by P. Wish
“I wouldn’t bother. You’d know it’s a lie.”
“You were shot.”
“Something like that.”
“When did this happen?”
“You’re concerned.”
“Gary, we worked together for fifteen years and we were ‘lovers’ for two of those. And, for the record, we never broke up officially. I think I should be concerned,” Jane said.
“In London, before we broke up, unofficially,” he said with a smile.
“That’s why you left for Exeter without meeting me,” Jane said. “There’s no way you can go back to London again, is there?”
Gary nodded. “The countryside is actually quite refreshing.”
“You hated the country.”
“It’s grown on me.”
Gary took a step towards her and leaned in closer. His voice dropped.
“Jane, you were in line for a promotion. You always wanted that. Why did you quit?”
“Priorities change. I thought I’d retire while I still had the chance,” Jane said.
Detective Myers stepped aside, and Jane walked towards the door that led to the garden.
“And be a teacher?”
Jane smiled. “It’s a nice profession. No late nights, no criminals hunting you down, no gunshots—”
“And no excitement,” he finished for her. “No rush of adrenaline, no sleepless nights.”
Detective Myers crossed his hands over his chest. To Jane it looked like he was not buying it. But, she didn’t try to convince him because she didn’t want to tell him about Charlie’s death. He’d find out in due course.
“How long have you been working here?” he asked. Jane heard the rustle of papers behind her back.
“You’re questioning me,” she noted.
“I’m doing my job,” he said, a coy smile touching his lips. He pulled out his badge and flashed it at her. That got an involuntary smile from her. He raised his head to examine the structure of the dormitory.
“I moved in this weekend,” Jane said, shifting her weight to her right foot. She followed his gaze to the second floor.
“Did you notice anything strange?”
“I haven’t been here long enough to notice anything,” she said.
“Mr. Greene’s room is next to yours,” Detective Myers reminded her.
“I was busy moving in. I assumed he wasn’t back from the Easter break,” she said.
“So you knew he wasn’t in?”
“The room was very quiet and I never heard anybody open or close the door. I didn’t think anyone lived there. I even tried knocking once, but nobody answered the door.”
“What about the other rooms?”
Jane took a step towards the entrance. “The rooms on this floor aren’t occupied,” she said. “Except mine, of course.”
“You were at the scene today morning,” Detective Myers said. “Before I was.”
“You were late.”
He suppressed a smile. That was exactly what Jane had told him on their first assignment together. Since then, there had been many. “What were you doing at the lake?”
“I lost my way,” she said.
“You don’t have a map?”
Jane shook her head.
“All right.”
“What did you think I was doing?” Jane bit out.
“Doing your job,” he said. “As a detective.”
“I retired a year ago,” Jane reminded him, a tremor in her voice.
“Oh, yeah? Then why did you secure the area with branches, examine the body, find the mobile phone and wait for me?”
“I wasn’t waiting for you,” Jane said.
His eyes remained fixed on her. “Jane, a detective never retires.”
Before she could react, he began to ascend the stairs. Jane stood there for a moment, watching his back disappear into the corridor. The warm glow of nostalgia faded when he disappeared out the main door.
At 7:30 p.m., Jane stood in the dining hall. Her eyes immediately darted to the grand glass chandelier that hung on the ceiling. Layers of glass sparkled like diamonds in the warm glow of the yellow bulb. The sound of voices buzzed in the hall. Students filled the long wooden tables, chatting and whispering the latest news.
The dining hall was warm because of so many students in a limited space. Jane dragged her feet across the wooden floor and stood at the hot food counter. Long wooden tables with chairs were fixed in six long lines across the dining hall. A wreath hung near the bread counter. Bread, soup and salad sat on a long counter. There were at least ten varieties of bread, three of soup and fifteen of salad. She swallowed her saliva. St. Anne’s was an elite school, and it showed. Jane walked past the dessert section filled with inviting cakes and cookies into an extension of the kitchen. A buffet of hot dishes was spread out on a table covered with a red tablecloth. The inviting aroma of food wafted up her nostrils. Becoming a teacher hadn’t been a bad idea after all.
