Now a billboard. Someone had painted in streaks of black paint, The Devil is in the Internet. Beneath it, more precisely written, There is no Devil and no God. Then the next panel, this time in red paint. God lives. See Book of Job. This led to the final exhortation: Fuck off.

Dalgliesh said, “A not uncommon ending to theological dispute but rarely so crudely expressed. I think this must be the school.”

She saw a Victorian building of patterned brick faced with stone, standing back in a large asphalt playground surrounded by tall railings. To her surprise, the gate to the playground was unlocked. A smaller and more ornate version of the main building, obviously by the same architect, was linked to it by a newer-looking corridor. Here an attempt had been made to compensate for size by ornamentation. Rows of windows and four carved stone steps led to an intimidating door which was opened to their ring so quickly that Kate suspected the headmaster had been waiting for them. She saw a spectacled man in early middle age, almost as tall as Dalgliesh, wearing a pair of old slacks and a jumper with patches of leather on the elbows.

He said, “If you’ll just wait a moment, I’ll lock the playground gate. There’s no bell there, so I hoped you’d find your way in.” Within a minute he was back with them.

He waited while Dalgliesh showed his warrant card and introduced Kate, then said briefly, “I’ve been expecting you. We’ll speak in my study.”

Following him through the square entrance hall and down the terrazzo-floored corridor, Kate was back in her comprehensive school. Here was the faint, almost illusory smell of paper, bodies, paint and cleaning materials. There was no smell of chalk. Did teachers ever use it now? Blackboards had largely given way to computers, even in primary schools. But gazing through the few open doors she saw no classrooms. Perhaps the formal headmaster’s house was now largely devoted to his study and to seminar rooms or administration. It was obvious that he didn’t live on the premises.