‘You still haven’t explained why you’d like to meet my grandson,’ she said. ‘Or offered me any reason to allow it.’
Well, Tristan might not have the love of his parents, but Dawson wouldn’t want to take this woman on. Thank goodness the kid had someone in his corner.
Her own honesty prompted the exact same response from him. ‘Mrs Rock, there have been incidents at the school that are currently being investigated. In the course of that investigation we’ve stumbled across what appear to be episodes of bullying, hazing, intimidation, and I wondered if your grandson could help me better understand exactly what is going on.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m afraid Tristan can’t help you.’
‘But, if I could just speak to him for a moment. Or if you could explain why he left the school in the middle of the year…’
‘He can’t explain anything to you, officer,’ she said, resolutely.
Dawson tried to hide his frustration. ‘Mrs Rock, there are children being intimidated into silence, forced to join elite clubs and compete for popularity and acceptance. It is sickening and cruel and I really need—’
‘Follow me,’ she said, standing.
He fell into step behind her as she returned to the hallway and entered a door on the right.
‘Officer, I’d like you to meet my grandson, Tristan.’
Dawson felt his eyes opening wide as he stepped into the room.
Fifty-Two
Kim barged past a security guard and into Thorpe’s office without knocking.
‘Where is Christian Fellows?’ she asked, ignoring the secretary who sat on this side of the desk and viewed her with disdain.
‘I’m sorry, Inspector, but what—’
‘I need to know what lesson Christian Fellows is in, now,’ she said.
He looked to his secretary.
‘Physics,’ she said. ‘Block A,’ she clarified.
Kim thought she knew where that was and opened her mouth to ask.
‘But he’s on his way here right now,’ she said.
So that was how the woman had been able to pluck the information from nowhere.
‘For what?’ Bryant asked.
‘A welfare check,’ Thorpe answered. ‘All of the boys in Shaun’s class are being checked on. It’s traumatic for all the boys.’
‘How long ago did you send for him?’ Kim asked.
‘About five or ten minutes,’ the woman answered.
‘Which is it, five or ten? How long should it take for him to get here?’
She shrugged. ‘Not very long but I don’t understand—’
‘Come on, Bryant,’ Kim said, sprinting out of the office.
*
‘I know where the physics class is,’ Bryant said, leading the way. ‘You have to pass it to get coffee.’
They sprinted along the corridors for a full two minutes before Bryant stopped and pointed across the hallway.
‘That’s it,’ he said.
Kim thrust open the door to the surprise of a middle-aged woman who turned to her and frowned at the sudden intrusion.
‘Christian Fellows?’ she asked.
The woman shook her head. ‘He’s with the principal right—’
‘Damn it,’ Kim said, closing the door. They had just taken the route he would have followed, and they hadn’t met him on the way.
‘Okay, back we go,’ Kim said. ‘Sweeping every room.’
The kid had to be somewhere.
Bryant’s eyes widened. ‘Do you know how many rooms there are between—’
The door she’d just closed suddenly opened. ‘May I help you with something, officer?’
‘Christian isn’t with the principal, and we need to speak to him urgently,’ Kim said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.
‘Well, he can’t have gone far,’ she replied. ‘I’m sure he’s just been dawdling along somewhere.’
Kim prayed to God she was right.
‘Boys,’ she called, and twenty young bodies appeared in the hallway. ‘Teams of two, full search of all areas between here and the admin block. Go.’
The boys began running in all directions.
‘Thank you. We’ll head back to the office to see if he’s turned up there yet,’ Kim said.
‘I’ll alert the next classroom and get more children searching.’
Kim thanked her before she and Bryant began the sprint back to the principal’s office.
‘Damn it, Bryant, where the hell is…’
Her words trailed away as a scream filled the corridor.
‘Shit,’ she said, launching past Bryant towards the blood-curdling noise.
She found a woman, a member of the housekeeping team, standing in the doorway of a room with her hands covering her mouth.
Kim pushed past her and also came to a stop.
Dangling from the ceiling beam was the body of Christian Fellows.
Fifty-Three
Kim’s stunned gaze travelled from the upturned stool beneath the child’s feet right up to his closed eyes and then to the sheet that was knotted around his neck. She had the sudden vision of them hurrying past the door to this room while the kid was hanging there.
The sensation of Bryant behind her prompted her into action.
Kim moved into the janitor’s room and turned the stool back upright and jumped up onto it. She grabbed the boy’s legs and lifted him up to take the pressure from the sheet around his neck. With one arm around his waist she reached up and untied the crude knot around the beam.
The boy’s body slid down her own. She threw the sheet aside and used both arms to hold him tight. She didn’t want to let him go.
A familiar feeling began to wash over her. His body was still warm. Minutes. They had been just minutes too late for Sadie and now minutes too late for Christian, who had been murdered for something he might or might not have seen.
‘Fuck it,’ she said, holding the boy tightly to her chest, his head lolled against her cheek.
‘Guv,’ Bryant said. ‘Let me—’
‘Hang on, shush,’ Kim commanded, listening and feeling beyond her heart beating loudly in her ears.
No way. She was imagining things. It was what she wanted to feel. It was wishful thinking.
But no, it wasn’t her imagination.
She had just felt his warm breath against her cheek.
‘Hurry, Bryant,’ she shouted. ‘Give me a hand. This child is still alive.’
Fifty-Four
Dawson could not remove his gaze from the inert figure lying in the hospital bed.
Tristan’s possessions were placed around the room as though he’d left them moments before to take a nap. A pair of dirty trainers sat beside his bedside cabinet, a grey hoody hung from the wardrobe door handle. A skateboard propped up against the wall. Posters of gothic art lined the walls and a pile of magazines was stacked in the corner. Dawson suspected that his grandmother was making sure his things were ready for when he came back.
Louisa Rock had taken a seat beside her grandson after asking the nurse to leave them alone for a moment. The woman checked the ventilator, nodded and left the room.
‘He is more than what you see here,’ she said, following his gaze around the room, and Dawson understood. She would not allow his personality to be packed away, out of sight.
Her hand touched his temple and gently pushed a lock of dark hair to the side.
‘Every day I pray for signs of improvement,’ she said, sadly. The doctors insisted he was brain dead and could feel nothing, but I still feel that Tristan is in there fighting to come out.’
Dawson knew the boy to be seventeen years old, but he looked much younger. His dark hair framed a smooth and youthful face with thick, dark eyelashes and strong, handsome features despite the paleness of his complexion.
His arms were laid at his side, long and athletic but not thin and wasted. His pyjama-clad chest rose and fell rhythmically in time with the machine that had not only taken on the function of his breathing but the sound as well.
Dawson wondered if it had been some kind of accident or an illness.
‘His parents wanted to give up on him, but they don’t know him the way I do. The best way to get Tristan to succeed at something is to tell him he can’t do it,’ she said, taking his hand. ‘Which is ironic, considering—’
‘How did this happen, Mrs Rock?’ he asked, gently, already forming an exit strategy. As tragic as it was, Tristan Rock’s condition was not going to help him prove his theory.
‘It’s not something we talk about, officer. Agreements were signed.’