The Kill (14 page)

‘You’re the last person I’d ask for comfort,’ I said, truthfully. ‘Is it time to go in yet?’

‘We’re still a bit early.’

‘No harm in that, is there?’

Derwent grinned. ‘Teacher’s pet.’

‘Amy Maynard is not a teacher.’

‘You’re right. What bullshit title have they given her?’

‘Student counsellor, I believe.’

‘And that’s a real job, is it?’

‘Don’t knock it,’ I warned. ‘She’s the ideal person to be Vanessa’s responsible adult, and she volunteered.’

‘Do-gooder.’

‘Yeah, and we’re lucky she is a do-gooder. Without her we’d be stuck with Julie Hammond. Believe me, you don’t want that.’

‘You probably didn’t see Mrs Hammond at her best.’ Derwent smoothed the sides of his hair. ‘I bet I could charm her.’

‘I think you’re sorely mistaken about that. Even the boss didn’t make a dent.’

At the reference to Godley, Derwent’s face darkened. He opened the car door. ‘Let’s go.’

It answered the question I hadn’t dared to ask. Godley was still keeping Derwent at arm’s length, and Derwent was still upset about it. Titanically so, from the moody way he strode into the school’s reception, flashed his warrant card and demanded directions to Amy Maynard’s office.

‘I’ll just give her a call and see if she’s available,’ the receptionist said. She reached out to the phone in front of her. Derwent leaned over the desk and put one finger on the back of the receiver, holding it in place on its rest.

‘She’s expecting us.’

‘At eleven, I was told.’ The receptionist glanced at the clock near her desk. She was in her fifties and very tanned, with short dark hair and a lot of eye make-up. ‘It’s only a quarter to.’

‘So we’re early. We won’t hurry.’ Derwent raised his eyebrows. ‘Seriously. There’s no need to call her.’

‘Oh, all right, then.’ She took a photocopied map off the reception desk and laid it in front of us with a flourish. ‘You need to go to Baker – that’s this building here, two over from where you are now. Her office is on the ground floor. Go through the doors and straight down the corridor in front of you and it’s on the left. You’ll see the chairs outside it.’

Derwent set off at a fast pace, and I had to hurry to catch up with him.

‘What’s the rush?’

Derwent checked the map. ‘You know what would have happened if I hadn’t insisted on seeing her. “Just take a seat for a few moments while you’re waiting for Miss Maynard.” Half an hour later you’re still sitting there and Vanessa Hammond is getting her story together, with the help of her devoted guidance counsellor. No thanks.’

‘First of all, do you really think Vanessa has something to hide? And secondly, if she does do you think you’re going to surprise her into telling us the truth just by turning up ten minutes early?’

‘I will take any and every advantage I possibly can,’ Derwent said, opening the door to Baker Building and ushering me through with a flourish. ‘And I’m assuming nothing about Vanessa Hammond. She might be honest and open about how she got that bruise on her face. She might tell us all about her parents’ marriage. She might even know who her dad was shagging on the side. But I bet we’ll have to drag it out of her.’

‘I think you should let me do most of the talking.’

‘Why?’

‘You can come across as slightly … intimidating.’

‘So?’ Derwent’s eyebrows were drawn together, his expression fierce.

‘So maybe that’s something to hold in reserve. If she doesn’t seem to want to talk, you could give her a nudge. If I can gain her trust, don’t interrupt. I met her at the house, remember. A familiar face might be reassuring for her.’

There was a long pause before Derwent said, ‘Fine.’

‘Really?’

‘Go for it.’ His expression had changed to studied neutrality and I wondered what he was really thinking as we walked down the echoing corridor towards a row of three metal-framed chairs, the seats wooden and chipped. They looked punishing.

‘A. Maynard Student Counsellor,’ Derwent read off the door. ‘What do you think? Knock or wait?’

‘Knock,’ I said, and did so.

There was a flurry of movement behind the door – a chair pushed back, a cascade of things that might have been books hitting the floor. Derwent raised his eyebrows at me and reached past me to knock again, more heavily this time.

‘Coming!’

The voice sounded breathless and girlish, and when Amy Maynard opened the door her appearance matched it perfectly. She was petite, with shoulder-length brown hair and a nervous expression. There was no colour in her face at all, which could have been shock or could have been normal for her; I couldn’t tell. She looked from me to Derwent and back again, apparently at a loss. It didn’t bring out Derwent’s gentlemanly side.

