Brett.
She shook her head regretfully. 'It was a long time ago.'
'Was Mrs. Burton right?' Jonathan prompted. 'Was Priscilla the leader in the friendship?'
'Oh, yes. She was by far the stronger character. Also, it was she who started the truanting-afternoons at first, then whole days.'
'Every day? How long did it go on?'
Miss Brett considered for a moment. 'I can't be precise ... perhaps once or twice a week during the spring term. Both sets of parents were given warnings when we broke up for Easter, but I do remember the girls were absent for much of the first two weeks of the summer term. It ceased abruptly after the rape, although we only learned afterward that that was the cause. I'm afraid I assumed the sudden improvement was because of a letter I wrote to their fathers, threatening immediate expulsion if the behavior persisted.'
'When were the letters sent?'
'As far as I could judge from what the police told me, it was the same day as the rape. They failed to register again that morning, which is why I decided to take action.'
'And Louise just went along for the ride? She wasn't an instigator?'
Another pause for reflection. 'She was a strange child ... rather deceitful. I felt she maligned Priscilla to the police. It was a damning picture she painted. A violent, promiscuous, out-of-control teen who hated her parents, truanted to have sex with boys and used threats to make other children do what she wanted. There may have been elements of truth in it-Priscilla was big for her age and she could retaliate strongly when she was teased-but she wasn't a bully, not by my understanding of the word, anyway. She was a magnet to smaller, shyer children, but I don't recall her being unkind to them ... rather the reverse, in fact; she tended to protect them.'
'William Burton said the police questioning frightened Louise. Perhaps she was trying to win sympathy?'
'Indeed,' said Miss Brett with an ascerbic edge to her voice. 'It was certainly her character. She was prone to tears and fainting and wouldn't look you in the eye when she spoke to you-quite the opposite of Priscilla, who squared up and tried to battle her way out of it. It didn't mean Louise had no hand in the mischief, merely that her friend took the punishment for both of them.'
'As in the rape?'
'I would think so.'
'And the fight that caused Priscilla's suspension?'
'Yes. That was very typical of Louise. I was told by their teacher that she'd been whispering in Priscilla's ear all morning, but Louise insisted it was the other way round-that Priscilla had been trying to persuade her to truant again and attacked her when she refused.'
'What did Priscilla say?'
'Nothing,' said the woman regretfully. 'I warned her she'd be suspended if she didn't give me an explanation, I even suggested it was Louise who'd provoked her-' she sighed again-'but she wasn't prepared to lie.'
'Unlike Louise.'
'Mm.'
'Do you think with hindsight she was teasing Priscilla about the rape?' George put in.
'Oh, yes.'
'It would suggest a cruel streak, if she were ... either that or a complete lack of imagination.'
Miss Brett thought for a moment. 'As to being cruel ... well, possibly. She was certainly very pleased about Priscilla's suspension. But I've never met a deceitful child who lacked imagination,' she finished with a small smile. 'Telling stories against one's peers rather demands it, don't you think?'
*13*
SANDBANKS PENINSULA, BOURNEMOUTH
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 23, 2003, MORNING
Billy Burton had been sitting in his elderly Renault station wagon for over an hour watching the Fletchers' house for signs of life. It was getting on for two weeks since he'd passed the Bristol detective agency's address to Georgina Gardener, and he'd given up hope that she'd done anything about it. He wore a baseball cap over his thinning hair and a pair of cheap, black-rimmed reading glasses from Boots to break up his face. On the steering wheel in front of him was an open file of documents which he was pretending to study, but as time went by he became increasingly nervous that someone would mistake him for a thief and call the police.
The house was in a side street behind Panorama Road, where property prices were exorbitant because of the uninterrupted views of Poole Harbor and Brownsea Island but, even without a view, Billy would have been surprised if the Spanish-style, balconied villa he was watching was worth less than a million pounds. He'd read somewhere that the Sandbanks Peninsula commanded the fourth highest price per square foot of land in the world, with only Tokyo, Hong Kong and London's Belgravia coming in more expensive. But why this should be so was a complete mystery to him. Given the choice, he'd prefer a property on Malibu Beach in California, where the weather was temperate all the year round.
He hunkered down in his seat as a car cruised past, his heart beating fiercely. This was crazy. Celebrities bought weekend retreats here-half the houses were empty for months on end. He'd probably been under surveillance from a CCTV camera. Who the hell was this Fletcher guy and how could he afford to live cheek by jowl with pop stars and footballers? It didn't make sense. Every inquiry Billy had made had come up blank. 'Never heard of him...' 'Sorry...' 'If he's on Sandbanks, he's out of my league, mate...' 'What does he do?'
