Cannington Inquires: Tough Lessons Book 3

by William Hanson

A school boy is found dead at a comprehensive school under suspicious circumstances. One of his friends knows the perfect person to solve the mystery, Doctor Richmond Cannington.

Chapter One

The Comprehensive Approach

Today, the fifth form at Molton Comprehensive School was finishing off their coursework. The teacher, Mr Greenman, looked on in part displeasure and part agony. Some of the pupils were going to hand in neat piece of work that made some sense of the English language, whilst others would hand in something that could easily pass as a shabby newspaper, found on roadsides. This was the norm at the school. A majority of the pupils were untidy, uncouth and insolent. However, there were a select few that knew the difference between right and wrong. Although none of the students were perfect, all the teachers had their favourites.

One of these, Max Kingdom was a quiet, messy child who did not know how to dress properly. This was not because he rebelled, but because he had never been told how. Both of his parents had placed him up for adoption when he was young as he was illegitimate. Since then, the father had died in a car accident and the mother had made no contact with her child. Max now lived with his paternal uncle and aunt.

"Thank you, Max." said Mr Greenman, taking a blue folder from his hands. "I hope this will be as good as your last coursework you did for me." Max gave a weak smile, emitted a faint noise from his mouth, and returned to his seat. He knew very well that it would not be as good as the last one, as he had found Charles Dickens's 'Great Expectations' very difficult to understand. "Anyone else finished theirs yet?" called the teacher to the English class, a plaintive tone in his voice. "Someone else must have done, surely. Max has managed to complete his." A spotty child in the back row piped up,

"Oh, yeah, well Maxy-Waxy would have done. Perfect little Maxy-Waxy." Several of the surrounding children giggled and congratulated the yob for cracking such a "wonderful" joke.

"Thank you, Darren. We'll have none of that please." Mr Greenman tried his best to reprimand the child.

Keith Greenman had been a teacher for eight years. Before that, he had been an electrician for a big commercial company. Greenman's only school had been Molton Comprehensive and two years ago, he had been appointed as Deputy Head. In most schools, it would be unusual for this to happen, but under the current regime, it was not surprising.

His head bore a thin layer of black hair, which was divided up by the odd grey hair. "Alright, I'm handing out some sheets on the book to help you for your next essay. Yes, an essay, don't moan please. The title is: 'How does the character of Pip develop during the scenes with Mrs Joe?' We'll start this next week, so bring all of the revision sheets along please. I'm afraid I haven't had time to staple them." He proceeded to hand out the sheets, making sure everyone had a copy.

"Thank you." A couple of the more studious pupils said. Mr Greenman had forgotten to photocopy enough sheets so he was one short; however, luckily, a few students were missing so everyone received one.

"Ok, before you all disappear, a roll-call please." The teacher walked back to his desk and picked up the register. One by one he read out the names, making sure that he knew all who were absent.

After the lesson, Mr Greenman performed his usual ritual of tidying the classroom up. He hated things to be left in a messy condition. The desks were placed back into five straight lines and the chairs tucked under. Whilst arranging his classroom, he picked up the odd sweet wrapper or empty bottle from the floor. Being methodical, he started from the back of the classroom and worked towards the front. The last row he came to (the one nearest the teacher's desk) needed little attention. Only the chairs needed altering. Max Kingdom and his two friends often frequented this row. They were the nicest pupils in the school.

Suddenly, two knocks emanated from the door and Ms Walker walked in.

"I see you are tidying up again, Keith." She observed easily.

"Yes." Mr Greenman did not really like the Head Teacher, Janet Walker, but treated her with civility, seeing as she had appointed him as Deputy Head.

"Have you managed to finish the assessment form yet?" Ms Walker asked, whilst running her finger along the bookshelf.

"Nearly," Greenman noticed what she was doing and tried to ignore it.

"Well, let's not delay it too much. I must send them back to the council as soon as possible. We don't want to be looked upon badly, do we?" She laughed condescendingly.

"No, you don't." Keith too laughed falsely.

Janet Walker was a squat woman with mousy hair. Theoretically, she held the most amount of power within the school; however, no one really paid any attention to her rules and guidelines. Keith Greenman on the other hand was more laidback and was friends with most of the pupils that wanted to be friends; Greenman could see the humorous side of life.

Molton Comprehensive was a large spacious school that had recently been victim to an arson attack. Because of this, the local government and insurance had paid for its renovation. The new interior was ever so slightly patronising to the pupils. Each corridor had been allocated a colour. This meant that pupils now had to refer to each corridor by the corresponding colour. Ms Walker's office was located in the blue corridor while Mr Greenman's classroom was in the 'purple' zone. As one would expect, the blue corridor had blue walls and blinds and the purple corridor had the same but in purple.

The lunch break was not Max Kingdom's favourite time of the day. Today, as usual, the 'Molton gang' loomed outside the canteen, waiting to pounce on the GCSE student.

"Max! Max!" the gang cried in unison. "Smart-alecky Max." A dark brown haired youth emerged from the group and approached Max slowly. Gavin Tanner's nose seemed to curl at one side, as did his mouth and lip. He was not a particularly attractive looking person but was extremely popular within the gang. This was probably something to do with the fact that he was Rob Jackson's, (the gang leader), best friend.

"So, Max. You have another piece of coursework handed in. Think that makes you cool?" Tanner snarled. Max was pressed flat against a yellow wall, shaking. "Huh? Well it doesn't, all right? Just for once, stop being a swot. If you did…it might get rid of your swot spots!" Tanner retreated slightly whilst bursting into laughter. The rest of the gang followed suit. After they had exchanged a few more snide remarks, the group continued to focus on a trembling Max.

"Leave him alone!" Suddenly, a girl's voice rang out through the corridor. The Molton Gang pulled back and looked to their right. Standing there was an attractive young girl with elbow length blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. Her light pink satchel bag hung lazily over her shoulder whilst she held a few exercise books in her hand.

"Ooh! Look, Max is rescued once again by his secret admirer." Gavin Tanner was once again staring at Max. The cold and viscous sweat began to run down Max's face once more. The girl stood her ground, and slowly the bullies dispersed. Max looked at her in relief and exhaustion, and tried to smile.

Chapter Two

After the Dinner Party

The evening had been a success. The Suthertons had once again managed to pull off a spectacular dinner party. The guest list included local politicians, high-ranking civil servants, regional businessmen and Little Marlow's favourite gentleman, Doctor Richmond Cannington. By eleven, all the guests had left the Manor House, except the latter. Cannington sat neatly on a pale sofa in one of the Manor's drawing rooms, the red drawing room to be precise. His hosts, Robert and Georgina Sutherton were on a sofa opposite. The drawn, long face of Robert Sutherton had slightly more colour in it this evening. He was not normally one to drink in excess, but today he had decided to break with tradition. His wife, Georgina had not had quite so much alcohol. She sat primly on the edge, sipping a cup of lemon tea. Her brown hair was cut neatly to her shoulder; it matched her light orange dress that seemed to hang off her torso.

"Thank you for coming, Cannington." Robert Sutherton cried drunkenly. "Always a pleasure to, to have your input into the, er, the conversation." Lady Georgina now decided to take over this conversation, before her husband made himself look too foolish.

"Thank you for inviting me." replied Cannington politely. He felt a tinge of tiredness rise up through his body.

"Tell me," she started, "what was it like investigating a Prime Minister's death?" Lady Sutherton was known to be a gossip and could not forego the opportunity to quiz Cannington. He did not know quite how to reply to this. After all it had been a sensitive case and he had promised not to divulge any national secrets. Since finding the culprit out a few months ago, it had been announced in the press that Lord James Teal had been murdered and that a private detective had investigated the case, alongside the Metropolitan Police. Cannington had not wanted his name to be printed; however, he had not minded a photograph. That was how Lady Sutherton, and the people that knew Cannington, had discovered it was his initiative that had solved the case.

"It was interesting." Cannington answered cautiously.

"Yes?"

"Interesting." He repeated. "It's an adjective made up of four syllables; in-ter…" Due his tiredness, he attempted to crack a joke (in order to deflect the conversation away from the confidential matter.

"I know what it means. What I meant was, did you get to see a few secret things?" Lady Sutherton was on the edge of her seat even more; one more move and she would fall of.

"I might have seen a few, although the nineteen eighty nine Official Secrets Act prevents me from telling you anything." He said coolly, whilst inside he felt quite smug that he had silenced the biggest gossip in town. Her reaction was what one might expect. She turned her attention elsewhere and started to gaze at a lampshade. An awkward silence followed until the door of the drawing room opened, slowly, to reveal a well dressed child of fourteen.

"Matthew!" cheered Robert Sutherton merrily.

"Matthew!" shrieked Lady Sutherton. Her tone was not as welcoming as her husband's. "Why are you out of bed?"

"Actually mother, I have not gone to bed yet." retorted Matthew. He was the only child of the Suthertons and suited the part well. Today his clothes consisted of an open necked blue shirt and beige chinos; a brown belt skirted the top edge of the trousers. Lady Sutherton seethed at her son's impertinence. Both Richmond Cannington and her own son annoying her was too much to take. Quickly, she rose from the sofa, glanced at her husband and announced,

"I'm off to bed." And with that, she walked out of the room, taking no notice of her son, muttering a faint, "Good evening, Doctor Cannington," as she went. Matthew and his inebriated father were left in the room, both slightly dazed for different reasons.

Cannington did not say anything, but instead observed their reactions.

"Was it something I said?" Matthew spoke somewhat uncertainly, whilst taking a seat.

"No, my dear boy. Just your mother having one of her turns." replied his father.

"Did the party go well, Daddy?"

"What party? Oh yes! Splendishously." hiccupped Sutherton as Cannington started to speak.

"I don't think that is a word, Robert. Perhaps you could have used, splendidly?" Matthew loved grammar so simply adored this correction of his father. Normally, Matthew would have been snapped at for criticising his father. However, Cannington was a guest and could not be demonised like Matthew had been in the past.

The Sutherton family had resided in the manor ever since the year eighteen ninety-one. The residents of Little Marlow had become quite used to seeing the Bentleys drive around the village, cake sales on the green hosted by the lady of the manor, and it was second nature to allow any male Sutherton children in to the district polo team.

Robert Sutherton had made his money through undertaking. As a young man, he had already inherited a vast amount of money from his father; he had used that to set up a highly successful chain of funeral directors. 'Going South Interment Executives' had offices in London, Cardiff, Cornwall, Birmingham, Manchester and Glasgow. They catered for the more formal funerals and had under taken the job of burying politicians and celebrities.

Lady Georgina spent her time organising charity events and supervising in the church hall. No one really liked her very much, but they all knew if they excluded her, she would only have them taken off the village rota or banned from any parties at the Manor. Matthew, their only son, attended a top boarding school, outside of London. He knew how to dress and was perfectly mannered. Cannington often thought that he could easily adopt Matthew, as he would be no trouble.

After exchanging a few pleasantries with Robert and inquiring into how school was going for Matthew, Cannington decided it was best time to leave. He wished them both a good evening and was shown out by the butler. Walking down the path that led to the gates, Cannington fiddled with his scarf around his neck, adjusted his coat and proceeded to return to The Elms, his home.

The house had always been welcoming and regularly cheered up its owner, Cannington. However, today, it did not. There was something that Cannington was missing. He has been to many different houses in the past few weeks and they all had something that his didn't. It was an eerie feeling and he wondered if the house had been burgled. Cannington did a quick sweep of the house to check that everything was in order; nothing was wrong. Brushing this odd incident aside, Cannington opened a window to let the house ventilate.

His next job was to open his mail. Lying on his desk were four envelopes, one brown and three white. Cannington always found opening white envelopes cathartic. It was the brown envelopes that he hated. Ninety nine percent of the time, Cannington just threw them to on side and opened them all at weekend.

Today's white envelopes looked exciting. The first was from his old school asking for money – he was used to his school trying to squeeze as much money as they could out of their old pupils. They'd only go and spend it on increasing the Head Master's salary, so Cannington always refused (although he had sent off two hundred pounds on the first occasion). The second letter was from a friend in Scotland, to whom Cannington would reply presently. The final white envelope was from AC Kevin Wallace – a friend Cannington had in the Metropolitan Police Force. He wanted to know whether Cannington had considered his offer to re-join the police service. Cannington had considered and reconsidered, but in the end had decided against it. He preferred being his own boss, and choosing which cases to accept.

The following day, Cannington sat watching the television. The odd feeling had not changed. Even his favourite programme, the news, could not lift his mood. Slowly, his eyelids began to close and he drifted into a light sleep for a while. Suddenly he awoke. A loud crash sounded from the television set; regional news had begun. Two cheery poly-filled presenters beamed at him from their sofa. 'Berks. Tonight' had been fronted by the same two presenters for over eight years. Although he almost always watched it, Cannington detested them and the programme.

