‘If it proves you are . . .’ Robinson left the words hanging as a threat over Cardilini before picking up his phone and dialling. ‘Hi Acorn. Robinson. Cardilini wants you to . . . how many rifles, Cardilini?’

‘A bunch,’ Cardilini said.

Robinson directed, ‘“A bunch” of rifles need to be examined for recent firing at St Nicholas College.’ Then, shaking his head said to Cardilini, ‘Forty-two. He told you.’

Cardilini shrugged.

‘Acorn, what’s it going to take to find out if any have been fired in the last four days?’ He looked at Cardilini and shook his head as he listened. ‘No. No. This isn’t Ben-Hur. Can someone get out there and if there’s any suggestion one has been fired we’ll proceed from there.’ He listened for a moment, then to Cardilini asked, ‘Have there been any cadets using them since the shooting?’

Cardilini shook his head.

‘No,’ Robinson said into the receiver. He listened for a while longer.

‘Good. Cardilini will be in touch,’ he said and hung up, ‘Okay?’

‘Thanks.’ Cardilini stood.

‘And don’t upset him. You know what he’s like.’

‘I’m a new man,’ Cardilini assured Robinson, and left the office.

St Nicholas College.

4.30 p.m. Wednesday, 28th October 1965

‘How come you have this grade of car?’ Acorn asked, sitting in the passenger seat as Salt drove him and Cardilini to St Nicholas College.

‘No idea,’ Cardilini said from the back seat, ‘Do you know, Salt?’

‘I put your complaint about the other car on the record, sir,’ Salt said.

Acorn turned and raised his eyebrows at Cardilini.

‘Good boy, Salt,’ Cardilini said flatly.

They pulled up in the St Nicholas car park.

Robson, in his shapeless grey suit, stood smoking and waiting for them. He pinched his cigarette out and returned it to his tin.

‘Robson,’ Cardilini said and nodded.

‘Cardilini, I’ve been sent to escort you.’

‘Very decent of you,’ Cardilini answered.

‘Are you ill?’ he asked Cardilini.

‘No. Senior Sergeant Acorn this is Dr Robson, Deputy Principal.’ They shook hands as Cardilini started towards the armoury.

‘You look awful,’ Robson said to Cardilini.

Can’t be as bad as I feel, thought Cardilini.

When they arrived at the armoury Robson asked if they would be powdering for fingerprints.

‘Any point, you think?’ Cardilini asked.

‘No, half a dozen staff I know tried the door since we realised the keys were missing,’ Robson said with a smile, ‘but it seemed the sort of thing you might do to create a little more drama.’

Cardilini threw the bunch of keys to Salt, ‘There you go, Salt. Earn your wages.’

‘Are they our keys?’ Robson asked.

Cardilini nodded, ‘What are the chances of St Nicholas retaining their permit for rifles if there’s no system of security?’ Cardilini asked Acorn.

‘That’s viewed very seriously,’ Acorn said with such an expression of meticulous determination that Robson stepped away.

‘I’ll be over here if you need me,’ he said.

‘No need to stay.’

‘I’ll be here, anyway.’

‘Open, sir,’ Salt called from the armoury door.