Page 51 of Dying Truth

‘And you are?’ she asked, glancing at the screen.

He held up his identification.

She appeared unimpressed. ‘So, you’re not a relative or guardian?’

‘No,’ he answered.

She folded her hands and shook her head. ‘Then I’m sorry but I can’t give you any information.’

He opened his mouth to argue, but realised he had no information or leverage that would persuade this woman to allow an unrelated male to attend the bedside of a minor. He accepted her judgement and moved to the side of the room, pleased to see the woman and coughing child had been offered a seat from someone.

He took some change from his pocket and chose a black coffee from the vending machine, which spat the steaming liquid into a flimsy brown cup and stood with his back against the wall.

He’d been leaving Sadie’s dorm room when he’d heard a commotion at the end of the hall. As he’d headed towards it, two paramedics had shoved past him followed by Principal Thorpe.

He hadn’t been able to get close enough to see the kid, but the actions of the medics had been quick, and the boy had been placed on a stretcher and rushed to the ambulance.

Principal Thorpe had hurried away, already on his mobile phone. He had stood for a moment listening to the astounded whispers of classmates and gathered that it was a fourteen-year-old boy who had been found unconscious in the shower block.

His eyes went to the door as a couple entered wearing expressions of panic.

Dawson recognised the man that entered as AnthonyCoffee-Todd, a local newsreader and celebrity, who looked considerably older than his young wife without the studio make-up.

They hurried towards the window and offered a few words. The receptionist picked up the phone. The woman tapped anxiously on the reception desk as Dawson began to head towards them.

A nurse appeared at the swing doors and immediately ushered them both through.

Dawson didn’t like the feeling of dread that was beginning to grip his stomach, but for now, he just had to stand back. And wait.

Thirty-Three

Kim stood at the back of the hall as Saffie Winters took her place at the piano.

With lessons over for the day students and teachers were milling around the space, carrying boxes and bringing in chair stacks and placing them at the edge of the room. Kim tried to imagine the galas and balls that had taken place amongst the priceless tapestries that adorned the walls.

She had sent Bryant off to find out what he could about the boy who had collapsed. There had been no word from Dawson, which she hoped was good news.

Saffie stood behind the stool as though composing herself for this practice piece. Her gaze made a quick sweep of the room, ending at the doorway. She took a breath, sat, and flexed her fingers. The second her fingers hit the keys the room silenced. Discussions ended mid-sentence and activity stopped as all attention channelled towards the single figure on the stage.

Four notes in and Kim could understand why.

She recognised the piece as ‘Hammerklavier’, by Beethoven, a notoriously hard piano piece that required extreme dexterity and concentration, declared unplayable by some musicians. It was a piece she had listened to many times as she worked in her garage, and most times she found herself pausing in her task to simply close her eyes and listen.

As Saffie played her head occasionally lifted from the keys to glance at the door. A secret smile rested on her delicate mouth, and Kim turned to see why.

Along the back wall Kim saw a dark-haired youth leaning against it. His hands were resting in his pockets. His school tie had been abandoned, and his top button opened casually.

A couple of people turned and waved in his direction, but he saw nothing as his gaze was locked on the girl performing on the stage.

Her glances were less often now but occasionally their eyes met across the distance, and Kim could feel the intensity. It was like a power line was stretching between the two of them. Kim was sure that if she stepped between them she would be frazzled to a crisp.

She could not shift her gaze from the silent interaction between them. Saffie’s eyes seemed to hold a tentative question. His face offered no response. She sought something from this boy, and his rigid expression was giving her nothing in return.

Bryant came to stand beside her but said nothing until the piece had finished.

The room responded with enthusiastic applause.

Kim knew that the entire sonata lasted forty-five to fifty minutes, which required a great deal of stamina to complete. Saffie acknowledged their appreciation and instantly looked to the doorway, but the lad had already gone.