After sitting through a slow five minutes of the regional news magazine, Cannington decided that they had had yet another 'no news' day and turned it off. All around the drawing room, there were several pictures of Cannington's family and friends. The nearest picture to him was one of his older sister, who lived in Hazelmere. She had always seemed distant to Cannington although she regularly visited at Christmas, and occasionally in the summer. Cannington smiled to himself as he remembered memories from their childhood. Still smiling, he placed the picture down. He had always looked up to his sister. Somehow, they had found it much easier to communicate with each other than their younger brother, James Cannington.

He paused. For some odd reason he had forgotten what he was meant to be doing on Sunday. Hoping he was not expected to be anywhere important, he rushed over to his diary in the hall and checked. Relieved it was only lunch with his less than favourite set of relations, his brother, sister-in-law and nephew, Ben. His smile faded.

Chapter Three

Relatively Speaking

The church was surprisingly warm for autumn. The congregation of Saint John the Baptist Church sat in mild comfort on the hard, wooden pews. Normally, none of them enjoyed sitting on the pews for Sunday church, but due to the weather, no one was complaining. The Reverend was coming to the end of her sermon; today the subject was whether Jesus would have approved of ring binders. Little Marlow had been used to many of this type talks from the Reverend and her verger. Shelia Dinsley had moved to the parish three years and replaced the unpopular Reverend Michelle Jacobs.

After the service, the eccentric, yet oddly charming character of Harriet Rose-Bottom bombarded Cannington.

"Morning, Richmond," she said moving towards him. Mrs Rose-Bottom was one of the few people that were allowed to call Cannington by his Christian name.

"Good sermon again from the rector." The widow had lost her husband a few years ago and today marked his death's anniversary; she had chosen to wear a black armband over her dark red jacket.

"Yes, although I would have not just have talked about ring-binders, I might have broadened it as to speak about stationery in general." Cannington answered thoughtfully. After a few more pleasant words, they departed, Cannington deciding to take the scenic route back to his house.

Every time Cannington walked through the picturesque, quiet streets of the village, he stopped to gaze up and admire the Grange. It was an impressive building. It wasn't too big, unlike the Manor, yet it still had enough room for a few domestics. Only a few months ago, Mrs Foreblanks the current owner had expressed an interest in selling the house and moving away from the area. Cannington had thought about putting in an offer if it ever came on the market; as of it yet, it had not.

Today was going to be quite tiresome for the gentleman detective. He had been to church and now he had to collect his suitcases from his current home and make the long and tedious drive down to Devon where his brother lived. The two brothers had not always seen eye to eye. The younger of them, James Alexander Frederick Cannington, worked as a county official while his wife, Trisha Cannington, managed the local supermarket. In Cannington's eyes, she was not really suited to her husband and neither was he suited to her. Nevertheless, Cannington refrained from interfering in their marriage and their parenting skills. The couple had one child, named Ben. Cannington always told his close friends that his nephew had been one of those children that "had been dragged up, not brought up."

"Richard!" cried Trisha Cannington launching herself onto her brother-in-law.

"It's Richmond, dear." She had always forgotten Cannington's first name and it played on his nerves frequently. The number of postcards from Spain or Portugal he had received that started, 'Dear Richard,' could not be counted. "How are you?" asked Cannington, detaching himself from the woman.

"Brilliant. We have just got back from Alacante, as you can see by the tan!" Cannington took several steps back from her so he did not turn deaf. She had a laugh that could pierce someone's eardrums from point blank range.

Bounding down the stairs came Ben. His uncle had picked him up accidentally a few months ago in London; Cannington had not forgotten this. Seeing Cannington's expression made Ben slow down on the last few stairs; he muttered an embarrassed and far from articulate,

"Hullo." Cannington returned this with a perfectly enunciated and formed greeting.

"Good afternoon, Benjamin." There was an awkward silence. Trisha was the first to break the pause.

"James won't be a minute. He's just finishing mending the hammock. We've had our holiday snaps developed!" Her hands froze in midair, clenched together; her face stuck in a wide grin. Cannington wondered if she wanted a medal; he had always loathed browsing through his relatives' albums. In his opinion, once you had seen one image of semi-naked tangerines lying on a golden beach squinting up at the camera, you had seen them all. Nevertheless, Cannington would play the caring relation and traipse through their eleventh volume of holiday pictures.

Shortly after moving into the lounge, Cannington's younger brother, James, arrived. On first appearance, you would not know that he was a Cannington. Unlike his older brother's receding and thinning grey hair, James had thick brown hair. The only similarity between the two brothers was their height. Both of them were just over six feet.

After apologising for his absence, he shook hands with his elder sibling and sat down next to his wife. They looked at Cannington expectantly; wondering why they were doing this, Cannington returned to the albums.

"I don't need the plate yet!" snapped Trisha Cannington shrewdly. "Put it down." James had always hated helping his wife with Sunday lunch; it always seemed to go wrong. On one occasion, the sprouts were turned to a cinder because James had forgotten to remind his wife they were cooking. Then the next time they had a roast, Trisha had tripped over the dog and dropped the beef on James's foot; it had splashed up onto his new trousers. Trisha was not impressed; the trousers had been a present from her last Christmas.

Ben and Cannington sat patiently in the dining room in silence.

"Weather's nice today." said Cannington half-heartedly.

"Yeah." Replied Ben.

"What are you doing at school?" Cannington had once visited Ben's school on parents' evening. It was not an experience he wished to remember.

"Um, no' much." That didn't surprise Cannington. "We are star'ing to think abou' careers now." Ben anticipated the next question from his uncle, "I want to be a policeman." This was shocking to Cannington. He once had served in the police force and knew that Ben was more likely to get a taste of what the force was like by being arrested than actually working in it. Cannington started to worry: for the safety of the country and for Ben.

"Of course you must get good grades in your exams." Cannington assumed that Ben had never heard these few words before, so decided he had better give him a small lecture on the importance of examinations. Thankfully for Ben, his parents entering spared him the trauma: Trisha held the lamb whilst James followed behind looking sheepish.

"Dinner is served!" she joked, placing the meat on the table. Cannington looked at his watch to check the time.

"My dear, it's a quarter past one." Trisha couldn't quite comprehend this statement and looked at Cannington blankly. "Lunch. Lunch is served. Dinner is in the evening." An eruption of fury spread throughout the woman's body. Her grip on the carving knife intensified. For a moment, Ben watched his mother's face fluctuate between rage and amusement. It twitched in what seemed to be every single direction, but after a few seconds, Trisha Cannington's normal composure returned. She lifted the carving knife and plunged it into the lamb.

The meal passed with mild success. Lamb was not one of Cannington's favourite meats; however his host had cooked it to perfection and for the first time in several years, Cannington had asked for more. The adults retired to the lounge to discuss various subjects whilst Ben returned to his room.

"Benjamin was telling me that he wants to be a policeman." Cannington said, sitting down on a sofa.

"Yes." replied James with a pleased grin. He had planned on talking about this matter with his brother; now that Cannington had raised the subject first; it was easier for him to speak about it. "They have to do work experience shortly too."

"Really." Cannington was totally disinterested in this.

"It's fairly hard to get work experience in the police force." James placed particular stress on the third word.

"So I gather." The short and curt remarks that Cannington was giving made his brother increasingly frustrated. Beads of sweat were running down James's head.

"Well," started the younger of the two brothers. Cannington raised his eyebrows and sighed.

"I suppose you want me to use my influence in the police service to get him a job. Well I'm afraid with today's social problems and the evident climate of fear, certain prominent, and peripheral, issues have to be taken into consideration…" He was cut off.

"No! Not at all. What I wondered was perhaps, maybe, if Ben could do," he paused, then continued, "could do work experience," James took a deep breath, "with you." The two brothers locked eyes and stared at each other for several moments. Cannington did not believe what his brother had just asked him. After a few seconds, Cannington broke the silence.

"Absolutely no way. Certainly not." He stood up and started to pace up and down the room. Trisha Cannington decided to get up and take sanctuary in the kitchen. "You think I would actually let him in on something as important as my work?" He left no time for James to reply. "For a start I can not guarantee that I will have any work to do; the last job I had was high security and Benjamin would never have been allowed to work with me on that."

In the face of such a resounding 'no', James tried to ease the tension,

"Surely someone will die between now and the end of the month for you to investigate?" This was an attempt to lighten the atmosphere; it failed.

"DON'T JOKE!" shouted Cannington in a fit of rage. "Death is not to be taken flippantly. I know that will be hard for you, you took father's murder lightly." The two brothers were now almost circling each other.

"I took it lightly? It was probably light compared to how you took it. Mind you, it was your fault." Silence. Cannington let a final exclamation of rage and stormed out of the room into the hall, leaving James shaking with emotion. Grabbing his coat, Cannington fumbled with the key in the door and eventually managed to open it.

A few minutes later and the house was still silent. Ben Cannington came out from behind the curtain that faced the door. He had been listening to every word that his uncle and father had been saying. As he moved to climb the stairs, he brushed a tear off his cheek.

Chapter Four

Cannington Returns to School

Several days later, the Cannington brothers had still not spoken to each other since the argument last Sunday. This was not the first time the two had fallen out over something, but usually it was something minor. In the past the two had bickered about their pet cat, rabbit and James's frog; then when they were adults they had stopped speaking for three weeks about a choice of car, while recently communications has ceased due to a flippant comment James had made to one of Cannington's guests at a party. However, this time, it was different.

The morning had not been very successful at Molton Comprehensive. Period two was not going well, despite several of the pupils actually listening to Mr Greenman, many others had simply not turned up for the lesson, including Max Kingdom. On inquiry to one of Max's few friends, the teacher discovered that Max had not even been in school. Apparently, he had fallen out with his adoptive parents and their son.

"Exercise books open please; write this title." Mr Greenman took out a black board marker and started to write on the board. "Damn!" he cursed. The ink had finally run out and he had no more pens in the classroom. "Listen." He called to the ever-noisy class. "My pen has run out, I'm off to the stock room to get a new set. Samantha, you're in charge. I won't be long." He left the room and made his way to the storeroom. He went along the 'purple' corridor, through the fire doors to the 'green' corridor and into the staff room. Greenman took out his keys and unlocked the cupboard. He rummaged around for several moments, sifting through boxes of staples, clips, rubbers and elastic bands. However hard he tried, he was not going to find any pens. He would have to try the other stock room. The Head Teacher had decided that it was vital for the school to have more than one stock room.

By the time Mr Greenman arrived at the other supply store, he was extremely irritated at the inconvenience. Whilst walking, he had bumped into Ms Walker, his boss. Seeing as she had not much to do, she decided to follow her deputy – much to his annoyance. The storeroom was to be found in the 'red corridor'. There was a rather odd stench that lingered in the air but seeing as this corridor also housed the canteen, Mr Greenman paid no attention. (It was obviously Fois Gras and salad for lunch again.) He continued to unlock the door casually and once opened, he walked in, turned to his left to find the light switch, flicked it up and gasped in fright; Janet Walker screamed. Lying inches away from their feet was a child's body. She bent over to check the boy's pulse. Nothing. On closer inspection, Ms Walker found that it was Max Kingdom; his face was contorted.

"Go get help, Keith." She cried. Her hands were now shaking and her teeth chattered in fear. Mr Greenman just stood there helplessly, wondering whom to get. Ms Walker noticed her colleague twitching, amongst the nervous flinches, he sneezed.

"Police?" he asked frantically.

"Get them later, fetch the Nurse first."

In a rush of panic, Mr Greenman ran out of the room, along the multi-coloured corridors, passing his classroom; he looked in to check on the class. Surprisingly, the girl, whom he had left in charge, had managed to keep the class quiet; however, what noise there was stopped suddenly as their English teacher came speeding into the room, panting.

After establishing that they were alright, he turned to leave, but looked back at Samantha and her boyfriend who sat in the front row: they had been Max's best friends. His eyes began to water as he saw the two students sitting blissfully unaware of what had just happened. "You better come as well." The pair of them exchanged awkward glances then followed.

"What's happened?" asked Samantha's boyfriend worriedly.

"Max Kingdom," said Greenman, clearly upset, "he's been found dead." The boy and girl stopped and stood still in amazement. They looked at each other, numbed, and the girl began to cry.

"Mr Greenman?" said the boy timidly, "Wha' happened? Was it murder?"

"Judging by the bruises around his neck, I'd say it was." Keith Greenman had walked back to his students. He felt guilty at letting them know in such a way. But, to the adult's surprise, despite his evident shock, the boy smiled slightly.

"I know someone who'll find ou' who did it."

"Really?" Mr Greenman did not really care and conveyed this in his mannerisms. "Who, Ben?" He sighed.

"My uncle."

Cannington stood waiting by a blue wall. He was rather annoyed at having been called to Devon at nine thirty in the morning. It had taken him three and a half hours to arrive at Molton Comprehensive and now he was being kept waiting. The blue corridor was empty; nearly all pupils had been sent home.

On the opposite wall was a large board that displayed many leaflets and notices. 'Stop Smoking Now' was one; 'Guns May Kill' said another. To the right of these were the school notices and information. The fire action plan and the timetables took the most space but someone had just about found space for the activities list. Although most state schools did not offer co-curricular activities, Molton Comprehensive had found the time to offer a few. Down to attend bead making was: Harris, Jameson, Jones and Walton. Karate was even more popular with five pupils having signed up: Davies, Dove, George, Horton and Carbott. But the club every child seemed to want to be a member of was roller-blading. Around twenty pupils had subscribed to this twice a month activity. Cannington wondered how many bothered to turn up.

