6. Two Birds with One Stone

The two officers return to the crime scene...

6. Two Birds with One Stone

It was DI Sheila McFyffe driving when her car pulled up slowly outside Bigforth Primary School, not at the front where a small car park looked inviting as they veered past it but on the narrow Bloxham Street that ran down one side of the building.

“Here’s the side door that she mentioned,” murmured Dave, opening the passenger door of the car in order to get a better view.

There were four steps up to the entrance door, which was shut. He climbed out and went to look more closely.

“This is interesting,” he called, “come and look.”

Sheila climbed out, locked the car door and joined him where he stood on one of the steps leading up to the door. There were also some steps down, meaning that the window in the building and which was clearly that of the cellar when they angled themselves awkwardly so that they could peer through it,

But the steps leading down led to a submerged area that was clearly meant for the delivery of whatever needed to be delivered when the school had been built a couple of centuries earlier, with the window (which may have been a door rather than a window back in the day) having no more than a brick wall as its main view.

“A bit of a dirt trap,” observed Sheila, indicating swirling litter.

“But if the lights were on in the cellar at night the light would quite clearly be seen from the street, shining through the top of the window,” pointed out Dave.

“True. Which goes some way to proving the mourning widow’s account,” sighed the Inspector, “not that it proves anything really,” she added.”But we’ve ticked a box that needed to be ticked.”

“The door to the school itself seems to be locked,” said Dave, changing the subject and pulling and pushing on the handle, “and probably isn’t used much these days.”

“But the caretaker would have a key,” agreed Sheila, “because the lock doesn’t look anywhere near as old as the door it’s on. Look: do you reckon it might be a fairly modern replacement?”

“Very modern,” agreed Dave, nodding sagely.

“Then let’s see if the caretaker is around. He might be able to fill us in on anything we ought to know because someone stuck a knife into the Daniels man and although it might not have punctured his heart it can be argued that it did actually cause him to die.”

“Agreed,” replied Dave.

“The front entrance might be our own best way in. Come on, I’ll take the car round.” said Sheila with a small smile, “it’s getting late in the day and from my memories I seem to think that’s when caretakers are at their busiest.”

They returned to the car and after a skilfully achieved three-point turn found themselves in the parking area at the front of the school.

By this time the children had mostly left the building, though one boy was sullenly loitering around in the office area.

“What are you waiting for, boy?” asked Dave, trying to sound midway between friendly and authoritarian.

“I’m waiting for my mum,” the boy replied, “though when she’s late like this it means she’s been down the Fox and Hounds and when she gets here she’ll be plaiting her legs, as my dad puts it.”

“Oh,” said Sheila, and she switched on her friendliest smile. “And your name is?” she asked.

“I’m Ian. Ian Daniels, though my second name might change any time now seeing as my dad’s dead.”

“You mean your Mr Daniels’ son?” asked Dave.

The boy nodded. “Mr Lincoln said as I mustn’t get upset and cry or do something girly like that, but he;’s been killed. But I ain’t upset, no sir, I ain’t, he might have been my dad and done things to my mum in order for me to be born, but that didn’t make him into anything but a sod!”

The door opened behind the two officers, and Mrs Daniels, looking remarkably sober walked in, not even staggering though if she’d spent the best part of the day in the Fox and Hounds she might well have been expecting to be, as her son had put it, plaiting her legs.

“What are you doing talking to my lad?” she asked belligerently when she’d had a chance to take in the scene, “you ain’t supposed to be interviewing kids. I knows that. I watches Midsomer Murders, don’t I?”

“We’ve only just got here, and you’re late,” Dave said quite firmly, “you’ve left the poor little mite waiting here on his own, and anyone could have walked in. You hear such awful things that can happen to kids in this day and age when they’re left unattended.”

“Oh,” she mumbled, and slapped Ian across the back of his head, not harshly. “See what trouble you’ve caused,” she said, effectively changing the subject.

“Mrs Daniels, I think I’d better arrest you,” snapped the DI.when she saw it.

“What for? It weren’t me as killed the swine!” Mrs Daniels protested.

“I don’t mean for the murder of your husband but the cruel bullying of a small boy!” replied Sheila. “Both me and my sergeant witnessed you slapping him about the head! Have you any idea how much damage you could have done to his brain? So, Marjorie Daniels I’m…”

“I ain’t hurt my precious boy!” interrupted Mrs Daniels, “I wouldn’t hurt a hair on the precious boy’s head! What you saw was a friendly little push, like a gentle swipe, and nowt worse than that!”

“It were nowt,” put in Ian, “not like my dad used to ‘it me when the mood was on ‘im!”

“I see,” muttered Sheila, “anyway, as I was going to say, Mrs Daniels, I’m going to leave Ian in your motherly care while I try to sort out who might have wanted to kill your husband.”

“Who didn’t, you mean,” said the boy’s mother, “if you can find someone who didn’t hate him you’ll be doing yourselves a favour!”

“Come on, mum,” urged Ian, “and you can tell me all about it! Is he really dead, like Mr Lincoln said?”

“Thank the Lord that he is!” sighed the woman, then “come along, darling, let’s go home and shall we have fish and chips for tea?”

The boy grinned hugely. “Yippee!” he said, and winked at the two officers as he was half-dragged by his mother out of the school.

“The caretaker, then,” decided Sheila, and she knocked on the Headmaster’s door. He called “Come!” in a stentorian voice, and when they went in in to explain their presence in the school it was to see both headmaster and caretaker together in the room.

“This is lucky,” smiled Sheila, “we can kill two birds with one stone!”

© Peter Rogerson, 07.01.25

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