as far as her literary taste.
Under the flap, Deborah had taped a photograph of a scruffy pop star Banks didn’t recognize.
Dr. Green saw it and said, with a smile, “We discourage such things, but what can you do?”
Banks nodded. Then he examined the desk surface to see if Deborah had carved any initials, the way he had at school. Again, nothing. Strongly discouraged, no doubt.
“Thanks,” he said to Dr. Green. “Can we have a word with Megan Preece now? Is she here?”
Dr. Green nodded. After stopping back at her office for their raincoats and her umbrella, she led them outside.
“Where are we going?” Banks asked.
“The school infirmary. That’s where Megan is. I’m afraid she had rather a nasty turn when I broke the news in assembly this morning.”
II
The brick shattered the vicarage window at nine-thirty that morning, waking Rebecca from the uneasy doze she had slipped into after taking three aspirin and a glass of water.
At first she lay there terrified, fearing that someone had broken in. Then, slowly, so as not to make the bedsprings creak, she sat up, ears pricked for any sounds. But nothing came.
She put on her dressing-gown and looked out of the bedroom window. Nothing but the drizzle on the trees and graves, and policemen in capes searching the grounds. She tiptoed downstairs, and when she got to the front room she saw the damage.
Shards of glass lay all over the floor, and some had even got as far as the sofa and coffee-table. The brick had clearly been thrown from the river path, beyond the small garden, an area that was unguarded because it didn’t provide access to the graveyard.
The brick had bounced off the coffee-table and ended up in the far corner by the sideboard. It had a piece of paper wrapped around it, fixed by a rubber band. Slowly, Rebecca bent, picked up the brick and unfolded the paper:
Once you let the devil into your heart he will corrupt every cell in your body and this is what has happened it is clear. You must confess your sins. It is the only way. Or else we must take things into our own hands.
Someone knocked at the back door. Crumpling the note in her pocket, Rebecca gathered her dressing-gown around her and went to see who it was.
“Is everything all right, ma’am?” asked one of the uniformed constables who had been searching the graveyard. “I thought I heard breaking glass.”
“You did,” Rebecca said. “But everything’s fine. Just a little domestic accident.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Rebecca started closing the door on him. “Thank you, everything’s fine.” When she had shut the door she leaned her back against it and listened. In a few seconds, she heard his footsteps going along the path.
She took out a dustpan and broom and busied herself sweeping up the glass, wondering what she could use to cover the broken window before she caught a chill and died. Maybe that would be best for everyone, she thought. It would be very fitting, too. Hadn’t Emily Bronte died after catching a chill at her brother’s funeral? But no. She wasn’t going to give the miserable, mean-spirited bastards the satisfaction.
Just as she was trying to tape up a piece of cardboard over the window, the phone rang.
“Can you talk?” the familiar voice asked.
“Patrick. Yes. Yes, I can.”
“We’ve been given the day off, pupils and staff. That terrible business with the girl. It must have been especially awful for you. How are you bearing up?”
“Oh, not bad, I suppose.”
“Is Daniel…?”
“He’s out. Meeting in York. Said he couldn’t get out of it.”
“Could we see one another? I could come over.”
“I don’t know,” Rebecca said, feeling herself flush with desire like a silly schoolgirl as she spoke. “No, I don’t think we should. Not the way things are around here.”
“But I want you.”
Rebecca put her hand over the mouthpiece and took a deep breath.
“Don’t you want me?” he went on.
“Of course I want you, Patrick. You know I do. It’s just…there’s police all over the place.”
“We could go for a drive.”
Rebecca paused and looked around her. She couldn’t stay here, not with this mess, not after the threatening note; she would go insane. And she couldn’t deal with the police, either. On the other hand, the very thought of Patrick made her tingle. God, how she hated herself, hated the way her body could so easily betray her morality and her good intentions, how her defective conscience found ways of rationalizing it all.
“All right,” she said. “But you mustn’t come here. I mean it about the police. We shouldn’t be seen together.”
“I’ll pick you up at the-”
“No. Let’s meet at the hotel.” She looked at her watch. “There’s a bus at ten-fifteen.”
“All right. I’ll be waiting for you.”
III
“These are the dormitories for the boarding pupils,” Dr. Green pointed out as they walked through the school grounds. The two large buildings ahead were of far more recent construction than the main school building, redbrick for the most part, with some stone at their bases, functional rather than aesthetically pleasing. “As I said earlier, we have 286 boarders. They have showers, central heating, all the comforts the modern child requires. You’ll also notice we have installed a number of lamps along all the major pathways. They’re kept on until ten o’clock every night, by which time all the girls are expected to be in bed. This isn’t Lowood or Dotheboys, you realize. Parents spend a lot of money to send their children here.”
“Television?”
She smiled. “Yes, that too.”
“What’s that building over there?” Banks pointed through the trees to a three-storey rectangular building that seemed to be made of some sort of prefabricated concrete the color of porridge.
“That’s the staff residence, I’m afraid,” said Dr. Green. “Ugly isn’t it? Actually, it’s quite nice inside. The flats are quite spacious: living-room, bedroom, storage heaters. Luxury.”
“Who lives there, apart from you?”
“At the moment, six of the flats are occupied. It all depends. We have thirty members of staff, a very good ratio, and some of our teachers live in or near town. The flats are essentially for single members of staff who have recently moved into the area, or, as in my case, single teachers who want to maintain close contact with the school.” She tilted her umbrella and gave Banks a challenging glance from under the rim. “You asked me rather impertinently not so long ago whether I lived alone. The school is my life, Chief Inspector. I have neither the inclination nor the time for anyone or anything else.”
Banks nodded. Then he sneezed. Susan blessed him.
“Here we are,” Dr. Green went on, stepping under the porch of the dormitory and lowering her umbrella. She shook it carefully before rolling it up. “The infirmary is on the ground floor. We have one full-time nurse on staff and a local doctor on call.”
They walked down the hall and entered the infirmary. It smelled of disinfectant. After a brief word with the nurse, Dr. Green directed Banks and Susan towards a row of curtained cubicles, in one of which Megan Preece lay