"Doctor Cannington please." called the Head Teacher's secretary, poking her head round a door. Cannington straightened his suit and walked in.

"Hello, thank you for coming at such short notice. I'm the Head Teacher, Ms Walker." The pair of them shook hands cordially.

"Doctor Richmond Cannington, at your service."

"Well now, let me give you the facts." She paused and donned her large round glasses. "Max Kingdom was found dead this morning at just after half past nine in the stationary cupboard,"

"By whom?" interrupted Cannington.

"By Mr Keith Greenman, deputy head, and I."

"You mean, 'me'." Cannington interrupted again.

"Quite. Max was in the fifth form and was hardworking." Ms Walker felt obliged to make this 'teacher comment', even though it was irrelevant. "When we moved the body we saw heavy bruising on his neck." Cannington sat up on hearing these words. The woman removed her spectacles and lowered her head, still looking at Cannington. "I will not tolerate murder at my school." Cannington smiled wryly; was she being serious? The lady had said this as if it was an everyday matter, like bullying.

"Now, I have already spoken to the local police; they are quite happy for you to be involved in this case, but you must keep them informed about what you are doing. They have the body, by the way. Your nephew tells me that you have had a history in solving crimes. Perhaps you could enlighten me into what your past employment has been?" Cannington had been waiting for this.

"Let me think," he started dramatically. "I was first employed by the government to work in the Foreign Office, then I moved on to other various departments including the Security Service. I decided to take a permanent break from all that, so I then moved on to work as the Deputy Head of History at the British Library." For the next two minutes, Cannington continued with all of his past jobs. "Finally, I was promoted to Chief Inspector but I retired, from the police force in September 2004 to become an independent detective. I have solved a few murders between then and now, not to mention the infamous murder of the ex-Prime Minister, Lord James Teal." Throughout this spiel, Ms Walker had sat listening intently. She had never come across someone with such a wide-ranging career.

"Impressive. And how much are you asking to be paid for taking on this assignment?" Cannington asked for a pen and paper, and noted a figure down. Janet Walker tried to look at what he was writing, but Cannington tilted it in a way that made that impossible. Once done, he handed the paper back to Ms Walker.

"That much? Well, we will negotiate the figure once you are finished. Cannington felt pleased to not to be hindered by a police presence for this investigation. In the past, the inspectors always seemed to get in the way.

"Do the boy's parents know?" asked Cannington. Walker paused and hesitated before answering. "we have tried to get in touch with them, but they are out it seems. We are still trying. Anyway, Max didn't live with his parents. He lived with his uncle and aunt. The pupils don't either. I sent them all home. I shall be writing a newsletter for immediate circulation."

"Quite right of you to do so," said Cannington briskly standing up, "and please keep the school closed tomorrow as well. I shall tell you when to re-open." Ms Walker was now unsure about what she was letting herself in for.

"I think perhaps you should have a guide or helper of some sort, connected with the school. Your nephew perhaps?" She raised an eyebrow. Cannington's eyes seemed to expand in his sockets.

"Perhaps not." He uttered hurriedly.

"No. I insist." Cannington opened his mouth to argue, but Ms Walker had already opened the door for him to leave, smiling sweetly as she did so. He walked out very slowly.

Outside the office, Ben greeted Cannington, smiling amicably at his uncle. "Well?"

"I have the assignment; and so do you." Cannington's tone was acidic and staccato. The boy looked puzzled at his uncle.

"Wha'?"

"Pardon. I mean that Ms Walker," he shouted the last two words, 'thinks it would be 'good' for me to have you as a guide of the school."

"This means I can do work experience with you!"

Cannington's heart sank swiftly as he responded wearily.

"Yes. Yes it does."

Chapter Five

From Ben to Shakespeare

Cannington had decided to use one of the classrooms as his office for the duration of the investigation. Ms Walker had been instructed to move all classes that used the room into another for the time being.

The room was painted white with an off-white skirting board. The students had covered very few walls with work. What decoration there was consisted of posters of the Tudor dynasty and the Second World War. This was obviously a History classroom, one of the reasons Cannington had chosen it. That and it was moderately out of the way and peaceful. The sleuth knew very little about who the possible suspects might be, so he would have to start from scratch. The only two names he had down on his list to question at the moment were Mr K Greenman and Ms J Walker. These were the two who had found the body.

Before any questioning could begin, Cannington would have to find out information about the boy. At the top of his notepad, he wrote the child's name and stopped. He would have to speak to his nephew for the information. Reluctantly, he stood up and started to walk around the school, looking for Ben. It didn't take long; Ben was standing by a set of lockers, clearly bored.

Although pupils had been sent home, Ben had remained at the school because his parents weren't at home and his uncle was investigating the murder.

"Ah, Benjamin. Could you come to my office please?" asked Cannington plainly.

"You don't suspec' me?" Ben now looked worried. His uncle smiled sardonically.

"No. Sadly" he added under his breath. Ben's constant dropping of his consonants irritated Cannington.

Ben ground his teeth and started to bite his fingernails; there was something Ben had been meaning to tell Cannington for a while; now seemed the perfect opportunity to do so.

"Erm, uncle?" Cannington turned around. "I'd like you to meet someone." Ben looked nervous; he started to screw his foot into the ground.

"Oh yes." said Cannington intrigued.

"This," a girl emerged from behind a set of lockers, "is m' girl-friend, Samantha. Or, Sam." Samantha looked expectantly at Cannington. She was a pretty girl who was quite refined. Although Cannington was not going to admit this, he was rather impressed with his nephew's choice. Samantha looked sensible, straightforward and sound. However, there was no way that Cannington was going to compliment Ben.

"I see. She has two names, how quaint. Of course," Cannington had just remembered a past conversation with Ben, "you're the one who hasn't been christened! Come along, both of you." Cannington marched off to his office. Ben looked wearily at Samantha.

"I told you he was bit odd."

The two entered Cannington's 'office' and sat down on the uncomfortable blue school chairs.

"Right, Benjamin. Tell me about Max." This was a very broad question and Ben was going to struggle to answer it; there was so much to say.

"Well, he was bullied a lot. No' by us, by the 'Molton Gang'. They are the local bullies; they attend this school. Um," He paused and then spoke quietly, "He was my best friend and Sam's." Ben looked over at Samantha, who smiled weakly. She had taken the news very badly. Not wanting to get tied up with emotions, Cannington hastily pressed on with the questions.

"Which individuals make up this gang?"

"Well, Rob Jackson is the leader, he is going ou' with Becky Smith, who is also in the fifth form: Darren Davies – our year, Terry Dove, Dave Standen and Tracey Jones." He finished.

"How did you come to know Max?" Cannington brushed the page of his notebook unnecessarily.

"He joined at the beginning of the last term, and I was put in charge of looking after him in his first week." Ben found all these questions very dull. He hoped that when his uncle interrogated the suspects he would be a little more incising and threatening.

"Was he the only new pupil that term?" asked Cannington thoughtfully.

"No. I think there was another girl in the lower years, but Max was the only boy. Normally you don't get given guides because most students join at the beginning of the year and get a group guide." Cannington hated the prospects of 'guides' and felt slightly patronised that the idiot Head Teacher had given him a guide of his own, Ben.

Throughout the remainder of the interview, Cannington continued to wince and flinch as his nephew continued to drop his consonants at every possible opportunity.

"Did Max ever annoy you?" Cannington was coming to the end of his session with Ben.

"Not really. He sometimes did when Sam and I wanted to be alone; he wouldn't go away and stuff. Although we have had lots of people do the same thing before." Ben turned to smile at Samantha. Cannington shut his eyes in despair; he disliked the mannerisms of young lovers.

"Thank you, Ben. Samantha, anything to add?"

"No, sir." Cannington smiled at this. It was a long time since a child had called him 'sir'. In fact, this was one of the few times he had been addressed in this fashion.

Soon after the two teenagers had left and Cannington had finished writing up his notes of Max Kingdom's background, he stood up and crossed the classroom. At the far end was a glass door that could be opened onto the playground. Cannington remained staring into the distance until his peripheral vision caught Ms Walker waddling across the yard in an energetic and urgent hurry. Cannington wondered why she was walking so quickly and left the classroom to meet her.

Cannington had not been in the school very long and did not have the faintest idea where any of the doors led. He decided to explore. Turning right, Cannington was faced with the remainder of the purple corridor. Walking slowly along, he saw three other doors to his right. Each one was labelled: 'English 1, English 2, Art." After these few doors, there was a double set of grey doors that read: 'Hall.'

Pushing them open, Cannington stepped over the threshold and looked around the enormous room. To the one side of the hall was some gym equipment, the other side had chairs stacked in piles of seven. Cannington presumed that this room was used for assembly and gym sessions. Opposite the set of doors, through which Cannington had just entered, were another identical set; he made his way to these. The red corridor was next. The geography classroom was the first room that one came to; the next was a storeroom. Cannington's eyebrow rose at this. He knew that this was the place where the body had been found. He checked to see that no one was watching him and entered.

It was almost pitch black, so he reached for the light switch. The room had been cleared of Kingdom's body and looked perfectly plain to anyone. Cannington crouched down to check the floor for any clues; a few paperclips, pens and books lay there. Standing back up again, Cannington went to leave, but stopped. Something was sticking out from underneath the bottom shelf. He picked it up. It was a photocopied sheet of notes on 'Love Labour's Lost' by William Shakespeare. After finding no evidence on the paper, Cannington folded it in quarters and slipped it in his jacket pocket. Stopping again, he saw that a ten-pound note was also lying on the floor. Cannington pocketed it (not for himself), left the room, and headed to find Ms Walker.

"Doctor Cannington, how are we getting along?" She had just opened her office door to let her visitor in.

"I am finding everything most satisfactory, thank you." Cannington replied as if he were speaking to the manager of an up-market hotel. "Have you been busy?" Janet Walker answered flustered,

"I'm trying to keep on top of everything. I have just finished writing my witness report for the police." She reached behind to her desk and found a piece of paper that was covered with writing.

"May I read it?" asked Cannington. He wasn't going to wait for a reply; instead, he continued to take in all the information. It was written in very precise handwriting.

'I had just finished briefing the canteen staff about the new food protocol when I saw my deputy, Keith Greenman, unlocking the storeroom. Seeing as I had nothing to do for a while, I went over to see what he was doing. As I am writing this, I still do not know what he was doing. When he opened the door, I screamed. Lying at the bottom was the body. On closer inspection, we found that it was Max Kingdom. Max was a fourth former at my school. I sent Mr Greenman to get help. At first, I thought we better remove the body, however, after more thought, Mr Greenman then sought the help of the school nurse.'

"Is that it?" questioned Cannington surprised.

"Yes. That's enough isn't it?" Ms Walker started to look worried. Cannington picked up on this and sought to reassure her.

"Well, perhaps you could have written a little more on the condition of the body and everything. Why not tell me about it?" Cannington pulled up a chair and sat down. He invited Ms Walker to do the same; she complied.

"There wasn't much blood. In fact, none. He had obviously tried to fight his murderer; there were slits near his wrists. I presume the assailant had a knife of some sort. However, I'm sure that he was killed by force, perhaps strangled and knocked unconscious. Must have been someone pretty strong." Janet Walker smiled weakly at Cannington. He knew that it must have been someone strong that killed Max Kingdom; it would hardly be a bluetit.

Keith Greenman sat opposite Cannington in the disused classroom. It would be obvious to anyone that he was nervous. His hands were clasped in a tight fist and rested awkwardly on his lap. The relaxed, yet austere Cannington, who had just finished arranging papers on his desk, did not make Greenman's feelings any easier.

"Good." Cannington looked up, pleased, at his interlocutor. "We will begin. If you would read out your witness statement, verbatim." Mr Greenman had brought his statement with him, as he had been instructed. He pulled it out and began to read.

"There were no marker pens in the classroom, so I had to leave the room to get some out of the store cupboard. I put a girl in charge of the class, made my way to the staff store cupboard, only to find there were none. So, I went over to the other storeroom, on the other side of the school. On the way, I met Ms Walker coming out of the science labs. She asked me what I was doing, so I explained. Then, I unlocked the cupboard to find the body. That's when I went to find the nurse." Keith Greenman looked up. Cannington realised he had stopped.

"Good. Which girl did you put in charge?" he said absentmindedly.

"Erm, Samantha. I think your nephew is going out with her." Greenman took care with the sentence.

"Yes. I know." snapped Cannington irritated. "Did you realise that Max was not in the class that day?"

"I did. Although, we get a lot of pupils bunking off lessons. Max wasn't bunking though. He was not the only one missing." Cannington's ears pricked up.

"Really. That is interesting. If you could get me a copy of the register for that day, I would appreciate it. Why wasn't Max playing truant?"

"I was told by Samantha. Apparently he had been in a row with his uncle and aunt."

