Water's Edge

Chapter XXI

Thorn Academy

The emblem depicted The Humber Bridge, but with the water lapping up across two towers. The bridge had long since been reclaimed by where the Trent and Ouse met, the birds nestling in it as if trees or cliffs. The water lapped at its bases and made it impassable, a vast structure – once the longest bridge of its kind in the world – now a landmark none can reach.

This seemed a tad foreboding for an emblem of a school. It was only as I spoke to the lovely woman at reception, waiting for the Head Teacher, that I had learnt one of the children had designed it. Good for them.

Eventually a spindly man arrived, with whiskers for a beard; he looked like the kind of man who got bullied in a place like this, not one who ran it. He went by Mr. Pond. God help him.

"How can I help you?" I could tell I had found another who distrusted me, "And I don't permit smoking on the premises."

"I'm not smoking."

"Yes, but I can tell that you were."

"That wouldn't have been on the premises then."

"That, detective, is beside the point."

He perched his head on his fingers. I didn't have time to fool around so I inspected the room, the awards, the certificates for helping in the construction of not just Thorn Academy, but sister schools in Jaipur and Dubai.

"How long have you been Head here?" I asked, taking some notes.

"Since it's construction." Shocker. "I helped design the Academy. I had connections with—"

"Soames Construction and Mr. Wharton."

"Well... yes."

"I see." He had begun to squirm. I had no reason to add Curtis Pond to the list of suspects – yet – but I would take down everything he said with dedication; he'd think he'd done it even if he hadn't.

"I have to say," I looked up pointedly, accusingly, "The police already interviewed me. I was with my Mother... when..."

"So Soames has practically built the entire town?"

He took a breath, settled the tiniest amount, "Yes. Thorngumbald was just a village when I came here with my husband. We were all on the committee to develop it. I headed the project of this fine school."

"It is very fine." I jeered, pocketing my notebook, "And you were with your Mother?"

"I was. She isn't well."

"I need to talk to some of Hector's friends. Is that possible?" I could tell he wanted to argue, but as I stood I made sure he saw the silver badge, "I'll throw in a talk on drug addiction, if you like."

It took a few hours to organise a room, between lessons, not to disrupt the other students. I didn't blame Mr. Pond actually; these kids were grieving and they needed the space to show it. And even if the wispily chinned man despised me, he had put in place mental health schemes to help his students as best he could. He may have been in it for the money, but something was going right here.

Eventually I began to talk to each of his friends, but none seemed to know anything of note. I realised I should have come here straight away; I really had lost myself. Thorngumbald had been like a sinkhole, a whirlpool, spitting me out at random and keeping me away from the truth.

A boy, in a hoody pulled up tight, fell into the chair. He had the demeanour of any early teen: grumpy, face like a smacked arse, teetering between war and depression. But this was different. He was weighted down. Not just by the hoody, or his hormones. But something real, something that had clutched the poor lad's soul like a coldiron vice.

"Matthew Shanks." I said, putting the notebook away. It was freaking him out, "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He grunted, looking up at a warm-faced teacher in the door way.

"Just help the Detective as well as you can, I'll just be outside."

I gave Matthew a moment, "Who was that?

"Ms. Currie. She does Maths."

"You like Maths?"

He just shrugged. The right answer, "You like it here?"

"It's alright."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." I wasn't going to get anything out of him like this, "None of your friends seem to know much." He lowered his head, "They wouldn't talk about you at all."

"They wouldn't."

"Why not?"

There was a moment where I thought he would either shut up completely, storm out, or—he chose 'or', sitting up straight and throwing the hood back. He had a black eye, a snarl like a dog on a chain, "'Cause Hector's Dad was a fucking homophobic piece of shit. And if he found out about me and Hector... well... if this is," He pointed to his eye, with some pride, "If this is what happens when I tell my Dad, what the fuck do you think would happen to Hector."

Well. Like the Catholic said to Pope Joan when he saw her vagina: I didn't expect that.

It wasn't that I didn't expect homosexuality, it was more the abruptness, the directness. Matthew Shanks was not going to let me get away with this, and rather than skirting around the issue, he weighed me up good and proper. He softened for a second; he could tell I empathised.

"How long had you been seeing each other?"

"Not long." He sat back in the chair, tilting his head back for a fight, "What, did you wanna watch?"

"How do you know his Dad is homophobic?"

He grinned, a little manic: the grief had got him bad, "He's a fucking Tory prick. That's why."

"Other than his political affiliations—he ever do anything to harm you."

Another of those smiles, "My Dad isn't gonna get his pension. If Hector had lived," That nearly broke him, "We couldn't have got fucking married. His Dad harmed us before we were born."

I had to say, for a thirteen year old in a newly build Academy in the middle of Beverly & Holderness, he was bright, "Did anyone ever threaten you both?"

Another point to his eye, "Other than my Dad to me, no. And before you ask, police already came to my house. Dad was with me when Hector went missing." He took a breath; a lie. The first obvious lie.

"You were with him though."

Matthew Shanks looked to the door like he was ready to bolt it. I leant a little to that side. If he made a go of it I could grab his arm. It wouldn't be proper, but I think Shanks would understand, "Matthew, you have to tell me. Were you with him?"

Matthew weighed up his options. He knew I had seen the chink in his armour. A tear began to roll over the enflamed skin hiding one of those baby blues, "We often went down there. No one bothered us. We could—you know?"

"I do. What happened that night?"

Matthew wiped his face on his sleeve, leaving a trail and pulled up the hood again, "We had an argument, I left him there. He knew the way back." Matthew looked up at me, dead in the eye, "Either his Dad found him, or those weirdos out in Hedon."

Hedon Haven. That was what Professor Babbitt had scrawled down.

The door opened and Ms. Currie peered in. She must have heard Matthew. Before I could ask another question he just burst into tears, "I miss him."

"I know. I'll find out what happened, Matthew. I will."