The Dead Tracks Page 3

  I knocked on the glass. All three were fierce-looking women. Two of them paid me no attention whatsoever, the other glanced in my direction, eyed me, then decided I was at least worth getting up for. She slid the glass panel back, glancing at the pad in my hands. Her eyes — like Carver's the day before - drifted across my fingernails. What no one got to see were the other, even worse scars from the same case. It had been almost ten months and, although I'd made a full recovery, some days I could still feel the places I'd been beaten and tortured. My back. My hands. My feet. Perhaps a dull ache would always be there, like a residue, reminding me of how close I'd been to dying and how I was going to make sure it never happened again.

  I got out a business card and placed it down on the counter in front of the woman. 'My name's David Raker. I'm doing some work for the parents of Megan Carver.'

  The name instantly registered. Behind her, both women looked up.

  'What do you mean, "work"?'

  'I mean I'm trying to find out where she went.'

  They all nodded in sync. I had their attention now.

  'Is the headmaster around?'

  'Did you make an appointment?'

  I shook my head. 'No.'

  She frowned, but being here because of Megan seemed to soften her. She ran a finger down a diary.

  'Take a seat while I page him.'

  I smiled my thanks and sat down in a cramped waiting area to the right of the reception. More medical-green chairs. Posters warning of the dangers of drugs. A vase of fake blue flowers. Some kids passed by, looked at me, then carried on. Everything smelt of furniture polish.

  A telephone rang; a long, unbroken noise. One of the receptionists picked it up. The glass panel was now closed, but she was looking at me as she spoke. 'Okay,' she said a couple of times, and put the phone down. She leaned forward, and slid open the glass. 'He'll be five minutes.'

  Fifteen minutes later, he finally arrived.

  He walked straight up to the reception area, a hurried, flustered look on his face — like he'd run full pelt from wherever he'd come from — and followed his secretaries' eyes across the hall to where I was sitting. He came over. 'Steven Bothwick.'

  I stood and shook his hand. 'David Raker.'

  'Nice to meet you,' he said, using a finger to slide some hair away from his face. He was losing what he had left, and not doing a great job of disguising it.

  'I'm here about Megan Carver,' I said.

  'Yes,' he replied. 'A lovely girl.'

  He directed me to a door further along the corridor with his name on it. His office was small, crammed with books and folders. A big window behind his desk looked out over the football pitches. Bothwick pulled a chair out from the wall and placed it down on the other side of his desk. 'Would you like something to drink?'

  'No, I'm fine, thanks.'

  He nodded, pushing some folders out of his immediate way and shuffling in under the desk. He was in his fifties and barely scraping five-eight, but had an intensity about him, a determination, his expression fixed and strong.

  I reached into my pocket and got out another business card. 'Just so you're clear, I'm not a police officer. I used to be a journalist.'

  A frown worked its way across his face. 'A journalist?'

  'Used to be. For two years, I've been tracing missing people. That's my job now. The Carvers came to me and asked me to look into Megan's disappearance for them.'

  'Why?'

  'Because the police investigation has hit a brick wall.'

  He nodded. 'I feel so sorry for her family. Megan was a fantastic student with a bright future. When the police came here, I told them the same.' He took my card and looked at it. 'Yours is quite a big career change.'

  'Not as big as you might think.' I watched him look at what was written on it — DAVID RAKER, MISSING PERSONS INVESTIGATOR - and across the desk at me.

  He handed me back my card. 'So what can I help you with?'

  'I've got a couple of questions.'

  'Okay.'

  I took out my pad and set it down on the desk.

  'Her parents told me they dropped her off on the morning of 3 April, and she never came out again that afternoon. Do pupils have to sign in?'

  'Well, we take a register first thing in the morning and again after lunch, yes. But only for those in years seven through to eleven.'

  'That's eleven to sixteen years of age, right?' 'Right.'

  'So Megan was too old?'

  'Yes. Our A-level students are treated more like adults. We encourage them to turn up to class - but we won't come down on absences.'

  'So say I missed a couple of days of school — would anyone notice? And who would it get reported to — you?'

  Yes. If a pupil was continually missing lessons, the teacher would inform me.'

  'But a few absences here and there…?'

  He shrugged. They may get reported, or they may not. It depends on the student. Some contribute so little to lessons that their presence may be felt less. I guess a teacher may not, in that instance, notice them as quickly. But Megan… I think we'd have seen straight away if she'd been missing a lot of school time.'

  'She was a good student?'

  'In the top three per cent here, yes.'

  'And never got into any trouble?'

  He shook his head. 'Absolutely not.'

