The Pact (5 page)

8

It was dark by the time Parva got back to her room, with a couple of sandwiches from the school canteen to pass for dinner. She threw the packages on the desk near the window, flipped open her laptop and tried to find a signal.

Nothing.

Well it was worth a try, she thought, as she swung open the window and sat on the sill, holding the computer out to the sky as if in an offering to the Gods of Wi-Fi.

Still
nothing.

Parva
snapped the computer shut and gazed out across the campus. It was a chilly evening, but she welcomed the breeze on her face after the cloying atmosphere of the common room.

Four
girls dead. Four girls poisoned. Possibly as part of some weird black magic ritual, if Miss Arbuthnot was to be believed, possibly by foul play if the reason Parva had been given for being here held any credence.

Why would anyone want to kill four girls?

The breeze was starting to pick up. Parva closed the window and tore open a Tuna Surprise, the surprise presumably being that there was very little tuna in it. Parva gave it a sniff and added dinner to her reasons for needing to get away from this place for the night. She tucked her laptop under her arm and left the room, hoping her car was where she had left it.

Seeing
her Mini again was like greeting an old friend, and soon she was on her way out of the grounds. She knew there was nothing back the way she had come for at least twenty miles, so she decided to chance exploring unknown territory, turning on both the satnav and the laptop in the hope that one of them might pick up something that could direct her to civilisation.

After
a quarter of an hour she came to a main road, and twenty minutes after that, just as she was starting to give up hope, the Mini’s headlights illuminated the sign for somewhere called Llanbaran. ‘Please drive carefully through our village’ it pleaded as Parva slowed down and found herself in a well-lit main street with - gods be praised! - a choice of Indian and Chinese restaurants.

The
Dragon Palace was closed, possibly for renovation, if the damage wrought to the fire-blackened ruin next door to it had extended to the restaurant, so Parva went for the Taste of India instead.

There
was no one in the curry house.

It
is only six o’clock, she reminded herself; relieved that somewhere was open. She took a seat and made sufficient noise to attract whoever was presumably meant to have greeted her when the bell over the door had rung. Eventually an older man emerged, dressed in black trousers and a white shirt. His badge proclaimed his name to be Rajesh. He apologised for having kept her waiting, and handed her a menu protected within a red plastic wallet. Parva ordered quickly, suddenly realising how hungry she was. The waiter turned to go but she stopped him. There was something else that was nagging at her mind and refused to go away.

“Onion
bhaji, chicken tikka masala with extra chillis, lemon rice,” he repeated from the biro scribbling on his pad. “Anything else, madam?”

“No
that’s fine,” said Parva. “I just couldn’t help wondering - was that a recent fire two buildings down?”

Rajesh
nodded. “Just last week,” he said. “Terrible. You saw the place next door is closed?”

“Yes
– fire damage?”

“Oh
no - it’s closed while they’re investigating the cause of the fire.”

Parva
narrowed her eyes. “They don’t think it was an accident, then?”

The
waiter shrugged. “I guess not. There’s even been some talk about a bomb going off. All bloody ridiculous if you ask me. It was probably a gas leak. But don’t worry - you wouldn’t get that happening here. We have inspectors in regularly to make sure everything’s safe.”

“Oh
I’m not worried.” Parva gave him a smile. “Was it someone’s house?”

“Oh
no, it was a shop. Save the Children or something like that. One of those charity places. I never went in there but I think that’s what it was. Do you want poppadoms?”

Parva
nodded. “I may as well spoil myself,” she said. “Do you mind if I use this?” She pointed to the laptop.

“No
problem,” Rajesh replied. “Are you a restaurant critic?”

“Nothing
of the sort,” said Parva with a chuckle. “But if I can get a signal in here I’ll happily give you the best Trip Advisor review you’ve ever had.”

The
waiter smiled and gave her the restaurant’s Wi-Fi password. “Any problems you let me know,” he said.

Parva
smiled him a thank you and booted the machine up while he went to get her food.

There
were two emails from Willoughby, asking why she hadn’t been in touch. Parva bit her lip as she did her best to explain the situation. She added:

Mysterious fire at local charity shop last week that’s still being investigated. Do you know anything about it? Unlikely to be a link but you never know. Regards, P.

“Are you a writer?”

Parva
got her laptop out of the way just in time to avoid it risking a coating of lime pickle.

“Of
sorts,” she said. “Crime’s my thing.”

“Oh
I like crime,” said Rajesh. “Have I read anything you’ve written?”

“I’ve
not had anything published,” said Parva, glad of the diversion. “But I’m always on the lookout for ideas.”

