Innocent Graves

I

St. Mary’s School wasn’t exactly Castle Howard, but it certainly looked impressive enough to be used as a location in a BBC classic drama.

Banks and Susan turned through the high, wrought-iron gates and drove along a winding driveway; sycamores flanked both sides, laying down a carpet of rust and gold leaves; double-winged seeds spun down like helicopter blades in the drizzle.

Through the trees, they first glimpsed the imposing gray stone building, with its central cupola, high windows and columns flanking the front entrance. Statues stood on the tops of the columns, against a frieze, and double stairs curled out at the front like lobster claws.

St. Mary’s School for Girls, Banks had read, was founded in 1823 on forty acres of woodland by the River Swain. The main building, completed in 1773, had been intended as a country house but had never been lived in. Rumor had it that Lord Satterthwait, for whom the house had been built, lost much of his fortune in an ill-advised business venture abroad, along with the money of a number of other county luminaries, and was forced to flee the area in disgrace for America.

The grounds were quiet this morning, but a group of girls in maroon blazers saw Banks pull up and started whispering among themselves. The car was unmarked, but Banks and Susan were strangers, and by now everyone must know that Deborah Harrison had been murdered.

Banks asked one of the girls where they might find the head, and she directed him through the front door, right down to the back of the building, then along the last corridor to the right. Inside, the place was all high, ornate ceilings and dark, polished wainscoting. Susan’s footsteps echoed as they walked. It was certainly a far cry from the institutional gloom of Eastvale Comprehensive, or from Banks’s old redbrick school in Peterborough, for that matter.

They walked along the narrow corridor, noting the gilt-framed paintings of past heads on the walls. Most of them were men. When they reached the door marked “Dr. J.S. Green: Principal,” Banks knocked sharply.

Expecting to be asked into an anteroom and vetted by a secretary first, Banks was surprised when he and Susan found themselves in the head’s office. Like the rest of the building, it had a high ceiling with elaborate cornices, but there its ancient character ended.

The wainscoting, if there had been any, had been removed and the walls were papered in an attractive Laura Ashley print. A shaded electric light hung from the old chandelier fixture, and several gunmetal filing cabinets stood against the wall. The bay window dominated the room, its window seat scattered with cushions that matched the wallpaper. The view through the trees to the river, Banks noticed, was magnificent, even on a drizzly November morning. Across the river was St. Mary’s Park, with its pond, trees, benches and children’s playground.

“What do you think?” Dr. Green asked, after they had introduced themselves and shaken hands.

“Pardon?” said Banks.

She took their raincoats and hung them on a rack in the corner. “I couldn’t help but notice that you were ‘casing the joint’ as they say,” she said.

“Hardly,” said Banks. “That’s what the bad guys do.”

She blushed slightly. “Oh, dear. My gaffe. I suppose criminal parlance is not my forte.”

Banks smiled. “Just as well. Anyway, it’s very nice.”

The tall, elegant Dr. Julia Green looked every bit as Laura Ashley as her walls. The skirt and waistcoat she wore over her white blouse were made of heavy cloth; earth colors dominated, browns and greens, mixed with the odd flash of muted pink or yellow, like wildflowers poking their way through the undergrowth.

Her ash-blonde hair lay neatly piled and curled on her head, with only one or two loose strands. She had a narrow face, high cheekbones and a small nose. There was also a remote, unattainable quality about her that intrigued Banks. She might be one of the pale and distant beauties, but there was no mistaking the sharp glint of intelligence in her apple-green eyes. Right now, they also looked red from crying.

“This is a terrible business,” she said. “Though I suppose you have to deal with it all the time.”

“Not often,” said Banks. “And you never get used to it.”

“Please, sit down.”

Banks and Susan sat in the two chairs opposite the small, solid desk. Susan took her notebook out.

“I don’t know how I can help you,” Dr. Green went on, “but I’ll do my best.”

