Page 23 of The Serial Killer’s Sister (The Serial Killer’s Daughter #3)
Pulling into my usual parking space in the school playground feels a bit strange now I’m suspended – like I’m doing something forbidden.
It’s how I used to feel when I smoked by the lake at Finley Hall.
I shake it off. This really isn’t the same – it’s not some stupid teenage rebellion punishable via the confiscation of contraband and being dragged to Graves’s office by Frank. This is my workplace; my job.
Not able to put it off any longer, I stride towards the entrance and push the doors open, trying to exude a confidence I don’t feel.
The corridors are quiet – the children are all in class.
My own footsteps are all I can hear, which, right now, compete with the thudding of my heartbeat.
I come to a halt outside the head’s office.
Shoulders back, head up. I give three firm knocks on the door and wait.
There’s a pause that feels like minutes before I hear him tell me to come in.
His back is to me as I enter the room – he’s standing in front of the window overlooking the infants’ play area.
‘I came as soon as I could,’ I say.
‘Sit,’ he says, finally turning to face me.
His complexion is grey and his demeanour stiff as he gestures to the chair.
I sit down. With an exaggerated intake of air, he too takes a seat.
I stare at his right shoulder as it twitches upwards towards his ear.
I’ve never noticed this kind of tic before.
What’s going on? It’s like he’s nervous.
Christ – it must be bad. I wish I’d brought a bottle of water with me because my mouth is dry; my tongue is sticking to its roof.
I cross my legs, grip my hands together and lay them on my thigh to stop myself from wringing them.
Is this what it’s like awaiting an innocent or guilty verdict at a trial?
He leans his elbows on the desk and steeples his fingers, his gaze now intently on me.
‘Anna,’ he says. He lets out a long sigh. ‘Thank you for coming in.’
I chew on the inside of my cheek as I wait for him to inform me of whatever the hell it is that’s so urgent that he needed me here during the week I’m suspended.
I wish he’d skip the pleasantries, if this is what they are – although I’m actually getting the sense he’s toying with me, stretching this out and enjoying my discomfort, rather than merely being polite.
‘No problem,’ I say, surprised at how weak my voice sounds. I clear my throat. ‘You said it was urgent.’
He makes a strange sucking sound through his gritted teeth.
‘Yes, I’m afraid it’s not good news. I thought it best to speak with you in person – not nice to do it over the phone.’
My stomach drops. Not nice to do what over the phone?
Any dream I had that this was a meeting to say it’d all been a huge mistake, that I’m such a valuable and trustworthy member of the teaching staff that he’s decided to forget all about this CCTV nonsense and reinstate me immediately, goes out the window.
I glare at him, my mouth taut. I can’t trust myself to say anything.
His eyes appear dark, almost black – like malevolence lurks behind them.
‘The rather unfortunate video is still circulating on the local groups and there’s even been an online article about it.
And it’s made it into The Mid-Devon Advertiser , Anna.
’ There’s anger in his delivery; it’s obviously been building and now I’m in front of him, he’s finally releasing it.
I feel myself slumping back against the chair.
‘Well, that snowballed, didn’t it,’ I say, then I mutter, ‘Just like he wanted,’ under my breath.
‘You seem surprised. Haven’t you been keeping up? Looked online yourself?’
‘There’s been a lot going on,’ I say through gritted teeth.
‘Look, you’re an excellent teacher, Anna. One of my best, and you know I think highly of you—’
‘There’s a but, I assume?’
‘It pains me to say, but …’ I close my eyes and hold my breath. God, please don’t fire me . He can’t fire me, surely?
The pause is too long; the silence deafening. I open my eyes to check he’s still in the room. He offers a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘I’m afraid I can’t have you back in school for at least another month.’
I open my mouth to argue, put up a fight, counter this ridiculous plan, but he continues, dropping the bombshell like it’s nothing.
‘And I actually think it might be an idea for you to begin applying elsewhere,’ he says.
Tears come now and I shake my head. ‘No, Craig, please. You know how much I love this job; how much I put into it. This is my life we’re talking about. I didn’t even do anything wrong; this is insane.’