Students in sweatpants and sweaters hung around the buffet table. Jane pulled out a porcelain plate from the stand and walked to the hot food counter. She met the gaze of a five-foot-eight-inch man dressed in a white coat and a chef’s hat. He had a spiky black beard and large eyes. He leaned over.
“A new face,” he remarked, surveying Jane. He had coffee-colored skin, large black eyes and curly black hair that sprung out of the chef’s hat. She flashed a smile, trying to balance the plate in her hand.
“Good evening,” Jane said. She extended her arm. “I’m Jane.”
Placing the tub of food on the counter, the chef shook her hand.
“Myself, Hari Kalra. I am the head chef here,” he said.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Kalra,” Jane said. Jane leaned in to have a look at the hot food spread out over six silver containers. “So, Chef, what do you recommend?”
“The honey-glazed chicken breast is today’s highlight,” he said. Jane searched the buffet for the dish and spooned some onto her plate. The aroma filled her nostrils.
“I’ve never seen you around,” he said, his large dark eyes fixed on her.
“Oh, I’m the new biology teacher. I moved in just yesterday. Call me Jane, Mr. Kalra,” Jane said.
“Call me Hari.” It was a subtle reminder that Jane was middle-aged now.
“Welcome to St. Anne’s, Jane,” he said. “How was your first day?”
I smiled.
“What happened this morning…” Jane said.
“It is scary,” Mr. Kalra said. “And sad.”
“Ummm…”
“I was shocked,” Hari said, closing his eyes and emphatically nodding his head.
“Ummmm…” Jane said in a low voice. “Were you and Mr. Greene close?”
“Not really. But he’s been here for four years and…you tend to form bonds with people when you see them around.”
“How long have you been at St. Anne’s?” Jane asked.
“A little over four years. I joined six months before he did.”
“I see.”
“I feel bad about what happened. It was so sudden. I never expected something like this to happen at St. Anne’s…not since—” He stopped.
“Since?”
“It’s a long story,” he said.
“Robert Brown,” Jane said, filling the uncomfortable silence with even more uncomfortable words. Chef Kalra nodded his head.
“You know?”
“I heard.”
“Well, it’s an old story. I’m sure it’ll all get sorted out soon.” The bright light from the chandelier was reflected in his large black eyes. “I need to get back to the kitchen. See you around,” he said.
Jane waved goodbye to him and moved to the bread counter.
The door opened, and Mrs. Wolverhampton entered the dining hall. She wore a grey wool dress with black stockings and white hair that was pulled back. Her bony legs moved across the floor.
“She doesn’t look well,” one of the boys near Jane muttered with a sigh, his eyes follo
wing her across the room.
“Mrs. Wolverhampton?” Jane said to herself.
“I heard parents have been calling the school. She’s under a lot of stress,” a mellow voice said.
Mrs. Wolverhampton strode to the bread and soup counter. The line at the buffet table grew longer.
Hari walked towards Mrs. Wolverhampton and greeted her with a smile. Her fragile fingers waved at him weakly, the shadow of a smile crossing her lips. Hari waved back and disappeared into the kitchen. Jane filled her plate and turned to the line of tables, approaching Mrs. Wolverhampton, who stood a few inches away from her.
“Good evening,” Jane greeted Mrs. Wolverhampton, who blinked her eyelashes and nodded.
“How was your first day?” she asked.
“I enjoyed it. I think I can learn a lot here.”
“Great. Good.” Mrs. Wolverhampton poured some soup onto her plate. Jane stared at it. “Oh dear,” she said, clicking her tongue.
“Is—”
“Go ahead. I’m a little slow today,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said, hurriedly walking towards the garbage can. Chef Kalra walked towards her, trying to help her with the dishes.
