by Nic Roberts
She’d broken down to her mandated therapist, telling him that she was just looking for a way that she could have changed the events of that day.
“You’re trying to change the past, Olivia,” he’d said, eyes full of an intense kind of sincerity. “You know that it’s an impossibility, don’t you?”
She had crumpled at that statement. But being forced to confront it, that no matter how hard she tried to save Rhys in her imagination, wouldn’t change where she was today—without him.
Olivia shook out of her reverie, returning to the present moment of their investigation. She and Lawrence had made it back to their office space, which essentially was a small incident room with a few desks and computers. It housed their small team which included DC Harris but was missing a DS.
“Shit,” Olivia breathed as they entered the room. Lawrence raised his eyebrow at her. “Earnest.”
“Oh,” he replied, realisation dawning on his face.
Olivia had fed him last night before the party, but her cat was probably irked that he hadn’t been doted on yet.
“I’ll give my mum a quick text,” Olivia sighed, pulling out her phone. Lawrence nodded. Case came up, she typed as quickly as she could. Could you swing by and feed Earnest and tell him he’s the best?
As she texted her mum, Lawrence wheeled out a fresh cork board in front of their twin desks. Olivia sat down at hers once the was message sent, leaning back to look at her partner.
“Okay,” he sighed. “What do we want to put on here?”
Olivia smirked. She knew that secretly, Lawrence was a big fan of finding the organisation to a case, placing all of the puzzle pieces on the board and seeing how they lined up.
“Let’s start with Simon Fisher.” Olivia sighed, cueing up his driver’s license photo on her computer, ready to print at her partner’s confirmation. Lawrence nodded. She glanced at his picture before clicking print; his dark eyes staring back. His hair was also dark, peppered with strands of grey. He seemed fit, although not outstanding in the looks department. Olivia shuddered as she thought about him trying to seduce a fifteen-year-old. “And of course, Lydia Fisher,” she added, quickly finding the photo of Fisher’s wife. It was of her on what appeared to be her graduation day and was taken by PC Reece at the flat and sent over. Her mouse clicked resolutely. Lydia’s grey eyes reminded Olivia of the ocean—what depths did they hold?
“We don’t know the name or identity of the student he’d been sleeping with, but she’s definitely a part of this,” Lawrence added, grabbing a sticky note and drawing a huge question mark and jotting below it ‘abused student’.
“Agreed,” Olivia nodded. “We should visit the Head tomorrow. Make sure that we can coordinate a notification at school that day or the day after.”
Lawrence took a box of pins out of his drawer.
“Do you want to find the school’s address while I get the board organised?” he asked, already moving to grab the two Fisher photos from the printer.
“Of course,” Olivia replied, her eyes following her partner’s movement to the main office. She waited for him to return. “You’re very odd sometimes, you know?”
Lawrence waved a hand, not bothering to turn around.
“Nah, better hobby than some,” he shot back, pinning the photos up. “You’ll be thanking me for this later.”
“You're probably right,” Olivia agreed. She stopped when the door to their office opened and Detective Constable Peter Epson came in with some papers.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he breezed as he made his way over to Olivia. “I have some details for a Mr Stephen Hargraves. He’s the headteacher of Simon Fisher’s school and this is his home address.”
Olivia took the papers, slightly surprised.
“Collin’s said you could do with the help as DC Harris wasn’t able to come in and assist.”
She offered him a smile.
“No, I mean this is great. Thank you. It saves me a job.”
She looked over to Lawrence, who had momentarily stopped playing with his cork board.
“Nice one, Eppy.” He nodded. “Great help!”
DC Epson left the room, and Olivia brought the address up on Google Maps.
“I say you turn up now,” Lawrence suggested. “Why wait until tomorrow? Take the car.”
Olivia was already standing, reaching for her coat on the hook.
“Way ahead of you on that one!” She pointed out with a smile. “I’ll be back. Don’t wait up.”
