Frustrated, Harley dug his phone out of his jeans pocket and tried Montrose Holdings again. This time the receptionist was surprisingly helpful, and he was put through to Gerry Montrose in less than a minute.
Harley took a deep breath, trying to organise his jumbled emotions.
‘My name’s Harley,’ he began. ‘Please don’t hang up this time. My mum says you’re my real father and your name’s on my birth certificate. I don’t want anything from you, I just want you to know that I exist. Can we meet up and talk? I’m not going to tell your wife or try to ruin your life or anything.’
He waited through a few seconds of silence, listening to the deep breathing at the other end of the line. Had he managed to make himself heard?
‘Lois Cartwright? She’s your mum?’ The voice was deep with northern vowels but very little trace of a Cumbrian accent.
‘She is. She only told me a few days ago when I needed my birth certificate. I don’t think she’d lie to me about something like this.’
‘And you’re eighteen?’
‘Born in September. The ninth,’ Harley confirmed.
Montrose sighed. ‘Well, it’s possible. I did know your mother quite well before you were born.’
So, it was true. A part of Harley still hadn’t been sure but Montrose’s admission that he’d known Lois seemed to suggest that she hadn’t been lying or covering up for a different relationship with a different man.
‘So, can we meet?’ Harley asked.
‘Not yet. I need to do some digging, check that you are who you say you are. There are a lot of people who’d like to see me humiliated or embarrassed. I’ll be in touch when I’m satisfied that you’re the real thing. Maybe I’ll send one of my employees round first, just to check.’
There was a veiled threat in his voice, but Harley wasn’t intimidated. ‘Send who you like,’ he had said. ‘I’ll be waiting.’
5
Two police officers were waiting in reception, neither of them seated. One wore the uniform of Cumbria Constabulary, the other one was in plain clothes. There was no sign of the deputy head.
‘Mr Cleaver?’ The one in a formal navy-blue suit turned to Cam as he approached the reception desk. Cam nodded and stared at the man’s outstretched hand, momentarily confused about what he was required to do. The man looked vaguely familiar – short dark hair shot through with grey, close-set blue eyes and a small patch of beard beneath full lips. If Cam had met him elsewhere, he might have assumed that he was a retired professional football player due to his muscular build and air of confidence.
‘DI Adam Pearson. I’ve already contacted the Chief Constable and there’s an armed response unit on the way. We need to establish exactly who’s where and start evacuating the school. What do you know so far?’
Cleaver gave the DI an abridged account of the past twenty minutes, the two gunmen who had released the students and mention of four in Donna’s note. He included his own response to the incident and waited while the man turned to his colleague and barked instructions for him to assess the risk around the humanities building.
‘So, Mr Cleaver,’ Pearson said, turning to Cam and fixing him with a steady gaze. ‘I assume you know exactly who is left in the humanities block?’
Cleaver nodded. ‘There’s just the one member of staff and her form.’
‘And you know exactly which students are in that form group and which are present today?’
Cam felt sweat starting to form along his hairline. He hadn’t checked. Hadn’t had time. The computerised registration system would show exactly who was in the classroom – if Donna Frith had had the chance to complete it before the armed men had arrived.
‘Ruth,’ he snapped, turning to his PA. ‘Get on SIMS now and see if Donna had time to do her register.’
‘Two absent,’ Ruth informed him after a couple of keystrokes on her keyboard. ‘Billy Thoms and Elizabeth Wright are marked as absent. The rest of the class are there. Apart from Keely, who raised the alarm.’
‘I’m going to need a printout of that class list,’ Pearson said. Cam opened his mouth to protest but the DI cut him off. ‘Please don’t give me any crap about safeguarding and data protection – we need to know who’s in the building, it might help us to work out who the target might be.’
‘Target?’ Ruth asked.
