Ten
She resisted the urge to turn to Bryant with her ‘I told you so’ expression. Instead she kept her focus on Keats.
‘Go on,’ she urged.
He lifted and rolled the sheet slowly from the tip of her toes, over her knees and stopped at her upper thighs. He gently pinched the skin between his thumb and forefinger and pulled it towards him.
‘Bloody hell,’ Bryant said, as her own eyes widened.
She was looking at twenty or more thin scars and scratches criss-crossing each other. Some were white and some red, healed by congealed blood and more recent than the others.
Bryant shook his head. ‘What the hell is that?’
‘Self-harming?’ Kim asked, looking to Keats.
He nodded. ‘There are a few on the right leg but she seemed to favour the left.’
Kim had encountered a few self-harmers during her childhood. Some chose places on the body more readily visible with the subconscious hope of the wounds being seen, a cry for help. The inner thigh was a common spot for the most serious self-harmers. So close to the intimate area was unlikely to be seen by anyone. Sadie had not been trying to get noticed.
‘Jesus, this poor kid,’ Kim said. Whatever had been going on it had been too much for a thirteen-year-old girl to deal with.
In life, there were younger thirteen-year-olds and older thirteen-year-olds. Some had discovered boys, make-up, sexuality and could pass for much older. Some had not. But in death, scrubbed clean, it made no difference. It was a thirteen-year-old kid lying here on the table.
‘But, doesn’t that just strengthen the suicide theory?’ Bryant asked.
‘Only if you ignore the anomalies,’ Keats answered, reaching for a pile of X-rays. ‘Do you recall the position of Sadie’s body at the scene?’
‘Of course,’ she answered. The vision of the broken child was imprinted on her memory.
‘Care to adopt the position for me, in the interests of my detailed explanation?’ he asked.
She rolled her eyes as she began to lower herself to the ground.
‘Not down there,’ he snapped.
She looked to the metal workbench that was covered in X-rays.
‘Just get on here,’ Keats said, impatiently, pointing to the metal dish next to Sadie.
‘Keats…’ she warned.
‘Oh, stop being such a baby,’ he growled.
She shook her head before easing herself onto the side and then into the dish, trying hard not to think of the occupants that had filled the space before her. As she got into position she caught a glimpse of Sadie’s left hand peeping out from beneath the sheet. She fought the instinct to reach out and hold it across the space that separated them.
‘Okay, perfect, except your left leg needs to be a bit higher.’
She moved it as Bryant hid a chuckle behind a cough. She caught the wink that Keats sent his way.
‘Err… guys,’ she growled.
‘Okay, imagine that’s how you’ve landed.’
Kim closed her eyes and imagined that she had just thudded to the ground in this position. She felt the contact on the ground to her ankle, along the side of her lower leg, the edge of the knee and up to her hip, along the side of her ribcage and up through her shoulder.
‘Areas of greatest impact?’ Keats asked.
Kim didn’t open her eyes as she answered.
‘Ankle, knee, hip and shoulder.’
‘All intact,’ he said, causing her to open her eyes and sit up.
‘But that makes no sense at—’
‘Back down,’ he instructed, as he put two X-rays onto the wall and switched on the light. He reached for a wand and came to stand beside her while pointing to the first X-ray. ‘That broken bone is in her other knee, and it has snapped inwards as though being trod on.’ He pointed to the spot on her own knee which wouldn’t have made any contact with the ground. ‘And the second broken bone is her right rib,’ he said, again using the wand to show her exactly where.
The rib was nowhere near the ground.
‘And lastly, how about right here?’ he asked touching the top of her head.
She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
He moved to the X-rays and replaced the one on the first light board.
‘Bloody hell,’ Bryant said, as she sat up.
Kim found herself touching her own head at the point where Sadie’s had quite clearly been injured.
The spot had been nowhere near the ground.
Kim climbed out of the tray and took a closer look.
‘This makes absolutely no sense,’ she said.
Keats nodded his agreement. ‘I suspect that some of the broken bones were inflicted after death, but the cause of death was most definitely the blow to the top of the head.’
‘Murder staged to look like a suicide,’ Bryant said.
Keats sighed heavily. ‘Indeed, Bryant. In my opinion, this poor girl was beaten to death.’
Kim’s brain had already digested that fact and was now processing other anomalies.
It explained many things that had been nibbling at her gut. The absence of the cigarette butt up on the roof, the location of the jump point, the lack of gravel rash and the fact that they hadn’t yet identified anyone who had seen Sadie Winters on the roof.
Because she’d never been up there in the first place.
Eleven
6 January 2018
Hey Diary, Sadie here. Remember me?
Back at school and first day has gone much as expected. Endless chatter and showing off new tablets, smartphones, laptops, for school work, obvs!!! My dorm room sparkles like a mummy’s tomb with new designer watches, bracelets, necklaces. The important stuff.
Christmas at home was perfect, as it always is.
Festivities straight out of a feel-good film. Midnight mass, early morning presents, Saffie having a strop because her new Gucci trousers were too tight. Christmas isn’t Christmas without a Saffie strop, mother excused cheerfully. Christmas dinner was perfect, as was Saffie’s piano playing after the Queen’s Speech.
