Bob was right. She was still over the limit which, added to the red lights she was jumping in her panic to get to the school, made this journey like a game of Russian roulette. However, despite her fuzzy brain, a plan started to form.
She checked the clock on her dashboard. 4.30 p.m. Had it really been only two hours since she’d woken from her daytime binge to have her world explode around her? She hoped that, despite school finishing over an hour ago, Mrs Holmes and enough of the staff would still be there for her to do what she needed.
Ten minutes later she dumped her car in a disabled bay and headed straight for the front door. Locked. She ran around the perimeter trying every door, without success. Then she glimpsed a meeting going on in the small hall she’d frequented on countless parents’ evenings. A dozen adults looked ridiculous, perched on chairs made for under-elevens. Governors, she presumed. She banged on the window and the heads turned, some looking indignant, others terrified. She kept banging. After a few seconds, the headteacher stood up, came to the window and pointed to a door to Jo’s right. 288
She glanced over and reached it before Mrs Holmes did. The head only had the door open an inch when Jo barged in. ‘What happened to my boys?’
Mrs Holmes turned round and muttered an apology to the others. ‘Come with me, Mrs Howe.’ The headteacher led the way to her office where she pointed to a chair. ‘Please, have a seat.’
‘I’ll stand. Now what the hell happened?’
Mrs Holmes sniffed the air then sat behind her desk. ‘As I said on the phone, I was told it was food poisoning. That seems the most likely explanation. How are they?’
‘Dying. How were they poisoned?’
‘I’m so sorry. The paramedics assumed it was something in their lunch.’
A thought that should have flashed much earlier sparked in Jo. ‘Where are their lunchboxes? Maybe we can get anything left tested.’
‘I’m not sure. I presume in their bags. Lunchtime was finished by the time they fell ill.’
‘Didn’t you give them to the paramedics for the hospital?’
‘No, they didn’t ask.’
‘Jesus. Well find them and get them preserved for forensics.’
Mrs Holmes went to leave the office when Jo called her back. ‘Get someone to do it for you. I want to see the CCTV.’
The headteacher stopped in her tracks, suddenly subservient. She picked up her desk phone and instructed the person on the other end to find the bags and boxes and bring them to her. ‘I’m not sure how seeing the CCTV will help,’ she said to Jo.
‘I’m the police officer here. Just bring it up on your screen and talk me through the lunchtime routines.’
Mrs Holmes obeyed once more, tapping on the keyboard as she spoke. ‘The children put their lunchboxes on a trolley in the classroom when they arrive in the morning. At lunchtime, the midday meal supervisors take the trolleys to the hall and the children retrieve their boxes then sit down to eat. Afterwards, they put the boxes back on the trolley and it’s taken back 289to their class. That way, if they are elsewhere in the school before or after lunch, they don’t have to carry them around nor return to the classroom.’
‘The boxes are unattended for at least some of the morning then?’
‘Well, yes I suppose so, but the school is very secure so it’s not really a risk.’
Jo agreed. It certainly seemed that people couldn’t just wander in or out without being checked.
‘Where are the CCTV cameras?’
‘We’ve got quite good coverage. The system was updated a year or so ago. It’s in all the communal areas, everywhere really, apart from the classrooms themselves and the toilets and changing rooms obviously.’
Jo struggled to understand why the classrooms weren’t covered, but that was for another time.
‘Right, I want to see the cameras that cover the outside of both Ciaran and Liam’s classrooms during the morning, and the lunch hall when they were eating.’
Jo grabbed a chair and sat next to Mrs Holmes so she could see for herself. Then she had a thought. ‘Actually, to save time, find when the classrooms were empty but the boxes were in there. Then we can look at the lunchtime footage.’
‘We had a whole school assembly today so that’s probably the first place to start.’ Mrs Holmes navigated the playback with surprising dexterity and homed in on the outside of both Ciaran’s and Liam’s classrooms. She allowed it to play out in 1.5 speed, from when the children left each room in single file to when they returned. No one had entered the rooms in that time.
