‘I’ve been working hard,’ his cousin told Rafferty when he rang him, ‘selling houses and making money. It can get tiring.’ Poor diddums, thought Rafferty. He doubted his cousin knew what a hard day’s work was. ‘I could do with a good night out.’

‘I thought you were out most nights of the week.’

‘I am, dear boy,’ Nigel said in his usual patronising manner. ‘But those nights are with assorted lady friends or clients. Doesn’t do in either case to drink more than a couple. With the clients it’s necessary to keep one’s wits about one and with the ladies it’s necessary to keep one’s pecker up rather than suffering from brewer’s droop. I’ve a reputation to maintain with both parties.’

‘If you say so. Anyway, we’re meeting at the Horse and Groom, the pub near me, at eight this evening. You can meet Cyrus and Louis at last. I’ll see you there.’

‘The Horse and Groom at eight. Got it.’

Rafferty put the phone down and got back to work. Some of the latest witness statements from the other ninety-odd reunees who didn’t feature on their suspect list made interesting reading. All of human nature was there: the gossip, the spite, the remembered grievances, the petty tale telling. It was all manna from heaven to a policeman. Or it might have been earlier in the case when he was looking for lines of inquiry. But now, the trouble was, spite and gossip was all it was, not evidence. None of it gave him a fresh lead. Or at least not a conclusive one.

‘Listen to this,’ he said to Llewellyn. ‘This statement’s from a man called Robin Nash. “Adam was over-fond of the younger boys. He was well known for it, though neither the teachers nor the lovesick girls seemed to suspect a thing. His favourite spot for these meetings was the sports pavilion, which conveniently housed a rubber mat for the high jump, so he could do his canoodling in cushioned comfort”. Shame he didn’t confide that little snippet the first time we talked to him.

‘Here’s another one. From a woman this time. “Adam might have been popular with the other sports-mad boys at school, but to the non-sporty boys and the plain or dumpy girls, he could be nasty. He specialized in making up cruel nicknames. I won’t tell you what he called me. It still hurts”.’

‘Mmm. We’ve already discovered that Mr Ainsley could be an unpleasant chap, though it’s interesting that he wasn’t so bashful about “coming out” with boys younger than himself. It seems to have been a particularly well-kept secret. I’ve certainly never read any speculation about his sexuality in the newspapers.’

‘Nor me. I suppose his victims were only too keen to keep any assault quiet. They’ll all be adults by now, with careers, wives, children. Imagine the embarrassment if it got out that you had been a victim of rape, if, like most of the pupils, you have a high-powered job.’

‘Nobody actually says that Mr Ainsley went that far.’

‘They don’t say that he didn’t, either. And if they’ve kept quiet about it for all these years, I can’t see them confiding in a police officer during a murder investigation. Imagine what they’d go through when it came to court. Though perhaps we ought to find out the identities of a few of his likely victims. It’s all just speculation and rumour so far. Who knows? Alice Douglas might not be the only one amongst our suspects with whom Ainsley had a secret affair that ended badly.’

These other witness statements were still trickling in as people returned from holidays and business trips. Most were innocuous, the typical statement given by those who didn’t want any involvement with the police, which contained plenty of ‘I don’t knows’ and ‘I can’t remembers’, certainly far more cautious and circumspect than the original statements when news of the murder had shocked them into unwise indiscretions.

‘We’ll pass the more juicy statements on to Superintendent Bradley. Let him pick the flies out of them.’ Rafferty put the paperwork on one side and said, ‘Has the team re-interviewed everyone who was present at the school reunion now?’

‘Yes. That’s the last of them, though there are one or two that Gerry Hanks thought might be worth questioning again.’

‘Probably scrappy scrabbling after nothing very much.’ Which meant that there were no belated juicy morsels heading their way; at least none from the reunees themselves. Rafferty didn’t know whether to be pleased or sorry. But, at the moment, he was floundering through unwanted pregnancies, discarded lovers, probable male rape, suicide, bullying and a first murder victim who seemed to change his sexual allegiance even more often than he changed his lady friends, and a second who was way too keen on ferreting out information on other people than was healthy. There was just too much of everything. One thing he did know – he needed a break from the endless statements and his own, nearly as endless, theories.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said to Llewellyn. ‘My brain feels like it’s drowning in blasted paperwork.’ He was surprised when Llewellyn, too, said he felt like he was swimming through a heavy tide. It was unlike the Welshman to complain. Llewellyn had the protestant work ethic to the nth degree and often put Rafferty to shame.