‘It’s possible that one of the students may be the focus of this situation. Possibly somebody with wealthy or influential parents. If not, then it may be that the school or any of the staff may have been the catalyst. It’s too early to speculate but that list of names might give us a place to start until we hear from the men holding them hostage.’ Pearson turned back to Cam. ‘How many staff and students do you have here? And can we use the register to get an accurate figure?’
Cam nodded and pointed to the monitor on the reception desk. ‘Staff log in here. If they go off site for any reason, they must log out so we can easily find out which staff are present. SIMS will tell us which students are in school today. I’m sure we can get a total.’ He looked at Ruth hopefully and she started tapping on her keyboard.
‘Six staff out,’ she said. ‘And 807 students present – total absences thirty-four. Four of the staff are on a trip with a group of twelve SEND students. They’ve gone bowling.’
‘SEND?’
‘Special educational needs and disability,’ Ruth explained. ‘We have a specialist unit in school.’
‘So how many staff does that leave on site?’ Pearson asked.
‘Including support staff, sixty-two,’ Ruth said.
‘We need to get them all off site. Staff and students.’
‘How the hell are we supposed to do that?’ Cam asked. ‘Over half of them are bussed in from outlying villages and the west coast. Where will we put them?’
‘The theatre,’ Ruth said. ‘It seats over a thousand people. We could get a message to all staff that they’re to walk their classes down there and wait for instructions.’
Cam shook his head. ‘That won’t work. We don’t have the right teacher to student ratio to take the whole lot off site. What if there were an accident?’
‘There’s been an accident?’ Penny Bainbridge asked stepping out of Cam’s office.
Cam glared at her. He’d explicitly asked her to wait in reception and liaise with the police. What the hell had she been doing shut up in his office?
‘No,’ he snapped. ‘We need to get the students off site and Ruth’s suggested walking them down to the theatre where we can keep them all together. We don’t have enough staff to ensure the safety of the students. You know what the ratios are.’
Penny sighed and gave him a look that suggested she thought he was a bit dim. ‘I’m sure our parents will overlook protocol if it means ensuring that their children are out of the way of a group of gunmen, don’t you?’ She smiled at him, but her eyes were steel. Cam knew she was right, but he was reluctant to make the decision and take the blame; what if somebody got hit by a car? Or broke an ankle on a kerb?
‘Cam. Get it together.’ Penny snapped her fingers in front of his face. ‘We need to get the kids out. We can use the year twelves to escort each class, along with their teacher. They should all still be in the common room for their Christmas assembly – Jack offered to take it and you know how he goes on. Ruth, ring down to the sixth-form office and get one of the study supervisors to keep them all in the common room. Cam, I know it’s not regulation but, frankly, who gives a shit as long as we get them out? Then we can focus on the ones that are left in the humanities block.’
‘Okay, okay,’ Cam said, trying to gather his thoughts as images of Tom, terrified and lost, threatened to overwhelm him. ‘We need to get a message to each member of staff. I’ll speak to year twelve myself. If we can pair them up and send them to each department, they can tell the staff what’s going on and help escort the students to the theatre.’
‘Tell them what’s going on? Is that wise?’ Pearson asked. ‘Wouldn’t it be better t
o tell them that there’s a chemical spill or a fire or something?’
Cam shook his head. ‘If there was a chemical spill or a fire the students and staff have been drilled to assemble on the top playground – right outside the humanities block. We have to get them off site. It’s a hell of a responsibility for the older students but I can’t see another way. I don’t have enough free staff to visit every room.’
He noticed, irritated, that Ruth was typing something rather than listening to his plan. Cam was just about to reprimand her when the printer behind her kicked into life and started to spit out sheets of A4.
‘What the hell…?’ Cam began.
‘It’s a message to the staff,’ Ruth explained. ‘I don’t think it’s fair for the students to have to tell them what to do so I’ve printed out a message for them to deliver.’
She grabbed a sheet off the pile and passed it to Cam.
Emergency evacuation. Please escort your students to the theatre in town as a matter of urgency. It is vital that students are not unduly alarmed so ensure that the evacuation proceeds in an orderly manner. A member of the SLT will be at the theatre to explain further.
