College town
Silbury College is a public school. This means, of course, since we are in England, that it is an independent, private, fee paying institution. Its public status places it among the top ten independent schools in the country. The girls that attend the school are children of the great and the good, that is the most privileged segment of society in Prime Minister Sangeeta Gandhi’s new socialist Britain. They are most often the first born daughters of aristocrats, managing directors of leading industrial companies or senior politicians. The politicians are not those from the Conservative party, whose daughters go to Eton and Harrow, but those from the ranks of Labour and the Liberals, who publicly decry privilege but, nevertheless, accept its benefits. There are also a very few girls that have come to Silbury College through competitive scholarships, which the school offers as a way of showing it is not completely against the notion of social mobility.
The College dominates the western end of the town, occupying large tracts of land both sides of the trunk road going west towards Brigstow. Outside of Silbury, it is one of the few features for which the town is known. Inside Silbury, it is treated mostly as a benign tumor. The College management takes no part in the life of the town, and, apart from making a bit of money from its staff and students and their families, the town has nothing to do with the college.
This separation of town and college means that all of the medical needs of the latter’s inhabitants are dealt with by a dedicated health service, which runs to some degree of sophistication. One element of that health service is a college morgue. Though not often used, it was occupied today by the deceased form of one of the College’s most prominent pupils; Miss Olayemi Olusanmi was the daughter of the Home Secretary, Mrs Ifunanya Olusanmi. She had been reported missing the previous Sunday evening after attending dinner in the refectory but failing to return to her residence. She had been found dead that Monday morning.
Though the College could and did remain largely separate from the town, in one area, though extremely rarely, they were forced to come together. The College could not have its own police force, and so, with a suspicious death on their hands, they were forced to call on the services of the town police. Thus it was that Inspector Fatima Dieng found herself face-to-face with the Mistress of Silbury College, Mrs Gao Lei. The two women were alone in Mrs Gao’s spacious office, a silver tea service between them as they sat at one end of a large conference table.
Mrs Gao began: “Inspector, I hope you will appreciate the sensitivity of what just happened here at the College. Miss Olusanmi was the daughter of possibly presently the second most powerful woman in the country. She has been in the care of one of England’s most prestigious educational establishments. There is endless scope for embarrassment all round. You will treat this matter with due care, won’t you?”
“Mistress, a girl is dead, and my understanding is that the probable cause is a drug overdose. That makes this a suspicious death, which needs to be investigated. I don’t want to embarrass anyone, but I cannot let that get in the way of my pursuit of justice.”
“Of course, Inspector, of course.” The Mistress of Silbury College was not used to being contradicted and lost her composure for a moment. “I didn’t want to imply that you should not do your job. It’s just that… What would you like to know, and how can we help?”
Fatima decided on a businesslike approach.
“First, the death has been reported to the Coroner, who has already ordered an autopsy. This can be done in your own morgue by a pathologist associated with Forest Hospital. That should give us the precise cause of death, which will either confirm or modify the principal lines of our investigation. We shall be grateful if your medical staff could assist the pathologist in her examination of the deceased.
“Second, we shall need to conduct a search of Miss Olusanmi’s room at the College to find any relevant evidence. With your cooperation, that can be done by two of my officers, Sergeant Banda and Constable Nguyen, as soon as possible.
“And third, I understand that Miss Olusanmi’s death was discovered and reported by one of your sports teachers, Miss Hartono. I should like to speak with her.”
“Please have the pathologist come directly to my office as soon as she arrives at the College. You may send your officers directly to Ridgeway House, where Miss Olusanmi had her room. I shall inform our custodial staff to provide them access. I’ve already ordered that the room be locked and left undisturbed. As for your meeting with Miss Hartono, I believe she is off the grounds at present leading some of our girls on a cross country run. Can she see you on her return this afternoon?” The Mistress was now both cooperative and making sure to assert her authority in her own world.
“Thank you, Mistress. Perhaps I might telephone the pathologist and my officers from your secretary’s office before I leave. And please let me know when I can come to interview Miss Hartono. I want her show me exactly where she found Miss Olusanmi’s body.” Fatima rose, shook Mrs Gao’s hand and left her office.
Back at the police station in Mable Lane, Fatima checked that Sergeant Banda and Constable Nguyen had indeed gone to Ridgeway House. In addition to what they might find in Miss Olusanmi’s room there, she hoped that Nguyen would work her usual magic with the custodial staff, who were Silbury locals, and find out how things actually worked in a College residence.
She then set to think through how she should approach the case given all of the sensitivities and personalities involved. Her tendency in planning out of her cases was to make a diagramme of all of the factors involved, including people, places, known facts, as yet unanswered questions, potential resources, and so on. She had covered one of the large sheets of plain white paper that she kept for just this purpose, when there was a knock at the door. It was Constable Hiranthi Senanayake, who was that day assigned to the front desk.
“Ma’am, the Chief Constable wants to speak to you on the telephone.”
Fatima picked up the receiver. “Good morning, Ma’am. What can I do for you?”