"Ah yes. I understand she, Ben and Max were all close friends. That tallies. Did you notice anything when you went into the storeroom?" Mr Greenman thought for a moment before answering.

"As a matter of fact, I did. There were a few loose items of stationery on the floor, but that's normal. What I found strange was the smell. It was quite fragrant, like deodorant. Do you want me to fetch that register now?" Mr Greenman was desperate to escape from the interview. Cannington knew this and decided to make him wait just a little longer.

"Tell me, what are you teaching your fifth form at the moment?" For once, Cannington made a point of sounding half interested, an effort he thought impressive seeing as it was a random question.

"Well, after five weeks on 'Loves Labour's Lost', I'm about to start teaching them 'Great Expectations', by Charles Dickens. Do you know the book?"

"Yes, very well." What audacity! Did Cannington know the book? Silly man. "I know it like the back of my hand."

"Brilliant. Hey, I'm going to be away from school in a few days time. You don't think you could possibly take a lesson for me? You know, teach them parts of the book." Mr Greenman had now calmed and spoke more cheerfully. Cannington had seemed to absorb all the depression that had just left his interviewee.

"Why are you away?" Cannington's voice quavered.

"I'm adjudicating a county tournament in Salcombe. Oh, please say you'll do it. I can't find a cover teacher and Ms Walker would be really pleased not to pay for a supply chap." Keith Greenman seemed to perform a 'puppy eyed' expression to Cannington. It worked.

"Go on then. I shall cover your lessons."

"Thanks. There is only one lesson, that's the fourth form. I'm there in the morning, I'll take the rest." This compensated slightly for Cannington; although it did mean that he would be able to teach his nephew (and others of the same type) some proper English.

Chapter Six

Forms of Address

The afternoon had proved relatively successful. Cannington had managed to interview two people who would help him solve the mystery, and he had also gathered facts about the victim from Ben. Cannington had revoked his previous instruction and had allowed Ms Walker to let the pupils return to school tomorrow and restart teaching, although he had particularly stressed that he would have to talk to the students about the murder whilst lessons were proceeding. Ms Walker had consented and given him permission to question pupils at his leisure. Cannington had noted that she was being particularly helpful for a fussy headmistress.

"There was heavy bruising round the neck." The Molton Comprehensive nurse sat rigidly in her chair. Helen Liddell was a woman of forty-eight, with greying brown hair tied up messily. Cannington was sitting opposite her, taking notes. "Is there anything more you wish to question me about, Doctor Cannington?" She spoke politely.

"Not at the moment. Perhaps if I could just go over what you have said." Cannington spoke thoughtfully and was half paying attention.

"Go on." The nurse had been talking to Cannington for the last twenty minutes. Although she did not have much to do, she never liked being held up for too long.

"You were called to the storeroom by Mr Greenman. Immediately on arrival, you checked Max Kingdom's pulse – in two places – and performed basic first aid. After a few minutes, you decided that he definitely was dead. You say the ambulance had been called just after you arrived and that it turned up twenty minutes later. Correct?" Cannington looked up.

"Yes."

"And finally, you say that in your professional opinion, he was murdered as it would be impossible to inflict that amount of bruising and damage, without reflexes 'kicking in'." She nodded clearly. After thanking her for her valuable time, Cannington left the school surgery.

Ben Cannington had already been collected from the school. Cannington was now heading for his brother's house; James Cannington had invited his brother to stay until the investigation was over. Cannington decided that he was going to finish the case as soon as he could. It was only a few days ago that the two brothers had fallen out.

"Come in, m' love." Trisha Cannington said merrily. "James isn't back yet, still at work. Come on in, you're in the spare room." She took Cannington's case from him placed it in the hall. "Ben!" she cried up the stairs. In the meantime, Cannington had walked in, shut the door and stood waiting for something to happen. Trisha Cannington called again. "He's probably on the phone to Sam." She grinned at him cheerily. "You have met Samantha, haven't you?"

"Oh yes. I saw her. To be honest, I am rather pleased for…" Ben had emerged at the bottom of the staircase. "Benjamin." said Cannington civilly.

"Be a dear, honey and take your uncle's cases up to his room." Trisha patted Ben on the head like he was a dog.

"Alright." He muttered audibly.

"I'll take one for you." Cannington picked up the heavier case.

"No really, I don't mind that much. I'll take both." replied Ben, almost apologetically.

"I insist, you take the one you're holding, come along." With that, Cannington marched on up the stairs. Although he was not going to say anything, he was struggling to carry the heavier of the two suitcases. Ben followed on behind with the lighter brown case. "Left here?" The two had reached the top.

"No, right and straight ahead."

The guest room was average in size and decorated with an eclectic assortment of furniture and décor. A queen size bed was pushed up against the wall, opposite was a small dressing table. The wallpaper was an off yellow colour with small blue flowers going down in thin stripes. There was a small door in the far corner of the room that opened to reveal a tiny cupboard that could barely hold one suitcase. Ben placed the case on the bed; Cannington did the same with his.

"Do you need a hand unpacking?" asked Ben helpfully.

"No thank you. I always prefer to do it alone. Though you could go and fetch me a glass of water. I haven't had any water all day."

"You could have used the school fountain." Ben said plainly. Cannington raised one eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

"I suppose not. I'll go get it." Ben started to leave.

"Go and get it, you mean?" corrected a pernickety Cannington. Ben smiled and left.

In the few minutes that Ben was absent, Cannington walked around the room running his finger along certain surfaces to check for dust. To his amazement, he found very little. There was a bit on the top of the television and some along the skirting board, but apart from that, it was pretty impressive. Ben returned promptly, carrying a glass full of water.

"There you go." said Ben. Cannington thanked him and proceeded to unpack. Ben just watched. Cannington had not realised that Ben was still there and, on discovering his presence, jumped slightly. "How is our investigation coming along?"

"Our? Oh yes, you're helping me with it, aren't you? It's fine. I have collected the evidence from Mr Greenman and Ms Walker: they found Max's body. Tomorrow, I shall start on the so-called 'Molton Gang'. I think you can join in then. You know, sit at the back of the room listening and making your own notes. If things get heated, I may ask you to leave." Cannington bowed his head slightly at Ben.

"Yeah. What sort of notes should I make?" said Ben.

"Notes on anything peculiar that needs checking, for example times – facts basically. Also, how long the delay was between me finishing the question and them answering. You may want to write down what exactly they say they did; although I do that." Cannington said absentmindedly whilst placing a sweater in a drawer.

"How about, when we have notes, we stick them on my notice board? Or, just a bare wall? So we can see everything and we needn't have to struggle and search around for pieces of paper." Ben thought this idea brilliant.

"Erm," Cannington didn't know what he thought of this proposal. "I'll think about it."

The teenager left his seat and made for the door. There was a breath of confidence in his gait and he seemed to be extremely relaxed for someone that had just been called up to be questioned about a murder. Meanwhile, in the classroom where Cannington was waiting, Ben sat anxiously on the edge of his seat. His uncle had placed him at the back of the room, facing Cannington. This was to make sure Ben's note taking and expressions could not distract the person being interviewed. Cannington did not know why on earth he had agreed to let his nephew help him.

"Sit down, please." Cannington said crisply. It had always been his theory that children would only behave and be respectable, if they were treated with gravitas and authority, albeit friendly; firm but friendly.

Rob Jackson lollopped in and sat down casually. "Thank you. Name please."

"Rob Jackson."

"Full name, no abbreviations." Cannington's voice rang out.

"Robert Ryan Jackson." Jackson's voice said coolly.

"Age?"

"Sixteen, four weeks ago."

"Address?" Cannington began to frantically scribble in his notepad.

"23 Stoats Close, South Molton, Devon, England, United Kingdom, Earth…"

"Enough!" snapped Cannington. "Who lives with you?"

"Mum and Dad. My cousin lived with us once, not anymore though." The pair of them locked eyes and stared at each other. Whilst gazing, Cannington made note of Jackson's appearance. He had greasy dark brown hair, a triangular face and thick eyebrows that looked black. The left eyebrow had been shaved slightly. Cannington presumed that this was what was called 'fashion'. On Rob Jackson's right cheek was a small cut. Cannington broke the stare and looked down at his notes.

"What did you think of Max Kingdom?"

"I thought he was a runt. He was a pathetic kid really, no real hope in life. He always did his homework and did what teachers told him to do. Had no real friends, except," he paused and turned round to look at Ben. "Except him, and his girlfriend." Rob Jackson turned back to face the older Cannington. "Don't you think it's sad when people have to be friends with scum like him?" His head jerked in Ben's direction. Cannington coughed to get Rob to look back at him.

"No. I think it is better to have a few good friends, rather than lots of little minions who follow you around like lost sheep. Anyway, where were you between eight thirty and nine thirty?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Oh, 'Inquisitive' is my middle name!" Cannington half smiled.

"Eight thirty, I had just come out of the hall after assembly. Then I went to the toilet and cloakrooms to fetch my books. After that, I went to Biology. Then when the body was discovered, we were all made to wait in the hall. That is where I stayed until I was sent home, along with the rest of the school." He scratched his nose.

"Did you see Max Kingdom at all that day?" Rob Jackson paused before he answered.

"Yes. I saw him first thing in the morning."

"You are, I believe, the head of the Molton gang. Have you ever made the gang beat-up Max?" All the questions Cannington was asking were straightforward and were not intended to make Rob stumble. He hesitated, and could not resist the chance to brag.

"Of course. I never did any of the thrashings though." His eyes bulged through this response in glee. Cannington imagined Rob Jackson standing on grinning whilst his gang pummelled Max Kingdom.

"Who else in the gang was with you in the Biology lesson?"

"Terry Dove and Becky Smith."

"Thank you, Robert. You may leave."

Cannington remained seated and watched him leave. After the door was closed, Ben leapt up in excitement and crossed to Cannington's desk.

"Well?" Ben asked thrilled. Cannington knew what Ben was going to ask.

"Well what? I can't see anything wrong with what he said at the moment. Of course, we will still have to interview the rest of the group. I hope that they all will tell a different story to what Robert has just told us."

Cannington stood up and exited the room, leaving his notebook on the desk. Ben could not help himself; he had to know what his uncle had written. Checking that no one else was watching, he opened the front flap slowly. Inside were a few little scribbles. The first page had the notes Ben had given Cannington on the deceased: 'Joined at beginning of last term. Lived with relatives (parents dead). Bullied by Molton gang. Had a lot of issues. Hung around Ben and Samantha.' Then the names of the Molton gang were listed. On the next few pages were notes from the interview with Mr Greenman and details from Ms Walker's witness statement. Finally, what Ben had been looking for emerged on page twelve: the Rob Jackson notes. They were written in a just legible scrawl. 'Laid-back attitude. Slovenly. Possibly had an accident with a lawn mower on eyebrow. Scar on cheek. Left hall, went to cloakrooms, biology class, hall, home. Lives with parents. Saw Max first thing in the morning. Let others beat up Max.' There was nothing abnormal about these notes; they were basically the essence of what Cannington had been told by Rob Jackson, plus Cannington's thoughts on Jackson's appearance. Ben was a bit disappointed. His notes said more or less the same thing. But then he had a thought. Glancing down at his notepad, he read his jottings back to himself and stopped when he reached: 'Lives with Mum and Dad, cousin used to stay too.'

"Enter!" cried Ms Walker. There had been three quick knocks at her office door. This had disturbed her from writing her report to the council. "Ah! Benjamin, do come in." Ben Cannington had rushed out of his uncle's room and straight to the Head Teacher's office. "What do you want?"

"If I, we, could have Max's school record please. And Rob Jackson's as well. I think I, we, will need that too." Ms Walker hesitated for a while.

"I can't just give out records of pupils when someone wants, Ben. Even of dead pupils. It is part of school, and government, policy." Her smile was sweet and patronising. Ben was quick to think.

"Perhaps you could put it in a sealed envelope? Then I can give it my uncle. Tha' way I can't see it. Of course, you could let the murderer walk free…would you like me to fill out a form?" asked Ben in desperation.

"Perhaps that would help." She stood up and walked to her filing cabinet. There were three draws and each of them had a small label that told you what was in them: Council, School Policy, and Misc. The latter draw was opened and Ms Walker pulled out a white piece of A4 paper that had black writing printed on both sides. "You fill this is and then I shall review the situation." Ben grabbed a pen off her desk (much to Walker's annoyance) and started to complete the form.

"Done!" He handed the piece of paper back to the Head Teacher.

"Very well." Janet Walker read it through and then beckoned Ben into the school secretary's office. Three more grey filing cabinets lined this office's back wall. Ms Walker opened the middle one and searched through it to find the 'K' and 'J' index markers. "Here we go." She pulled out two files. On the front of them, they had bold letters that read: 'Kingdom, Max' and 'Jackson, Robert'. This was exactly what Ben had wanted. She placed them in a large brown envelope and sealed it. Ben quickly thanked Ms Walker and sped out of the room, back into the office. Cannington had not yet returned. Opening Max's file first, Ben scanned down the front page to find the 'address' field.

