Ann Cleeves - Killjoy

‘How did she get on with the other kids?’

‘Very well. She was lively, popular, always at the centre of the action.’

I bet she was, Hunter thought.

‘She was very attractive,’ he said. ‘That didn’t cause jealousy?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Ellie said. ‘Not in this case.’

‘Did she ever talk about her family, her background?’

‘Not willingly.’ Ellie Smith became earnest. Hunter thought she would be competent, caring, too idealistic perhaps for her own good. ‘When I first became her tutor I asked about her parents. I try to get to know the kids as individuals. She told me that they’d been killed in a car crash when she was young and she’d been brought up by relatives. I never met her guardian. For the past year she’s been living with friends in Otterbridge.’

‘Yes,’ Hunter said. ‘Did she tell you why she left home?’

‘No. She was very quiet at about that time, rather withdrawn, but she never talked about problems with her family. I wasn’t too worried about her. I’d met Prue Bennett several times through courses at the Grace Darling and she seemed a perfect substitute. Gabby was obviously happy there so I never pried.’

‘You had no indication recently that Gabby had been worried about anything?’

‘No. But I’d say that experience had made her very good at hiding her feelings. In all the time that I supervised her she never confided in me.’ She paused. ‘I had the feeling she was acting,’ she said. ‘All the time. None of us really knew her.’

‘Wasn’t there anyone she might have got close to? Boyfriend?’

Ellie laughed. ‘She had lots of boyfriends,’ she said. ‘Half the Upper Sixth were infatuated with her. But I think she kept her feelings strictly under control. Unless…’ She paused again, uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. Hunter was momentarily distracted. He had never been out with a teacher.

‘Yes?’ he said.

‘I think there might have been an understanding between her and one of the lads in the English group. There was nothing I could put my finger on. I never saw them walking arm in arm around the college. Nothing like that. But you get an instinct for these things. She always arranged to be sitting next to him at class and sometimes I’d see her hanging around waiting for him.’

‘So you think she was interested in him and not the other way round?’

‘There was nothing obvious,’ she said. ‘But yes, I’d say she was interested in John Powell and I’m not sure that he welcomed the attention. I got the impression he tried to keep his distance.’

‘What’s he like, this Powell?’

She hesitated, trying to find the right words. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Unusual, different. Bright enough if he puts the work in but you get the impression that he doesn’t really care, that it’s all beneath him. Arrogant, I suppose you’d call him.’

‘A troublemaker?’ Hunter asked.

‘Not really. Not in the accepted sense. But I always find his presence in a class undermining. It’s impossible to forget he’s there. You don’t feel you can treat him like all the other kids. He won’t be taken for granted.’

‘Friends?’

‘No,’ Ellie said. ‘I don’t think he’s any close friends. Not here at least. Admirers perhaps. He’s something of a cult figure. I’m not sure why.’

The staff room was starting to empty. There was a queue at the sink as the teachers rinsed their cups. Ellie looked at her watch.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I’ll have to go soon. I’m teaching next period.’

‘When did you last see Gabby?’ Hunter asked.

‘Yesterday morning. But not in a tutor group. There was an English lesson. From ten until eleven thirty.’

‘And she was definitely there?’

‘Oh yes. I remember quite clearly. We were doing Hamlet. She read Ophelia.’ She paused, shocked. ‘Quite prophetic,’ she said, ‘when you think of it.’

Hunter, who did not understand what she was talking about, kept quiet.

‘Did you see where she went when she left the class?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she said. ‘ She rushed off as soon as the bell went. As if she were in a hurry. It wasn’t like her. She often stayed behind for a chat.’

A bell rang and Ellie Smith looked at her watch again. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I’m really sorry. I’ll have to go. But if you want to come with me I can introduce you to some of Gabby’s friends. I’m teaching the same group as I was yesterday morning.’

The classroom was in a different block and she led Hunter outside, across a yard where the frost still lay in the shadow. The building was 1960s glass and concrete with rusting window frames and noisy corridors. She opened a door and stood aside to let him in. The room was full of sunlight so Hunter blinked, then felt foolish, at a disadvantage. He saw twelve young people dressed in costumes which ranged from the bizarrely flamboyant to the threadbare. Ellie followed him into the room and sat on one of the desks. He stood, uncomfortably, intimated by their stares. He was not sure how to speak to these bright young people who spent all day reading Shakespeare. He felt he had more in common with the joy riders he pulled in on a Friday night.

‘You’ll all have heard by now,’ Ellie Smith was saying, ‘that the body of a young woman was found at the Grace Darling Arts Centre last night. The police have identified the victim as Gabby Paston.’

She paused. A girl had started to cry and turned to be comforted by a friend. Ellie went on.

‘Of course it’s an awful shock and terribly upsetting but the police obviously want to ask questions about Gabby and they especially want to trace her movements yesterday. This is Detective Sergeant Hunter. He’ll ask you some questions now. If you have any other information about Gabby and there are details you’d prefer to remain confidential you can always arrange a private meeting with him through me.’ She looked around. ‘You do see,’ she said, ‘that this is a serious matter. Whatever views you might hold about the police generally, you must co-operate with them now.’

There was a silence and she turned to Hunter. He cleared his throat nervously.

‘I understand that Gabriella attended the English class with you yesterday morning,’ he said. ‘According to Miss Smith she left in rather a hurry. Does anyone know where she was going?’

A skeletally thin girl with black spiked hair and huge eyes, blackened at the rims so she looked like an anorexic panda, raised her hand. She was wearing a long black dress which reached almost to the ground and the ubiquitous Dr Martens.

‘Gabby had a date,’ she said. ‘Someone was taking her out to lunch.’

‘Did she tell you who she was meeting?’

The girl shook her head.

‘Does anyone know?’

Again there was silence.

‘I know where she was going.’ The girl who interjected was plump, quietly spoken, dressed in denims and a hand-knitted sweater. ‘To the Holly Tree at Martin’s Dene. She was teasing, you know, about the canteen food. How we’d have to put up with that while she was sitting down at the Holly Tree to something delicious.’

‘When did she tell you that?’

‘First thing in the morning. While we were all waiting for Miss Smith to come in.’

Hunter considered. The Holly Tree was expensive, well out of the range, he would have thought, of the average sixth former. It was unlikely that Gabriella’s date had been with one of her schoolfriends. But if she had been there for a meal someone would have remembered her. At lunch time it would be full of business people who had driven out of Newcastle to do their entertaining. In her black leggings and boots Gabriella Paston would have stuck out like a sore thumb. Someone would haved noticed her companion too. Suddenly Hunter began to feel more hopeful. He resisted the temptation to leave immediately for the Holly Tree and went on, turning to the plump girl. ‘ Did she tell you anything about her plans for the rest of the day?’