by Rob Roughley
‘Never mind what Jansen said,’ Stan jabbed out a gnarled finger. ‘Are you after my job, lad?’
Bobby looked bemused. ‘What are talking about?’
‘Last night, all this – yes Mr Jansen, no Mr Jansen – don’t think I didn’t see the gleam in your bloody eye when he was talking about giving me the boot.’
‘Hang on, that had nothing to do with me!’
Stan thrust his head forward. ‘Nobody likes an arse licker, boy.’
‘I’m not listening to this,’ Bobby spun away and headed for the back of the van.
‘Hey, I’ve not finished with you!’
‘Leave it, Stan, you’re just pissed because Jansen caught you out.’
Stan rocked back on his steel toe-capped work boots. ‘What did you say?’
Bobby heaved the blower into the pickup and turned. ‘You heard me, I know you’ve been taking the piss, standing around while I do all the hard work and that’s OK, I don’t mind...’
‘I don’t give a fuck if you mind or not, you jumped up shit!’
Bobby shook his head and grabbed the stiff yard brush and shovel. ‘I’m not arguing with you, Stan, you’re the boss.’
Stan opened and closed his fists; there was something about the tone of the boy’s voice that said – you might be the boss but not for much longer.
‘Aye, I am, lad, and don’t you forget it.’
Bobby nodded and shook out a bin bag, a moment later he was shovelling leaves into the empty sack.
Stan stomped over to the van, climbed in and fired up the engine. He would have to go all the way back to the yard and grab a new spark plug for the blower. Checking his old battered watch he was amazed to see the finger crawling towards ten. Panic flared, it would take him ten minutes to drive back to the yard and.... He suddenly realised, that barring a miracle, Jansen would turn up to a courtyard full of rotting vegetation. Slamming the van into gear, he flew out of the yard, wheels spinning on the gravel. As soon as the van left the courtyard, Bobby dropped the spade onto the ground and pulled out his cigarettes, a slight smile playing on his rubber-like lips.
15
Jonathan Ramsey glanced at his wife and then quickly looked away; it was as if she had aged overnight. The laughter lines, as he liked to call them, had turned into crow’s feet, her skin looked dried out and parchment thin. Catching sight of his own reflection in the mirror he grimaced, if this is what one night of anguish could do to you, what would they look like after a week?
His designer stubble had sprouted into a scruffy beard and the bags under his eyes seemed to sag even further as he stared at his haggard image. Turning away, he looked around the familiar room. All the usual small talk suddenly seemed meaningless, as if language was an obsolete concept.
‘I’m going back to the school later.’
He looked at his wife in surprise. ‘What’s the point?’
‘I want to talk to a few of the girls, see if they can remember anything.’
‘But you were there yesterday; the police have already interviewed everyone.’
She was standing in front of the fish tank, watching as the colourful marine fish swept back and forth in the clear water.
‘Rachael Sinclair wasn’t there.’
Jonathan sighed. ‘But Bannister said they’d already spoken to her.’
‘I know what he said,’ she snapped. ‘But I need to speak to her myself.’
‘And what if she isn’t in again?’
Lifting a tub of fish food from a drawer, she sprinkled a few flakes on the surface of the water, instantly a feeding frenzy began. ‘If she doesn’t show up at the school, then I’ll go to the house.’
Jonathan dragged a hand across his stubble. ‘I just can’t see the point.’
‘It gives me something to do; if I simply stay in this house it’ll drive me mad...’
‘Look, wouldn’t it make more sense to stay here, what if the police want to talk to you, or they have some news about Kelly?’
Suzanne dropped the tub back into the drawer and slammed it shut. ‘This isn’t the dark ages; we do have mobile phones.’
‘Stay here, we can have some lunch and...’
‘Lunch!’ she glared at him in disbelief. ‘You honestly think I can face food at a time like this?’
‘But we have to eat; it’s...’
‘Typical male, always thinking about what you want, what you need.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he snapped.
