Steele stood and opened the door as Dawson’s flushed face appeared in the doorway.
‘Fourteen-year-old boy, boss,’ he gasped. ‘Suddenly collapsed and is being rushed to hospital.’
All three of them ran for the door.
Thirty-Two
Dawson arrived at the A&E department of Russells Hall Hospital two minutes after the ambulance. The boss had told him to go, and he had driven in the slipstream of the ambulance until two motorcycles had got in his way.
He hurried through the waiting area, filled to overflowing with sick and injured, to stand behind a woman holding a coughing child complaining about the wait.
The receptionist checked and told her there were just a couple more people in front of her. Appeased the woman turned and looked around for her seat, which had been taken.
Dawson approached the window. ‘A teenage boy, Shaun Coffee-Todd, has been rushed in. Can you tell me…’
‘And you are?’ she asked, glancing at the screen.
He held up his identification.
She appeared unimpressed. ‘So, you’re not a relative or guardian?’
‘No,’ he answered.
She folded her hands and shook her head. ‘Then I’m sorry but I can’t give you any information.’
He opened his mouth to argue, but realised he had no information or leverage that would persuade this woman to allow an unrelated male to attend the bedside of a minor. He accepted her judgement and moved to the side of the room, pleased to see the woman and coughing child had been offered a seat from someone.
He took some change from his pocket and chose a black coffee from the vending machine, which spat the steaming liquid into a flimsy brown cup and stood with his back against the wall.
He’d been leaving Sadie’s dorm room when he’d heard a commotion at the end of the hall. As he’d headed towards it, two paramedics had shoved past him followed by Principal Thorpe.
He hadn’t been able to get close enough to see the kid, but the actions of the medics had been quick, and the boy had been placed on a stretcher and rushed to the ambulance.
Principal Thorpe had hurried away, already on his mobile phone. He had stood for a moment listening to the astounded whispers of classmates and gathered that it was a fourteen-year-old boy who had been found unconscious in the shower block.
His eyes went to the door as a couple entered wearing expressions of panic.
Dawson recognised the man that entered as Anthony Coffee-Todd, a local newsreader and celebrity, who looked considerably older than his young wife without the studio make-up.
They hurried towards the window and offered a few words. The receptionist picked up the phone. The woman tapped anxiously on the reception desk as Dawson began to head towards them.
A nurse appeared at the swing doors and immediately ushered them both through.
Dawson didn’t like the feeling of dread that was beginning to grip his stomach, but for now, he just had to stand back. And wait.
Thirty-Three
Kim stood at the back of the hall as Saffie Winters took her place at the piano.
With lessons over for the day students and teachers were milling around the space, carrying boxes and bringing in chair stacks and placing them at the edge of the room. Kim tried to imagine the galas and balls that had taken place amongst the priceless tapestries that adorned the walls.
She had sent Bryant off to find out what he could about the boy who had collapsed. There had been no word from Dawson, which she hoped was good news.
Saffie stood behind the stool as though composing herself for this practice piece. Her gaze made a quick sweep of the room, ending at the doorway. She took a breath, sat, and flexed her fingers. The second her fingers hit the keys the room silenced. Discussions ended mid-sentence and activity stopped as all attention channelled towards the single figure on the stage.
Four notes in and Kim could understand why.
She recognised the piece as ‘Hammerklavier’, by Beethoven, a notoriously hard piano piece that required extreme dexterity and concentration, declared unplayable by some musicians. It was a piece she had listened to many times as she worked in her garage, and most times she found herself pausing in her task to simply close her eyes and listen.
As Saffie played her head occasionally lifted from the keys to glance at the door. A secret smile rested on her delicate mouth, and Kim turned to see why.
Along the back wall Kim saw a dark-haired youth leaning against it. His hands were resting in his pockets. His school tie had been abandoned, and his top button opened casually.
A couple of people turned and waved in his direction, but he saw nothing as his gaze was locked on the girl performing on the stage.
Her glances were less often now but occasionally their eyes met across the distance, and Kim could feel the intensity. It was like a power line was stretching between the two of them. Kim was sure that if she stepped between them she would be frazzled to a crisp.
She could not shift her gaze from the silent interaction between them. Saffie’s eyes seemed to hold a tentative question. His face offered no response. She sought something from this boy, and his rigid expression was giving her nothing in return.
Bryant came to stand beside her but said nothing until the piece had finished.
The room responded with enthusiastic applause.
Kim knew that the entire sonata lasted forty-five to fifty minutes, which required a great deal of stamina to complete. Saffie acknowledged their appreciation and instantly looked to the doorway, but the lad had already gone.
‘She’s good,’ her colleague said.
‘She’s more than that, Bryant,’ Kim said. ‘That girl is world class,’ she added, as she watched Saffie leave the stage without a glance at anyone.
‘I’ll be back in a sec,’ Kim said, rushing for the door.
*
She turned left and caught up with the male captivated by Saffie’s performance.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, touching him on the shoulder.
‘Yes?’ he said with a look of distaste.
It suddenly occurred to her that Thorpe seemed to feel that Heathcrest was a place where they produced superior people. She was coming to realise that Heathcrest just made people feel superior.
‘DI Stone,’ she said, without producing her identification.
He said nothing but continued to look at her derisively.
‘Firstly, drop the attitude, fella, I just want to ask you a couple of questions.’
His expression warmed a couple of levels to impatience as he offered his hand and a modicum of good manners. ‘My apologies, officer, I was just in a rush. My name is Eric Monroe.’
She ignored his outstretched hand and enjoyed his discomfort when it dropped back to his side.
Yes, she had attitude and she’d bloody well earned it.
‘You seemed particularly captivated by the performance of Sadie’s sister in there a moment ago?’
‘I was appreciating Saffie’s musical ability,’ he replied.
It was more than that and Kim knew it.
‘Are you two a couple?’ she asked. If this boy knew Saffie well, then he might also have known Sadie.
‘Not any more. We broke up,’ he said, without emotion.
‘Recently?’ she asked, surprised, recalling the level of intensity between them.
He frowned and although his face was not puckering up into the disdainful look he’d sported earlier, it was getting there. ‘Yesterday, actually, but I’m not sure what that has to do with your inv—’
‘Did you know Sadie at all?’ she asked.
‘I saw her a few times,’ he said. ‘They weren’t close, but she was an angry little thing.’
‘About what?’
He shrugged. ‘Don’t know what her problem was but she barged into Saffie’s room one night saying they had to talk.’
‘Did she say about what?’
He shook his head. ‘Saffie told her to get out and not come back. That was the only time…’
‘Why did the two of you break up?’ Kim asked, directly.