Authors: Gilly MacMillan
Ben Finch’s primary school reminded me of my own: small neighbourhood school, hotchpotch of portable classrooms clustered around a Victorian building on a cramped site.
Fraser told me to take DC Woodley to the school with me, which was annoying in one way because he had a tendency to behave as though he had L-plates stuck on his back, even though he’d been in CID for over a year. On the other hand, if anyone was going to witness my humiliation at being demoted, however temporarily, to the role of school liaison officer, I suppose he was a good choice because he was too weedy to gloat. ‘No gumption’ my dad would have said about him, and probably worse.
The school secretary fussed around us, boiling the kettle, and looking disappointed when we didn’t want tea or coffee. She wanted to talk. It’s not uncommon. When something traumatic has happened, everyone connected to it has his or her own version of the story to tell. It’s why the press find it so damn easy to fill columns; almost everybody wants to get their few minutes of fame.
The secretary told us she’d
known
something was wrong when Rachel Jenner hadn’t returned her calls on Monday morning, because it was so unlike her. They automatically called parents, she said, when a child didn’t turn up and there’d been no word from them. She clutched a mug that read, ‘Don’t talk to me until this is empty!’ Fixed to the side of her computer monitor there was a photograph of Ayers Rock under a pink and orange sunset, and a Bible quote, which claimed that faith moved mountains. Both of them irritated me.
‘How often is Ben Finch absent from school?’ I asked her.
‘Hardly ever! He’s a lovely boy, ever so polite, ever so good. I couldn’t tell you what his schoolwork is like, mind you, you’d have to ask Miss May or the Head about that, but I can tell you he’s a lovely boy. He brings the register in to me in the mornings and he always has a smile. I say to him, “Benedict Finch, you’ll go far with those super manners.”’
She got teary, removing her glasses to wipe her eyes.
‘Sorry,’ she said and followed that with a little outtake of air, a puff of distress that dispersed into the room. ‘You will find him, won’t you, Inspector?’
‘We’ll do our best,’ I said.
The headmaster’s office was cramped. We sat around his desk on rigid moulded plastic chairs that didn’t fit my body shape in any way.
‘I’m sorry, Detective Inspector,’ he said, ‘I was in the middle of a special assembly when you arrived and I didn’t want to alarm the children by running off. They’re rattled enough already. Damien Allen, by the way.’
He had a sleepy quality about him, heavily lidded eyes, a jowly face under hair that was in need of a cut, and a ponderous voice that would have had me dozing off before the end of any assembly. I shook his extended hand and found his grip loose.
‘I’m new to this job,’ he added. ‘It’s not ideal.’
I took that to mean the situation, not the job.
Ben’s teacher shook hands more earnestly; she had a bit of a pincer grip and she was one of those people who shake for longer than you’ve anticipated. It’s an anxiety thing. They don’t want to let go of you in case you disappear just when they need you.
Like the Head, she was holding herself together quite well, but there were signs of distress in the way she clasped her hands tightly together and she looked on the verge of tears. She was a good-looking woman too: nicely dressed, neat figure as if she went to the gym a lot, soft fair hair down to her shoulders, nice eyes.
They told us that for the past forty-eight hours they’d had their hands full, dealing with children who were understandably frightened and confused about what had happened to Ben, and they’d also been inundated with phone calls and emails from parents who wanted information and reassurance, and were questioning the school’s security procedures.
‘It’s a level of panic,’ the Head said tiredly, ‘which suggests that there’s a precedent for the disappearance of one child to lead to a rash of kidnappings.’
I did what I was supposed to do. I promised we’d keep them updated and that we’d send an officer to attend a meeting for parents. We spoke about counselling for the children, but I explained the police view was that it was a bit too soon, that it was something to discuss down the line, depending on the outcome of the case.
‘We’ll need a list of staff at school,’ I told the Head. ‘In order of those who have the most direct contact with Ben.’
‘We thought you might,’ he said, ‘so we’ve started to draw one up, and we’ll send that over to you as soon as it’s complete.’
‘We’ll need that as soon as possible.’
‘I appreciate that, Inspector, and I’ll prioritise it of course. However, there are a large number of people involved with school and we want to make sure we include anybody who Ben might have crossed paths with.’
