at seven thirty. She was hoping, despite the late hour, that it was the school rather than the chief. She wanted to have something else to report to Sheens.
“DC Hanson.”
“Oh, hello. I’m calling from Bournemouth East.” A young woman’s voice. Gentle, and a little Northern, Hanson thought. “I’m one of the deputy heads. You wanted some information on Andrew Mackenzie. Sorry it’s taken so long. I had to talk to a few different people and work around a meeting.”
“That’s not a problem at all,” Hanson replied. “I really appreciate you calling.”
“That’s all right. He had a good record here, but there was one thing I thought you’d appreciate knowing. He began a relationship with one of our sixth-formers after she’d left the school. It wasn’t legally problematic, as she was overage and no longer a pupil. But given that he met her here, as her teacher initially, it wasn’t entirely popular with the parents.”
“That could be interesting, thank you,” Hanson said, pulling a cap off her pen and beginning to take notes on a legal pad. “Do you think the relationship really did start after she left? It wasn’t happening covertly while the girl was at school?”
“The staff generally think not,” the deputy head said. “But it’s difficult to be certain. They did their best to find out at the time, and to look for any grooming. It seemed to be above board. The girl herself was quite certain that it was only a few months after she left, when they’d bumped into each other at a pub, that it even occurred to either of them. I think the school did everything it should have done, under the circumstances.”
“Yes, thank you,” Hanson said. “Do you have the girl’s name?”
“I assume this isn’t going to be announced publicly?” the teacher said, suddenly a little guarded.
“No, no,” Hanson said. “This is purely for investigative reasons. It might well be unimportant.”
“All right. According to our solicitor, it won’t violate any confidentiality if I pass on the information, given that she was no longer a pupil. Her name was Pria Anand.”
“Great,” Hanson said. “Is it all right if we talk to you again if we need to?”
“Yes, that would be fine,” the deputy head said, “though I’m off on vacation next week. I’ll give you my cell in case you need it.”
Hanson took it down and rang off. She could see Lightman’s curious expression.
“Inappropriate relationship?” he asked.
“Maybe,” Hanson answered. “Apparently it only started after the girl left. But we’re talking a few months after she left. I’d say that’s fairly suspicious.”
O’Malley announced his return at that point by slamming the door to CID. He came over to them both with a slightly distant expression.
“Successful afternoon?” Hanson asked.
“Possibly,” O’Malley replied. “I’ll update you once we’re at the pub.”
* * *
—
JONAH WALKED THE mile to Southampton Climbing Wall in less time than it would have taken to sit in early evening traffic. His suit trousers were heavy with water by the time he arrived, but the outdoor jacket had kept the rest of him dry. He couldn’t help feeling that the rain should be warmer, that this summer storm should be a hot and tropical thing instead of a miserable, chilly gray invasion.
The front desk at the center was overshadowed by a protruding piece of climbing wall: a dark-blue bulge covered in neon-bright holds. He showed the skinny young man on the desk his ID.
“Oh…do you need to see the manager?”
“I just need to ask a member a few questions,” he said. “She’s agreed to see me.”
There was a slight hesitation, and the guy looked around for someone to ask advice from, then shrugged.
“OK. But…don’t disturb people too much when they’re climbing. And don’t stand underneath anyone when they’re on the wall, OK?”
Jonah gave him a small smile. “I’ll try not to.”
It took him almost fifteen minutes of searching to find Jojo. The place was more complex than he’d imagined, with room after room opening off one another, each with a different challenge. Some very high climbs with ropes; some overhangs; some high and low walls; and somewhere there was a series of footholds only.
In every room, a few climbers were working away. They were as varied as the rooms. Some of them moved like spiders across the wall and others strained to stay on. The air was dry with chalk from dozens of pairs of hands, but there was something nice about the smell of it.
Jojo was in one of the double-story roped