Head Shot

19

He stepped out of Rosewell's room, closed the door behind him and fol owed the secretary into the corridor.

At once, his eye was caught by a big display panel, along the wal on his left. It bore the heading 'Hargreen Primary – Our Staff, and carried individual head-and-shoulders photographs of the teaching complement.

Top, front and centre, an attractive woman in her thirties smiled out; oval face, glowing chestnut hair, the sort of eyes that won your confidence at first sight.

'Mr McGuire?' He turned and the woman was looking at him in real life, but without the smile. 'I'm Pat Dewberry, the head teacher. Come into my office.' She held the glazed door open for him, and followed him inside. As he entered, the secretary gave him a quick smile, then slipped out.

'Take a seat, please,' said Mrs Dewberry. He followed her pointing finger and settled on to a chair; it was soft, but for him, uncomfortably low. She sat facing him, with a final tug on her shortish skirt. He took out his warrant card, and showed it to her; she looked at it, nodded, and handed it back.

'A superintendent, eh,' she began. 'And in plain clothes. We usually have uniformed sergeants in here.' She paused. 'Mrs Bamard's bringing us coffee. I assume that's okay with you; I never met a policeman who didn't drink coffee.'

'You've stil got a hundred per cent record, then,' he chuckled.

Her eyes stayed cool as she looked at him. 'So what brings you here, Mr McGuire? And what are you? You're not a community policeman, that's for sure.'

He decided to volunteer a little of the truth. 'Not in the sense you mean. I'm Special Branch.'

Highly predictable body language normal y followed that disclosure.

The other person would draw back slightly, and would throw him a look that registered either consternation or fear, and sometimes both.

Pat Dewberry simply raised an eyebrow. 'Really?' she exclaimed. 'I didn't think that existed any more. You've made my day; it's not often you get to meet a genuine anachronism.' She caught his surprise. 'Stop it. Pat,' she chided herself.

'Sprry to be so flippant,' she continued, 'but my grandfather was an old-fashioned communist, through in Glasgow; one of the Red Clydesiders. He knew Shinwell very well; he was in court with him, although the sheriff decided he was too young to go to jail. I grew up to tales of the Special Branch: Grandpa used to think of them as his regular companions. In fact he was quite friendly with some of them.

'I just thought that when his Party disappeared, so did you.'

'I wish we could,' said McGuire, 'but there really are dangerous people still in the world, and they have to be watched.'

'And in here?' she asked, showing a trace of impatience. 'Have I got a terrorist on my staff?'

He shook his head. 'I doubt it. No, I didn't walk into the janitor's office by mistake. I was looking for him.'

'George Rosewell? What's he done?'

Mario looked the woman in the eye, and decided that she could be trusted with more of the truth. 'Recently? Nothing that I know of; he's my father-in-law.'

'Ahh,' she exclaimed. 'There I go getting my conspiracy theories sorted out, and it turns out to be a family matter. As it happens, I'm looking for the old devil too. He hasn't turned up for work this week, and he hasn't cal ed in sick either. I phoned him, but I got no reply. I suspect you'l find him in the pub, or in the betting shop. When you do, tell him he's in bother and send him back in.'

Mrs Dewberry stopped abruptly as the door opened and Mrs Barnard returned, with a smile for McGuire and coffee for them both. When she had gone, she picked up her mug and glanced at the detective. 'But why do I sense that this isn't really a family visit?'

'Because you're a perceptive lady, that's why. Rosewell… or Rose, to use his real name… walked out on his family more than twenty-five years ago. He lived abroad for most of that time. I've only just learned that he's back in Scotland.'

'So you've come to arrange for him to be reunited with his long-lost daughter?'

'Not quite.'

'Should I be looking for a new janitor?'

'That might be no bad idea. After I've spoken to him, he might not want to stick around.' He drank half of his coffee in a single swal ow.

'Tell me, Mrs Dewberry, have you ever had any complaints about him?'

'What kind?'

'Any kind.'

'From parents or children?'

'Either.'

'A mother complained about him once; she said that he had frightened her daughter. I investigated, of course, but it came to no more than George having spoken sharply to the girl because she was slow in getting back to her class after the break. I told him to leave that to the teachers in future. Since then, I've had no bother.'

She looked keenly at him, as if for the first time he had really interested her. 'You're not trying to tell me he's on a register somewhere, are you?'

'If that was the case, it would have been reported to the education authority at once. No, I'm not trying to tell you anything. But, to come back to your earlier question, I'l come off the fence; yes, you should find another janitor, because I'm going to make absolutely certain that George Rosewell never works in this or any other school again, under that or any other name.'

The teacher nodded, and drank more of her coffee. 'I won't ask how you're going to do that,' she said. 'I'l just report his unexplained absence to the directorate, and insist that he be replaced. I've been here for a while; that will happen automatically. He isn't a union member either, so that won't be a problem.'

McGuire glanced into his mug; his Italian blood rebelled against finishing what was in it. He raised himself from his low chair. 'Thanks for your confidence,' he murmured.

'Thanks for yours. Don't worry, none of this leaves this room.'

'If I was worried about that, none of it would have come into it.'

'What wil you do?' she asked. 'Go to see him at home?'

'Yes, first chance I get, although that won't be today. Listen, if he does turn up for work in the morning, would you give me a cal? That's my direct line number. If I'm not there, you can leave a message with Inspector Mcllhenney or PC Cowan.' He handed her a business card.

'I'll do that.'