Blood of the Innocents (6 page)

Millie didn’t seem convinced. She turned her attention back to the letter. ‘But if this is a genuine threat we might be looking at abduction.’

‘Could be. Akram was quick to suggest that too.’

‘Wouldn’t we expect a ransom demand?’

‘Not necessarily right away. The timing would have to be right.’

‘And in the meantime?’

‘We continue to treat this as a missing persons and talk to the people who really know what Yasmin is thinking. ’

 

In terms of location there could hardly have been a greater contrast between the small Islamic school and the girls high school that Yasmin attended. On the Granville Lane patch, it was more familiar to Mariner. Purpose built in the mid 1930s the red-brick building nestled snugly in leafy suburbia, surrounded by acres of what at any other time of year would have been lush green grass, but which had by now been scorched to a crusty, brownish yellow by the relentless sun.

Here Mariner really was glad of Millie’s presence. Pre-adolescent girls had ceased to be one of his areas of expertise for going on for thirty years. In addition, these were likely to be worried adolescent girls, given that one of their friends had disappeared. The meeting with Yasmin’s closest friends was to be supervised by the head of pastoral care but, even so, Mariner felt a certain apprehension as, in the middle of the afternoon, he and Millie drove slowly along the winding, tree-lined drive.

They were a little early, so were invited to take a seat in the reception area to wait.

With its coffee-table reading and lush green pot plants it was more like the lobby of a private corporation, though it lacked the comfort of air conditioning. The power of the connection between aroma and memory never failed to amaze Mariner, and the combined old-school smell of cleaning fluids and cooked food was one of the most potent of all. His lightweight suit felt suddenly constrictive as he made a conscious effort not to let his own experiences affect his perceptions. His own schooldays had been far from the happiest of his life when he’d been a square peg in a round hole at the boys grammar school he’d attended.

Nearly six feet tall by the age of thirteen, he’d stood out, literally at first, and then socially too, when people had gradually discovered that his was a single-parent family. Lone parents back then were still a relative rarity, and amongst his particular strand of lower-middle-class population were virtually unheard of. Throw into the equation his mother’s eccentric mode of dress and outspoken views and any attempts of his to blend in hadn’t stood a chance. He and Anna had recently watched the video
About a Boy
and in the central character Mariner had seen shades of himself, from the bizarre dress code to the gross social ineptitude. He too had been a victim of hand-knitted pullovers and oversized home-made PE shorts. Even his lunches had been outside the norm, with sandwiches made from home-baked wholemeal bread at a time when white sliced Mother’s Pride was all the rage. It was during those years, at the age when conforming meant everything, that his relationship with his mother had begun to deteriorate.

Mariner wondered how Yasmin fitted in here. Looking at the most recent school photo, displayed on the wall ahead of them, there weren’t many other brown faces. Did it mean that Yasmin had a point to prove, or was she made to feel like an outsider? The staff line-up was interesting too: the proportion of men to women more evenly balanced than he might have expected and Mariner wondered not for the first time what would make any man want to work in a school full of young girls, exposing himself to unattainable temptation.

Unlike the displays at the Islamic school, here around the main photograph were displayed sketched portraits, drawn, the label announced, by members of the Year 12 A level art group: pencil sketches of body parts. The most striking one was of a male torso, from the waist to just below the chin, displaying a series of intricate tattoos on the biceps and shoulders. It was expertly drawn, the proportions just right.

‘Robbie Williams,’ said Millie, knowledgeably, at the same moment as the deputy head appeared. Small and trim, her powder-blue suit and bright turquoise and yellow blouse, offset by shoulder-length blond hair, Mrs Darrow stood out like an exotic bird amid the drab navy blues of the school uniforms. She apologised for keeping them waiting before setting off at a brisk, high-heeled pace along endless corridors, leading them through what seemed to be an impossible number of left turns. Occasionally, confident young women clomped by in heavy shoes and perilously short skirts, surreptitiously eyeing them up, perhaps thinking that they were parents, although Millie was way too young. Mariner took the opportunity of the lengthy trek to draw out Mrs Darrow’s opinion of Yasmin.

