The Pact Read online

  Parva reached for the brochure. “It looks like a posh finishing school to me,” she said.

  Willoughby nodded. “I don’t suppose you attended somewhere like that?”

  Parva resisted the urge to snort. “There’s no way my mother would have been able to afford it,” she said. “My education was somewhere considerably less glamorous. But it seemed to do the job.”

  “Indeed.” Behind Willoughby morning sunlight was filtering through the Venetian blinds. “But you think you’d be able to fit in somewhere like that?”

  Now Parva did laugh. “Why? Do you want me to go back to school?”

  Willoughby’s face was grave. “Not exactly, but I do need you to go undercover for a while, if you think you can handle it.”

  Well, it would certainly be something different. “What am I supposed to be doing there?” she said.

  “You’ll be teaching biology,” said Willoughby. “I thought that, what with being a qualified doctor, your medical school background, and time spent working in forensic pathology it wouldn’t be too much of a leap for you. I guessed you’d probably find that easier than French literature or IT skills, although for all I know you’re an expert in Camus and HTML programming as well.”

  Parva grinned. “Kidney physiology and human circulatory function will be fine, thank you,” she said.

  “Of course, what you’re really going to be doing is helping us investigate this.” Willoughby handed her a manila document wallet. “I know I don’t have to warn you but I will anyway. In there are photographs of four girls who were found dead. I need you to try and find out more about what happened. Unofficially.”

  Parva leafed through the photos, suppressing the pangs of horror she felt at seeing the death masks of girls so young.

  “But surely this is a case for homicide?” she said.

  Willoughby shook his head. “The post mortem has concluded most likely death by misadventure,” he said, “by which they mean suicide. Some kind of pact, that sort of thing. They were found on the following Monday morning on the floor of the room of one of them, a Miss...” he looked at the report in front of him “...Victoria Barton. The room was on the third floor and had been locked from the inside.”

  “Windows?” Parva asked.

  “Just the one and it was shut, with a security lock in place. There was a chain on the door as well, and no sign of forced entry.”

  Parva skimmed the coroner’s report. The death of each girl had been due to the ingestion of large quantities of a well-known sedative. There was no sign of foul play.

  She placed the report back on Willoughby’s desk. “The whole thing is a bit bizarre.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” said the DCI. “But officially I need something more to go on than ‘a bit bizarre’ in order to investigate the school more thoroughly. Needless to say we’ve been met by some opposition from the school authorities who are very keen indeed to keep the whole thing quiet.”

  “I hadn’t seen anything in the papers,” said Parva.

  “And you won’t,” Willoughby replied. “This is the kind of school where the children of people who own newspapers go, and needless to say when it comes to one of their own, their philosophy of the public having a right to know and to revel in someone else’s misery and pain suddenly changes. To be honest, that’s part of the reason I’m asking you to go in.”

  Parva frowned. “I’m not following you,” she said.

  Willoughby took a deep breath. “One of the girl’s fathers, whose identity I’m not at liberty to divulge, is a rather influential landowner, newspaper owner, and close personal friend of the Prime Minister,” he said. “He’s convinced those girls were killed, and he wants a full investigation. The trick of course, is to get that to happen...”

  “...without being seen to make it happen,” Parva finished for him. “Because it really is one rule for some and another rule for others.”

  “Yes it is,” said Willoughby, looking apologetic. “And when those others are as powerful as this individual you can’t say no. Which is why I’m asking you to do this for me.”

  Parva gave him a mischievous look. “Asking me, or telling me?”

  Willoughby smiled. It was a rare thing. “A bit of both, really. I can’t make this official unless you find something, and until you do, this is all a bit under the radar.”

  Parva looked up at the ceiling. “And what if I get caught doing something a biology teacher shouldn’t while I’m ‘under the radar’?” she asked.

  “Obviously we’ll have to deal with that if and when the time comes,” said Willoughby. “Just try not to get caught. And whatever your investigation concludes, I understand that the individual responsible for requesting this will be very grateful.”

  Parva wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure how happy I am about spying,” she said.

  Willoughby nodded. “I know exactly how you feel,” he said. “But if it makes you feel any better, there’s a chance this really is a case of murder dressed up as suicide. Plus, you yourself admitted to me last time we spoke that, in your own words, you would end up ‘climbing the walls’ if you didn’t have something to keep that brain of yours occupied, so think of it as a useful distraction. Plus, you’re the best I’ve got.”

  Parva made a show of considering what Willoughby was saying.

  “How about if I put ‘please’ in front of all of that?” the DCI added.

  “Well it would certainly make a difference in your favour,” Parva said. “I am wondering though - if this ‘influential landowner’ wishes to remain anonymous for the moment, aren't I going to find out his identity when I start looking into his daughter’s records?”

  Willoughby shook his head. “She was there under an assumed name and a false identity,” he said. “It’s common practice to deter kidnappers, journalists and anyone else who might wish to interfere with the education of rich, privileged young ladies.”