‘It’s not perfect but it’ll do,’ Cam grudgingly admitted. A sudden thought had him floundering again. ‘But it’s just after nine in the morning. The theatre won’t be open.’
‘The café bar will be, though,’ Penny countered. ‘It opens for breakfast. I’ll give them a buzz – somebody will have a key for the main auditorium. Or they’ll be able to get in touch with a key holder.’
Cam stared at her. How could she be so calm? He’d always known that she was a solid leader, probably better than him, if he was being honest with himself, but he was starting to wonder if he’d badly underestimated her capabilities. Which only added to his worries.
‘Mr Cleaver?’ The DI had obviously asked Cam a question which he hadn’t heard as he’d been so focused on his realisation about his deputy.
‘Sorry?’
‘I said we’re going to need somewhere to set up an operational base. Somewhere in school. There’s a large team on their way and they’re going to need space to set up their equipment.’
‘You could use the gym,’ Cleaver suggested.
Pearson shook his head. ‘It’d take too long to fit it out with desks and chairs. Which is the biggest classroom?’
‘The library?’ Penny suggested, undermining Cleaver again. ‘It might be a bit cluttered, but it does have everything you’ll need. There’s a suite of computers in there so there’s plenty of electrical sockets, phone lines, internet…’
‘Perfect,’ Pearson said. He nodded to the uniformed officer who’d just returned from his recce of the school with no additional information and a puzzled shrug. ‘Ms Bainbridge, can you show my colleague to the library? He can make a start on getting it ops ready. Mr Cleaver, I’d like you to organise your sixth-form students so we can get the evacuation underway, I’ll come with you in case there are any awkward questions, and to offer reassurance. After that I’ll need to interview the students who were released.’
Cleaver resented the implication that he couldn’t support his own students but he acknowledged Pearson’s instructions with a curt nod of his head.
‘I want this site cleared as quickly as possible. And I need that list of names. I want to know exactly who’s in that classroom.’
Ruth Warnesford passed a sheet of A4 across the reception desk. ‘That’s this morning’s register. Two students absent. The teacher is Donna Frith.’
Pearson took the paper and scanned the list. He looked at the PA and then at Cleaver. ‘Are you sure it’s this class?’
Cleaver nodded. ‘Yes. My son’s in there.’
‘That might explain everything,’ Pearson said cryptically.
6
Cam led Pearson to the sixth-form area in silence, trying not to think about Tom. Whoever was holding the students hostage might know that the head’s son was in the room. Was that what this was about? Pearson certainly seemed to think so.
‘Through here,’ he said, holding open the door that led into the sixth-form block. Cam was especially proud of the facilities for sixth formers at Fellbeck Academy; OFSTED had commented on the ‘supportive study atmosphere’ that helped each student work out their path through A-levels. And it was A-levels that mattered – privately Cam didn’t give a toss about the few NVQ courses that various departments had insisted upon. What really mattered were the grades that would enable Fellbeck students to get onto prestigious university courses and make him and the school proud – and richer. With a strong reputation and favourable OFSTED report parents were queuing up to get their kids into the school and they were the sort of parents who didn’t mind offering a bit of financial support when it came to fundraising. Most of his staff understood the importance of those results and those that still had that old-fashioned touchy-feely approach and allowed students to ‘develop at their own pace’ didn’t last long at Fellbeck.
Since he’d been the headteacher, Cam had set up a dedicated study room which was staffed by a supervisor throughout the school day. The two study supervisors worked on alternate days, both for little more than minimum wage despite the responsibility of their position – Cam saw no point in wasting money on glorified babysitters. There was also a small library which operated on a trust system. It was only a few shelves containing texts that students could use to expand their knowledge of most of the A-level courses but the inspectors had been extremely impressed – especially when Cam had explained that he’d funded it using donations from local companies.
