Head Start

by Judith Cutler

  Toni, touching her earpiece, nodded briefly. ‘There isn’t a village shop any more, so where on earth could you go until you returned to the village hall? It was a bit cold for just hanging out outside. Do you have a den? Or use an outbuilding?’

  ‘I thought we were talking about Emma. Do you think they’ll let me see her today? I might not be family but I am her best friend.’

  ‘If you could, what would you say?’ Barbara asked quietly.

  Prudence looked her straight in the eye and opened her mouth. There was absolute silence. Then she said, ‘But they won’t let me, will they?’

  Mandy tore at her hair. ‘What’ll she be like when she’s eighteen?’

  ‘A pompous but brilliant undergraduate. Could you ask her if anything has happened at school to upset her?’

  When Barbara relayed the question Prudence frowned. ‘Apart from being treated like a child? And being told which lavatories I may and may not use?’

  Yes! I caught Mandy’s eyes. She responded into the mike, ‘Talk about the loos.’

  ‘Which weren’t you allowed to use?’

  ‘The ones nearest our classroom.’

  ‘Why not?’ Barbara sounded genuinely surprised.

  ‘Because the teachers want to keep them for themselves.’

  ‘That’s not unusual in my experience. What’s wrong with the other loos?’

  ‘There’s always a queue.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘No one likes using the ones at the far end of the hall.’ She licked her lips. ‘What time did you say that my parents would be here? I might like to wait till then, after all.’

  Barbara said, her voice bracing and perhaps too jolly, ‘Come on, Prudence, we’re only talking about toilets. We all have to poo or pee at some time or other.’

  Mistake. ‘In fact I’d like to use a loo now.’

  Barbara spoke into her phone. ‘Of course. While we wait for someone to escort you perhaps you’ll just explain why people don’t like the loos by the stockrooms? Graffiti? Do they smell?’

  ‘Some of the babies think they see snakes.’ She tried to be dismissive.

  ‘And do they? Or do they see something else?’

  ‘I really need the loo, you know. Now. You don’t want me to wet myself, do you?’

  ‘You’d be very uncomfortable if you had to sit all day in wet knickers. What do they see in the babies’ loos, Prudence, that looks like a snake?’

  Her eyes widened, but she seemed to shrink physically. She was spared having to answer by a knock on the door, which announced the arrival of a uniformed woman constable. She escorted Prudence out much as if she was a prison officer with a particularly awkward inmate.

  ‘Surely there’s a loo off the interview room?’ I asked Mandy.

  ‘Of course. But I just want to unsettle Prudence a little more.’

  ‘Isn’t she rattled enough? We all keep forgetting, Mandy, that whatever she might have done, she is a victim too. She reminds me of when I was interviewed after Simon had hurt me – I was as prickly and arrogant as she is because I was too afraid to let in other emotions. The man behind the cameras is surely her version of Simon. Even if she killed Emma herself, I’d swear she did it to please, to appease, Mr Camera.’

  ‘You liberals! There’s always something to excuse bad behaviour, isn’t there?’

  ‘I didn’t say that and I don’t think it. What I do think is that we’ve got a case of grooming here, like the idea or not. So please bear that in mind when you authorise heavy questioning.’

  She opened her mouth to argue but shut it again as there was a rap on the door. ‘Yes?’ she demanded roughly; the door opened. One of the civilian reception staff plunged in.

  ‘Ma’am, there’s someone in reception says he’s got to talk to you. I said you were busy but he said it’s a matter of life and death. He’s desperate, you can see that.’

  ‘Tell them to hang fire till I get back,’ she said, to her colleagues in general. Perhaps even me.

  The police officers talked amongst themselves, black humour much in evidence. One went out for coffee and brought me a cup too. Barbara left the interview room; soon Toni followed. Prudence was returned to the room, but seemed disinclined to talk to Ms Pearson. We waited for the coffee to cool and drank it. There was a great deal of speculation about what could be keeping the boss. At last one of the older ones, Paul, turned to me. ‘You were the one who got Ian to talk to your school, weren’t you?’

  ‘I was. He was great. He’d be the first to say his appeal to tell the truth didn’t make much impression on Prudence, though. What is going on in her head?’ I asked rhetorically, though I’d answered the question myself only a few minutes ago.

  ‘If you ask me, I’d agree with you that she’s a victim, not a perpetrator. I’d say someone’s told her to say nothing, on pain of death. And I might not be exaggerating … But it’s good they’ve nailed the guy who was after you. The word is he’s not got bail, by the way.’

  ‘Excellent. Thanks.’ Why hadn’t Mandy told me? Because she was too busy on something more important, that’s why.

  We waited. Five more minutes passed.

  The uniformed constable reappeared. ‘The boss says to stand down for a bit. Something’s come up. And Ms Cowan is to come with me.’