“Agatha
Christie, Sherlock Holmes, I like all of them,” he continued. “Much better than what they have on television these days. It’s all too much like real life - all that screaming and swearing they have on soap operas. You’d think somewhere like this would escape all of that but sometimes it’s just as bad here.”

Parva
wasn’t following him. “How do you mean?”

The
waiter looked around, as if checking the obviously empty restaurant for eavesdroppers before continuing.

“It’s
usually quiet here, right? Everybody going about their business. The most exciting thing that happens is a pigeon landing on someone’s car and setting off the alarm.”

Parva
leaned forward. “But something more interesting than that happened recently?”

Rajesh
nodded. “Screaming and arguing they were, out in the street there. Some bloke and his girlfriend. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen.”

“How
could you tell?”

“Well
I couldn’t, not really, but she still had her school uniform on. You know, for that posh place down the road.”

Suddenly
Parva was very interested in what Rajesh was saying. “Go on.”

“Well
that’s it, really. But it caused such a fuss someone called Dave Wilkins over from the police station. He’s the local sergeant and a good bloke - comes in here pretty regularly. Anyway he had to caution them, threatened them with a charge of disturbing the peace.”

“And
did he?”

“No,”
said the waiter, looking confused. “No he didn’t. That’s when it all went a bit weird. The bloke didn’t say anything. Just showed Dave something that shut him up straight away. The two of them left after that.”

“Has
Dave told you what it was the man showed him?”

“Oh
he couldn’t do that, could he, Miss? Whatever it was, it was confidential. The only reason it’s made me think of it is you mentioning the fire next door. You see; that’s the place they came out of when they were arguing. Screaming bloody murder the girl was, and the bloke looked as red as the masala sauce being cooked for you.”

It
was obvious Rajesh didn’t know any more, but before her main course came Parva made a note of Sergeant Wilkins’ name and made a point of sending Willoughby another email asking him to prepare the policeman for a visit the next day.

9

“…that helps the kidney regulate blood pressure.”

The
ten faces before her looked no more interested this morning than they had in yesterday’s lesson. At least none of them were asleep today, and Parva tried to think of that as a plus. The clock on the wall at the back of the room said it had just gone eleven thirty. The class was meant to last for another hour but she wanted to get back to Llanbaran and interview Sergeant Wilkins in his lunch hour.

“And
we seem to have finished all I wanted to tell you in double quick time this morning, ladies,” she said with a smile. “So as long as you keep a low profile and don’t tell Miss Arbuthnot, I think we can end it there for the morning.”

Finally
there was some semblance of an emotional response from her pupils, ranging from disbelief to mild elation. And all accompanied by a rapid exit before their teacher could change her mind.

All
except one.

Emily
glowered at her from the second row back.

“You
can go, Emily.” Perhaps the girl hadn’t heard her? “We’re all finished here.”

“You’ve
got somewhere else to go, haven’t you?” said the girl accusingly. “That’s why you covered everything so quickly. Are you meeting someone?”

“No,”
Parva lied, cleaning the whiteboard so Emily couldn’t see her face.

“I
bet you are,” Emily continued. “I bet it’s your boyfriend.”

With
girls that age the reason was always a boyfriend.

“It’s
not,” said Parva, wiping off the word ‘ALDOSTERONE’ that she’d written in capitals.

“So
you are meeting someone, then?”

“It
has nothing to do with you what I’m going to do,” said Parva, doing her best not to raise her voice. “You’ve got some free time now - go and enjoy it.”

“Boyfriends
suck.” Emily still hadn’t moved.

“It
sounds as if you’ve got some trouble of your own.” Parva’s voice softened. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not
my trouble,” said Emily, getting up to leave now that her teacher had taken the bait and was finally displaying some interest. “Not my trouble at all.”

“Whose,
then?”

“Boyfriends
are crap,” said Emily as she slouched towards the door. “They treat you badly, they get you in all sorts of trouble,” she opened the door, “and if you don’t do what they want they get you killed.”

It
took Parva a moment to register what the girl had said, by which time the door had swung closed. She dashed after her but by the time Parva was in the corridor it was empty.

*

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you what it was he showed me, Dr Corcoran, even if you have got permission from your DCI.”

Sergeant
David Wilkins was a corpulent, middle-aged man who looked as if he had probably taken up his position in Llanbaran with the expectation of having to deal with nothing more challenging than a lost dog or an illegally parked bicycle. From his demeanour Parva could tell that the events of the last couple of weeks had left him feeling nervous and out of his depth.

Parva
sipped the tea he had kindly made for her and gazed around his cramped office. The little green baize notice board by the door was plastered with events that would need policing, like the church charity raffle and the weekly farmer’s market. No missing dogs, though, she noted.

She
put the cup down. “Why can’t you tell me?”

