Dead Unlucky by Andrew Derham Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andrew Derham
pupils between the ages of 11 to 18 years. Headteacher: Mrs Annalee Hargreaves, BA (Hons.), MA (Cantab.) . The fees required to place your child under Mrs Hargreaves’ care and guidance were not displayed, but they were known to be pricey to say the least. Hart nestled the car into the parking space nearest the main door and they braved the freezing air.
Hart and Redpath followed the arrows to reception, guessing correctly that the Head’s office would be somewhere close by. There was nobody about at that time of the morning, prompting obvious exchanges about the security of the place, so they sat on a pair of comfy chairs and waited.
Their eyes panned around an administrative block which was the nerve centre of the school. No teaching was done here but it was where the queen bee lived and from where the orders and messages emanated which allowed the rest of the colony to function. Were it to flounder, then the whole nest would wither away from the inside. The walls were swathed with framed documents from eminent bodies proclaiming the excellence of the institution, and from grateful charities lauding its generosity.
The Headteacher arrived at half past seven exactly, and the two men stood to greet her. ‘Thank you for coming in so early, Mrs Hargreaves,’ said Hart as he shook her hand.
She was slim and as tall as Redpath, with a thin nose of length in proportion to her body. She used it like a rifle sight to look down at Hart in a manner which she clearly adopted instinctively – to make an immediate statement that her height conferred superiority and a consequent advantage in any future disagreement.
‘Not at all. It was the least I could do in circumstances like these, Chief Inspector Hart,’ she said, as she turned a key in the lock of her office door. ‘Won’t you please come in.’
Hart and Redpath assumed different vantage points in two of the four easy chairs which surrounded a glass-topped coffee table. They waited for Mrs Hargreaves to hang her maroon wool coat and to place her handbag in the bottom drawer of her desk before she sat down to join them. Like the walls outside, those in her office were plastered with an abundance of framed certificates: her degrees, diplomas, courses attended, and proof of the many and various educational achievements which merited praise. Only a visiting parent who was a complete simpleton could fail to be impressed.
‘We’re very sorry for the loss your school has suffered, Mrs Hargreaves,’ volunteered Hart.
‘Thank you, Chief Inspector. It is such a terrible shock, of course.’
After a respectful pause, Hart continued. ‘Our job is to catch the person responsible, with the least possible disruption to the routine of Highdean. However, we will of course need to interview all the staff and students who knew Sebastian. We’ll need a space in which to set up an office and, all being well, we’ll be out of here within a day or two, Friday at the latest. Of course, nobody here is a suspect and nobody will be treated like one.’ Hart managed to throw out a pair of great big lies in a short easy sentence.
‘You’ll have everything you need, I can assure you, Chief Inspector. This is a terrible tragedy and one we all want to put behind us as quickly as possible. The term finishes on Friday and I would rather we return in January with the matter closed.’
‘Can you give us an idea of what Sebastian was like, as a student and as a person?’
‘That’s simple. He was a delightful young man, a great credit to the school community. He excelled at sport and had many friends. He enjoyed an unfailing popularity with staff and students alike. Everybody knew him and, I think it’s fair to say, we all had considerable affection for him.’
‘And academically?’ quizzed Hart.
‘Always punctual with his assignments and always well-behaved in class.’
‘That’s handy to know but, not wishing to be too blatant, how bright was he?’
‘Well, if I were pushed,
Hart and Redpath followed the arrows to reception, guessing correctly that the Head’s office would be somewhere close by. There was nobody about at that time of the morning, prompting obvious exchanges about the security of the place, so they sat on a pair of comfy chairs and waited.
Their eyes panned around an administrative block which was the nerve centre of the school. No teaching was done here but it was where the queen bee lived and from where the orders and messages emanated which allowed the rest of the colony to function. Were it to flounder, then the whole nest would wither away from the inside. The walls were swathed with framed documents from eminent bodies proclaiming the excellence of the institution, and from grateful charities lauding its generosity.
The Headteacher arrived at half past seven exactly, and the two men stood to greet her. ‘Thank you for coming in so early, Mrs Hargreaves,’ said Hart as he shook her hand.
She was slim and as tall as Redpath, with a thin nose of length in proportion to her body. She used it like a rifle sight to look down at Hart in a manner which she clearly adopted instinctively – to make an immediate statement that her height conferred superiority and a consequent advantage in any future disagreement.
‘Not at all. It was the least I could do in circumstances like these, Chief Inspector Hart,’ she said, as she turned a key in the lock of her office door. ‘Won’t you please come in.’
Hart and Redpath assumed different vantage points in two of the four easy chairs which surrounded a glass-topped coffee table. They waited for Mrs Hargreaves to hang her maroon wool coat and to place her handbag in the bottom drawer of her desk before she sat down to join them. Like the walls outside, those in her office were plastered with an abundance of framed certificates: her degrees, diplomas, courses attended, and proof of the many and various educational achievements which merited praise. Only a visiting parent who was a complete simpleton could fail to be impressed.
‘We’re very sorry for the loss your school has suffered, Mrs Hargreaves,’ volunteered Hart.
‘Thank you, Chief Inspector. It is such a terrible shock, of course.’
After a respectful pause, Hart continued. ‘Our job is to catch the person responsible, with the least possible disruption to the routine of Highdean. However, we will of course need to interview all the staff and students who knew Sebastian. We’ll need a space in which to set up an office and, all being well, we’ll be out of here within a day or two, Friday at the latest. Of course, nobody here is a suspect and nobody will be treated like one.’ Hart managed to throw out a pair of great big lies in a short easy sentence.
‘You’ll have everything you need, I can assure you, Chief Inspector. This is a terrible tragedy and one we all want to put behind us as quickly as possible. The term finishes on Friday and I would rather we return in January with the matter closed.’
‘Can you give us an idea of what Sebastian was like, as a student and as a person?’
‘That’s simple. He was a delightful young man, a great credit to the school community. He excelled at sport and had many friends. He enjoyed an unfailing popularity with staff and students alike. Everybody knew him and, I think it’s fair to say, we all had considerable affection for him.’
‘And academically?’ quizzed Hart.
‘Always punctual with his assignments and always well-behaved in class.’
‘That’s handy to know but, not wishing to be too blatant, how bright was he?’
‘Well, if I were pushed,