‘Yes?’ he said.
‘I think there might have been an understanding between her and one of the lads in the English group. There was nothing I could put my finger on. I never saw them walking arm in arm around the college. Nothing like that. But you get an instinct for these things. She always arranged to be sitting next to him at class and sometimes I’d see her hanging around waiting for him.’
‘So you think she was interested in him and not the other way round?’
‘There was nothing obvious,’ she said. ‘But yes, I’d say she was interested in John Powell and I’m not sure that he welcomed the attention. I got the impression he tried to keep his distance.’
‘What’s he like, this Powell?’
She hesitated, trying to find the right words. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Unusual, different. Bright enough if he puts the work in but you get the impression that he doesn’t really care, that it’s all beneath him. Arrogant, I suppose you’d call him.’
‘A troublemaker?’ Hunter asked.
‘Not really. Not in the accepted sense. But I always find his presence in a class undermining. It’s impossible to forget he’s there. You don’t feel you can treat him like all the other kids. He won’t be taken for granted.’
‘Friends?’
‘No,’ Ellie said. ‘I don’t think he’s any close friends. Not here at least. Admirers perhaps. He’s something of a cult figure. I’m not sure why.’
The staff room was starting to empty. There was a queue at the sink as the teachers rinsed their cups. Ellie looked at her watch.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I’ll have to go soon. I’m teaching next period.’
‘When did you last see Gabby?’ Hunter asked.
‘Yesterday morning. But not in a tutor group. There was an English lesson. From ten until eleven thirty.’
‘And she was definitely there?’
‘Oh yes. I remember quite clearly. We were doing Hamlet. She read Ophelia.’ She paused, shocked. ‘Quite prophetic,’ she said, ‘when you think of it.’
Hunter, who did not understand what she was talking about, kept quiet.
‘Did you see where she went when she left the class?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she said. ‘ She rushed off as soon as the bell went. As if she were in a hurry. It wasn’t like her. She often stayed behind for a chat.’
A bell rang and Ellie Smith looked at her watch again. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I’m really sorry. I’ll have to go. But if you want to come with me I can introduce you to some of Gabby’s friends. I’m teaching the same group as I was yesterday morning.’
The classroom was in a different block and she led Hunter outside, across a yard where the frost still lay in the shadow. The building was 1960s glass and concrete with rusting window frames and noisy corridors. She opened a door and stood aside to let him in. The room was full of sunlight so Hunter blinked, then felt foolish, at a disadvantage. He saw twelve young people dressed in costumes which ranged from the bizarrely flamboyant to the threadbare. Ellie followed him into the room and sat on one of the desks. He stood, uncomfortably, intimated by their stares. He was not sure how to speak to these bright young people who spent all day reading Shakespeare. He felt he had more in common with the joy riders he pulled in on a Friday night.
‘You’ll all have heard by now,’ Ellie Smith was saying, ‘that the body of a young woman was found at the Grace Darling Arts Centre last night. The police have identified the victim as Gabby Paston.’
She paused. A girl had started to cry and turned to be comforted by a friend. Ellie went on.
‘Of course it’s an awful shock and terribly upsetting but the police obviously want to ask questions about Gabby and they especially want to trace her movements yesterday. This is Detective Sergeant Hunter. He’ll ask you some questions now. If you have any other information about Gabby and there are details you’d prefer to remain confidential you can always arrange a private meeting with him through me.’ She looked around. ‘You do see,’ she said, ‘that this is a serious matter. Whatever views you might hold about the police generally, you must co-operate with them now.’
There was a silence and she turned to Hunter. He cleared his throat nervously.
‘I understand that Gabriella attended the English class with you yesterday morning,’ he said. ‘According to Miss Smith she left in rather a hurry. Does anyone know where she was going?’
A skeletally thin girl with black spiked hair and huge eyes, blackened at the rims so she looked like an anorexic panda, raised her hand. She was wearing a long black dress which reached almost to the ground and the ubiquitous Dr Martens.
‘Gabby had a date,’ she said. ‘Someone was taking her out to lunch.’
‘Did she tell you who she was meeting?’
The girl shook her head.
‘Does anyone know?’
Again there was silence.
‘I know where she was going.’ The girl who interjected was plump, quietly spoken, dressed in denims and a hand-knitted sweater. ‘To the Holly Tree at Martin’s Dene. She was teasing, you know, about the canteen food. How we’d have to put up with that while she was sitting down at the Holly Tree to something delicious.’
‘When did she tell you that?’
‘First thing in the morning. While we were all waiting for Miss Smith to come in.’
Hunter considered. The Holly Tree was expensive, well out of the range, he would have thought, of the average sixth former. It was unlikely that Gabriella’s date had been with one of her schoolfriends. But if she had been there for a meal someone would have remembered her. At lunch time it would be full of business people who had driven out of Newcastle to do their entertaining. In her black leggings and boots Gabriella Paston would have stuck out like a sore thumb. Someone would haved noticed her companion too. Suddenly Hunter began to feel more hopeful. He resisted the temptation to leave immediately for the Holly Tree and went on, turning to the plump girl. ‘ Did she tell you anything about her plans for the rest of the day?’
‘No. Nothing.’
‘How did she seem to you?’
‘Excited. Really high.’
‘She didn’t tell you why?’
Sadly the girl shook her head. Hunter considered the information. It was vague, subjective, but he would have put the girl down as a reliable witness.
‘Yesterday morning Gabriella told her landlady that she had been invited to a friend’s house after college. Was anyone here expecting Gabby to come home with them for a meal?’
There was no reply.
‘Did anyone see her yesterday afternoon?’
Again there was silence.
‘Is anyone here a member of the Youth Theatre at the Grace Darling Centre?’
The teenagers turned to face John Powell, who slowly raised his hand. Hunter looked at a tall boy with untidy hair and strong features, who stared back at him.
‘And your name is?’
‘John Powell.’ The boy was slouched in his chair, his legs stretched in front of him. Without being overtly rude he managed to convey insolence. Hunter disliked him immediately. This then was the lad in which Gabby had shown a special interest. Hunter’s antipathy towards the boy made him authoritative. He was no longer intimidated.
‘I’d like to speak to Mr Powell on his own,’ he said. He turned to the teacher. ‘I take it you’ve no objections?’ Ellie Smith shook her head helplessly. ‘Then we won’t take up any more of your time. Mr Powell!’
It was a summons and he waited while the boy uncoiled himself from his chair and followed him out into the corridor. Hunter had intended to find some empty classroom where they could talk but most of the rooms were occupied. Besides, the classrooms, with their books and maps and reminders of his ignorance, disturbed him. In the end he led the boy out into the open air and they talked as they walked past the playing fields where beefy young men ran in a line practising rugby passes, their breath coming in clouds in the cold air. A row of beeches threw shadows over the field and they walked alternately in bright sunlight and shade. As he followed the boy across the grass Hunter realized that something about the boy was familiar. He had not recognized it in class. It had more to do with the way Powell moved, the silhouette against the bright orange sun, than with his features.