The Sect (The Craig Crime Series) by Catriona King Page B

he saw was a frail woman made frailer by losing the only thing she’d valued in the world and using her last modicum of strength to deny the truth.
    As Liam led the stunned mother to the car Craig made a call, and as Liam headed to the mortuary for the formal I.D. he drove to meet Annette at the late Sam Beech’s school.
     
    ****
     
    “How did she take it, sir?”
    Craig shook his head, remembering Sarah Beech’s pallor and lack of tears. He’d seen the reaction before, just as he’d seen all the others, and he knew exactly what it meant. She hadn’t heard him. Yes, she’d heard the words, just as she would see her son’s body in the mortuary and know that he was dead, but she hadn’t really heard it in her heart. He doubted that the funeral would make her hear either or the silence that would greet her every morning when she awoke, or the school uniform hanging in the wardrobe or the computer games that Sam would never play with again. Only time would make her hear the truth and she had years ahead for that.
    “What’s the principal’s name?”
    “Mrs Davis. She’s on the third floor.”
    They climbed the three flights in silence, as Craig thought of Sarah Beech identifying her dead son at the mortuary, and Annette thought of Pete’s years of teaching P.E. at a school exactly like this. At the top of the stairs she turned left and they walked until they reached a mahogany door. It looked out of place in the modern school and Craig realised they were in the original wing, built in 1921 according to the plaque.
    He gestured at the door. “Impressive, but I thought you said her name was Mrs Davis.” The nameplate announced Dr Ruth Davis. BA, PhD, MBA – Principal. It sounded very grand.
    Annette shrugged. “Shall I knock?”
    “Unless you’re telekinetic.”
    It was atypical sarcasm so she allowed it to pass; it had been a hard day and they still had a funeral to attend. She tapped the door twice and a formidable “come” emerged. The tone catapulted her back to being summoned to Matron’s office when she’d been a student nurse, with all the trepidation and panic that had accompanied such a command. It reminded Craig of occasions at school when he’d been dragged by the scruff of his neck to a room just like this. He’d been a good student and a cup winning jock, but he’d been too quick with his fists and it had earned him two suspensions and more detentions than he cared to admit.
    Annette pushed open the door, expecting to see a harridan behind a large desk. She couldn’t have been more surprised; the most formidable thing about the headmistress was her voice. The body hosting it was slight and almost elfin, and the dark-doored office was bright and fresh; so fresh that it verged on pretty, with silver framed photographs of pupils on the wall and similar ones of her family on the desk.
    Every available surface in the room was covered with flowers and ornaments, with a collection of antique perfume bottles taking pride of place. As Craig smiled at the room’s femininity the young principal walked towards him and her blue eyed smile had a disconcerting effect. To save his blushes Annette introduced them, sitting gratefully on one of the chairs the headmistress motioned them to. She felt tired suddenly, much more tired than her workload warranted. The stress of the divorce was obviously taking its toll.
    As Craig regained his composure, via thoughts that said any schoolboy would deliberately commit infractions if a visit to the principal’s office meant this, Annette outlined why they’d come.
    “We spoke on the phone, Dr…”
    The headmistress shook her head. “Ruth, please.” She nodded solemnly. “Yes, Sam Beech. You wanted to know about him? May I ask why?”
    Craig glanced at Annette, confident that she would be discreet. The boy was dead but no-one could tell the school that until Sarah Beech had agreed.
    “It’s part of an ongoing enquiry. I’m sorry but I can’t say more than