bit her bottom lip hard. Every time she heard those words it all but stopped her heart right there and then. ‘I know,’ she said at length.
The phone clicked before going dead.
Amelia placed her phone back on the counter top and took the flick knife from her pocket, pulled back the blade and smiled.
***
Adrian Brown looked down at his blood-soaked shirt sleeve.
Bile began to rise in his throat, but he suppressed the urge to vomit. He applied pressure to the wound, fighting back the urge to scream.
He doubled over in pain, and blood seeped through his fingers.
He remembered the look on Amelia’s face as she’d plunged the knife into his upper arm, and how her other hand had pressed firmly over his mouth as he had screamed.
He’d felt like he would pass out but he had fought against it when they had heard Mary approach the office. Under duress he’d told her through the door that he was fine.
He’d waited with bated breath until he’d heard footsteps leading away, Mary’s curiosity shot down in an instant.
He’d sighed and shut his eyes.
When he had looked back at Amelia, her attention was on the blood seeping through his shirt. His gaze had followed down to her right hand, fingers gripping the handle of the knife firmly, her knuckles white. In that moment he had tried to think back to where it had all started to fall apart.
Then she had wrenched the blade from his arm.
Her eyes had never left his as she wiped the knife clean with a tissue. The perks he’d got from their financial agreement were over. She’d made that crystal clear.
He waited until she’d left his office before removing his tie and securing it tightly around his shoulder, pulling it tight. He then put his suit jacket on. He would wait half an hour before risking going to A&E.
He waved Mary away when she tried to enter his office. She looked hurt but he didn’t care.
Amelia had been a worthwhile distraction at the time but now she was a threat, an inconvenience.
She had to be dealt with as quickly and discreetly as possible.
It was just after nine the next morning and Michael sighed at the No Smoking sign on the door in front of him. He dropped the remainder of his cigarette on the floor, crushing it under his foot. He exhaled the last dreg of smoke from his dry lips, pushed open the main door and entered the reception area of St Catherine’s.
He felt the eyes of the middle-aged receptionist burning into his body as he approached the glass window at the front of the reception booth.
Looking behind her he could see other workstations and a main office at the back with a sign on it.
‘Can I help you?’ she said, brushing an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear. Michael noticed how, although her face was lined and her hair was showing signs of grey, she was not an unattractive lady. He forced a smile and maintained direct eye contact with her.
‘Detective Sergeant Michael Diego,’ he said, showing her his warrant card.
He saw her stiffen.
He was used to that response as soon as people found out what he was. ‘I need to speak with the Head, if he’s around.’
‘He is a she, and rather busy this morning. You should have made an appointment.’
He’d been anticipating this response. ‘Tell her it’s important. Tell her it’s in relation to a murder inquiry.’
The woman froze.
‘I’ll wait right here until she’s ready to see me,’ he said, taking a seat in one of the chairs in the waiting area. ‘Oh, and I take my coffee black, one sugar, thanks.’
The receptionist bristled but headed towards the office behind her. After five minutes she reappeared with a mug of coffee and handed it over, handle facing away from him deliberately. He smiled, wincing inwardly at the heat burning his fingers.
The receptionist forced a smile. ‘Miss Wallis will be with you soon. Until then, please wait here. We don’t allow visitors to wander around the school unescorted.’
***
Miss Wallis was a mature lady, Michael noticed, as she approached him twenty minutes later. She had grey hair which was immaculately kept at shoulder length. She wore a long black skirt with a matching suit jacket. Her glasses sat low on her nose, and she pushed them higher before extending her hand to him.
‘Sergeant Diego? I’m Linda Wallis, what can I do for you?’
Michael rose from his chair and took her hand, noticing how firm her handshake was. He smiled at her but was met with a cold hard stare, her eyes studying him with caution.
Michael released her hand and slid his own back into his trouser pocket.
He grew aware of the receptionist’s eyes on them both.
‘Perhaps we should speak in your office, Mrs Wallis.’
‘It’s Miss.’ Linda paused before extending her arm towards her office. ‘This way, please, Sergeant.’
Linda’s office was small and static. Everything was formal and had its place: a small bookcase filled with educational books, a rather dull-looking print of something Michael recognised as by Henri Matisse, and a very bare-looking desk with only a few essential pieces of stationery.
Linda sat behind her desk but Michael waited until she motioned him to one of the two large blue upholstered chairs in front of her desk.
‘Forgive me if we skip the pleasantries, Sergeant, but I have a school to run, and I don’t take too kindly to people who demand to see me without making an appointment first.’
Linda let the statement rest in the air for a few moments, making Michael stir in his chair before continuing. ‘I’m sure you can appreciate that I’m a very busy woman.’
She pulled her lips into a forced smile. Michael could tell she was the kind of employer to defend her colleagues to the end. In his experience, closing ranks was typical of teachers and quite frankly, he didn’t have a lot of time for them.
‘Miss Wallis, I must apologise for not making an appointment first but this is an urgent…delicate matter. I’m investigating a murder that took place yesterday in St Mary’s church.’
Linda stared at him, her face hardening. ‘I heard about that… I fail to see how I can help you.’
‘It’s not you I’ve come to see. I must speak with one of your teachers, a Mr Jenkins. I believe he teaches RS here.’
‘I’m
