A Reason to Kill (17 page)

‘And you're not proper uniform?'

‘You know what I mean, Guv. So, where next?'

Mac realized the younger man had recovered from his encounter with Mark Dowling.

The school noticed the absence of Paul and George at the start of the next lesson but nothing was done until the end of that period when the teacher dropped into the office on the way to her next class.

‘Paul Robinson,' she said. ‘I saw him come in this morning; his face was a right mess. Is he all right, do you know? Only he wasn't in class.'

The secretary checked the computer log. ‘He was in all the morning classes,' she said, ‘but he didn't buy lunch.'

‘Gone to see the school nurse?'

‘No, nothing this morning except a verruca.'

The teacher frowned. ‘What about George Parker?' she asked. ‘He's Paul's best friend, that's why I thought … about the nurse … George might have gone with him.'

She checked. ‘He didn't get lunch either. Was he missing from your class as well? Right.' She picked up the phone and dialled through to the principal's room. Fifteen minutes later, Miss Crick had been summoned and they were checking the cameras, scanning through the time code just after the start of lunch.

‘There, look.' Miss Crick pointed. ‘What the hell are they playing at? This isn't like Paul and it certainly isn't like George. He never steps out of line.'

‘Yes, well he has now. Time to call the parents, I think. Do we have work numbers? Right, good. And we don't know what happened with the boy's face?'

Miss Crick shook her head. ‘The mother phoned him in sick on Friday, said she'd had to take him to casualty with a suspected broken arm. Paul had told her he'd been in a fight, which isn't like him at all. She was convinced he was being bullied, but I told her we weren't aware of anything in school.'

‘The arm, the injuries to his face,
did
they happen in school time?'

‘No, even the mother had to admit that. She said Paul went out on the Thursday evening. Friday morning, she discovered the injuries and took him off to hospital. She doesn't know what happened and he's not telling.'

‘And now he and George have run off.' The principal, Mrs Hedgeware, drummed her fingers on the table top. ‘Who dealt with her on Friday? Just you?'

Miss Crick nodded. ‘She asked to be put through to me. It was lunchtime by then but I'm not sure what time. I had to come into the office and change Paul's record to an explained absence. That should be logged and I spent about fifteen minutes on the phone with her. Very insistent, she was, that her son had been bullied. It took an age to establish that the supposed bullying hadn't actually taken place here. I'm afraid that's all I know. Paul looked very hang-dog this morning. I was going to grab him for a chat after last period. They were due to be with me then.'

Miss Hedgeware nodded. ‘OK,' she said. ‘So, we know when they went, we call the parents, and I think we should inform the local police. I wouldn't bother, normally, not this fast, but considering Paul's trouble last week, I think it might be wise. My guess is they'll sneak back before home time and try to get on to the bus as normal.'

‘I hope so,' Miss Crick fretted. ‘I really do.'

At three thirty Miss Crick, Mrs Hedgeware and assorted other staff took up their positions close to the school entrance. Mrs Robinson was on her way but George's mother had been impossible to contact. The police had sent a uniformed officer and he had been posted by the rear gate, just in case the boys should return that way. Miss Crick was of the opinion that they would try and join the crush of kids waiting for the buses just inside the main drive. It would be fairly easy to slip unseen through the gates and simply mingle with the crowd. She waited by the gate, chatting idly to some of the sixth formers whose turn it was to help with crowd control and looking out for the shock of red hair that marked George. She was irritated by the attitude of the police.
One officer. What good would that do?

‘That man's here again,' one of the sixth formers said.

‘Man?' Miss Crick asked.

‘Oh.' Jo, a bright girl in her final year, shrugged. ‘He was hanging about last week. We thought he might be a parent but no one met him.'

‘You reported this?'

Jo shrugged again. ‘Sorry. Forgot all about him over the weekend.'

‘He was here on Friday?'

‘Yeah, and someone said they'd noticed him earlier in the week. Think it was Chris, Chris Johnson, he was on the duty roster for then but he'll have already gone tonight.' She looked at her companions for confirmation, received tentative nods. ‘Sorry, Miss, I didn't really think about it.'