Later, Saffie disappeared to her room, no doubt to FaceTime Eric. My parents snuggled up on the sofa together to watch a Christmas film.
They glanced across and asked me if I was okay.
I lied.
I said yes.
How could I tell them how I really felt? How could I tell them that a piece of me dies every time I come home? How could I try and penetrate the perfect bubble around them? How could I reveal what I do to stay calm? How can I share the darkness that shadows every thought I have; the rage that heats my blood.
How could I tell them that I’m the broken child?
When it was Christmas and everything was so blindingly perfect?
Perfect, perfect, perfect. Not so fucking perfect now.
Perfection isn’t real. It is only the top layer beneath which the ugliness lies.
Oh, Sadie, I felt nothing for you as you took your last breath, but now I get to know you through your own thoughts, recorded by your own hand in the privacy of your diary.
You’ve suffered. I’ve suffered.
You are at peace. I am not.
Every blow and kick, every time my flesh met yours afforded me a release from the pain, the rage that thunders around me, trapped, growing, strengthening with hate and disgust.
You repelled me. Your very existence an insult to my agony.
I’ve been watching you, you see, knowing what I had to do.
There was no choice.
It had to be you.
There was no other way. You had to die.
You were the first.
Twelve
‘That seemed to go a little too smoothly,’ Bryant observed as she ended the call.
She nodded her agreement.
Upon leaving Keats she had immediately called Woody to give him the unwelcome news that Sadie Winters had been murdered. She had geared herself up to fight for her request to delay announcing the death as murder. She
had been ready to tell him that what she needed was to speak to the staff and students at Heathcrest. That with more than a thousand potential witnesses she couldn’t afford for people to turn silent for fear of getting into trouble. She’d been ready to argue a dozen points but hadn’t needed to. Woody had agreed, readily, before telling her he wanted an update at the end of the day.
‘I see he’s here already,’ Bryant observed as he idled into the gravel drive of Heathcrest.
Dawson waved from the cordon where he stood talking to Mitch.
Kim half smiled. Despite his earlier reticence at the nature of Sadie’s death and his protest about his current desk load, Dawson couldn’t resist the lure of a murder investigation. He would have been out of the office door before she’d even finished the call. She nodded at her colleague before turning to the head of the forensic team.
‘Anything to note?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘Got all the fag ends, ground samples and a couple of stray hairs. No usable footprints, though,’ he said, nodding towards his team. ‘We’ll be inspecting her clothes once we’re finished here, which won’t be long now. I’m gonna be honest though, Inspector, I’m not hopeful.’
She understood and appreciated his honesty. This case was not going to be solved by forensic evidence.
‘Cheers, Mitch,’ she said, walking away.
‘So, you clear on what we’re doing?’ she asked Dawson as he fell into step beside her.
She had asked Stacey to start compiling background information on both the facility and the parents. Dawson was responsible for talking to Sadie’s friends as she felt they were more likely to open up to a more youthful officer, and she and Bryant were taking the adults.
Kim could almost taste the exclusivity of Heathcrest as she stepped into the grand entrance hall. From the Persian rug that was almost big enough for a boxing match to the antique Grandfather clock in the top left-hand corner. Gilt-edged portraits lined the space beneath decorative coving. Marble pillars led the eye out of the hallway along a lit corridor towards the rear of the house. It narrowed away from her like a tunnel, giving her an idea of the scale of the building. There were few schools she’d visited where the contents of this hall would have remained intact and without damage.
Mr Thorpe was waiting for them with his hands linked in front of him. Gone was the frazzled, unkempt man operating on shock and adrenaline that she’d met yesterday. In its place was a calm, suited individual, complete with tiepin bearing the crest of the school. His dark suit was more flattering, and his belt appeared to be in the right place today.
‘Good morning, officers,’ he said, glancing across the three of them.
There was no offer of a handshake and Kim could feel the reticence behind the man. Principal Thorpe did not want them there.
He caught Bryant’s gaze as it rested on the two busts either side of him.
‘Lord and Lady Burdoch,’ he said, turning to look at the sculptures. ‘The founders of Heathcrest,’ he said, proudly. Without prompting from either of them he continued. ‘Elizabeth Burdoch inherited the estate from her parents whose only son died in the First World War. By the beginning of the Second World War, Elizabeth and her husband Charles were in their late forties and childless. They opened their home to children from the cities being bombed.’
‘How did that develop into this?’ Dawson asked.
‘As the war continued Elizabeth became aware that the education of the children was suffering and began bringing teachers here. At first it was the basics, but once she saw the positive effect of learning in such an environment, she went on to employ science teachers, physical education teachers and eventually covered the whole curriculum.’
‘Go on,’ Dawson urged.
‘The end of the war came but parents wanted their children to continue their education here. Unfortunately, the money was beginning to run out and Elizabeth could no longer afford to provide free education.’
‘So, what happened?’ asked Kim.
‘Some children stayed, and some didn’t.’
