But you didnt?
A frown. What?
You said you were going to read your book. That implies something else came up.
Oh. . . No, just a turn of phrase. I was reading a Ruth Rendell. A fleeting smile. My guilty secret.
OK. So its just you and Ruth Rendell. No one else was there. Then what happened?
Ive already been over all of this.
I know, but its better if I hear it first-hand. In your own words. There was a long pause. George drummed his fingers on the tabletop. You want a cup of tea, or something? I can get DC Richardson here fetch it if you like?
Kirkhill didnt say a word, just shook his head and gave a long, shuddering sigh.
The girls are having a great time. It took some organizing not many people visit The Bellows these days but James knew theyd love it.
Thats the great thing about coaching the under fifteens swimming club: the enthusiasm. Give them a few years and theyll turn sullen and cynical. But right now theyre still young enough to enjoy themselves without feeling self-conscious.
Well, everyone except Sarah. She sits off on her own, staring out over the Kings River towards the castle. Pining.
Probably thinking about her boyfriend.
James calls them all together at half past twelve. Its time for the picnic.
They come from all over the island, running, laughing, their breath streaming out behind them.
Danielle takes the role of Mother, handing out the sandwiches and vegetarian whatnots while he cracks open a couple of thermos flasks, pouring cream-of-tomato soup into polystyrene cups. The steam fogs up his glasses.
After lunch, they pack everything back into the picnic hamper and get in the boats for the trip home.
Sarahs distracted, her rowing sloppy. Shes been chewing at her fingernails, worrying them down to the quick.
Sarahs distracted, her rowing sloppy. Shes been chewing at her fingernails, worrying them down to the quick.
Danielle tries to cheer her up, but it doesnt work. She rolls her eyes at James and pulls a face. Isnt Sarah silly. . .
And then theres a loud thump and the boat lurches sideways. Danielle is half out of her seat, hauling on the oar when it happens. One minute shes in the boat, the next shes in the dark, swirling water.
Oh dear Lord. . .
Its a moment before anyone can react. James scrambles to the side of the boat, reaching for her, but shes gone.
Three feet from the boat: a flash of blonde hair, a flailing arm, a shriek. He grabs Danielles abandoned oar and tries to reach her with it.
Splashing.
Panic.
Sarah screams.
Danielle surfaces again, bright red blood coursing down her face. She splutters, arms and legs thrashing in the cold water, as-
Thought you said she was a strong swimmer. George sat back in his creaky plastic seat, frowning.
She. . . Wed only just eaten. It was bitterly cold. The shock must have been terrible. Unable to breathe. . .
Why wasnt she wearing a life jacket?
I. . . He shook his head. Shivered. I dont know, I thought she was, but its all so difficult. . .
So you tried to reach her with the oar?
Shes drifting further and further from the boat, churning the water around her, head slipping beneath the surface. All around him the girls are screaming as he fights with the river for Danielles life.
Too far away.
He shoves Sarah to the floor of the boat, grabs both oars and rows for all hes worth; muscles groaning, wood creaking. Faster: row faster.
This is his only chance. Grab my hand!
She reaches, but her fingers slip through his. Danielle goes under again. James plunges his arm into the icy water, gritting his teeth against the pain. Grabbing for her. . .
Shes struggling . . . so cold . . . and then shes gone.
Her. . . Kirkhill swallowed, the tears starting again. We found her body caught up on Calderwell Bridge. She. . . She was. . . Oh God. . . He buried his head in his hands and sobbed.
I see. George pulled a sheet of paper from the pathologists preliminary report. We did a post mortem on Danielles body: just routine, we do them following any fatal accident. Youve been a naughty, naughty boy, havent you Mr Kirkhill?
The teacher stared at him, mouth going up and down, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat. I. . . I dont know what youre talking about.
No? You mean you dont remember sexually assaulting a girl in your care?
What? His eyes widened. No. . . I never!
Come off it, Kirkhill. The pathologist says Danielle was sexually active, and guess what happened when we went through her diary? He held up a clear evidence pouch with a hard-backed jotter in it. The pink cover was festooned with blue biro hearts.
I never touched her, I swear!
She was pretty I saw her before they cut her open very well-developed for a twelve-year-old. Did you tell her youd make her a woman?
I never touched her!
How about this then? George pulled the pink diary out of the evidence bag and flipped it open. A yellow post-it note marked the place. Thirteenth of July. James came to me after swimming practice today. He looks so handsome in his new glasses. He waited till all the other girls were gone then kissed me in the showers. I was trembling and naked, but he-
It never happened! Shes making it up!