Wilkins
looked even more uneasy. “You know that saying ‘It would be more than my job’s worth’? Well I know it might sound daft to you, but it really would be. If I were to tell you I’d be out of a job altogether.”

Parva
thought about this. “So he showed you something you can’t talk about?”

“That’s
right. I’m sorry, I really am. I’d help you if I could but I need this job. The kids haven’t finished school yet and the wife’s only got a part time job at the local gift shop. I can’t afford to lose this.”

She
shook her head. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not going to push you. But presumably you can tell me what you’re not allowed to tell me, if you see what I mean.”

Wilkins
shook his head. “Not exactly.”

“Can
you tell me his name?”

“No.”

“Was his name on what he showed you?”

Wilkins
deliberated for a moment, and then nodded.

“And
by any chance did it state his occupation?”

Wilkins
squirmed. “Sort of.”

“And
did it say that if you told anyone you’d be out of a job?”

“No,
Dr Corcoran,” Wilkins had gone red-faced. “He told me that. And he wasn’t very nice about it either.”

“Let’s
change the subject.” Parva took another sip of tea. “What can you tell me about the fire at that charity shop?”

Wilkins
shrugged. “Not much.”

Parva
almost choked. “What do you mean? It’s a disaster that happened right on your doorstep.”

“I
know, and believe you me I was over there like a shot, arranging a cordon and keeping people away from the area until the fire brigade arrived. But someone else arrived first and said I wasn’t needed.”

“Someone
else you’re not supposed to talk about?”

From
Wilkins’ expression he obviously wasn’t. “They told me it was a suspected terrorist bombing and that it would be dealt with by the proper authorities,” he said. “Which meant not me. I was happy to leave them to it.”

“And
have there been many people here looking into it?”

“Not
many. In fact I’ve never seen more than two, and they haven’t been around for a week or so.” Wilkins looked out of the window across the main street. “I wish they’d let me know if we can get the contractors in to start clearing all that mess.”

“Was
anyone killed in the fire?”

Wilkins
shook his head. “No. It happened in the early hours of the morning, before the shop was open, so there shouldn’t have been anyone inside. I can’t tell you any more than that because, like I said, I’ve been kept away from it.”

Parva
could tell he wasn’t happy. “Do you resent that?”

Wilkins
shrugged. “A bit, but to be honest I would have had to call for help anyway, and if it really is to do with terrorists I’d be completely out of my depth. I don’t know why terrorists would want to blow up a charity shop, though. Or why anyone else would want to for that matter.”

“No,”
said Parva, tapping her chin in thought. “Neither do I.” She looked at her watch. She was meant to be teaching ‘The Ecology of the Pond’ in half an hour. “I’ve got to get going,” she said. “But I’d be grateful if you could keep our meeting a secret.”

“As
long as you promise not to tell anyone it was me who told you what I’ve said.” Wilkins gave her a grin.

“
I promise, and I’ll let you into a secret of my own.” Parva leaned forward so she could whisper. “I’ve been sent undercover at St Miranda’s. Do you think the fire could be due to anything going on there?”

“Where
they had those deaths?” Wilkins scratched his head. “I wouldn’t know. That place is a law unto itself. A load of super rich girls with fathers so powerful they bypass me and get their own teams of lawyers and investigators to look into things if there’s any trouble. I couldn’t tell you much about that place.”

Parva
could tell from his tone that he didn’t care much for the school, but something he had said had caught her attention. “So did you not have much involvement with the suicides, then?”

“I
didn’t even know they were suicides,” said Wilkins. “The first I heard of it was when I was told a helicopter was coming to take the bodies out of here and I was asked to make sure any rumours amongst the townsfolk were dealt with quickly.”

“So
the post mortems weren’t conducted here?”

Wilkins
shook his head. “It’s as if that school’s in another country. Their own laws, their own way of doing things.”

Parva
gestured to the burnt out ruin in the high street. “A bit like what’s been happening out there, then?”

Wilkins
nodded. “Exactly like it, miss. Do you think there might be a link?”

“I
didn’t until I spoke to you,” Parva replied. “But now it’s looking pretty obvious. Can I rely on you not to tell anyone what I’m up to in there?”

“Of
course. To be honest I’d warn you to stay away from the place. I certainly wouldn’t go there unless I had to, but if you need any help, let me know.”

Parva
gave him a warm smile. “Thanks,” she said. “But I wouldn’t want to get you into the kind of trouble I’m probably going to find myself in before long.”

Wilkins
frowned. “What are you intending to get up to?”

“I’ve
been putting it off for too long,” Parva said, her expression serious. “It’s time for me to take a look at where those girls died. And I’ve still got no idea how I’m going to come up with an excuse to get inside that room.”