“Maybe you could start by telling us what kind of a girl Deborah was.”

She rested her hands on the desk, tapered fingers laced together. “I can’t tell you very much,” she said. “Deborah is…was…a day-girl. Do you know how the system works?”

“I don’t know much about public schools at all.”

“Independent school,” she corrected him. “Public school sounds so Victorian, don’t you think? Well, you see, we have a mix of day-girls and boarders. The actual balance changes slightly from year to year, but at the moment, we have 65 day-pupils and 286 boarding. When I say that Deborah was a day-girl I don’t describe her status in any way, just note the simple fact that she came and went each day, so one didn’t develop any special relationship with her.”

“Relationship?”

“Yes. Well, when you live in such close proximity to the pupils, you’re bound to get to know more about them, aren’t you?”

“In what way?”

“In any number of ways. Whether it be the crisis of Elizabeth ’s first period, Meredith’s parents’ divorce or Barbara’s estrangement from her mother. These things can’t help but come out from time to time with the boarding pupils.”

“So you’d soon find out who’s a troublemaker, for example?”

“Yes. Not that we have any troublemakers. Nothing serious, anyway. We did catch one girl smoking marijuana in the dorm last year, and some years ago one of our upper-sixth girls got pregnant. But these are extremes, you understand, quite rare.”

“Have you ever had any inkling of widespread problems here?”

“Such as what?”

“Drugs, perhaps, or pornography.”

“Chief Inspector, this isn’t a comprehensive, you know.”

“Perhaps not. But girls will be girls.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that, but to answer your question, no, there’s been nothing of that nature at St. Mary’s.”

“Do you live on the school grounds?”

Dr. Green nodded. “There’s a small block of flats for members of staff-for some of us, anyway-and I live there.”

“Alone?”

“Yes. Alone.”

“So what can you tell me about Deborah Harrison?”

Dr. Green shrugged. “Just superficial things, really. She was a bright girl. Very intelligent. I don’t think there’s much doubt she would have ended up at Oxford or Cambridge, had she lived.”

“Where did her strengths lie?”

“She was something of an all-rounder, but she excelled in the sciences-maths and physics, in particular. She was also good at modern languages. She had just entered the lower sixth this year. The school offers twenty-three subjects at A-level. Deborah was taking four: mathematics, French, German and physics.”

“What about her personality?”

Dr. Green leaned back and put her hands on the arms of her chair. “Again, I can only be fairly superficial.”

“That’s all right.”

“She always seemed cheerful and lively. You know, some girls can get very moody and withdrawn in the lower sixth-they go through a very difficult period in their lives-but Deborah seemed to be outgoing. She was an outstanding athlete. Swimming, tennis, running, field events. She was a good equestrian, too.”

“I understand she belonged to the chess club?”

“Yes. She was a fine player. A superb strategist.”

“You sound as if you play, yourself.”

She smiled. “Moderately well.”

“I’d appreciate it if you could provide me with a list of the other members.”

“Of course.” Dr. Green searched through one of the filing cabinets and handed Banks a sheet of paper with ten names on it. Then she paused, scratched her cheek, and said, “I must admit, Chief Inspector, the questions you’re asking surprise me.”

“They do? Why?”

“Well, I know nothing of police work, of course, but I fail to understand why you should require my impressions of Deborah in order to apprehend the criminal who attacked and murdered her.”

“What kind of questions do you think I should be asking?”

She frowned. “I don’t know. About strangers in the area, that sort of thing.”

“Have you noticed any suspicious strangers hanging around the area lately?”

“No.”

Banks blew his nose. “Sorry. Well, that covers that one, doesn’t it? Now, what about Deborah’s faults?”

“Faults?”

“Yes, was she mischievous, disobedient, dishonest, willful?”

“No more than any other child of her age. Less than most, actually.” She thought for a moment. “No, I’d say if Deborah did have a fault it was that she tended to show off her abilities to some extent. She could sometimes make the other girls feel small, or awkward and clumsy. She had a tendency to belittle people.”

