‘Tony. Right. He okay?’

‘Fine.’ She looked into the coffee mug. ‘Everything. Fine and Jim Dandy.’ She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, breathed in, her stomach suddenly feeling enormous.

‘Whoever he is,’ said Phil. ‘Well, you look like you know what you’re doing. I’ll leave you to it, right?’

‘Okay.’

‘Right.’

‘You said that already.’

He laughed. ‘Right.’ Laughed again. ‘Well . . . I’m sure I’ll see you later.’

‘Later.’

He moved away, walking towards his desk. She kept her eyes on him the whole time, then shook her head. No, she thought, that’s the last thing I need right now.

She put her head down, looked again at the paperwork in front of her but couldn’t concentrate. There had been too many things left unsaid between her and Phil. Things they should talk about. If she decided she wanted to. But they would have to wait.

She went back to the reports. Concentrating this time.

Because lives depended on it.

13

Emma Nicholls sat down behind her desk and gave DC Anni Hepburn a smile intended to convey confidence and professionalism but which instead screamed tension and barely suppressed emotion.

She was dressed as if for a normal day at work as a head teacher: black two-piece trouser suit, light-coloured blouse, hair cut into a long bob. But the day was no longer normal. Two of her teachers had been murdered and now the school had been invaded by police.

DC Anni Hepburn had been a detective long enough to develop a detachment that enabled her to do her job effectively while still retaining sympathy for the victims of violent crime. She hoped she always would. Human debris, was how she often secretly referred to them. Broken remains needing - and hoping for - repair. But she had also been a detective long enough to know that that wouldn’t always happen.

Emma Nicholls, she thought, would be all right eventually. She hadn’t seen what Anni had seen earlier that day in Claire Fielding’s flat, smelled what she had smelled. And, as the headmistress kept stressing, her relationship with Claire Fielding and Julie Simpson had been mainly professional.

‘Please understand,’ Emma Nicholls said, tipping her head back and appearing to audition words in her head before trusting them to leave her mouth, ‘that my primary concern is for this school.’

‘Of course.’

‘By that I mean everyone. The welfare of the children and the staff I consider to be equally paramount.’

‘Right.’

Words chosen, she continued. ‘Having said that, I seldom interfere in the affairs of my staff unless they are personal friends or they ask for help.’

Anni nodded, knowing a disclaimer when she heard one. ‘Okay.’

Emma Nicholls’ office managed to be both professional and welcoming, with achievements and diplomas on the walls alongside schedules, year planners and pictures the children had made especially for her. She seemed to be popular and well thought of. It was how Anni thought a primary school head teacher’s office - and a primary school head teacher - should be.

The school was old but had been modernised. Clean, bright and bursting with positive energy, and with children’s work and achievements decorating the walls, it was clearly a place where the children were valued and well taught. But then, thought Anni, this was Lexden. An affluent suburb of Colchester. She would expect it to be like that.

The children, or at least most of them that Anni had come into contact with since she had arrived there, seemed so full of hope, of life, of potential and enthusiasm for the world. They had seemed thrilled by the arrival of the police. Something different, something exciting to break up the routine. But as Anni and her small team of junior officers and uniforms had gone about their business of interviewing staff and explaining what their procedures would be, the children, she knew, no matter how discreet her team or how careful the teaching staff in explaining things, would soon find out. There was no way the murder of two teachers - well loved, if the comments she had overheard were anything to go by - could not affect them. And then they would see what the police were really there for. And begin to understand that the world wasn’t like they saw on TV; that it could be a horrible, cruel place. That was why Anni had never wanted kids herself. Because no matter how hard you tried to protect them from the world, the world would eventually claim them.

‘So,’ she continued, her notebook open, ‘were Claire Fielding and Julie Simpson personal friends?’

Emma Nicholls seemed about to answer but instead sighed, her eyes drifting off, her forced pleasantness slipping away to be replaced by a dark, depressive air. Like a cancer victim who had momentarily forgotten their predicament.

‘This is just terrible,’ she said.

With nothing to add, Anni nodded.

‘Oh my God . . .’

The dark, depressive air was increasing. Anni had to take control. ‘Ms Nicholls,’ she said. ‘I’m most terribly sorry about what’s happened. I realise this is an awful time, but I really do need to ask you some questions.’

Emma Nicholls pulled herself upright. ‘I know, I know. You’ve . . .’ Her mind drifted again, her features taking on the appearance of approaching tears. She managed to pull herself together. ‘Sorry.’

‘That’s all right.’

The head teacher allowed a small smile to cross her face. ‘At times like this I wish I still smoked.’

Anni gave a small smile. ‘I’m sure you do. Right. Claire Fielding and Julie Simpson. Friends?’

Emma Nicholls nodded.

‘Julie was Year Six, Claire Year Four, right?’

Emma Nicholls nodded again, her hands fidgeting as if an imaginary cigarette was there.

‘And Claire was pregnant.’

Another nod.

‘How long did she have to go until maternity leave?’

‘A couple . . . a couple of weeks.’

‘Was it planned, d’you know? Was she happy about it?’

Emma Nicholls frowned. ‘Is that important? She’s dead.’

‘I know. But we have to ask these questions. Helps us find out who did it.’

‘Right.’The frown slowly disappeared to be replaced by a sigh. ‘She seemed happy about it, from what I could gather.’

‘We believe she had friends round last night.’

‘Yes. A baby shower.’ Her lip trembled again.

‘Ms Nicholls, we’re trying to track down anyone one else who may have been there. Could you give me any names?’

Emma Nicholls didn’t have to give the matter any thought. ‘Chrissie Burrows. Geraint Cooper. They were talking about it this morning.’

‘That’s it? Just those two?’

‘Just . . .’ Tears threatened her eyes again.

Anni waited until the head teacher was once more under control.

‘Ms Nicholls, I’ll need to talk to them too.’

Emma Nicholls nodded. Anni looked at her notes. ‘What about Claire’s boyfriend? Did she ever mention him?’

The frown returned to Emma Nicholls’ face, along with a guarded look in her eyes. ‘Her boyfriend.’

‘Ryan Brotherton,’ said Anni, looking at her notes once more. ‘At least that’s what we’re assuming. His name crops up a lot in her diary. Dates, that sort of thing. Did she ever mention him at all?’

‘Well, Claire didn’t have a very . . . easy relationship with him from what I could gather. As I said, it was none of my business. She was an excellent teacher, very professional, and the children adored her. Whatever else went on in her life, as long as it didn’t impinge on work I couldn’t get involved.’

Anni said nothing.

Emma Nicholls continued. ‘Claire had recently split up with her partner.’

Anni frowned. She hadn’t received that impression from the notebooks in Claire’s flat.

‘You look surprised.’

‘I am. I was given to understand that the relationship was still ongoing.’

Emma Nicholls shook her head. ‘Again, I must stress that I seldom interfere, but my staff know my door is always open for them. A few months ago Claire was looking very despondent. I asked her if she wanted to talk. She didn’t. Julie . . .’ Again the dark cloud descended as she spoke the name. ‘Julie . . . told me that Claire and her partner had split up. And that Claire was taking it very badly.’