She nods. ‘I know them,’ she says slowly. ‘I wouldn’t describe them as Connor’s friends, though.’

‘How so?’

‘Tyler, Mark and Lee – yes. Thick as thieves, those three, and just as devious. I’m surprised they’re not known to the police already, but I would guess they’re too clever to be caught.’

‘What sort of things do they get up to?’

‘I don’t know any of this for sure,’ she says, glancing towards the door. ‘But I’ve heard the teachers talk. Drinking, drug use, vandalism.’

‘And Connor?’ Freya asks.

‘Nothing like that. He’s a good kid. He missed college for a while when his grandfather died, played up in class, that sort of thing. But since he’s been working at Riverside, we’ve seen a change in him. I’d be worried if you said he was hanging around with those three.’

‘What’s his family life been like?’

‘Not good. His mother was in and out of prison. When she died, he moved in with his grandfather. He’s always been a key influence in his life. Can I ask why the interest?’

‘Their names came up in conjunction to a case we’re working,’ Josh says, cryptically. ‘Thought it would be helpful to get some background before we take their witness statements.’

‘And you want to use a room here?’ the principal asks.

Josh nods. ‘Please. If you wouldn’t mind.’

The three of them stand up to make arrangements. Freya turns back to the principal. ‘We appreciate your help. But if you don’t mind me asking,’ she says, ‘why are you being so helpful? It’s just, we don’t normally get this level of information from teachers. They’re usually more protective of their students.’

The principal smiles grimly. ‘I am protective of my students – but those three? They’re on their own. And between you and me, the sooner I have an excuse to expel them from my college, the better. Now. Shall we go and fetch them from the common room?’

Freya watches the three boys through the window. Men, really, all over eighteen, so no need for a responsible adult to be present when they speak to them. They are exactly the sort of kids she despises. Cocky little shits, baggy jeans, caps on, laughing with each other in the corridor. These are boys who think themselves smarter than their teachers, above the law. Entitled to do whatever they like.

Freya knows they are the kids that tripped her up in corridors, that pulled her hair and made comments about her legs, her boobs. But I’m an adult now, she tells herself sternly. Those days are over.