‘It’s not just teaching staff,’ said Miss May. ‘There are the teaching assistants, support staff, catering assistants…’
‘Domestic staff, site maintenance, parents who help out with clubs…’ the Head went on.
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Comprehensive is good, but why don’t you send me over what you’ve got so far, so we can make a start and then you can forward any other names as you think of them.’
‘Of course,’ said the Head. ‘Of course. I’ll ask Anthea to do that.’
He waved a chubby hand at the glass panel set into his office door. Behind it, the secretary hastily turned away and sat down at her desk, pushing her glasses self-consciously up her nose and trying to look busy. I wondered how many of his conversations she eavesdropped on.
I felt a headache coming on. Dealing with the school was going to be a minefield. We were going to have to work all the hours God gave just to get through background checks on everyone who might have had contact with Ben.
‘In advance of the list, is there anyone working at school who’s given you cause for concern lately, in terms of their behaviour or in any other way?’ I asked him.
He shook his head. The frown on his forehead seemed to deepen by the minute.
‘Obviously I’ve been racking my brain since this happened,’ he said. ‘But I should say that I am stressing to parents that it didn’t happen in or near school property. I think that’s worth bearing in mind, Inspector, when you’re looking for suspects.’
‘As is the fact that this place is the single biggest opportunity for Ben Finch to come into contact with a wide range of adults.’
‘All of whom are CRB checked.’
‘There’s no need to be defensive, Mr Allen. You know as well as I do that the CRB check is only a reliable check of previous convictions, not of possible impulses or intentions.’
‘I’m simply keen that the school doesn’t become a particular focus of the investigation.’
That wasn’t worth responding to, it was the kind of jobsworth comment that made me want to slap a pair of handcuffs on him. I swallowed my annoyance, because I wanted to press him some more on Ben’s possible contacts.
‘Is there any adult at school who you feel that Ben might have formed an attachment to?’
‘Miss May?’ asked the Head. ‘You’ll know best.’
‘Well, there’s me,’ she said. The palm of her hand was on her chest, rising and falling with her breathing. ‘I’ve been his teacher for just over a year now, I had him last year too; and I work with a teaching assistant called Lucas Grantham who comes in part-time. He’s new this year. The children like him; Ben likes him. We’re the ones with the most contact with him.’
‘We’ll definitely need to speak to Mr Grantham,’ I said.
‘He’s here today if you’d like to meet him.’
‘That would be useful. Anybody else?’
She shook her head.
‘Nobody springs to mind, but there are lots of other people Ben comes into contact with on a daily basis.’
‘And, can I ask, have you noticed anything unusual about Ben’s behaviour lately?’
‘No. If anything I’d say he’s been having a good year. Last year was much harder for him, after his parents split up.’
‘In what way?’
‘He didn’t know how to react to the separation. We talked about it sometimes at school. He’s not the only one in my class going through it of course, but it’s a sad and confusing situation for any child and I think parents sometimes don’t understand how hard the children take it.’
‘It often falls to school to deal with the emotional fallout in these situations,’ said the Head.
‘Do you think Ben was more affected than you might expect?’
‘I couldn’t say,’ said the Head. ‘I’d be lying if I said I knew him well because I’ve only been here a few weeks, as I said.’
I wasn’t directing the question at him, but I let it go. The man had an ego. Miss May answered.
‘No,’ she said. ‘He was affected quite badly, but he’s a very sensitive boy so that’s what you might expect if you knew him.’
The Head cleared his throat. ‘There’s one thing on file we thought we should mention. Last spring, when Ben was in Year Four, he had a fall as he arrived in the playground with his mother. It was before school. He came off his scooter and landed badly on his arm. Do you want to tell it from there, Miss May, as you were there?’
‘I wasn’t actually there when he fell. One of the other teachers saw it happen,’ she said. ‘Apparently Ms Jenner helped Ben up and put him back on his feet and brushed him off. He was crying a bit, because his arm hurt, but she was talking to him and he did calm down.’
She paused and looked anxiously at the Head.
‘And?’ I said.
He took over. ‘And the file says that Ms Jenner left Benedict at school even though he was complaining of pain in his arm. It turned out that it was fractured.’
