Which, again, was exactly how Manish Apte and his paymasters wanted it. For an instant Fleet was tempted to leave the lot of them to their games: Burton, Apte, Webb. Harris and Richardson, too.

But then Fleet’s eyes settled once again on the picture of Ben. Even from the way Fleet had positioned his picture on the board, with clear space between Ben and the other images, he looked alone. Forsaken, even. And Fleet was determined he wouldn’t remain that way.

‘Stay on Melissa,’ he told Nicky. ‘The way it’s looking right now, she’s the key to this case.’ He unhooked his coat from the back of his chair.

‘What are you going to do?’ Nicky asked him.

‘Randy suggested we talk. I’m going to try to catch up with him at the school.’

Fleet hesitated. He thought of the crypt, and of the way Richardson had spoken about the fire.

‘And while I’m out there,’ Fleet said to Nicky, ‘I think I’ll take the headmaster up on his offer.’

Ben – April 1997

(Four weeks before his death)

‘You! Boy! Stop!’

It was getting towards dinner time when Ben finally left Melissa’s room. He’d assumed the others would still be in the corridor outside, but there was no sign of them, or anyone, when Ben slid into the dark stone passageway. He was glad in a way that he didn’t have to face them, and it made sense that they wouldn’t have wanted to linger in an area of the school that was supposed to be off limits to boys. But Ben was disappointed as well that they hadn’t thought to wait for him. Apart from anything, he never liked walking the school’s corridors on his own, particularly once the sun was beginning to set and the shadows seemed to take on a life of their own. But probably Lance had been in a strop, and had stormed off, with Callum doing his best to console him. The idea that Callum had chosen Lance over Ben gave rise to a pang of jealousy.

And something else occurred to Ben as well. If Callum and Lance had left the corridor the moment they’d departed Melissa’s room, it meant Ben and Melissa had been alone. Properly alone. In her bedroom. The realisation was both thrilling and oddly terrifying. He knew there was no chance of anything ever happening between the two of them, but even so, it was nice to daydream; to think about what might have happened if, for example, he’d dared to be as bold as Callum always was. And it was perhaps because Ben’s mind was on things other than what he was doing, where he was, that he failed to notice the headmaster coming up behind him.

‘I said, stop. This is the female wing, young man. You had better have a very good explanation as to why—’