‘Nothing,’ Imogen said. ‘Absolutely nothing. She’s done her bit as far as I’m concerned. Now it’s up to me.’ The light in her eyes flickered wildly, but did not quite gutter. ‘There’s a certain logic in there, I suppose. I can’t rest on my crutches for ever.’
‘Would you want to?’
‘I can’t get off them. Whenever I try, I fall over.’ She paused. ‘I’m speaking metaphorically.’
Knowing he was probably tearing at an open wound, he said, ‘Now Sukie’s gone, you might be able to stand on your own. The past won’t be dragging you back.’
‘I didn’t even feel that,’ she told him.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You expected to hurt me, but you didn’t and you won’t. No one could hurt me as much as I hurt myself.’ Again she paused, but this time the silence was oppressive with the unspoken. ‘I’m speaking literally and metaphorically.’
Playing for time, he lit a cigarette, then searched for the tin. Was your estrangement from Sukie as absolute as everyone seems to think?’ he enquired at last. ‘Or did you sometimes still get together?’
‘We hadn’t spoken a word to each other since the crash.’
Sensing from her tone that the shutters were coming down, he asked, ‘Had she taken up with anyone else?’
‘No.’ Her certainty betrayed the passion with which she had watched and listened for news of Sukie. ‘I don’t think anyone wanted to be her friend, except Daisy Podmore from the fourth. She pestered her day and night, wanting to be best friends, wanting Sukie to teach her to ride, wanting this, that and the other.’ She stared vacantly beyond her foot. ‘But it didn’t mean anything. Daisy always jumps in when people split up. She picks over the bones like a vulture.’
‘I don’t understand why Sukie should be ostracised.’
Momentarily, her eyes met his, and she looked both guilty and terrified. Then her glance flicked away. ‘I didn’t mean that,’ she mumbled. ‘I don’t think she wanted another friend. I don’t think she could believe it was over between us.’
‘And you?’
‘What about me?’ Her voice was harsh.
On the point of asking if she had shared Sukie’s disbelief about the death of their friendship, he saw the look on her face and closed his mouth.
18
Afternoon classes had finished some ten minutes before McKenna made his way back downstairs. As he turned into the administration corridor he all but collided with Daisy. She gave him a look that mingled rage with furtiveness, then dodged out of sight.
Matron, lips pursed, forehead creased, was standing just outside her room. ‘I don’t like to say this, Superintendent,’ she began, ‘but all these questions you’re asking, not to mention having police everywhere, are bringing out the worst in these girls. They’re quite unlike their usual selves. Even young Daisy, bless her, is all put out and irritable because Alice isn’t back from town yet.’ She stopped for breath. ‘And she’s normally the last to let a little disappointment get to her. She’s one of the sunniest children I’ve ever come across.’
‘She’s hardly a child,’ he said. ‘She’s fifteen.’
She adopted an indulgent expression. ‘They’re all children! They might not see themselves that way, but believe me, they are.’ Weighing him up, she apparently found him wanting. ‘I can tell you’ve none of your own by the way you talk. All you see in Daisy is a well-developed teenager who obviously takes pride in her appearance, but I see the other side of her. I see the other side of all of them.’ Her bosom heaved under the starched uniform. ‘Teenagers are very confusing,’ she went on sagely, ‘especially to themselves. One minute, they’re all grown up and wanting their freedom, then, in the twinkling of an eye, they’re crying like babies or having a tantrum. They don’t know whether to cling to childhood or grasp being an adult.’ Her lips pursed once more. ‘To my mind it’s a long, hard road to maturity, but one they’ve got to travel alone, whereas Dr Scott says children are just little lumps of clay to be moulded, forcefully if need be. Then they get fired like so many pots in what she calls the “crucible” of the school. I can even think of a few she’s decorated to her own design.’