‘She’s a popular girl,’ was the somewhat trite reply. ‘She came to us from her parents’ Islamic school, which is a big leap, especially socially, but she seemed to take it absolutely in her stride.’

‘Her parents implied that she’s had a sheltered upbringing. ’

‘Relatively perhaps, but she’s had the opportunity to spread her wings here. In many ways Yasmin’s background is very different to some of the other girls, but because she’s friendly and outgoing, she gets along with people. She’s also not afraid to express her own opinions. Don’t be misled into thinking of Yasmin as some “poor little black girl”, Inspector.’

‘Would anyone particularly resent that, an Asian girl being clever and popular?’

Mrs Darrow stopped and turned to face him. ‘We don’t tolerate racism or bullying in this school, if that’s what you’re implying.’

‘That’s not to say that it doesn’t go on.’ Mariner held her gaze. ‘I can’t imagine that there’s any school that doesn’t have a problem with bullying; some establishments are just more aware of it than others.’

Mrs Darrow’s colour deepened before she walked on. ‘You’re right of course, Inspector, realistically it happens, but I’ve never known it to be an issue with Yasmin.’

‘You have a high reputation in the area,’ commented Millie.

Had she been a bird, Mrs Darrow would at that point have preened her feathers. ‘Mm. We had an eighty-four per cent pass rate at A-C and a ninety-three per cent pass rate at A level last year. It put us into the top ten in the national league tables and this year we’re on stream to do even better.’ The numbers, largely meaningless to Mariner, fairly tripped off her tongue.

‘And is Yasmin keeping up?’

‘Her GCSE grades were excellent: six A stars, three As, one B.’ She frowned. ‘Although as with most of the girls, she’s finding sixth form a little more of a challenge.’

‘Why’s that?’ asked Mariner.

‘The work is harder,’ she said simply. ‘Added to which these are adolescent girls, Inspector, at the mercy of their hormones. They get distracted. It’s not an uncommon thing to happen. They’re under an enormous amount of pressure, to be clever, pretty and popular. Some girls cope better than others. For Yasmin there’s the additional conflict that what her parents want for her isn’t necessarily what she wants.’

‘And what does she want?’

‘At present, just to keep her options open.’

‘And her parents don’t?’

‘Like many of our parents, Mr and Mrs Akram have fairly fixed ideas about what constitutes a worthwhile career. Often those views can be quite traditional.’

‘Medicine or law,’ Millie chipped in.

Mrs Darrow smiled. ‘Exactly.’

‘What would be her teachers’ response to a drop in standard? ’

‘We’d encourage her to put in that little bit more effort.’

‘Would that worry Yasmin?’

‘It’s hard to tell, but I’d guess that it might unsettle her a bit. Yasmin’s a bright girl, and I know her parents have high hopes for her.’

‘Are they adding to the pressure?’

‘No more than any other parents who want their child to do well,’ Mrs Darrow responded quickly.

‘What’s your relationship with Yasmin’s parents like?’

‘They’re very supportive. Many of the resources we acquire these days are accessed through specific government initiatives, often through matched funding.’ Seeing the blank expressions she continued. ‘We put up half and the DfES matches it.’

‘Ah.’

‘Yasmin’s father has been very generous in our endeavour to acquire language college status.’

‘What about friends? You said Yasmin is popular.’

‘She’s part of an established group.’

‘And Suzanne Perry, the friend her mother thought she was staying with?’

‘I was quite surprised about that, I must say. Their friendship has always been rather an unlikely alliance.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘I’ll let you find out for yourselves. Here we are.’

They had reached their destination and Mrs Darrow pushed open the door of what seemed to be some kind of recreational room. Low, comfortable chairs were grouped around a couple of square wood-effect utilitarian coffee tables. At least she’d taken on board Mariner’s request to keep this informal. There were five girls present. They had been talking, but quietened politely when Mrs Darrow appeared. They weren’t cocky and street-wise like the girls Mariner was used to dealing with. Even at this age, they seemed cool and sophisticated and more than a little intimidating as they appraised their visitors and Mariner wished he’d checked his flies before coming in. Each girl had put her individual stamp on the school uniform, but one in particular stood out. She looked older than the others, not just because of her spiky red hair or the heavy black eyeliner that circled her eyes. There was something about her demeanour. She was the only girl in the room to return Mariner’s gaze, and some.

