They stood just outside the school gates, grabbing sound bites from any girl who would stop. There were plenty of them, crying, fixing makeup, going out on their lunch breaks to smoke. It meant everyone was distracted and Belsey could walk in unchallenged. The echoing corridors were crowded with girls who stared as he passed. Did he look in a fit state to wander a school? He hoped he looked less strung-out than he felt. He remembered this sense of drive from the back-to-back shifts on other murder cases, body moving beyond fatigue, day and night taking on one shade of stress. Belsey made his way through the school, asking directions until he found the headmistress’s office. The door was open. The study looked unthreatening, bright with GCSE artwork and a lot of well-tended plants. In the background, a radio on the window ledge droned news of the shooting. The headmistress nodded to Belsey and continued to speak on the phone; she was younger than he expected, but with an authority that was hard to miss, in a well-cut suit and with blow-dried hair.