Her breath began to wheeze and he hoped she had finally run out of steam, but as he was about to speak, she commenced another diatribe. ‘I dare say you want to see the Head, don’t you? Now, she’s another one letting things get to her.’ Concern for a fellow being now transformed her face. ‘She’s worried, you see, and with good reason, if you want my honest opinion, not that she needs me to show her the writing on the wall. Parents have been ringing up non-stop all day and some of them are talking about taking their girls away. But what else can you expect?’ Chewing her mouth, she added, ‘And I shudder to think what’ll happen when news of Torrance’s accident gets out.’ She paused, staring at him. ‘The girls want to know if she can have visitors yet.’
‘That’s something I was going to discuss with Dr Scott,’ he said, seizing an opportunity to escape.
‘Then let’s see if she’s still in her study.’
He trailed in her wake the few yards between the two rooms, waiting at her side as she rapped at the study door. When Freya appeared, he thought she looked quite unruffled, although her mouth tightened with annoyance when she saw Matron. Handed over, as he imagined the two women transacted children, he let her draw him in. ‘I think Matron hoped to be part of the discussion,’ he commented.
‘Do you?’ She busied herself angling two chairs in front of the open window and, taking one herself, offered him the other.
Glancing outside, he was struck by the change in the weather that had crept up unawares. Purplish cloud hung over the Strait, turning the waters dark and the lawns and flowers lividly bright. A wind snapped spitefully now and then at the trees, lifting the leaves to show their pale undersides.
She followed his gaze. ‘There’s rain on the way. And thunder, too, if the number of people complaining of headaches is any indication. Matron’s been inundated with requests for painkillers.’ Surveying the tossing leaves, she added, ‘I hope the wind dies down. High winds can make people very edgy, if not violent.’
‘Did you learn about the effects of weather in your psychology studies?’
‘No, in the army. One must be aware of anything likely to affect the mood and morale of the troops.’
‘Your current crop of recruits is less than happy in any case, according to Matron.’
‘Oh, really!’ Freya exclaimed. ‘What else does she expect?’ She rose, rather quickly, took the ashtray off her desk and slapped it down on the window ledge. ‘She’s simply terrified of change, in whatever guise it comes, even if it’s only a ripple in the waters of life.’
‘Sukie’s death is more of a tidal bore.’
‘I’m aware of that.’ She crossed her legs elegantly and he was forcibly reminded of something else that Imogen could no longer do. ‘Unfortunately,’ she went on, ‘Matron’s perceptions are wholly self-centred. Her life is completely bound up within the school and she finds upheavals of any kind immensely threatening. If the unexpected happens she goes to pieces.’ She regarded him thoughtfully. ‘I make endless concessions, partly because she’s quite good at her job and partly because of her age, but we still end up crossing swords far too often. Only the other day I asked her to consider an alternative to that ghastly nurse’s uniform she lives in, but she wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘It’s harmless enough, surely?’
‘Not necessarily.’ Freya shook her head. ‘I must accommodate all sorts of parental whims, staff presentation being one of them.’ She made a face, somewhere between apology and challenge. ‘And talking of parents, many of them are expressing the gravest concerns for their daughters’ safety.’
‘I trust you referred to the constant police presence?’
‘They’d prefer a resolution, as I would. I hate to criticise, but you seem to be doing little beyond talking to people.’
‘The days of wear
ing a deerstalker hat while peering through magnifying glasses are long gone,’ he told her, ‘and in any case, until the pathologist can tell us exactly how Sukie died, we’re in something of a limbo.’
‘When do you expect to know?’
‘Perhaps later today.’
‘And then what?’
‘That will depend on whether it was suicide or murder.’
Turning her head to gaze at the turbulent waters, she said, ‘I remain convinced it was suicide. Since the accident, she’d become increasingly unstable and unhappy, and because there was no hope of settlement to the situation, that made her extraordinarily vulnerable and fragile.’
‘Was that why she wasn’t eating properly?’ he asked, unable to take his eyes from the beautiful profile of her chin and neck. ‘Her stomach was shrunken.’
For several moments Freya remained silent, before saying, ‘Queen Victoria’s physician first recognised anorexia in 1874, and for long afterwards it was described as a compromise with suicide. That, I think, is very relevant to Sukie.’
‘Is Ainsley Chapman another victim?’
