Callum shrugged. ‘Nobody’s been able to prove anything, I suppose. Or, more likely, nobody cares. They’re too busy watching their own backs. And that’s what I’m saying. In this place, everybody’s hiding something.’

Ben looked at Callum, Lance and Melissa in turn. Melissa dropped her eyes.

‘You said there were two things I needed to know,’ Ben said. ‘What’s the second thing?’

Now, for the first time, Callum smiled. ‘The second thing,’ he said to Ben, ‘is that if you don’t want to die of boredom here, you need to make your own fun.’

Ben frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Just what I said. You like to have fun, don’t you, Ben?’

‘Fun as in, like, games and stuff?’ Ben tried to laugh, unsure of what exactly was expected of him. ‘Games are for little kids. Aren’t they?’

Callum looked at Lance, and then Melissa. His smile broadened. ‘Not the games we play,’ he said.

Wednesday 23 October, 11.25 a.m.

Shortly after leaving Harris’s office, Fleet and Nicky emerged into the central courtyard. The headmaster’s room had a window overlooking the quad, and when Fleet glanced behind them, he saw Harris peering down through the glass. He was only partly visible, like a spectre half formed in the dark, though Fleet could sense his eyes watching them intently.

‘Jesus,’ said Nicky, catching sight of Harris, too. ‘Not exactly Dumbledore, is he?’ She kept her voice low, as though Harris might somehow be able to overhear.

When Fleet checked again, the headmaster was gone, as though he’d never been there at all. But they were still being watched, this time by a group of kids who were standing by the central fountain. Perhaps they should have taken the more circuitous route, Fleet thought – the way Harris had led them on day one – but the explosion of interest in the case meant time-consuming detours were a luxury they could no longer afford. As it was, Fleet had a meeting scheduled with Superintendent Burton that very afternoon, in which he would be expected to outline the investigation’s progress – an update, as things stood, he would just as easily have been able to deliver in a text.

‘Do you think it’s genuinely all about the school for Harris?’ Fleet said, once they were clear of the fountain.

Nicky frowned at him. ‘You don’t?’

The quad was mainly gravel, which crunched beneath their feet as they walked. The sky was bright, the air cold, their breath misting into speech bubbles. Groups of pupils passed them on both sides, books clutched to their chests and eyes darting Fleet and Nicky’s way.

Fleet pondered for a moment before answering. ‘I don’t doubt he’s concerned about Beaconsfield’s reputation. But maybe it’s not just the school he’s trying to protect. Maybe he’s also worried about something else.’