Twisted (26 page)

The headmistress, Celia Harrington, was sitting behind a vast carved desk; oil paintings adorned the walls and the thick plush green carpet looked like one of the playing fields. She was younger than he had expected and rather attractive in a motherly sort of way, with curly grey hair, a printed blouse and slim-fitting grey skirt.

The glass-fronted cabinets were full of books, and there were two green leather chairs placed in front of her desk. She rose to shake his hand, and then placed both her well-manicured hands on top of a large open diary.

‘I spoke to Mrs Fulford earlier to express my sincere sympathy as this must be a dreadful time for her. All of us have been greatly distressed; Amy is such a lovely girl and a great asset to our school. She is truly missed and we say a prayer for her every morning at Chapel. We have so many boarders from around the world, and I don’t know if you are aware but we have pupils from aged eleven up to eighteen, and we have over four hundred pupils, only a small per cent of whom are day pupils. The girls that are full-time boarders remain at weekends and we try to make things entertaining for them.’

Reid liked her voice, it was soft and cultured, and she spoke unhurriedly and with eye contact. Eventually she gave a sad smile.

‘I presume by your presence you have no news yet?’

‘No, sadly I don’t.’ Reid held her gaze. ‘I would like your permission to talk to Amy’s classmates as well as her teachers, and I will obviously be as diplomatic as possible. She has now been missing six days and I am hoping that perhaps one of them might have some clue about her disappearance.’

‘Quite, however we were interviewed previously by a Detective Sergeant Lane and a Detective Constable Wey and they were extremely kind and thoughtful. We will endeavour to give you every assistance but truthfully no one had anything of relevance to explain her non-appearance here; she is an excellent pupil, very quiet and studious and also very athletic and extremely well liked. She was to be sitting her exams, but as she has already shown a higher than average ability in her half-term assessment we doubted that could be a reason for her not to return here.’

Reid took a sly glance at the large clock on the marble mantel. ‘I would especially like to speak with Serena Newman, as she was one of the last persons to see Amy and it would seem they were very close.’

‘Certainly. I have of course spoken with Serena myself and she was most concerned for Amy and in floods of tears. School protocol and governing rules dictate that I or another teacher must be present when you interview any of the pupils.’

Rules and regulations was something that had crossed Reid’s mind, but he was hoping under the circumstances Ms Harrington would not be so rigid. He really wanted to speak to Serena without any teachers present as it might make her feel more at ease. However, he was in Miss Harrington’s domain and had no choice but to abide by her rules.

Almost as if she read his mind she pushed back her leather desk chair and said that Amy’s class, 11A, were in one of the new buildings and as it was rather a complex route to get there she would walk him over and introduce him to their form teacher.

Reid followed Miss Harrington along one corridor after another, until they left the old manor and crossed a small courtyard to a new annexe. Pupils passing gave a polite good morning to Miss Harrington and he was very impressed by the overall cleanliness and organized notice boards. Along the walls were photographs of past sports teams and trophies in glass-fronted cabinets. On the first floor they passed windowed doors bearing form numbers and lists of pupils; he could hear the muted voices coming from the classrooms, but like everything else it all appeared to be controlled and the girls attentive to their teachers. Reaching the last classroom in the corridor, Miss Harrington tapped and slowly opened the door, causing the ten pupils to all rise in unison.

‘Good morning, Miss Harrington,’ came the chorus from the girls.

‘Good morning and please be seated.’

They sat down and Miss Harrington turned to a florid-faced woman who wore round glasses that gave her an expression like an owl. She was chunky and rather overweight, but had a lovely smile as Reid shook her hand. Miss Harrington introduced him quietly to Mrs Vicks, the history teacher, and then turned to the class. ‘This is Detective Inspector Reid of the Metropolitan Police and he is leading the inquiry into finding Amy Fulford. I want you all to pay close attention to what he asks, and think about your answers before you speak. This is a very serious matter and one where we all need to take every opportunity to help in any way we can.’

