Cuthbert's Way (DCI Ryan Mysteries, #17)(26)

“Maybe still in lessons,” she guessed, half-heartedly. “And maybe they can’t paint for shit.”

Phillips let out a booming laugh, which echoed along the hallway in surround sound.

Ryan said nothing, remembering the rigid scheduling he’d learned to accept during his school days. As he thought of it, memories floated to the surface of his mind.

Finley-Ryan! Is that tie an appropriate length?

Smarten up!

No mail today, Finley-Ryan. Perhaps next week, eh?

Truant again, Ryan? What will your father say?

“Ryan?”

He snapped out of his reverie to find Phillips and Patel staring at him.

“Sorry, I was miles away.”

“Anything important?” Phillips asked.

Ryan’s lips twisted. “No,” he said. “Just ghosts.”

*

They found Father Peter Larverne in his private office, which commanded a triple-aspect view of the lawns from its position directly beneath the main clocktower. It was a room the headmasters of Crayke had occupied for generations and he was now the proud incumbent, with the added distinction of being the youngest ever to hold the position, at the relatively tender age of thirty-seven.

When they knocked politely at his door, they found he was not alone.

“DCI Patel? Please do come in,” he said, gesturing them inside his domain. “I don’t know if you’ve met Father Samuel, our chaplain, here at the school.”

A middle-aged man with a mild, unremarkable face stood up from where he’d been sitting in one of the easy chairs and shuffled forward.

“No, I don’t think we’ve met,” Patel said.

“I spoke with your sergeant,” Samuel said, a bit nervously, then turned to the headmaster. “I’ll leave you to it—”

As he bade a hasty retreat, Patel’s calm voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Actually, Father, perhaps you wouldn’t mind staying for a moment or two,” she said. “It would be useful to hear from both of you, to get a fuller picture of what happened last night and learn more about Father Jacob.”

“Of course,” Samuel said. “Our brother was a very worthy man. I’ll do all I can to help your investigation.”

“Quite right,” the headmaster approved. “Please, everybody, make yourselves comfortable.”

He cast an enquiring eye over the two strangers in the room, making a brief inventory of their looks and demeanour. The younger man was taller, and of a military bearing—straight-backed, as though he were quite used to being inspected—and more than capable of conducting an inspection of his own, judging by the uncompromising expression marring his otherwise flawless face. He was arresting, if not a little unnerving.

Father Peter smiled at himself, thinking that he’d never quite shaken the artist’s habit of studying line and form.

Old habits die hard, so the saying went—an unfortunate turn of phrase given recent events.

The elder man was equally compelling, for different reasons. His face was what he would have called ‘characterful’; rounded, but not soft, he bore the look of a fighting man from another era, one who might have used his bare fists, if the need arose. And yet, the toughness of his stance was belied by the warmth of his eyes, which invited company and conversation.

Of the two, Father Peter didn’t know which he’d rather sketch first.

“This is DCI Ryan and DS Phillips,” Patel said.

She omitted to mention that they were visiting from another command area, because to do so would invite entirely too many questions, and time was running short. However, she needn’t have bothered. For all that Father Peter was a monk first and a headmaster second, his title demanded that he keep in touch with the secular world outside the walls of Crayke College, and he recognised Ryan’s name immediately.

For reasons best known to himself, he chose not to mention it nor to ask why a celebrated detective from Northumberland had travelled all the way down to York.

“Welcome,” was all he said. “Please, be seated.”

Phillips and Patel took up the offer, while Ryan positioned himself beside the window, which had the deliberate effect of casting his face in shadow so that his expression could not be so easily read. Father Peter was an observer of people, it seemed, but, on this occasion, it was he who was the subject.

“First, I’d like to thank you both for your cooperation in this matter,” Patel began, in crisp, professional tones. “We understand this must be a difficult ordeal.”

Father Peter raised the tips of his fingers to his lips and expelled a heartfelt sigh.

“Thank you for your empathy, chief inspector. It is, indeed, a very difficult moment for all of us here in the Crayke community.”

Patel paused for a respectful couple of seconds, before launching into her line of questioning.

“I understand you’ve both given statements to my colleagues, but I wonder if you’d be good enough to go over some of it again, for us? It’s quite normal, during the course of a murder investigation,” she added.

“Of course,” Father Peter said. “I echo Father Samuel’s words; we are all here to serve, however we may.”

“Thank you. In that case, would you both kindly tell us when you last saw Father Jacob alive?”

It was the headmaster who answered first.