‘Kelly’s been missing for over twenty-four hours and you talk about something as meaningless as food,’ she spread her arms. ‘I know, it’s a nice day, why don’t we ask the neighbours round for a barbecue. We can all sit in the hot tub, you never know Christy might even get her tits out, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Jonathan?’
He turned away unable to meet her gaze as a flush of colour rose in his cheeks. ‘I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.’
Suzanne sneered. ‘Don’t think I haven’t seen you drooling over her as if she were a bitch in heat.’
‘I...’
‘How old is she, twenty, twenty-one, just the right age for you isn’t she, Jonathan?’
‘I don’t have to listen to this,’ he stormed across the room, his brain in turmoil.
‘That’s it, run away, you spineless bastard!’
Yanking open the front door he staggered onto the driveway, the houses seemed to loom towards him. Twenty yards away he could hear the gurgling of the river, the cloying scent of the honeysuckle bush engulfed him.
Walking toward the gates, which he’d always considered to be a barrier, a way of keeping his family segregated and safe from the worries of the outside world now made him feel like a prisoner. No matter how hard the day had been, whenever he pressed the fob and the gates swung open he always felt a rush of pride. He was providing for the ones he loved and they always had this safe place to return to, this haven. Reaching the gates, he laced his hands through the bars and thought about Kelly. She was out there somewhere, and she had no fob to open the gates, had no way to get back to this sanctuary. Resting his forehead against the cool metal bars, he began to cry.
16
‘I don’t really know if I should show you this.’
Today she was dressed in stonewashed jeans and a lime green top; her hair released from the severe bun sprayed out across her shoulders in a black cascade.
Lasser cleared his throat and tried to concentrate. ‘I presume it’s something unsavoury?’
Medea flicked him a look. ‘According to this report she was expelled from her last school, though it doesn’t state why.’
‘Is that unusual?’
‘It is for a place like Claremont. Like I said yesterday, I’ve been here for four years and I have never come across this before.’
‘So money talks and bull...?’
‘I am familiar with the phrase, Sergeant,’ she smiled. ‘Though to be honest, there is a waiting list of over six years to study here and for anyone who has their name on this list, well, let’s just say money isn’t a pressing concern.’
‘Right, so why take someone with a dubious past when the filthy rich are queuing around the block?’
This time her face puckered into a frown. ‘That’s one way of putting it I suppose.’
‘Can you tell me the name of the school?’
She tapped at the keyboard and then looked across the table in surprise. ‘According to this it was Hindley High.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Well, I suppose it could be an error, though I seriously doubt it.’
‘Hindley High, to this place is quite a leap,’ he knew the school, only last year he’d chased a young thug across the snow-covered playing field. It was the kind of place students went to die, last chance saloon. He pictured Rachael sitting on the cream sofa looking cool and sophisticated, a knowing glint in her eye.
‘It must be a mistake, I interviewed the girl, she lives in one of those three storey town h
ouses near the park, her father’s a solicitor.’
She shrugged. ‘Well I’m sorry but that’s the information on the screen.’
Lasser ran a hand across his head. ‘Right, well, I’ll double check. Now have you any idea where I can find Christopher Fulcom?’
Medea pointed to her right. ‘Through those doors, third office on the left, you can’t miss it, he has his name on the door.’
‘Brilliant, and thanks again for your help, Medea.’
She flashed him another smile, ‘My pleasure.’
The corridor turned out to be longer than anticipated; the walls lined with images of past teachers, from the Mr Chips model, with the round face and kind eyes, to one who resembled the child catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, crossed with Margaret Thatcher.
Standing in front of Fulcom’s office, he rapped on the door and waited.
17
As soon as he heard the van approaching, Bobby dropped the cigarette onto the cobbles, grinding it into oblivion with the heel of his boot. He’d managed to fill four heavy-duty sacks with soggy leaves and the place still looked as if it hadn’t been touched. Sliding the spade into the heap, he dropped more wet mush into the bag. Truth was he could have filled at least ten bags, but if Stan wanted to treat him like a lazy sod, then he might as well act like one.
