The Pact (2 page)

“Jesus
Christ, Rach,” said Kerry. “Have you still not finished it?”

“Finished
it, and all the others,” said Rachel with a grin. “Second time around, now.”

“I
know,” said Tor, shaking her head in desperation as she ushered Jen and Kerry into the sitting area, “there’s just no hope for her.”

“At
least I read,” said Rachel. “I don’t just spend all day running around whacking some hockey ball,” she was looking at Kerry. Then she turned to Jen. “Or carting my latest boyfriend’s clothes to the charity shop.”

“Oh
shit,” said Jen. “So you do know.”

“We
three do, my dear,” said Tor. “Why else do you think we called this meeting? Besides, did you really think you’d be able to keep something like that quiet?”

“And
more importantly,” said Rachel, “did you really want to?”

Jen
shrugged herself out of her coat. “I suppose not,” she said. “But I would have preferred the chance to iron things out with him before everyone else found out.”

Tor
wrinkled her nose. “Is he not returning your calls?”

Jenny
shrugged. “I haven’t rung him.”

“Good
girl.” That was Kerry.

Jenny
flashed her a look. “And he hasn’t tried to ring me for the last three days, either.”

Rachel
looked from Jen to Kerry. “Are we still not mentioning his name then?”

Kerry
shook her head. “He’s either ‘He’ or ‘Him’.”

“Or
‘Bastard’, of course,” said Tor, glancing at Jen. “I’m assuming ‘Bastard’ is okay?”

“With
or without the ‘Complete and Utter’” Jen replied with a smile. “Feel free to add it whenever you like.”

“Oh
I will,” said Kerry, taking off her coat.

“That’s
enough chit chat,” said Tor. “Are we all ready?”

The
atmosphere in the tiny student room changed abruptly. The girls exchanged nervous glances and then nodded, before arranging themselves in a rough circle - Rachel and Jen sitting on the bed, Tor on the chair she had turned to face away from her desk, and Kerry on a cushion that had been thoughtfully provided for her.

“In
that case I declare this extraordinary meeting of the Suicide Blondes open.” Tor had a notepad at the ready, her pen poised over it.

“I
still think that’s such a weird name,” said Rachel. “I mean; I’m the only one who’s actually blonde.”

“That’s
meant to be the point,” said Jen. “It’s ironic, you know?”

“But
more importantly, it pisses off the teachers, upsets our parents, and makes boys curious,” said Kerry. “What more could you want?”

The
others giggled at that.

“Come
on,” said Tor, tapping the pen on the pad. Jen couldn’t help notice she did it with such force the point gouged indentations into the paper. “We’ve got things we need to discuss.”

“In
that case I need a drink,” said Kerry, getting to her feet. “Have you still got that bottle of cherry brandy, Tor?”

Tor
rolled her eyes. “I should be mean and say no,” she said. “It’s in the bottom of the wardrobe, behind the shoeboxes.

“Great.”
Kerry went to rummage and was soon rewarded with her prize. She held the bottle up to the light. “Have you gone and bought another one?” she asked.

Tor
shook her head. “No, why?”

Kerry
shrugged. “It just looks fuller than how we left it last time, that’s all.” The stopper came out of the bottle with a satisfying ‘pop’. Kerry looked round for glasses. “Anyone else want some?”

It
turned out they all did. Soon they were chinking glasses and one mug (Tor only had three because Kerry had broken one during their last get together) and toasting the future.

They
talked long into the night, about the kinds of things young girls worry about. Unsurprisingly, a major part of the conversation involved Jen and her now ex-lover. They finished the bottle and opened another Tor admitted to having forgotten she had ever purchased. In time, the conversation died down, but the light in room 312 was still burning the next morning. However, by the time their lifeless bodies were discovered, the bulb was long dead.

2

“Are you familiar with St Miranda’s College?”

DCI
Jack Willoughby had a habit of always getting straight to the point. Parva Corcoran wouldn’t have minded a cup of coffee, or at least a “How are you getting on?” from her senior officer before he’d cut to the chase. Mind you, he’d asked her to sit down, which was at least something. And he’d allowed her a generous five days off since finishing up that business with poor old Harry Marsden, the DI who was headed for a long-term psychiatric institution for the murder of Carl Jespers and all the others whom he had killed when he had been, as she was sure the judge would put it, ‘not in his right mind’.

She
crossed her legs, feeling the material of her black slacks rasp as she did so. “I can’t say that I am,” she replied. “I’m not exactly familiar with St Miranda, either. Is there one?”

From
behind his desk Willoughby shrugged. “I’ve no idea, but that’s what the place is called.” He held up a landscape-styled glossy brochure. The cover depicted three young girls seated on a college green surrounded by towering buildings of gothic design. The sunshine that bathed their faces could be natural or could be photoshopped. It was so difficult to tell these days. “According to the blurb in here it’s ‘an exclusive environment for the education and development of young ladies between the ages of sixteen and eighteen’. From the look of the pictures in here I would guess ‘exclusive’ translates as ‘expensive’.”

Parva
reached for the brochure. “It looks like a posh finishing school to me,” she said.

Willoughby
nodded. “I don’t suppose you attended somewhere like that?”

Parva
resisted the urge to snort. “There’s no way my mother would have been able to afford it,” she said. “My education was somewhere considerably less glamorous. But it seemed to do the job.”

“Indeed.”
Behind Willoughby morning sunlight was filtering through the Venetian blinds. “But you think you’d be able to fit in somewhere like that?”

Now
Parva did laugh. “Why? Do you want me to go back to school?”

Willoughby’s
face was grave. “Not exactly, but I do need you to go undercover for a while, if you think you can handle it.”

