He looks at me and an awkward silence falls over us.
‘Well, anyway …’ He trails off. ‘Oh god, what an awful thing this is. I just don’t know what to do. Well. I guess there aren’t really rules for something like this.’ He wrings his hands and then reaches out to squeeze mine.
Felix leans in to shake his hand. ‘Mr Nicholson, I’m Detective Sergeant Felix McKinnon. Perhaps we can speak in your office?’
‘Yes, of course. Susan told me you were coming. I do need to do a press conference with the mayor soon, but I think it isn’t until ten. That’s long enough, isn’t it?’
Felix nods. ‘Yes, that’s plenty of time. We only need a quick chat for now and then we’ll get out of your way.’
‘Okay, well, please, come in here. You’d remember my office, Gemma—it’s still the same really. I’m not one for change.’
We follow him through the school office. A wild-eyed woman is fielding calls at the desk. ‘No, no,’ she is saying. ‘He is not available to speak at present. No, we don’t know anything about that.’
‘Journalists,’ Nicholson tells us. ‘They’ve been calling since early this morning. We have nothing to tell them but they keep ringing.’
‘It’s big news,’ says Felix. ‘It’s cruel, but they are just doing their job.’
‘I suppose you’re right. God, I just can’t believe this.’
True to his word, Nicholson’s office is as I remember it. A faded photo of the school in the eighties hangs on the left wall. Two decades’ worth of school sports days, concerts and theatre shows pepper the back wall. I see a photo of Rosalind leading a kind of dance rehearsal. She is off to the side of the stage, arms outstretched, her smile wide and her eyes sparkling.
‘Please take a seat.’ Nicholson gestures at two uncomfortable-looking chairs and walks around his desk to sit facing us. ‘My goodness. Do you want a drink? Coffee or tea?’
I almost laugh. Everyone we’ve interviewed so far has had impeccable manners.
Felix takes the lead. It’s unspoken but I can tell he thinks that my history with Nicholson might complicate things. ‘We’re fine,’ he says. ‘Now, Mr Nicholson, we need to talk to you about Rosalind Ryan.’
He slumps back into his chair. ‘Yes, of course. Where to start? Rosalind is … ah, was an exceptional young woman.’
His chin trembles and for a moment I think he will cry. A memory crashes into my vision: Rosalind singing in assembly and Nicholson staring at her in wonder. I remember Jacinta White leaning across me to laugh with Janet about it. I feel the itch of my winter stockings and the weight of my long braid. I remember feeling uncomfortable about the way his eyes were fixed on her, not wanting to think badly of the man who had been so good to me after Mum died.
‘Let’s just start with some basics, okay?’ Felix pulls out his notebook and Nicholson visibly pulls himself together. He takes a deep breath and places his palms on his thighs.
‘Okay.’ His voice sounds very far away.
‘How long has Rosalind been a teacher here?’ begins Felix.
‘Four years. And of course she was a student here too.’ He pauses and smiles weakly at me. ‘She was always very bright. Very good at English. She loved anything to do with words. A natural on the stage too.’
The receptionist is continuing to fend off calls outside the door. The sharp sound of the ringing phone is constant. I am starting to get a headache.
Nicholson continues, ‘She had another teaching job before this one, somewhere in Sydney. She had some bad luck there, an issue with the principal. He made some outrageous accusations and really knocked her confidence. Anyway, she decided to come back home. Which was wonderful from my perspective. I was thrilled when she enquired about teaching here. She always was a great kid.’ He shifts his weight and his chair creaks loudly. ‘I knew she would be an amazing teacher.’
Felix asks, ‘What kind of accusations did the principal make?’
Nicholson clutches at his hands again. ‘I’m not entirely sure. I think he felt that she was too close to her students. He totally misinterpreted her style. She was quite upset about it because she was just trying to be a good teacher. She really cared about her students. And they adored her. I’ve actually never seen anything like it.’
Felix looks at me and writes something down on his notepad.
‘Mr Nicholson,’ I say slowly, the words both familiar and strange, ‘tell us about this year. This was Rosalind’s fourth year teaching here, wasn’t it? She must have been close to the other teachers. To you.’
I watch him carefully. He plucks a tissue from a box on the desk and dabs at his eyes. They are watery when he looks back up.
‘We are all close. It really is the nicest bunch of people. I just don’t know what I’m going to say to any of them. Millie Janz, one of the teachers, called yesterday and I could barely speak to her. I’m not sure what to do. Rose is completely irreplaceable. A wonderful girl. And for her to be murdered.’ He sobs briefly and then bites his knuckle, trying to stop. ‘Sorry, sorry.’ Then to me, ‘You remember what she was like, Gemma. You two, the English stars.’
Felix’s shoulder jerks slightly in my direction but I keep my gaze straight ahead. ‘Mr Nicholson, I’m sorry, but just a few more questions and then we’ll be able to finish. Was Rosalind particularly close to any of the other teachers?’
‘Really, we are all close. Rose was shy in some ways but very passionate about certain things. She kept to herself but she was well liked. And as I said, some of the students would do anything for her.’ He pauses. ‘I really don’t know how some of them will cope with this.’
‘Was she seeing one of the teachers?’
Nicholson’s eyes narrow. ‘What, like dating?’ He shakes his head. ‘No, no, nothing like that. I discourage all staff from any romantic relationships.’
‘Things happen though, don’t they? Are you sure you would know if she was seeing someone? Maybe she would want to keep that kind of thing quiet.’
Nicholson’s lips form a tight line. ‘Maybe, but I’m sure I’d know. It would be hard to hide something like that. Plus, most of the male staff are married or in serious relationships anyway.’
‘That doesn’t necessarily rule out an affair, though, does it?’
Nicholson twists uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Well, I suppose not,’ he says finally. ‘But she was just really into being a teacher. She loved the kids. I don’t think she was in a relationship with anyone on the staff.’
‘Okay. What about the students then?’
Nicholson looks puzzled. ‘What about them?’