“Was she boastful?”

“Not at all. No, that’s not what I mean. She never boasted about her abilities, she just used them to the full. She wasn’t the kind to hide her light under a bushel. Half the time it was as if she didn’t even realize she was so much brighter and more fortunate than many. She liked the way her quickness with figures impressed people, for example, so she would add up or multiply things in her head quicker than some of the other girls could do it with a calculator.”

“That’s one good way to make enemies.” Banks remembered his own school math reports: Could do better than this; Harder work needed; Watch that arithmetic!

“It was hardly serious,” Dr. Green went on, shrugging. “Simply a matter of girlish exuberance, a young woman taking full joy in her talents.” Her eyes sparkled for a moment. “Have you forgotten what it was like to be young, to be popular, gifted?”

“I don’t know that I was ever gifted or popular,” Banks said, with a sidelong glance at Susan, who was smiling down into her notebook. “But I do remember what it was like to be young. I thought I would live forever.”

After the awkward silence that followed, Banks asked, “Was Deborah popular with the other girls?”

“What do you mean?”

“She sounds like a right little madam to me, a proper pain in the neck. I was wondering how she got on with her classmates?”

“Really, Chief Inspector,” Dr. Green said through tight lips. “These were very minor faults I’m talking about. Mostly, Deborah was friendly, cheerful and helpful.”

“Was there any friend in particular?”

“Yes. Megan Preece. Her name’s on the list I gave you.”

“I understand from Daniel Charters,” Banks went on, “that there was some trouble with Ive Jelačić, the sexton.”

“Yes.” Julia Green rubbed her cheek. “He’d been bothering the girls. Saying things, making lewd gestures, that sort of thing.”

“Had Deborah, in particular, complained about him?”

“I believe she had.”

“Did she continue going to the church after Mr. Jelačić made his accusations against Daniel Charters? It was my impression that her father seemed more upset about what Charters had been accused of, rather than what Jelačić did.”

Julia Green paused for a moment, then said, “Yes, yes he was. I don’t understand it myself. The school stands one hundred per cent behind Father Charters, but Sir Geoffrey forbade Deborah from singing with the choir or attending any services.”

“Why do you think he did that?”

“I don’t know. Some people are just…well, very funny about any hint of homosexuality in the ministry.”

“Did Deborah obey him?”

“As far as I know she did. I never saw her there, anyway.”

“Did Deborah keep any of her belongings here at school?”

“All the girls have desks.”

“No lockers or anything?”

She shook her head. “Not the day-girls. They bring what they need from day to day, mostly.”

“Might we have a look?”

“Of course. We’ve canceled classes for the day, so the room should be empty.”

She led them through a maze of high corridors to a small room. It wasn’t like any classroom Banks had ever seen before, with its well-polished woodwork and nicely spaced desks.

“This one,” said Dr. Green, pointing to a desk.

Banks lifted the hinged flap. He hadn’t expected much-school desks are hardly the most private of places-but he was disappointed by how little there was: a couple of school exercise books, a computer magazine, textbooks, pens and pencils. There was also a tattered paperback Jeffrey Archer. Deborah’s intelligence obviously hadn’t stretched as far as her literary taste.

Under the flap, Deborah had taped a photograph of a scruffy pop star Banks didn’t recognize.

Dr. Green saw it and said, with a smile, “We discourage such things, but what can you do?”

Banks nodded. Then he examined the desk surface to see if Deborah had carved any initials, the way he had at school. Again, nothing. Strongly discouraged, no doubt.

“Thanks,” he said to Dr. Green. “Can we have a word with Megan Preece now? Is she here?”

Dr. Green nodded. After stopping back at her office for their raincoats and her umbrella, she led them outside.

“Where are we going?” Banks asked.

“The school infirmary. That’s where Megan is. I’m afraid she had rather a nasty turn when I broke the news in assembly this morning.”