“Inspector, this is about the unfortunate death of the Home Secretary’s daughter at Silbury College. The Home Secretary has spoken personally to me about it, wanting to make sure that the matter is dealt with properly and with sensitivity. She doesn’t want it to drag on due to, let us say, the limited resources of the local police. I fully agree with her and have assured her that I shall be assigning my best officer at the County Constabulary, who will report on the case directly to me. I have sent Superintendent Hema Mirchandani to Silbury. She should arrive there shortly. You are to suspend all actions you may already have started and hand over the case in its entirety to her. Provide her with suitable working accommodation and support staff; I suggest that very capable Sergeant of yours. Please also make sure she has somewhere convenient and comfortable to stay, not too expensive, of course. I hope this is all clear to you Inspector.” Chief Constable Meena Desai seemed to be enjoying the opportunity to put Fatima in her place.
“Thank you, Ma’am. I’ll see to your instructions right away. The only actions I had set in motion were to report the death to the coroner, who has ordered a post mortem examination, and to send Sergeant Banda and Constable Nguyen to do a preliminary search of Miss Olusanmi’s accommodations at the College. The first matter is out of our hands now, and I suspect the second has all but been completed. With your permission, I’ll put Superintendent Mirchandani in touch with the pathologist from Forest Hospital, who will do the post mortem, and have Banda report to her on her search. The Superintendent can use my office as her command centre, and I’ll move temporarily into the office occupied by Banda and Nguyen. And I know of a very good place for the Superintendent to stay.” Fatima knew that it would be futile to question the orders of the Chief Constable. At the same time, she had her doubts about both her motives and her competence, so she would withdraw from the case but keep a close eye on it at the same time.
“Yes, Inspector, I suppose we shall have to go along with the preliminary steps you have taken. But now please hand everything over to Superintendent Mirchandani. Oh, by the way, I have also spoken the Mistress of Silbury College and assured her that our investigation is now in sensitive hands.” With that the Chief Constable abruptly ended the conversation.
Half an hour later Superintendent Hema Mirchandani arrived at Silbury police station. She declined Constable Senanayake’s offer to inform Fatima of her arrival and went alone to the Inspector’s office. She knocked respectfully at the door before entering and then introduced herself without ceremony.
“Please sit down, Inspector. No, in your own chair,” she said, as Fatima tried to offer her the seat behind the desk. “I imagine you must be annoyed to have someone from the County Constabulary take over your case. For myself, I’m embarrassed. I’m sure I’m no better a police officer than you are, just slightly more experienced perhaps. Be that as it may, I want to bring this matter to a conclusion as swiftly as we can. I’ve been told by the Chief Constable that you should not be involved, that I am to work only with Sergeant Banda, who has obviously greatly pleased - probably greatly flattered - our esteemed chief. At the same time, I would be very stupid not to seek the advice of a fellow officer, whom we all know to be both very intelligent and very courageous; I’m referring particularly to your handling of the case involving Councillor Priyanka Patel. I should, therefore, be very grateful if I might consult with you daily. Perhaps we could meet after hours, and thus discreetly, for a drink. By the way, what will be the arrangements for my accommodations?”
“Ma’am, we are a small establishment here with only two offices, one interview room and one holding cell. You can have my office, and I shall move into the office presently occupied by Sergeant Banda and Constable Nguyen. You may actually want to have Banda join you here, as she will assist you closely on the case. For your stay, I’ve booked you a room at the Red Cow Inn. It’s a very short distance from the police station. There will be no other guests, so you can be sure of privacy. And the landlady, Anna Kaboré, can offer you the very best in home cooked food. Before their marriage, her husband was a sous-chef at one of the best restaurants in London.”
Superintendent Mirchandani smiled. “Thank you, Inspector. That will be wonderful. Now perhaps you could give me a briefing on the case I’m to take over. Of course, I’m already aware of the most basic facts as reported by the Mistress of Silbury College.”
“Then I suspect, Ma’am, there is not much more to say. The Coroner has been informed and has ordered a post mortem examination. This will be done at the College itself, which has its own morgue, by a pathologist from Forest Hospital. I’ll put the two of you in touch. Sergeant Banda and Constable Nguyen are presently conducting a preliminary search of the room where Miss Olusanmi stayed at the College. I had also asked to see the sports teacher, Miss Hartono, who first reported the death. She was off the premises of the College, when I was there, and the Mistress promised to telephone me once she would be available. I was going to interview Miss Hartono at the spot where she found the body. I should imagine that the Mistress will now ask for you, as she knows from the Chief Constable of your assignment to the case.”
Returning from Ridgeway House, Banda and Nguyen were surprised to find Fatima seated at Banda’s desk in their office.
Fatima gave them both a big smile. “Sergeant, Constable, the Chief Constable has assigned someone else to take charge of the investigation into the death of Miss Olayemi Olusanmi. Superintendent Hema Mirchandani has arrived from the County Constabulary and is now using my office. Sergeant, you will assist the superintendent in the case. You’ll temporarily be sharing my old office with her. I suggest you go there now and brief her on the findings of your search. Constable, for the foreseeable future, you and I are roommates.”
Nguyen chuckled; the Inspector had made another of her wonderfully dry jokes. “Do you want me to take part in the briefing, Ma’am?” she asked.
“No, Constable. I think Sergeant Banda should have some time alone with the Superintendent. But perhaps you’d like to tell me about it.” Fatima knew she’d get more, and more succinctly, from Nguyen than would the Superintendent from Banda.
