They squeezed through the gap between the news vans, and hurried towards the gates. When they reached the gatehouse, Fleet saw two of the PCs who’d been detailed to the event waving their hands around uselessly. One was trying to clear a path for the ambulance, even though there was nowhere for the cars in front of it to go. The other PC appeared to be berating the driver of the SUV that was leading the procession from the grounds.

‘You two!’ Fleet yelled. ‘Stop flapping around like headless chickens, and concentrate on clearing the road. Get those news vans back on to the verge. Or even better, tell them to sling their hook!’

Without pausing to hear a response, Fleet began racing up the driveway towards the school. As well as meandering through the trees, the road was on an incline, and it wasn’t long before Fleet was cursing himself for not having stuck to his diet. Bevan wasn’t moving any faster, though. He was still clutching his phone and radio, and was doing his best to monitor the chatter as they went. He seemed to be in direct contact with one of the officers inside the grounds, but his frown told Fleet all he needed to know. Apart from anything, Fleet could see with his own eyes that the situation was a mess. There were cars queued nose-to-tail the entire length of the driveway.

‘Christ,’ he muttered to Bevan. ‘How the hell are the emergency vehicles supposed to make it through?’

They reached a point near the top of the drive where the road swept back on itself, and Fleet pulled Bevan towards the trees. ‘Shortcut.’

With Fleet leading the way, they scrambled over the ditch at the side of the road and into the thick line of trees. They battled through the branches, the ground beneath their feet sodden from the recent rain, and moments later emerged into the car park.

If the situation in the driveway was a mess, the scene outside the school was one of total chaos.

The main building was directly across from them, and the central clock tower was dwarfed by a vast plume of smoke, coal black against the pale blue sky. Parents were scrambling to get their sons and daughters to safety, while scores of others – adults, children, even the yellow-vested officials who Fleet presumed were teachers who’d been press-ganged into acting as marshals – simply stood around staring, clogging the spaces between the vehicles. Drivers yelled at each other through tightly wound windows, their words drowned out by the blare of horns. A film crew had somehow made it up the drive, and at least half a dozen photographers were jostling for the best spots to take pictures from. There was even a drone hovering in the air not far from the column of smoke.

‘Who’s in charge here?’ Fleet yelled, and the marshal standing closest turned his way.