‘The ones that couldn’t pay were sent home?’ Kim clarified.
‘Yes,’ he confirmed. ‘Except for two. One girl and one boy were chosen each year to receive a scholarship to Heathcrest worth approximately thirty-five thousand pounds per year.’
‘That’s generous,’ Kim said, before she could stop herself.
‘Based on what, exactly?’ Bryant asked.
‘Normally some kind of exceptional sporting achievement or musical ability,’ he answered.
Both very public careers that would reflect favourably on the school, she noted silently.
‘So, who owns Heathcrest now?’ Bryant asked, as two teenage boys crossed the hall giving Kim her first visual evidence of the purpose of the building.
‘A board of trustees,’ Thorpe answered, watching the boys’ progress. Their chatter had stopped as they’d entered the great hall but began again once through the door on the other side.
‘Before Elizabeth died she appointed five staff members as overseers, people she felt had been particularly loyal and invested to safeguard the running and reputation of the school. It’s a lifelong commitment, and when a trustee dies the remaining four decide on a new trustee.’
‘Couldn’t they all just sell it?’ Kim asked.
He shook his head. ‘There is a no-sale clause in the trustee agreement. Although each trustee receives a dividend.’
‘How much?’ Kim asked out of interest.
‘It’s two hundred thousand pounds a year.’
Nice, Kim thought.
‘Well, thank you for that, Mr Thorpe, but if you could direct us to the room we spoke about,’ she said pointing at herself and Bryant. ‘And Dawson will head off to have a closer look at Sadie’s room.’
Kim saw the tightening of the jaw as he stepped out of salesman mode and remembered the reason for their presence.
‘You will find the female dorm rooms in the East wing second level. Room thirty-six.’
Dawson thanked him and headed out of the grand hall.
‘And I’ll take you to the room we’ve made available,’ Thorpe added.
She had asked Stacey to call ahead requesting space and an opportunity to speak to people who knew Sadie.
‘May we?’ he asked, touching her elbow and guiding her away from Bryant. She moved her arm away from his touch as Bryant fell into step behind them.
‘Is this really normal practice for a teenage suicide?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure there is anything normal about a teenage suicide,’ she answered, evasively.
‘It’s just that we have many other students to consider and a police presence could be most distracting to their studies. Many of them are at delicate stages of—’
‘Principal Thorpe,’ she said, cutting him off. ‘Let me be clear so that there is no misunderstanding between us. Right now I have concern for only one of your students, and I’m sure you can guess which one. Now, if our being here disrupts the studies of your students that would be unfortunate, but our presence will remain until we better understand the circumstances surrounding the death of Sadie Winters,’ she said, as he came to a halt before a door bearing a brass plate marked ‘office’.
‘This space is spare since we moved Administration onto the first floor,’ he said, opening the door.
A single antique desk was surrounded by modern office chairs. Three shelves, now empty, gathered dust along the longest wall. The windowless room felt dark and stuffy with only a 40 watt bulb to light the space.
Kim wondered idly if this was really the only place available in this vast property.
Principal Thorpe looked at his watch. ‘I’ll leave you to get settled, and Nancy, my assistant, will be down shortly. I’d assist you myself, but I have prospective parents due to arrive.’
‘Please, don’t let us hold you up,’ Kim said, although Thorpe appeared to miss the sarcasm in her tone.
Must try harder, she told
herself as he closed the door behind himself.
‘Bloody hell, Bryant,’ Kim said as the light from the hallway was extinguished. She had the sudden feeling of being trapped underground. The room was barely bigger than her bathroom.
‘So, what do you think about him?’ Bryant asked, removing his jacket.
‘Guarded would be an understatement,’ she said, choosing a chair and putting another one on the other side of the desk. ‘And now he’s gotta go sell the place the day after a child in his care died.’
‘He’ll have no trouble there,’ Bryant said.
‘I’d think twice, wouldn’t you?’
Bryant considered for a second and then shook his head.
Kim sat. ‘Why not?’
‘Because as far as he’s concerned it’s a suicide,’ he said. ‘Suicide belongs only to the person that did it. It’s a solitary choice for an individual’s own reasons. No parent would think their child capable of the same thing. Murder or even accidental death indicate some kind of failing or neglect on behalf of the school but not suicide.’
‘So, you’d still send your kid here?’ Kim asked.
‘Yeah, if I’d been on the four-year waiting list.’
She thought about the empty place at the school, vacated by thirteen-year-old Sadie Winters.
She supposed one family was about to get lucky.
Thirteen
Dawson knocked before entering the room number given to him by Thorpe. Silence met his ears and yet he still opened the door slowly and called out as he entered.
Walking into the private space of teenage girls made him feel uncomfortable. The room itself was bright and airy. One huge window looked out towards the courtyard at the centre of the property. Dawson understood that there were four wings that branched from the main house. The two front wings, facing the entrance to the site, housed all the school rooms and administration and the two rear wings were accommodation. East wing for girls, West wing for boys. All four wings backed onto a central courtyard the size of a village green.
Dying Truth Page 4