The Teacher: A shocking and compelling new crime thriller – NOT for the faint-hearted!. Katerina Diamond
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‘Hey, Tommy.’ Denise Ferguson beamed from behind the desk, obviously trying to avoid eye contact with Adrian. He suspected this would not be the last awkward encounter he would have today.
As Adrian pushed the second set of doors open he noticed the volume of the discussion change, along with the pace, everyone slowed down. He felt eyes on him so he kept his eyes on the floor and walked over to his desk.
‘Detective Miles?’ Adrian looked up. DCI Morris was standing in the doorway to his office. ‘Come here, would you?’
Adrian motioned to Tom to wait there before walking into the DCI’s office. Tom pulled out his phone and started messing around, headphones in to avoid being patronised by any of his dad’s colleagues. Morris closed the door behind Adrian, who was glad to be out of that room for a moment. Morris had a warm smile on his face which made Adrian feel ill at ease.
‘DCI Morris,’ Adrian said.
‘Take a seat, please, Adrian.’
Adrian sat in what felt like the naughty chair, you didn’t get invited in here for just anything, a serious chat was at hand. DCI Morris didn’t look a day older than the first time Adrian had met him almost twenty years ago. Of course, when Adrian met him he looked about sixty. It was the bald head; it’s hard to age a man without any hair at all. Adrian realised this after taking a few witness statements in the early days – if there was a bald man involved you could pretty much forget a reliable description, witness accounts would span teenagers, pensioners and everything in between, depending on the visual capabilities of the witnesses themselves.
‘Sir.’
‘It’s good to have you back, you’ve been missed.’
‘Look, sir, about what happened—’
‘As far as I am concerned, Adrian, it’s over and done with now, things happen, they shouldn’t but they do. The inquiry is over and I think six months is quite enough time to get yourself sorted. A “No further action” order is better than nothing. At least next time you will know to take a little more care when logging evidence.’
‘There won’t be a next time, sir.’ Adrian cringed. ‘And thank you for speaking to the commission on my behalf.’
‘You did your time, we all make mistakes, I have had a few mishaps myself over the years.’ Morris looked up as there was a gentle tap on the glass door. ‘Ah, speaking of mistakes.’ He took a deep breath and signalled to the woman standing outside the office. ‘Come in!’
‘DCI Morris? I’m Imogen Grey.’
‘Yes, I know who you are. Perfect timing, come in and sit down, please, DS Grey.’
The scruffy brunette sat down next to Adrian and immediately started picking her thumbnails anxiously and biting her lip. She was wearing a shapeless sweatshirt and baggy combat trousers. She crossed her legs away from Adrian without looking at him once.
‘Sorry I’m late.’
‘DS Grey, I would like you to meet DS Miles, you will be working together for the foreseeable.’
‘Guv?’ Adrian interrupted. Was she here to make sure he didn’t mess up again?
‘I know it’s not ideal but Grey’s just transferred up from Plymouth and I need someone I can trust to show her the ropes.’
‘Babysit, you mean?’ Grey scowled. Adrian realised he wasn’t the one who was being monitored here; she was defensive and hostile about something. She was in the doghouse, too.
‘Oh good, a couple of sulky teenagers, you two should get on like a house on fire.’ Morris walked towards the door. ‘I’ll leave you alone to make your introductions.’
She didn’t turn to look at Adrian. Instead she feigned interest in the standard-issue police posters. He knew what she was waiting for, she was waiting for him to speak first. It was a game, a manipulation. It was childish. He respected that.
‘Well, you must have done something really fucked up to get stuck with me,’ Adrian laughed and stood up. ‘Come on, let’s go and get your access codes sorted out.’
‘Why? What did you do?’ For the first time since she had entered the room she looked at him and he saw her face properly. Her freckled skin was peeling across her nose and cheeks, she spent a lot of time outside. Her hazel eyes were framed by the longest blackest eyelashes he had ever seen. Not a trace of make-up and he had no idea how old she was, her clothes suggested she was a fifteen-year-old boy.
‘Lost some evidence, let a major local dealer walk. You know, a real career-defining moment.’
‘Are you always this forthcoming?’ Grey’s face softened to reveal a cheeky smile. Adrian suspected that she was relieved that he was out of favour too.
‘Definitely not. But if we’re stuck together I would rather you heard it from me, Grey.’
‘I guess that makes sense.’ She smiled begrudgingly.
‘So what did you do?’ Adrian held the door open, instantly realising his mistake as she grabbed the door and signalled him out first.
‘None of your business.’ She winked, he almost thought she was going to slap his backside and, unless he was mistaken, the thought had crossed her mind too.
The Taxidermist
She stared into the beady eyes of the dead cat, its lustrous fur still soft to the touch. As her finger brushed against the side of its hardened stomach she saw the dust erupting in tiny clouds. She put a yellow sticker on the animal, yellow means ‘restore’, this animal needed to be returned to its former glory, or as close an approximation as anything dead can have to something that was once alive. Abbey Lucas had worked in the Eden House Memorial Museum for five years now, she never ventured out on to any of the four main exhibition rooms, hardly spoke to any of the other staff and never dealt with the public, she just stayed here in the archive rooms. For the last five years she had been working her way through the thousands of stuffed animals, from kangaroo to platypus, from a common goat to this stunning example of evolution, the cheetah. She wondered why no one ever bothered to stuff cows or sheep, maybe they were too boring to part with your money over. Although, Abbey had always thought cows were rather beautiful, with their big sad brown eyes.
Abbey walked down to the lobby, the porters were bustling. They were just reassembling the lobby after a week’s closure in order to redecorate it. The whole building was undergoing refurbishment after a large sum of money was bequeathed to the museum when the former director died just a few months ago. They had been trying for the last fifteen years to get the funding to put the place back together. Only fourteen of the possible thirty-two exhibition rooms had been open to the public for quite some time, with most of the smaller ones on the second floor closed. The museum had been ravaged by an electrical fire around twenty years ago, bad wiring and a faulty circuit breaker had caused damage to at least a quarter of the building. As the owners had been unable to fix the place straight away, some of the rooms had been cordoned off or used as storage until they had enough money to go ahead with the refurb. The Neo-Gothic museum, built in the eighteenth century, housed various Celtic and Roman artefacts that had been discovered in the local area. It was also home to a huge menagerie of various animals, costumes and fossils. Fortunately the damage was predominantly cosmetic. The new colour on the walls was vermillion red, almost a bright orange. Abbey didn’t think it belonged in a place like this, it was garish and distasteful. The red was a far cry from the drab Georgian grey that had been the colour in every single exhibit room since she had started here. Now each room had an accent colour, as per the interior designer’s remit. Of course the most striking had to be the entrance. It was less of an accent colour and more of a full assault on the senses.
‘Abbey!’