Constable Nguyen took out her notebook and flicked through a few pages till she found the one she wanted. “We was met at Ridgeway House by the House Mistress, Mrs Nabi. She did not say hardly anything. Just showed us to Miss Olusanmi’s room and left us there with one of the cleaners employed by the College. They do all wear a uniform with the College crest on the breast pocket. The room were tidy, but my view it were cleaned by the cleaners, not the young lady herself. When we opened drawers, things was piled there all higgledy piggledy. Maybe that were meant for hiding things.”
Fatima leant forward at Banda’s desk. “What did you find? Only the interesting stuff now.”
Nguyen grinned. “Two things of real interest, Ma’am, though we took a few more, course giving a receipt to Mrs Nabi when we left. One were a brown glass bottle, just like they use in chemists for dispensing medicines, but it did have no label. Bottle had a dropper top and inside were a clear liquid with no colour. That will go to the lab for testing, but I do reckon it were some drug.
“Other thing we found were her diary. Sergeant Banda do have that, but I got to look at the pages for the last week. She did like to write notes in the diary, things she were thinking and so. I did commit some of it to memory - thing I does when reading. Last Sunday, she did write something like that some Maryam only like her for what she can get, that she do keep insisting they has to exchange gifts to mark their friendship. Then day before yesterday she did write that some Michael be the only one as really understands her and what she wants for herself. And there were a small picture on that page, like you does for a passport. It did have no writing on it at all, but obviously it had been touched a lot. It were a picture of a white boy about the same age as Miss Olusanmi. I did notice that he wore a tie like they has at the Grammar School.”
Fatima was interested. “White boy, you say. Well the catchment area for Silbury Grammar School has very few white families, so it should not be too difficult to find out if any of them is a Michael and if he goes to the Grammar School. But we’ll leave that to Superintendent Mirchandani and Sergeant Banda, shall we? Meanwhile, did you get a chance to talk with the cleaner?”
Somehow, thought, Nguyen, the Inspector always managed to find the golden needle in every haystack. She grinned again. “Yes, it did turn out he were the brother of Miss Mbangwa, her as works at Silbury Printers, where Councillor Patel made her fake fivers, though Miss Mbangwa never did know of it. So Master Temba Mbangwa have been working at the College since leaving the Secondary Modern School eight years ago. He did begin in their refectory serving meals and cleaning pots and pans. Then last two years he be at Ridgeway House as a cleaner. The cleaners is not encouraged to talk with the scholars, except to ask if they do need anything. But Temba don’t like that. He do think that he can improve himself if he learns to converse with social superiors. He do want one day to go to university and plans to take his A levels in a year or two, after a lot of self-study.”
Nguyen stopped and looked at Fatima to see if she had anything to say, but she knew there was more to come and kept quiet.
“Miss Olusanmi did like to talk with Temba, and he liked her. He did know who her mother was, but that did not interest him at all. They would talk a lot about English literature, which be Temba’s big interest. Miss Olusanmi do know a lot, he says. She identify with characters in books she have read. She do say that be much more interesting than associating with the other scholars in the College. They be not true friends, she says, though she have met one outside of the College. Temba asked her if it were him, but she says no, it were another townie her own age. She would not say if it were a girl or a boy.”
“What did you think of Temba’s testimony?” asked Fatima.
“I did find him to be truthful. And he’s very good looking,” Nguyen said with a smile. “I may ask him out one day.”
“Wait till the case is concluded, please, Constable.” Fatima also smiled.
The rest of Fatima’s day was quiet. She decided to spend the time at the town library reading old copies of The Silburian, the College’s magazine aimed primarily at its scholars and alumni. She felt that, like most people in the town, she lived her life as though the College were a foreign land, whilst it was, in fact, an important part of Silbury. Also she wasn’t prepared to let the case go completely.
Then she went to keep her agreed six o’clock rendezvous with Superintendent Mirchandani, though deliberately she arrived half an hour early, so she could first have a brief chat with her friend Anna Kaboré. They sat down at Anna’s kitchen table, where she was having tea just before opening the pub for the evening. Anna set out an extra cup, saucer and plate for Fatima, who helped herself to a Jaffa cake.
“Are you here about your visitor, Inspector?” Anna asked with a smirk.
“Yes, Anna. She’s a favourite of the Chief Constable and has been sent here to stop me from being a nuisance at the College over the death of one of their most prominent scholars. I have a feeling though that she may be a lot better than that sounds. She’s certainly been very polite and civil to me so far. She’s also asked me to review progress on the case with her and offer my advice and local knowledge. I know you’ll treat her nicely, and I want you to do that. I’d also like to know what you think of her, once you’ve got to know her a little.”
She paused momentarily. “Anything you hear too, if you think it may be significant, could you let me know?”
“Fatima, I’ve been your spy ever since we first met. I’m certainly not about to stop now.” Anna had this knack of being able to laugh and drink tea both at the same time.
“Yes, Anna, and you’re a good spy, and an even better friend. Now, if it’s all right with you, I’m going to sneak out of the back door and go around the outside to the door of the lounge bar. I don’t want Superintendent Mirchandani to know I’ve been taking tea with you.”
Fatima took her time getting back into the Red Cow. She strolled around Kabeya Square first checking out the cars that were parked there, noting one that had an out of date tax disk, which she would report the next day at the police station.
When she did enter the lounge bar, Superintendent Mirchandani was already seated in a corner, a glass in front of her. “Good evening, Ma’am. Let me order myself a drink, and I’ll come and join you.”
