“And had his mother intervened?”
“No. She knew the child was unhappy but presumed he’d soon settle in. The school had an excellent reputation, and the headmaster of the day was much respected. Family man. Ex-clergyman. Her last letter to John—she wrote frequently—was full of love and encouragement and a promise to come down and see him at half-term.
“She pointed out that he wouldn’t have run off two days before he was expecting to see her. Reasonably enough. All the searches were made. Not a trace of the boy was ever found. Here or in London.
“Things cooled between the married pair. To such an extent that she began at last to listen to the stories her friends were all too ready to tell her concerning her husband’s peccadilloes. The upshot was that she arranged for the fiend to be caught in a hotel room by a squad of private detectives and a photographer and, using the evidence of infidelity, she divorced him. That’s when the trouble really started! She was then free legally to accuse the ex-husband openly of organising the lad’s disappearance. Even said he’d killed him and buried the body. She bombarded the school and the authorities with letters and demands to reopen the case.”
“Successfully?”
“People went through the motions, but nothing new was ever turned up.”
“But she didn’t give in?”
“No. Twelve years on, and she’s still at it. A determined and loyal woman, sir. I have the greatest regard for her. Last year, a cousin of her first husband, Peterkin, was appointed to a senior rank in MI5. She approached him. Not our thing at all—lost children—but this was his cousin’s boy. Masterson felt obliged. Well, more than that. He’s actually jolly concerned on Alicia’s behalf and wants to do what he can. But I’m the best he could spare, sir. I don’t, um.…” Gosling’s head drooped. “I don’t think his expectations are high.”
“Then he’s wrong.” Joe spoke quietly but firmly. “This boy would be nineteen by now. A whisker younger than you are. He should be up at Oxford, fresh and keen and translating Homer for the umpteenth time. We’ll find him, Gosling. We’ll find out what happened to John Peterkin, and I’ll listen in when you pick up the phone and tell your boss you’ve saved his bacon.
“Now let me tell you how I came by this selection of nine boys.”
“MAY I SEE it, sir? The black book?”
Joe noted the young officer’s eagerness and decided to follow his instinct. He passed the moleskine book across the desk and went to squeeze a last cup of coffee out of the vacuum jug, leaving Gosling to leaf through and come to his own conclusions.
“It’s going to take time, isn’t it?” Joe said finally. He wasn’t sure Gosling had heard him, so deep had he sunk into the contents. “Rapson was making notes—reminders—for himself.”
“Yes. What you’ve got here seems to be a list of dates and initials. The dates are written in Latin. Showing off his prowess with the calends, nones and ides?”
“Or assuming everyone else hasn’t a clue and won’t understand?
“Tell you something, though. Wonder if you’d noticed, sir—the photographs and the dates don’t fit. I mean, they may correspond to some of the Latin squiggles, but there’s far more dates than there are faces. Nine faces, more than twenty dates. Are we looking at the tip of an iceberg?”
“Frightening thought, Gosling! I can’t comment. I haven’t had a moment to study the coded bits yet.”
“If each of these dates represents, let’s say, an outgoing boy … a boy leaving before the appointed time—”
“That’s a lot of outgoings over the years,” Joe murmured, looking over his shoulder. “But then, you said it yourself when we met on the doorstep, Gosling: ‘Lots of comings and goings in a place like this.’ ”
“Exactly. Comings are easily tracked and documented. Goings, well, not so much. Transferred to another school? Which one? Does anyone check that they’ve arrived? Gone abroad? Any proof? Who would dream of asking for it? Where are the parents in all this? Can Alicia Peterkin-Greatorix be the only one who’s noticed her son has gone missing?”
“Of course not. I shall have a few phone calls to make after lunch. Using contact details we now have thanks to Rapson’s research.”
Deep in thought for a moment, Joe eyed Gosling with speculation and decided to give out some information to gain some in return. “Look—masks off. I’m going to explore with you the likely motive for Rapson’s interest in small boys. I was going to ask the headmaster outright, but I think I’ll get nearer the truth with a worldly young fellow like yourself. I can’t be certain—though I’ve met the man for all of five minutes, so perhaps I’m no judge—that Farman would understand what I’m getting at.”
Encouraged by a derisive snort from Gosling, Joe pressed on. “My first suspicion is that Rapson, solo or with others, has been taking an unhealthy interest—of a sexual nature, I mean—in boys in his care. What are your thoughts?”
Gosling shook his head and laughed. “You couldn’t be more wrong! Shall I reveal the contents of an official letter of warning the head sent to Rapson only last week? I checked the wording for him so I know what he said. I expect Rapson destroyed it. Not the sort of thing you’d want to keep in your notecase or tucked into your little black book. But you can check his reply if you like; it’s in Farman’s file. It says, and I paraphrase: ‘Mind your own business, you interfering old twerp.’ ”
“In response to?”
“A warning to Rapson to keep away from the staff quarters at the rear of the school. And, specifically, to keep his hands off Betty Bellefoy. She’s a maid at the school. Very pretty and young, which is unusual. Anyway, her mother had lodged a complaint. Demanded that the headmaster restrict Rapson to barracks or Ma Bellefoy would ‘take steps’ is how she put it. Farman professed himself puzzled as to what these steps might be, but the family has served the school faithfully for generations and is well known in the neighbourhood. He decided wisely that it would be easier in times like these to replace a single history master rather than a family of retainers. And Rapson is popular with no one, the Bellefoys are liked by all, so he sent a sharp letter of rebuke and defined his restricted area.”
“Which he broke out of on the night of his death. I think I must go and meet this formidable lady.”
“But it does illustrate the fact that Rapson’s urges were not of a kind that would incline him to the maltreatment of young lads. Apart from the occasional whacking.”
“I think I must turn around my thoughts to date concerning Rapson,” Joe said carefully. “Just chew this over, will you, Gosling? Instead of being a sexual raptor or purveyor of boys to someone at present unknown to us, he could possibly have been one who had noticed and begun to collate—perhaps even inquire into the disappearances. He was writing the history of the school, I understand?”
“God, that’s right! He used to bore us stupid with his little anecdotes from the files. Ancient cricket scores … casts of school drama performances.… No one else found it remotely interesting.”
“How on earth did he come to embark on such a task? A personal enthusiasm for the dusty annals of a preparatory school?”
“Not your bag, I’d guess, sir, and decidedly not mine, but he did it with—er—relish. In fact, I think he exceeded his brief, if the truth be told. Got carried away. He was initially asked by the head, in response to a parental suggestion—a suggestion backed up by a generous donation to funds—to compile a list of school heroes.”