II

The brick shattered the vicarage window at nine-thirty that morning, waking Rebecca from the uneasy doze she had slipped into after taking three aspirin and a glass of water.

At first she lay there terrified, fearing that someone had broken in. Then, slowly, so as not to make the bedsprings creak, she sat up, ears pricked for any sounds. But nothing came.

She put on her dressing-gown and looked out of the bedroom window. Nothing but the drizzle on the trees and graves, and policemen in capes searching the grounds. She tiptoed downstairs, and when she got to the front room she saw the damage.

Shards of glass lay all over the floor, and some had even got as far as the sofa and coffee-table. The brick had clearly been thrown from the river path, beyond the small garden, an area that was unguarded because it didn’t provide access to the graveyard.

The brick had bounced off the coffee-table and ended up in the far corner by the sideboard. It had a piece of paper wrapped around it, fixed by a rubber band. Slowly, Rebecca bent, picked up the brick and unfolded the paper:

Once you let the devil into your heart he will corrupt every cell in your body and this is what has happened it is clear. You must confess your sins. It is the only way. Or else we must take things into our own hands.

Someone knocked at the back door. Crumpling the note in her pocket, Rebecca gathered her dressing-gown around her and went to see who it was.

“Is everything all right, ma’am?” asked one of the uniformed constables who had been searching the graveyard. “I thought I heard breaking glass.”

“You did,” Rebecca said. “But everything’s fine. Just a little domestic accident.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Rebecca started closing the door on him. “Thank you, everything’s fine.” When she had shut the door she leaned her back against it and listened. In a few seconds, she heard his footsteps going along the path.

She took out a dustpan and broom and busied herself sweeping up the glass, wondering what she could use to cover the broken window before she caught a chill and died. Maybe that would be best for everyone, she thought. It would be very fitting, too. Hadn’t Emily Brontë died after catching a chill at her brother’s funeral? But no. She wasn’t going to give the miserable, mean-spirited bastards the satisfaction.

Just as she was trying to tape up a piece of cardboard over the window, the phone rang.

“Can you talk?” the familiar voice asked.

“Patrick. Yes. Yes, I can.”

“We’ve been given the day off, pupils and staff. That terrible business with the girl. It must have been especially awful for you. How are you bearing up?”

“Oh, not bad, I suppose.”

“Is Daniel…?”

“He’s out. Meeting in York. Said he couldn’t get out of it.”

“Could we see one another? I could come over.”

“I don’t know,” Rebecca said, feeling herself flush with desire like a silly schoolgirl as she spoke. “No, I don’t think we should. Not the way things are around here.”

“But I want you.”

Rebecca put her hand over the mouthpiece and took a deep breath.

“Don’t you want me?” he went on.

“Of course I want you, Patrick. You know I do. It’s just…there’s police all over the place.”

“We could go for a drive.”

Rebecca paused and looked around her. She couldn’t stay here, not with this mess, not after the threatening note; she would go insane. And she couldn’t deal with the police, either. On the other hand, the very thought of Patrick made her tingle. God, how she hated herself, hated the way her body could so easily betray her morality and her good intentions, how her defective conscience found ways of rationalizing it all.

“All right,” she said. “But you mustn’t come here. I mean it about the police. We shouldn’t be seen together.”

“I’ll pick you up at the-”

“No. Let’s meet at the hotel.” She looked at her watch. “There’s a bus at ten-fifteen.”

“All right. I’ll be waiting for you.”

III

“These are the dormitories for the boarding pupils,” Dr. Green pointed out as they walked through the school grounds. The two large buildings ahead were of far more recent construction than the main school building, redbrick for the most part, with some stone at their bases, functional rather than aesthetically pleasing. “As I said earlier, we have 286 boarders. They have showers, central heating, all the comforts the modern child requires. You’ll also notice we have installed a number of lamps along all the major pathways. They’re kept on until ten o’clock every night, by which time all the girls are expected to be in bed. This isn’t Lowood or Dotheboys, you realize. Parents spend a lot of money to send their children here.”