The van shot through the gates in a cloud of dust and slid to a halt, he heard the door open and then slam shut. Bobby kept his head down and carried on shovelling.
‘Is that all you’ve bloody done!’
Bobby straightened and swiped an imaginary bead of sweat from his brow. ‘It’s not easy you know.’
Stan stamped towards him. ‘Give us that, you useless bastard,’ he snatched the spade and started to throw the leaves into the sack, grunting with the effort.
‘Did you get the blower working?’
Stan looked at him in disbelief. ‘Do you think I’d be doing this if I’d got the fucking thing going?’ he snarled.
Bobby shrugged, ‘I thought maybe you wanted a bit of exercise.’
Stan’s mouth came unhinged; the spade clattered to the ground. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Come on Stan, can’t you take a joke?’
They both heard the sound of the approaching car; Stan turned to the gate and checked his watch, his eyes widening in panic. Bobby bent and picked up the spade as Jansen swept through the gates – Stan turned and glared at the teenagers back.
‘You little shit,’ Stan hissed.
Finch ignored him and redoubled his efforts, shovelling the leaves as if his life depended on it.
Jansen climbed slowly from the car, his eyes sweeping around the courtyard, a look of incredulity plastered across his face.
Stan gritted his teeth and went on the offensive. ‘Before you say owt, the leaf blower’s buggered and you can’t say I didn’t warn you...’
‘So this is my fault is that what you’re telling me?’ Jansen snapped.
‘Well I told you it was playing up, I sent you one of them email things.’ Stan sounded pleased with himself, a silver surfer.
‘Get out!’ Jansen screamed.
‘You what?’
‘You’re sacked, Burrows, is that plain enough for you?’
‘You can’t sack me, I’ve done nothing.’
‘Precisely, you’re standing around as usual while someone else does all the work.’
‘But...’
‘Mr Jansen, I think you should take a look at this.’
Jansen and Burrows stood toe-to-toe, noses almost touching chests thrown out, fists bunched.
‘Mr Jansen!’
‘For god’s sake, Finch, what do you want?’ He spun around and saw the dress hanging from the blade of Finch’s spade, multi coloured, tie-dyed cheesecloth.
18
‘To tell you the truth I was wondering when you’d get around to paying me a visit.’
Fulcom’s office appeared like a swanky high-rise cube, the walls stark white, no pictures and no houseplants gracing the windowsill – the minimalist look. Fulcom sat in a black leather swivel chair behind a gleaming chrome desk, clutter free, apart from a Sony laptop.
‘I mean, I don’t really know what else I can tell you, other than I saw Kelly Ramsey leaving through the front door at eleven.’
‘Had you seen her during the evening?’
Fulcom shook his head and pushed his hands through his shoulder-length mousy brown hair. Considering he was the deputy head, he seemed to take a casual approach to dress, with his pale grey combat pants, blue T-shirt, and black waistcoat. He looked like the kind of person who would take disaffected youths on adventure weekends, show them what a cow looked like and get them to abseil down a cliff face.
‘Afraid not, the place was heaving and of course we are used to seeing the students in uniform and believe me they look completely different on prom night.’
‘More like adults?’
Fulcom smiled and shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t go that far, Sergeant, but certainly more,’ he paused, ‘mature.’
‘So why were you at the prom?’
He casually threw one leg over the other and for a moment, Lasser thought he was going to assume the lotus position. ‘It’s standard practice, with two other schools in attendance it pays to have a few responsible adults on call in case anything happens.’
‘I suppose when you have an all girl’s school coming into contact with the opposite sex it can be problematic?’
Fulcom laughed. ‘This isn’t the dark ages, Sergeant; our girls have plenty of outside interests.’
Lasser frowned. ‘Meaning what, exactly?’