‘We’ll drive out to Griffin,’ Rafferty decided, ‘and have a wander round. We’ll get the keys off the caretaker.’

The sultry weather had passed away and the day was inviting, with pale blue skies and breeze-scudded white clouds. It was weather to blow the cobwebs away and Rafferty breathed in deeply when he got out to the car park, hoping that all the oxygen to the brain would pump something loose that would lead to the end of the case. He handed the keys to Llewellyn and said, ‘You can drive.’

Griffin School had the forlorn air of all empty buildings. The school summer holidays were not yet over and the only person on the premises was Tom Harrison. Rafferty found him in his flat, having elevenses. He still wore his cap, even though he was indoors. He grumbled a bit when Rafferty asked for the keys to the school.

‘They’re my responsibility, you know. I’m sure Mr Paxton and the board of governors won’t like outsiders wandering around, certainly not unaccompanied. I’ll come with you.’ He finished the remains of his tea and stood up. He adjusted his cap over his thick and curly dark hair that only now, although Harrison must be in his fifties, was starting to show signs of grey. The movement showed off a fine set of rippling muscles under the baggy grey tee shirt that Rafferty hadn’t noticed before. The man must keep himself fit, he’d say that for him.

Rafferty would rather make the rounds of the school without Harrison in tow, and now he said, ‘Don’t let me drag you away from your elevenses, Mr Harrison. I’m sure your wife wouldn’t like it.’

‘Wife? What wife? I live here on my own. Anyway, I’ve finished my break. I don’t take liberties, even though I’m virtually my own boss.’

Rafferty gave in gracefully. It wasn’t as if he had any idea why he had wanted to come here. What could he expect to find, but empty classrooms and silence? He wouldn’t even find Adam Ainsley’s spirit here as he had died in Dedman Wood.

But he was here now and he might as well look round, even if just to vex the grumbling Harrison. Once the caretaker had unlocked the main doors and let them in, he locked them behind them again and led them to the part of the school that housed the school’s Griffin emblem. It occupied pride of place on one of the white walls near the headmaster’s study and gleamed gold from the shafts of sunlight streaming through the oriel window.

‘I’ve been meaning to ask about that,’ Rafferty said to Llewellyn. ‘What is a griffin, anyway?’

Llewellyn’s lips twitched and made an infinitesimal curve upwards as he launched himself on one of his lectures. ‘It’s a legendary creature, with, as you can see, the body of a lion and the head and wings of an eagle. The griffin was believed to be especially powerful and majestic as it was made up of the king of the beasts and the king of the birds. It was considered a guardian of riches, and education is considered a precious treasure. The griffin is also the enemy of ignorance.’

‘Good job it’s not likely to come alive then,’ Rafferty joked. ‘Or it might attack me.’

‘Lot of nonsense,’ said Harrison, his rugged features set in a mould of contempt. ‘Legendary beasts, indeed. They should be learning about the real world, not made up stuff.’

‘Shakespeare’s “made up stuff”, Mr Harrison,’ said Llewellyn. ‘And no one suggests they shouldn’t study his plays.’

‘Plays are different. I’m not talking about plays, but beasts that never existed. Why bother to invent them? Aren’t there enough animals in the world, without having to make more up?’

‘I’m with you, Mr Harrison,’ said Rafferty, whose Roman Catholic secondary modern school had had no such legendary emblems. Such a beast as the griffin would probably be regarded as idolatrous, particularly one given such prominence. Christ suffering on the cross was the only symbol given pride of place at St Joseph’s; that and pictures of Jesus exposing his blood-red heart. Cheerful stuff.

Harrison walked along the corridor and opened up one of the classrooms. It was the IT department. Each desk had a modern, slim-line computer, scanner and printer. Rafferty had a sniff around and, for Harrison’s benefit, tried to look preoccupied with great thoughts, but he wasn’t sure he succeeded.