"I've done it!" He exclaimed with glee. "Just as I suspected. Oh, Uncle Richmond will be so pleased with me." The address field that had caused so much fuss read: '23 Stoats Close, Lower Molton, Devon.'

Chapter Seven

Smoke Screen

Doctor Richmond Cannington stood staring down at his nephew in rage; his temple quivering frantically.

"You cannot go around making important decisions without me, willy-nilly." He boomed. Ben did not see what he had done wrong, but kept silent.

"Never have I seen so much insolence. Taking files out of Ms Walker's cabinet under the pretence that I had asked you to. How dare you!" The strain was too much for Cannington to bear, so he sat down.

"But Uncle, can you not see the importance of this. Max was Rob Jackson's cousin. They lived together." Ben said desperately.

"I know that." Cannington paused. "Did you not visit Max's house?"

"Never. He always avoided the subject of home life." Ben looked up, pleading with his uncle to let him off the hook. Cannington said nothing more on the subject for a while. Instead, he asked Ben to fetch the next person for questioning. Begrudgingly, Ben walked out – a little crestfallen.

On Cannington's desk, lay a piece of paper that was headed: 'Register.'

"Mr Greenman must have dropped this in earlier." Cannington thought to himself. Cannington read it out loud. "Allan, Simon – Present. Andrews, Peter – Absent. Boyles, Adele – Absent. Cannington, Benjamin – Present." He stopped and filtered out all the names he had not heard before. "Davies, Darren – Absent. Horton, Samantha – Present. Jones, Tracey – Present."

"Excuse me, Mr Tandown, could Doctor Cannington speak to Darren Davies please?" Ben felt extremely nervous at interrupting the lesson he was supposed to be in. (Ms Walker had given him special permission to miss two days worth of lessons because of helping his uncle with the investigation.) Begrudgingly, Darren Davies stood up and said a temporary farewell to his friends. Whilst walking from the Geography classroom, Darren Davies did not miss the opportunity to taunt his peer.

"Does your stuck up Uncle still thinks he can work out the murder of snotty Max?" Davies had a squashed up nose and a heavily acne-ed face; the naturally black hair had been bleached (badly) to a bright blonde glow, so Darren could never be missed in a crowd. Ben had chosen to ignore him. "Alright, don't reply." This phrase was followed by an expletive, two infact.

"Sit down." Cannington had taken the same firm approach that he had used with Robert Jackson. "Full name?"

"Darren Davies."

"Address?" The usual questions followed. Ben had already informed Cannington that Darren practically worshipped the ground that Jackson walked on. The questions would come from this angle at first. "What did you think of Max Kingdom?" This was the ideal question for Davies to inject all the bile his little body contained.

"Hated his guts; slime ball, that's what he was. A slime ball." He finished, surprised at himself for limiting his reply to only two separate derisory comments.

"Why did you think this?" This seemed to trick Darren. Cannington knew that the only real reason that Davies bullied Max was due to orders from Rob Jackson.

"Because, I did."

"I see. What a good and just reason." Cannington noted this down then continued. "Are you in the possession of a woollen hat?"

"What?" replied the impertinent boy.

"Do, you, have, a, woollen, hat?" Cannington's tone was condescending and reproachful. Darren Davies did not like it.

"No." Darren replied slowly, mimicking Cannington.

"What were you doing between eight thirty and nine thirty?"

"I arrived late at school…" he started, but was interrupted.

"Why? Why were you late?" Cannington had taken an instant dislike to this child.

"I was testing deodorants with Becky, behind the shed. Then I arrived at school, straight into lesson one." Cannington paused to pick up the register that Mr Greenman had given him.

"Lesson one was what?" asked Cannington severely.

"English, I think." Cannington stood up and moved in on the boy, who sat on the blue chair casually.

"You were not in lesson one. Tell me the truth now, where were you?" Darren Davies had not expected to be caught out; he shuffled around nervously. "Well?"

"I was smoking!" He blurted out crossly.

"With whom?"

"Erm, Dave Standen. He's in the year above." The shock and ordeal of being questioned for a murder investigation was too much for Davies to cope with, suddenly he burst into a flood of tears. Ben sat quietly at the back revelling in what he was witnessing. Then, suddenly, he had an idea. Ben's hand moved to his pocket and brushed over his mobile phone. "How about video recording Darren crying?" he thought to himself. As he went to get his phone out, Cannington moved obstructing Ben's view of the distressed boy. Ben cursed under his breath. Had Cannington seen Ben reach for the phone? No, he had only just thought about it. Perhaps he had read his nephew's mind? Maybe it was just a coincidence?

Later that day, Cannington and Ben were sitting quietly on a bench in the school playground. The trees above them swayed subtly in the soft late summer's breeze. From where the two Cannington's were sitting, they could see the green school gates, behind which was a main road. To their left was a brick wall that had the occasional patch of graffiti plastered all over it. Cannington smiled to himself as he read the wall. 'Jake 4 Louise'. Two meters along another piece of scribble read: 'Jake 4 Debbie.' Other writings included: 'MC Bonzo'; 'D luvs S' 'Party!'; 'BB luvs HJ' and 'Skl Suks'.

"Did you learn anything from Darren?" said Ben, breaking the silence.

"Yes. A fair amount, thank you Ben." Cannington replied.

"You only interviewed him for four minutes. Are you sure that you got the full lowdown?"

"The 'low-down?" Cannington's facial expression was bemused. He was not accustomed to these modern phrases. "Low-down. What is that? Some sort of code?" Ben laughed and clapped a hand on his uncle's shoulder. Cannington stiffened slightly.

"Nah. It means information." Ben said coolly.

"I see. Remind me to use that word when consorting with politicians and peers." Ben smiled at his uncle; he presumed that that was a joke. Another long silence followed. Cannington made a note that these awkward silences should not be regular occurrences.

"I would like to speak next to David Standen. What does he look like?"

"Like that." Coincidently, Dave Standen walked out from the side of the school. He noticed Cannington and Ben and sped up his pace. Cannington launched himself off the bench a little too quickly, lurched slightly and marched towards the boy. Standen's strides lengthened; he knew what Cannington was doing and why he was at the school.

Dave Standen was in the year above Ben, Samantha and Max. He was a portly figure and his black hair was cut so short, you could see parts of the scalp. For a face, Standen had an unattractive one that did not quite ooze with charisma. As was usual in Molton Comprehensive, his uniform had been styled to look as messy as possible.

"Young man!" called Cannington, now slightly running to catch the boy. "I need a word. Urgently!" Standen paused to consider the statement for a split second, but then carried on walking, looking back at Cannington.

"Argh!" Dave Standen came to a standstill as he had walked straight into Ben. Cleverly, Ben had run round the school and caught Standen from the other side to his uncle.

"Well done, Benjamin. This way please, Mr Standen." Instead of leading him off to the classroom, Cannington had opted to interview him on the bench where he and Ben had sighted him. The three of them sat down; Ben on the far left and Cannington in the middle; Standen sulked as Ben looked pleased with himself.

"Firstly, what were you doing behind the school?" Ben noticed that Cannington had not taken out his notebook, yet.

"I was smoking, why?" Standen spoke defensively.

"I shall ask the questions, thank you. You seem to have a habit of smoking. From what I gather, you were smoking with Darren Davies on the morning that Max Kingdom was murdered." Cannington had a way of asking questions to youths that didn't make them want to respond.

"What? Smoking, with Darren Davies? I'd never do such a thing with that idiot. No, not me. Never have done and never will." Cannington and Ben turned their heads to face each other.

"So, Darren Davies was lying. I think I smell a rat."

Chapter Eight

The Letter

After leaving Dave Standen, who had said nothing else, bar the fact he hadn't really ever noticed Max, Cannington and Ben decided to split up and go and investigate on their own. Cannington knew what he was going to do; notes had to be written on the result of Standen's interview. Ben, on the other hand, had no idea how he would pass the time; however, he was revelling in missing lessons legitimately. Somehow, his uncle had managed to coax Ms Walker into letting Ben 'neglect' his studies.

There was no strict uniform code for Molton Comprehensive. All that pupils were asked to do was wear suitable and practical clothing for school. T-Shirts with rude slogans on were deemed unacceptable and hooded tops had recently been banned. Male teachers at Molton did not always have to wear suits. Only on Mondays and Fridays were suits compulsory (no one really understood why.) The female members of staff wore practically the same type of outfit day after day: something appropriate for their profession.

Cannington had found his way into the school again. He could hear the muffled noise of classes in the distance. A certain calmness surged up through his body, relaxing him and all his muscles. Suddenly, just as he was beginning to unwind, the school bell rang. Hoards of pupils flooded from each classroom door; a few teachers also left their rooms, and tried to swim through the sea of pupils. Cannington could do nothing but stand stock-still. If he moved, he would be pushed around by burly youths.

After a minute, the corridor started to empty. Only a few, quieter, children were still trickling out of their lesson. Samantha Horton, Ben's girlfriend, emerged through a door. Her medium-dark blonde hair bounced as she walked towards Cannington.

"Miss Horton," said Cannington politely; he bowed his head gently.

"Hello, Doctor Cannington. Where's Ben?" She had a lovely, soft and soothing voice and a face to match.

"I don't know. We separated a few minutes ago. I don't expect he'll be far. What lesson have you just had then?"

"Religious Studies." Cannington thought he should express an interest in this.

"How was it?"

"Good thanks. Mr Franks is so interesting; he makes RS exciting." Samantha had expressed her delight through an excited shiver. She moved in such a way that her folders and papers that she was carrying started to fall out of her hands. Cannington intervened; Samantha blushed. "Oh, whoops. Thank you. I have so many folders and books, it's sometimes hard to keep control of them."

"My pleasure." Cannington picked up a few sheets from the floor and handed them to Sam. "Would it not be easier to keep your sheets in a folder?"

"I tried that," she said matter-of-factly, "but I need to always have these sheets, so I just carry them loose." She giggled and shrugged.

"Why not staple them, or, better still, use a paperfastner?" Cannington withdrew one from his pocket. "Here."

"Oh, thank you. Yes, that would make much more sense."

"Practicality is my middle-name!"

Samantha Horton attached it to her sheets, said farewell to Cannington, and went on the hunt for her boyfriend.

Whilst Cannington and Samantha had been talking, Ben had decided to visit the site where Max's body was found. Ben didn't like entering this room; he found it eerie and distressing – he missed Max terribly.

Like his uncle had done, Ben crouched. He ran his hands along the floor slowly, searching for anything that might be of interest. As his hands skated over the cold, brown wooden floorboards, suddenly they stopped. The planks that made up the floor had thin gaps in between; out of one of the many gaps, was a small edge of something. It had obviously fallen down through the cracks – that or someone had pushed it down there. Ben was careful not to push it further down and equally carefully prised it from the crevice. It was a piece of paper. The paper had been folded up, so Ben unravelled it, nearly ripping it in excitement. Had he found the vital clue that could solve the case? Once opened, Ben read the messy (yet legible) handwriting.

'Dear Reader,

This will be my last letter to you, as I am going to kill myself. I know this is a bit of a shock, however I have good reasons.

Firstly, I am not really liked at school. I only really have one good friend. I am also blackmailing someone who does not need to be blackmailed and I feel guilty for this. My parents have gone and I now am forced to live with my uncle, aunt and cousin, who do not like me anyway. My cousin, Rob Jackson, doesn't even want his friends to know that I am his cousin.

I have tried to work hard at school, however my grades are poor and even idiots in the class get better results. So, this is it, my final letter. Goodbye to the world and thank you to the few that have made my life partially enjoyable.

Farewell. Max Kingdom.'

Thick tears had begun to build up in Ben's eyes; his bottom lip trembled. A small tap came from the door – Samantha walked in. Ben looked at her, gave a weak and feeble smile, and flew himself into her arms. Not knowing quite what had happened, Samantha lifted the note from Ben's hands and read it. She too, began to cry.

Cannington lifted up the phone and dialled the number "Trisha? Ah, good afternoon, my dear. I am going to leave the school now – Ben is still here. Could you ring his mobile and arrange to pick him up sometime? I need to do the next bit on my own." He finished and listened to the reply.

"Yes, Richmond. Have you had a good day?" Trisha's voice (as ever) was full of cheer.

"Quite productive, yes. See you later. I should be home by seven. Goodbye." Cannington placed the receiver down and turned around. He had been using Ms Walker's telephone in her office; the Head Teacher stood watching him with her toady eyes.

"What is happening now?" She stepped forward, beaming from ear to ear.

"I am going to find out a little more about Max Kingdom's family." Cannington made an attempt to leave.

"Well, I can tell you all that. He lives with his uncle and aunt in…"

"No! I want to find out about his parents." This time Cannington made more of an effort to leave. Janet Walker swivelled to face the door.

"Alright. Have a nice time."

Stoats Close was a quiet housing estate in Lower Molton. Each door was either brown or white, all the gardens were well kept and most of the cars were clean. Cannington was impressed. Number 23 was one of the houses that had a white plastic door, and a cream doorbell. With his forefinger, Cannington prodded it. Moments later, the door swung open.

