In the Name of The Law
It was only when he got to Lambeth North that he actually had to flick the blue lights and touch the siren, just to get him out of Lambeth and past Tower Bridge Road. By the time he'd reached the Old Kent Road, his watch ticked into the twelfth minute since he'd ended the call with Joanna. Greg wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to do when he got to the school, but the thought of young Beth in such a state that she'd feel the need to blockade herself into a classroom told him it was something more than a pubescent tantrum. Even though he'd only known the child for a few days, he would be prepared to vouch for her being the sensible one in any testing situation.
Pulling his BMW into an empty staff spot in front of the school, Greg marched to the reception office at the main entrance.
"Police," he identified himself with his warrant card. "Which way to the metalwork rooms?"
"Inspector Lestrade?" A small, craggy woman with greying hair and a frazzled expression looked thankful. "I'm Aggie Watson, the Deputy Head. We've been expecting you. This way, if you please." Leading him through a warren of glassed-in corridors to the far side of the school, they ended up in a confined junction with a small group of people including Joanna Foy.
"Greg. Oh thank goodness." There was no doubting the profound relief in her voice. "Thank you so much for coming. Beth simply won't speak to anyone else." Joanna pointed to a door with a small glassed panel near the top, the glass sturdily laminated with wire mesh. The door looked as solid as a rock and twice as heavy. A safety door then, and not one to mess around with. Nobody would want to have to replace if there was an easier way of getting it open. Glancing around at the two other people, Greg paused at the expression of a tall thin man with weary eyes. If his people-sense was still on form, this man was the school's headmaster.
"Inspector Lestrade of the Met," he said, offering his hand. "I hear there's a bit of a situation."
"Bethany's normally very quiet and reserved," the man said after introducing himself as Jeffrey Arnold, Head of School. "There's never been a hint of anything like this in the eighteen-months she's been with us, not a hint," he shook his head unhappily. "I didn't want to force the issue if there was a less confrontational method," he added. "Your presence here is very much appreciated, Inspector. Mrs Foy says Beth seems to have established a rapport with you which is valuable. She's usually such a sensible child."
Of course Beth is a sensible child. This made her actions here more than usually significant. Greg kept his thoughts to himself for the moment.
"Anything I should know?" he looked between Joanne and the Headmaster. "Before I try and speak with Beth. Anyone hurt? Threatened? Any property damage?"
"Nothing's been damaged that we know of," Arnold frowned.
"There was some sort of argument earlier between Beth and a couple of older girls, but there was no actual fighting or violent behaviour that we know of," Mrs Watson offered, concerned. "The other girls are waiting outside my office in case you wanted to speak with them."
"Right then," Greg looked around. "It might be best if everyone stepped outside while I speak with Beth alone," he said. "There's clearly a reason she wanted to speak with me and nobody else."
"Indeed," Arnold nodded and moved away down the corridor, ushering Joanna to join him. "I shall organise some tea for you. Mrs Foy," he added with a faint smile. "Nothing like a good cup of tea to settle things down. There may also be biscuits."
With a guilt-ridden backwards glance at Greg who nodded confidently, Joanna reluctantly allowed herself to be led away for tea and possibly biscuits. As soon as the coast was clear, Greg tapped on the glass.
"Beth? This is Greg Lestrade. I understand there's something you wanted to talk to me about."
There was a moment's silence.
Inspector Greg?" Beth's quiet voice was close to the other side of the door. "Is that really you?"
"It's really me, sweetheart. Your mum said you were upset and wanted to speak with me. I'm here now. You want to let me in so we can have a chat?"
"I don't want anyone else coming in," Beth's voice wavered. It would be obvious to anyone she was upset.
"There's only me here, Beth, I made them all go away so we could talk in private. Want to let me open the door a bit?" There was another moment's pause before Greg heard something heavy being dragged away from the other side of the door. It took a while, so it was safe to assume it was heavy. It would have taken some effort to get it there in the first place and the last thing he wanted was for the girl to hurt herself.
"There's no rush," he said gently. "It's just you and me here. Take your time."
The sound of a heavy lock unfastening preceded the door opening a crack as Beth's brown eyes looked worriedly up at him. "Are you cross with me?"