‘Ainsley was born skinny, as others are born fat. She’s somewhat neurotic, too, as you’ve no doubt gathered, but in any group of adolescents there will he those with problems. These girls are no different from their peers anywhere in the world.’
‘Oh, but they are,’ he said. ‘Their wealth alone creates a huge divide and they live in a rarefied atmosphere which is designed for containment. Without normal outlets, their feelings, whatever they are, will turn in on themselves.’ He paused, watching her face. ‘Sukie’s distress was obvious, but no one knew what had caused it. Similarly, no one quite understands why Imogen’s personality is now as maimed as her body, although everyone unwittingly reacts to the pathological situation their ruptured friendship caused.’
‘You’re reading far too much significance into that event,’ she countered. ‘Relationships between adolescents are always in a constant state of flux.’ With a sigh, she added, ‘And I’m afraid you’re crediting Sukie with too much importance. Before she died, she was no more and no less significant than the others. Life would fast become unbearable if every girl had to be singular. The Hermitage reflects the outside world, Superintendent, where people subsume their individuality to the needs of their particular group.’
For many, he thought, her constant parrying must have the same effect as water dripping on stone. He felt quite wearied and only stubbornness stopped him from leaving. Reaching for his cigarettes, he said, ‘I intended to ask Imogen to tell me about Sukie, but quite frankly, it seemed too risky. She looks close to a breakdown.’
She folded her hands in her lap. ‘Inevitably, you would have found her at her most defenceless. What did you wish to know about Sukie?’
‘The sort of person she was,’ he replied shortly, unable to hide his irritation. ‘Weak, strong, loyal, dishonest, kind, malicious, hard-hearted, generous, mean, easily led, a leader, a bully, a victim?’
‘She was an ordinary teenager, with strengths and weaknesses like everyone else.’
‘You said this morning she bore the brunt of her parents’ marital strife. That must have made an impact.’
‘In years to come,’ Freya said, ‘I think it would have derailed her, certainly as far as her own relationships with men were concerned. However, harsh though it may sound, that’s no longer relevant.’ She met his eyes, her expression unfathomable. ‘I’m afraid I can suggest no reason why anyone should want to kill her. I’m equally mystified by Torrance’s fall.’
‘Have you told her family?’
She nodded. ‘They weren’t surprised she’d had an accident.’
‘Do they think that’s what it was?’
‘Was there any point in telling them otherwise? You have her well-protected. She shouldn’t come to further harm.’
He felt like slapping her out of her complacency. ‘The harm’s been done, Dr Scott. Enough of it to ruin you.’
19
As the afternoon wore on, the sky grew darker, riven now and then by the unearthly blue of a lightning storm far out to sea. Shortly before six o’clock the rain began to fall, at first in spatters, but soon in a downpour, hammering so hard on the roof and bodywork of the mobile incident room that McKenna could barely hear what Eifion Roberts was saying. He clamped the telephone receiver against his ear, trying to cut out some of the din.
‘As I said earlier,’ the pathologist reminded him, ‘I found a lot of ante-mortem contusions to the body, the nature of which suggest regular and repeated assaults, so I called in a colleague who’s autopsied a few boxers in his time. Like me, he reckons young Sukie’s been used for a punchbag, although she wasn’t beaten to death. We estimate the last battering occurred around ten days ago.’
‘Would her injuries have been visible?’ asked McKenna.
‘Not unless she’d stripped off. Mostly, they’re on the torso and thighs. Career bullies don’t generally advertise their handiwork, which makes it all the harder to identify their victims.’
‘Quite,’ McKenna said quietly, making notes for the next briefing meeting.
‘The head injuries,’ Roberts went on, ‘are relatively superficial, in that none would be fatal and they probably occurred in the main when she was being knocked about in the water. However, the laceration at the base of the skull I mentioned before is more consistent with bludgeoning than random injury. Its dimensions, which are quite regular, indicate something not too thick and not sharp-edged.’ He paused. ‘Anything from a broken branch to the shaft of a hockey stick.’
‘Or a crutch or walking stick.’