“Television?”

She smiled. “Yes, that too.”

“What’s that building over there?” Banks pointed through the trees to a three-storey rectangular building that seemed to be made of some sort of prefabricated concrete the color of porridge.

“That’s the staff residence, I’m afraid,” said Dr. Green. “Ugly isn’t it? Actually, it’s quite nice inside. The flats are quite spacious: living-room, bedroom, storage heaters. Luxury.”

“Who lives there, apart from you?”

“At the moment, six of the flats are occupied. It all depends. We have thirty members of staff, a very good ratio, and some of our teachers live in or near town. The flats are essentially for single members of staff who have recently moved into the area, or, as in my case, single teachers who want to maintain close contact with the school.” She tilted her umbrella and gave Banks a challenging glance from under the rim. “You asked me rather impertinently not so long ago whether I lived alone. The school is my life, Chief Inspector. I have neither the inclination nor the time for anyone or anything else.”

Banks nodded. Then he sneezed. Susan blessed him.

“Here we are,” Dr. Green went on, stepping under the porch of the dormitory and lowering her umbrella. She shook it carefully before rolling it up. “The infirmary is on the ground floor. We have one full-time nurse on staff and a local doctor on call.”

They walked down the hall and entered the infirmary. It smelled of disinfectant. After a brief word with the nurse, Dr. Green directed Banks and Susan towards a row of curtained cubicles, in one of which Megan Preece lay on a narrow bed.

“Megan’s fine, nurse says,” Dr. Green whispered. “But she’s had a terrible shock and she’s been given a mild tranquillizer, so please go slowly.”

Banks nodded. There clearly wasn’t room for all of them in the cubicle, yet Dr. Green seemed to want to stay.

“It’s all right,” Banks said, ushering Susan to Megan’s bedside chair. “We’ll find our own way out when we’ve finished.”

Dr. Green stood for a moment and frowned, then she nodded, turned on her heel and clicked away down the corridor.

When Banks found a chair for himself, Susan was already talking to Megan, reassuring her that everything would be all right. From what Banks could see of the head poking above the gray blanket, Megan was a slight, thin girl of about Deborah Harrison’s age, with dark curly hair and a tanned complexion.

But Megan’s features lacked whatever cohesion or symmetry it took to make her conventionally pretty, unlike her friend Deborah, who had been beautiful in that lissom, blonde, athletic sort of way. Megan’s nose was a little too big, and slightly crooked; her lips were too thin, and her mouth was too small for her teeth. But her big, serious earthbrown eyes were striking; they seemed to capture you at first glance and draw you to her.

Banks introduced himself, noting that Megan seemed comfortable enough in the presence of a male policeman, and said he wanted to ask her a few questions about Deborah. Megan nodded, eyes turning a little glassy at the mention of her friend’s name.

“Were you very close friends?” he began.

She nodded. “We’re both day-girls and we’ve known each other for years. We both live in the same area.”

“I thought you must be boarding,” said Banks. “Why aren’t you at home?”

“I had a dizzy spell at assembly, then I…I got all upset. Nurse says I should rest here for a while, then I can go home at lunch-time. There’ll be nobody there, anyway. Mummy’s away in America and Daddy’s at work.”

“I see. Now can you tell me what happened yesterday after the chess club. Go as slowly as you want, there’s no hurry.”

Megan chewed her lower lip, then began. “Well, when we’d put all the boards and pieces away in the cupboard and made sure the room was tidy, we left the school-”

“Was this the main building?”

“Yes. We hold the chess club in one of the upstairs classrooms.”

“What time?”

“Just before six o’clock.”

“How many attended last night?”

“Only eight. Lesley and Carol are doing a play with the theatre department, so they had rehearsals. The others are all boarders.”