‘You finished in here, then?’ Harrison asked after Rafferty had walked up and down between the desks, fingering computers as he went.

‘Yes,’ said Rafferty. ‘Let’s go up to the Senior Common Room. It’s the sixth form’s particular place and it might yet tell me something.’

‘It’s an empty room,’ Harrison grumbled. ‘What can it possibly tell you? I’ve got plenty of other things awaiting my attention, you know. I hope you’re not going to want to poke your noses in every blasted room in the place.’

‘No,’ Rafferty reassured him. ‘It’s only a general feel of the place that I want. I don’t need to go into every room for that.’

‘Waste of time if you ask me. Haven’t you already been all over the school once?’

He had. He had asked Paxton to show him round at the start of the case. Rafferty was beginning to think Harrison was right. He didn’t know what he had hoped to find, but, so far, he hadn’t found it. Nevertheless, he followed behind him through the Senior Common Room and another half dozen classrooms, before he and Harrison both seemed to have had enough. They were on their way out when they bumped into Paxton himself.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I might ask you the same thing,’ said Harrison, clearly not cowed by Paxton’s headmasterly authority. ‘The old headmaster, Mr B, never came near the school in the holidays. Apart from a teacher baby-sitting the holiday refugees, it’s always been my domain during such times. I hope you’re not going to start checking up on me.’

‘Not at all. Let’s just say it’s a case of new men and new brooms, Mr Harrison,’ said Paxton, resplendent in his holiday wear of a turquoise velvet smoking jacket. ‘I came here looking for a bit of peace. With three young daughters of my own at home, it’s bedlam. They’re all dancing round the living room to the latest pop sensation and I can’t get any work done. Don’t worry, I’ll lock up after myself.’

‘See that you do, then. Or I can’t be held responsible.’

Jeremy Paxton seemed more amused than offended by Tom Harrison’s complaints and strictures; perhaps a truculent groundsman/caretaker was a school tradition, along with the eccentric headmaster. Nevertheless, from a certain glint in the headmaster’s eye Rafferty found himself wondering how soon it would be before Paxton’s new broom had swept the surly caretaker right out of the school. In these competitive days, you didn’t get to become headmaster of such a prestigious pillar of education without knowing how to hire and fire. Or at least make recommendations. And it had to be said that Tom Harrison wasn’t much of an advert for the school. If he was always this surly and insolent to visitors, it was a wonder he’d lasted as long as he had. Even Rafferty could see that the caretaker didn’t project the right image. And nowadays, image was all. A case of never mind the quality, feel the width. But, apart from his efficient way with lawns and playing fields, Harrison, it had to be said, had neither width nor quality.

He’s a Yank, thought Rafferty. She probably thinks he’s rich. Still, it had to be said that Cyrus, when he wasn’t preaching to the unconverted, had a certain earnest charm about him. He heard the barmaid tell him she loved his accent and, right on cue, Cyrus came back with ‘And Ah love yours, too, honey. You’ll have a drink with me?’

Of course, the barmaid said yes. Rafferty, as it dawned on him that he should have kept hold of the kitty himself, hoped Cyrus wasn’t going to make a habit during the evening of buying new acquaintances drinks out of their kitty or they would end the night sober.

Cyrus came back with the drinks and they all sat down. ‘Not going to push your advantage with the barmaid?’ Rafferty asked him.

‘Shucks, no. This is a family evening. Ah was just gauging her general openness to the Lord. Besides, Wendy told me Ah’m being too pressing about religion. She said it doesn’t go down well in this little old country of yours. She told me Ah’ve yammered into your ears till they’ve started to bleed.’

Good old Wendy. Rafferty didn’t contradict him. Maybe things were looking up on the Cyrus front. Now all he had to do was curtail his ma’s eternal religious offensive as well as that of Father Kelly and he’d be home and dry. Atheism, here I come, he thought. He wished.

On the other side of Rafferty, Nigel drawled in his ear, ‘So how are you coping with all this family thing? Want to run away screaming yet?’

Rafferty took a sip of his Jameson’s, then said quietly, so as not to be heard by Cyrus or Louis, ‘I might not have been keen on acting as a lodging house, I admit that, but at least I’ve made the effort, which is more than you’ve done.’