8
Mr. Steven Hargraves’ house was, simply put, a modest light bricked semi-detached new build on the outskirts of Newquay.
Olivia had made it over in record time, considering she was driving in heels and hadn’t ventured out this way before.
She’d only had to ring the bell once, and moments later, the door swung open with a creak.
A large in height man with bright red tufts of hair and blue eyes opened it. His nose was crinkled upwards as though in a constant state of disapproval. He reminded her a lot of her own commanding headteacher, who was more interested in being in control than actually checking in with her students.
“Bloody thing makes so much noise,” he groaned with an exaggerated eye roll. “Sorry, can I help you?”
She heard the faint sound of children arguing inside as she held up her wallet and badge.
“Hello, I’m Detective Inspector Olivia Austin,” she said slightly quieter than normal. “Is it possible to speak to a Mr Steven Hargraves, please?”
His expression changed from disapproval to wariness.
“Is this a joke?” he asked poking his head out of the door to look up and down his quiet cul-de-sac. “Can I have a look at the badge again, please?”
Olivia gave it to him.
“No joke I’m afraid, sir,” she answered. He handed it back and she put it into her pocket, grateful that she’d listened to her CoLP colleagues previously who said to take it with you everywhere, even on nights out as you never knew when you might need it.
The man in front of her nodded slowly, satisfied that he wasn’t the subject of an elaborate prank.
“I’m Steven,” he said cautiously. “What’s the matter? What happened? It’s not my brother is it?”
Olivia paused.
“Is there somewhere private we can go?” she asked, glancing past his shoulder.
He thought for a moment, stepped out, and closed the door behind him.
“I’ve got a full house,” he responded. “But please, what is all of this about?”
Olivia took her hands out of her pockets.
“Sir,” she started. “I’m sorry to inform you that one of the teachers employed at your school, Newquay Trettherras, has passed away. His name was Simon Fisher.”
She paused, attempting to gauge the reaction from the man in front of her.
“Simon,” Mr. Hargraves exhaled. “Well, that’s just unfortunate, isn’t it? Thank you for letting me know.”
He didn’t seem all that distressed upon learning of his teacher’s death.
“Mr. Hargraves,” she continued. “We’d like to inform the whole school tomorrow, if that’s all right with you?”
It was his turn to pause now..
“Do you think that’s wise?” His voice sounded incredulous.
The blinds in the bay window beside them twitched. They now had an audience of little people.
“It could be paramount to the investigation,” Olivia confirmed, keeping her expression stoic despite the small chubby face now pressed up against the window to her right. Little buggers.
“I suppose…” Mr Hargraves answered slowly, still not completely convinced. “I just worry about the students’ well-being. That’s quite a traumatic thing to tell them about on a Monday morning.”
Olivia nodded.
“No, I completely understand your concerns,” she soothed in her attempt to reassure the Head. “Don’t worry, we’ll arrange for there to be grief counsellors on site in the case
that anyone feels the need to process such a tragedy. Plus, we can stay at the school for the rest of the day to provide additional support.”
The door behind him opened, and a half naked toddler with a yoghurt-covered mouth giggled. And who she could only assume was Mrs. Hargraves appeared into view and stared at Olivia—confused for a moment, with one hand on her child’s arm—before her husband closed the front door quickly.
“Sorry about that, Detective.” He laughed awkwardly, and it was the first time she’d seen any real sense of warmth about him. “May I ask what exactly happened to Mr. Fisher that warrants a police investigation?” His voice had become somewhat solemn, grave and Olivia paused, working out how much she should divulge.
“Simon Fisher was found this morning,” she answered, matching his grave tone. “Although there has yet to be a ruling as to the cause of his death, we have reason to believe that he was murdered.” She kept her voice even as she spoke, doing her best to break the news gently.
“Tragic,” Steven sighed.