‘It’s not coming from me, Anna. It’s the board of governors and the PTA. The publicity is bad for Seabrook. We’re an exclusive school, and we have to be seen to take action about something so serious. Parents spend a lot of money to send their children here.’
‘You can’t allow them to bulldoze you into this, Craig.
’ I leap from the chair and slam my hand down on his desk.
He flinches. Losing my temper, together with using his first name in this situation, isn’t going to get me what I want, I realise, and I sit back down.
‘Mr Beaumont,’ I say, ensuring my tone is softer.
‘Please get them to reconsider. You’re the headteacher – you’re the one who knows my worth.
I’ve given eight years to this school; it’s not just a job to me. ’
‘I’m sorry, Anna. Maybe if you’d stopped to think through your actions and the possible repercussions of them the other morning … and now, in fact.’ His eyes are lost in his furrowed brows.
My cheeks flare as my rage does too. I ball my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palm so as to stop myself losing it. You’ll lose your head springs into my mind. Henry is behind this. He knew what releasing the footage would do to me.
‘You do know it’s a smear campaign, right? You’re all going to look pretty foolish when the truth comes out.’
‘You’ll remain on full pay, but you won’t be allowed onto the premises until a formal review has been conducted. If there’s evidence to prove a … a “smear campaign”, as you suggest this is, then I’m sure the decision will go in your favour and you’ll be allowed to come back.’
I hold out no hope of this, though; not from the way he’s coming across – it’s a done deal as far as he’s concerned.
He’s only been in post for six months, and he’s probably itching to show those who questioned it that his appointment at such a young age was worthy – that he’s not afraid to make the more uncomfortable decisions for the sake of the school’s reputation.
Or maybe he is in on this. I reel at this possibility, but now I consider it, it has merit.
Craig Beaumont is a few years younger than me.
I know very little about him outside of school.
He might’ve wanted me gone because of what happened – because he felt I’d humiliated him in front of everyone at the Christmas party and might go on to be a threat to his meteoric rise.
And now I’ve given him the perfect opportunity.
He knows a lot of influential people; no doubt he has links with the police and the highways.
He could have gained access to the CCTV footage and leaked it himself.
The timing with Henry could have been a complete coincidence, and I’ve jumped to the wrong conclusion.
Or Craig Beaumont is Henry.
The thought comes from nowhere, and although ludicrous, it somehow makes some sense.
I’ve not seen Henry in so many years – I might not recognise him any longer.
When I did see Henry last, he was the same colouring as Craig is now and was a similar scrawny build.
Since he started here, I’ve found Craig to be aloof – a little odd.
Creepy even. Is there a reason for that?
Something buried in my past that affects my view of him without conscious awareness?
I stand to leave.
‘I’ll see you soon,’ I say firmly as I walk towards the door.
Passing the wall of framed photos, I pause.
I stare at the one taking pride of place.
It’s teacher training college – the class of 2009.
I focus on each male face in turn, and another thought strikes me.
What if Henry is in this group? What if he knows Craig, and that’s how he’s infiltrating my work life this easily?
‘What are you doing?’ Craig asks, his voice sharp. I ignore him as I continue to look at the people in the picture. ‘Anna? I have to get on if you don’t mind.’ He stalks past me and opens the door. I move to leave. When I come level to him, I stop, squaring up to him.
‘That’s a great photo,’ I say.
‘Right, okay. Er … thank you.’
‘Which one is you?’ As I step away from him and walk back to it, he lets out a juddering breath. With an agitated stride, he jabs his finger at the young man in the centre of the photo and I move up close to see.
‘There. I’m that one. Right, as I said, I need to get on. I’ll be in touch, Anna.’ He lays his hands on my shoulders and physically turns me towards the door. I shrug him off me and head out.
It takes me a while to walk back to my car, my feet heavy, slow. You don’t always see what’s right under your nose. Has Henry been watching me more closely than I ever thought was possible? Or is Craig Beaumont someone else from my past who wants to see me suffer?