‘What about external doors?’
Mrs Holmes sighed. ‘We can look but I promise you, it would only be staff with access by this time of the day.’
‘Play it,’ said Jo.
Again, it showed nothing and no one to raise Jo’s suspicions.
‘Were the classrooms occupied up until playtime?’ said Jo. 290
Mrs Holmes changed screens and checked the timetable. ‘Yes, both classes were in their rooms.’
‘Right, go to playtime then.’
With a flick of the mouse, the timestamp moved forward to 10.30 a.m. and the footage played again. ‘The children will have left via the external doors,’ said Mrs Holmes, before Jo asked why no one had left through the one they were watching.
The corridors were practically deserted other than a few members of staff wandering along. Then, at 10.34 a.m. outside Ciaran’s class, a man appeared to be about to walk past but then checked his step, looked behind and darted in.
‘Stop. Play that back. Freeze it there. Who’s that?’ said Jo.
‘That’s Mr O’Leary. He’s a casual speech and language assistant.’
‘What does that even mean?’
‘He comes in occasionally to help the speech and language therapist. He’s only been with us a fortnight or so, but I don’t know why he’s going in there. They have their own room.’
Jo sobered up instantly. She was on to something. They watched, one eye on the footage, one on the timer. Ninety seconds later and Mr O’Leary was back out, as furtively as he’d entered. ‘Follow him,’ demanded Jo.
Mrs Holmes clicked from camera to camera as the SALT assistant moved out of shot of each. At 10.37 a.m., he again paused outside a classroom, glanced around and darted in.
‘Liam’s class?’ said Jo.
Mrs Holmes nodded solemnly.
This time it was sixty seconds and O’Leary was back out, scurrying down the corridor.
‘I want his file, photo, address, references, the whole nine yards,’ said Jo. ‘And I want to see a copy of his Disclosure and Barring Service certificate.’ At that last point, Mrs Holmes flinched. ‘He has got a DBS?’
‘It’s not come through yet.’
‘What? So why’s he even in here?’ 291
‘He’s supposed to be supervised by one of the speech therapists until he’s cleared. I’ve no idea what he’s doing wandering around on his own.’
‘I do, Mrs Holmes. Not as a mother but as a police officer, I’m telling you to get me everything you have on this man. You might just have employed a child killer.’
The switch from frantic mother to steely detective came as naturally to Jo as breathing. She was on a mission now and, other than the occasional flash of anguish demonstrated by her checking her phone for missed calls or messages, nothing was going to throw her off the scent.
In contrast, Mrs Holmes was in pieces – but Jo really didn’t have the time, energy or inclination to reassure her. Without her though, the task of identifying who this mysterious staff member really was would be nigh on impossible.
O’Leary’s personnel file, such as it was, was laid out on the desk in front of them.
‘Are you telling me you’ve heard nothing back on these two reference requests? Also, you’ve accepted what was, in all likelihood, a fake passport, and as he was the only applicant for this job you had a cosy chat rather than a formal interview?’
Mrs Holmes wept. ‘You make it sound like we were negligent.’ Jo raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s not unusual to get just one applicant these days and we’d lose the funding if we didn’t appoint. He should have been supervised at all times until the checks came back though.’
Jo swallowed back the rant. ‘How you did or did not appoint him is for others to answer and for later. Now, if we have any hope of saving Ciaran and Liam’s lives we have to focus on finding out who he really is and where we might find him, so I suggest you pull yourself together and help me do that.’ Mrs Holmes nodded.
Jo slid the application form across the table and with the other hand opened her phone. She found Bob’s number and tapped call. She thought it was going to ring out when he finally answered. ‘Ma’am?’ 292
‘I need you to run someone through PNC for me.’
‘Why? What are you up to?’
‘Trying to ID the person who poisoned the boys.’ She lowered her voice, turning away from the headteacher. ‘Please help me out here.’ She read from the application form and waited.
‘No trace. Why do you …’
‘Can you do a voters register check on this address?’ She read out the Portslade house and road O’Leary had said he lived at.
