on several statements, it would seem it was a time issue. And everyone thought she’d had a seizure at first, until the bruises started to appear,’ Nick explained.
‘How did she get singled out?’ Perry questioned. ‘She would have been in a class of, what, thirty?’
‘It could be someone who is close to our victim, who knows her routine,’ Grace suggested.
‘Any sexual assault?’ Nick asked Dave.
Grace found herself holding her breath as she waited for an answer.
‘It’s not looking likely,’ Dave said. ‘Maybe your killer was disturbed when the other girls came back to look for her. Poor kids will be traumatised, no doubt.’
‘If they had nothing to do with it.’ Grace nodded, knowing they’d be talking to their witnesses very soon.
‘We need to check out any known offenders in the area, regardless,’ Nick continued.
Grace moved closer to the victim. ‘Are we looking at an opportunist?’ she asked. ‘We’re in the middle of a field. Our killer might have seen the pupils out on a run, else how would someone have known she’d fall behind? And there would only have been a matter of minutes to pounce.’
‘It’s a tricky one.’ Nick paused. ‘We’ll inform the parents after talking to the headmaster. And we’ll have to be quick as I bet it’s already broken out on social media.’
‘But she was ID’d by her teacher,’ Perry said, ‘as well as the girls who found her.’
Grace finally stepped out of the tent and breathed in heavily. It always got to her when she first saw a victim’s body – the heaviness, the sadness, the sheer callousness of these acts. She wondered how Dave coped with it all the time.
Alongside Nick and Perry, she removed her forensic clothing and placed everything carefully into evidence bags. Then they began the walk back to the school. All around her was that feeling of bleakness, a sense of desolation. Glancing back, she reflected again on the pointless loss of life.
Once on the lane, she took out her phone. She wanted to see who was saying what about their dead girl. Like most cops, Grace had a love-hate relationship with social media. Sometimes it was great for their intelligence, getting to the root of things, because some people are more likely to be honest online than to the police. Other times, it was macabre, reporting on real-time crimes before victims’ families had been notified.
She clicked onto Twitter and typed in the girl’s name. Nothing there yet, thankfully, but she saw the hashtag #deadgirlatDunwood was trending in the local area. Next, she tracked down Lauren Ansell on Facebook, the image of the girl startling her as she popped up so full of life on her page. Despite her age, Lauren didn’t have a closed profile, so it was all over that feed.
Posts were coming through, even though her status hadn’t been updated since nine thirty the night before, which could mean that some of the pupils’ parents would know by now as the rumour mill exploded.
Are you okay?
I’ve heard something’s happened at your school. Message me!
This can’t be true. Not Lauren. This is a wind-up!
‘It’s all over Twitter and Facebook that something’s going on at the school.’ Grace showed Nick the screen. ‘Some are already sensationalising it. I do hope we can get to her next of kin in time.’
‘I just pray she isn’t friends with her own parents,’ Nick added. ‘We’d better get over there as soon as we can.’
Dunwood Academy was an L-shaped two-storey building. It had been rebuilt on the grounds of a previous high school and then given a different name as well as a complete makeover. Everything about it was modern and new, markings still fresh outside on the tarmac and painted white walls inside with hardly a scuff. But today it had an eerie sense of shock, an undertone of fear that made it seem duller than it was.
As Nick went back to his car to make some calls, a man at the entrance gave them directions to the headmaster’s office, checking first via his phone that the head was there. Grace walked by Perry’s side, along two empty corridors and up a flight of stairs. The school secretary’s office was the first on the left. Nathan Stiller was in there waiting for them.
Nathan was in his early forties. Grace couldn’t help feeling she was stereotyping him, but he was fashion model material. Discreetly, she clocked his choppy dark hair, short but tidy beard and navy-blue suit with slim-fit trousers and waistcoat. His black brogues were shiny, his shirt the proverbial crisp white. Not at all what you’d expect from a schoolteacher.
But his demeanour was forlorn. All this would come down on him, Grace assumed. He would most likely blame himself too, as much as the teacher who had taken the PE lesson.
After introducing themselves, Grace and Perry were shown into his office. Grace glanced around before they all sat down. On the wall were certificates for qualifications Stiller had taken, an award for the school itself and a few photos of pupils gathered together. One she spotted was a clip from Stoke News. Several pupils were holding up a giant cheque for £2,000 for local charity Douglas Macmillan Hospice.
‘I can’t believe this has happened,’ Nathan said. ‘It’s such a shock. I’ve been the head at this school for five years, so I’ve known Lauren since she first came here in Year 7.’
‘Obviously, we need to contact her parents as a matter of urgency, Mr Stiller,’ Grace said.
‘Please, call me Nathan. They’re divorced. I wasn’t sure whether to contact her mother or not until I’d spoken to you – she lives locally. In the end, I felt I had to ask her to come to the school. But her phone went to voicemail. I left a message about half an hour ago.’
‘Do you have any other details?’ Grace asked. ‘Does she work? What about Lauren’s father?’
‘Yes. I’ve got them up onscreen.’ Nathan sat down at his desk and wiggled the mouse to wake up his computer. ‘Mrs Ansell remarried and is named Gillespie now. She works at Mintons Solicitors in Newcastle-under-Lyme. Her ex-husband lives in Derby.’
‘Does the class take cross-country every week at the same time?’ she asked.
‘No.’ Nathan wrote down details before looking up again. ‘It’s as and when the weather permits and never more than once a month. Robert sorts it out so that each year has a lesson.’
‘Robert?’ Perry queried.
‘Robert Carmichael. He’s the PE teacher. The classes get very competitive and it gives the pupils a good workout in the fresh air.’
‘Who owns the field where Lauren was found?’ Grace questioned.
‘Arthur Barrett and his family – a local farming generation. The school have been using it with their permission for over twenty years.’ Nathan shook his head in disbelief. ‘I hope I don’t have to suspend Robert for