  'I understand she had Physics and then Biology for the last two periods of the day, and that she attended the Physics part of that?' 'Right.'

  'Her teacher confirmed that?'

  'Yes. And the fifteen other students who were in there with her.'

  'How long's the walk between classrooms?'

  'No walk at all. They're in the same block. Chemistry's on the top floor, Physics on the second and Biology on the ground.'

  'There's no CCTV in that part of the school, right?'

  'Sadly not. We have cameras, but we can't afford to have them in every building — not on the budget we're handed.' He turned in his chair and pointed to a diagram on the wall. It was a plan of the school campus with tiny CCTV icons scattered across it. 'Those are the cameras we have. One at the entrance, one on the car park, one at reception, one outside the English and Maths block, and one trained on the playing fields.'

  'Why only English and Maths?'

  'It's the block furthest away from here.'

  'Are there multiple entrances to the school?'

  'Not really. Well, not official entrances, anyway. Some of the students live in the estates beyond the football pitches, so they climb over the fence and come across the fields. There's a rear car park behind the Sixth Form block as well, where some of the students in Years 11 and 12 park their cars, if they're lucky enough to have them. That's fenced off too, but only to about waist height.'

  'So if she was going to leave the school grounds, and not be caught on CCTV, her best bet would have been jumping the fence at the back of the Sixth Form car park?'

  'Correct. I think that's what the police concluded too.'

  I reached down and got out Megan's Book of Life. 'Would it be possible to speak to a couple of students?'

  'Megan's friends?'

  'Yes.' I looked down at the pad. 'Lindsey Watson and Kaitlin Devonish?'

  He nodded, picked up the phone and punched in a four-digit number. On the other side of the door, I heard a phone ring in reception. 'Linda, I need Lindsey Watson and Kaitlin Devonish sent around as soon as possible, please.' He put the phone down. 'Anyone else?'

  I looked down at the pad, turned it around and slid it across the desk to him. The six people at the bottom,' I said, pointing to the boys' names. 'Are any of them students here?'

  He removed a pair of glasses from the top pocket of his jacket and popped them on, studying the names for a moment. Yes.'

  'All of them?'

  'I recognize all of them but one.'

  'Who's the odd one out?'

  'Anthony "A. J." Grant.'

  'You don't recognize that name?'

  'No
,' he replied, taking off his glasses. He got up and went to a filing cabinet at the back of the room. It had three drawers, each filled with the same Manila folders, each folder tabbed. Presumably he liked doing things the old-fashioned way. He went to G, but didn't find anything.

  'He's definitely not a student here.'

  'Every student in the school is in there?'

  'Every current student, yes.'

  I brought the pad back across towards me and put a question mark next to A. J. Grant. The other names on here —' I pushed it back towards him '— are they all in the same year as Megan?'

  'Yes.'

  'Is it going to be possible to speak to them?'

  'Certainly — but only Lindsey and Kaitlin today. Four of them are on a field trip to Normandy. The other… Well, the truth is, I don't know where Charles Bryant is. He missed a lot of school last year because his mother died. This week is the one-year anniversary of her passing, and he hasn't been in at all. I've tried calling his father, but have had no response. I even sent one of the teachers round to his house, but no one was home. I've no idea where he is, and to be honest, I think this week he's best left alone.'

  'Would it be possible to get an address for him?'

  'I can't give out addresses, I'm afraid.'

  There was a knock at the door. Bothwick looked up.

  'Come in.'

  Two girls entered. They shuffled forward, their eyes flitting between the both of us. One was beautiful: petite with a dusting of make-up, slim and womanly. The other was plainer, bigger, dressed more conservatively, but smiling.

  'Kaitlin, Lindsey, this is Mr Raker. He's looking into Megan's disappearance for her mum and dad.'

  I stood. 'David.'

  'Lindsey,' the bigger girl beamed.

  The other girl hesitated.

  'Kaitlin,' she said quietly. She had an accent.

  I turned to Bothwick. 'Is it okay if I take them somewhere?'

  He looked completely taken aback, as if I'd threatened to burn down the school. What do you mean?'

  'I mean, is it okay if I take the girls for a coffee?'

  'Why?'

  'I'd just like to speak to them in private.' He eyed me suspiciously. 'I'd prefer them to stay on school premises.'

  'Fine. So is there somewhere we can go where we won't get interrupted?'

  'You could go to the canteen.' 'There won't be any kids in there?' 'We've already had lunch.' I looked at my watch. Two-thirty. 'Okay, we'll go there.'

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  The canteen was long and narrow, the floor tiled in old hardwood, the ceilings high and sculptured in white plaster. Along one side were four huge windows. Light poured in, even as rain started spattering against the glass. Opposite was the kitchen, with big women in white uniforms cleaning out huge vats full of half-finished food.