Mrs. Wolverhampton proceeded back to the soup counter. Jane walked over to an empty spot and sat down on a chair behind a group of students. Her back was to them, but she could hear what they were saying.
“Did you see the detective?”
“Why is he here?”
“My mum’s worried. She thinks it’s a murder.”
“A murder? But he drowned.”
“Don’t you know he had a knife?”
“He was…what?”
“He was holding a knife when they found him.”
“But it wasn’t used?”
“No.”
“That’s very strange. How do you know?”
“I heard the detective telling Mrs. Wolverhampton about it. He also seemed to have some scars.”
“He suspects foul play.”
“Whoa.”
“Is that why Mrs. Wolverhampton looks as pale as she does?”
“I don’t know about that.”
Across from Jane, a petite, shadowy figure emerged. She had an oval face with small black eyes and straight black hair. Her skin was reddish due to the cold. Though she looked not a day over thirty, her fashion sense gave her age away. A thick brown skirt, a pair of black stockings, a beige cardigan and a pair of reading glasses all added to her age. She looked to be Jane’s age. She carried her tray towards Jane and approached the seat across from her.
“I’m Jane—the new biology teacher.”
The stranger across the table surveyed her with a calm gaze.
“Nice to meet you, Jane,” she remarked, examining Jane. “I’m Sakura Maeda. I teach maths.”
“Mrs. Wolverhampton told me about you earlier today,” Jane said.
“Oh yeah, I’m in charge of the dorm duty chart. Do you have any preferred days for dorm duty?”
“No,” Jane said.
“If you remember something, let me know. Do you have my number?”
Jane handed Mrs. Maeda her phone. She keyed in her phone number and gave it back to Jane. “You’ve got it now. Give me a call if you need any help with the keys or the dorm schedule.”
“You’ve got all the keys?”
“Actually, no. Mr. McEwan has them, but I can ask him to get them for you.”
“So, he’s got access to all the rooms?”
“Something like that. He fixes things around here and does the gardening. That’s why he needs to have access to all the keys.”
“How long has he been here?”
“Oh, more than a decade. Everybody knows him.”
“Have you been at St. Anne’s for a long time?” Jane asked, pushing her peas around on her plate.
“Six years. Time flies,” Mrs. Maeda said.
“Do you like it here?”
“It’s a nice place…you know, peaceful and calm,” she explained. “I’ve gotten used to the pace of life here.”
Jane nodded and ate some of her carrots.
“Where can I find the dorm duty schedule?”
“I’m working on the schedule. You can find it on the online system. Log in using your teacher ID and password and it should be on that page. I know this might all appear new, but at St. Anne’s, we use the latest technology. Don’t worry if it takes you some time to get used to it.”
Mrs. Maeda leaned in closer. “I’m sorry about what happened this morning,” she said. “It must’ve shocked you.”
Jane nodded, knowing that Mrs. Maeda was referring to Mr. Greene’s death. “Yeah.”
“It’s really sudden.”
“Did you know him?”
“I did. We were in the same department,” Mrs. Maeda said. “We made lesson plans together. He was a very helpful colleague.” Her tone dipped. “He was a good man. I’ll miss him.”
Jane sensed longing in those words. Her eyes trailed to her phone, which buzzed that every instant. Her eyes moved across the hall to the clock. “Oh. I need to go.”
“It was nice meeting you, Jane. See you around,” Mrs. Maeda said. She picked up her tray and left.
Jane took a bite of her food. The fork and knife clanked on the porcelain plate. She noticed that Mrs. Wolverhampton was already done, making her way out the door. Jane finished eating and put the tray back. She grabbed her coat and walked out of the dining hall.
The cold wind blew in her face. Easter was already over, but the temperatures refused to rise. Jane pulled her coat tighter and began her journey back to the teachers’ dormitory.
At 9:30 p.m., Jane stood before something that looked like the teachers’ dormitory. In the dark, all the buildings looked the same to her. The gothic architecture was beginning to paint a spooky picture. She walked to the main door, hoping she had finally arrived at the right building. Two words were carved on the arch above the door: St. Mark’s.