“Indeed,” Olivia agreed, unable to read his reaction. “Do you know of anyone who may have wanted to hurt Mr. Fisher? A teacher or student perhaps?”
The screwed up, disapproval nose came back.
“Unfortunately, I didn’t know him too well,” he said firmly. Was that a touch of defensiveness? “Although there had been a rumour recently that he and his wife had separated. Other than that, he’s one of those teachers that flies under the radar; not so stellar that I often heard his praise, and not so abysmal that I needed to constantly lecture him.”
Olivia made a mental note of that. He doesn’t know about the abuse, then.
“So, he kept himself to himself...” she mused a loud. “Thank you for sharing that. Have there ever been any serious complaints lodged against Mr. Fisher during his time at your school?”
Steven Hargraves gave a small huff out at that comment.
“Fisher? The man was meek,” he replied with a hint of surprise. “Forgive my bluntness, I just couldn’t see him causing any real issue. All of our teachers will get complaints from time to time, but there wasn’t anything of note against him that I can think of.”
The confidence in Mr. Hargraves’ voice made Olivia wince. If only you knew.
“I understand,” she replied, measured. “Could you do me a favour when you get back into school?” she waited for him to nod. “Have a look into his records, see if there’s anything of note?”
He paused again—whether for dramatic effect or because he was trying to decide, Olivia couldn’t tell.
“It would be a shame for me to have to get a warrant, don’t you think?” Olivia asked pointedly. That quickly spurred a cough from the Headteacher.
“Of course, I can find those files,” he answered hastily. “There are some privacy laws that may mean I wouldn’t be able to share all of the information with you, but I’ll look into it.”
She watched him glance up and down the street again. Clearly a man who cared a lot about keeping up with the Joneses.
“You do realise, Mr. Hargraves, that this is a murder investigation, correct?” Olivia did her best to hide the annoyance in her voice, although she was sure a hint of it seeped through. She paused, trying to see if the Head had anything else he felt compelled to add.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Yes, I understand,” he said eventually. “You know, it’s probably best that the students hear the news from an authority figure, now that I think of it. It would be awful for them to hear from all sorts of gossip and news stories. Yes, I’ll call a school assembly for 9 a.m. sharp tomorrow morning.” There was a certain heaviness to his voice as he said so.
“Thank you, Mr Hargraves.” Olivia was pleased she’d managed to make him warm to the idea. “I’ll be there, along with my partner, Detective Inspector Lawrence. We’ll make sure we’re discreet and respectful.”
“You can call me Steven when it’s just us, Detective,” he replied. “Thank you for coming round to talk. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Likewise.“ Olivia exhaled as she watched the Headteacher in front of her open his door and disappear behind it.
She made her way back to the car, satisfied at the confirmation that she and Lawrence would be able to go in. She had a feeling that the principal might not be the most forthcoming person—or the most in the know, for that matter. Still, she couldn’t deny the assembly would be helpful.
Back in the confines of the car, Olivia called Lawrence, who was still most probably fiddling with his board.
“So, what do we think?” he asked. She could hear paper rustling in the background.
“He doesn’t seem to know much,” she mused in reply, running a hand through her by now wayward hair. Her eyes tracked a woman walking a dog briskly. “We should coordinate with some counsellors to meet at the school tomorrow then call Clara before we finish for the evening. I can’t stop thinking about a glass of wine.”
Lawrence laughed.
“Agreed,” he confirmed. “I can call Clara?”
Olivia checked her watch.
“Don’t worry, I’ll do it if you want to call the counsellors?” She knew that Lawrence had some connections with the team they’d bring in. Distracted, she heard him mumble his agreement.
“Perfect.” Liv sighed. “Let’s get this organised so we can go home.” It was nearing 3 p.m., and she wanted to eat dinner sooner rather than later. Plus, the office felt so empty on a Sunday. Most detectives worked from home if they could on the weekend.
Ending the call, she dialled Clara’s number and sat back.