It was painfully clear she was worried how he might feel. He smiled reassuringly. "I'm not in the least bit cross with anyone." Standing where he was, Greg relaxed, his hands in his pockets. "If you want me to stay out here while we talk, I don't mind. Whatever makes you feel okay."
"You can come in, in that case." The heavy door opened a few more inches, just enough for Greg to slip inside and close the door behind him. Moving slowly to avoid alarming the girl, he turned to look at her. Immediately a sharp frown creased his forehead. A bright red welt ran down the left side of her face with bruising already making itself apparent. Either she'd knocked her head against something, or ...
"Who hit you?" he asked, lowering himself to one knee, delicately moving the cascading hair away from her face with the tip of a finger. The entire side of Beth's cheek was red and slightly swollen. There was no obvious shape to the bruising yet but he'd be surprised if none appeared. Greg felt his mouth harden. Someone had given the child a right wallop. "Who hit you?" He asked again, his voice very soft.
"The other night, you said that sometimes you had to be clever to catch bad people and stop them from doing things." Beth met his gaze with a troubled expression.
"I did." Greg nodded. "And someone's doing bad things here, eh?" Greg quickly scanned every other visible part of the child's skin. Hands, knees ... Her fingers were a bit red but that could be from moving the heavy desk she'd dragged against the door. The Watson woman had said there'd been an argument of some kind. "You get into a fight with someone?" Greg allowed his face to soften. If there had been a scrap, the last thing Beth needed was him coming the heavy. He lifted her reddened knuckles for a closer inspection. "Did you hit someone after they hit you or was it the other way around?" he asked, his tone patient and understanding.
"There's these girls," Beth began hesitantly. "Three of them."
"In your class, are they?" Greg's eyes took in the rest of the child's disarray. A dangling button on her blazer, one missing from her white blouse. A ripped pocket. This wasn't just some schoolyard pushing around, this was intentional hurting. He reached unobtrusively for his phone.
"No, they're seniors," Beth's eyes grew suddenly huge with unshed tears. "They gang up on anyone who comes from a divorced family or ..." she paused. "Single parents." Her words tailed off to the merest whisper. "They know the kids don't usually have their dad at home, you see, and …"
Already knowing what Beth was going to say next, Greg forced himself to stay calm; He lifted the phone and captured the image he'd need later, even as he struggled to keep his shoulders from hunching in unexpected fury. His jaw clenched so hard it was almost impossible to speak casually, but he managed it somehow.
"Bullies, are they?" he asked, his thumb rubbed the back of Beth's hand. "Pick on the younger ones?" Nodding, Beth looked mortified. It was all Greg could do not to sweep her up and storm out of the room to demand severe and official retribution. He was not her father. He had no rights in this.
"I thought if they knew a policeman had come to school to talk to me, they'd leave me alone ... maybe some of the other kids too," Beth husked, her voice tightening in her throat as the tears began to spill. "I'm sorry ... I didn't know anybody else ..."
"It's all right babe ..." Greg wasn't sure who he was trying to convince, the girl or himself, but when her little face crumbled in distress, he stopped thinking and opened his arms.
For all Beth was twelve, she felt very small plastered against his chest, her meagre frame heaving as she cried her heart out. How long had she been a target of these bullies? Had Joanna no idea of this at all? No, Greg realised. Of course she wouldn't; Beth would have said nothing to anyone. The child was trying so very hard to be grown up for her mother; she wouldn't have said anything. Holding her very lightly, Greg waited until the shuddering sobs became intermittent hiccups. He fished in his coat pocket for the ever-present white handkerchief he carried specifically for upset witnesses.
"It's going to be all right, Beth," he murmured as she wiped her eyes and face, her fingers clumsy with emotion. "I promise you nobody in this school is going to bully you anymore," he added gently. "You did exactly right by speaking to me and you've been very brave about the whole thing."
"I didn't know what else to do." Beth raised a blotched pink face as Greg regained his feet. "I didn't know ..."
"You did exactly right," Greg reached for her unmarked hand, giving it a little squeeze. "Now I'm going to take you to your mum who's just down the corridor and she's going to take you straight home and make you a hot cup of tea. Then I'm going to have a little chat with Mr Arnold and that will be the end of things and you won't have to worry about any of this again. Alright?"
"I don't want there to be any bother." Beth sounded worried. "I don't want to get anyone in trouble; I just want it to ... stop."
