by Nic Roberts
His hands gripped and released the sides of the podium he stood at. His bright red hair stuck straight out of his head, an even brighter beard drawing attention away from the bald spot atop his crown. His large height meant he had to hunch over the podium somewhat. He certainly gave off the impression that he was simply put, a gentle giant. Perhaps it was an act—though for now, he didn’t give any reason to think otherwise.
“So, without any further ado,” he continued, “I’d like to hand this meeting over to Detective Inspector Lawrence.”
The crowd stirred at the mention of a detective. A couple of students tried to stand, seemingly to skirt out of the auditorium, but teachers quickly had them sit back down, and Olivia made a mental note of them.
Lawrence, however, looked incredibly nervous as he stepped forward towards the podium. He looked professional enough, what with his black tailored trousers, white shirt and skinny black tie. His black suit jacket seemed to weigh him down under the bright lights of the stage, and Olivia was struck by the fact that he was indeed quite stiff. He cleared his throat as he looked out into the audience of teenagers. Olivia wanted to coax him forward slightly more, encourage him that he was doing a good job. Instead, she just let herself watch the crowd, keeping an eye out for any anomalies.
“Uh, hello everyone,” Lawrence spoke, leaning into the microphone. A couple of snickers echoed throughout the hall. Otherwise, everything was perfectly still. The calm before the storm, Olivia thought to herself.
“I’m here today with my partner, Detective Inspector Austin.” Lawrence gestured back to Liv, who kept her eyes firmly scanning the crowd, arms crossed. “We’re here because we have some unfortunate news to share with you all.” He paused to set the intrigue. “Over the weekend, one of your teachers, Simon Fisher, sadly passed away.”
The hall was still for a split second as the crowd processed the news. Before the quiet could fully settle, sound and movement erupted seemingly from every which way. Some teens yelled “what?” while others laughed. Whether it was out of disdain for Mr. Fisher or disbelief that something had happened to him, she couldn’t be sure. Even more students turned to their friends, the shock in their eyes clear even from Olivia’s perspective on the stage.
Olivia noticed a blonde-haired girl towards the back wail after a moment of reflection. Her friend hugged her shoulders tightly, seemingly speaking words of reassurance, although the blonde girl seemed utterly inconsolable. Another girl with dark brown hair stood up and rushed past one of the teachers guarding the hall. Before the teacher could stop her, she had slipped out, anger written plainly on her face.
An athletic-looking boy stood up and practically spat out the word “good!” The crowd burst into more noise at that. While some of the teachers seemed a bit upset, they all maintained impressive composure.
“Students, please,” Lawrence practically yelled into the microphone. “A moment of your time.” The ruckus calmed to a murmur. “I understand that this can be deeply upsetting news, especially if you’ve had Mr. Fisher as a teacher.” The crowd was giving Lawrence more and more of their attention. Good job, partner, Olivia wanted to call out.
“There are some grief counsellors who have come to the school today. If you feel like you need to speak with a professional, please feel free to schedule an appointment with one of them.” The crowd was nearly silent at that. “Additionally, if you feel you have any information about Mr. Fisher, DI Austin and I will be at the school for most of the day and are happy to meet with you. We’ll also post the number you can call if you’d like to report anything anonymously. Your privacy and confidentiality will absolutely be our utmost priority.” Lawrence had evened himself out after his shaky introduction, that was certain.
“How’d he die?” a boy called out from the crowd.
“The medical examiner has not ruled on Mr Fisher’s death yet,” he replied, ever the diplomat. “That being said, we’re treating his death as suspicious. Past that, I am not able to comment.”
The crowd was getting out of hand again. More teens were crying, and a fair number seemed to become belligerent.
“Detective Austin and I will be set up in Room 207, one of the IT rooms, throughout the day. Again, please do not hesitate to reach out, either to us or any of the grief counsellors. Thank you all for your time,” Lawrence wrapped up, stepping back from the podium so that Principal Hargraves could attempt to quell their audience. Students were starting to stand in large droves though, ready to escape the claustrophobic hall.
