“Miss Overton has asked me to handle press liaison for her. I’ll be putting out copy to all the dailies later on today, so I would appreciate anything you’re in a position to give me.”

“I’ll not be saying anything to you that I won’t be saying to any reporter who picks up a phone and calls me. You get no special favors here, I’m afraid. And I expect information to be a two-way street, understood. Anything you dig up that I should know about, I want to hear from you, not read in the papers. Now, officially you can say we are treating Lorna Smith-Couper’s death as murder. We are pursuing several promising avenues of inquiry.”

With an air of finality, he picked up some papers from the desk. Lindsay refused to accept dismissal and asked, “Do you anticipate a quick arrest? Obviously, with a school full of young girls, there’s a lot of anxiety about a murder like this . . .”

“We’re doing everything in our power to bring this matter to a swift conclusion. There are policemen on the school premises at all times and I do not expect any further incidents,” he retorted forcefully. “The girls are being looked after properly. Rest assured on that point. Now, if there’s nothing else?”

This time the dismissal was explicit. Lindsay moved toward the door. Just as she was about to leave, she turned and tried again. “Off the record, I take it you expect to mop it up soon?” She smiled warmly.

She might as well have saved her charm for Cordelia, where it could have done her some good. Dart looked up from under his eyebrows and said, “You’re wasting your time, Miss Gordon. Don’t waste mine.”

Lindsay walked back down to Pamela Overton’s study ruefully, thinking of all the reasons why she hated having to be polite to senior police officers. The headmistress had left the study free for Lindsay to work in, and she started putting together a holding story that she could send out early to the wire services for the radio news bulletins. She noticed with a wry smile that an ashtray had appeared since the night before. She made a couple of attempts to speak to Margaret Macdonald, to inject a bit of color into her story, but the music mistress steadfastly refused to say anything, pleading pressure of work.

She phoned over a factual piece to several papers, promising more material later. Then she set about trying to sell the dramatic last pictures of Lorna. The first paper she rang didn’t want to know because of the price she was asking, but the next tabloid she rang seemed keen.

“They’re the last pix taken of her, and I’m offering them exclusive,” she explained.