Turning her to face him, Greg crouched down, his eyes serious and kind. "Now listen. There isn't going to be any bother," he said calmly. "And I promise you, this will stop, but for the minute, you have to go home and let your mum make a bit of a fuss over you, 'cos she's been worried too and looking after you will be her way of feeling better, okay? So you'll just have to let her make you tea and stuff and not complain about any of it."
Beth's smile was a little watery but it was there. "Mum likes to do that."
"I know she does, babe." Greg straightened up again. "Ready to go?"
Nodding, Beth held his hand a little tighter.
###
"I'd rather this not become an official police matter, Headmaster, but I'm entirely happy to make it so unless you guarantee here and now that immediate punitive action will be taken against the three students for their unacceptable actions."
"But children will bully at times," Jeffrey Arnold looked deeply troubled. "Unless we are able to catch them in the act, it's almost impossible to ..." he stopped as Greg held up his phone with the photo he'd taken of Beth. The incipient bruising and distressed expression on her face as well as the background of the metalwork room and the date stamp, all too clear.
"This is no longer bullying," Greg held his phone directly in front of the man's eyes. "This is assault and I'll have no compunction assisting the Foy's to lodge a formal complaint both with your school and the Department for Education which could very easily end up in court. We both know who the culprits are and, for their sakes as well as for Beth's and all the rest of the victims of their untenable behaviour, you need to take swift and visible action." Greg looked the man square in the eye. "Or I will," he added, his voice deliberate and icy.
Inhaling sharply at the image on the phone's screen, Arnold seemed momentarily lost for words. He nodded, once.
"This is not the first complaint to be raised, but it is the first that can be supported with evidence," he nodded again. "The girls must be stopped before they go too far and something irreparable happens." He nodded a third time. "I take it I am able to use your presence here today as well as the ... evidence?" he asked, waving at the screen.
"I'm more than happy to speak to the girl's parents if necessary." Greg slid the phone away. "I'll send you a copy of the photo," he added. "I do not want Beth Foy or her mother to be in any way singled out or stigmatised for being brave enough to seek help," he said. "If I hear of a single instance where anyone in the Foy household is targeted by anyone for whatever reason, I'll have the DFE in here faster than you can blink, and I will lay formal charges if I have to."
"Your point has been clearly made, Inspector." Jeffrey Arnold drew himself upright, his spine straight. "Bethany need fear no reprisals here, though if she would like to take a few days to compose herself …" the headmaster raised his eyebrows in question.
"I'm going to see the family now to make sure that Beth isn't suffering from a delayed reaction of any kind and if," Greg's expression became severe. "If that child needs medical assistance in any shape or form, I shall ensure the bills are sent to you personally. Just so you know."
Breathing heavily, the headmaster nodded. "Please ensure that whatever is necessary is done," he said. "As will I."
Greg watched as the headmaster set his shoulders and walked off along the corridor that apparently led to the senior administrative offices. He'd have several unpleasant phone calls to make and Greg didn't envy the man, even though such things went with the job. He glanced down at his watch. It was already well after four and he really wanted to call in at the Foy house before he returned to work. Quickly, he rang Donovan.
"What's up, Boss?" His sergeant's voice was unruffled. "Heard you had to dash off for something."
"Nothing major, but I want to check up on someone before I get back. Are things quiet on the Western front?"
"Yep," Sally Donovan sounded as if she were looking around the main investigations office. "Nothing critical happening here right now, though I've got a nice fat pile of case updates for you to review when you get back."
"Would they hold until tomorrow?" Greg had an idea. It wouldn't hurt to see if it worked out. If not, he could always head back to the office for an hour.
"Don't see why not," Donovan sounded perfectly accepting. "As long as you can get through them all before the joint team briefing at eleven."
"Are there many?" Greg didn't mind the paperwork so much as he hated stuff that wasted his time. He usually trusted Sally to weed the chaff from the wheat.
"Nothing you shouldn't be able to wade through," Sally laughed. "Go on. Bugger off and do whatever needs doing. I'll cover for you unless something really critical comes in."
"You're a doll, Sal." With a small grin of satisfaction, Greg strode back to his parked BMW and headed for the river.
###
Joanna had opened the front door of the house even before he'd got out of the car.
