‘Hey yourself.’
He looked good. A bit thinner perhaps but that was no bad thing. She found a smile for him and sat upright in her chair. ‘You still here, then?’
‘They tried to get rid of me, kept coming back.’
‘Bit like me,’ she said.
Phil smiled, then looked round the room, as if aware that people might be staring. Marina was unsure how many people knew of their relationship or its ending and she felt herself blushing. She picked up the coffee mug to cover it, put it to her lips. Cold. She made a face, replaced it on the desk.
‘I’ll get you some fresh,’ he said.
‘Doesn’t matter. I doubt it’ll taste any better.’
Silence. She saw Phil’s mouth move, as if rehearsing what he wanted to say. But knew he wouldn’t say it.
‘Ben Fenwick been looking after you?’ he said eventually.
‘My every whim catered for.’
Phil gave another smile. ‘Is that right. You got everything you need?’
She nodded.
‘Good.’ Another look round, then back to her. ‘How’s…’ He paused.
She knew he was only pretending to forget the name.
‘Tony,’ she said, prompting him.
‘Tony. Right. He okay?’
‘Fine.’ She looked into the coffee mug. ‘Everything. Fine and Jim Dandy.’ She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, breathed in, her stomach suddenly feeling enormous.
‘Whoever he is,’ said Phil. ‘Well, you look like you know what you’re doing. I’ll leave you to it, right?’
‘Okay.’
‘Right.’
‘You said that already.’
He laughed. ‘Right.’ Laughed again. ‘Well… I’m sure I’ll see you later.’
‘Later.’
He moved away, walking towards his desk. She kept her eyes on him the whole time, then shook her head. No, she thought, that’s the last thing I need right now.
She put her head down, looked again at the paperwork in front of her but couldn’t concentrate. There had been too many things left unsaid between her and Phil. Things they should talk about. If she decided she wanted to. But they would have to wait.
She went back to the reports. Concentrating this time.
Because lives depended on it.
13
Emma Nicholls sat down behind her desk and gave DC Anni Hepburn a smile intended to convey confidence and professionalism but which instead screamed tension and barely suppressed emotion.
She was dressed as if for a normal day at work as a head teacher: black two-piece trouser suit, light-coloured blouse, hair cut into a long bob. But the day was no longer normal. Two of her teachers had been murdered and now the school had been invaded by police.
DC Anni Hepburn had been a detective long enough to develop a detachment that enabled her to do her job effectively while still retaining sympathy for the victims of violent crime. She hoped she always would. Human debris, was how she often secretly referred to them. Broken remains needing – and hoping for – repair. But she had also been a detective long enough to know that that wouldn’t always happen.
Emma Nicholls, she thought, would be all right eventually. She hadn’t seen what Anni had seen earlier that day in Claire Fielding’s flat, smelled what she had smelled. And, as the headmistress kept stressing, her relationship with Claire Fielding and Julie Simpson had been mainly professional.
‘Please understand,’ Emma Nicholls said, tipping her head back and appearing to audition words in her head before trusting them to leave her mouth, ‘that my primary concern is for this school.’
‘Of course.’
‘By that I mean everyone. The welfare of the children and the staff I consider to be equally paramount.’
‘Right.’
Words chosen, she continued. ‘Having said that, I seldom interfere in the affairs of my staff unless they are personal friends or they ask for help.’
Anni nodded, knowing a disclaimer when she heard one. ‘Okay.’
Emma Nicholls’ office managed to be both professional and welcoming, with achievements and diplomas on the walls alongside schedules, year planners and pictures the children had made especially for her. She seemed to be popular and well thought of. It was how Anni thought a primary school head teacher’s office – and a primary school head teacher – should be.
The school was old but had been modernised. Clean, bright and bursting with positive energy, and with children’s work and achievements decorating the walls, it was clearly a place where the children were valued and well taught. But then, thought Anni, this was Lexden. An affluent suburb of Colchester. She would expect it to be like that.
The children, or at least most of them that Anni had come into contact with since she had arrived there, seemed so full of hope, of life, of potential and enthusiasm for the world. They had seemed thrilled by the arrival of the police. Something different, something exciting to break up the routine. But as Anni and her small team of junior officers and uniforms had gone about their business of interviewing staff and explaining what their procedures would be, the children, she knew, no matter how discreet her team or how careful the teaching staff in explaining things, would soon find out. There was no way the murder of two teachers – well loved, if the comments she had overheard were anything to go by – could not affect them. And then they would see what the police were really there for. And begin to understand that the world wasn’t like they saw on TV; that it could be a horrible, cruel place. That was why Anni had never wanted kids herself. Because no matter how hard you tried to protect them from the world, the world would eventually claim them.
‘So,’ she continued, her notebook open, ‘were Claire Fielding and Julie Simpson personal friends?’
Emma Nicholls seemed about to answer but instead sighed, her eyes drifting off, her forced pleasantness slipping away to be replaced by a dark, depressive air. Like a cancer victim who had momentarily forgotten their predicament.
‘This is just terrible,’ she said.
With nothing to add, Anni nodded.
‘Oh my God…’
The dark, depressive air was increasing. Anni had to take control. ‘Ms Nicholls,’ she said. ‘I’m most terribly sorry about what’s happened. I realise this is an awful time, but I really do need to ask you some questions.’
Emma Nicholls pulled herself upright. ‘I know, I know. You’ve…’ Her mind drifted again, her features taking on the appearance of approaching tears. She managed to pull herself together. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s all right.’
The head teacher allowed a small smile to cross her face. ‘At times like this I wish I still smoked.’
Anni gave a small smile. ‘I’m sure you do. Right. Claire Fielding and Julie Simpson. Friends?’
Emma Nicholls nodded.
‘Julie was Year Six, Claire Year Four, right?’
Emma Nicholls nodded again, her hands fidgeting as if an imaginary cigarette was there.
‘And Claire was pregnant.’
Another nod.
‘How long did she have to go until maternity leave?’
‘A couple… a couple of weeks.’
‘Was it planned, d’you know? Was she happy about it?’