Well,
it would certainly be something different. “What am I supposed to be doing there?” she said.

“You’ll
be teaching biology,” said Willoughby. “I thought that, what with being a qualified doctor, your medical school background, and time spent working in forensic pathology it wouldn’t be too much of a leap for you. I guessed you’d probably find that easier than French literature or IT skills, although for all I know you’re an expert in Camus and HTML programming as well.”

Parva
grinned. “Kidney physiology and human circulatory function will be fine, thank you,” she said.

“Of
course, what you’re really going to be doing is helping us investigate this.” Willoughby handed her a manila document wallet. “I know I don’t have to warn you but I will anyway. In there are photographs of four girls who were found dead. I need you to try and find out more about what happened. Unofficially.”

Parva
leafed through the photos, suppressing the pangs of horror she felt at seeing the death masks of girls so young.

“But
surely this is a case for homicide?” she said.

Willoughby
shook his head. “The post mortem has concluded most likely death by misadventure,” he said, “by which they mean suicide. Some kind of pact, that sort of thing. They were found on the following Monday morning on the floor of the room of one of them, a Miss...” he looked at the report in front of him “...Victoria Barton. The room was on the third floor and had been locked from the inside.”

“Windows?”
Parva asked.

“Just
the one and it was shut, with a security lock in place. There was a chain on the door as well, and no sign of forced entry.”

Parva
skimmed the coroner’s report. The death of each girl had been due to the ingestion of large quantities of a well-known sedative. There was no sign of foul play.

She
placed the report back on Willoughby’s desk. “The whole thing is a bit bizarre.”

“It
is, isn’t it?” said the DCI. “But officially I need something more to go on than ‘a bit bizarre’ in order to investigate the school more thoroughly. Needless to say we’ve been met by some opposition from the school authorities who are very keen indeed to keep the whole thing quiet.”

“I
hadn’t seen anything in the papers,” said Parva.

“And
you won’t,” Willoughby replied. “This is the kind of school where the children of people who own newspapers go, and needless to say when it comes to one of their own, their philosophy of the public having a right to know and to revel in someone else’s misery and pain suddenly changes. To be honest, that’s part of the reason I’m asking you to go in.”

Parva
frowned. “I’m not following you,” she said.

Willoughby
took a deep breath. “One of the girl’s fathers, whose identity I’m not at liberty to divulge, is a rather influential landowner, newspaper owner, and close personal friend of the Prime Minister,” he said. “He’s convinced those girls were killed, and he wants a full investigation. The trick of course, is to get that to happen...”

“...without
being seen to make it happen,” Parva finished for him. “Because it really is one rule for some and another rule for others.”

“Yes
it is,” said Willoughby, looking apologetic. “And when those others are as powerful as this individual you can’t say no. Which is why I’m asking you to do this for me.”

Parva
gave him a mischievous look. “Asking me, or telling me?”

Willoughby
smiled. It was a rare thing. “A bit of both, really. I can’t make this official unless you find something, and until you do, this is all a bit under the radar.”

Parva
looked up at the ceiling. “And what if I get caught doing something a biology teacher shouldn’t while I’m ‘under the radar’?” she asked.

“Obviously
we’ll have to deal with that if and when the time comes,” said Willoughby. “Just try not to get caught. And whatever your investigation concludes, I understand that the individual responsible for requesting this will be very grateful.”

Parva
wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure how happy I am about spying,” she said.

Willoughby
nodded. “I know exactly how you feel,” he said. “But if it makes you feel any better, there’s a chance this really is a case of murder dressed up as suicide. Plus, you yourself admitted to me last time we spoke that, in your own words, you would end up ‘climbing the walls’ if you didn’t have something to keep that brain of yours occupied, so think of it as a useful distraction. Plus, you’re the best I’ve got.”

Parva
made a show of considering what Willoughby was saying.

“How
about if I put ‘please’ in front of all of that?” the DCI added.

“Well
it would certainly make a difference in your favour,” Parva said. “I am wondering though - if this ‘influential landowner’ wishes to remain anonymous for the moment, aren't I going to find out his identity when I start looking into his daughter’s records?”

Willoughby
shook his head. “She was there under an assumed name and a false identity,” he said. “It’s common practice to deter kidnappers, journalists and anyone else who might wish to interfere with the education of rich, privileged young ladies.”

Parva
could feel her mind gearing itself up at the prospect. “Are you saying this man’s daughter might not be the only one there with a false identity?” she said.

“I
most certainly am,” replied the DCI. “That was partly why I thought you might enjoy the assignment. Once you are on that campus, Dr Corcoran, very little will actually be as it seems.”

“But
the other teachers will know what’s going on?”

Willoughby
shook his head. “You’re going completely undercover,” he said. “Our powerful and concerned father has managed to pull a few strings to get you the job there, but as far as anyone in the school is concerned, you’re the new biology supply teacher. You’re there for the term, and after that you’ve got a full time job back in Bristol.” The DCI smiled. “Which is actually the truth, of course,” he added.

“Of
course,” said Parva. “What happened to the biology teacher I’m replacing?”

“They
haven’t had one for a while, now,” said Willoughby. “That’s one of the reasons I suggested you. Apparently one of the geography teachers has been covering, so just imagine how happy all those girls will be to finally have someone who knows something about the subject for a change.”

“What
about backup?”

Willoughby
looked apologetic once more. “Minimal I’m afraid. You’ll be able to discuss things with me when I’m available but otherwise you’re on your own.”

“On
my own?”

“Yes.”

“Somewhere I’m unfamiliar with?”

“Yes.”

“Doing a job that right now I know nothing about?”

“Exactly.”
Willoughby gave her his best smile, which just made Parva feel all the more uneasy. “Think of it as a challenge.”