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anything wrong! I didn’t
kill him!”
    “Joe, calm down,” Mr Somers
said, clearly sure that any minute now I was going make a run for it.
“You’re not in trouble; they’re not going to arrest you, and
you’re not going to be expelled. They just want to ask you a few
things. It’s a routine thing under these kinds of circumstances.
You’re basically going to be giving a witness statement, that’s
all.”
    The words did little to relax me,
but I did stop backing up and reluctantly resumed following him. I
wondered just what it was the police wanted to talk to me about.
    I
saw as we continued through the school how many of the other boys
stared at me. Some, the sixth formers and members of the Clique,
watched me with scowls, probably wondering why an often squeaky clean
individual such as myself was being escorted in clearly what was the direction
of the headmaster’s office, by Mr Somers. Others were quick to avoid
me.
    I saw a police car parked out the front of the school through one
of the windows I passed. My eyes locked on the back seats, and I did
my best not to picture myself sitting there later.
    We came to the headmaster’s
office, Mr Somers knocking hard on the thick wooden door before we
were called inside. The headmaster was behind his desk, while two
police officers were seated in chairs parallel to it. A third chair,
opposite them, sat empty.
    “Ah, that was quick,” Father
Benedict smiled. “Come in, come in,” he added, as I hovered in
the doorway.
    Mr Somers pushed me forward, yet I
walked only a few feet into the office. The headmaster’s office was
a place that I had only ever been in once before, and a room that
most of the school preferred to stay well away from. The time before
had been when I had been asked to talk about a very serious fight in
the refectory one Sunday night, between two of the upper sixth. It
was late in the evening, and many of the boys had already finished
eating and left, meaning there were few to assist with breaking it
up. It had been a particularly brutal attack, including hot black
coffee in the face of the victim, as well as at least two stabs to
the torso with a fork. It had led to an immediate expulsion for the
attacker. I hadn’t seen everything that went on, but, along with
several other boys, I had been asked to furnish the headmaster with
as many details as I could. Being still in my first year of senior
school, my responses had been intentionally woolly. I could do
without making enemies.
    Now it appeared as though I was
going to be asked to provide another witness statement, this time
with answers not quite as vague as before.
    “Joe, this is Inspector Richards
and Sergeant Jones from the Thames Valley Police,” the headmaster
said, indicating the two men.
    The two officers rose from their seats,
smiling and shaking my hand. While I might have felt quite
intimidated by what was going on here, for these two men this was
just an everyday part of the job.
    “Have a seat, Joe,” the
headmaster said, his tone still warm and friendly.
    I did so, seeing Mr Somers walk over
to a corner of the office, getting out of the way. I caught sight of
another man then, sitting on a sofa with a cup of tea in his hand. He
was dressed far more casually than anyone else here.
    “We just wanted to ask you a few
questions, Joe,” Inspector Richards said in a pleasant and cheery
voice. I nodded and said nothing, suddenly dumbstruck. “Don’t
worry,” he went on, “you’re not in trouble or anything. We just
want to ask you some simple questions about what you saw. Should only
take about ten minutes at most.”
    I nodded again and answered the
questions they asked me. They were as simple as promised – Did you
know the victim? How did you find the body? Did you see anyone else
there? What time was it? How often do you go down the Road? Can you
think of any reason why the body might have been put there, rather
than anywhere else? Are there any pupils at the school who