‘No trace again.’
Jo pictured the road, and something occurred to her. ‘What number does that road go up to?’
‘Jo, you really need to tell me what’s going on.’
‘What number Bob?’
‘Forty-four.’
‘Not forty-eight then?’
‘Nope.’
‘Right, listen. I’m looking into a man who’s hoodwinked the school into giving him a job. He just happened to sneak into Ciaran and Liam’s classrooms when no one was in there this morning.’
‘And?’
‘And he had the opportunity to tamper with their lunchboxes. I need to find out who he is.’
Jo could almost hear Bob’s eyes lift to the ceiling. ‘I’m not being funny but …’
‘Oh, just drop it Bob. If you’re not going to help, I’ll do it myself.’ She tapped the red button and slammed the handset on the desk. It buzzed almost immediately and seeing it was Bob, she rejected the call and pushed the phone away. ‘Listen to me,’ she said to Mrs Holmes. ‘I need you to think. What else can you tell me about this man? Any car he uses? Friends? Anything he talks about that might give us a clue as to who he really is?’
‘I’m so sorry, I don’t really know much about the support staff. You see I’m so busy …’ 293
‘Who will know? Every school has its busybody.’
‘Well, Mrs Brakespear, the receptionist, keeps her eyes and ears open. Shall I call her in?’
‘Yes please.’
The headteacher left the room, then returned accompanied by a surly-looking forty-something woman whose look of disdain suggested that she either hated the police or parents in general. At any other time, Jo would have spent a moment or two trying to win her round. But at those times, her sons’ lives wouldn’t have been hanging from silk.
‘I’m investigating the attempted murder of my two sons by someone who gave false details to get a job here, and I need you to tell me everything you know about him. He’s using the name Dominic O’Leary.’ Jo picked the photo up off the desk and thrust it at Mrs Brakespear. The shocked receptionist looked at Mrs Holmes as if asking for permission to speak.
The headteacher nodded. ‘It’s important, Janet. Tell Mrs Howe anything you know.’
Still standing, the receptionist spoke. ‘Not much to say really. He’s only been here a couple of weeks. There’re only a few other men on the staff and they say there’s something odd about him.’
‘Odd?’
‘He keeps himself to himself. Doesn’t join in their chats, although I can’t blame him as it’s always football or the most recent Marvel movie.’
‘What about the other staff? Does he mix with them?’
‘Not as much as some would like.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Well, he’s a bit of a looker, you’ll have to agree.’
‘Oh, spare me,’ muttered Jo. ‘Tell me though, which teachers, support staff, fancy him?’
‘I don’t know about fancying him but some would like to get to know him better, shall we say.’
‘Write me a list. Meanwhile, how does he get to and from school? Car? Bike? Bus?’ 294
‘I’m not sure. I’ve never seen him park up or with cycling gear.’ She paused again. ‘Hold on, I think he gets the bus.’
It took every ounce of restraint for Jo not to bellow at the woman to just come out with it. ‘Why’s that?’
‘It was something Miss Mitchell said the other day.’
Christ, this was worse than painful. ‘Which was?’
‘It was the day of the bus strike. She was crowing that Dominic had asked her for a lift home. I think she thought she was in with a chance if you know what I mean.’
Jo turned to Mrs Holmes. ‘Where does Miss Mitchell live?’
‘Er, I’m not entirely sure. The other side of Brighton, I think.’
‘Not Portslade, as per this application form? Not on her way home then?’ Mrs Holmes wisely kept quiet. ‘Where can I find Miss Mitchell?’ Jo continued.
‘She’s in the hall. She happens to be one of our staff governors so she’s stayed back for the meeting. I’ll fetch her.’
A couple of minutes later, Mrs Holmes returned with a teacher in Lycra leggings and a blue windcheater bearing the school’s logo. You know you’re getting old when teachers look younger, thought Jo.
‘Miss Mitchell?’
‘Anna.’
‘Anna, this is really important but I haven’t got time to go into details. You took Dominic O’Leary home the other day, yes?’
