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Authors: Andrew Derham
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Sebastian Emmer’s form teacher and he had also taught the boy geography. Everything about the man appeared average and unremarkable: his height, weight, face, intellect, self-confidence and charm. Chandler constituted a fitting introduction to two hours of the most bland tedium that Hart could remember. Sebastian was a nice lad. Sebastian was no trouble in class. Sebastian had no problems that I know of. Sebastian had a good group of friends. I am so shocked. Yes, I can tell you where I was yesterday between three PM and five-thirty and, yes, the alibi I am relating is boringly plausible.
Paul Outbridge, the biology teacher, arrived after Chandler. Standing about five feet six, he possessed delicate hands that some may have thought pretty, and small feet to match. He did at least think that Sebastian was ‘a bit of a big-head sometimes,’ but that was as close as Hart got to hearing anything other than praise, platitudes and a reluctance to speak ill of the dead. He seemed a normal schoolkid, they all said. No one had any idea why anybody should want to harm him, let alone kill him.
Next door, Darren Redpath had enjoyed greater excitement in the delightful form of Sophie Rand. Although she said much the same as everybody else she did at least possess the unique attraction of lovely long hair the colour of plain chocolate. She also owned a pair of those female PE teacher’s superb muscular thighs which he so admired and which, Redpath told Hart later, could crack a walnut. She looked great in her little burgundy sports skirt and Redpath couldn’t help but wonder what colour they were. He didn’t find that out, nor anything of much use to the investigation for that matter. She was sorry she couldn’t help, but she hadn’t known Sebastian that well, her being a girls’ boarding mistress and PE teacher and him being a boy. However, Redpath did at least enjoy his police work for twenty minutes, a little longer than was strictly necessary to collect the details he needed.
At ten minutes to twelve, Hart ushered his last scheduled visitor of the morning out of the classroom door. He slumped back into his chair and rubbed his cheeks vigorously up and down with the palms of his hands. Thank goodness it was time for that early lunch he had promised himself. No dinner last night and no breakfast this morning had left his stomach empty, like a squashed football. He was awakened from his daydreams of steak and chips, shepherd’s pie, and liver and onions topped with peppery gravy by Redpath barging through the door.
‘Looks like you’re as keen for your lunch as I am. Let’s go,’ enthused Hart.
‘No, Sir. I mean, I think I’ve got something you might be interested in. There’s a girl next door, I think you should go and have a word with her.’
‘This had better be good, Darren. My belly’s telling me I haven’t eaten for a week,’ scowled Hart as he swiftly made for the door.
‘Don’t you want to know what it’s about?’
‘She’ll tell me soon enough. What’s her name?’
‘Petra. Petra Noble. Form 13M.’
‘Come on then, lead the way and introduce me to Petra. And then it’s definitely lunch, even if she admits to doing the job herself. She can wait until I’ve eaten my horse before we cart her off to the nick.’
Petra Noble was sitting up straight, next to her mother, their long auburn hair painting a picture of twins rather than parent and child. Hart faced them across the school desk while Redpath stood to one side. The classroom walls were covered with maps showing the routes European explorers had forged centuries before to prise open their opportunities for trade and plunder.
‘Hello, Mrs Noble, Petra. My name’s Chief Inspector Hart. Petra, would you just tell me again what you told Sergeant Redpath?’
She was polite, although not overawed, but a little disappointed that she didn’t actually know anything that would turn her into a star; she was destined to deliver an
Paul Outbridge, the biology teacher, arrived after Chandler. Standing about five feet six, he possessed delicate hands that some may have thought pretty, and small feet to match. He did at least think that Sebastian was ‘a bit of a big-head sometimes,’ but that was as close as Hart got to hearing anything other than praise, platitudes and a reluctance to speak ill of the dead. He seemed a normal schoolkid, they all said. No one had any idea why anybody should want to harm him, let alone kill him.
Next door, Darren Redpath had enjoyed greater excitement in the delightful form of Sophie Rand. Although she said much the same as everybody else she did at least possess the unique attraction of lovely long hair the colour of plain chocolate. She also owned a pair of those female PE teacher’s superb muscular thighs which he so admired and which, Redpath told Hart later, could crack a walnut. She looked great in her little burgundy sports skirt and Redpath couldn’t help but wonder what colour they were. He didn’t find that out, nor anything of much use to the investigation for that matter. She was sorry she couldn’t help, but she hadn’t known Sebastian that well, her being a girls’ boarding mistress and PE teacher and him being a boy. However, Redpath did at least enjoy his police work for twenty minutes, a little longer than was strictly necessary to collect the details he needed.
At ten minutes to twelve, Hart ushered his last scheduled visitor of the morning out of the classroom door. He slumped back into his chair and rubbed his cheeks vigorously up and down with the palms of his hands. Thank goodness it was time for that early lunch he had promised himself. No dinner last night and no breakfast this morning had left his stomach empty, like a squashed football. He was awakened from his daydreams of steak and chips, shepherd’s pie, and liver and onions topped with peppery gravy by Redpath barging through the door.
‘Looks like you’re as keen for your lunch as I am. Let’s go,’ enthused Hart.
‘No, Sir. I mean, I think I’ve got something you might be interested in. There’s a girl next door, I think you should go and have a word with her.’
‘This had better be good, Darren. My belly’s telling me I haven’t eaten for a week,’ scowled Hart as he swiftly made for the door.
‘Don’t you want to know what it’s about?’
‘She’ll tell me soon enough. What’s her name?’
‘Petra. Petra Noble. Form 13M.’
‘Come on then, lead the way and introduce me to Petra. And then it’s definitely lunch, even if she admits to doing the job herself. She can wait until I’ve eaten my horse before we cart her off to the nick.’
Petra Noble was sitting up straight, next to her mother, their long auburn hair painting a picture of twins rather than parent and child. Hart faced them across the school desk while Redpath stood to one side. The classroom walls were covered with maps showing the routes European explorers had forged centuries before to prise open their opportunities for trade and plunder.
‘Hello, Mrs Noble, Petra. My name’s Chief Inspector Hart. Petra, would you just tell me again what you told Sergeant Redpath?’
She was polite, although not overawed, but a little disappointed that she didn’t actually know anything that would turn her into a star; she was destined to deliver an
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