"Oh, it's you." The person who had just opened the door looked mortified. Rob Jackson stood before Cannington.

"Good evening, young man. Are your parents home?"

"No. They'll be back in half an hour." Rob made an attempt to dismiss Cannington; it failed.

"Good! I shall wait for them. Patience is my middle-name." Cannington marched over the threshold and into the house. "Where is your drawing room?" His head shot in all directions to see where to go.

"The lounge is in here. Feel free to sit on the settee." Jackson led his new guest into a room that was small and cosy. A leather three-piece suite was the first thing Cannington saw.

"Why do you need to see them?" Rob asked directly.

"I was hoping to get to the bottom of the whereabouts of your cousin's parents. You know, where they are living. That sort of thing anyway." Cannington looked around the room; it was full of photos in cheap frames, and stacks of DVDs lined one of the walls. From what he could see, they were all American films, or new British comedy that required the absolute minimum amount of brain cells to watch. "You don't know anything?" Rob had started to leave to the room, but turned around when questioned.

"Not much." Rob sat down, unexpectedly.

"So you know something?"

"Yes." Rob was being particularly evasive; this annoyed Cannington. He paced around the room slowly, stopping at the large television set. Cannington's hand rested on a DVD case on the set. He moved the copy of 'The Office' to onside, and continued pacing.

"What?"

"Not much, just that Max's parents weren't married." Cannington stopped.

"Really?" His eyebrow rose with intrigue. "How awfully fascinating! How long has Max lived with your parents?"

"For as long as I can remember."

"Your mother or father: what side of Max's parents were they on?"

"Max's dad was my dad's brother. The pair didn't get on very well, I think my uncle's dead now. They don't mention him anymore." Rob got up from the sofa and moved to the window. Cannington remained silent; he could see that this matter upset Rob. "Oh, you won't say anything of this conversation to the others will you?" Rob had turned around to face Cannington with a face full of emotion.

"Of course not." Cannington patted Rob on the shoulder, much to his annoyance. "Discretion is my middle-name!"

"I don't bloody care if your name is Harold! Just don't mention it." Slightly taken aback at this barbed comment, Cannington thought he should start to wind things up. To his surprise, Rob Jackson ran away from the room. Cannington had no idea what to do. Instead, he just remained standing in the room, motionless.

Soon enough, Rob returned carrying a piece of old looking paper. He thrust it at Cannington, who took it and read. The handwriting was very careful and great accuracy had been taken. It was not signed.

"Thank you for this. May I keep it?" Rob nodded. Cannington patted the boy's shoulder, walked out of the room.

Cannington would return back to his brother's house and rest. Tomorrow would be a very busy day. Today, he had found out enough to solve several of the smaller mysteries.

Chapter Nine

A Lady Calls

Trisha Cannington sat in her lounge, talking merrily to a woman she had never seen or heard of before. James Cannington, her husband, was upstairs getting changed out of his suit, and Ben was playing football in the garden.

"He didn't?" shrieked Trisha loudly.

"I'm afraid to say he did!" The other lady joined in with the laughter. Both females enjoyed each other's company, even though they had just met.

The doorbell rang, so Trisha excused herself from her new guest and went to answer it.

"Richmond, you'll never guess who I have with me?" Trisha was so thrilled to welcome Cannington back. Cannington gave an expression of expectation. "Maddie!"

"Maddie?" He said. Cannington had no idea who his sister-in-law was mentioning.

"Yes, come and say hello. She's missed you." Trisha took Cannington by the hand, as if he were a little child and led him into the lounge.

Cannington stopped and pulled his hand away from his sister-in-law. Upon seeing the mysterious 'Maddie' he froze for a second, then his face burst into a wide smile.

"Madeline!" The lady walked elegantly towards him.

"Richmond, what a pleasure it is to see you again." Madeline McQuinn was a fairly tall woman in her late forties. Everything that the woman said or did oozed with class and sophistication. She had shoulder length, dark blonde hair that slightly curled outwards at the bottom. Today, Miss McQuinn was wearing one of her summer coats.

"It's always a pleasure to see you." said Cannington lightly.

"Alright you two, come and sit down." Trisha bustled around, ushering everyone into seats. "You seem to have a history together, do tell." Madeline and Cannington looked at each other to see who was going to start the story. In his usual fashion, Cannington decided to begin.

"Well, Madeline joined the security service in my last year there. You caused quite a stir, if I remember correctly. Anyway, I was her boss for a year. Then I left." Cannington stopped. Madeline patted his arm caringly, and then took over.

"Anyhow, I left the security service in 2001. After which, I started to write novels: thrillers and murder stories. Richmond here helped me get published by putting me in contact with publishers in Cambridge. We have remained friends ever since, but haven't seen each other for a year now." Trisha Cannington smiled sweetly at this story.

"You must send me a copy of book five. I've been waiting to read that for ages." Cannington said.

"But you could buy it in the shops." replied Madeline, slightly mocking Cannington's supposed stupidity.

"I'm not going to buy books from shops when I could get them free, and signed by the author!" She smiled faintly.

"Fair point. What are you doing for the next few months or so?"

"Not a lot really. After I am through with this case, I shall return home and relax. At some point I have to go and visit and old acquaintance, she lives in a small village near Tetbury, Cormick Warren is the name I think."

The light-hearted chat continued for half an hour, until Trisha announced that supper was ready. Not wanting to intrude, Madeline McQuinn excused herself from the house, said her farewells and returned to her hotel, nearby.

After diner, Cannington and Ben had an opportunity to talk in peace. Ben had still not told his uncle about the suicide letter.

"What's the matter, Ben?" Cannington could tell something was wrong. Ben said nothing; instead, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the letter. Cannington read it with wide eyes. "Is this Max's handwriting?"

"Yes. There is no way that it was a forgery," Ben smiled, "Max's handwriting was certainly unique."

"So I see. Thank you for this Ben."

"You think he committed suicide then?" asked Ben eagerly.

"No. I think he was going to commit suicide, but didn't get round to doing it; the injuries and medical evidence suggest otherwise. Or even," Cannington paused for effect, "he was forced to write this note by someone."

The whole investigation had been a continuing peak and trough. Today, there was a major setback to Cannington's investigation. He knew that the police wanted quick results; however, that was proving harder than it first seemed. Two officers from the local police station had been assigned to the case. After a blazing row between an infuriated Cannington and a shaking Chief Inspector, a decision to let Cannington continue had been reached. The Chief Inspector had wanted Cannington to give all his evidence and work to the police and retire from the operation; Cannington would have none of it. He did not listen to the policeman's argument. True it might have been that 'ordinary citizens don't just go taking on murder investigations'. Of course Cannington argued that he had solved many murder cases before when he was in the police force and after retiring, he had (almost single-handed) deciphered the murder of Lord James Teal – the former Prime Minister.

Ben had not been much help to Cannington either. He and Samantha had gone off to celebrate their second anniversary together at the cinema. Although Cannington could solve the case on his own, he missed having Ben's input. At the beginning of the investigation, Ben had suggested Cannington's use of a wall of information; a 'blank canvas' where they could stick all of their ideas, thought and the clues. Cannington had now adopted this idea; although he knew that something wasn't right about it, the method was coming in useful. Cannington climbed the stairs to peruse the information. Perhaps some quiet contemplation would help.

Both Ben and Cannington's notes covered a decent amount of the wall. Lined neatly at the top were pieces of card saying the suspects' names: 'Darren Davies, Robert Jackson, Keith Greenman, Dave Standen, Janet Walker.' At the bottom, were the suspects still to be interviewed. 'Tracey Jones, Rebecca Smith, Gavin Tanner.'

Chapter Ten

Questioning the Rest

"Really? Ugh. 'ow disgusting." Becky Smith shouted across the corridor. Becky was a very prominent girl of fifteen. Her normal black hair had been recently dyed bright ginger and her face was constantly churning due to the regular chewing of gum. Becky's friend and fellow gossip was a thin, black girl named Tracey Jones. Coloured braids hung from her hair like limp pieces of seaweed. They continued to talk for several minutes, ignoring passers-by. Leaning casually against the wall was Gavin Tanner. He was a reserved and mysterious person who rarely spoke. Although, from what Cannington had heard, Gavin had once shouted at Max that he must 'leave the school or pay.'

"Excuse me." Richmond Cannington now stood next to the two girls, looking down.

"Wha'?" bellowed Becky in her hoarse, smoke riddled voice. Tracey echoed this question.

"Do you think I could borrow you for a moment, please?" Cannington's voice had accidentally become slightly louder than usual.

"Wha' ya want?" Tracey was a fiery character who had no respect for authority, and certainly wasn't going to listen to this man.

"I was wondering if you could possibly," Cannington's voice trailed off. A group of teenagers walked down the corridor, shouting. As Cannington struggled to continue, the two girls' attention had shifted from Cannington to the boys on their mobiles. Tracey turned to a shocked Cannington.

"Shaaarup, geezer! Damien's tawkin' on 'is moby."

This perplexed Cannington. What on earth were they saying? He repeated the sentence in his mind, trying to work out what it meant. 'Shaaarup, geezer! Damien's tawkin' on 'is moby.' Suddenly, the answer arrived in his brain. He tapped Tracey on the shoulder; she turned round.

"Wha'?"

"Do you mean: 'would you please be quiet, my kind sir. My friend, named Damien, is trying to conduct a conversation on his mobile telephone.'?" She stared at Cannington blankly for a while, as did Gavin.

"Yeah. Wha' you want, anyway?"

"I was wondering if you could both tell me where exactly you were before you went to first period on the day that Max Kingdom was found dead?" Cannington took out his black notebook to make notes.

"I," started Tracey, "was at home, then I came straight to school, went to assembly and then I went to English." Cannington paused; he hoped that Becky Smith would answer next. Looking up, he saw Miss Smith texting on her phone. He coughed obviously.

"Wha'? Oh, I couldn't be bothered to go to lessons. I decided to hang out with Darren."

"How did you hang out? What were you doing?"

"He'd nicked some sprays from the shop, so we were testing them." Cannington decided to do something he had never done before – let them know she had just proven herself guilty.

"You do know that there was a strange smell in the cupboard where Max Kingdom was found, don't you?" Becky Smith froze with fear; she did not blink, twitch or speak. Like a volcano that had been inactive for decades, she sprang to life; tears were running down her pale face like lava from the volcano's mouth.

"It wasn't me. Oh, please, no. It wasn't me! Honestly!" The pleading continued; Cannington just looked on.

"Alright. I believe you, for now. However, you must admit that unless I find any evidence that clears you – your alibi is rather, bad." Cannington moved slowly away from the two girls. Tracey had said or done nothing throughout this spectacle. All she did now was watch Cannington walk away.

"Ah! Ms Walker," Cannington called to the Head Teacher across the corridor.

"Doctor Cannington, an honour. I do hope that the police have not been annoying you. I have tried my best to get rid of them; as you can see," her vice raised slightly as a policeman walked past, "they are refusing." She twitched nervously.

"To be honest, I haven't really noticed them. They haven't even been able to get one piece of decent evidence that I haven't already found; I sent my nephew on a mission to look at their notes."

"I didn't hear that." Janet Walker smiled sweetly at him.

"My diary says that you will be covering Mr Greenman's lesson tomorrow." Cannington had totally forgotten about this.

"Oh my goodness, I did say I would. My, what was I thinking? Where is Mr Greenman anyway?"

"Some county tournament. He is judging it, I think. Yes, when Kevin joined us he had just become county weights champion." Cannington's ears metaphorically pricked.

"Weights, you say?"

"That's right, weights. 'Built like a wall', that is what he tells me. Kevin has a real love for weights and must be awfully strong, although I have never seen him actually…Doctor Cannington?"

"Sorry! Love and walls – all very interesting! I shall come back soon." Cannington called, almost running into the distance and out through the doors into the yard. Ms Walker just stood still, wondering if Cannington had finally turned senile.

Returning from his little excursion to the schoolyard, Cannington made his way back to his classroom. He had not used it as much as he first thought; however, it had been valuable for some interviews. The case had nearly been solved; all Cannington needed now was the last piece of evidence. For this, Cannington really needed Ben.

"Come in," said Cannington wearily from his chair. Ironically, in walked Ben. "Perfect. Don't get comfortable, I just need you to go and do me one last favour." He left no time for Ben to interject. "Go to the two store cupboards and write a list of what is in each of them. Off you go." Ben made for the door, but stopped.

"One of the cupboards is in the staff room. I can't just walk in there." Ben half laughed at his uncle's oversight.

"Ask Ms Walker, and if she isn't there – you have my permission. Oh, if you do see your Head Teacher, please tell her that I shall see her, in here, in an hour." Ben complied faithfully and left the room.

Ben did not have to go far to find the first storeroom (where Max had been found.) After crossing the school hall, he turned left and opened the door. He turned on the cupboard light, took out his notebook and wrote down the room's contents. At the top of the list, he noted: 'Storeroom A'. Methodically, he traipsed to the other side of the school, found Ms Walker for permission to look in the staff room's cupboard and wrote a list of contents. Shutting the door, Ben realised that he was adopting more and more of his uncle's mannerisms and methods.