  Mandy was sitting in her goldfish bowl of an office, staring at some invisible point on her desk. ‘A long time ago,’ she said slowly, ‘a young man with a flourishing career – he had his own extremely profitable firm – realised he was addicted to a particularly nasty form of porn. Child porn. Child on child porn, to be precise. He fought the problem – tried to get his kicks from ordinary hard-core adult porn. But it didn’t do the trick. He sought and obtained psychiatric help. The problem was at least controlled. He was so grateful he vowed to serve the person who had dealt with it. Not person, actually. That makes it sound as if it was his shrink. He credited God with it. And he left his company with a highly astute management team in charge – it’s on the verge of being in the FTSE 100, so they were good – while he went off to train at a theological college. I’m sorry, Jane – I know you got on well with Mark Stephens. He was a gift to the Church because, with the not inconsiderable income from his company, he didn’t ask for a stipend. Of course, he never quite got round to confessing his problem.’

  ‘Mark! I saw him this morning,’ I said foolishly. ‘Waved. I don’t think he saw me.’

  Mandy gave a sad smile. ‘I think he might have had something else on his mind. Something to do with the death of a little girl. Yes, they lost her. They declared her brain dead, and I believe other children will benefit from her organs. Even so, a young life lost. No, he didn’t kill her. Not directly. I’m quite sure of that. But it was because of him – his bribery and his coercion – that the kids started going into that stockroom. At first what they did was harmless enough. Then it got less harmless. Sometimes the kids went to his house – what could be more innocent than a trip to the vicarage? Except it wasn’t innocent at all. Eventually some of the antics in the stockroom resulted in boxes toppling on poor Emma. The other kids dressed quickly and – as if they were child detectives – ran round to the vicarage to ask him what to do. He denied any responsibility, told them off for coming to his home, told them to lie to any inquisitive adults.’

  Mysteriously I found a glass of whisky in my hand. ‘Did he pick the children because they were arrogant or assured or did they rebel in some twisted reaction to the evil they were enduring?’

  ‘It’s too early to tell. The psychiatrists will have their hands full for a bit, won’t they? And yes, they will get plenty of support. I’ve an idea they’ll be split up and sent to different schools in different areas of the country so they don’t feed off each other as I think they did here. You know the idea – if Fred and Rosemary West had been with other people they might have been quite harmless souls.’

  I nodded. ‘Will the children be named in his trial?’

  She shook her
head. ‘There won’t be a trial.’

  Something in the tone of her voice told me not to leap up and down in protest. ‘Because …?’

  ‘That train that was delayed because of an incident? The man who killed himself under its wheels was Mark Stephens. He actually walked into the police station with a full confession both on a memory stick and on paper before he took himself off to Canterbury West and …’ She spread her hands. ‘I’m very sorry. If only we’d searched his house first. It was scheduled for this morning.’

  I wasn’t capable of rational thought, but questions fired themselves at random. ‘Those cassettes – was there anything in them?’

  ‘A lot of sports day photos; school plays, nativities, trips to the zoo and the seaside. Sorry.’

  ‘The porn mags?’

  ‘They’d be about the right era, but why should he leave them there?’

  ‘And why should he have a disagreement with Mrs Gough so bad that he hardly visited the school while she was head? Can you ask her?’

  She shook her head. ‘Poor thing had a stroke about five weeks ago. You teachers are like us cops – you don’t live long enough to enjoy your retirement.’ She poured more whisky.

  ‘It’s only twelve-thirty!’ I drank it anyway. ‘Why did Toby start rooting round in the stockrooms? Did he suspect something?’

  ‘We’ve yet to ask him. But he admits to having messed with your football shirts. And he also admits putting pressure on Brian Dawes to test your mettle, as he puts it. Like getting his aunt the extra fuel oil, though he’s adamant he didn’t steal the original delivery. Like stripping the lagging out of your loft and off the tanks. And when he broke into Brian Dawes’s house he didn’t steal anything except the key to Dove Cottage. So you can blame him for the electrical fire. And the problem with the pub electrical supply. The trouble is, he’s bright. Like Prudence. Who may or may not be the one who pushed the boxes on top of Emma. It’s what the other kids say, anyway. By the way, I can’t have you witnessing any more of the questioning – sorry.’

  ‘I’m very relieved. Very.’

  ‘Meanwhile Brian Dawes is in a room off reception. He wanted to talk to you. I wasn’t at all sure you’d want to talk to him. He looks very apologetic, mind – what I could see of him behind the biggest bunch of flowers I’ve ever seen.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Pat was more than happy to accompany me to confront Dawes, and probably happy to shove the flowers in a painful place if necessary. As it was, it was an excruciatingly polite encounter, but one which I later conceded we had to have. I had to endure an embarrassing, self-justifying and decidedly self-serving apology, of which the flowers were part. But he made one useful offer, probably, however, courtesy of his insurance company: to pay my hotel expenses while I looked for alternative accommodation – if, that is, I was prepared to remain as head of the school. He very much hoped I was. Before I could even raise the issue, he assured me that there would be no more interrogations by the governors for which I had no time to plan, no more unprofessional unpleasantness.

  Since I couldn’t imagine leaving the children in the lurch while they were confused and traumatised by all that had passed, I agreed to stay, provided he and his fellow governors found ways of easing the staffing budget. I needed extra teachers. He made another suggestion, that surprisingly didn’t go down too well when I broached it to the person who would benefit.

