A kid in her class? Didn’t schools have welfare officers? This was becoming a round-the-block-and-up-over-the-hill kind of conversation. ‘Someone you teach? You think it’s a police matter?’

‘I hope not, but I am worried.’

A child sexually abused, he thought. Coming to school with bruises. Acting out. Neglected. On drugs. Dealing drugs…

And why call him? The Redruth police station was two minutes from the high school, Hirsch thirty minutes. ‘Perhaps ask Sergeant Brandl to look into it.’

‘You’re closer.’

‘How about you tell me the circumstances.’

A pause, as if he’d been short with her. Then a sense of a deep breath taken. ‘In addition to teaching at the high school I do a bit of online work with home-schooled primary age kids, monitoring their progress.’

‘Okay.’

‘For the Education Department.’

‘Okay.’

‘It’s a requirement.’

‘Mm.’

‘This week I’ve been online with a girl in her final year of primary school. Lydia Jarmyn, eleven years old, home-schooled by her mother, Grace.’

‘Okay.’

‘Well, I touch base with these home-school kids a few times a year, monitor their progress in various different subjects, curriculum check, and all week Lydia’s been distracted. Yawning a lot. Zones out all the time.’

‘We’re talking about Skype? Zoom? You can see her?’

‘She looks thin and pale. Drifts off, gives a little shake as if she’s trying to wake herself up, then just drifts off again.’

‘Have you spoken to the mother? Maybe she spends all night on the computer. TikTok, whatever it is now.’

‘There’s something else going on, I think. I asked her if anything was wrong and she said she’s hungry all the time. Said she’s only allowed a small bowl of rice a day. And she can’t get warm.’

Hirsch ran through the likely scenarios if he called Child Protection: thirtieth caller in line, or someone promises to get back to him but doesn’t, or it’s allocated a case number for attention next month, or they need more evidence, or they promise to act and don’t…And the child dies.

Or we’re looking at a kid having a whinge.

‘Do you know where the Jarmyns live?’

He heard paper rustling and then Clara Ogilvie recited an address: Hawker Road. Hirsch pictured it: a gravel track up in the Tiverton Hills. ‘Any reason why she’s being home-schooled?’

As against Tiverton Primary School, across the road from his police station.

‘If the parents can satisfy certain requirements, they’re allowed to home-school their children.’

Which was an answer, but not to the question he’d asked.

‘Okay, thank you, I’ll check it out.’ He paused. ‘You did the right thing.’

Diplomacy: it was half his job.