“No, please let me do that.” the Superintendent responded. “And please let’s dispense with the formalities. We’re not on duty here. May I call you Fatima, and will you please call me Hema? And what can I get you?”
“Certainly, Ma’am, I mean Hema. Sorry. I don’t drink alcohol. May I have a blackcurrant and lemonade, please?”
Superintendent Mirchandani ordered the drink from Anna and brought it back to their table. Anna made a point of greeting Inspector Dieng and then turned to serve customers in the public bar.
“I’m a vegetarian,” said the Superintendent, “but I do enjoy a drink after work. We’re different, the two of us, aren’t we? You may be surprised though to learn that we are also quite similar. I was an Inspector in a small town near London and had my own run in with a local politician. She complained to the Metropolitan Police Commissioner, whom she thought belonged to the same secret society, the Founders, of which she was a member. She was wrong. There had recently been a change at the top of the Met, and it was the previous Commissioner who had been a Founder. The Commissioner made a point of getting to know me and recommended me for what she thought was a suitable promotion in this County Constabulary. All of which is to say that I’m not as close to the Chief Constable as you may have thought, not that I know what you think.”
“Thank you for your candour, Hema,” Fatima responded. “You seem to know quite a bit about me.”
“You’d be surprised to know that you have a certain notoriety in Scowbridge. But let us get on to the case. Tell me what you know, in general, about Silbury College.”
“Very little really.” Fatima began her answer as if she had not done her afternoon’s research. “It’s just there at the western end of the town. The scholars stay for the most part within the College’s boundaries, and the townspeople, apart from those with jobs there, never cross those boundaries. The one visible exception to that rule occurs at the beginning and end of terms and significant days during the academic year, when the scholars’ parents are in town, and they all go to the Longbarrow Tea Rooms for cream teas. Apart from that, I don’t even know if the College uses local purveyors of food stuffs or other supplies, or if it uses any of the banks in town. It’s almost as though it were another town altogether.”
The Superintendent thought for a moment, then said: “Yes, you do get the feeling there that you might be a foreigner. The Mistress keeps emphasizing the potential for embarrassment and negative publicity. Her biggest concern, I’m sure, is that privileged parents might stop sending their daughters to be educated at Silbury College. She wants me just to make the situation go away. Miss Hartono, the sports teacher, is terrified. I’m convinced she feels her job is in jeopardy, because she discovered Miss Olusanmi’s body. She just showed me where it happened, told me how she came to be there - she takes a daily early morning run, always the same route - and told me that all other questions would have to be referred to the Mistress.
“All of this, and what you just told me, makes it very surprising that Miss Olusanmi apparently had some form of friendship with a boy from the town, a white boy at that. I wonder how that came to be. Sergeant Banda has found out that his full name is Michael James Fox. His family moved to Silbury last year. He is a pupil at the Grammar School but has had trouble integrating there. Almost no one seems to be his friend there, but he apparently found one at Silbury College. We are meeting him, along with his parents, tomorrow.”
“What about the post mortem? Did that tell you anything?” Fatima asked.
“Not yet. There were no signs that Miss Olusanmi suffered any violence, but her face was apparently locked in a grimace as if she were mortally afraid of something. Sorry, no pun intended. We have to await the results of blood, saliva and tissue tests that take a day, the same thing for the contents of a medicine bottle Sergeant Banda found in her room. Tomorrow could be quite a momentous day.”
The Superintendent tossed back the remainder of her drink. “Fatima, let’s both get some rest, for myself after a vegetable casserole that Mr Kaboré has promised me. Shall we meet here at the same time tomorrow?”
“Certainly. Good night, Hema.”
Fatima left the Red Cow without saying goodnight to Anna, who would understand. As she began her walk home, she thought about what she had learned from her conversation with the Superintendent. On the personal front, either she was making a new friend or Hema Mirchandani was really good at dissimulation. As for the case, there seemed to be clear indications that the death was drug related and that the drug may have been provided by a relative newcomer, who still remained something of an outsider to both of what she now knew were twin worlds existing in Silbury. But, as a famous satirical journalist had recently written, everything is about something else. It would be good to keep an open mind regarding both something and everything, especially the else.
Over the next couple of days, Fatima spent a good deal of her time tidying up some pending paperwork, reviewing the station’s budget, which she always put off until she had to, and receiving odd snippets of information regarding the death at the College. She got these through her daily evening talks with both Superintendent Mirchandani and Anna Kaboré, as well as Constable Nguyen’s knack of being aware of official information to which she should normally not have had access, but somehow did; Nguyen’s perfect recall of often complex technical jargon was also really helpful in the absence of sight of the actual documents.
The cause of death was multiple organ failure associated with an overdose of lysergic acid diethylamide or LSD, which had been found in large quantities in the blood sample analysed at the lab. The drug had inhibited the body’s ability to regulate its temperature and chemical balances in key internal organs. Hyperthermia had ensued and Miss Olusanmi’s body had just shut down. The time of death was between ten o’clock and midnight on Sunday the 15th of May 1966.
The contents of the medicine bottle had been LSD in its purest liquid form. The content had been enough, according to a lab technician well known to Constable Nguyen, for some thirty hits. The bottle was half empty. It had fingerprints on it from two individuals. Only those of the deceased had been matched. There was no indication of the origin of the drug.
