Nightshade

55

Nightingale’s phone rang. The caller was withholding his number. It was Harry Simpson. ‘This is turning into a right can of worms, Nightingale.’ It was Sunday morning and Nightingale was lying on the sofa trying to work up the energy to make himself a bacon sandwich. He wasn’t sure how to reply to that, so he said nothing.

‘Simon Etchells was at the school for just over ten years. Before that he was at a comprehensive in Slough and before that he was at a girls’ private school in Somerset. He left the girls’ school under a bit of a cloud. Nothing official, but some parents had complained of inappropriate behaviour on his part.’

‘He’s a paedophile?’

‘You can’t say that. The police were involved and they interviewed the girls but it wasn’t thought serious enough for any charges. It was more texting and emails and being alone with them. The girls never said that he touched them. The school let him resign and that was the end of it.’

‘Sounds like he was grooming them and got stopped before it went too far.’

‘I can’t argue with that. Anyway, as part of his resignation package he got a glowing reference and moved to Slough. When he was there two teachers were sent down for having sex with underage pupils. Statutory rape – the girls were willing enough but they plied them with booze and drugs. The girls were close to sixteen and the teachers were in their late twenties. They got three years apiece. One of them ended up marrying the girl he was sent to prison for.’

‘So all’s well that ends well. How does Etchells fit in with that?’

‘He left the school about a month before the other two were arrested. Could have been a coincidence …’

‘Or he could have known that something was going to happen and decided to get out before he was implicated.’

‘You do like putting two and two together and getting five, don’t you?’

‘I’m assuming there’s more, because nothing you’ve said so far could be considered a right can of worms.’

‘Three years ago there was a complaint from the parent of a girl in the Berwick school. A ten-year-old girl said Etchells had followed her into the toilets and said he wanted to check that her skirt wasn’t too short.’

‘Nice.’

‘There was a file and Etchells and the girl were interviewed, but it was decided that the girl was just confused. The file wasn’t even sent to the CPS, it just died. The girl left the school the following term. Case closed.’

‘That’s more than enough red flags, isn’t it?’

‘That’s not the can of worms, though. The inspector who closed the case was Colin Stevenson.’

Nightingale felt as if he’d just been punched in the chest and he gasped. He put his hand against the wall to steady himself.

‘You still there?’ asked Simpson.

‘I’m gob-smacked.’

‘Yeah, you and me both. I mean, it’s by no means conclusive proof …’

‘No, but it’s one hell of a coincidence, isn’t it?’

‘Coincidences do happen,’ said Simpson. ‘The question is, what do you want to do next?’

‘To be honest, we need to take a closer look at Stevenson. But I know you’re not happy about that.’

‘I can hardly speak to him, can I? And I’m not going to Professional Standards.’

‘Is he a family man?’

‘Divorced, I think. No kids.’

‘Can you get an address for him?’

‘Probably. But why?’

‘Best you don’t know,’ said Nightingale.