‘So this was when he was in your class?’ I asked Miss May.
She nodded. ‘I’ve got to say I took one look at him when I was doing registration and I could see there was something very wrong. He was white as a sheet. As soon as he said what had happened I called an ambulance immediately.’
‘Was he in obvious distress at that point, or when his mother left him?’
‘Not obvious distress; he was being very brave.’
‘Were there signs that the arm was fractured?’
‘It was a buckle fracture so there were no snapped bones, or swelling, and he could move his hand. His mother did check all that, but she didn’t notice how much pain he was in.’
‘Did Ms Jenner return when you realised he needed treatment?’
‘Yes, of course, and she went with him to the hospital.’
‘So it’s possible she didn’t realise how badly he was hurt?’
‘No. She didn’t realise.’ Something in her expression wasn’t happy.
‘Do you think she should have realised?’
‘I do. I really do. And I suppose what’s always on my mind is: why did Ben feel he had to be so stoical in front of her? He was only seven years old. And why didn’t his mother get him properly checked up right away? Why didn’t she see what I saw?’
‘We had a similar incident in my old school,’ said the Head. ‘It’s not uncommon for minor fractures to go unnoticed.’
‘I do know that,’ said Miss May, ‘it’s just that she always looked so depressed at the time, as if she couldn’t cope. This was after the separation. I wondered if it was all getting a bit much for her. Ben always seemed so worried about upsetting her.’
‘Were there any other signs?’ I asked.
Miss May took a deep breath. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Hand on heart, no there weren’t.’
‘Says here she forgot to collect him one day.’ The Head held up a piece of paper from Ben’s file.
‘Oh! Yes she did. I’d forgotten that,’ Miss May said. ‘Yes, that’s true. It was the last day of the spring term, last year, and the children were supposed to be collected at midday instead of at the usual time, so it was understandable.’
‘Was she commonly forgetful?’
‘No, no, it happened just the once, but Ben was
very
upset. He was inconsolable, actually. It was the last thing he needed at the time. He’d only just moved out of their family home into the new house with just his mum. He was feeling very insecure about the new arrangements, and it was a time when it was important for him to feel wanted, to know that he was their priority.’
‘So, just to confirm, it wasn’t typical of Ben’s mother to forget him?’
‘No. It wasn’t typical, but when it happened I suppose I did think it might be a symptom of how difficult things might be at home.’
‘So this was last year, and have things improved since then?’ I asked. ‘Any more incidents?’
‘No. Nothing else. He’s been better generally this year. I think he’s settled in the new house with his mum now and things are hopefully a teensy bit calmer.’ Her inflection at the end of this sentence made it sound like a question.
I looked at the Head. ‘What’s your view?’
‘Well I defer to Miss May on this, because, as I said, I don’t know Ben very well yet, and I haven’t met his mother at all so I can’t comment on her. From what I’m hearing I suspect it’s been a hard time for Ben and his mum, but also fantastic continuity for him that he’s had Miss May for two years running.’
She smiled at him.
‘Well, thank you both,’ I said, ‘and if you think of anything else we should know then please get in contact.’ I got up, grateful to be out of the chair.
‘We shall,’ the Head said. He looked even more weary as he stood and, in spite of his attitude earlier, I felt sorry for both of them, having to go back out of this room and deal with the confusion and fear of a school full of traumatised children. He smoothed his tie against his shirt and treated me to the same loose handshake as before.
‘Could we have a quick word with Ben’s teaching assistant before we leave?’ I asked. ‘Mr…?’
‘Lucas Grantham,’ said the Head. ‘Miss May, could you show the officers where to find him?’
She walked with us down the corridor. On either side, the walls were plastered with work that the children had done.
‘Lucas is in the classroom,’ she said. ‘Right here.’
Before I could ask her to fetch him discreetly, she pushed open the door. A class of kids was working at low tables, in groups of four, sitting in those miniature chairs that you forget you ever fitted into. A young man was overseeing them from the front of the room. He looked early twenties at a guess. He had thick tufty ginger hair, and his face was pretty much one big freckle with a bit of white skin peeking through here and there. He was perched on the desk.