‘The way I heard it you weren’t given much choice, so don’t come that old self-righteous crap with me. Besides, families, I find, can be too claustrophobic up close. It’s an illness. I can’t help it.’

‘Bollocks,’ said Rafferty. ‘Let’s face it, Nig, you’re just selfish to the core.’

Nigel wasn’t even offended. ‘Very true. I find it’s the only way to be to get on in this world. Maybe you’d have got higher in the police if you’d learned to put number one first, last and in between. And you might get on better with your superintendent if you kissed his arse occasionally, like I have to do with my wealthy clients.’

‘He’d probably fart in my face if I tried. No, I think I’ll stick to tweaking his ego and his budget.’ He turned to Cyrus and Louis. ‘Fancy a game of darts?’

Cyrus, up for experiencing everything English, enthusiastically agreed. ‘The local bar in ma neighbourhood has a darts board. Ah’m regarded as pretty darn good. What say we have a little bet?’

Rafferty was willing, though he was sure Abra wouldn’t like him taking Cyrus’s money.

In the event, he didn’t have to take the American’s cash, as Cyrus thrashed him. Cyrus was ultra competitive, he discovered, and there was not a sign of Christian charity in the way he played and the pleasure he expressed each time he won another game. Rafferty accepted defeat with as much grace as he could muster and paid up, though he backed out of playing any more games with Cyrus. His brother, Mickey, had been watching the game. He had thought Rafferty’s thrashing at darts at the hands of an American, the funniest thing he had ever seen, but having watched the game he demurred when Cyrus offered to take him on, too. Nigel didn’t play. Darts were beneath him. He thought the game ‘common’, full of belching and beer bellies. Too much of the underclass about it altogether. Cyrus was forced to retire as reigning champion, so he went and got more drinks in.

‘I’ll have the neighbours complaining to me tomorrow. And we’ve only lived here for five minutes.’

‘Stuff the neighbours,’ said Rafferty, in the glories of intoxication. ‘Complain who dare. I’m heading for the stars.’

‘You’re heading for a hangover, anyway,’ said Abra. ‘Get into bed and shut up, why don’t you?’

‘None shall silence me,’ Rafferty declared, in a valiant attempt at some quotation or other. ‘The landlords of three pubs tried, but we walked out those doors with our heads held high, singing our contempt for their petty rules. They hadn’t got a music licence, they said, when Louis brought out a penny whistle to accompany us.’

‘You mean you got chucked out of three pubs?’

‘And barred. One of them doing the barring was our new local, so you can forget about enjoying their hospitality any time in the near future. Some people have no soul.’ Thus saying, Rafferty fell into bed on his back and started snoring.

In vain, did Abra push at him and shout, ‘Turn over. I don’t want to have to listen to that noise all night.’

Failing to either wake or move him, Abra, unlike the fighting republicans, rolled over, pulled the pillow over her head, and admitted defeat.

When the results were slow to trickle in, Rafferty had everyone in the incident room in order to give them a moral-boosting pep talk. Having been subjected to Cyrus’s conversational style for the best part of two weeks, Rafferty felt he had learned something about public speaking and his rip-roaring team talk brought a new verve and they went back to their phones and their paperwork with greater vigour.

‘Is there really going to be plenty of overtime?’ Llewellyn asked afterwards. ‘I didn’t think Superintendent Bradley would sanction more outlay.’

‘He didn’t. I’ve gone over his head, haven’t I?’ said Rafferty. ‘I’ve gone to Jack Mulcahy and he’s OK’d some more money.’ Jack Mulcahy was the Deputy Assistant Chief Constable for the county.

‘How has that gone down with the superintendent?’

‘About how you’d expect. I’m even less flavour of the month than I usually am. You watch, when we put in our expenses, he’ll query every item. Anyway, let’s get off. We’ve got three more suspect interviews to fit in today, so we’d better get a move on.’

Their re-interviewing of the other reunees was a time-consuming business, involving, as it did, many miles on the country’s motorways to all points of the compass. But at least it got them away from the office and Bradley.