“I see. Was there anyone else around?”

“A few people, coming and going, as usual. The school is always well lit and there are always people around.”

“Okay. Go on.”

“Well, we walked down the drive to Kendal Road. There’s only one main gate, you see. The school’s surrounded by woods, and there’s the river on the west side. It was so foggy we could hardly see the trees around us. I must admit I was getting a bit scared, but Debs seemed to be enjoying herself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, she liked things like that. Spooky things. She liked to tell ghost stories in graveyards, just for fun.”

“Do you know if she ever went inside the Inchcliffe Mausoleum?”

“She never said anything to me about it if she did.”

“Okay. Go on.”

“We crossed the road. I live on St. Mary’s Hill, behind the shops, so Debs and I always said goodbye at the bridge.” She put her hand over her eyes.

“Take it easy,” Susan said. “Take your time.” When Banks looked down, he noticed that Megan was gripping Susan’s hand at the side of the bed.

Megan took a deep breath and went on. “That’s all,” she said. “We said goodbye. Debs was running backwards, just showing off, like, then she disappeared into the fog.” She frowned.

“Was there something else?” Banks asked. “Did you notice anyone else around?”

“Well, like I said, it was so foggy you couldn’t really see more than a few feet, but I saw a shape behind her. I remember thinking at the time there was something odd about it, but I put it down to the way Debs had been scaring me with her stories of ghosts taking shape from the fog.”

“You mean you thought you were imagining it?”

“Yes. Seeing things. But I know I wasn’t, if that makes any sense.”

“You’re doing fine, Megan. What kind of shape was it?”

“It was a man’s shape. A tall man.”

“What was he doing?”

“Nothing. He was just standing on the bridge looking down the river towards the town.” She paused and her eyes lit up. “That’s it. That’s what was strange. He was looking over the bridge towards the town, but he couldn’t possibly see anything, could he, because of the fog. So why was he standing there?”

“Did you think that at the time?”

“No. It just came to me.”

“Did you see what he looked like?”

“Not really, because of the fog. I mean, he was like a silhouette, a dark figure. His features weren’t clear, and he was in profile. He did have a bit of a big nose, though.”

“Could you see what he was wearing?”

“An anorak, I think. A bright color. Orange or red, maybe.”

“Did you see him approach Deborah?”

“No. He was just behind her. I don’t think she’d seen him because she was still running backwards and waving goodbye. I remember thinking if she wasn’t careful she’d bump into him and that would give her a shock, but I really didn’t think much of it. I mean, it wasn’t the only person we’d seen.”

“Who else did you see?”

“Just ordinary people, you know, crossing the road and such. I mean, life goes on, doesn’t it? Just because it’s foggy you can’t stop doing everything, can you?”

“That’s true,” said Banks. “Can you remember anything else?”

Megan squeezed her eyes shut. “I think he had dark hair,” she said. “Then I turned away and went home. I never thought anything of it. Until…until this morning, when I heard…I should have known something was going to happen, shouldn’t I?”

“How could you?”

“I just should. Poor Debs. It could have been me. It should have been me.”

“Don’t be silly, Megan.”

“But it’s true! Debs was so good, so wonderful and pretty and talented. And just look at me. I’m nothing. I’m not pretty. She should have lived. I’m the one who should have died. It’s not fair. Why does God always take the best?”

“I don’t know the answer to that,” Banks replied softly. “But I do know that every life is important, every life has its value, and nobody has the right to decide who lives and who dies.”

“Only God.”

“Only God,” Banks repeated, and blew his nose in the ensuing silence.

Megan took a tissue from the box on the table beside her and wiped her eyes. “I must look a sight,” she said.

Banks smiled. “Just like me first thing in the morning,” he said. “Now, when we found Deborah, she had about six pounds in her purse. Did she ever have a lot of money to flash around?”

“Money? No. None of us ever carried more than a few pounds.”