There were three vacant seats. Mrs Darrow offered one each to Mariner and Millie, before making introductions and taking the other herself.

As Mariner had agreed with her beforehand, Millie took the lead in the hope that the girls might be more relaxed with a woman nearer their age and therefore more inclined to open up. Mariner was impressed with the way she handled it, too: just the right proportion of friendly to professional.

‘Hi. We’re really glad that you agreed to meet with us today. If any of you has any idea where Yasmin might have gone, it’s really important that you tell us now. It goes without saying that everyone’s very concerned about her, and she may be in danger.’ Silence. Time to be more specific.

‘Yasmin told her mum that she was going for a sleepover with Suzanne. Is that right?’ Millie scanned the room, inviting a response from Suzanne. When none came Mrs Darrow offered a gentle prompt. ‘Suzanne?’

‘That’s right.’ The sullen reply came from the spiky-haired girl, who addressed her answer to Mariner, at the same time shifting in her seat and conspicuously adjusting her tiny skirt.

‘So what happened?’ Millie asked.

‘She changed her mind.’ Her green eyes remained disconcertingly fixed on Mariner’s, but Millie persevered.

‘Why was that?’

‘She said she wasn’t feeling too well. And she felt bad about coming.’

‘What about the project?’

Finally, Suzanne turned to face Millie. ‘What project?’

‘The project you and Yasmin were working on, that you had to finish?’

Suzanne frowned. ‘First I’ve heard of it.’

‘OK. Why do you think Yasmin changed her mind about coming?’

‘Because of the row with her dad,’ she said with exaggerated patience, finally switching eye contact to Millie.

‘What row was that?’

‘About the sleepover.’ Mariner could imagine her tapping the side of her head in despair. What kind of thicko was she dealing with here? ‘Her dad wouldn’t let her come.’

Understandably, Millie was puzzled. ‘I don’t understand. I thought she’d had her parents’ permission.’

‘Her mum’s,’ Suzanne corrected. ‘Her dad had said absolutely no, but when she knew he was going away, Yasmin talked her mum round. That’s the whole point. That’s why she changed her mind. She felt bad about going against her dad.’

So the Akrams were in conflict about Yasmin’s sleepover with Suzanne. That explained a lot.

‘So the two of you hadn’t fallen out?’

‘No. Yasmin just succumbed to emotional blackmail, as she was expected to do.’ Her voice was heavy with contempt.

‘And as far as you’re aware, Yasmin went straight home from school?’

‘Yes. She said it would keep.’

‘What would?’ Mariner asked. Suddenly he was interested and Suzanne knew it.

‘She had something important to tell me, but that by the next day it would be better, there would be more to tell.’

‘Have you any idea what this was all about?’

‘No. But Yasmin was pretty wound up about it.’ She was playing him like a violin.

‘Wound up how? Excited or worried?’

Suzanne took her time. ‘I’d say excited.’

‘But she didn’t give any hints about what it was?’

‘No.’

‘Who travels home with Yasmin regularly?’ Millie asked. A couple of hands went up tentatively. Mariner had forgotten what a programmed response that was. ‘Could you tell us about that journey, yesterday?’

At last a shrug from the girl called Emma, with dark hair tied back and an uneven, lumpy complexion. ‘It was just the same as any other. We had graffiti club after school so we were late leaving.’

‘Graffiti club?’

Mrs Darrow smiled. ‘No, we’re not encouraging vandalism, Constable. It’s just the trendy name for our art club.’ A couple of the girls rolled their eyes, smirking at her use of the word ‘trendy’.

‘What time was that?’

‘About quarter to five,’ the girl whose frizzy red hair was escaping from her ponytail spoke up. ‘We had to go back into school because Yaz couldn’t find her travel card. We had to retrace our steps, everywhere we’d been that day.’

‘And did you find it?’

‘It was on the floor in the art room. The last place we’d been. Typical.’