What was Miss Hazlitt doing?
She was sitting at her desk staring at her hands. Her briefcase had not reappeared and that was making her sweat. The incessant hammering was making her head ache and she was starting to twitch. She had closed the window on the headmaster and now she looked hard at the telephone, getting her thoughts and her plans in careful order. She hadn’t slept for three nights. It was Ruskin and Sanchez who’d been out in the grounds—she’d watched the surveillance footage. There had been a third figure too, moving in the darkness, and that had to be Millie. She’d called Selfridges and described the fur coat. They had positively identified it, priced it, and the price coincided with one of her credit card bills. It was evidence and it proved what she’d known all along. Now, when she thought about what was at stake, the pressure felt physical. The eradication of Millie was urgent.
It was midmorning when she took the inspector’s call.
“We’ve got problems,” he said.
“I know we’ve got problems. I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“Did you find your briefcase?”
“No. There were three children out last night. I have been trying to discuss it with our headmaster and I’m getting nowhere. I don’t know where they went, it may have been a drunken—”
“Wait a moment, listen.”
“What?”
The inspector paused. “Are you ready for this? We found a tie. First thing this morning when we were tidying up. A school tie, black and gold.”
“Where did you find it?”
“Traces of blood, chewed at the end. It was holding up the cover to an extractor fan, out in the tunnel. It wasn’t there yesterday.”
Miss Hazlitt said nothing, but her heartbeat increased. “Have you looked at the tie? You should find that every school tie has a name tag.”
“Well, I’m ahead of you there, sir. My training as a police officer stood me in good stead, because that was just what I looked for first.”
“And? Millie Roads?”
“Our investigator-cum-thief. She took the rabbit, and I think she took your briefcase. Sanchez and Ruskin were probably the watchmen. We looked at the venting system and there’re nuts and bolts strewn all over the place. It’s a confident entry: second visit, no doubt about it. What do you want to do?”
Miss Hazlitt thought hard. “Right now,” she said, “I’m not sure I want to do anything. She’s outside, working, and she’s not going anywhere. She’s not trying to make telephone calls and I doubt if she knows what to do herself.”
“She must have told someone by now. We can’t turn a blind eye to two mistakes, can we? We’re going to have to do something, specially if the boy’s ready. What was in the briefcase, dare I ask?”
“I’ll deal with her. I’ll sort it out.”
“How? What was in the briefcase, was it important?”
Miss Hazlitt dropped her voice to a whisper. “The boy’s medical records—all his scans and an outline of phase two. If she’s the intelligence to understand it, and if she’s had time to read it, then—”
“She’s a bright girl. She’ll get there.”
“Who’s going to believe her, Cuthbertson? She’s known to be a liar and an attention seeker, what on earth is she likely to say? If she phones the police, she’ll end up talking to you.”
“If she’s got the medical records, she’s got evidence.”
“I realize that—”
“If we postpone again, they’ll drop you. You could see how twitchy some of them were—where the hell did you leave the damn thing?”
“I was getting changed—”
“We promised Sir Peter total—total—security, that was what we guaranteed. I am so on the line on this one.”
“Shut up, Cuthbertson! You’re very rich on this one, as well, and likely to get richer. We won’t need to postpone and we are secure. I’ll sort the girl and I’ll find the wretched briefcase. You’ve got the boy to think about.”
“Listen,” said the inspector. He spoke in an even lower voice. “If the kids are building a roof, why don’t you organize a little accident? If she had a fall—”
“I’ve thought of that! I am not a fool, and the last thing I need—”
“If she had a fall, we could bring another prosecution. For negligence, and . . . listen—that would tie in with everything you’ve been documenting. The man’s on borrowed time already; a fatal accident would destroy him, and Routon would be out on his ear as well.”
Miss Hazlitt thought hard, gritting her teeth. The line remained silent as the two adults breathed at each other. Then Miss Hazlitt said: “I’ve got a better idea. She’s a smoker and she sleeps in a shed. I think we wait until lights-out. I think she might have a little fire.”
“I warned her about fires . . .”
“She does like lighting them. How awful if the door to the shed was jammed shut. If she just couldn’t get out in time.”
“We can still bring the prosecution. It’s still criminal negligence, so he’s out; you’re in. You’ll also call the police, which gives me a very nice excuse to be on the premises just when I need to be. What time for the boy, is that double-checked?”
“Half past eight, Routon doesn’t change his schedules.”
“Kitchens, yes? He’ll be alone?”
“I just told you. I’ve put his name in the rota—they don’t miss their turns, it’s a point of honor for them.”
“I don’t know their names, what if there’s two?”
“Relax, man, there won’t be! He’s got long hair and he’ll be on his own. It takes about thirty minutes and his name’s Anjoli—he’ll be just where I showed you. One sniff, all right?”
“All right!”
“That’s all he’ll need, he’s tiny. I need him conscious, you understand that?”
Miss Hazlitt put down the receiver, breathing hard. She stood and walked to the window. There was Millie, tieless in her overalls. She was talking earnestly with the little bald boy, Sam—innocent after all. She could see the precious Anjoli too, up on a roof truss, wearing only his shorts. His tool belt looked heavier than he did and his hair was fluttering like a flag. The headmaster had a hammer and was bashing away at something; Routon and Worthington were stretching a chalk line between them, inching up the trusses. Everyone distracted, everyone at work . . . how easy it would be, if the team kept its nerve.
Timing was important—she ought to double-check that. They’d eat at about eight, and she knew it was a pizza night. Anjoli would be clearing up from, what? Eight forty . . . nine o’clock at the latest? So having worked for eighteen hours they’d be asleep by ten. She had a spare can of gas in her Land Cruiser, and nobody would be surprised if there turned out to be a bottle in the girl’s shed. Once the fire was going, it would spill—the place would go like a bomb. The crucial thing was to wedge the door shut and get good burnable rubbish, with an airflow, underneath—she could do that now. Then if she raised the alarm, it would make the headmaster seem even more incompetent. There’d be fire crews, ambulances, the rush to casualty . . . Little Anjoli might not even be missed. Allowing for new scans, and recalculations, she would need six hours in the chair. The injections took twenty minutes each, but you had to leave time for the skull to cool. She could have him back in his bed by seven in the morning, if there were no complications.
The first boy, reconfigured. A loathsome child, reborn.
There he was, saluting again! Millie’s little helper. She was longing to see that smile removed from his face.
How steady were her hands? She stretched out her fingers and noted they were absolutely still.