‘Good God, man, how old are you, do I have to spell it out?’
Lasser felt something in his head slip; he didn’t like the man who sat opposite, supremely confident and self-assured, with his nonchalant attitude and designer stubble.
‘And when did you discover that Kelly was missing?’
‘Well I didn’t, at least not until the following morning. Of course, as soon as I heard, I contacted you guys, and...’ he shrugged.
‘So, the party went well, no trouble, no arguments?’
‘Oh, there were one or two spats, the usual stuff, but nothing that couldn’t be handled.’
‘And who was involved in these, spats?’
‘Well, I had to have a word with a girl called Sinclair...’
‘Rachael?’
‘Ah, I see you’ve heard of her.’ Fulcom uncrossed his legs, looked out of the window, and then took a deep breath as if performing some calming exercise.
‘So what happened?’
‘Nothing much, I caught her arguing with another girl...’
‘Do you know her name?’
Sorry I haven’t a clue; she must have been from one of the other schools.’
‘What were they arguing about?’
‘It was a party, Sergeant; I wasn’t going to get into anything heavy...’
Lasser blinked. ‘Heavy?’
Fulcom placed his hands on the desk and pushed, the swivel chair glided backwards towards the water cooler. ‘It costs almost four thousand pounds a term to study here; some might think that’s rather excessive.’ He filled a plastic cup and took a sip. ‘Nevertheless, these girls are treated as adults from the moment they step through the door. We furnish them with the tools they need to grow into successful individuals. What I’m trying to say, Sergeant, is that these girls are taught to debate and to fight for what they believe in. If they have a dispute then it’s thrashed out in a civilised manner, no fisticuffs,’ he jabbed out his fists as if shadow boxing, a wide smile on his face.
What a load of bollocks. ‘Well that sounds admirable, but you stated that the other girl wasn’t from this school, so how do you know she had the same morals you instil in your own students?’
The deputy head shrugged. ‘I don’t, but our pupils are more than capable of looking after themselves.’
‘You make this place sound id
yllic.’
Fulcom stood up. ‘We try, Sergeant.’
‘Surely though, you come across the occasional student who rebels?’
‘Why should they rebel? They get the best of everything, the best education, the latest equipment, treated with respect by their peers.’
‘What about outside influences?’
Fulcom hitched up his trousers and snapped the belt tight around his waist. Lasser knew there would be a six-pack hiding beneath, another reason to dislike the man. ‘From eight thirty till five these girls are in our care, what goes on after that is ultimately not our concern.’
‘You misunderstand me, Mr Fulcom. You see, when I mentioned outside influences I was talking about Rachael Sinclair.’
Fulcom snapped his head around. ‘What?’
‘Well, as I understand it, she only came to Claremont at the end of last term, before that she attended a very different kind of school.’
‘How do you know that?’ he spat, his eyes suddenly sparking with anger.
‘Why, is it a problem?’
Fulcom grabbed the chair and dragged it in front of him, as if using it as a barrier. ‘That’s confidential information and when I find out...’
Lasser bolted to his feet and leant across the desk. ‘This is an investigation into a missing girl, there’s no such thing as confidential information,’ he jabbed out a finger. ‘Kelly Ramsey was in your care when she went missing, so don’t talk to me about how sophisticated these girls are, at the end of the day, they’re still kids and you let her down.’
‘You can’t hold me responsible for what happened,’ Fulcom snapped and took a backward step, dragging the chair with him.
Lasser ignored him. ‘Now, why was Rachael Sinclair allowed into this place, why did she leave her last school and what were they arguing about?’
‘I want to see your superior officer.’
Lasser stood back as if he’d suddenly caught the scent of something distasteful. ‘Excuse me?’
Fulcom slid the chair under the table. ‘I refuse to be interrogated like this and I demand to see your superior.’
Lasser pulled out his phone. ‘Fine, I’ll give him a ring, but I have to tell you Fulcom, I don’t really rate your debating skills.’
