Dead at First Sight

17 Wednesday 26 September

It was parents’ evening. Roy Grace and Cleo stood in the large common room of St Christopher’s school, Roy holding a cup of coffee and a saucer, Cleo a glass of mineral water. There were plates of biscuits all around, and parents with their children, none of whom they knew, engaged in conversations with the teachers. Bruno should have been here too, but he had refused to come.

Roy glanced at his watch: 7.30 p.m. They’d need to leave in fifteen minutes, for their dinner reservation at 8 p.m. The taxi would be waiting outside. So far, they’d talked to Bruno’s geography, maths, biology and English teachers. None of them had been negative but, equally, none had been exactly glowing about the boy.

Out of the corner of his eye, Grace saw the headmaster, a smartly suited man in his fifties, tall and nearly bald, making a beeline for them.

‘Mr and Mrs — or should I say, Detective Superintendent and Mrs Grace?’

‘Either is fine, Mr Hartwell,’ Cleo said pleasantly.

‘Very good of you to come.’

‘Well, of course,’ Cleo replied. ‘We’re very interested to know how our son is doing, and whether he is fitting in?’

‘Yes, well... I... we...’ Hartwell hesitated, then momentarily looked lost for words. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘Bruno is a nice chap. No question. A very polite boy.’ After another brief hesitation he added, rubbing his hands together as if soaping them, ‘Quite independent, his teachers are finding.’ He wrung his hands in silence for a few seconds. ‘A little bit of a loner, perhaps. That’s hardly surprising, given the background, losing his mother — a lady who lived a rather — shall we say chaotic lifestyle — from what you told me?’

Roy Grace grimaced. ‘I think that’s a fair description of his mother, certainly in recent years, from what I’ve been able to establish.’

‘Let’s look at the facts. Bruno’s having problems adjusting, which is hardly surprising. He’s lost his mother, who wasn’t the best role model to him, it would seem. He’s moved country. From being an only child he’s having to contend with a sibling, a stepmother, a father who was never previously part of his life and a new language and culture.’

‘It’s something we’re very aware of,’ Cleo said. ‘Our hope is that by giving him a stable and loving home life, together with the caring nature of your school, things will become normalized for him.’

‘Indeed.’ Again he hesitated. ‘There are still, unfortunately, some prejudices about Germany, and we have noticed a couple of instances of bullying, which of course we are doing our best to put a stop to, very firmly. Has he mentioned this?’

Grace looked at Cleo, who shook her head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not a word.’

‘I think he’s dealing with it in his own way. And he is actually a very confident boy in some ways.’

‘He is,’ Cleo said.

The headmaster looked pensive. ‘I had a private chat with him a couple of days ago and he did rather surprise me with something he said.’ He seemed unsure he should now repeat it.

‘Which was?’ Cleo prompted.

Hartwell wrung his hands together again, now looking rather bemused. ‘Well, I asked him a question I ask all the boys here of his age, to give me an idea of where their interests lie and to give their teachers direction. I asked your son if he had any thoughts on what he would like to do for a future career. For many of our pupils it is of course far too early. But Bruno was very definite — and, frankly, his response took me a little bit by surprise. Have you ever asked him this question?’

‘No,’ Grace said. ‘What was it?’

‘Well, he said that he would either like to become a chemist or a dictator.’

Grace smiled, briefly, until he saw the shocked expression on Cleo’s face.

‘A chemist or a dictator?’ she said.

‘Exactly those words.’

‘Did he elaborate?’ she asked. ‘If a dictator, of which country?’

‘I asked him that very question,’ the headmaster said. ‘He told me, quite solemnly, he hadn’t yet decided, but that he favoured Venezuela.’

‘Venezuela?’ Grace said. ‘Why Venezuela?’

‘He said so that he could create similar conservation ethics to those of the Galapagos Islands and encourage other countries across the world to do the same. Pretty impressive thinking, wouldn’t you say, for a lad of his age?’

‘Is Venezuela a dictatorship?’ Cleo asked.

‘A good question,’ the headmaster replied. ‘It isn’t, it’s a democracy.’ He looked bemused. ‘I suspect Bruno is too young to understand the difference.’

Grace reflected for a while, saying nothing. He just hoped Ted Hartwell was right.

He wasn’t sure.