“Do you know if she kept anything valuable in her satchel?”

Megan frowned. “No. Just the usual stuff. Exercise books, textbooks, that sort of thing.”

“Did she say if she was intending to meet anyone after the chess club or go anywhere else before she went home?”

“No. As far as I know, she was going straight home.”

“Can you tell us anything else about her?”

“Like what?”

“You were her best friend, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever fall out?”

“Sometimes.”

“Why?”

“Nothing, really. Maybe Debs would tease me about a lad she thought I liked, or something, or about not being good at arithmetic, and I’d get mad. But it wouldn’t last long.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes. She can be quite a tease, can Debs. She gets her little needle in where she knows it hurts and just keeps pushing.” She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I didn’t mean that to sound as bad as it did, honest I didn’t. All I mean is that she had an eye for a weakness and she could be a bit nasty about it. It was never anything serious.”

“Do you know if anything had been bothering her lately?”

“I don’t think so. She’d been a bit moody, that’s all.”

“Since when?”

“The beginning of term.”

“Did she say why?”

“No. We have a lot on our minds. A lot of work. And she’s been moody before.”

“She didn’t mention any problems, anything that might have been worrying her?”

“No.”

“Did she have any enemies, anyone who might have wanted to harm her?”

“No. Everyone loved Debs. It must have been a stranger.”

“Did she ever mention Mr. Jelačić, the sexton at St. Mary’s?”

“The man who got fired?”

“That’s the one.”

“She said he was gross, always sticking his tongue out and licking his lips when she went past.”

“Did he ever bother you?”

“I never went in the churchyard. I live this side of the river, over Kendal Road. It was a short cut for Debs.”

“Are you sure Deborah didn’t have any other problems, any worries? Maybe at home?”

“No. She didn’t complain about anything in particular. Only the usual stuff. Too much homework. That sort of thing.”

Banks realized that Deborah Harrison would probably have fewer practical causes for concern than his own daughter, Tracy, who, at one time anyway, had been constantly moaning about some new style of jacket or jeans she just had to have because everyone else was wearing it, and the Doc Martens that were just essential these days.

Banks had been like that himself, and he gave Tracy the same answer his mother and father gave him when they bought him a pair of heavy workboots for school instead of the thin-soled winkle-pickers he had asked for. “We can’t afford it. You’ll just have to make do. These will last a lot longer.”

But Deborah Harrison had wanted for nothing, at least nothing that had a monetary value.

“What about boyfriends?” Banks asked.

Megan blushed. “We don’t have time, not in the lower sixth. And Debs was always involved in some school event: equestrian, sports or quizzes or whatever.”

“So she didn’t have a boyfriend?”

“I’m not saying she never had one.”

“When was the last one?”

“In the summer.”

“What was his name?”

“She told me his name was John, that’s all. They didn’t go out together for long. She said he was really cool but too thick, so she chucked him.”

“Did she tell you anything else about him?”

Megan blushed. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. That’s all I know. His name was John and he was a thickie.”

“Where did she meet him?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t say. I was away in America all summer with my parents, so I didn’t see her until school started. By then she’d already chucked him.”

“Was he her first boyfriend?”

“I don’t think so, but there was never anyone serious.”

“How do you know?”

“She would have told me.”

“Does she tell you everything?”

Megan considered the question seriously for a moment or so, then said, “No, I don’t think so. She can be secretive, can Debs. But she’d tell me if she had a boyfriend. Or I’d just know.”

“Was she being secretive about anything recently?”

Megan frowned. “Yes, she was. I was getting fed up of it.”

“Did she tell you anything about it?”

“No. It wouldn’t be a secret then, would it?”

“Did she tell you who or what it concerned?”

Megan shook her head. “No.”

“Did she say anything about it?”

“Just that she thought it was time to tell someone, and then to watch what happened when the sh-. Just to see what happened.”

“When did she tell you this?”

“Just as she was leaving, on the bridge.”