Reid would have liked to announce himself; the quiet cordial voice was starting to get on his nerves. He also did not want her to remain in the classroom, or the owl-like woman. It came as an unwelcome surprise when Miss Harrington said Mrs Vicks would remain with him and she would be in her study awaiting his return. As she left the classroom he turned to Mrs Vicks; she blinked quickly, even more reminiscent of an owl, but gave him another warm smile and sat behind her desk.

He took off his jacket, folded it and placed it on Mrs Vicks’ desk before casually propping himself up on the edge of it. He looked round the two rows of faces – blondes, brunettes, auburn-haired teenagers, all devoid of makeup, with Alice bands and slides, freckles and glasses and open textbooks in front of them. He knew what he was doing as he glanced from one to the next, all the while his mind picturing Amy Fulford as the girl from the missing desk.

‘Which one of you is Serena Newman?’

They were very nervous, glancing sideways without moving their heads. Sitting in the back row, Serena put up her hand.

‘Stand up please.’

Serena stood up, chewing at her lips. He smiled to put her at ease and asked her to come to the front as she was very important, and then to tell the class exactly what happened on the Saturday when she was with Amy. He knew already, but wanted to watch the girls’ reactions.

Serena was a very attractive girl, not in the same league as Amy, but she was quite confident as she asked if he wanted her to start from when they were both collected from school that day.

‘Please explain in detail everything that you remember from driving out of the gates here to your home. The smallest detail might be significant. Let me give you an example: was Amy chatty and friendly, knowing she was going to be spending the weekend, a sleepover with you – right? That’s what you call it, a sleepover . . . ?’

‘Yes, and we had arranged it for quite a while, and when we got home—’

‘Hang on, hang on – was she wearing her school uniform, what was she carrying, an overnight bag, a satchel? Come on, Serena, start from the top again. I want you to think like a detective having to recall every single detail.’

‘Okay, we both had uniforms on, but not our hats, and she had an overnight bag, with her nightdress and change of clothes.’

Reid nodded encouragingly as she continued, even describing what CD they asked Mrs Newman to play in the car, and how they had sung along together. The girls were attentive, and he watched as Serena got into her stride, almost as if she was enjoying being the centre of attention. Slowly he began to monitor their reactions. After a while a couple leaned their elbows on their desks, chins held in their hands, and not one appeared bored or even restless. They listened intently as Serena explained about going to the cinema, but Amy had said she wanted to get her watch from her father’s flat, and that she would meet her later.

Serena paused and turned to Reid. ‘I waited most of the afternoon at home after I washed my hair, but when Amy finally texted me that she wasn’t going to come to the cinema I called some of my friends from my old school and they said they could come. Afterwards we had a hamburger and fries and when I got home I called Amy’s mobile again but it was on voicemail. I think my mum called her mum, but no one answered at her house. I came back to school on the Sunday and I brought her overnight bag with me as it had her school clothes in it.’

Reid nodded and she was about to return to her desk when he put out a hand. ‘Serena was one of the last people we know to have seen Amy since she left her house in Fulham on the Saturday. Since then not one person, not one single person has seen Amy Fulford. It is as if she disappeared into thin air, so now—’ A red-haired girl put up her hand.

‘Yes, Miss . . . ?’

‘Allard, Georgina Allard. I know that Amy’s watch was from Cartier and it was engraved with her name and she was given it for her birthday by her mother.’

Reid clapped his hands. ‘Terrific, good girl – that is a very valuable piece of information. So how do you know about her watch?’

‘She showed it to me; she didn’t have a birthday party because she was away abroad with her mother. Amy said it was extra-special because it was a Cartier and very expensive.’

‘Anyone else have such an expensive watch?’