"Ms Walker?" said Ben placidly.

"Yes?"

"Doctor Cannington wishes to see you in an hour. He will be in his room." Ben nodded professionally and walked away.

"Thank you." Cannington took the notebook off Ben and started to read. "Silly boy." He snapped quite unexpectedly at his nephew. "Can you not write legibly? Please read it to me." The book was passed back to Ben and he read it.

"Cupboard A," he paused, "that's where Max was found. It contained: exercise books (lined and square ruled), textbooks for most subjects (except History), revision guides for all subjects, board markers, board pens, board rulers and packs of A4 paper." Ben looked to see Cannington's reaction; he didn't get one. "Cupboard B," he continued, slightly annoyed, "contained: ballpoints, biros, pencils, rubbers, paperclips, staples, staplers, elastic bands, hole punches, ink cartridges, notepads…"

"Thank you. If you would leave me now, I shall write up my report to submit to the police. Please tell you mother that I shall be home by half past six and I shall be leaving tomorrow evening." Ben left frustrated.

Before he could progress, Cannington had to check all of his points and facts to make sure they tallied. He drew out a pen from his pocket and started to write: 'Smell, ten pound note, sheet, stationary, slits on wrist, letter, graffiti on wall, weights.' Good. They were all there and now he could start his three-page hypothesis on the murder of Max Kingdom.

Ms Janet Walker left her office quickly. She was due to meet with Doctor Cannington ten minutes ago. "God knows what he will be thinking." she thought as she waddled through the school. Just as she made it to the purple corridor, she saw Cannington's head pop out from behind his door. He looked right, saw nothing, and then turned left.

"Aha! Ms Walker, welcome." Cannington watched her shuffle past him. "Welcome, even if you are rather late." Janet Walker took a seat and so did Cannington. He looked down at his notes and spoke.

"I went to Stoats Close yesterday," he said. Janet Walker glanced at him queerly. "I saw Robert Jackson; he told me about his cousin – being abandoned and left with his parents." Ms Walker just looked at Cannington. "Then, he showed me a note, a note that had been left with the baby. It was from the mother." Cannington reached into his suit and pulled out the letter. "Dear Jackie and Ian, Please look after my son – Max. I feel it would not be very wise for me to keep him. Chris and I have talked about it, he would prefer you to bring him up. Chris is going away and I will return to my career in Yorkshire. The both of us are not going to see each other anymore – we can't face the shame of having an illegitimate son." There was more of the letter, but Cannington did not read it out.

"Well?" Ms Walker had taken off her glasses.

"You were his mother weren't you?" Janet Walker let out a faint moan and burst into tears. "There, there." Cannington said, not really helping the situation.

"I was under pressure! At the time I was just starting to work in an all girls school in Yorkshire and for me to have an illegitimate child would have been horrendous – especially as I was going to be teaching life skills."

"Did they not notice you were pregnant?" asked Cannington quizzically. Ms Walker looked desperately at him.

"No. I joined just after I had Max. Please don't let this get out. I beg you."

Chapter Eleven

Cannington Reads the Lesson

It was the middle of the night, two forty to be precise. Cannington was pacing around his bedroom at his brother's house in Devon. Fine beads of sweat dripped across his head until they were brushed away by a frustrated hand on a frustrated man. The night was warm and humid – Cannington often found the summer nights infuriating. That was why he preferred the winter months. Every time he was questioned about his preference to the winter season, Cannington would answer truthfully.

"One doesn't spend hour after hour pacing one's bedroom with fret, perspiration oozing out of every single crevice that it can find."

Perhaps he was not really hot at all. Maybe, it was the thought of having to take some rowdy class of fourth formers for English later that day. Whatever it was, Cannington wished he could turn his thoughts, anxieties and troubles off, like a light switch.

He pushed the door to the staff room open, half awake, half asleep. The teachers that were in the room all stopped to look at Cannington enter. Not wanting to look unprofessional, Cannington pinched himself on the back, and with sudden gusto, he walked straight up to a female teacher.

"I am here to cover Mr Greenman's forth form class. Please could you direct me to his classroom?" The member of staff Cannington had chosen to ask was a young girl who was still on her teacher-training course. Her messy blonde hair was held back in a short ponytail. Thick black eye shadow had been applied with white blusher.

"Yeah, just give me a tick." Sardonically, Cannington did.

"Tick." The teacher looked at him like she would a naughty pupil. Cannington was so racked with guilt he hastened to make conversation. "What do you teach then?"

"Science." The reply was short.

"I see. Do you find it enjoyable to teach the pupils?"

"Yes, when they behave."

"What are you doing at the moment?" asked Cannington, trying to sound interested.

"Erm, coursework. I seem to be doing most of it for them." She fiddled with the kettle.

"What do you mean?" Cannington really was intrigued by the last comment.

"They don't really understand much. So, I have decided to write it all out for them and leave a few words out, with gaps, so they can fill it in. Ready?" At this point, Cannington was going to interject with some question about whether her methods were legal, but he decided not to.

"Yes. I'll follow you." Both Cannington and the female teacher left the staff room. "What's your name then?"

"Lucy Hobbs. What's yours?"

"Doctor Cannington."

"Aren't you investigating the murder?" Miss Hobbs had stopped now to face Cannington.

"That's right. I know what you're thinking," Cannington smiled.

"You do?" asked Miss Hobbs nervously.

"Yes. You are thinking 'why on earth is a detective like Doctor Cannington, teaching English at a state school?' I'm right aren't I?" Cannington could not have been farther from the truth.

"Erm, yes." Hobbs sighed with relief. "This is it. English 1. I'll see you around. Bye." The woman walked off, back to the staff room.

Mr Greenman had left the door unlocked. On the desk inside lay a sheet of instructions about what he wanted Cannington to teach the class. Cannington read it and shook his head disapprovingly. "Education, education, education. Not how it was in my day."

The class of thirty-four stood silently outside their classroom. All of their backs were pressed firmly against the wall and their shoes touched the edge of the skirting board. Cannington walked solemnly up and down the neat line. "Tie. Shirt. Laces." His finger jabbed at each pupil's misdemeanour. 'Tie, shirt and laces." Satisfied that the pupils looked moderately presentable, Cannington opened the classroom door and ordered the children to take their places. Unlike normal, the class would have to sit alphabetically from the back. Ben (who was loathing the entire experience) took his seat on the back row of the class. This was a change of position for him. Normally, he would sit next to Samantha (and Max) at the front. He was sure that his uncle had placed him as far away as physically possible.

"Good. Throughout the class, you will address me as 'sir'." Ben crossed his finger under the table.

"Please don't let him say his name." Thankfully, he did not.
"Mr Greenman has told me that you are going to start 'Great Expectations'. You will be, but not in my class. I think it is time you all learnt some basic grammar." The class groaned in unison. "Don't mumble, please. Open your exercise books. Now, who knows what a noun is?" Cannington looked hopefully around the room. No one answered. "Oh dear!"

Whilst Cannington was on the edge of ecstasy talking about the intricacies of grammar, the class couldn't care less.

So, for the next fifteen minutes, Cannington lectured a daydreaming class about basic grammar usage. Cannington's heart nearly stopped as a boy from the second row raised his hand. A question! At last, he was getting somewhere. "Yes."

"What are swear-words then? Nouns or verbs?" Most of the class tittered, including Ben.

"Thank you for asking a question," Cannington glanced at his seating plan, "Karl. Well, you really shouldn't use swear words at all. At least not as much as you do anyway."

"Why?"

"Swear once in a blue moon, by all means. But there are so many other words you could use instead. Why do you need to use the 'f-word' as a noun, verb, adjective, adverb, conjunction, preposition or pronoun?"

Miraculously, this had triggered some of the class into a debating mood. There then followed a short discussion about nouns.

After ending the class debate about the pros and cons of obscenities, Cannington decided to move on, or rather – back. Mr Greenman had said that the class had finished 'Love Labours Lost', but Cannington wanted to test the class on their knowledge.

"Everyone, get out your sheet on the play please. Fred, why don't you have yours?"

"I don't have mine either." came one voice from the room.

"Same." said another.

"Who doesn't have theirs then?" Cannington counted the raised hands and made a note of their names. 'Bones, Margrave, Davis, Jones, Horton, Llewellyn-Gardiner.' Frustrated at the class's organisation, or lack of it, Cannington decided to let the class start reading 'Great Expectations' until the end of the lesson.

The final pupil left the classroom and Cannington shut the door with a huge sigh. After enduring an hour of mixed emotions, he could relax. Looking at his watch, he decided to return to his brother's house to pack. Later on, he would be revealing 'whodunit'.

Chapter Twelve

Leaving Devon

Trisha Cannington had opted to help her brother-in-law pack. Cannington would be leaving in just under an hour. Tensions had remained high during his stay. Earlier on in the month, the two Cannington brothers had had a blazing row and had fallen out with each other. Even now, three weeks on, they were only just engaging in small talk. Trisha, on the other hand, had been the middleman (or woman) in the whole argument. She remained friendly to her only brother-in-law, Cannington, and was her usual bubbly self to her husband.

Trisha's hair was frizzy and brown; it bounced as she moved her head or walked. Unlike her husband and his brother, whose skin was quite pale, Trisha's complexion was darker. This was due to excess exposure to the sun on Spanish holidays.

"Did you enjoy your stay, Richmond?" she asked whilst folding a pullover.

"Yes, my dear lady. You really must give me that recipe for the minestrone soup we had." Cannington did not look at her when he spoke; instead, he worried about packing his ties.

"Minestrone? Did we have soup?" Trisha could not quite remember this meal.

"Yes, on Thursday."

"It wasn't minestrone – on Thursday we had my Lancashire hotpot." Cannington bit his tongue.

"Oh! Was that what it was? I thought it was rather good." Cannington said no more; he just packed, slightly more hurriedly than before.

Ben Cannington was slouched on his beanbag, talking to Samantha and half watching the television. Ben's room was decorated in plain light blue paint. On the walls, he had posters of footballers and cars. His desk housed a laptop and a printer.

"Come in," called Ben from the beanbag. The door was pushed open and in walked his uncle, Cannington. Realising that he was on the phone, Cannington made a hand gesture to signal that he need not hurry. Looking around the room, Cannington decided to wait in the room, on the edge of the bed. "Look, I have to go. My uncle wants a word. Yes, again. Ok, see you later. Love you. Bye." Ben closed his mobile and manoeuvred himself round to face Cannington.

"Do you have much homework to do?" said Cannington.

"Yeah, quite a bit. I have to catch up with last nights too."

"Why did you not do it last evening?" Cannington took the concerned uncle approach.

"I was out with Sam." Ben's tone was slightly obstinate. Luckily for him, Cannington did not pick up on this.

"How nice. Where did you go?"

"Cinema, restaurant – the normal places." Ben looked at the clock, trying to send small hints to uncle.

"I hope you paid." Cannington chipped.

"Of course I did!" Ben was quite infuriated at his uncle. "Anyway, Sam couldn't pay – she hasn't had any money for months."

"I see." It was Cannington's turn to be dismissive now, as he continued. "I'm leaving later today." Ben's attention flickered back on as if someone had just poked him in the back with a flaming hot poker. "Ms Walker and I have arranged for you to come with me to school to uncover the culprit later; I'll go after that."

"Oh." Ben sounded saddened at this. "Ok."

"I can't stay here for ever you know. Anyway, what has been your favourite part of the investigation? Not that you did much." Cannington did mean the last line to be derisory.

"Exactly! Not that I did much." Ben said half humorously. "Erm, probably seeing Darren Davies cry." He laughed, alone.

"Everyone has emotion. Just because they are bullies, doesn't mean to say that they cannot have emotion, or guilt." Cannington stood up.

"Sorry. You're right and quite wise." Cannington smiled at this comment. Wise was an adjective that he liked to in use about himself.

Ben continued, looking at his uncle thoughtfully, "You're the sort of person whose last words will have meaning."

"Yes, Ben. I think my last words will." Cannington smiled warmly and left the room.

Chapter Thirteen

Ms Walker's Office

"So, Uncle. Are you sure you know who it is?" asked an inquisitive Ben Cannington. The uncle and nephew were walking through the playground of Molton Comprehensive. The evening was particularly crisp and whilst Cannington wore his long black coat and beige scarf, Ben had chosen to wear his fleece. His uncle made a mental note to buy a more suitable overcoat for Ben next Christmas.

"Yes. In normal circumstances, I would gather all suspects up and reveal who the culprit was. However, this being not your average murder case, I shall inform the teachers first. Come along, Ben." Cannington quickened his pace and made a beeline for the school entrance. The pair of them climbed the few stairs that lead to entrance, opened the door and came immediately to the 'blue' corridor. A few students that had not yet been collected noticed them and hurriedly disappeared. One student did not. Samantha Horton instead rushed up to them and gave a hug to her boyfriend.

"Come along." Cannington sighed, trying to ignore the embracing couple. He moved to the door of the Head Teacher's office.