“Great job, partner,” Olivia muttered as she and Lawrence exited out the back of the stage.
“You’re just saying that,” Lawrence shot back, wringing his hands.
“I’m not,” Olivia assured him. They quickly headed down the back hallway, towards the room Principal Hargraves had set up as their home base of operations for the day. “Teenagers are difficult. You managed to wrangle an unruly crowd and do it with grace. Seriously.” She made a point to look intensely at Lawrence with that last statement.
He sighed.
“Kids exhaust the fuck out of me.” He sighed again, wiping his hands against his trousers.
“You and me both, Lawrence.” Olivia chuckled. “Lucky for us, we get to spend the rest of the day surrounded by them.”
11
It had been an exhausting day of interviews. An initial rush of students eager to speak had bolted from the hall to the makeshift interview room, resulting in a line halfway down the corridor. Most of them just wanted to tell the detectives something they already knew—Mr. Fisher was on the ‘outs’ with his wife, or he was practically to the point of insignificance within the school community. Olivia got the sense that mostly they just wanted to feel like they were involved in some way. It made sense, really; it was a perfectly natural response to learning of a questionable death.
A couple of teens mentioned other peers who struggled in Mr. Fisher’s class. There was one student who had apparently made a somewhat vague threat to him during class, although Olivia was sceptical that a tiff in the classroom warranted stalking Simon to his flat and committing such intense overkill. It was hard to tell, though, so they still wrote his name down.
Before they had commenced interviews, Olivia took a moment to phone Hargraves and ask him about the three students she had noticed in the immediate aftermath of the news breaking: the crying blonde girl, the brunette who had stormed off, and the idiot who’d yelled ‘good’ at the news of Fisher’s demise. Hargraves immediately assured Olivia that he would track them down and send them to Olivia and Lawrence. He also promised to bring the information that she had requested from the secretary.
The boy was brought in first. Hargraves practically shoved him into the room then bolted over to Olivia to drop a manila folder before leaving, giving the teen one last warning glare.
From the corner of the room, the appropriate adult, a woman called Bev, braced herself for unruly behaviour.
The shouter had a mop of blonde hair atop his pretty face and cocky blue eyes like no one else. He leaned against the back wall, facing the detectives without engaging. Olivia eyed him closely.
“What’s your name?” Lawrence asked after Hargraves had left the room. The boy sulked in the back of the room, his arms crossed. “I’ll wait.”
“Harry,” he responded eventually. He wouldn’t make eye contact with either detective.
“Harry…” Olivia coaxed, looking up expectantly from her notepad.
“Price.” He sighed. “Harry Price.”
“Well, Harry Price, it’s nice to meet you. Thank you for coming,” Lawrence spoke. He gestured to the chair across from himself and Olivia. “I’d like to introduce Bev over here. She’s just going to make sure you’re okay. Please. Have a seat.”
“I’d rather not,” Harry grumbled.
“Suit yourself,” Lawrence sighed.
“So, Harry, have you ever had Mr. Fisher as a teacher?” Olivia asked. She figured it was a good warmup question. The
boy shook his head.
“Really?” Olivia let scepticism coat her words. “Because I saw and heard you shout ‘good’ when you learned that Mr. Fisher had passed away. Would you like to explain that?”
The boy was shifting back and forth, trying to figure out a configuration that would make him comfortable. They sat in silence for a moment, Olivia giving him time to decide if he wanted to answer.
“Will you please answer the question, Harry?” Lawrence asked.
“I—” Harry started, but the word died in his throat before he could finish it.
“You what?” Olivia asked, mimicking Harry’s crossed arms. It was one of her favourite interview techniques: mirror the person you’re speaking with so that they feel more inclined to speak with you. “C’mon, there’s got to be a good reason for a kid like you to be happy a man’s dead.”
He glanced at Bev, who nodded gently.