Clara, always the faithful worker, picked up midway through the third ring.
“Liv!” she squealed from the phone, almost loud enough that Olivia worried for her ear drum health.
“Hi!” Olivia couldn’t help her grin. The 26-year-old tech analyst had a certain enthusiasm for life that never seemed to slow down. “How has your weekend been?”
She knew she was probably worse for wear like herself earlier in the morning.
“To be completely honest?” The young analyst groaned, though still managing to sound upbeat. “I’ve got the most wicked hangover after Susan’s party,”
Olivia laughed. She clearly remembered Clara being an immovable force beside the bar.
“I’m not surprised,” she observed. “Though I didn’t realise you knew Susan.” Usually, the IT team weren’t very present with the police parties. “But it was nice to see you!”
Clara had worn a lovely blush pink dress with very tall silver heels. It was one of the few things that Olivia remembered from the foggy night before she had downed too many glasses of whatever was on hand.
“Oh, I was with a date,” she answered, swallowing whatever she’d been eating. “Have you met Diana? Diana Hershel.”
Olivia was grateful she didn’t have a cup of tea to sip on; if she had, she certainly would have spit it out.
“PC Hershel?” she asked, doing her best not to sound incredulous.
“Oh, yeah!” Clara explained either oblivious to Olivia’s surprised reaction or ignoring it... “She’s great. I don’t know if we’ll go on many more dates, but it was nice to spend some time with her for the evening.”
“Well, that’s…exciting, isn’t it?” Olivia muttered, doing her best to recover from her initial shock. A light smile found its way to her lips; they did seem like a sweet couple, once she thought about it. As she pondered the thought, she realised she’d only seen Clara in person a handful of times. Nonetheless, the bubbly, shorter-than-average tech analyst with chestnut-coloured skin and long box braids seemed like she’d be a good compliment for Hershel, square-shaped glasses and all. Hershel’s lankiness and freckled skin probably complemented Clara quite well.
“I always enjoy getting all dressed up,” the young analyst admitted, her voice dreamy. Olivia grinned. “But we haven’t called to gossip about work parties, now have we? How can I help you?”
She cou
ld have spoken to her about it for much longer, but alas, that glass of wine in the fridge at home wasn’t going to pour itself.
“Well…” Olivia sighed. “As much as I enjoy catching up with you, did you hear about the murder from this morning?”
There was a brief pause and more sounds of chewing.
“Only a couple of details,” she answered. “A man was beaten up and then found after having fallen off the side of his flat, correct?”
Olivia chewed her bottom lip in amusement.
“That’s impressive for only catching a few details,” she observed.
Clara laughed despite the grave topic.
“I like to stay up to date even if I haven’t been called in already.” More chewing. “God knows this department relies on me to know everything at all times.”
Olivia could practically see Clara rolling her eyes.
“His name was Simon Fisher, right?”
“You’re a genius,” Liv said. “Spot on.”
She could hear the sounds of fingers tapping away on a computer.
“Perfect,” Clara said after a moment. “I’ve got a file prepped for you; I can send it straight to the printer at the station if you’d like? That is where you are, I’m assuming? Though I’m getting the vibe it’s not...”
Olivia took her phone away from her ear to look at the screen.
“Damnit, Clara. Are you sure you aren’t tracking my phone or something?” she joked. “Because if not, you’re free to take over my job as Detective Inspector. You’ve clearly got awareness in spades.”
Laughter pealed from the other end of the phone.
“Just a good sense for habits, I suppose,” Clara admitted. “I’d be a rubbish detective, for the record. But the online analysis? I’ve got that down to an art.”
“Indeed, you have,” Olivia agreed. “There is one other thing, if I haven’t overloaded you already. And this one isn’t as pleasant, unfortunately.” She sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “We have reason to believe that Mr. Fisher was involved with a fifteen-year-old student—”
“Fuck that!” Clara exclaimed, cutting off Olivia’s thought.