St. Mark’s was the boys’ dorm. She was in the wrong place. Jane backed away from the revival Gothic-style building that spanned five floors and many acres.
She heard muffled sobs that echoed in the darkness, and breaths in the distance. Jane moved towards the source of the sounds, crossing behind the back of the building. It was dark under the huge building. She saw three silhouettes in the darkness, two of them hovering over the third. All of the appeared to be male.
Jane’s shadow extended to the bottom of the hill, startling the boys. Noticing her, the two boys that were standing fled. Jane waited for the third to disappear, but he remained crouched in the grass.
When he didn’t move for a few seconds, Jane hurried towards him. The lamps on the edges of the path illuminated the boy’s face. He had a scratch on his cheek which was bleeding. She recognized him from the lesson that morning. He was the boy who had been seated in the last row. The quiet one. His eyes were as dark as the night.
“Are you okay?” she asked, trying not to startle the boy. She took slow, soft steps towards him. The light from the dormitory fell on his face. His face was pale and lined with sweat. There was a scratch at the base of his chin. He turned his dark brown eyes away, jerking his jaw. Jane’s eyes drifted to a row of brown marks that ran vertically down his right arm. Some of them were scars, some scabs and some were still red. Jane swallowed her saliva and met his eyes. She touched his arm. He immediately backed away.
“What happened?” Jane asked, glancing in the direction of the boys who had just left.
He was silent.
“Why are you here? What happened?” she asked. The boy’s fingers dug into his stomach.
“I fell down,” he said in a low whisper. The preferred excuse of abuse victims. He supported his body with his arm and stood up. Jane saw another bruise on his forehead.
“How did you get that?” she asked, pointing to his head.
“I—I fell down,” he said again.
Jane started into the distance, looking for a sign of the other two boys. �
��Did they do something?”
“No! No…nothing happened. I’m okay,” the boy said in a shaky voice. His knees wouldn’t straighten and his back was hunched. He limped away from her. When Jane inched closer, he backed away.
“You need help—”
“I’m fine. I fell down,” he said with a finality in his voice. Jane let him leave.
He limped to the dorm. The door closed behind him with a beep. As Jane watched him disappear, the brown hair and the puny frame hit her. She was reminded of her Charlie. Her son, Charlie. A slideshow of images crossed her mind. They reminded her of her failure—the failure that was burned into the reel of her memory. A year and a half after the incident, the guilt remained.
She blinked the images away. A chill was beginning to creep into the spring air. Jane stood on the damp soil, breathing the crisp country air. Her feet began to trace their way back, and five minutes later, she found her way to the teachers’ dormitory, which was called St. Peter’s. She swiped her card, and the door opened. She walked down the warm corridor, the conversation from five years ago playing in her mind.
She reached her room and opened the door. The mess on the ground greeted her. Pushing the boxes and bubble wrap to one side, she lay on the bed. She turned the lights off and stared at the ceiling. Before crossing over to the subconscious part of her mind, she thought about it.
Gary’s words rang in the darkness: A detective never retires.
Chapter 2
Once you get a scar, it never goes away. The wound changes color, the scab falls off and the pain fades, but the scar always remains. We all come with different stories and different scars. It’s a part of who we are.
—Robert Brown
April 9, 2002
The first person Jane saw on Tuesday morning was Gary Myers. On her way to class, she bumped into him as he entered the building with her. He wore his blue waterproof jacket and an aloof expression. Jane’s eyes met his. Both of them walked to Mrs. Wolverhampton’s office and stood outside it. She took a step back. He moved closer. Their gazes locked. Jane pulled her pen out of her pants pocket and held it before her body defensively. Their eyes met. Before Jane could say anything, he spoke.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, his raspy tenor aggravated by the cold weather. A faint aroma of blueberry muffin and coffee wafted in the air.