‘Possibly,’ Roberts agreed, ‘although I’d advise against going mob-handed into the school and confiscating every blunt instrument in sight. Wait until the wound debris come back from analysis. I’m expecting to hear later this evening.’
‘At least we can finally discount accident or suicide.’
‘That you can. The way I read it now, she was stunned by that blow, hauled into the water, then left to drown.’
‘She may have fallen in when she was hit.’
‘She was dragged. I found fresh abrasions on the toe ends of both trainers.’
‘How much strength was required?’
‘No more than average. She didn’t weigh much and, unconscious, wouldn’t put up any resistance.’
McKenna made some more notes. ‘Was there anything under her fingernails?’ he asked. ‘Tissue, fibres, perhaps?’
‘No,’ Roberts replied. ‘Just dirt.’ He stopped speaking and McKenna could hear the sound of a pencil tapping against teeth. Presently he went on, ‘Far be it from me to tell you how to do your job, Michael, but I don’t think you should let on you know Sukie was murdered. That knowledge gives you the only real advantage you’ve got and the longer the killer thinks you’re fumbling in the dark, the more off-guard they’ll hopefully become. There’s absolutely no forensic evidence on the perpetrator, nor is there likely to be, unless they were daft enough to hang on to whatever Sukie was clouted with, which, to my mind, is the last thing they’d do. You’re dealing with somebody very clever and very cunning.’
*
The evening’s briefing was scheduled for seven and as soon as McKenna finished his discussion with Eifion Roberts he sat down with Jack to collate the information that had been accumulated during the day. After relaying the pathologist’s finding, he said, ‘What we need now is a credible motive.’
Imogen Oliver’s got motives by the bucketload,’ Jack said irritably. The headache that had plagued him for hours had miraculously disappeared once the scent of thundery rain began to energise the air, but was now returning with renewed vigour. ‘She might not he capable herself, but what’s to stop someone doing her dirty work for her?’
‘My instinct tells me she’s not a killer, even by proxy. And if she confided in someone about the accident and set up an emotional chain reaction, which resulted in a kind of punishment killing, then I’m
sure she doesn’t suspect.’
‘You know nothing about her. You’ve barely spoken to her.’
‘She was hardly in the mood to cope with challenging and provocative questions,’ McKenna commented. ‘Saying she’s on a knife edge is the understatement of the year.’ Regarding his colleague rather accusingly he added, ‘You let your compassion get the better of you with Vivienne Wade, even though her drug problem could be connected to the killing.’
‘Your interviews weren’t a roaring success, either,’ Jack snapped. ‘Ainsley Chapman ran out on you, Justine turned on the waterworks and Torrance got clobbered before you could get to her. In other words, what we do know about these girls would fit on the back of a stamp, and what we don’t would fill an encyclopaedia, because people are deliberately hiding things from us. First it was Imogen’s accident, then Vivienne’s addiction and now the bullying.’
‘And Sukie’s death might not be connected to any of them.’
‘No?’ Jack sounded intensely sceptical. ‘Sukie’s death feels like a murder that was waiting to happen. Bullying could well be the motive.’
‘I know,’ McKenna admitted, ‘and we’ll look into it. But we’ll be treading very delicate ground, because it’s probably so much part of the school ethos it’s a virtual tradition and as these girls will have to live with the bullies long after we’ve gone, they won’t be keen to grass them up. It’s not our job to make a bad situation infinitely worse, but that said, Freya Scott needs reminding there’s a very thin line between promoting survival of the fittest and encouraging criminal assault.’ He paused. ‘I can’t help wondering how far she’d go to protect her reputation and the school’s image, and I’m sure plenty of girls would be willing to do anything for her if she gave them the nod. Sukie only had to open her mouth to ruin her.’
‘I don’t like conspiracy theories,’ Jack told him, kneading his forehead. ‘If Scott was as bothered as that about the bullying, she’d put a stop to it. Look, we’re fairly sure Sukie went out voluntarily on Tuesday night, which means she’d no idea she was walking into a death trap. She trusted whoever she was going to meet, or more likely, whoever lured her out; therefore, she wasn’t planning a midnight picnic with the bullies.’
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