‘Well, to his home, not mine.’ She flicked a glance at her colleagues. ‘It was just a lift.’
‘Yes, yes, I know. Where was that?’
‘Just off the seafront in Brighton. I live in Rottingdean so it was on the way.’
‘Where on the seafront?’
The PE teacher gazed into the middle distance. ‘Just before the Old West Pier I think. It’s in a square but I can’t remember the name. There are so many along there.’ 295
‘Could you show me?’
‘Well, I suppose so. At least I could try.’
Jo took a picture of O’Leary’s photo, grabbed her bag and pointed to both Mrs Holmes and Mrs Brakespear. ‘You two wait here. I’ll be back. Anna, come with me.’
Anna looked terrified and her eyes pleaded for support from her headteacher.
‘It’s OK, Anna,’ said Mrs Holmes.
‘Follow me,’ said Jo and breathed a sigh of relief when she sensed Anna behind her.
Just as she was about to leave, Mrs Brakespear spoke. ‘There was something else.’
Jo stopped in her tracks. ‘Yes.’
‘I saw Mr O’Leary dash out of school before playtime this morning. He came back a couple of minutes later. Now I think of it, it seemed odd.’
Jo glared at her and Mrs Holmes. ‘I’m sure it does. Is the outside covered by CCTV?’
‘Yes, it covers just outside the gate and a bit either side,’ said Mrs Holmes.
‘Check and send me what you find while we’re gone. My number’s on your files.’
As she dashed to the car, Jo checked her phone again for calls or messages from the hospital. Nothing. She called them as she fiddled with the ignition. It rang and rang. She was about to call again, but knew she didn’t have time if she was going to save the boys. Anyway, she tried to convince herself, surely no news was good news.
Fifteen minutes later, and after firing questions at the terrified teacher which elicited not much more than O’Leary was ‘hot but brusque’, they joined the snail-paced traffic heading east along the seafront. ‘Right, I need you to think back to the day you dropped him off and tell me exactly what you saw and did. Anything he said too. Don’t filter, just tell me.’ Thank goodness Jo remembered some of the more mystical elements of 296her cognitive interview course she’d attended as a young DC, when life was simpler.
Anna seemed to be buying into the exercise and, as they passed the Peace Statue that marked the boundary between Brighton and Hove, she said, ‘Left here.’
Jo wasn’t expecting the command so soon. ‘What, Bedford Square?’ Was this a coincidence? It was two streets from where Lizzie had been murdered and where the burner phone had pinged.
‘Yes, up here,’ said Anna, pointing to her left. The square of Regency town houses was one-way, so Jo had to take the east-most road and crawl up and round.
‘Where did you drop him?’
‘I think it was just as you loop round and come back down.’ Jo did so. ‘Yes, yes, it was just here,’ said Anna. ‘There was a bin lorry blocking the road, so he got out here and said he’d walk the rest. I remember he turned and waved as he headed towards the sea.’
‘Did you see where he went?’ said Jo, more in hope than expectation.
‘Can you edge forward a bit?’ Jo complied, then Anna said, ‘There. He went into that door there.’ Jo looked at the tattered blue panel door, which looked like it had been on the wrong end of a police battering ram on more than one occasion.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Certain. I remember wondering how could someone so good-looking live in a dump like that.’
‘My thoughts exactly. Just a second.’ Jo pulled into a parking space and took out her work phone, located the number she was looking for then typed out a brief message. The reply came back from Saira in seconds.
Yes, we do know it. It’s a squat. An Op Eradicate target address. Tactical Enforcement raided it a few weeks ago but it’s active again.
‘Jesus,’ said Jo, then messaged back. Can you meet me here? 297
On my way, came the reply.
‘Anna, I’m going to pay for a taxi to get you back to the school but I need you to do two things. Firstly, tell Mrs Holmes and that receptionist to stay put. And, secondly, if anyone asks, we didn’t find the address. OK?’
‘Sure,’ said Anna. Jo had no choice but to trust her.