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name?’
    â€˜Verity Beale.’
    â€˜And what’s the last address you have for her in Woolwich?’
    â€˜Ruskin Road.’
    There was a sudden pause, as if the other man had remembered something which he
should
have recalled a lot earlier.
    â€˜Are you still there?’ Rutter asked.
    â€˜Er . . . yes. Sorry,’ Hoskins replied. ‘You did say the victim’s name was Beale, didn’t you?’
    â€˜That’s right. Verity Beale.’
    â€˜You’re sure about that?’
    â€˜I’ve talked to several people who know her by that name, and it’s what’s on her driving licence.’
    â€˜Hang on for a minute.’
    There was the sound of the phone being laid down, followed by the noise of several drawers being opened.
    â€˜Sorry about that,’ Hoskins said, when he came back on to the line a couple of minutes later. ‘Bit of a local emergency came up as we were talking, but it’s been dealt with now. You say this woman’s name is Verity Beale and she lived in Ruskin Road?’
    How many more times does he want me to repeat it, Rutter wondered. But aloud, all he said was, ‘Correct.’
    â€˜We’ll look into it, like I said we would,’ Hoskins told him. ‘The only problem is, we’re a bit short-handed at the moment, so I can’t promise you we’ll get on to it right away. Would the day after tomorrow do you?’
    â€˜We are investigating a murder here,’ Rutter pointed out, ‘and you know yourself that the more time that’s allowed to lapse, the less chance there is of getting a result.’
    â€˜True,’ Hoskins agreed reluctantly, ‘but we are very undermanned, you see. I could probably get you something tomorrow, which is still a lot quicker than if you went through the official channels. Will that do you?’
    â€˜It’ll have to, won’t it?’ Rutter said, trying not to sound too ungracious – but without much success.

Nine
    â€˜ I realise that the announcement of this tragic event must have come as a great shock to all of you here,’ the deputy headmaster said.
    He paused for a moment, and ran his index finger across his pencil-thin moustache.
    â€˜A great shock,’ he repeated. ‘But as callous as this might sound, I think we must all accept that, even in the face of it, normal life still has to go on.’
    Positioned just behind Hargreaves’s shoulder, Woodend scanned the faces of the audience the deputy head was addressing. All these teachers were strangers to him, and most of them would remain strangers, but there were a few, his instincts told him, whom he would have much more contact with before this case was over. He had already picked out two of them – men who, by their reactions to the news, stood out from the rest of the group.
    One, a thin, gaunt-faced young man, seemed absolutely stricken. The other, slightly older and wearing heavy-framed glasses, had initially adopted the same look of surprise and disbelief as his colleagues, but soon he was glancing nervously down at his watch, as if he had a pressing appointment which was far more important than anything he might hear about the violent death of a woman he had worked with.
    â€˜In just over half an hour the bell will ring for the start of afternoon classes,’ the deputy headmaster continued, ‘and once it does, I must ask you to remind yourselves that you have been entrusted with the education of several hundred young minds, and that that must be your first duty and consideration. Are there any questions?’
    One of the teachers raised his hand, almost as if he were back on the pupils’ side of the classroom, and when Hargreaves nodded at him, he said, ‘Is there anything we can do?’
    â€˜You will have noticed Mr Woodend standing just behind me,’ the deputy head said. ‘I have no doubt we will be seeing a great deal of him and his team over the