  Parva could feel her mind gearing itself up at the prospect. “Are you saying this man’s daughter might not be the only one there with a false identity?” she said.

  “I most certainly am,” replied the DCI. “That was partly why I thought you might enjoy the assignment. Once you are on that campus, Dr Corcoran, very little will actually be as it seems.”

  “But the other teachers will know what’s going on?”

  Willoughby shook his head. “You’re going completely undercover,” he said. “Our powerful and concerned father has managed to pull a few strings to get you the job there, but as far as anyone in the school is concerned, you’re the new biology supply teacher. You’re there for the term, and after that you’ve got a full time job back in Bristol.” The DCI smiled. “Which is actually the truth, of course,” he added.

  “Of course,” said Parva. “What happened to the biology teacher I’m replacing?”

  “They haven’t had one for a while, now,” said Willoughby. “That’s one of the reasons I suggested you. Apparently one of the geography teachers has been covering, so just imagine how happy all those girls will be to finally have someone who knows something about the subject for a change.”

  “What about backup?”

  Willoughby looked apologetic once more. “Minimal I’m afraid. You’ll be able to discuss things with me when I’m available but otherwise you’re on your own.”

  “On my own?”

  “Yes.”

  “Somewhere I’m unfamiliar with?”

  “Yes.”

  “Doing a job that right now I know nothing about?”

  “Exactly.” Willoughby gave her his best smile, which just made Parva feel all the more uneasy. “Think of it as a challenge.”

  3

  It wasn’t just one challenge, Parva thought as she got into her black Mini the next day, but a whole collection of them. And she was worried about every one. First, there was the having to pass herself off as a biology teacher. She had managed to dig out her old A Level certificates last night in case any of the ‘other’ te
achers, and especially the headmistress, wanted to see them. She also had her undergraduate paperwork with her in case anyone got pushy about qualifications, even though bachelor’s degrees in medicine and surgery didn’t exactly give you free rein to teach what she had been allegedly employed for.

  After finding her certificates, the next thing she had needed to decide was what a twenty-six-year-old female biology supply teacher might wear. Her reliable black trouser suit from Next that didn’t show up bloodstains probably wasn’t going to fit the bill, but she wasn’t sure what else to take from her wardrobe. Designer labels flashed by as she dismissed outfit after outfit, settling in the end for the couple of pairs of black jeans she had that could pass for smart at a pinch. She also picked out a knee-length brown corduroy skirt which had started life as an unwanted Christmas present, but had ended up being worn during her time in the pathology labs on the days when she had to prepare especially messy sections of human brain tissue. A couple of homely-looking sweaters that she never wore completed her packing. She hoped no one would notice her flat-heeled shoes were Manolo Blahniks. Then she remembered she was going to be subject to the scrutiny of a classroom full of ultra-rich fashion conscious teenaged girls but decided there was no way she was parting with them anyway. She’d talk her way out of where she had got them from if it became necessary.

  She stopped off at the Bristol Blackwells University bookshop to pick up a couple of second hand biology textbooks that looked as if they had been read a few of times, and then she was off.

  From the directions DCI Willoughby had given her, St Miranda’s College seemed to be located somewhere in mid-Wales. It could be worse, she thought, as she pulled onto the M4 going west. She might have had to take a flight up to the Orkneys or somewhere else equally inhospitable and, even more importantly, much colder at this time of year.

  The map that came with the St Miranda’s prospectus did make it look as if the school had been located as far from civilisation as possible. The nearest thing within a forty-mile radius were a couple of small villages where Parva was hoping she’d be able to ask directions once she’d made it that far.

  By the time she had left the motorway and was heading north on what claimed to be an A road, but seemed to be in imminent danger of narrowing to a single-track country lane, the weather was worsening. Black clouds had been looming in the heavens since she had crossed the Severn Bridge and now, as the overhanging trees seemed to be conspiring to obliterate what little of the grey daylight was left, there was an almighty crack of thunder.

  Thank God she’d filled up the car in Llandeilo, Parva thought. It would have been the worst thing to be stuck out here waiting for someone to bring a can of petrol. Not that she would have been able to contact anyone - her mobile phone had resolutely refused to display any signal bars for the last five miles.

  Lightning lit up the sky at the same time that the rain came - great sheets of water that the Mini’s windscreen wipers were just about able to cope with. Parva had considered pulling onto the side of the road to wait the storm out, but that would have meant the risk of getting stuck in one of the already waterlogged ditches on the side of the road.

  Every time the road curved, Parva hoped the school would be round the next corner, but she just found herself faced with high hedgerows, threatening trees and more and more rain.

  And a sign.

  It was on the right hand side of the road and was almost impossible to make out. Parva braked and rolled down her window. Heavy raindrops spattered her face as she read:

  St Miranda’s College of Higher Education

  Headmistress: Miss H Arbuthnot, BA (Hons)

  Private Property: Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted

  If trespassers were capable of finding the school in the first place, Parva thought with a sniff as she rolled the window up and drove on, but more slowly now. Presumably the entrance would be on the same side of the road as the sign, and hopefully it would be obvious - some big iron gates or a majestic-looking driveway.

