Ahead of his Time by Adrian Cousins (children's books read aloud .txt) 📕

and stuffing them in envelopes as I padded into the office. “Miss Colman, is my first interview here yet?”

She looked up, performed her signature quick check left and right, and beckoned me over, which were her usual actions before launching into some juicy gossip.

“Mr Apsley, not that I’m one to gossip, as you know.” She leant in a little closer, glancing left to check Roy’s office door was firmly closed.

“Yes.” Not as friendly a greeting as I would usually give, but I wasn’t in the mood today.

“Well, Roy has some detectives in his office at the moment along with Mr Foord from the Education Authority. Obviously, I don’t know what it’s about, but I’ve heard a little of the conversation—”

Roy’s door swung open, and he poked his head around the door frame.

“Miss Colman, can you dig out those purchase records for the new Olivetti typewriters we acquired last year, please?” Still gripping the door frame, he glanced at me, then back at Miss Coleman.

He had a ruddy complexion, which I now knew to be a sign he was under pressure.

“Bring them into my office as soon as you’ve found them, please.” He swivelled his head back in my direction, “Jason, can you join me in my office?”

I glanced at Miss Colman, who arched her eyebrow at me as she busied herself rifling through a filing cabinet drawer. Entering Roy’s office, I noticed three gentlemen who Miss Colman was presumably about to describe when in mid-flow of her gossiping. Two were seated, with one standing behind them, and they all swivelled around to look at me entering the room. Apart from the one standing, we were all of a similar age – early to mid-forties – the other probably ten years older and what hair he had left was grey and combed over to cover a blotchy scalp.

“Gentlemen, this is Mr Apsley. He’s my acting Deputy Head.”

Am I? News to me, I thought.

“I thought it would be appropriate to bring him into the conversation, in case I’m not available should you need further assistance after today,” said Roy, as he re-took his seat in his brown leather swivel chair.

I stood, feeling slightly concerned that another pile of shite was about to drop on my head as I gawped at the three men, now wondering what the hell was going on.

With a similar hairstyle to Roy, one of the gents sitting turned to me and flipped over the cover to his notebook. “First name, Mr Apsley please,” he said, whilst repeatedly clicking the pen on and off as he looked up at me.

“Jason, no middle name.” He made a note in his book, repeating what I said word for word, not that I believed he noted down anything other than the words Jason Apsley. He then slipped it into his jacket pocket and refolded the overcoat that was positioned on his lap.

The other seated gent stood, leant across and offered his hand.

“Malcolm Foord, Hertfordshire Education department. Good to meet you at last, Jason. Roy has been extremely complimentary regarding you, and we very much hope you take the Deputy position permanently. The position at one of our premier schools is—”

The detective who’d just taken my name coughed and interrupted, “Yes, thank you, but can we get back to the matter in hand, please?”

He glanced and nodded at the man standing who’d so far said nothing as he stood with his overcoat folded over his hands clasped in front of him. He turned slightly to face me.

“Mr Apsley, what I’m about to tell you is highly confidential, so we will need to rely on your cooperation and discretion.” He stopped talking, presumably awaiting my confirmation which I supplied with a nod of my head. Now I was more than a little concerned, considering they’d asked for information about the school typewriters.

“I’m DI Roberts from Hertfordshire Police. My colleague here is DI Litchfield from West Yorkshire Police.” Oh, bollocks, this wasn’t good, but at least I was getting a heads up, I guessed.

“A letter was typed on an Olivetti typewriter, the exact same model that you have at this school, and sent last September to the West Yorkshire police, the Yorkshire Post and four national newspapers. It was an anonymous letter that claimed to know the assailant of two serious crimes. The envelope had a Fairfield post-mark, so you can see we are extremely keen to ascertain where this letter was typed and obviously who typed it.”

Jesus – now I was blushing. The word guilty must have been radiating from me, almost expecting a flag to pop out of my ear with a ‘guilty, it was me’ sign on it. All I could manage was to croak a timid “Oh” as a response. A knock on the door afforded me a few seconds to recover my composure. Miss Colman scooted into the office, clasping a manilla folder which she attempted to hand to Roy. DI Litchfield intercepted it, whisking it out of her hand and offering no response. Miss Colman hovered for a few seconds; I could tell she was gagging for information.

Roy nodded at her. “Thank you, Miss Colman.” With that, she backed out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. Roy nodded to me, so I leant across and closed the door, thus spoiling Miss Colman’s opportunity to earwig the conversation. I expected she would now have a glass slapped against the wall or be peering through the keyhole.

DI Litchfield had flipped open the file and now looked up at Roy, turned to me and back to Roy. “The school purchased twenty Olivetti typewriters in May 1976.” He glanced back down at the invoice. “I’m assuming those twenty are still at the school?”

Roy and I looked at each other, he responded. “Yes, as far as I know. We’ve not had any reason to replace any of them as they are quite new.”

DI Lichfield scratched the end of his nose, something he seemed to repeat every few seconds, then continued the conversation