‘You’re too modest. One of the victims’ mothers was on the news this morning, telling everyone how brilliant you are.’
Urgh... Judith Thorburn strikes.
‘We have to do a project in first term: “Inspirational characters in real life from whom we can garner important life lessons.” I’d like to do mine about you, if you’d be happy with that?’
Hugo lolloped along at her side. ‘I’m doing Alexander the Third of Macedon. Chap might’ve been a bit of a woofter, but he’d still conquered half the known world by the time he was thirty.’
Oh joy, just what society needed: another half-wit, homophobic, overprivileged tosser destined for greatness. As if there weren’t enough of those already.
Yeah, Lucy was definitely spending too much time with the Dunk.
Allegra pointed towards the small knot of teachers watching the rugby match. ‘Do you want to let the assistant headmaster know we have his guest, Hugo?’
‘Yes. Indeed. Won’t be a tick.’ And he was off at a lumbering jog.
Lucy waited until he was out of earshot. ‘So... boyfriend?’
A full-on laugh rang out into the sunshine. ‘No. Hugo is many things, but my “boyfriend” is not one of them.’
‘He thinks he is.’
‘Hugo has connections. Leveraged properly, he really could go all the way to Bute House or Number Ten. With the right person to guide him.’
Over on the rugby pitch, a large girl with pale-brown hair scored a try.
‘And let me guess: you’re the right person?’
This time Allegra’s smile looked genuine. ‘As the saying goes: “If you’d be the power behind the throne, you must first find someone to sit in it.”’
An eleven-year-old Machiavelli. How lovely.
‘So, DS McVeigh, how did you find out who the Bloodsmith is?’
‘I followed the evidence.’
They’d reached the edge of the pitch, where the large girl was lining up to convert her try. A poooomph and the ball sailed over the bar and between the goalposts, eliciting a cheer and a round of applause.
‘Can I ask you a personal question, Detective Sergeant, as you asked about my relationship status with Hugo?’
‘Depends.’
Now they were closer, the figure of Argyll McCaskill was easy to pick out from the other two teachers. One was a dumpy man with a florid face and a flat cap; his colleague had her hair in a shiny shoulder-length bob with a fringe that nearly covered her eyes. All three wearing their dark-grey suits and academic robes.
‘When you left here, on Thursday, I looked you up online.’
Lucy could feel her shoulders being dragged down. No prizes for guessing where this was going. ‘Did you now.’ Picking up the pace a little.
‘Not everyone would’ve survived if they’d been in your position. I’m pretty sure ninety-nine percent of them would be dead, because they lacked the intelligence and fortitude to do what had to be done.’
‘It wasn’t a game.’ Not looking down at her.
‘No, but it was a test: can you triumph against overwhelming odds, or will you let this horrible little man kill you?’ Allegra skipped ahead, till she was in front of Lucy, then turned so she was going backwards at a matching pace. ‘That’s why I think you’d be great for my project. It’s not enough to be a smart and confident woman in today’s world, you have to be willing and able to take up arms against the predatory toxic masculinity and insidious rape culture endemic in our society.’
Ignore her, maybe she’ll go away.
‘You faced the ultimate expression of male violence against women, and you didn’t just endure, you crushed it.’ Allegra held up a hand, fingers splayed, then clenched it into a fist. Just like Gillian did on that horrible night. ‘That’s why I think you’re so inspiring.’
The trio of spectators were just up ahead — Hugo standing off to one side, grinning away like a bear. He was already nearly as tall as Argyll. No doubt about it, when that kid finally finished growing, he’d be massive.
Lucy frowned at Allegra. ‘Killing someone isn’t inspiring, it’s tragic.’
Allegra shook her head as they came to a halt. ‘If it comes to kill-or-be-killed, always plan to be on the side that doesn’t die.’
‘Detective Sergeant McVeigh?’ Argyll raised a hand. ‘How nice to see you again.’ As if this was all a big surprise and he hadn’t sent Allegra and Hugo to fetch her.
‘Assistant Headmaster McCaskill.’
‘Excuse me.’ He turned and frowned out at the pitch. ‘WILKINSON! PASS THE BALL, FOR GOODNESS’ SAKE, BOY! THERE ARE FIFTEEN PEOPLE ON THE TEAM, NOT JUST YOU!’ He rolled his eyes and shared a wry smile with Lucy. ‘We try teaching our students to be team players, but I tell you: it’s an uphill struggle with some of them.’
Lucy and Argyll stood side by side as the game lumbered on in a scrappy, messy, not-a-lot-happening fashion — both teams being blissfully free from the twin burdens of skill and talent.
‘So... you coach rugby now?’ Lucy looked him up and down. ‘Bit overdressed for it, aren’t you? Thought a Saturday-morning kickabout would be more of a hoodie-and-jogging-bottoms deal.’
‘That’s the joy of being on the faculty — you always have to set a good example. And without wishing to be my own brass section, I understand it’s important to impress the female of the species with tales of sporting prowess, so: there isn’t a single activity going on today that I haven’t coached over the years.’
One of the younger kids grabbed the ball from the grass at his feet and promptly dropped it again, making his whole team groan.
‘Horse riding, football, athletics, karate, and cricket?’
A smile. ‘Especially cricket. And I won trophies in my martial-arts days, thank you very much.’ The smile vanished and he clapped his hands a couple of times. ‘COME ON, DUNWOODY, RUN! YOU’LL NEVER GET ANYWHERE IF YOU DON’T PICK UP YOUR FEET!’ Back to Lucy. ‘So, Benedict Strachan.’ A grimace curdled his features. ‘I had a look at his file. Surprised he got as far as the entrance exam, to be honest. Not really our sort of student at all. OH, DO WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING, FITZROY-SMITH! Honestly, that boy’s got the coordination of a drunken wildebeest. Of course we’ve come a long way since then; our analytical tools wouldn’t let a substandard candidate like that through the preliminary round. He was clearly unstable.’
‘Clearly?’
‘As in: someone should have called social services. Going by his entrance essay, Benedict Strachan was a very disturbed little boy. Would you like to see?’
Damn right she would.
37
Argyll waved at the woman with the shiny bob. ‘Mrs Blenkinsop, can you take over, here? I’ve promised Detective Sergeant McVeigh a tour of the facilities.’
‘My pleasure, Assistant Headmaster. YOU THERE, FARQUHARSON JUNIOR, HANDS OUT OF YOUR POCKETS, GIRL! THIS IS A RUGBY GAME, NOT A PRIMARY-SCHOOL DISCO!’
The sounds of unenthusiastic running around faded into the background as Lucy followed Argyll back towards the school buildings. Leaving Allegra and her minion behind.
‘Your Miss Dean-Edwards wants to do me as her first-term project. Apparently, I’m an “inspiration”.’
‘Well, you did make quite an impact on her with your first visit. That speech about not playing clever buggers with the police? She’s applied your advice to her schoolwork, too.’ He took hold of the front of his academic robes, like a barrister about to argue a case. ‘It’s only been a day and a half, and she’s like a different person. You know what we were talking about the other day? About her playing chess in her head, and being a bit...’ Pantomiming a shudder again. ‘Completely changed. Normally you’d have to break someone like Allegra down, then rebuild her from scratch, but you managed it in, what, half a dozen sentences?’ He pulled one shoulder up. ‘That sounds fairly inspirational to me.’