Miss Crick glanced around, scanning the crowd for signs of the two missing boys. ‘You know what George Parker and his friend look like?' Jo nodded. ‘Well, keep a look out. I'm going to talk to our curious friend.'

The man was staring hard at the queues of kids waiting for the bus. He stood on the opposite pavement, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his leather coat. Grey trousers, sharply creased and polished shoes.
Not cheap
, Miss Crick thought. The man was tall, perhaps six feet, and his sandy hair was close cropped. Clean shaven, he nevertheless showed a degree of shadow about the jaw and upper lip, as though he was thinking about trying for a beard but not yet committed. A faded scar marked his jaw and ran down on to his neck.

‘Excuse me,' she said. ‘Are you waiting for someone?'

His eyes were the palest of blues and utterly expressionless.
Not dead
, she thought,
just without … any emotion
.

‘Excuse me, but are you waiting for someone?' she repeated.

‘What's it to you?'

She was taken aback. The voice did not fit with the clothes. ‘This is a school,' she said.

‘It never is.'

She frowned. ‘You don't have to be rude.'

‘And I don't have to tell you my business.'

He had turned away from her again, and was once more scanning the queues of kids boarding the line of buses.

‘Are you waiting for someone?' she persisted.

The man glanced angrily at her, blue eyes hard now. ‘If I am, it's my business.' He moved away from her. Not sure what she should do and wishing that the police officer had been posted on the front gates and not the rear, she returned to where the sixth formers were standing.

‘I've not seen them,' Jo reported.

‘Do you have a camera on your phone?'

Jo looked surprised. ‘Yeah, sure. Why.'

‘That man. Do you think you can get his picture? But do it so he doesn't notice.'

Jo nodded, grinned at Miss Crick. ‘What's he done, Miss?'

‘Nothing. I just don't like the look of him.'
Or the feel
, she added to herself. The man had unnerved her. Rudeness she could deal with, was almost used to. This was something else. It filled her with a sense of unease, and it raised the hairs on her neck.

Jo took the phone from her pocket and discreetly took a couple of pictures. ‘You want me to try for another one from over there, closer to the gate?'

Miss Crick shook her head. ‘No, he might see. I don't think that's a good idea. Jo, how awkward would it be to download them to one of our computers?'

‘No probs; it's got Bluetooth, Miss. Want me to do it now?' She was clearly thrilled to be part of something mysterious and just a little bit risky.

‘Please. Could you do it now and print them out?'

She scanned the area again. The buses were leaving now and the crowds thinning. The man turned to walk away. She went to the gates to try and see where he might go, but the buses blocked her view of him. When she could look next the man had gone.

When Dwayne hopped off the bus at Frantham, Mark was waiting for him and Dwayne could see he was not in the best of moods.

‘Where's Robinson? Don't he get off the bus at this stop?'

‘Er, next stop,' Dwayne said warily. ‘But he ain't on the bus.'

Mark squinted at him and then looked back at the vehicle, pulling away from the stop. ‘Not on the frigging bus? Why not?'

‘I dunno. He weren't in class this afternoon. They were looking for him after school. Him and George Parker. They called the cops.'

‘They
what
?' He grabbed Dwayne by the shoulder and shook him. His fingers dug deep into the boy's shoulder.

‘Gerrof. You're hurting.'

‘So what. What do you mean they called the police?'

‘I told you, I don't frigging know. They went off somewhere at lunchtime. Never came back. Paul's mam came up the school and there was a copper waiting by the back gate.'

Mark released him and Dwayne staggered backwards. Aggrieved, he rubbed the painful shoulder, knowing it would bruise. ‘What's up anyway?'

Mark Dowling didn't answer him. He turned on his heel and strode away. Gratefully, Dwayne slunk off towards home, head down as though the weight of the world prepared to bury him.

M
ore of Eden's coffee. Mac felt he needed it after an unproductive afternoon of chasing Mark Dowling contacts. The only good thing to have come out of it was his feeling that all of their enquiries would get back to Dowling. He was convinced they would rattle him sufficiently.