  A girl ran in front of the car.

  Parva slammed the brakes on. Even though she had been going at a snail’s pace she almost hit her. Through the windscreen the girl was a rain-drenched blur, her dress a shimmer of white behind the water cascading down the glass, her long hair clinging to a face Parva could hardly make out as the girl lifted her palms from the Mini’s bonnet.

  Then she was gone; possibly back through whatever gap in the hedge she must have squeezed herself through, possibly in the other direction. By the time Parva had opened the door and was considering jumping out to call her back, the girl had vanished.

  There was nothing else to do other than keep going towards the school. As she moved the car on, even more slowly this time, Parva wondered who the girl might have been. Her immediate assumption was that she must be a pupil, but what would cause her to be out here in this weather? And why run off when Parva could have offered her warmth, shelter, and a free ride back to where she had come from?

  The other possibility was that she had come from elsewhere. Perhaps she was one of the ‘trespassers’ the sign seemed to be so worried about. But again, the girl had hardly seemed dressed for a spot of illegal wandering.

  Up ahead on the right loomed a pair of heavy wrought-iron gates crowned with spikes. Even from this distance they looked uncomfortably sharp. Parva turned into the driveway only to discover they were locked.

  A small silver box on a post nearby turned out to be an intercom. By the time she had managed to get a response from it Parva’s right arm was soaked.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, it’s Miss Corcoran,” Parva said, for the first time in years. “I’m the new biology teacher? I was told to report here today.”

  The pause on the other end of the line was so prolonged that for a moment Parva wondered if the storm had broken the line.

  “I’m sorry but we have no record of that.”

  Oh good grief.

  “I think you’ll find that, if you check, I’m here as a supply teacher for the term to take over from Miss Watkins who’s been doubling up on the subject.”

  There was another pause, this one even longer than the one before. Then a buzzer sounded and, ever so slowly, the gates began to open inward of their own accord. Taking this as confirmation that they wanted her to come in, Parva eased the car forward, and entered the sprawling grounds of St Miranda’s College of Higher Education.

  4

  “Do you understand what this institution is, Miss Corcoran?”

  Parva licked her lips and cleared her throat to give her time to think of the best answer, one that would be agreeable to the elderly woman seated at the desk in front of her. Parva would have liked to sit down as well, but the office of Miss Hazel Arbuthnot, BA (Hons) didn’t seem to have any other chairs. Presumably this was a place where only the headmistress was allowed to be seated.

  “An educational establishment for young women,” said Parva, feeling uncomfortably like one of those young women herself right now.

  Miss Arbuthnot toyed with the length of heavy pale blue beads she had strung about her wizened neck. As she slowly shook her head, strands of grey hair sought to escape from the frightening beehive into which an attempt had been made to secure them.

  “We prefer to think of them as young ladies,” came the reply. “We are an educational establishment, certainly, but in far more ways than the rather narrow academic remit you are probably thinking of.”

  Parva wasn’t thinking of anything in particular so she kept quiet as the headmistress continued.

  “As well as preparing those with the appropriate abilities for university, we pride ourselves on our programmes of sporting activities, etiquette, and, most of all, a strong sense of being able to cope with life without the crutches that so many people these days find they have to rely on.”

  So alcohol and drugs were banned, thought Parva. There was probably plenty of both here anyway, though.

  “And of course we expec
t the teachers to adhere to the same strict principles we set for the girls. There’s nothing like learning by example, is there?”

  Parva forced a nod. If that was true, she would be in Rampton Psychiatric Institution now, along with Edmund Cottingham, the professor of forensic pathology she had been apprentice to, who had finally snapped and embarked on a killing spree of his own, with her as his intended final victim.

  Miss Arbuthnot held out her hand.

  “Might I borrow your phone for a moment?” she said with a smile.

  Parva shrugged and reached into her pocket. “It’s not a very high tech one,” she said, wondering why the woman should want to see it.

  It turned out Miss Arbuthnot didn’t actually want to look at Parva’s phone at all, rather she seemed to want to put in her desk drawer and then lock it.

  “That’s my property…” Parva did her best not to sound indignant but from the crease in the old lady’s brow she obviously wasn’t successful.

  “We do not allow any communication with the outside world here except through the traditional method of the land-line telephone,” Miss Arbuthnot explained. “Hand-held devices interfere with learning and development and cause the individual to become depersonalised, obsessed with the tiny screen in front of them instead of the world that exists around them.” She had obviously given this little speech many times before. “For the period of time that you are in my employ your phone will remain in this desk drawer. It will, of course, be returned to you when you leave.”

  And I’ll definitely be leaving, thought Parva, oh yes, and sooner than you think. She made a mental note to keep her laptop away from prying eyes.