because they were commanded by Mrs Hargreaves, but because they craved the remainder of the story. ‘It appears that Sebastian was murdered.’
‘Murdered!’ hissed the heads as one. That did it! They were now babbling like the power of speech was a gift that had just been simultaneously visited on them for the first time. ‘Did you know him?’ ‘Was he that ginger-haired kid?’ ‘No that was Aaron Southall.’ ‘He had fair hair.’ ‘He was that tall kid in the rowing club.’ ‘No that was someone else.’
To Hart’s surprise and, he thought, to Mrs Hargreaves’ credit, she let them get on with it for half a minute or so, let them shift some of it off their chests. Then she called time.
‘Quiet please. I said silence!’
The heads stopped their talking and it was eyes front again. For some the most tragic part of the proceedings was now over, for others the most juicy bit; the hall was a mishmash of thoughts and emotions sweeping right across the spectrum from nobly compassionate to selfishly callous.
‘School will continue as normal today, although those students in Year 13 who knew Sebastian well may be excused lessons until recess; teachers will exercise discretion in this matter. The School Nurse and Student Counsellor will be available as usual, as will the Chaplain, of course.’
Mrs Hargreaves paused and then moved on to practicalities, the tone of admonishment in her voice punishing her students for sins yet to be committed.
‘This matter is not one to gossip about, particularly to persons outside of the school. A letter will go home today to all parents to explain the situation and to notify them of the date of the memorial service. This letter will be a short communication giving the facts. It will contain neither mindless speculation nor foolish rumour,’ she noted accusingly. ‘The use of mobile telephones is prohibited until lunch time tomorrow, and anybody caught using one will be reported to me personally.’
At that very moment The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy skipped its way out of a teacher’s handbag. On that occasion, looks very nearly did kill.
‘Police officers will be interviewing many people as a matter of routine throughout the day. Parents will be invited to attend such interviews; if they decline then a senior teacher will be present. Dismiss yourselves in the usual fashion. In silence!’
The students filed out of the hall, many with heads bowed and carrying leaden insides. A few of the girls embraced one another, some for comfort, others to prove they could grieve with the best of them. There were blotchy eyes and sobs into hankies as they walked away, many tears being shed by students who had never even known Sebastian Emmer: Death had been a stranger to ones so youthful, but now he had arrived to reach his black hand into their school and pluck away one of their own. Most of the younger boys just wanted to get the heck out of the place, escape from the embarrassment of it all.
‘Nothing to help us there, was there Sir,’ suggested Redpath, not really asking a question.
‘Nope. Nothing at all. Not likely though, was it, that somebody would just blurt out a name and then we’d all be able to go home?’
‘I don’t like this one, though. There just doesn’t seem to be any sense in it, any motive for killing a schoolkid. I can’t see where we’re going to get a lead, get a handle on it.’
‘There’s always sense and a motive for somebody, that’s why these things happen, and we’d better get cracking to find out what they are. We’ll start by getting off to our base in the classroom, sort out some interviews and then we’ll take a break at midday for a chat about progress and have a snack.’
‘A snack, Sir? At that time of day?’
‘No, you’re right, Darren. Let’s have lunch instead. The pubs’ll be open by then.’
*****
Simon Chandler was first on the list of teachers to be called in for a chat with Hart. He had been
‘Murdered!’ hissed the heads as one. That did it! They were now babbling like the power of speech was a gift that had just been simultaneously visited on them for the first time. ‘Did you know him?’ ‘Was he that ginger-haired kid?’ ‘No that was Aaron Southall.’ ‘He had fair hair.’ ‘He was that tall kid in the rowing club.’ ‘No that was someone else.’
To Hart’s surprise and, he thought, to Mrs Hargreaves’ credit, she let them get on with it for half a minute or so, let them shift some of it off their chests. Then she called time.
‘Quiet please. I said silence!’
The heads stopped their talking and it was eyes front again. For some the most tragic part of the proceedings was now over, for others the most juicy bit; the hall was a mishmash of thoughts and emotions sweeping right across the spectrum from nobly compassionate to selfishly callous.
‘School will continue as normal today, although those students in Year 13 who knew Sebastian well may be excused lessons until recess; teachers will exercise discretion in this matter. The School Nurse and Student Counsellor will be available as usual, as will the Chaplain, of course.’
Mrs Hargreaves paused and then moved on to practicalities, the tone of admonishment in her voice punishing her students for sins yet to be committed.
‘This matter is not one to gossip about, particularly to persons outside of the school. A letter will go home today to all parents to explain the situation and to notify them of the date of the memorial service. This letter will be a short communication giving the facts. It will contain neither mindless speculation nor foolish rumour,’ she noted accusingly. ‘The use of mobile telephones is prohibited until lunch time tomorrow, and anybody caught using one will be reported to me personally.’
At that very moment The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy skipped its way out of a teacher’s handbag. On that occasion, looks very nearly did kill.
‘Police officers will be interviewing many people as a matter of routine throughout the day. Parents will be invited to attend such interviews; if they decline then a senior teacher will be present. Dismiss yourselves in the usual fashion. In silence!’
The students filed out of the hall, many with heads bowed and carrying leaden insides. A few of the girls embraced one another, some for comfort, others to prove they could grieve with the best of them. There were blotchy eyes and sobs into hankies as they walked away, many tears being shed by students who had never even known Sebastian Emmer: Death had been a stranger to ones so youthful, but now he had arrived to reach his black hand into their school and pluck away one of their own. Most of the younger boys just wanted to get the heck out of the place, escape from the embarrassment of it all.
‘Nothing to help us there, was there Sir,’ suggested Redpath, not really asking a question.
‘Nope. Nothing at all. Not likely though, was it, that somebody would just blurt out a name and then we’d all be able to go home?’
‘I don’t like this one, though. There just doesn’t seem to be any sense in it, any motive for killing a schoolkid. I can’t see where we’re going to get a lead, get a handle on it.’
‘There’s always sense and a motive for somebody, that’s why these things happen, and we’d better get cracking to find out what they are. We’ll start by getting off to our base in the classroom, sort out some interviews and then we’ll take a break at midday for a chat about progress and have a snack.’
‘A snack, Sir? At that time of day?’
‘No, you’re right, Darren. Let’s have lunch instead. The pubs’ll be open by then.’
*****
Simon Chandler was first on the list of teachers to be called in for a chat with Hart. He had been
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