In the interview with Michael Fox, his parents had constantly encouraged him to cooperate with the police, not to cause trouble for them all. Michael was largely uncooperative. He asserted that he was being targeted because of his colour. It was no surprise that he found himself in a police station so soon after moving to a town, where he was the subject of daily racial abuse of one kind and another, much of it in presumption of criminal activity. Yes, he had known Olayemi Olusanmi. They had met on one the solitary walks he often took in the countryside around the College. These were an opportunity to escape from people in the town. He hadn’t known at first that she was a scholar at the college, about which he knew almost nothing at all. She had been one of very few people to talk to him like a human being, asking about his interests and listening patiently and with interest to what he had to say. He said it was a pity she was dead, as she had been a good person. No, he didn’t know anything about her family and simply said nothing when he was told that her mother was the Home Secretary.
This was the account of the interview Fatima had had from Superintendent Mirchandani. Constable Nguyen had some other information to add. It seemed that Michael was an average pupil at school. He was poor in mathematics and the sciences, as well as foreign languages, showed some promise in geography and herstory, but was something of a star in English language and literature. Everyone had expected him to excel at sports, because it’s what white people are good at. Actually he was not physically adroit and did not enjoy the games periods. Nguyen’s source at the Grammar School was the school caretaker and groundswoman. She was apparently very nosy, talked to all the teachers all the time, and somehow had access to all the official records of the school.
Anna and her husband were quite taken with Superintendent Mirchandani. They breakfasted together every morning. The Superintendent never spoke about her work, except to praise Sergeant Banda, who had no doubt learned everything from the excellent Inspector Dieng. Most of their conversation each morning concerned what Mr Kaboré would cook for supper that evening. He and the Superintendent would have highly animated discussions on what produce he had most recently acquired from the market and what might best be made of it. He was delighted to have his culinary range expanded through the ideas that she brought to his kitchen.
On the Thursday morning just as Fatima was settling to another round of tedious paperwork, a knock on the door of the office she was now sharing with Constable Nguyen announced an unexpected visit from Superintendent Mirchandani. “Could I please have a word with you, Inspector, in my, well your office?”
The two of them proceeded to Fatima’s old room. Sergeant Banda was also there. “I wanted,” said the Superintendent, “to discuss some developments in the case with you. Simply put, I have a conundrum, and I need to talk with someone else about it, so I can decide what to do.
“This morning I’ve had telephone calls from just about all of the brass, culminating in one from the Home Secretary herself. She wants to know who is responsible for the death of her daughter. She wants that person arrested and charged. She wants it all to happen now before the press gets its teeth into the matter. She’s leaning on me herself, and she’s making clear that my own professional future is at stake by speaking too to the Chief Constable and the Commissioner of the Met. Both rang before she did.
“As you know, Inspector, we have a time and a cause of death established through the post mortem. We have a bottle of LSD that was in Miss Olusanmi’s possession and that had her fingerprints on it. She must have obtained the drug from somewhere. So far everything points to a boy from the Grammar School who is involved in a highly unusual liaison with her, a scholar at the College, in a town where local youths never mix with those from the College. There are two sets of fingerprints on the bottle containing the drug. Young Michael will not voluntarily allow us to take his prints, so we can’t yet verify that his are the other ones on the bottle. We also don’t know what might have been his motive. We presently have an inconclusive case.
“On the other hand, if we were to arrest and charge Master Fox, we would be able to match the prints, and we could subject him to more rigorous interrogation, which would allow us to determine a motive, possibly elicit a confession. That would certainly meet the deadline the Home Secretary has set for me.”
Before Fatima could give her opinion, Sergeant Banda blurted out: “Yes. That is what we should do, Ma’am. Fox is obviously guilty. He hates everyone here, and this gave him an opportunity to hit back at the very top of the establishment he blames for his predicament. I know we can get it out of him.”
Fatima thought for a while, then said: “Ma’am, you could be right, but then you could also be off the mark. In my view, there is not yet sufficient evidence for an arrest. There may also be other persons who should be considered, rather than putting all your eggs in one basket. I appreciate that you are under pressure, but we have a duty to the truth before everything. I’m sorry if you don’t like my opinion, or if I may have expressed it with insufficient sensitivity.”
“No, Inspector, I do appreciate your honesty. However, I don’t think I have other options at present. Sergeant Banda, I want you to go to find Master Fox’s mother or father and go with one or both of them to the Grammar School. There you are to detain Michael James Fox and bring him to the police station.” The Superintendent had made her decision. “Anything else, Inspector?”
“No, Ma’am. It’s your decision to take, and I respect your reasons. May I just suggest that Constable Nguyen accompany Sergeant Banda? This may require more than one police officer, since it will involve up to three other people.”
It was agreed, and Banda and Nguyen set out. Fatima returned to her paperwork, and at midday, there being no further developments, she decided to go home for lunch.
When she arrived at home, she found not only her husband, Adama, but also her daughter, Hadidjatou, sitting at the kitchen table. Hadi had been crying. “We’ve been having a disagreement,” said Adama. “I’ve been telling Hadi she should not get involved in matters that belong to the police.”
“I suppose that means no lunch for me then,” Fatima said with a smile, that also brought about a little brightening of the atmosphere in the kitchen. “What’s the police business that concerns you, Hadi?”
“Mum, it’s terrible! They came and took Michael away. It’s like living in a police state! Sorry, Mum. You know what I mean.” Hadi was clearly distraught.