“While she was running backwards?”

“Yes. It’s…it was the last thing she said.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m tired.”

“All right,” said Banks. “I’m sorry, Megan. You’re doing really well. I’ll try not to be much longer. But you must realize how important it is. If it was a secret about somebody who didn’t want it known…And if that somebody knew that Deborah knew…Do you see what I mean?”

Megan nodded.

“How long had she been talking about this secret?”

“Since the beginning of term.”

“That’s quite a long time.”

“Yes. She’d let it drop for a week or two, then bring it up again.”

“Would she have told anyone else?”

“No. I’m her best friend.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us, Megan? Anything at all.”

Megan shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Banks and Susan stood up. “Get some rest now,” Banks said. “And believe me, we’ll be doing our best to find out who did this.”

They said goodbye to the nurse, picked up their raincoats and headed out into the drizzle.

“What did you think?” Banks asked Susan as they walked back to the car.

“About Megan? I think she told us pretty much all she knew.”

“Notice the way she blushed and turned her eyes away when I pushed her about the boyfriend? I’d say there’s more to that relationship than she’s told us.”

“Well, sir,” said Susan, “from my experience I’d say Deborah probably said he had his uses but he was thick.”

“You think Deborah might have slept with this John?”

“She might have, but that’s not what I mean. What I mean is, she’d say that, or hint that she had, the way kids do. It doesn’t mean they actually did anything.”

“And Megan was embarrassed by it?”

“Yes. I’d guess Megan is a bit shy around boys.”

“Would you agree she was the ugly one in that relationship?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite that way, sir.”

Banks smiled. “I’m sorry. It must be something to do with being on school grounds again. It takes me back. But when you were a teenager and you met two girls, one of them was bound to be the ugly one.”

“And when you met two boys, one of them was certain to be a drip and the other an octopus. If you were really lucky, you got a combination of the two.”

Banks laughed.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Susan went on, “I don’t get your point. Surely you’re not suggesting that Megan Preece had anything to do with Deborah’s murder?”

“No. Of course not. Just thinking out loud, is all.”

They got in the unmarked police car. When it started up, Vaughan Williams’s Suite for Viola and Orchestra was playing on the radio: the beautiful, melancholy “Ballad.” It suited the falling leaves and the November drizzle perfectly, Banks thought.

“I’m just trying to understand the relationship so that I can understand the way Deborah related to people,” he said. “The way I see it is that Megan was the less attractive of the two friends. That would probably make her adoring and resentful in equal measures. She knew she was overshadowed and outclassed by Deborah’s looks and talent, and for the most part she was probably content to bask in the glory of being the chosen one, best friend of the goddess. Are you with me so far?”

“Yes, sir. Megan was the kind of friend who could only make Deborah look even better.”

“Right. But it also sounded as if Deborah could twist the knife, too, could be cruel. If she could annoy her best friend the way she did, then she could have angered a more dangerous enemy, don’t you think?”

“It’s possible, sir. But a bit far-fetched, if you don’t mind me saying so. I still say we’re looking for a stranger. And from what we know already, that stranger on the bridge could have been Ive Jelačić.”

“True,” said Banks. “It could also have been a figment of Megan’s imagination, at least in part. But we’ll sort out Mr. Jelačić later. He’s not going anywhere. Ken Blackstone’s got him under surveillance. What do you think about the secret?”

“Not much. A lot of schoolkids are like that. As Megan said, it probably didn’t mean anything.”

“Not to her, perhaps. But maybe to someone else. Look, isn’t that…” He pointed.

As they were turning left onto North Market Street, Banks noticed a woman in a long navy raincoat standing at the bus-stop over the road.

“Isn’t it who?” Susan asked.

“Oh, I forgot. You haven’t met her. Rebecca Charters, the vicar’s wife. I’m sure it was her. I wonder where she’s going?”

“Curioser and curioser,” said Susan.