  On the walk over, Lindsey had done all the talking. The last time she'd seen Megan was before the Carvers went to Florida.

  'She seemed fine,' she said, turning to her friend. 'Didn't she, Kay?'

  Kaitlin glanced at me, then at her friend, and nodded.

  'So how come you didn't see her between the time she got back and the time she disappeared?' I asked Lindsey.

  'I was on a student exchange in Italy.'

  'What about you, Kaitlin?'

  Kaitlin glanced briefly at me. She looked nervous, like she might be in trouble. The police had probably been to her home, asking questions and trying to work the angles. Sometimes that had the opposite effect. You ended up pushing harder because you felt like they were closing up, but they were only closing up because they felt like they weren't helping. Maybe, in some way, Kaitlin felt responsible. If she'd met Megan outside the penultimate class of the day, instead of by the lockers, she might never have vanished. Instead she said goodbye to her friend after lunch and never saw her again.

  'Can you tell me what happened?' I asked her, after we were all seated.

  'I told the police.'

  'I know you did. I know you helped them out a lot. I'm just trying to see if there are any small things that they might have missed. You're not in trouble. I'm just here to help Megan's parents and find out what happened to her.'

  She nodded but still seemed nervous. Her hands were flat to her legs, one of them rubbing the top of her thigh gently.

  'Where are you from, by the way?'

  She looked at me, frowned. 'Tufnell Park.'

  'No. I mean, originally.'

  She was still frowning. 'South Africa.'

  'I thought so. Nice part of the world. I used to live in South Africa.'

  For the first rime something shifted in her expression: the hardness, the stillness, replaced by a slight softening of the muscles. 'What part?' she asked.

  'Johannesburg'

  She nodded, but her face hardly moved this time, as if she wasn't actually listening to me. I studied her for a moment, the look in her face, her hand moving against her leg, and for the first time wondered if it was shyness preventing her from opening up or something else.

  'Kaitlin?'

  She turned and faced me.

  'Can you go over what happened?'

  'I spent lunchtime with Meg,' she said quietly. 'Then, first period, I had History, and she had Physics. Between periods, we were meant to meet at the lockers in the Science block, but I waited there and she didn't turn up.'

  'Why meet at the lockers?'

  She frowned, looked at Lindsey. We always did that.'

  'Before Biology?'

  'Yes. Unless we had a free period together before. If we had a free period, Linds, Meg and me would probably go to the library or the Sixth Form block.'

  'Did Megan seem all right that day?'

  'Fine.'

  'She didn't seem off colour or worried about anything?'

  'No.'

  'Just like her normal self?'

  'Pretty much.'

  I paused. 'Pretty much?'

  Kaitlin shrugged. 'Like I told the police, she said she'd had a headache for a couple of days. Nothing major. Just kind of a fuzzy head.'

  I wrote that down, and then we started talking about Megan generally — what she was like, her personality, how she'd scored straight As in her GCSEs. Lindsey did all of the talking. It didn't amount to much. Most of it dovetailed with what the Carvers had already told me: serious about school, serious about making a career for herself, serious about not letting anything get in the way. Basically the most unlikely runaway you could get.

  'Did Megan get on all right with the teachers here?'

  'Who gets on with teachers?' Lindsey said.

  'She wasn't close to one of them in particular?'

  Lindsey frowned.

  'I'm looking for reasons why she might have disappeared.'

  Her mouth formed an O, as if she suddenly got the line of questioning, then she shook her head. 'I don't think so. In science, a lot of the teachers are women anyway.'

  I nodded. 'Her dad said she used to work in a video store…'

  'Yeah,' Lindsey replied. 'She did two weekends a month. But I think that place closed down about three months ago.'

  'Okay. But did she ever meet anyone while she was there?'

  'I don't think so.' She paused, looked at Kaitlin, got no help and turned to me again. 'No one apart from Charlie - but she already knew him.'

  'Who's Charlie?'

  'Charlie Bryant.'

  'Charles Bryant?'

  Lindsey nodded again.

  'The kid whose mum died?'

  'Yeah.'

  'Were the two of them friendly?'

  'They went out for a while.'

  'For how long?'

  'I don't know… couple of months.'

  'When was this?'

  'After his mum died.'

  'A year ago?'

  Yeah. He was hard work, though.' She paused, as if she might have just realized why. 'I mean, he'd just lost his mum. You can understand that.' 'Is that why they split up?'


  'Megan said she felt sorry for him, but she didn't really fancy him. After a couple of months, she called it off.'