“Yes, I do know what you mean. And don’t worry about upsetting your mother. Let’s get to the bottom of what’s bothering you. I gather you must be in the same class as Michael Fox, and you were there when Sergeant Banda and Constable Nguyen came to arrest him. Is that correct?” Fatima tried to calm her daughter.
She hadn’t succeeded. Hadi was now shouting. “You knew! You’re the one who did this! I don’t think I even know my mother anymore!”
Adama got up, but Fatima waved him to sit down again. “Hadi, yes I knew, but I didn’t order the arrest, and I certainly would not have allowed it to happen in a classroom. This is the case I had told you had been taken from me by a superior officer from the County Constabulary. So now that you know your mother is not quite the monster you had supposed, could you please tell me exactly what happened and what you know? And, Adama, could we please have some tea and biscuits? At least that will keep hunger from the door for a while.”
Hadi began to calm down. The tea helped, with plenty of sugar, just the way she liked it. “They came into our English Lit class - that’s one of the ones I share with Michael - at about eleven o’clock. There was Banda, Nguyen and this white couple. I suppose they were Michael’s parents. Nguyen began to say they should probably step out of the class, not do everything in front of all the children - you know how she talks - but Banda started on this pompous speech. She said that Michael James Fox - she used his full name, which I didn’t know before - was under arrest on suspicion of involvement in the death of Olayemi Olusanmi. He was to come immediately to the police station. Then she said all the usual guff about him not being obliged to say anything but it could be taken down in evidence.”
“What else do you know?” asked Fatima, her maternal and professional instincts doing battle inside her.
“I know he didn’t do it. We know a lot about the College, Mum, and I know more about life than you’ll ever admit.” She paused, fearing she might have touched a nerve. When Fatima didn’t react, she continued. “I know who Miss Olusanmi is. She’s about the same age as me. In my year we all know that she died and that it involved a drug overdose. Now those stuck up people at the College want to say that the supplier must have been a townie, and who better than someone who’s white and has previous trouble with the law, where he used to live. Well, of course, he had previous trouble, because people always assume that if you’re white you must be a criminal. Look at the disproportionate number of white people there are in prison.”
“Disproportionate,” said Fatima admiringly. “Your vocabulary is expanding exponentially. Now tell me how you know Michael was not involved in this instance.”
“Mum, it’s drugs. I don’t have anything to do with them, but there are some in my school who do. The point is the College kids don’t get their drugs from any townie. It’s exactly the opposite way around. The kids I know, who are into drugs, all say the place to get them is the College.” Hadi was drained and slumped in her chair.
“I believe you, Hadi dear, and I shall see what I can do avoid a miscarriage of justice. There we’re using a lot of big words today. As for you, I don’t think you’re in a state to go back to school this afternoon. Adama love, could you please ring the school and tell them Hadi has taken sick? And could you please get some real food into her? I need to go back to the police station.”
Fatima left but did not go straight back to the station. She stopped in at the coffee bar at the Regency Hotel in the High Street coming out with a hot Cornish pasty. She didn’t want to start a difficult afternoon on an empty stomach.
Back at the police station, Fatima first finished her pasty and then asked where she might find Superintendent Mirchandani. Told she was in the interview room, Fatima made her way there. Opening the door, she saw that an interview was in full swing, with the Superintendent and Sergeant Banda sat on one side of the table, and on the other Michael Fox, his mother and a solicitor.
Ignoring everyone else, Fatima approached the table and held her hand out to Michael. “Good afternoon, Michael. I’m Fatima Dieng. I believe you know my daughter, Hadidjatou.”
Michael shook Fatima’s hand. “Yes, we do English Lit together. I like her. She’s a good writer, and she’s nice to me.”
Superintendent Mirchandani stood up. “Inspector, perhaps we could have a little chat outside.”
“Exactly what I thought, Ma’am,” Fatima replied, and they both walked out, Fatima signalling to Banda also to follow them.
They all ended up walking into the office regularly occupied by Banda and Nguyen. The latter was there already. “Just what the hell did you think you were doing there, Inspector Dieng?” The Superintendent was furious.
Fatima didn’t respond immediately but allowed everyone to take a breath first. “Ma’am, I have come across some important information pertaining to your case. I believe it is vital that you hear this before proceeding with the interrogation of Michael Fox, whom I believe to be innocent. This may help to avoid a miscarriage of justice as well as some considerable potential embarrassment for a number of high functionaries.”
“Tell me,” said the Superintendent evenly.
Fatima had succeeded in defusing the situation. She went on to recount to them all what her daughter had told her about the drugs trade between the College and the Grammar School, that, contrary to popular perception, the flow was from college to town and not the other way around.
“The whole case hinges on the origin of the drugs, and they did not come from the Grammar School, did not come from Michael Fox,” she continued. “Had we proceeded with our inquiry, as it was going, we should have been in grave danger of laying ourselves open to accusations of racial prejudice. And that might have the result of Prime Minister Gandhi having no option but to dismiss the Home Secretary, given that it would be members of her own party that would lead the charge.”
“Well,” put in Banda, “ we’ve got his fingerprints, so we still check.”
“By all means, do that if you want to, Ma’am.” Fatima addressed herself to Superintendent Mirchandani. “I am sure you will find there is no match. What’s important right now, I think, is to let the Foxes go with a profuse apology. I’m prepared to take that on, if you like.”