  ‘Things are going to be very difficult,’ I told my colleagues on Monday morning. ‘And I truly need a deputy head – acting till the existing post-holder returns, if she ever does. I’d like anyone interested to see me and then apply. You know how highly I rate you all. But we will follow equal opportunities guidelines.’

  The women dropped into my office after lunch to say that they weren’t interested in even a temporary upgrading: I had an idea that they were graciously standing aside so that Tom could go for it. It made life easier, but I can’t say I really approved.

  I was just off to see Rosie, a folder full of appropriate work, when Tom himself appeared at the end of the day. ‘I can’t apply,’ he said baldly.

  ‘No? Have you applied for something somewhere else?’

  ‘No. But I messed up when you started. Seems weeks ago now. And I wouldn’t do it now. It was me that left the flowers, Jane, and I’m truly sorry. But I can’t possibly be your deputy and get paid for it.’

  ‘We all make mistakes, Tom. And doing the job will stand you in good stead when you go for an outside promotion, or even a headship.’

  ‘You’re definitely staying, then?’

  ‘I told you all as much. And I meant it.’

  ‘You know what, I’m really pleased. I’ve got another idea I want to float, by the way. You remember that Scottish primary school where the kids all run a mile each day? Staff too, by the way. A lot of schools are adopting the idea. In the spring, when the field’s dried out, I’d love to introduce it here. Would you agree?’

  He was so eager to please I couldn’t tell him I’d already thought of it. ‘Agree? I’d join in. Right, Tom, I’ll expect your formal application by this time tomorrow. By the way, I’m trying to woo a former primary maths specialist – she’s on holiday at the moment but as soon as she gets back I shall go on a charm offensive.’ Surely she’d consider the offer, now I could guarantee a rodent-free environment.

  And soon we had – at last – a snow-free environment. The long-overdue thaw was messy and dreary, but it brought out Mrs Tibbs. She’d been reading about the advantages of school vegetable gardens, she told me. She was a keen gardener: might she offer her services as a volunteer? Watching seeds grow and taking responsibility for the seedlings and plants might take the children’s minds off things, she said.

  It was the nearest I’d get to an apology. I accepted immediately. I needed all the support I could get.

  But not from Pat. Not professional support, at least. Not any longer.

  The papers were full of a story of an undercover police officer who’d had a relationship with one of the group he’d infiltrated and had a child with her. Pat had been very quiet, almost distant, since he’d read it, though he didn’t mention it. It was clear he couldn’t wait to return to the Midlands.

  It remained a particularly large elephant in the Cricketers as we picked over a late lunch on Sunday, neither quite meeting the other’s eye, as if we were teenagers each waiting for the other to make a move. For some reason something Mark Stephens said to me, when I still regarded him as a decent man whose words were worth listening to: an old friend was better than a new lover. He was right, of course. And I found I couldn’t bear what I sensed might be the withdrawal of Mark’s friendship. I also found quite painfully that I wanted to move our friendship forward – but did I love him simply because I was grateful and dependent? And if Pat cared for me, which I was fairly sure he did, was it just because he was sorry for me?

  We’d got to the car park, under Diane’s interested eyes, I suspected, before he said, ‘I cannot, cannot be one of those cops who take advantage of a professional relationship … It’s wrong. On all counts. But …’

  ‘Of course. But I really don’t need an official minder. Not now I’ve got Nosey. But I do need friends. Good friends.’ I put my hand on his.

  Mistake.

  He shook it off as if it was a bunch of nettles.

  Then he took both of mine and gripped them. ‘So you do understand … I have to go and tell my boss we can save a bit of money for his budget.’ At last he smiled. ‘But – shit, Jane …’

  Possibly if we’d not both been staying under Diane’s roof, we’d have resolved the situation without recourse to further conversation. But we were. And he had to be on the M20 any moment now.

  ‘You’ll come and see my new place when I get one?’ I prompted, my throat tight. ‘Kent might be quite nice in the spring.’

  ‘Yes! Yes, of course. And I can see how Nosey’s getting on with his new job. But Jane, you will be all right, won’t you?’ />
  ‘Of course.’ It was usually the other way round, him assuring me I’d be fine. ‘Tell you what, I’ll get some samphire when you come and try to cook that salmon dish we had last night.’

  ‘Sounds like a really good plan.’

  We didn’t kiss. But we clung to each other fiercely.

  At last he got in his car, opening the driver’s window. ‘See you soon, then, our kid – your marking permitting!’

  ‘I’ll make bloody sure it does permit.’ And I waved him off.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I am grateful to all the primary teachers and heads, past and present, who have given me invaluable help, and to the Open the Book team I have the pleasure and honour of working with. Kent Police’s Jon Green, East Division Press Office (Ashford, Shepway & Dover), took time off from much more pressing matters to respond quickly and efficiently when I needed advice. Thank you, all of you.

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  By Judith Cutler

  THE JANE COWAN SERIES

  Head Start

  THE TOBIAS CAMPION SERIES

  The Keeper of Secrets

  Shadow of the Past

  Cheating the Hangman

  THE FRAN HARMAN SERIES

  Life Sentence

  Cold Pursuit