‘Jesus,’ Valerie said, squeezing the bridge of her nose.
‘According to Adrian Moorhead at the British Embassy, the police have told him that this boy is in a very healthy condition. There’s no sign of abuse or mistreatment.’
‘Does Matilda know?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Her phone is going straight to voicemail. I’ve left a couple of messages.’
‘Where is she?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘So, what’s happening now?’ Valerie asked.
‘Adrian is liaising with Police Nationale. They’re going to send through photographs of this boy, and they’ve taken a blood and hair sample from him so we can check the DNA we have on record for Carl Meagan to make sure it is him.’
‘Ok. In the meantime, this stays between us. We tell Matilda, and that’s it until we have proof. Clear?’
‘Perfectly,’ Sian said.
***
It wasn’t possible for Matilda to go off grid. She was never able to leave work behind. It was with her every waking moment of the day, and depending on the case she was investigating, it occupied a great deal of her sleeping time too. As they headed away from Stannington they had to pass the secondary school. She slammed on the brakes.
‘It seems pointless to go for a bite to eat then come back. We may as well pop in for a chat now,’ she said with a smile.
‘How convenient,’ Scott rolled his eyes.
Matilda and Scott held up their identification to a camera at the gates and then again at the main entrance. When they were buzzed in, they were greeted by the head teacher, Alan Fitzgerald, an incredibly tall and wafer-thin man with large ears, who bore a striking resemblance to the BFG.
Chris met them in the corridor. His smile was large and spread across his face. He wore tight black trousers and a fitted white shirt, open at the neck. He took them to the staffroom where Ruth was making coffee for them all.
Chris Kean was the son of Matilda’s best friend, Adele. She had known Chris since he was a toddler, and often brought up stories of changing his nappy when the urge to embarrass him was too great to ignore. He was tall, sporty, and very handsome. His once unruly mop of curly hair had been shorn to a stylish dark blond buzz cut. He was clean-shaven and carried himself with an air of confidence. His colleague, Ruth Harrison, was a complete contrast. She was in her late thirties and looked every inch the defeated woman. Her brown hair was straight and lifeless. Her skin was dry and had patches of acne. She looked tired, drawn, and sad.
‘Ruth, this is DCI Matilda Darke. And, you’ve met Scott, haven’t you?’
‘Yes I have,’ she smiled, but it seemed painful. ‘Nice to meet you both.’
Pleasantries over, and coffee made, they all sat around a low round table by the window, looking out over the school’s playing field.
‘Chris says you know Sebastian Page from Mary Croft,’ Matilda said. She took a sip of her coffee and tried not to show how bad it tasted.
‘Bloody awful, isn’t it?’ Ruth said. ‘Yes, I do. Well, I did. I worked at Mary Croft for two years. I left last summer to come here.’
‘Why did you leave?’
‘It was nothing to do with Sebastian. I just can’t stand kids that young.’ Again, she proffered a smile, but it was false, as if she’d forgotten how to smile and was uncomfortable with doing it.
‘Tell me about Sebastian.’
‘I liked him … at first. He’s a good teacher; it’s just, he has a very quick temper.’
‘In what way?’
‘Not with the kids or anything,’ Ruth quickly added. ‘I remember once, he used to always come to school on his bike, and he was going home when he saw he had a puncture in one of the tyres. Well, he really flew off the handle, blaming the kids for sabotaging it and how he was going to have to walk and it was raining. He went way over the top.’
‘Maybe he’d had a bad day?’ Scott offered.
‘No. He was like that with everything. If there was no milk left in the fridge for his coffee, he’d moan about how it was always when he wanted a drink that there was no milk left and never anyone else, like the world was out to get him. He’d get quite volatile.’
‘Was he ever violent?’ Matilda asked.
‘I never saw any signs of it, but I wouldn’t be surprised. He asked me out once. I said no as I’m married. Well, I’m separated, but, well, it’s complicated. Anyway, I turned him down. He’s not my type anyway, but he asked me why. You don’t ask that, do you?’
‘What did you say?’
‘I just told him that I was recently separated and wasn’t looking for anyone yet.’
‘How did he take it?’
‘He said fine, but, a couple of times when I was out, just the local pub with friends, you know, he’d be there. He’d make it seem like it was a coincidence, but I knew he’d followed me there.’
‘How did you know?’
‘Just a feeling. I always felt like he was watching me out of the corner of his eye. He creeped me out.’
‘Did you say anything to him?’
‘No.’
‘To anyone else?’
‘No. This job came up and I was happy to leave. I wasn’t in a good place when I worked there. This was a fresh start for me.’
‘What about you, Chris?’ Matilda asked. ‘When you worked at Mary Croft, did you notice anything strange about him?’
‘You mean apart from his casual racism, homophobia, transphobia and anti-Semitism?’
‘Really?’
‘We had these parents come into the school and said their son wanted to be a girl and asked for the school’s policy on allowing him to wear a dress to school. Well, you should have heard him on the subject. He was saying the child should be taken into care because the parents were forcing their ideas onto him and what kind of six-year-old knows they’re in the wrong body. Then we had a Polish family move into the area. The two kids came to the school, but they didn’t speak much English. It was embarrassing the way he kicked off.’
‘Were complaints made about him?’ Scott asked.
‘Only by the other teachers to the head. The thing is, like Ruth said, he’s good at his job. He makes his lessons fun for the kids, which is what they like, and he never showed any of this side to the parents. He’s a real Jekyll and Hyde character.’
‘Why are you asking about him?’ Ruth asked, a painful looking frown on her forehead. ‘Is it to do with this girl going missing?’
‘His name has come up in our enquiries,’ Matilda said. ‘Do you know the Armitage family?’
‘I know Jodie. I take her for maths.’
‘How is she?’
‘Quiet. Intelligent. A bit of a loner. I never see her with any friends. I know she has to do a lot at home with her brother like he is.’
‘Chris, do you teach Jodie?’
‘Yes, for English. I’d echo what Ruth said.’
‘What I’m going to say now is in the strictest confidence,’ Matilda began, leaning forward. She caught a whiff of the horrible tasting coffee so sat back. ‘If I told you a complaint had been made about Sebastian Page possibly touching a pupil, inappropriately, would you be surprised?’