“No, this is my responsibility,” the Superintendent responded. “But, if it’s not Michael, then who could it be?”
It was Constable Nguyen who answered her question. “There were one more person named in Miss Olusanmi’s diary. There’s Maryam as do only like her for what she can get and insist on gift exchange to mark friendship.”
“Yes, we were remiss in not following up this second lead.” The Superintendent paused in thought. “How do we find out who this Maryam is and whether she might somehow be involved?”
“I have a suggestion,” said Fatima. “Constable Nguyen, could you have a chat with your boyfriend?”
“Maryam Touré be the beneficiary of a scholarship. The College take five girls each year free of all fees. They has to come in the top five of a competitive examination, and they has to have a sponsor. We don’t know who be the sponsor for Maryam. She’s an orphan. During the school holidays, except for the long one in summer, she do stay at the school in the care of her Housemistress. In the long holiday her address do be a hotel in France.” They had gathered again the next day, and Constable Nguyen was letting them all know what she had found out. “That were all Temba did say.”
“We do know a little more.” This was Superintendent MIrchandani, who seemed to have regained her confidence. “Constable Nguyen told me the name, and I had a friend at the Met go to Somerset House to look up Maryam’s birth certificate. She is an orphan, but she has a registered birth father and mother, though neither apparently gave her their name. The father is dead. His name was Abel Deng . Her mother is very much alive. She is Aïcha Sy.”
“Who?” the other three all said at once.
British politics in 1966 were dominated by two highly public figures: Labour Prime Minister Sangeeta Gandhi and the Conservative Leader of the Opposition, Anjali Gurung. They were on the television and radio news every day of the year, even when they were supposedly on holiday. But there were other prominent figures behind the scenes in both major parties. One of these was Mrs Aïcha Sy, who was rumoured to be the real power behind the throne in the Conservative Party. She was also rumoured to be the wealthiest woman in Britain, owning, as she did, two of the mass circulation newspapers and myriad other businesses.
“All right,” said Fatima, “we know that Miss Touré is named in the diary kept by Miss Olusanmi, and we now also know that she apparently has a very prominent and very rich birth mother, who could easily have paid for her education at Silbury College, obviating the need for her to appear as though she is some poor waif on a scholarship. But is there anything that links Maryam to Olayemi’s death?”
Constable Nguyen grinned, both at her boss’s dry humour, which she always appreciated, and because she had the answer to Fatima’s question. “I did think that myself too. If there be a link, then evidence of that can be found in fingerprints. I did borrow a comb from Miss Toure’s room that Temba showed me, using his pass key. Then I ask the forensic lab to see if they could match any fingerprints with the ones from Miss Olusanmi’s medicine bottle. They did find that match. There be the link.”
“That’s not admissible in court.” Sergeant Banda was feeling left out, but now she had the opportunity to point out a flaw in Constable Nguyen’s methods.
“Of course, you’re right, Sergeant,” said Superintendent Mirchandani, “but we do now have grounds to question Miss Toure about Miss Olusanmi’s death. The Mistress of Silbury College will not like this, I’m sure. To be sensitive to her needs then, we had better conduct our interview in her presence at the College itself. Inspector, would you please join me for that?”
“I wondered when you would get around to questioning me.” Maryam Touré sat demurely with her eyes focused on the table in front of her. Next to her at the conference table in the office of the Mistress of Silbury College was the Mistress herself. On the opposite side of the table sat Superintendent Hema Mirchandani and Inspector Fatima Dieng. Between them, and befitting a formal meeting at the College, was a full tea service.
“You know that you are not obliged to say anything,” the Mistress interjected, looking straight into the eyes of the two police officers, who remained mute.
“No, Mistress, I have to tell someone. Ever since Olayemi was found dead, I’ve been feeling so terrible. She wasn’t meant to die. The whole idea was to plant drugs on her and then have them found in her room, so she would be expelled from the College. I didn’t think she would actually drink from the bottle when I gave it to her. I told her it was just something she could keep as inspiration for her poetry composition. I said I had found it at Khan’s Antiques, and it had once been owned by one of the great 19th century poets, Khadija Aslan. Or one of the others, I don’t remember the actual name I used. They would routinely use opium, and generally kept it in medicine bottles like the one that I gave her. She didn’t ask me what was in it, and I didn’t tell her.” Miss Touré stopped. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Fatima reached across the table and put a handkerchief into her hand.
Superintendent Mirchandani leant forward and said softly: “Why would you have wanted to have Miss Olusanmi expelled from the College? What had she done to you?”
“Nothing! Nothing!” Miss Toure continued to cry. “This wasn’t to get back at her. It was to get at her mother, to ruin her political career, because she has been so successful in turning the government towards an application to join the European Economic Community. My benefactor is dead set against Britain being in the Common Market. She sees Ifunanya Olusanmi as the main obstacle to achieving her goal of shoring up a cross-party anti-European alliance. Mrs Olusanmi is such a powerful speaker and is respected not only in her own party but also among many Conservatives.”
“Miss Touré,” the Superintendent said in the same soft voice, “we know that Mrs Aïcha Sy is your birth mother. Is this why you were so influenced to please her, to do her bidding?”