"How is she?" Greg raised his eyebrows.
"Calmer," Joanna shook her head. "I'm the one who seems to be doing the suffering now," she said. "I'll never forgive myself for not seeing any of this."
"Beth keeps things close to her chest," Greg smiled. "And you've done nothing wrong. Unfortunately, these things happen when kids get together. Just be glad we all found out while there was still time to stop it getting any worse."
"Still, I'm supposed to be the one who sees these things," Joanna's expression was stricken. "My own daughter."
"Parents are usually the last to find out about this kind of thing if that makes you feel any more comfortable." Greg patted her shoulder. "Anyway, I come bearing a brilliant idea," he said smugly.
"Which is?" Joanna wasn't sure she could handle any more surprises.
"Your lot had their dinner yet?" Greg checked his watch. "Nah, of course they won't, it's not yet five," he said. "Perfect timing, in fact."
"Perfect timing for what?" Joanna frowned. "More work on the website?"
"Nah. Better n' that, as long as you're okay with it," Greg's grin grew wider as Joanna looked momentarily mystified, then shrugged and nodded. Max and Jack were standing in the doorway in their socks. He pointed a finger at them.
"Oy, you two, Get your shoes on and tell your sister to stir her stumps and I'm waiting for everyone in the car."
"Are we going somewhere?" Jack looked wide-eyed.
"Are we going somewhere?" Joanna folded her arms.
"Go on, go and get your sister," Greg waved the boys back into the house. "Thought it might break the tension a bit if we all went out for a pizza or something," Greg waved as the curtain in the front bedroom twitched. "I'm assuming Beth's been a bit quiet since she came home?"
"Yes. She let me to make her some tea but then she said she was tired and wanted a lie-down. I was just about to go and have a chat with her when you arrived."
"Right. Go and tell her that I'm waiting for everyone in the car. Better get your coat on an' all," he laughed, pulling open the driver's side door. "Tell them it's pizza," he called after her.
###
"We've never been here before," Joanna looked around the converted warehouse that was Café Amisha on the corner of Grange Road. "Though I always wondered what it might be like." Joanna let the boys scamper on inside as she held Beth's hand.
"Capitano! Benvenuto!" A lanky dark-haired man swept around the bar to welcome them in. It was still on the early side for the usual dinner crowd and there were plenty of long empty tables scattered about the polished concrete floor. "It has been too long since you have been here with us!" The Italian was taller than Greg and wrapped the older man in a big bear hug that squashed the air from his lungs.
"Marco, I'd like you to meet Joanna, and this is Jack and Max and the young lady over there is Beth." Greg grunted once he'd started breathing again. "We've come to try some of your famous creative pizzas if it's not too early?"
"It is never too early for you, Capitano," the tall man looked between Greg and Joanna before turning a dark sombre gaze on the children. "But this matter of making pizza is a very serious," he said, arching an eyebrow and nodding gravely as he regarded the boys. "The very best pizza only comes from much thought. Come," he beckoned, walking across to a long shining steel counter.
"First you musta decide on how hungry you are feeling." Marco inspected all three children carefully. "I can see you are all empty and should all have this a size," he spun, pointing to a medium-sized metal plate with a good wide handle on one side, giving one to each child from the top of a stack. Sharing a look, Greg and Joanna selected their own plates.
"And now we must consider the type of base you want on your very own personalised pizza," Marco pointed to a range of options. "Chewy, crunchy, cheesy, with garlic …" he looked at the captivated faces of the boys and Beth's slightly sceptical expression. "For you two, I think chewy and cheesy, yes? And for the signorina, hmm …" Marco, evidently a great loss to Italian theatre, looked at Beth and tapped his chin as he thought. "Something with elegance and charm, yes? Do you enjoy the fragrance of sweet basil and oregano? Si? Then you must have the Fantastica," he waved a flamboyant flourish at a delicate, herb-strewn base.
"I think we can take it from here, Marco," Greg noticed Joanna's wide-eyed silence as she struggled not to laugh, and laughed himself. "But thank you for the tour. If anyone gets stuck we know where to get help."
"Simply call my name and I shall be here for you." Bowing, the tall Italian made his way back around the extensive counter to the bar.
"What do we do now?" Jack was staring across the counter, his eyes wide with longing at all the interesting and impressive amounts of food.
