‘Don’t remind me,’ he grumbles, eyeing his gut ruefully. ‘Man cannot live by low-fat cheese alone, Ev. Not this one, anyway.’
He stops a moment and looks around at the whooping, shrieking children. ‘They don’t seem to be that upset about their fellow pupil, do they? I suppose it’d be different if this was a secondary school. They’d have counsellors, educational psychologists – the works. I suppose this lot are too young to understand.’
Everett follows his gaze. ‘Most of them, yes. But those girls over there – they know something’s happened. I bet they’re in her class.’
Three girls are sitting on the same bench, their heads close together. Two have hair in long plaits and another looks Chinese. As they watch, one of the girls starts to cry, and Everett sees the teacher on duty make her way across to them and sit down next to the girl in tears.
Inside the school the corridors echo with the silence. Gislingham stops a moment and takes a deep breath. ‘How is it all schools smell the same?’
‘A fruity little blend of sweaty socks, farts and chip fat, layered with ripe undertones of sick and disinfectant. Oh yes, quite unmistakeable.’
Everett looks around and spots a map of the site on the wall opposite. ‘So which way to the headmistress’s office, I wonder?’
Gislingham makes a face. ‘Blimey, that takes me back. Spent more time there than in class. Could have found my way with my eyes shut.’
‘It never ceases to amaze me that you ended up a copper, Gislingham.’
He shrugs. ‘I think they decided it was probably better having me on the inside pissing out.’
The head’s office is at the back of the building, overlooking a small square of dried-out scrubby grass, a chicken-wire fence covered in honeysuckle and a row of spindly poplars.
Alison Stevens gets up to greet them. She’s an elegant black woman, deftly dressed in an outfit designed to convey the optimum combination of authority and approachability: navy skirt just below the knee, soft powder-blue cardigan, tiny round earrings.
‘DC Everett, DC Gislingham, please – take a seat. This is Daisy’s form teacher.’
The young woman leans forward to shake their hands. She’s probably no more than twenty-five, red hair in loose corkscrew curls, a thin flowered dress over bare brown legs. Everett sees Gislingham square his shoulders a little. Men, she thinks, they’re all the bloody same.
‘Kate Madigan,’ she says in a soft Irish accent, her eyes concerned. ‘I can’t even imagine what the Masons must be going through. It must be every parent’s worst nightmare.’
Alison Stevens clears her throat. ‘I’ve had the caretaker download the CCTV from the camera at the gate. Here’s the footage you need.’
She taps her keyboard, then swings the laptop round to face them. The screen shows the time as 3.38 p.m. Daisy is at the gate talking to the Chinese girl they just saw in the playground, and another girl is standing a few feet away. Daisy has a school bag in one hand.
Gislingham glances at Everett. ‘Shit. Did anyone think to check if that bag is in the house?’
‘I don’t think so. And they’re not about to let us in to look for it now. Not from what I hear.’
‘Who are the other girls?’ continues Everett, glancing at Kate Madigan.
‘The one with the blonde hair is Portia Dawson. Her parents are consultants at the university hospital. The other is Nanxi Chen. She’s American. Her father is a professor. Politics, I think. They’ve only been here since Christmas.’
‘Daisy keeps some pretty high-powered company, judging from this,’ says Gislingham.
Alison Stevens looks at him warily, not sure if he’s impugning or merely inferring. ‘It’s the nature of the catchment, Detective. Lots of our children have parents who are academics. One of them is a Nobel Prize winner.’
‘I think we just saw Nanxi outside,’ says Everett. ‘Could we speak to her before we go?’
‘I will call her mother and check that’s OK.’
‘And Portia Dawson?’
‘Her parents have kept her off since Wednesday. She’s apparently very upset. And as it’s the end of term she wasn’t likely to miss very much, so I didn’t object. I’ll give them a call.’
On the screen Daisy talks to Nanxi until her mother arrives to collect her at 3.49. It’s 3.52 when Leo appears. His head is down and his hands are in his pockets. He doesn’t speak to Daisy, as far as they can tell. She watches him go past and waits until he’s halfway down the road before hitching her bag over her shoulder and following him out of sight. It’s the last time they see her. And it’s the only camera between the school and the Canal Manor estate.
‘Mrs Stevens,’ says Everett. ‘Is there anything else you can tell us about Daisy? How has she been recently – anything troubling her as far as you know?’
‘I think Kate would be better able to talk about that than me.’
Gislingham turns to the teacher. ‘Anything you can tell us would be really helpful, Miss Madigan.’
Everett groans inwardly; Christ, he’s even clocked she’s not wearing a ring.
Kate looks at a loss. ‘I can’t tell you how devastated we all are. I’ve had children in tears all morning. Daisy is such a nice little girl – bright, well-behaved. Very popular. A joy to teach.’
‘But?’
‘What do you mean, but?’
‘Sorry, I just thought I could hear a “but” coming, that’s all.’
Kate Madigan glances at the head, who nods.
‘Well,’ she continues, ‘I have noticed her marks have been sliding a bit recently. Nothing dramatic – she’s still easily in the top third. But she has seemed rather quieter than normal. A bit preoccupied, shall we say.’
‘Have you spoken to her about it?’
‘I did try. In passing, like you do, so as not to unnerve her. But she said everything was fine.’
‘And you believed her?’
Kate looks troubled. ‘I did wonder, I suppose. From one or two things she’d said before, I suspect she wasn’t that happy at home. Nothing – serious,’ she says quickly. ‘Nothing that suggested she was in any way at risk.’ She blushes. ‘I used to talk to her a lot about books. I don’t think the Masons are very interested in that sort of thing. But I do know she was looking forward to the party.’
‘The last time I spoke to her she was in very good spirits,’ interjects the head. ‘She told me how excited she was about what she was going to do in the holidays.’
‘I wish I could help more,’ says Kate, ‘but to be honest, I’ve only had the class for a few months – I don’t know any of the children that well.’
‘Kate is the supply teacher we were sent when Kieran Jennings broke his leg skiing at Easter,’ says the head. ‘We were very glad to get her and we’re very sorry she’s going.’
‘Going?’ says Gislingham.
Kate Madigan smiles. ‘Back to Ireland. I’ve got a job in Galway. Nearer my family.’
‘So,’ says Everett, a touch briskly, ‘you were concerned about Daisy.’
Again Kate Madigan looks across at the head teacher. ‘No, I wouldn’t use a word as strong as that. I’d noticed a slight change, that’s all. A very slight change. I told Alison about it, and she was going to brief Kieran when he comes back, so he could keep an eye out. There was absolutely nothing specific. If there had been, we’d have taken it further.’
For the third time in as many minutes, the two women exchange glances.
Everett doesn’t need nudging again. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there? Something you’re not telling us.’
Alison Stevens takes a deep breath. ‘To be honest, Detective, it wasn’t Daisy we were worried about.’
*
The social worker is a man. Don’t know why that surprises me, but it does – somehow I always assume it’ll be a woman. But when I watch him with Leo on the video feed, I realize a bloke is actually a much better idea. In five minutes they’re on football, and in ten we’ve established that Chelsea are going to win the League again next season, Wayne Rooney is overrated and Louis van Gaal has funny hair. When I open the door and go in to join them, Leo’s looking more like a normal kid than I’ve ever seen him.