‘So, this warrant. Any chance?'

‘Oh, I think that might be easy enough. No one likes thugs who beat up on old ladies, never mind kill them. Leave it to me.'

Sergeant Baker knocked at the open door. ‘Just had a phone call from our colleagues in Dorchester,' he said. ‘Two kids have gone missing from the local comp and you'll never guess who they are.'

The obvious things done – checking the boys' homes to see if they'd returned there, driving around Frantham to see if they could spot the pair on the streets – Mac and Andy made their way to the school.

‘Both kids were scared,' Mac said. ‘I could see that when I talked to them. But what scared them so much they had to do a runner?'

‘If our anonymous caller was Karen Parker …' Andy began.

‘And if George was the one who gave her the information, then yes, they might have guessed that things would hot up with Mr Dowling.'

‘So, they thought they'd get the hell out.'

Mac nodded. Eden was going to contact Mrs Parker and also try to get hold of Karen. ‘Where would two thirteen-year-olds get off to? Did they have money? Or, more to the point, did
George
have access to money? According to Paul's mum, he might have had a bit of change on him, but that would have been all.'

‘Let's hope not,' Andy said. ‘Can't run far without cash.'

Mac nodded. He thought about Mark Dowling and the way he had intimidated Andy and, if he was honest, caused a distinct sense of unease in Mac himself. Paul and George would be terrified.

‘So, what did Mark Dowling beat out of young Paul?' he wondered aloud.

Andy shrugged. ‘Karen will know,' he said.

Mrs Robinson was frantic. She blamed George, she blamed the police, she blamed the school for not controlling its bullies. She blamed the state of the world.

‘Mrs Robinson,' Mac said quietly, interrupting her tirade. ‘Did Paul ever mention Mark Dowling?'

Mrs Robertson sat down with a thump. ‘Dowling? No, I told Paul to keep clear of that little lout. You don't think …? Oh, oh my god, you don't think …'

‘Mrs Robinson, it's inevitable that your son should come into contact with him – or, if not him, then with the kids who associate with him. From what I hear, Dowling attracts a lot of interest from the local youngsters. Did Paul ever mention him?'

‘Or ever change the subject when you did?'

Mac glanced at Andy in surprise and then nodded. Of course, far more likely to be that way around.

Mrs Robinson had grown pale under her pancake of foundation. ‘I don't know,' she whispered. ‘I really don't know. I mean, he wasn't a subject that came up in our house unless I was telling Paul to keep away. And he's a good kid, Inspector. Never really stepped out of line. Neither did George. I mean, I know what I said just now about him leading Paul astray, but George is a good kid too. And he had such a rotten time before they came to Frantham. I tried. I tried …' She was in tears now; the anger that had carried her through until now had dissipated and been replaced by frantic worry.

‘Where did they go? Why did they go? What did that animal do to my Paul?'

Mac drew Andy to one side, leaving Mrs Hedgeware to try and comfort. ‘You know her,' he said. ‘And you seem to be hitting the right notes. Talk her through anything that's happened in the last week or so. Anything off-key. See if she knows how to contact George's mother, or better still, Karen. The school doesn't have their work contacts, but she might. I'm going to take a look at the CCTV footage.'

Andy nodded and went back to Mrs Robinson. Mac went with Miss Crick to look over the tapes.

‘We lock the back gate during the school day,' she told him. ‘But as you can see, it's hardly an obstacle.'

Mac nodded. ‘Did any of the staff mention that their behaviour was off? Unusual in any way?'

She sighed, shook her head. ‘Everyone wondered about Paul's face,' she said. ‘He'd got two right shiners. But you know that. He seemed very reluctant to talk and, frankly, I don't think anyone had the time to press it. I would have done at the end of the day but … well, I never got the chance.' She shrugged helplessly. ‘The thing is, George and Paul are usually quiet. They don't draw attention, they don't stand out. I like the pair of them and I could tell you what their grades are in every class they have, but the fact is – and it's only just hit me today – I don't really
know
either of them. They're quiet, average, nice boys.'