They went out to the car. The weather had turned cool and grey clouds, pregnant with rain, stretched from horizon to horizon. ‘Driving’ll be fun when that lot starts chucking it down,’ Rafferty observed as he did up his seatbelt.

‘I’ll drive, if you like,’ Llewellyn quickly offered. Never one to admire Rafferty’s gung-ho style of driving, the Welshman always preferred to take the wheel when he could. But this wasn’t one of those occasions.

‘We’ll never get round Harmsworth, Sadiq and Fairweather if you’re behind the wheel,’ Rafferty told him. ‘As it is, we’re lucky that Gary Sadiq had business in London today; we can get him and Harmsworth done before we see the mandarin.’

The rain started in earnest as Rafferty nosed out of the Bacon Lane car park. Soon it was hissing against the windscreen like so many biblical locusts proving almost too much for the wipers and he had to hunch forward over the wheel and peer through the screen with all his concentration. Beside him, Llewellyn was tense, the combination of his inspector behind the wheel and atrocious weather made him nervous. But even Rafferty had to go slowly in such conditions and soon Llewellyn gave up applying an imaginary brake and sat back and relaxed.

The journey into London was stop-start and frustrating. Even more so when they hit the M25, the so-called London orbital that Londoners had nicknamed the Giant Car Park. But eventually they arrived at the family home where Gary Sadiq was staying – the occupants of which seemed to have imposed some sort of code of silence because Sadiq had had nothing to add to what he’d already said and, eventually, Rafferty gave up his attempts to squeeze information out of him.

Back in the car, he made for Giles Harmsworth’s home. Harmsworth lived in Canary Wharf, in a Thames-side apartment. Rafferty envied him the outlook if not the traffic.

Harmsworth was every bit as organizing and officious as he’d been at Griffin. He sat them down, decided that, as they were policemen, they’d want tea, and had it made and poured before Rafferty could be contrary and say he’d prefer coffee.

‘Remember me telling you that Alice Douglas had a baby?’ Rafferty began. ‘Remember me asking if the kid might have been yours?’

‘Yes. Of course I remember. You never did tell me why you thought it a possibility.’

On the basis of you and Alice both being swots, he might have said. But he didn’t. ‘Don’t worry, sir. We’ve now discovered who was the father.’

‘That’s a relief. I wouldn’t like the possibility that I’d fathered an illegitimate child bandied about. My wife wouldn’t like it.’ He paused. ‘So, as you say you’ve now discovered the identity of the real father, why are you here? I really don’t know that I can tell you any more than I’ve already done.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve a few deals on the go, Inspector, and need to get back to work, so can we make this short?’

Rafferty said he’d do his best to oblige him. But as, one after one, he revealed Adam Ainsley’s homosexuality, his pursuit of young boys at Griffin and the possibility of blackmail, he saw that Harmsworth wasn’t shocked by any of it.

‘I was Head Boy, Inspector. It was my job to know all this, though of course I didn’t know about the blackmail.’ He paused, then added, ‘Or Alice’s pregnancy.’

Rafferty admitted that blackmail was just a possibility and only one amongst several that they were considering.

‘You say you knew about Ainsley’s homosexuality and his pursuit of young boys at the school. Did you do nothing to stop it?’

‘I tried to get evidence – Mr Barmforth, the then headmaster, was hot on evidence of wrong-doing. He didn’t like to be told what he called tittle-tattle. But I never managed to get any. I caught Ainsley in the toilets with one of the younger boys once, but if he had been intending to assault the boy, it hadn’t gone very far. Certainly the child still had his trousers on, so there was nothing I could take to the headmaster.’

‘Did you feel he was making a fool of you?’

Giles Harmsworth coloured up at this. He didn’t answer immediately, but after a few seconds, he said, ‘There were always boys who liked to test authority, to buck against the system. Sebastian Kennedy was the same. Adam resented me, of course. He seemed to think he should have been Head Boy, given his superiority on the sports field, but I believe Mr Barmforth thought he had enough glory. Besides, he wasn’t good at rules. He thought they didn’t apply to him, only to lesser mortals. I had to disabuse him of that idea several times.’

This was getting them nowhere. He’d thrown all he had at Harmsworth and hadn’t shaken anything from the man. It was time to head for the Home Office and Simon Fairweather.