"What we do now is put the base we want and the size we want onto our plates," Greg demonstrated with a pair of plastic tongs, selecting a big fat cheesy base with garlic. "Then we walk down the counter, putting whatever else we want and however much we want, onto our pizza base. When we get to the end, we give our plate to the chef and he cooks it for us and brings it out to our table. Everyone okay with that?"
"I can't see anything." Max sounded sad. "How can I choose if I can't see?"
Glancing at Joanna for permission, Greg bent down and picked the child up, balancing him against his chest. "Here you go, Max," he said, taking the child's plate and his own and putting them both on a tray, sliding it along the counter as they went. "Right. Us two are taking care of ourselves. Does anyone else need Marco back for some more instruction?"
"I think Marco has done more than enough for the evening," Joanna grinned down at Beth who smiled back. "Are you all right by yourself, Number One Son?"
Already half way down the counter, number one son was fiercely debating the merits of pineapple versus slices of salted pear, deciding to have both as he turned to look at the several different platters of mushrooms and brightly coloured peppers. "I'm fine, Mum."
Max was clearly more of a purist; Greg realised as the child wanted only yellow things for his pizza and was doing his best to find a yellow mushroom. Both Joanna and Beth had opted for Marco's celebrated Fantastica and were pointing out different exotic toppings to each other. Greg smiled to himself. It was fairly obvious the Foys wouldn't be able to get out much and this seemed a helpful way of killing multiple birds with one dinner. While trying to keep Max from piling on every yellow cheese in sight, Greg kept a quiet eye on Beth who was sounding increasingly like her usual self. With a bit of luck, the normality of the situation would help ease any residual anxiety.
Eventually, everyone presented their personalised creation to the chef near the long oven, and watched as he slid each plate inside with a practiced flick of the wrist. Jack was all for watching his pizza cook as it travelled along the conveyer belt inside the glass-fronted oven, but after Greg refused to take any money in part-payment, Joanna was busy organising drinks for everyone at the table Beth had chosen.
Sliding in on a long padded bench seat beside the boys, Greg looked across the table at Joanna and her daughter. Both were smiling at some comment and Greg felt his insides relax. Sorting out the problem at Beth's school had been one thing but sorting out Beth's feelings might be another issue altogether.
Selecting drinks demanded another serious discussion with Beth telling her mother she simply had to try the Passionfruit Stinger while Jack naturally opted for a BlackJack of raspberry ice cream and blackcurrant juice. Greg fancied a beer but settled for mineral water. No sooner had the drinks arrived than a waiter with a long plank-like tray appeared out of nowhere with all their pizzas. Sliding them onto a china plate in front of each respective owner, the table wafted with scent of sizzling cheese and onion and basil. All three children set to eating their creation in whatever way suited their temperaments. Greg sat, relaxed and pleased. He looked across the table.
Joanna raised her eyes to his at the same moment and smiled and Greg wondered how he could ever have thought her mousey in the least particle. Her smile was warm and wide and she too was as relaxed as he'd ever seen her. Her new-found comfort made him feel even more pleased with himself. He raised his glass.
"To pizza."
###
"This is very serious, you know." Beth looked at the two adults with a slight frown. "You just can't jump into something like this without knowing exactly what you want to happen at the end."
"Well, you know what your mum wants," Greg shrugged, setting his hands on the dining table.
"Do you know?" Beth fixed her mother with a sharp, critical eye.
"Just the, er, usual things," Joanna tried and failed to look knowledgeable.
"So just some more videos of your pots going around in circles and a place for people to send you money and maybe some space for you to write things about the clay that you use and stuff?" Beth wasn't even blinking. Greg decided then and there never to play her at poker.
"I think ... ah, I think that would be fine. What do you think?"
As Joanna turned to face him, Greg raised his hands defensively, shaking his head adamantly as Beth turned her basilisk stare on him. "I'm the outsider here. I don't get a vote on your mum's new website."
"Of course you do, it was your idea," Joanna rolled her eyes. "Tell Beth what you think customers might like to see. I would value your opinion."
"Well, have you decided whether to sell those people that blue pot of yours? If you want to, we could use it as a test case and see what we need to make the arrangement happen. How does that sound?"
"Finally," Beth sighed. "Then this is what you need …"