‘Sixth-form lessons are taught in the main school,’ he explained as they hurried along the corridor towards the common room. ‘But I wanted to give them somewhere of their own, somewhere that they could take responsibility for.’
Pearson looked at him as though he was speaking a foreign language and Cam realised his mistake. He’d clicked into salesman mode – showing a prospective parent or donor around the school. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, picking up his pace. ‘Force of habit.’
The sixth form were still in assembly when Cam and Pearson approached the glass doors of the common room. Jack Raynor, head of sixth form was pointing to a still from a black-and-white film and smiling as he spoke. Leena Sykes, one of the study supervisors was standing outside the door looking agitated.
‘Cam! I haven’t been in yet. Jack’s in full swing. It’s his It’s a Wonderful Life assembly. What’s going on? Ruth rang down and told me to keep year twelve here until you arrived.’ A petite woman, always immaculately dressed, Leena Sykes hadn’t been one of Cam’s appointments. He tried to leave sixth form staffing matters to Jack and he could see why the head of sixth form had been keen to have Leena on his staff. Her efficiency and no-nonsense manner quickly earned her a reputation as somebody not to cross and her dark hair and olive skin seemed to draw many male students and staff (and a few female ones) to the study room for the most tenuous of reasons.
‘I need to talk to the students,’ Cam said. ‘We have to evacuate the site and I need their help.’
‘What’s happened?’
Cam glanced at Pearson who gave a quick shake of his head. ‘I can’t go into it at the moment. It’s an emergency and we need to get everybody off site.’
Leena’s dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘Who’s this?’ she asked, looking at Pearson, then back to the headteacher. ‘Looks like police to me.’
Christ, she’s shrewd. ‘Leena, this is DI Pearson. He’s helping with the evacuation.’
‘DI? Must be something serious.’
‘It is bloody serious!’ Cam snapped and was gratified to see the woman flinch. ‘We need to get all the kids and staff down to the theatre as soon as possible. I don’t have time to explain but I need to get a message to every classroom.’ He waved the handful of A4 sheets in her face and pushed the door open.
‘Mr Raynor, may I have a word with year twelve, please?’
Jack Raynor scowl
ed across the room. An imposing figure with the physique of a rugby player whose best matches were behind him, Raynor crossed huge arms that were bulging out of his tightly rolled-up shirt sleeves. ‘Mr Cleaver. To what do I owe the honour of this interruption?’
A few students lowered their heads, whether in embarrassment or to hide their sniggers Cam didn’t know or care. ‘We have a… situation,’ Cam said, marching to the front of the room. ‘I need everybody to co-operate.’
That had grabbed their attention; the sniggerers were sitting up straight, all attention on their headteacher. A few eyes slid off him and drifted to Pearson who was standing next to Raynor, his head obscuring that of James Stewart on the screen behind him.
Cam surveyed the rows of students. He recognised quite a few but others seemed unfamiliar and there were a handful in the front row that he was sure he’d never seen before. That was one of the pleasures and one of the pitfalls of his job. As headteacher he didn’t spend any time in the classroom; he’d asked the cover manager to make sure that he was never needed even in the direst emergency and now, looking at nearly a hundred expectant pairs of eyes he knew why.
He’d lost it.
He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was the feeling he used to get when he stood in front of a class and knew that he could inspire them to learn.
‘Right, year twelve, I need you all to listen carefully. A situation has come to my attention this morning that requires an immediate evacuation of the school.’
There was a hum of concern as speculation started to brew.
‘Hey,’ Pearson clapped his hands. ‘You’ve been asked to listen to your headteacher. This is a serious situation and we need to get you moving quickly.’
He nodded at Cam to continue.
‘I can’t give you the details, but I do need your help. I need to get a message to every classroom in the school, to every teacher and every member of our support staff. It’s imperative that you all follow my instructions to the letter.’ Cam emphasised ‘my’ to try to re-establish his authority, hardly able to believe that the detective had undermined him in front of his students.
Don't Breathe Page 5