“Yes!” Miss Toure was letting out all of her pent up emotion now. “All my life I’ve felt so alone. I was in an orphanage as a baby, you know. Then, when I reached school age, I was sent to a series of boarding schools, ending up with this one. All the other children had parents who would come and fetch them at the end of term, usually visit them during the term for sports days and things like that. I never had a single visit. I had to stay at the school during the winter and spring breaks. Only in the summers someone would come and take me to France, where I’d be looked after by a British family running a hotel there. During those summers I’d get to spend a fortnight with Aïcha Sy, and those were the best times of my life. She was the only person who ever took an interest in me as a person, wanting to know about my life, my interests and so on. Then last year she told me that I was actually her daughter, but we had to keep it a secret, because she had so many political enemies. That’s why I have a different name from her. I so wanted us to be together permanently, to have a real mother for the first time in my life. If only she could see that I would be a trustworthy daughter, perhaps she would bring me home to live with her. I’d do anything to make that happen.”
This set off another round of racking sobs.
“One last question from me,” said the Superintendent. “Where did you get the bottle of drugs that you gave to Miss Olusanmi?”
“It’s funny,” Miss Touré responded, and the tears stopped for a moment. “For the first time in my life, someone came to visit me during the school year. It was a young woman who works for my mother at the National Courier. She came down in the middle of April, just the day before we had that big snow storm. It was a Wednesday, when we have the afternoon off, and we went to the Longbarrow Tea Rooms for scones and cream. She gave me the bottle there and made me read a note from my mother, where she told me what to do. Once I had read the note, I had to give it back to my mother’s emissary. She burnt it and dropped it into the ashtray she was using; she smoked nonstop during our tea.”
Now it was Fatima’s turn, but she only had one question. “In her diary, Miss Olusanmi mentioned that you had proposed an exchange of gifts as a sign of your friendship. You gave her the medicine bottle. What did she give you?”
“She gave me a comb. And now I’ve lost it!” The tears again started to flood down Miss Touré’s cheeks.
And that was that. Superintendent Mirchandani left the next day, saying that, so sensitive had this case become, she had to consult with the Chief Constable to determine what steps should now be taken. Fatima knew that she could do no more in the matter and went on to other business. The College once again became the foreign appendage to Silbury to which no one paid any attention. Ifunanya Olusanmi remained Home Secretary. Aïcha Sy apparently continued to run her newspapers and other businesses, though the newspapers seemed to have toned down their anti-European rhetoric considerably.
Ten days later, Fatima had a telephone call from Superintendent Mirchandani.
“Hello, Fatima. I’m awfully sorry to have gone off and left you in the dark. I’m sure that, like me, you always want to tie up all the loose ends in a case. In this one, those loose ends proved to be so politically sensitive I’m afraid I couldn’t do that with you in Silbury. I had to move this up the ladder.
“The Chief Constable was next to useless. She could only see the potential for embarrassment and risk to herself. She kept asking why we hadn’t simply pinned it all on the white boy when we had the chance. No one expects any better of his kind, was what she said.
“Anyway, I persuaded her that we could not undo what the investigation had revealed and that we could not simply pretend that nothing had happened. At the same time she didn’t want to be associated with any high profile arrests. We agreed, therefore, that I would use my contacts in the Met to see if they could find a way forward that would help resolve the matter and give the chief an explanation she could make to the Home Secretary.
“In the end, she didn’t have to explain anything, because the Met Commissioner went and spoke directly to Mrs Olusanmi. She has got over the worst of her grief at losing her daughter and wanted political capital and revenge more than justice, just like a politician. The two of them arranged to meet Aïcha Sy and presented her with all the evidence you and I had collected. Then they made their demands. Mrs Sy was forced to sign a confession which would be kept by the Met’s Special Branch for use in criminal proceedings should the other demands not be respected. Then she was immediately to terminate her press campaign against the Common Market. She was to undertake to sell all of her newspaper holdings, though she would be allowed to do this over time, so as not to affect the value of those holdings negatively. In exchange, neither she nor her daughter would not be prosecuted.
“And finally it was agreed that Aïcha Sy would publicly acknowledge Maryam Toure as her daughter and give her the family she had always wanted, as well as pay for her daughter’s education, including all arrears.”
“Thank you, Hema,” said Fatima. “Yes, I did want to know, and, of course, I’ll keep this fully confidential. Just one question: how did the Chief Constable take all of these developments?”
Fatima heard laughter at the other end of the telephone line. “She was not happy at all. What she had thought would be an opportunity to ingratiate herself with the Home Secretary has spiralled out of her control, with all of the kudos going to you, me and the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. I’m afraid that she dislikes you even more intensely than before, but don’t let that worry you. She’s not going to do anything against either you or me, whom she now positively loathes, as long as we have the protection of people in London of whom she’s mortally afraid. And remember, Fatima, you will always have a friend at the County Constabulary, at least as long as I’m here.”
“Even in sleepy Silbury, life never manages to be dull.” Fatima too laughed. “Thank you for ringing me, Hema. I’ll keep in touch. Goodbye.”
Fatima put down the telephone feeling quite satisfied. On the whole things had worked out well both in London and here in Silbury, even in Scowbridge. And now she readied herself to go home for an evening where Michael Fox and his family would join them for supper. Fatima was pleased to know that her daughter, Hadi, and Michael had become firm friends and that her family was doing its small part to promote greater racial tolerance and integration in Britain. Of course, there was still a long way to go.