‘Detective Inspector Josh Derwent, Detective Constable Maeve Kerrigan, here to interview Vanessa Hammond. Or had you forgotten?’

‘You’re early.’

‘A bit.’ Derwent checked his watch. ‘A few minutes.’

‘I’m not ready. Vanessa’s not here. I’m with another student, actually, so …’

‘We’ll wait.’ I pressed my elbow into Derwent’s side, a movement too subtle for Amy to notice. He stood for a couple of seconds longer, staring at Amy, his expression forbidding. I felt like a dog owner tugging on a lead, in vain. Derwent’s hackles were definitely up. It seemed like a long time before he turned away and sat down on the chair nearest the door, folding his arms. I smiled at Amy and got nothing in return except for a blank look and a door closed in my face.

I sat down beside Derwent who was glowering at the wall opposite us.

‘Glad we’re not sitting waiting in reception. You’re right, this was a much better idea.’

‘Shut up, Kerrigan. It was worth a try.’

‘These chairs are much less comfortable than the ones in reception.’ I shifted on the hard wooden seat. ‘I bet the receptionist would have got us a cup of tea while we were waiting.’

Derwent leaned towards me, lowering his voice. ‘Why do you think she volunteered for this job?’

‘Who, Amy?’ I shrugged. ‘Sense of duty? Curiosity?’

‘She’s shit-scared of us.’

‘Of you.’

‘Us.’

‘I don’t think she’s scared of me. I wasn’t the one staring her out.’

He grinned. ‘She didn’t like that at all.’

‘Yeah, and I can understand why. What I can’t understand is why you felt it was necessary to glare at the poor girl.’

‘To see what kind of reaction I’d get.’ He said it as if it was perfectly reasonable. ‘She was shitting bricks.’

‘Most people she interacts with are teenagers. They’re not big on eye contact. She’s probably never met a police officer before, let alone one who seems to think she’s got something to hide.’

‘From the way she reacted she probably does have something to hide. It’s just unlikely to be relevant to this enquiry.’

Behind us, the door handle rattled. I leaned forward to see around Derwent. The two of us watched as a teenage boy walked out, turning left, away from us. He had a mane of curly fair hair, like a surfer. He didn’t so much as glance in our direction. People who studiously avoided looking at police officers had raised a red flag when I was on the street.

Then again, he was a teenager. And one who had been having a quiet chat with the school’s counsellor when we knocked on the door. He was probably embarrassed. He had almost reached the double-doors at the end of the corridor when a sound from the other direction made me look round and I forgot about him. A girl was coming towards us, fast, her hair flying as she strode. She had her arms wrapped around herself. Her uniform jumper was huge, her skirt correspondingly brief. Black tights made her legs look spindly, especially since her shoes were thick-soled and heavy.

‘Vanessa?’ Derwent asked me. I nodded.

She stopped in front of us.

‘Waiting for me?

Derwent stood up and held out his hand. ‘I’m Josh. And this is—’

‘I know who she is.’ She didn’t unfold her arms and after a second Derwent let his hand drop back to his side.

‘How are you?’ I asked.

‘Fine.’ From her tone, she thought it was a stupid question, and it was, in a way. But I genuinely wanted to know. I wanted to know if she was coping all right, if she was ready to be back at school, if she was sleeping at night. It wasn’t any of my business, really, but I couldn’t turn off the part of me that wanted to make the world better.

I didn’t hear her come out of her office, but suddenly I became aware that Amy Maynard was standing beside Derwent.

‘If we’re all here, we might as well get started.’ She smiled at Vanessa. ‘Get it over with.’

The girl nodded and followed her into her room. It was painted grey, with half-closed Venetian blinds at the window so the light was dimmer than I would have liked. A spindly plant was the only decoration. Most of the surfaces were piled with books, files and photocopied pages. My desk was legendary for being untidy but this was in another class. Derwent, who couldn’t stand mess in any shape or form, had to be hating it. Four low chairs surrounded a coffee table in front of the desk.

