Page 25 of Dying Truth

Dawson remembered it well. He recalled pushing his muscles to the limit to try and keep up. He could feel the burn in his legs as though it was happening right now.

‘Three more lengths, and will someone give Piggott some encouragement?’ Havers called out.

The kid who had called out began chanting: ‘Pig, Pig, Pig.’ By the third call, all of the kids were chanting his name.

Dawson felt the tension crawl into his jaw. Not the encouragement he would have liked to have heard.

‘Peer pressure works every time,’ Havers said above the collective chanting. ‘He’s clawed back half a metre already.’

Yeah, humiliation and embarrassment will do that for you, Kev thought, viewing the scene before him differently to the teacher. The poor kid looked exhausted. His face was red from exertion, and the sweat beads were now lines of moisture trickling down his temples. His mouth was permanently open as he tried to send more air to his lungs.

‘A bit harsh?’ Dawson observed, which didn’t even come close to how he really felt.

‘Not if it makes him think twice about eating the next cream cake, or two.’

‘So, would any of these kids have known Sadie Winters?’ Dawson asked, guiding himself to solid ground. Punching the PE teacher in the face was unlikely to do the case, or his career, any favours.

The teacher looked around as the boys began their final length of the hall. Piggott’s earlier exertion had caught up with him and he was now paying the price, lagging almost half a length behind.

‘Can I talk to any of them?’

Havers thought for a minute. ‘Yeah, take Piggott, he’s pretty useless at basketball anyway.’

Before Dawson could respond Havers blew a whistle and began issuing instructions to the boys to bring in the equipment from the edge of the hall.

‘Not you, Piggott, over here,’ he called, as the lad hit the wall for the last time.

The boy looked both confused and relieved as he half walked and half staggered towards them.

‘Police officer here wants a word,’ he said, squeezing him on the shoulder.

The boy’s breathing was hard and laboured as he nodded.

Dawson looked around ‘Where can…’

‘There’s a bench outside the door,’ he said, pointing to the corridor.

Dawson nodded his thanks and headed outside.

‘Here,’ he said, handing the kid a handkerchief from his pocket. The activity had stopped but the sweating had not.

‘Thank you,’ he said, mopping his head, face and around the back of his neck before offering it back.

‘Keep it,’ Dawson said.

The kid mopped his brow again.

‘So, what’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Piggott, sir,’ he answered.

‘Your first name,’ he clarified.

‘Geoffrey, sir,’ he replied politely.

‘Did you know Sadie Winters?’ he asked.

Geoffrey shrugged. ‘A bit. She wasn’t like the other girls here.’