There was a murmur as several girls said they hadn’t got Cartier watches but a couple admitted they had very nice ones. He asked if anyone felt that Amy was showing off, and there were shrugs and more murmurs and then the same red-haired girl said that her sister had one and it had diamonds. It was taking time, but he was encouraging the girls to be more open about how they felt towards Amy and now they freely looked to each other, whispered and hid behind their hands. They no longer sat prudishly behind their desks, but swung their legs to the side, leaning back and forth to confer with each other. Amy was always top of the class, Amy was always chosen first when picking sports teams and was in the hockey, netball and water polo teams and she had even been given the best roles in their plays at the end of each term. The green-eyed monster of envy reared its head as one after another related an anecdote about the missing girl. It was if they had forgotten the reason he was there as he encouraged them and laughed. By now Serena had returned to her desk and sat on top of it, knees drawn up. She was obviously a class leader and prompted a number of the girls to recall some incident or other that was derogatory about Amy.

Reid was surprised that Mrs Vicks remained silent, though he could see that she was frowning in disapproval. He gestured towards Serena, remarking that although she’d invited Amy for a sleepover he wondered if Serena didn’t really like her. She flushed, which made her look even prettier, and gave a pursed-lipped look to the rest of the girls. ‘Nobody particularly likes her and I am speaking the truth. She is a liar and very secretive; we are not supposed to have our mobile phones after nine o’clock – we have to put them in the phone box, it’s a house rule, but she is always using hers even after lights out.’

‘Does she have a boyfriend?’

There was a snigger and the girls covered their mouths as one or two guffawed, but when Mrs Vicks tutted they went quiet. Reid felt he had been patient long enough and now his friendly act dropped.

‘Listen to me. Amy Fulford has been missing for six days and nights, we have found no trace of her and her parents are desperate for news. If any of you know of a boyfriend, or someone she was in contact with, now is your chance to tell me. I don’t care if you liked or disliked her, I am not interested whether you were envious of her, but if you know anything that can help me find her I need to know now. It will not go against you and I will endeavour to keep any secrets you’ve not dared tell anyone.’

They stared back at him, and it was not just frustrating but actually infuriating. Serena got down from her desktop and sat behind it. Reid was shocked as she banged the lid of her desk, and within seconds a couple of the other girls started lifting their desk lids and banging them shut. Mrs Vicks clapped her hands and they quickly returned to sitting quietly like sweet innocent girls. Reid picked up his jacket, and before Mrs Vicks could say anything he gestured for her to come outside the classroom.

In the corridor Reid put on his jacket. ‘Mrs Vicks, I think one or other of Amy’s classmates knows something that might help me to trace her, but they are either refusing to admit it or afraid to tell me.’

‘I sincerely doubt that; they are all very good girls and from very good homes. Perhaps the only thing they may be withholding is that Amy Fulford was a very quiet difficult girl to get to know; she was exceptionally clever and at times it felt as if she was much older.’

‘You are using the past tense, Mrs Vicks.’

Her plump hands flew to her cheeks. ‘Oh my God. I didn’t mean to do that. I am so sorry.’

‘So am I, Mrs Vicks, because if we discover that any of the girls are withholding information and haven’t spoken up this morning, there will be serious consequences.’

He turned to walk down the corridor as Mrs Vicks called loudly to a girl that she should return to her class.

‘I need to use the bathroom, Mrs Vicks.’

‘Very well, straight there and back, Alice. I will be timing you.’

Reid slowed his steps, the classroom door closed, and he heard the soft footfall of the girl behind him. As she approached he recognized her as the small quiet girl who had been sitting behind Serena. As she passed him she threw him a small rolled-up piece of paper and continued along the corridor into the toilets. He unfolded it and saw that written in a hurried scrawl were the words ‘Facebook – Slut Shaming’.

He paused a moment in the hope Alice would come out, but she didn’t and so he headed down the stairs to the ground floor. He made it to the exit of the complex but was then at a loss as to which way he should continue, until he saw one of the painted arrows to the art studio and recalled Detective Lane mentioning a Miss Polka. He decided he would see if she was available and made his way along a narrow path, following a second arrow pointing towards a glass-sided building with
STUDIO
in black letters over double French windows.

Peering through, he saw something that astonished him. There was a semi-nude female model on a draped couch and eight girls sitting with big white pads on easels sketching her. He shook his head; if that had been on offer at his grammar school he would have definitely taken up art as a subject. Suddenly a voice behind him asked what he thought he was doing.