‘Please. Take a seat. Does anyone need water? Or a cup of coffee?’ In her own room, in charge, Amy seemed to be far more confident. She was wearing a fluffy green jumper that leached all the colour from her skin and a long tweed skirt with boots. I could tell she had a good figure, even though her clothes hid it effectively. She moved with the precision and economy of movement of a dancer or a gymnast. She didn’t have a scrap of make-up on, I noted. My mother would have been horrified, something that made me reassess my own reaction. Why did it bother me? Maybe it helped her to relate to the students.

No one wanted anything to drink. Amy Maynard sat on the chair furthest from the door, and Vanessa took the one next to her. I sat opposite Amy. Derwent pushed his chair back a foot or two before he sat down, breaking the neat circle. I had no doubt that was deliberate.

‘So, Vanessa, thank you for seeing us,’ I said. ‘We just have a few questions for you about your dad. I’m so sorry about what happened.’

She nodded with a hint of impatience. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘We’re trying to understand your father’s world. We want to find out what he was like.’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘We never talked all that much. He wasn’t around a lot.’

‘Because of work?’

‘Yeah. Shifts. Even when he wasn’t working, when he had some days off, he was always out. At least when Ben and I were at home.’

‘Where would he go?’

A shrug. ‘The gym. The pub. Hardware stores. Anywhere but where we were.’

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘He didn’t like being at home with Ben. Or me. Mum and I fight. He didn’t like that.’ She swallowed, hard. ‘You’d hear him pick his keys up and then he’d be gone. Phone off. It used to drive Mum mad.’

‘Do you think they had a good marriage?’

‘No.’ The reply was instant. ‘If it wasn’t for Ben they would have totally got a divorce years ago. Mum wouldn’t let him walk out on his responsibilities that easily though.’

I thought that phrase had come straight from Julie. ‘She couldn’t have stopped him, could she?’

‘She made him feel guilty enough about not doing much for Ben. Mum pays for our education. She runs the house. Dad was supposed to help. He always said he’d fix things around the place when they broke, but he never really got round to it. He was kind of useless.’ The last word cut through the air. Vanessa herself looked surprised to have said it. I thought it was long habit. I was starting to feel sorry for Terence Hammond.

‘But your mum still wanted him to be there.’

‘Yeah.’ She used the cuff of her jumper to blot away some tears that were threatening to spill on to her cheeks. ‘She said it was better than being on her own. But I suppose she’ll have to get used to it now.’

‘Vanessa, this is a hard question to ask, but did you ever have any suspicions your father was in a relationship with someone else?’

Amy Maynard’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Is that really an appropriate question?’

‘It’s one I have to ask,’ I said. ‘Vanessa?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. I don’t think he was getting much at home.’

‘
How
old are you?’ Derwent asked.

‘Fifteen, nearly.’ She looked at him, defiant. ‘Old enough to know about that sort of thing.’

‘If you say so.’

‘Vanessa, did you ever see your dad with anyone? Or hear him talking on his phone, maybe?’

‘He used to go out to the car to make phone calls. He said the house was too noisy. Ben likes to listen to music in his room but he turns it up really loud. I usually have the TV on when I’m at home, too. I could kind of see his point.’

I imagined Terence Hammond sitting in his car in the driveway of his house, planning his next meeting with his lover, while his children occupied themselves inside. I didn’t feel all that sympathetic to him, on the whole.

‘Did anyone ever threaten him? Was he scared of anyone?’

‘He wasn’t scared of anyone. He was really tough.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘Actually, that’s not true. He was scared of Mum.’

‘Would you say it was a happy home?’

‘No.’ She glanced at the guidance counsellor, who smiled at her. ‘Pretty miserable.’

‘I’m sorry, I have to ask this too. Was your father abusive to you or anyone else?’

‘What do you mean by abusive?’

‘Verbal abuse, physical violence, sexual abuse.’

‘No way.’ Her face was red. ‘He was normal. He shouted at us sometimes. At me. He thought I needed to work harder at school. And he didn’t like me having a boyfriend.’

‘Did he stop you from seeing him?’ Derwent asked, brushing imaginary dust off his knee as if he wasn’t really all that interested in the answer.

‘During the week. And I wasn’t allowed to go to his house. Dad was okay with him coming to our place. He liked to keep an eye on us.’

‘What’s your boyfriend’s name?’ Derwent asked.

‘We broke up.’

‘I still need his name.’

‘Jamie Driffield.’

‘Is he a student at this school?’ I asked.

‘He was. He’s left. He’s nineteen,’ she added, unable to keep the pride out of her voice.