“I’m not a kid,” Harry protested, his eyebrows furrowed. Olivia knew his type too well. The popular boy. The kind who was good at everything, never short of female attention, and most probably the class joker. If only they could see him now.
“Really?” Lawrence pushed without getting too aggressive. Smart. “How old are you then?”
“Seventeen,” Harry retorted, puffing his chest a bit. “And I said ‘good’ because I meant it. I’m glad the bastard’s dead.”
The detectives exchanged looks. So, he was a sixth former. That explained the lack of uniform.
“Why is that, Harry?” Olivia coaxed. “Obviously, you want someone to know that you don’t like Mr. Fisher, otherwise, you wouldn’t have made such a show back in the hall.”
The three of them looked at each other as Olivia’s words sunk in. Harry glanced to the detectives directly for the first time since entering the room before hunching back into his casual pose against the wall. You’re scared, Olivia wanted to say. Everything in his body language suggested an intense nervousness. He was masking it in nonchalance, but even from a distance, she could tell that his breathing had quickened since Hargraves had deposited him in the room.
“You can’t tell her that I told you,” Harry half whispered, craning his neck to peer above the detectives. He was practically squirming. Her? Olivia gave Lawrence another look. He met her glance in perfect synchronicity.
“Well, Harry, that depends on what you’re about to share with us,” Olivia explained cautiously. “We can do our best to be discreet, but if it’s a matter of physical safety, I can’t make promises that we won’t contact anyone else regarding the matter.”
“It’s a safe space to talk,” Bev piped up, leaning forward on her chair.
Harry bounced his back against the wall, drumming the drywall with his palm.
“Please, Harry,” Lawrence urged. “If he hurt someone you know, you need to tell us so we can help her heal.”
Harry’s eyes shot to meet with Dean’s as the detective spoke.
“What do you know about Mr. Fisher hurting anyone?” the teen asked, voice suddenly a bit higher. He sounded alarmed as he asked. He’d been trying to hide something, but Lawrence and Olivia had found it.
“That it’s possible that Mr. Fisher wasn’t the great relaxed teacher that everyone thought he was,” Lawrence replied, trying to stay vague.
Harry cleared his throat.
“Well. You should know…” He was struggling to find the words. “My sister, Emma, she had him as a teacher.”
Olivia gave Lawrence a side glance before jotting Emma Price in her notepad. Could this be the lead they needed in the case?
“Did Fisher hurt your sister, Harry?” Olivia focused her eyes on the boy as she asked. He still did his best to avoid her gaze.
“No. Well… Kind of. She definitely got some weird vibes from him when she was in year 11,” Harry started to explain. “See, Emma doesn’t do reading too well; she’s dyslexic. At first, Fisher was great about helping her with her schoolwork, making sure she didn’t fall behind and whatnot. She’s always relieved when she finds a good teacher like that. Until…” Alex cleared his throat again, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.
“Did he try something?” Lawrence asked.
Olivia glanced to her partner. Don’t lead him too much, she wanted to urge him. Still, she could tell that Harry was still hesitant to talk more.
“He offered to help her study on a Saturday. Gave her an address, only—only it was his place, you see?” Harry explained.
Olivia tried her best not to let her jaw open. Was Simon Fisher really so bold as to blatantly invite a student to his flat?
“As soon as she realised that it wasn’t a library or a coffee shop, she scarpered the hell away from there. He tried to act like it wasn’t anything weird, but Emma knew that he was covering his arse too hard for someone with innocent intentions.” Harry had transitioned to cupping his eyes in his palm, rubbing slow concentric circles into them.
“I’m so sorry.” Olivia exhaled, wanting to console this child stood in front of her, because essentially, that was what he was and what he had been when it happened. She could see the burden of that secret etched into his tense shoulders, his drooping posture. “Do you think Emma would be comfortable coming in and giving a statement?” Harry dropped his hand to look at the detectives at that comment, quickly shaking his head.
“Please—she can’t know that I told you.” His voice was panicked. “She’s been trying to put it behind her, forget what he did.”
