Stacey sat forward. The kid had been permanently disabled and there was more?
‘On the day that we collected Harrison from the hospital we had a car accident. We were a few miles away from home when a white transit van overtook us at speed and then slammed on his brakes right in front of us. We ploughed straight into the back of him. If my husband hadn’t automatically slowed down, we would all be dead. And that was the intention. The driver and van were never found.’
Stacey tried to process what she’d heard.
The woman shuddered. ‘My whole family was in that car.’
‘So, are you saying all of this happened because someone was jealous of his athletic ability?’
‘Of course not. It was punishment.’
‘For what?’ she asked.
‘Refusing the card.’
‘“Refusing the card”?’ Stacey queried. Now she was lost.
‘Turning down the groups,’ she explained. ‘An ace of spades was left in his bed. He gave it back and said no.’
‘And?’ she asked as dread began to form in her stomach.
‘If you know anything about that damned place you should know by now that no one refuses the card.’
Ninety-One
Kim knocked and entered the office of Principal Thorpe.
She was rewarded with the irritation that crossed his face before his stock smile, etched with tolerance, took its place.
‘You’re here for the memorial?’ he asked, smoothing his hands over the breast of his tux as though bringing attention to his attire.
‘Not exactly, Mr Thorpe,’ Kim answered, sitting down.
He hesitated before taking a seat himself, but the glance at his watch was for her benefit.
‘Unfortunately we still have three deaths and a traumatised little boy in hospital not yet explained at your school.’ And her directness was for his benefit. ‘So, what can you tell us about a young lady named Lorraine Peters?’ she asked, placing the printout on his desk.
His face lost some of its colour as his eyebrows drew together.
‘I don’t… I mean… what…’
Clearly, not a question he’d been expecting.
‘You remember her?’ she asked.
He nodded but offered no more stuttering responses.
‘And you know how she died?’
He nodded.
‘Sorry. I’d like you to tell me how she died,’ Kim clarified.
‘She fell into the swimming pool, if I remember…’
‘I’m not sure “fell” is correct but, yes, she definitely landed and died in the swimming pool. That we are sure of. Did you know she was pregnant?’
He nodded, shook his head and then nodded again.
‘Sorry, Mr Thorpe, but which is it?’ Kim asked, confused.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know at the time, but I found out afterwards.’
‘Mr Thorpe, are you aware of any of your students having an illegal abortion?’ she asked.
He appeared both horrified and flustered as his brain tried to keep up with the change in direction of her questions.
‘It’s okay, we’ll come back to that.’
That had been a deliberate change of subject. He was working too hard on trying to pre-empt what she was going to say next about Lorraine Peters, and she didn’t want him forearmed. His guardedness told her he was hiding something.
‘Sir, you were here at the same time Lorraine Peters and her baby died. As were Laurence Winters, Anthony Coffee-Todd, Graham Steele, and Doctor Cordell. You were all Spades at the exact—’
‘I was not a Spade,’ he spat at her, his face screwed up with bitterness. ‘I detest those groups.’
‘But you know what went on, don’t you?’ she pushed.
‘I don’t know what—’
‘Something happened to that girl that is somehow linked to the events of this week, and you’re protecting someone,’ she accused.
‘I’m not, I swear,’ he protested. ‘I wouldn’t do that. I don’t know what really happened to Lorraine.’
‘So, were you or one of the boys tested?’ she asked, tapping the printout, ‘to see if you were the father of her unborn child.’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘We all were.’
The colour that had left his face at the word ‘abortion’ now came back into his cheeks like a tidal wave.
‘Mr Thorpe, just how well did you know Lorraine Peters?’
He hesitated before answering and all pretence fell from his face.
‘Inspector, I knew her very well indeed.’
Ninety-Two
Dawson paused before knocking on the closed door.
A few seconds passed before it was opened by a girl he didn’t recognise who glowered at him and then tipped her head and smiled.
‘Is Tilly around?’ he asked.
The girl shook her head as he heard a familiar voice.
‘Jesus, you again?’
He turned to see Tilly heading towards them dressed in a towelling robe, carrying a toiletry bag and her clothes.
‘I’ve already told you, I’m too young for you so—’
‘Bloody hell, Tilly,’ he said, looking around to see if anyone was listening. Even in joke, such a comment could ruin his career.
She laughed out loud. ‘Trust me, in this place they’re all so self-absorbed that if they don’t hear their own name attached to the sentence it doesn’t even register.’
Assessing her attire he held up his hand. ‘It’s fine, I can come back.’
Even with another girl in the room there was no way he was going to talk to a teenage girl who wasn’t properly dressed.
‘It’s okay,’ she said, untying her robe.
He protested but then saw that Tilly was fully dressed in a short black skirt with black tights and a floral shirt.
‘Just didn’t want to get anything on my clothes when I do my make-up,’ she explained.
Of course. The girls were getting ready to go to the memorial service.
‘Could I have a word?’ he asked. ‘I won’t keep you long.’
‘Sure,’ she said, stepping into the room.
‘In private,’ he said, glancing at the two girls sitting on the bed.
Tilly glanced at them apologetically. They grumbled and left the room.
‘Can you leave the door open, please?’ he called after them. ‘They’re not going to the memorial?’ he asked, noting their ripped jeans and tee shirts.
Tilly shook her head. ‘Depressing enough when it was a concert but now it’s a memorial.’ She frowned. ‘Shit, that was insensitive, wasn’t it?’
‘A bit,’ he acknowledged, sitting at the end of Sadie’s bed as Tilly sat at the desk and adjusted a small mirror to the correct position.
‘So, why are you going?’ he asked. Even she’d admitted that the two of them weren’t particularly close.
‘Thorpe asked me. He wanted one of Sadie’s friends to say a few words, and I was the closest thing he could find.’
The sentiment saddened him for some reason. A thirteen-year-old girl had been so detached from her peers that it was a struggle to find anyone to mourn her death.
‘Tilly, I need to ask you something,’ he said seriously. ‘It’s confidential and sensitive, okay?’
She nodded, looking pensive.
‘I’ve heard rumours of girls from this school having illegal abortions. Do you know anything about it?’
The shake of her head was immediate and definite, but he wasn’t watching the head movement, he was watching her eyes for deceit. And he caught her unconscious glance at Sadie’s bed.
‘You’re not saying Sadie…’
‘No,’ she said, emphatically.
‘But you know something, Tilly. I know you do.’
Again, she shook her head.
‘I don’t. Honestly, I don’t. I’m just shocked. I mean, where did that come from? What makes you think someone’s had an abortion?’
‘You’re asking questions just a few seconds too late, Tilly,’ he said, knowingly.
She shook her head and licked her bottom lip while trying to hold his gaze to prove her point.
Dawson thought for a moment. This was not the confident, assured girl he had spoken to earlier in the week. This girl looked thirteen. And frightened.
‘Tilly, I know you’re scared to talk out of turn, but I need you to be honest. Someone else might be in danger, so if you know something…’
‘Cordell,’ she said, quietly, looking at the door. ‘He’s a Spade from way back. It’s common knowledge amongst the girls that he’s the one you go to if you’re in trouble; however late you are, he’ll get rid of it.’