"Please do "
Alison, her voice unnaturally high, asked how Neville was. He answered dryly, "Alive "
Brannigan, aware of animosity deliberately overt and not to be ignored, became tense. "The police told us he was safely home We were extremely worried I tried contacting you several times by phone."
"I left the receiver off. The lad had a great deal to tell me."
"You brought him back? Where is he now – out in the car?"
"No " Corley picked up an empty champagne glass, studied it and put it down. "Accidental death, wasn't it? A cause for celebration "
Brannigan didn't answer. Alison, who had been standing by the door, felt she could stand no longer. She went and sat on a small upright chair near the china cabinet To sit at ease in this man's presence would be like trying to sit near a time-bomb A foreboding of catastrophe filled her like a dark cloud Brannigan waited for what was to come.
Corley said, "It was the wrong verdict "
Brannigan asked him to explain.
Corley took his time about it, and the words were clipped with controlled anger. "My son and young David Fleming were friends. They were in different Houses, but they met m class They both got keen on learning semaphore – it arose through the maritime project By coincidence Neville's assignment was on the poop deck of the sister ship to the one that David was on They were close enough to see each other. Instead of getting on with their task they played at signalling each other. Your resident psychopath – Durrant – left his post for some reason best known to himself. If young Fleming had needed to be punished for not getting on with the job then it wasn't up to a twisted adolescent to do it He hauled the boy down to the deck where the open hatch was – he tied his hands and blindfolded him. It might have ended there but David goaded him with accusations about a homosexual relationship with Innis, the sportsmaster – nicknamed Bruin 'Woolly Bear on Durrant's bed' Durrant gave him a back-hander – and then another that took him over the edge of the hatch and into the hold Durrant went down after him. When he came up again he was carrying the tie that had been around his wrists. Presumably he would have taken off the blindfold had there been time – there wasn't. The verdict today should have been murder "
Brannigan felt no surprise He felt battered and ill, but not surprised The possibility had been in his mind for days.
He said stiffly, " 'Woolly Bear on D's bed' – not Durrani's bed. Your lad got that bit wrong."
"D's – Durrant's – the implication's the same."
"It may seem so, but it isn't." It must have seemed so to Durrant, he thought, for him to have reacted so violently. "I find it difficult to believe that Innis…" It trailed off. Innis, nicknamed Bruin. Bruin – Woolly Bear. It all tied in.
Alison exploded out of her silence. "It's the most appalling lies. Jesus Christ – you're not going to sit there and take it!"
Brannigan and Corley looked at her and then at each other. Corley said stiffly, "There's more – not lies, very ugly truth, I'm afraid. Perhaps Mrs. Brannigan should leave us."
She answered for herself before Brannigan could. "No! You'll not get me out. Someone has to be here to…" She didn't finish it.
Brannigan finished it in his mind. "… defend the honour of the school". He had a momentary vision of her father declaiming in the Elysian fields on the sins of mortal flesh, prior to castrating Innis and kicking Durrant into the depths of hell.
Poor Alison, he thought. She looked stripped to the bone. He felt very sorry for her.
Corley went on. "My lad as witness to murder was next in line himself." He misinterpreted Brannigan's expression. "No, I'm not dramatising. I'm 'giving you facts. Durrant tried to get out of him how much he had seen. There was a session down in your copse interrupted by someone – a fat bloke with a plummy voice was how Neville described him. Neville had been sick after being almost suffocated when he ran into him."
Lessing, Brannigan thought.
"The night my son made off home, Durrant cornered him in the locker room. His language was filthy – how much my son understood I wouldn't care to guess. There might have been violence if the locker room had been more remote. Durrant didn't touch him. He threatened him. The threats were enough. It took Neville a night and most of the next day to get home. He's got the beginnings of bronchitis, but he's tucked up in a safe bed. I don't know how scarred he is emotionally. When I told him that he must tell you exactly what he told me. that what I tell you is hearsay, he looked as if I had shown him a deaths-head. He's frightened out of his mind, but he'll tell you – and anyone else who needs to be told."
Brannigan rallied a little. It was hearsay. His instinct was to believe it, but nothing had been said that couldn't have been made up. And then he remembered the sketch again. David after drawing it had immediately given it to Jenny. Woolly Bear. Symptom of distress. Innis alias Bruin. Young Corley hadn't a devious mind. He wouldn't have made that up. Lessing had said that he was scared out of his wits.
Corley broke through his thoughts. "I came to you before going to the police. It's up to you now to report it to the police. I advise you to report it without delay."
"The lad is fifteen."
Corley shrugged. "He's a psychopath."
"Then he needs medical help."
"Which your local G.P. can't give him. The rest of the lads here are your responsibility. How many more lads are you planning to put at risk before you do something about it?"
Brannigan felt very old, very tired. He walked slowly over to the door. "You're right, of course. None. But he deserves a hearing. I'll see him in my study over in the main building. You'd better come along."
Alison made one last effort. "If what you say is true -• and I can't believe it is – then let Durrant be put away quietly. Send for his parents. Let them see to it. It isn't our affair."
"Oh, but it is," Brannigan said gently, "very much our affair." He added, "I'm sorry."
He didn't know what he was apologising for. For insisting on doing his duty now when it was too late. For running the school remotely and comfortably instead of being in the thick of it. For being kind to the incompetent. For not suspecting Innis. For being weak.
Durrant, summoned to the Headmaster's study, went with a quick and buoyant step. He was still jubilant after the inquest. His role had been more brief than he would have liked. There had been no real pitting of wits. The coroner, as spineless as a jellyfish, had oozed concern over the proceedings. The only rock had been Fleming himself and he hadn't uttered. To pit his wits against Fleming would have been a joy.
"Yes, Headmaster?"
He noticed Corley sitting over in the leather chair – the same chair that he had sat in himself when he had spoken to his mother on the telephone. The association caused a blending of shock and remembered pain. He winced.
Brannigan noticed. "Come in, Durrant, and close the door behind you." He wondered how Durrant had recognised Corley. He went on to make the introductions as if he hadn't noticed. "This is Mr. Corley – Neville's father."
"I know."
"How do you know?"
"They were together on sports day."
And neither of your parents were there, Brannigan thought. At all school functions you roamed alone. It was all very well to try to stamp out pity when the lad wasn't there. He was there now. Not the Durrant of the courtroom brazening it like a Nazi recruit, but the gangling awkward boy shrugging off his height, trying to diminish himself into obscurity.
"Do you know why Mr. Corley is here?"
"Yes." In lucid moments he had known that this meeting now was inevitable. Ever since Neville Corley had gone he knew that there could be only one outcome. When his mind played the games he wanted it to play anxiety was programmed out. Corley wouldn't arrive home. He would arrive home and say nothing.