Olivia sighed.
“I can’t promise that we won’t talk to her, but I can promise you that if we do, she won’t know it came from you. Maybe we found a diary entry or something. Is that enough of a compromise, Harry?” she enquired.
Harry stood silently, indecision painted across his face.
“How old is Emma?” Lawrence piped up, glancing between them.
“She’s my twin,” Harry blurted out. “We’ll be out of Newquay soon, and on to bigger and better things.” A smile crept across his face as he talked about putting his hometown behind him.
Not our girl, Lawrence seemed to say with his fresh glance to Olivia. She nodded. Seventeen was certainly too old for Fisher’s affair, and it seemed like Emma had gotten away from him fairly quickly. If Lydia’s story was to be believed, Fisher’s victim had been seeing him for some time—not a singular attempt at his flat.
“And when did this incident occur?” Lawrence asked.
“About a year ago. No—a year and a half ago, actually,” Harry replied, continuing to fidget against the wall.
“Thank you for speaking with us, Mr. Price. I know that wasn’t easy.” Olivia began to wrap up the meeting. “Is there anything else that you’d like to tell us about Mr. Fisher?”
Harry glanced over to the wall of empty computers before turning back to them.
“Only that I hope the prick rots in hell,” he spat out, emboldened as he spoke of his disdain. His features were clearly etched in anger.
Olivia wasn’t sure it was enough to incite deadly violence against the English teacher, though, but she made a mental note of it, nonetheless.
“Understood. You may return to class, Mr. Price.” The blonde-haired boy bolted out of the room before Olivia had the chance to finish saying his name.
“Well then,” Lawrence sighed, looking over to Olivia. “That was interesting.”
“Agreed,” she responded. “There definitely was an escalation from Emma's instance to whoever his 15-year-old victim’s experience ended up being.”
“Plus, the fact that nearly two years ago, he’d already been so emboldened as to invite a student over to his flat?” Lawrence let out a heavy sigh. “That complicates things, don’t you think? It might mess with our timeline.”
Olivia didn’t have the opportunity to respond before the brunette who had stormed off earlier sullenly marched into the room. Principal Hargraves peered in from the hallway, silently gesturing that it was, in fact, the girl that Olivia had brought up previously.
“She’s requested to speak to you both alone...” he added, glancing at Bev.
“Um...” Liv looked at the trained appropriate adult, who jumped up realising it was her they were talking about. “I mean, would that be okay?”
Bev turned to the teen and gave her an encouraging smile.
“I’m here to make sure everything goes as it should,” she explained. “Everything you say here is confidential, of course.”
The girl shook her head.
“Would you prefer me to wait outside?” Bev pressed. “I can do that.”
The teen nodded slowly, and the AA pulled her bag over her shoulder and picked up her folder.
“I’ll be in the corridor if you need me,” she whispered to the detectives.
Olivia gave her a reluctant thumbs up, at which point she disappeared out of the room with the headteacher. In an attempt to avoid a petulant sigh, Olivia let herself take in a deep breath and hold it for a moment.
“Hello there,” Dean said first. “I’m Detective Inspector Lawrence, this is Detective Inspector Austin. And you are?” He perked up as he spoke to the teen girl who shrunk into the chair opposite them.
“Francesca Atkinson,” she muttered, slouching further.
“It’s nice to meet you Francesca.” Lawrence smiled. “Do you know why you’re here? Was there a reason you didn’t want another adult present for this conversation?”
“Dunno,” she shrugged, picking at her nails.
Olivia leaned forward, interlacing her fingers with her elbows propped on her knees. Don’t pull away like that, she wanted to scold the brunette. There was a forced distance to Francesca’s body language, like she was trying to give off an aloof air when in fact she was puppeteering the whole scene.
“When we announced to the school that Mr. Fisher had passed away, you stormed off, quite upset,” Olivia observed. She charted every inch of Francesca’s face, looking for any sign of emotion. There was the tiniest flinch, which Francesca quickly covered with a smirk.
