A Place of Safety

‘Can you confirm whether a pupil has been shot?’ she said.

‘Nope,’ said the nearest. The others simply looked over her head.

‘So you’re prepared to say nothing about a terrible crime which presumably happened on your patch?’

‘Yep.’

Alexia sidestepped them and craned her neck up to the school. She held out her hand to lean on the wrought iron gates and peer through.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Miss,’ said the policeman.

‘What?’

The policeman nodded at the gate. ‘They’ve taken out an injunction preventing anyone so much as touching their property.’

Alexia laughed. ‘They can’t do that.’

‘They can and they have.’ He pulled out a piece of paper. ‘And you’ll see that we’re empowered to arrest anyone who fails to comply.’

Alexia skim read the document and flicked it with contempt.

‘So much for freedom of speech.’

She headed back to her car where the cameraman was still adjusting his sound equipment. ‘Like I said. No one’s saying anything.’

Alexia’s phone rang.

‘Well?’ barked Steve.

‘The world and his wife are here but we can’t get in,’ she said. ‘And the police refuse to give a statement.’

‘Some bloody story that’ll make.’ She could hear him dragging on his cigarette. ‘May as well get your arse back here.’

But Alexia was not ready to give up. ‘I’ll have a scout around first.’

‘You’ve got half an hour,’ said Steve and hung up.

She pocketed her phone and jumped back in the Honda. The main entrance might be guarded, probably as well as any other official routes into the school—but her years in boarding school had taught her that there was always a way for the pupils to sneak out. And when she found it she would sneak her way in.

She drove along the entire flank of the school grounds shielded by a high wooden fence with nettles growing to waist height. Nothing. Maybe she was out of touch and kids these days finished their prep and were tucked up by nine.

She turned the car around to head back when she saw it. A small patch of nettles well trodden down. She parked close by and inspected the trampled weeds. Then she checked she wasn’t being watched and pushed the plank of wood nearest to the ground. It fell with ease, as did the one above and the one above that. Alexia smiled at the small opening to the Magic Kingdom and ducked inside. She found herself within two hundred yards of the main building.

The sound of a cello floated from a window but apart from that all was quiet. She sneaked around but still nothing. No police tape, no sign whatsoever that anyone had been killed. Maybe it was a hoax.

Alexia was about to go home when she saw a white tent flapping in the wind on the far edge of a football pitch. It might just have been a marquee left over from Speech Day, but it was very small.

Her pulse quickened as she got closer and she pulled out her phone.

‘How are things in the country?’ asked Steve, phlegm rattling in his throat.

Alexia pulled a clod of earth from her heel. ‘Wet.’

Steve let out a laugh that soon gave way to a barking cough.

‘Those fags will kill you,’ she said.

‘Not before you do, Posh,’ he replied. ‘Got anything for me?’

‘I’m inside the school.’

‘Ain’t it closed at this time of night?’

‘It’s a boarding school.’

‘Poor little rich kids whose parents don’t want ’em,’ he said.

‘Do you want to know what I’ve found?’ she asked.

‘Go on then.’

She tried to keep the excitement from her voice. ‘From where I’m standing I can see something that looks distinctly like a forensic tent.’

Steve let out a low whistle. ‘So it’s true.’

‘Can we help you?’

Alexia looked up. Three women were striding across the field, their breath white in the dark air. The leader had a fierce look in her eyes, frizzy hair and a wax jacket. The other two looked like they’d fallen out of a Boden catalogue.

‘I said “Can we help you?”’, Frizzy stomped towards Alexia. The accent was cut-glass and Alexia followed suit. She usually took the edge off for Steve.

‘I thought I might lay flowers.’ She rhymed ‘flowers’ with ‘vase’.

Frizzy raised a bushy eyebrow.

‘My niece, Emily, said we simply must do something,’ Alexia continued.

‘Emily?’ asked Frizzy.

‘Royston-Jones,’ Alexia was banking on Frizzy not knowing everyone in the school. ‘She’s been very upset and her parents are in the Maldives.’

Frizzy gave nothing away, her shins solid in their tan tights.

‘I came straight here when she called.’ Alexia turned to the other two. ‘What do you think? Is the school organising a tribute?’

‘I think they’re waiting to see what the Stantons want to do,’ said the first.

‘Of course,’ said Alexia. ‘They must be devastated.’