-took me in his arms, the warmth of his body burning through his tweed jacket-
Kirkhill grabbed Georges arm, pulling the book away. Look, it happens all the time. The girls: they get a crush on their teachers. Its a difficult age for them, all those hormones. Its just fantasy!
Fantasy?
Yes!
I see. George nodded. So you wont mind giving us a DNA sample then?
DNA. . .?
If its just a fantasy.
I. . .
To be honest, it doesnt really matter if you want to, or not. Im detaining you on suspicion of sexually abusing a minor. That means I can get fingerprints, blood, urine, DNA, whatever I want.
But-
And then well see if your DNA is a paternal match for the foetus Professor Muir cut out of Danielle this afternoon.
Kirkhill sat there with his mouth hanging open. Like a startled fish. I. . . But. . .
George held the book up and started reading again, It hurt a little at first, but it was so beautiful having him deep inside me. Thrusting, thrusting. . .
It only took the Identification Bureaus forensic science lab an hour and a half to make the match. James Thomas Kirkhill was the father.
Kirkhill stared at the report on the table in front of him. Danielle was . . . she was more mature than anyone Id ever met. Always knew what she wanted and how to get it. I mean she was brilliant, but manipulative with it. . . He licked his lips. But I never did anything improper! Nothing. I loved her, yes, but it was . . . it was a spiritual love. I never laid a hand on her.
So how come shes carrying your kid then? Second coming is it? Immaculate conception?
I. . . He picked at the skin around a fingernail until it bled. I was going through a bout of depression, the anniversary of Mollys death, Id been drinking.
And you thought youd just help yourself to some hot twelve-year-old-schoolgirl action?
No! Kirkhill shook his head, tears sparkling in the overhead lights. Danielle turned up unannounced. I was about halfway through a bottle of Bowmore. Just going to drink the day away, get it over with. Try not to think about those last six months in the hospital, watching her die. . . He sniffed, wiped his face with a wrinkled hand. Danielle said she wanted to make it all better, kept pouring whisky into me. I was drunk, I didnt know what I was doing! She set the whole thing up. . . The next day at school shes telling me were meant to be together. He blinked up at George, eyes glistening. She made the whole thing happen.
George placed the DNA report back in the file. And did she make it happen again?
Kirkhills mouth fell open. No! Never! She wanted to, but I wouldnt let her!
So how come her diarys full of the pair of you shagging?
He grabbed Georges hands. Please, youve got to believe me: shes making it all up! She wasnt like other girls her age, she was . . . so focussed on what she wanted. Its why she was such a great swimmer, and-
Not that great a swimmer: she drowned.
I swear to you, I never laid a hand on her. Not since that first time when she got me drunk. Never.
George took his hands back, tilted his head to one side, and gave Kirkhill a good hard stare.
Poor old git was probably telling the truth. There was something about girls that age that always made Georges flesh crawl. Like you could hear the Machiavellian wheels spinning inside them. People thought young men were the aggressive ones, but young women were fucking vicious. And Kirkhill was obviously wracked with shame and guilt. A grown man outmanoeuvred by a twelve-year-old girl.
George was about to suspend the interview when DS Raith barged through door and waved a manila folder at him. Sorry to interrupt, Guv, but you might want to take a look at these. She stood against the wall, face impassive as George flicked through the report and attached pictures.
You. . . He cleared his throat and stared at Kirkhill. You say that it only happened the one time, and that Danielle was responsible?
The teacher nodded.
Well, want to have a go at explaining how these got onto your home computer then? He slapped the pictures down on the tabletop, one after the other. A series of explicit, hard-core pornography, all featuring Danielle and her school swimming coach James Kirkhill.
Then another set: a different girl this time, with ginger hair and a bone-pale complexion. And another one.
Kirkhill flinched. They. . . Theyre not mine. Someone else must have put them on my computer . . . to discredit me! It was-
Youre in the bloody photos! And according to this youve got about two and a half gig of assorted kiddie porn on there too!
Kirkhill stammered, fidgeted, eyes flicking from George to the door and back again. I never . . . it . . . no . . . you see-
You know what they do with paedophiles in Oldcastle nick? Sometimes they get stabbed, sometimes they get the shit kicked out of them, and there was this one bloke got raped with a broom handle. Died a week later: internal bleeding.
It was like watching a building collapse, one minute James Kirkhill was there, the next there was nothing left but tears and snot and trembling, pale skin.