"Enter," called a voice from inside the room. Ms Walker sat behind her desk and Mr Greenman casually reclined on one of the guest seats. "Ah! Doctor Cannington, welcome back. Please sit down." She ushered him to a similar seat to Mr Greenman. Cannington noticed that she had not extended the invitation to Ben or Samantha, so he decided to do it himself.

"Benjamin, Samantha, there's no need to stand to attention." Janet Walker flinched slightly at this; she adopted the idea that she was the most important in the room so her pupils should respect her.

"Well, Doctor 'C', why are you here?" This was Ms Walker's way of taking revenge, not only for his audacity, but also for finding out about her past.

"To solve the murder case. I know who did it." Cannington gave her a long, cold, hard stare. "I thought it best to tell you before we get the police involved to take the necessary action. I shall begin." He paused for a moment. "Ben, please go and fetch a glass of water from the water dispenser outside." He did so and moments later, returned and handed it to his uncle. "Thank you."

"Would you prefer a coffee or tea, Doctor?" asked Mr Greenman, who up until this point had been silent. His offer was declined. Cannington finished the water and started with his dénouement.

"Max Kingdom was going through a lot of trouble, I think we can all agree on that, can't we?" Cannington did not wait for a response. "Many of the pupils in the so-called 'Molton gang' would be anyone's prime suspects. I began with Rob Jackson, head of this gang. Looking at his school record, he has had previous incidents involving younger pupils and knives; however, Max was beaten to death. Although I did wonder about the instigator of that bruise on Robert's cheek. It appeared just before the body was found; perhaps it came from a fight he and the victim might have had? We all discovered that Rob was only bullying Max because Max was part of his family. Cousin infact. When I spoke to Rob, he said that he let the others bully Max whilst turning a blind eye, but he would never hurt Max. I believe him and with this revelation and a cast-iron alibi, do not think him the murderer."

"Who is then?" piped the Head Teacher. Cannington ignored her, but made a small step towards identifying the culprit.

"Half way through the investigation, Ben found a note that Max had begun to write. This was a letter to his friends telling of his grief and frustration. He was going to commit suicide. This was due to the fact he was blackmailing someone and felt guilty. Sadly, he did not tell us where he planned on dying, for obvious reasons; we would know that when we found the body. Max had seen someone doing something that they would not want let out. This mysterious person had agreed to pay him a certain sum of money each week, to keep him quiet. This sum was ten pounds. Sadly, the person being blackmailed was getting fed up of giving money away – so Max would have to go."

Although Ben Cannington already knew this, there was something in the way that his uncle said it, that made him believe he had never heard it before and every word was exciting.

"Obviously, it must have been someone pretty strong to have beaten Max Kingdom to death." Cannington paused and rested his eyes on Keith Greenman, the deputy head. "Mr Greenman you gave out that Shakespeare sheet didn't you? I found one of those next to where the body had been. Perhaps you had killed him and dropped one?"

"I did not…" The Deputy Head stood up quickly to argue, but Ben pulled at his sleeve as a signal to sit down. Begrudgingly, the English teacher returned to his seat. Cannington continued to accuse Keith Greenman.

"As I say, it must have had to be someone pretty strong to beat up Max and you are, I believe, the Devon County Weights Champion of 2001?"

"But surely it was a pupil that murdered Max, so why make accusations against my staff, Doctor Cannington?" Ms Walker had not taken kindly to Cannington attack on her colleague.

"Ms Walker, how correct you are."

Cannington turned to Ben and Samantha. "You two, please embrace." The pair were extremely surprised at this, especially because Cannington had told them. Feeling slightly awkward about hugging so publicly, they hesitated before complying. "It was a pupil that murdered Max Kingdom, Ms Walker. It was Samantha Horton." Ben let out a quiet noise of surprise. of surprise and withdrew from his girlfriend suddenly. Samantha looked in turn at, Ben, Ms Walker, Mr Greenman and finally, Cannington. Her bottom lip trembled.

"Don't be stupid uncle!" Ben said objectionably.

"No!" Sam called, not really knowing what she was saying, and to whom.

"Miss Horton was secretly seeing another person and Max, I assume, found this out. Miss Horton still loved Ben and didn't want to hurt his feelings. I presume that Max started to blackmail Samantha and asked ten pounds a week. Like all people who are being blackmailed, they eventually run out of money and resort to drastic measures." Cannington looked immediately to Ben. He was trembling; his eyes were fixed on the static Samantha, who stood helplessly by the door. Ms Walker stood up slowly from her desk. Mr Greenman remained seated and watched his boss approach Samantha.

"Samantha. Is this true?" Janet Walker asked sternly.

"Yes." Sam broke down in tears and, in desperation, flung herself onto Ben. In disgust, he pushed her away and stepped backwards. Ben himself was on the verge of tears.

"Benjamin, time to go." Cannington tapped Ben gently on the shoulder, said goodbye to the teachers, and left with his nephew. On his way out, he turned to the Head Teacher. "Ms Walker, I shall be back later to explain the rest."

Chapter Fourteen

The Murder Explained

School had finished by now and the two Canningtons sat side by side on a bench in the playground. Neither of them had spoken since they left the office. Ben stared at the ground, whilst Cannington sat looking out over the plain concrete yard. He felt guilty with himself. How could he be so insensitive to break the news to his nephew in that way? Finally after twenty minutes of silence, Ben spoke.

"How could it have been her? Why?" Cannington decided not to answer these questions, as there was no simple reply. Instead, he changed key slightly.

"I know how it feels, Ben." Cannington felt very guilty.

"No you don't." Ben snapped at his uncle. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"I really do know how it feels, dear boy." Cannington paused. "I know exactly how it is to have someone you love greatly taken away from you like that. However, it must be extra sensitive for you as you have had two people taken."

"Who was taken from you, Richmond." This was the first time Ben had addressed his uncle by his first name. Cannington felt uneasy, but ignored it.

"Your grandfather actually. My father, he was murdered." Cannington's voice wavered slightly.

"Whose fault was it?" Cannington did not respond. "Uncle Richmond?"

"I would rather not talk about it, Ben." Cannington stood up quickly and walked away, back to the Head Teacher's office.

Janet Walker had contacted Samantha's parents and handed her over to the police. Cannington was due at the station later that evening to give his evidence to an officer. Now, he would finish off the story to Ms Walker.

"When I arrived at the school for the first time, I can remember looking at the activities list." said Cannington plainly. "I noticed the Judo list in particular. I made no connection with any of the names on the notice, as they were all surnames. However, moments after being introduced to my nephew's girlfriend, Samantha, something clicked. Her name was on the list. This made her able to fight with Max, the strength you see?" Janet Walker nodded.

"Go on."

"Mr Greenman had told me that Max was absent, along with others, on that first Monday lesson. But how did he know? At first, I thought he could have killed Max and knew that Max would not show – however, he then cleared that point up and told me Samantha had informed him. How did Samantha know this?"

"Clever you!" beamed Ms Walker, as if speaking to one of her pupils.

"Clever me!" Cannington gave a short smile back and continued. "Lying next to Max's body were two paperclips. I had noticed that Samantha had been carrying some of her essay around and it seemed to be coming adrift. I had the two paperclips in my pocket, so I gave her one of them. I thought nothing of this action of mine until half way through the investigation. What would happen if that paperclip had been on her essay when she went in to see Max, and then when she beat him up, the paperclip fell off? If you think about it, only books are kept in the cupboard Max was found in. Stationery is kept in the staffroom cupboard. Another clue was the issue of money. Samantha was being blackmailed, therefore had little money. My nephew went out with her the other evening; earlier today he told me how Samantha had no money, and hadn't for several months." Cannington scratched his cheek, then continued.

"Now for the penultimate clue – we think about the smell of scent. What happens if it was not deodorant or aftershave? Perhaps it was perfume. That would point me to a girl. Finally, I come to the school playground's wall. On it, graffiti has been daubed. One of the many things it reads is: 'D luvs S: Darren loves Samantha, perhaps?"

Ms Walker stared at him in total admiration. Cannington noticed this and smirked. Seconds later, Janet Walker had stood up and advanced to Cannington. She sat down next to him and took hold of his hand. Cannington looked shocked.

"You know, I have always wanted someone like you, Doctor Cannington. How about it? I think you'd enjoy being married to me." After calming his nerves and detaching Ms Walker's hands, he stood and turned around.

"My dear woman. You really have flattered me." Suddenly, he stopped gazing at Ms Walker, and pushed back slightly. "I'm sorry, but no thank you."

"Oh well," she said philosophically, "it was worth a try."

Chapter Fifteen

Loose Ends

As he walked through the playground of Molton Comprehensive, Cannington looked around him. The school seemed so dingy to him; not at all like the school that he had attended. How could Ben actually work here? What could he achieve? He had no friends left anymore and very little to look forward to. Cannington would have to do something.

After checking that Ben had returned safely home, Cannington stopped off at the police station to set out his case. When he had completed this, Cannington would at last return to Little Marlow; he debated whether or not to say goodbye to his family, but decided not. Ben would take time to adjust – Cannington respected him enough to give him that time.

"This one." The large police officer opened a cold, grey iron door to reveal a very tired looking Samantha Horton. The school had phoned her parents and told them to go to the local police station; they hadn't arrived yet. Cannington thanked the officer and stepped inside, slightly sheepishly. Although he had no reason to be reserved, Cannington felt somewhat cruel to ruin many people's lives.

The cell was very much like all the other cells in the row. The walls had once been painted with a thin layer of off-white paint; this was peeling away to reveal the underlying coat of light brown.

Samantha was staring straight ahead of her, gazing tearfully at the wall. She was still wearing the light pink top and white trousers that she'd worn for school.

"Hello." Cannington spoke solemnly. "Tell me why you did it. I know why you did it, but was it on purpose?" Cannington remained standing.

"Of course not." Samantha said abrasively. "He found Darren and me holding hands one day, then threatened to blackmail me." Tears began to well in her eyes. "I only paid him because of Ben. How could I have told him? I love him so much. Then one day, when I went to meet Ben in the store cupboard – that's where we exchanged the money – he told me he was writing a suicide note." By this time, Samantha's tears were streaming down her face; Cannington offered her his handkerchief (which was unused).

"Here." He said, holding out the crisp piece of linen.

"Thank you." She dabbed her eyes and continued. "I tried to reason with him, I didn't want him dead at all. I don't know why you said I did in Miss Walker's office. I never wanted to remove him at all. I went to snatch the note off him, then he fought back and I knocked him. He banged his head against the shelves and…" she trailed off; remembering these events without crying was difficult. "I didn't know what to do – so I hid the note in the crack in the floorboards and ran off to English."

"Dropping your English sheet, paperclips and forgetting the money. It all tallies." Cannington moved to sit down on the hard plank of metal that was the bed. "So it wasn't intended?"

"No. I was going to split up with Darren, but I knew he'd tell Ben if I did. How is he?" Samantha looked weakly at Cannington.

"Ben? Oh, he'll come round. He's not speaking to me at the moment. Infact, he's not speaking to anyone really." Cannington shrugged his shoulders in a very refined fashion.

"Doctor Cannington?" asked Samantha.

"Yes?"

"Give Ben this, please." Samantha moved and placed a gentle kiss on Cannington's cheek. Taken aback, Cannington smiled, but it soon faded.

"I'm not sure he will want to be kissed, but I shall let him know."

"Oh, my parent's will kill me." said Samantha fretfully.

"If they do, they'll be the ones in gaol." Cannington tried to lighten the heavy atmosphere. Samantha didn't pick up on the joke. "I think I must go; your mother and father will be here soon. Goodbye, Samantha. You would have made such a nice wife for Ben." With that, he stood up and knocked on the cell door. Soon after, it opened.

The parents of Samantha had just arrived. Cannington bowed slightly as he passed them in the corridor. They stopped to look at him. The mother had obviously been crying. This was apparent from the redness of her face and her puffy eyes.

"Mr and Mrs Horton?" said Cannington calmly. "It was manslaughter. It wasn't intended. Forgive her; I have."

Two weeks later, Molton Comprehensive had broken up for the summer holiday. This was the last time Ben Cannington would see the school he had attended for three years. His uncle had decided to pay for him to attend a grammar school near by, subject to entrance exam results. Luckily, for Ben, he passed, and once the summer was over, he would be able to make a new start at his new school.

The Cannington brothers, James and Richmond, had begun to speak to each other again and carried on with life as if nothing had ever happened. Whilst Cannington was willing to forget their argument, James would always remember it in the back of his mind.

Ben had not spoken to anyone since the revelation. He kept himself to himself and rarely came out of his room; his father was not the most compassionate of men, and showed little signs of remembering that his son's ex-girlfriend had been a murderer. Cannington however, had felt the whole experience had drawn him and his nephew closer together. This wasn't the only change he was experiencing with his personal life.

Since their little reunion in Devon, Madeline McQuinn and Cannington had met several times in London for either lunch or dinner. Tonight, Cannington was taking her to the theatre. The two both shared a passion for drama, especially musicals, and they had both always wanted to see 'Aspects of Love.'

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