Katerina Diamond - The Teacher - A shocking and compelling new crime thriller – NOT for the faint-hearted!

‘OK, Mrs Markham, we’ll look into it.’ Adrian interrupted before Grey could open her mouth again. He stood up but she remained seated, eyes fixed on Mrs Markham.

‘Where’s he been living?’ she asked. Deborah Markham pulled out a set of keys from the handbag at her side.

‘There’s a converted barn on the road that leads to the estuary, the address is on the fob.’

Adrian took the fob and Grey put the cat down. He felt like he had just witnessed a hostage negotiation. The air was thick between them as they walked out to the car.

‘What the hell was that?’

‘She was full of it.’ Grey smiled.

‘She was distraught.’

‘Distraught my eye, she’s still got money, and plenty of it. Did you see the way she was groomed? Those are this season’s clothes, new shoes – really expensive shoes – and you can’t get that bag for less than a grand. I wouldn’t be surprised if this disappearance isn’t some kind of scam.’ Adrian looked at her with surprise.

‘How do you know about the clothes and stuff?’

‘You think I don’t know about fashion? What are you saying, Miley?’ she said incredulously, a fake look of indignation on her face.

‘Nothing, you just don’t strike me as that kind of woman.’

‘And what kind of woman do I strike you as?’

‘I don’t know, you dress like Tony Hawks,’ he said, before adding, ‘the multi-millionaire skateboarder, not the comedian.’

‘What the hell does that mean?’

‘Just drop it, it doesn’t matter.’

‘OK, let me ask you a question.’ She sat forward.

‘OK, shoot.’ Adrian sighed, what had he done?

‘What car do you drive?’

‘You know what car I drive, I drive a Granada.’

‘A Granada? Right, Jesus, Miley, they stopped making them like fifteen years ago.’

‘She has sentimental value!’

‘Whatever, I bet you know what a Mustang is, or a Ferrari, I bet you watch the lame car programmes on TV. I bet you think you know a lot about cars.’

‘That’s different.’

‘I know a lot about clothes, specifically high-end, expensive clothing. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they dress.’

Adrian couldn’t help but look her up and down, instantly regretting this decision as he saw that smile on her face again. He was beginning to understand that she only smiled like that when she had won some imaginary battle in her mind. Every time he saw that smile he would be reminded that she wasn’t the scruffy slacker that she presented herself to be.

‘The way I dress is a choice, calculated, Miley. I know what I’m doing.’

‘You want everyone to think you’re a dyke?’

‘Maybe I am a dyke.’

‘Pfft, please … I know you’re not, I have seen you checking me out.’

‘In your dreams!’ She smiled and thumped him on the arm, a little flushed in the cheeks. ‘Mostly I don’t want people to think I am too competent. I don’t want people to put their faith in me. I want them to think I am a washout and I want to prove them wrong.’

‘It’s very complicated in your head, isn’t it, Grey?’

‘I like it when people think they are superior to me, people let their guard down more when they don’t feel threatened, they are easier to confuse.’

‘That explains your amazing display of passive aggression back there.’

‘Whatever gets the job done!’

‘Is that why you got transferred out of Plymouth?’ Adrian asked. It was a genuine question although the look her face assumed put paid to any notion Adrian may have had about them being comfortable with each other. She put her hands in the ten to two position and focused on the road ahead. The connection was lost. The conversation was over.

The barn was large and impressive. They walked up the gravelled driveway and knocked on the door, noting the incredible framing of pink sky around the house; it felt so completely secluded out there.

‘Mr Markham?’ Adrian called out.

Grey walked around the side of the house and disappeared from Adrian’s view. Adrian tried every key on the bunch Deborah Markham had given them until he found the one that corresponded with the lock. He could tell from the absolute silence that they were alone here.

‘Mr Markham? Ian Markham?’ he called out again, just in case. The house was bare, stripped of furniture, a few lopsided pictures hung on the walls and a rug or two lay here and there.

‘Looks like he’s had some kind of bonfire out back.’ Grey was standing in the doorway holding a document box. ‘Left in a hurry, too, by the looks of it.’

Adrian took the box from Grey, a handful of papers remained in the bottom. Some tickets from various bookmakers, some shredded paper they could get the lab to reassemble, a couple of invitations to local fundraising functions but nothing massively incriminating.

‘Bag it all and we’ll take it back to the station.’

‘Check this out.’ Grey pulled out a Visa bill, one of the recipients was listed as LHRBOOKINGS. ‘LHR is the abbreviation for Heathrow, as in long-distance destinations, as in anywhere in the world non-extradition kind of thing. He’s in the wind.’

‘We’ll take it back anyway, fuck it, you have anything better to do?’

They walked out of the barn house and looked again at the beautiful surroundings. No doubt the house would be repossessed and resold. The sun had muted in the afternoon sky and a cool breeze drifted through the air making the surrounding trees pulse as if they had their own heartbeat. The forest in the near distance looked like an underline for the beautiful orange sun.

Adrian breathed it all in before heading back into the city to deal with the Saturday-night binge drinking shift, part of his penance for messing his colleagues around before he got suspended. He wasn’t proud of the fact that he had got people to lie for him, about his whereabouts, about how sober he was or wasn’t, about a lot of things. He had so much to make up for and a lot of people to apologise to. He had promised to help Denise deal with the drunks on the desk on Saturday nights. He owed her a lot more than that but it was a start. Grey beeped the horn impatiently and he got in.

The Outsider

Sally waited at the door wagging her tail, knowing her master was approaching; she knew him by his walk, by the sound of his breathing, by his smell. Parker walked in and was greeted with an extremely happy Labrador Retriever. Sally was his life companion, his best friend, the one who would never forsake him. Parker and Sally had met almost seven years earlier and it was love at first sight, they needed each other and they knew it.

His house was a true reflection of his character, books on every surface, a stack of black leather notepads teeming with words, a small brown sofa which was obviously Sally’s favourite place to sit, judging by the layer of golden fluff on it. He fed Sally immediately, and as soon as she had finished her food he took her for a walk, walking past the museum that he had returned to this town for. He saw Abbey leaving work and walked over to her.

‘Abbey, this is my Sally.’ Abbey turned and smiled at the dog, a big full smile, Parker had not seen that smile before, he felt just by looking at it that he was invading her privacy; it was not intended for him. Abbey knelt down and rubbed the dog’s ears affectionately.

‘She’s lovely … Parker, I hope I didn’t offend you earlier. I was worried when you rushed off.’ She looked at him seriously while he racked his mind for what she could be referring to.

‘Oh no, you didn’t, I had to dash. I’m sorry but she barely forgave me for coming home late last night, I wouldn’t want to be in trouble two nights on the trot. I thought I could make it home and back before you left.’ He wasn’t lying. He had explained earlier how Sally had been so unimpressed with his late arrival the night before she had left a present for him on the living room floor. ‘I um … I wanted you to meet Sally.’