intricacies of the Roman occupation of the borders between England and Scotland and the effort they put into building a wall designed to hold back the savage forces north of that wall even though his dad had told him that fundamentally he was a Scot himself and so must his son be.

So Rufus was deeply affected by what he had seen, the open eyes, the tongue lolling out, the dead pale face, and he was called into the Headmaster’s office because a policeman wanted to talk to him. Or rather a police woman because the DI thought she might be a little less scary to a small boy than he would. He was aware that he’d never been seen as particularly sympathetic to children and especially to those of the male persuasion. So interviewing Rufus was delegate to PC Amelia Pincher who was both young and understanding and who oozed compassion.

That didn’t help much when Rufus had to relive the horror that was his walk to school that morning, and he had to do it in the presence of Mr Praxis, the headmaster with a famously keen hand if he thought you deserved to be (accidentally) swiped with it.

All was well until Rufus came to the bit about nudging something whilst sliding down a grassy slope into a dead man with his tongue out.

“And,” almost wept the boy, “I reckon bis flies were undone. I could see his kegs…”

“His what?” asked an ignorant Amelia Pincher.

“His you know, pants. Underthings.”

“That must have been particular unpleasant,” she sympathised.

“Not as bad as his tongue all lolling about,” he assured her, a tear rolling down his chubby cheek.

“Of course. That would be particularly horrid,” she murmured, then “the main thing, did you see how the poor man got to be there?”

At which Rufus shook his head, and to his mind that was an adequate reply to an unnecessary question.

“Did you see anyone else around before you slid down that lovely grassy slope?” asked the PC.

Rufus shook his head. Again, words weren’t called for.

“It might be helpful if you had,” sighed Amelia, “It would be what we call a clue.”

“I could always make one up,” suggested Rufus, needing to be helpful.

She smiled and shook her head. “If you tell us you saw someone it would have to be real and truthful,” she sighed, “I suppose that’s just about all you cen tell us, and I’m sorry you had such an unpleasant experience.”

“It weren’t your fault, miss,” he told her generously.

Before she could pat him delicately on the head (as opposed to the way Mr Praxis would have performed the same movement) there was a knock at the door and Mr Praxis bellowed “Come in!” using all the decibels he could muster.

A girl looking for all the world as if she might be on her way to her own execution pushed the door open and nervously walked almost in.

“Sir, she said, “Mrs Bessel sent me, I’m to tell you we can’t find Mr Rozelle anywhere. She even ordered me to go into the staff toilets where the men go and he weren’t in there, though it did stink. But one door were shut fast and I couldn’t shift it to make sure.”

“Find Mr Pinkerton, the caretaker, and ask him to check it,” demanded the headmaster, and he smiled, “after all, we don’t need any more dead bodies, do we?”

“No sir,” replied the girl, nervous young Anne Jones with pigtails and a frightened smile, and she scurried away as quickly as she could.

.”And don’t run!” Mr Praxis bellowed after her, making her jump.

The child audibly slowed down. “Well, now what?” stuttered Mr Praxis, “if one of my teachers has gone astray… it’s just as well we’ve got a police woman with us, isn’t it?” That last sentence was meant to be a sort of joke, but only he saw it that way.

“If it’s all right with you, headmaster, I don’t think there’s much more to be drawn out of poor little Rufus here, and I doubt you’d say he was in much of a shape to learn much today, so with your permission and if there’s someone in at his home I’d like to take him. I’ve got to go that way anyway, and it seems cruel to leave him to suffer here.”

Mr Praxis scowled at the young officer, then nodded slowly. “You’re right, of course, though this is a happy school with understanding staff,” he said quietly. “Is that all right with you, Rufus? For this police officer to take you home? Is your mother in?”

“She’ll be at work at the Groomsman’s Arms pub, sir. She cooks there,” replied Rufus, “but my dad’ll be in, He works nights and he might still be up. He goes to bed, you see, to get some shut-eye as he puts it.”

“Well come on, Rufus, I’ll give you a ride home, and if your father’s not gone to bed yet I’d like a word with him. To explain what’s gone on. Nothing more than that. Though I might say how helpful you’ve been.”

She escorted the boy to her police car that was parked in a small car park next to the school.

Rufus’s home was hardly any distance from the school, and it took only a few minutes for PC Pincher to pull up outside it. It was a neat semi-detached with a small front garden that was obviously well tended, with a lawn that was green as opposed to the colours of some grassy patches, which had been affected by a long hot spring and were turning a dry ochre.

“Nice garden, Rufus,” smiled The policewoman.

“Dad does it,” muttered Rufus for no better reason that it seemed to him that he ought to say something.

He led the way round the side of the house to the back door and pushed it open. His father was in the kitchen, sitting at the table in there and with a steaming cup of tea in front of him.

“Hi, fella!” he said jovially, “I thought you’d be at school, laddie.”

“I found a dead man, dad, and it scared me,” the boy explained, “on the grass on my way to school.”

“And I brought him home because it didn’t seem right that he had to try and concentrate on school work, considering the state he was in,” added PC Pincher, “though he did explain everything to me very thoroughly.”

“He would. He’s a good lad, is our Rufus,” replied Mr Enderby, “and he’s going to keep himself nice and quiet while his old dad gets forty winks,” he added.

“He’ll do that, will he? Entertain himself?” asked Amelia.

“He’ll switch that laptop of his on and I’ll hardly hear a peep out of him,” smiled Rufus’s father, “he’ll even find his own dinner, a microwave jobby.”

“That’s good,” approved the policewoman, and she stopped short because her phone rang.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, and backed out of the kitchen to take the call.

She returned moments later.

“It’s been quite a morning,” she said with a sigh, “apparently the chap who watches the kids across the road has been found dead. In the staff men’s toilets and with a knife in his stomach, would you believe. I must rush off.”

© Peter Rogerson 28.05.24