Malice Aforethought Read Free Page B

passed among them.
    Instead, his uniform brought him curious glances, nervous nods of acknowledgement, even a series of giggles from some of the women in conversation on the periphery of the mass. He was sure he was the centre of their hilarity, though he could not imagine why. He felt the blush he always feared would undermine his authority creeping from his collar up into his cheeks.
    He was relieved when the children poured in a raucous tide of blue uniforms from the school and distracted attention from him. He resumed his task of looking for any odd man who was submerging himself among the crowd of parents and grandparents, hoping to pass unnoticed and wait here to prey upon unaccompanied children as they walked away from the school into the November dusk. He found nothing suspicious; either the call had been a false alarm from an overheated imagination, or the mysterious man had been warned off by the police presence. Or it might be that this was an elderly man who simply liked children, in a perfectly innocent way; that was much more common than an uncharitable society which fed upon sensationalism cared to admit.
    The children shrilled their goodbyes to each other as they went their separate ways. Jones gathered bits of school news, most of it unintelligible to him. But one piece of information he heard three times. Old Gilesy was off — they’d had mayhem for one lesson because no one had realised at first that he was missing. Apparently Old Murray had been livid about it. Bryn Jones was near enough to his own school days to remember that every teacher was ‘old’ to his young charges. And he knew that ‘Old Murray’ was the man in charge of this establishment, for a board not five yards to his right proclaimed in gold lettering that T. H. Murray, MA, was the Head Teacher of Oldford County Secondary School.
    Bryn Jones had no idea who Old Gilesy was, but the fact that he was missing caught his attention. And the fact that no one seemed to know why made him very interested indeed. For PC Bryn Jones had heard at the station that the MISPA files had been trawled unsuccessfully in search of the identity of the body discovered after the Remembrance Day service in Broughton’s Ash churchyard. It was a long shot, but you never knew…
    There is much to be said for youthful enthusiasm. PC Jones marched with determination into the school, ignoring the derisive remarks from the older boys behind him. He was told by the Head’s secretary that Mr Murray was conducting a short meeting with three of his senior staff and must not be disturbed, but PC Jones announced loftily that this was urgent police business and must take precedence. He was through the outer office and rapping on the Head Teacher’s door before the outraged dragon who guarded it could prevent him. He surprised himself sometimes, did Bryn.
    Thomas Murray, MA, seemed more disturbed to see a policeman than a headmaster should, and Bryn had his questions ready. ‘I understand that you have a Mr Giles on your staff.’
    ‘Yes. Edward Giles. He teaches Chemistry. When he’s here.’
    ‘I see. But he has not been here today?’
    ‘No. It was very inconvenient, in fact. The laboratories, you see. They’re not like ordinary classrooms. You can’t just let children—’
    ‘Do you know where Mr Giles is, Mr Murray?’ Bryn tried to keep the rising excitement out of his voice.
    ‘No. That’s what was so inconsiderate. Normally people ring in if they’re ill, or at least—’
    ‘You haven’t heard from him all day?’ PC Jones tried to keep it impersonal, but he knew he had spoken abruptly. The answer to this could mean a real feather in his cap. The mysterious, exciting world of CID beckoned beguilingly.
    ‘No. It’s a real nuisance, I don’t mind telling you. I’ve just spoken to my Deputy Head, and we don’t know whether to cover his classes for tomorrow or not. If only—’
    ‘I think I must ask you to come to the station with me, Mr Murray.