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Faith walks ahead of me, confidently striding up to the school. She gets a few odd looks from schoolgirls in red plaid skirts and white blouses, but she simply smiles, nodding in acknowledgment of them. I catch up with her, falling into her step.
"I feel like I've stepped into a Britney Spears video," I say into her ear, glancing around at the teenage underage girls. She laughs, but it sounds forced and perhaps a little bitter.
"I would've thought that would be any mans dream," she replies, pulling up her sunglasses as we reach the front doors. I shrug.
"I see enough uniforms in my life," I tell her. She doesn't reply. It's hard to get back to how it was. She seems really tense about it all. Almost like she can't let it go. Or she won't let it go. Either way we just feel the same as before.
I'm probably trying too hard. She seems to be ignoring what I say quite a bit now. Not that she didn't before but at least she'd make the effort to look a tiny bit interested in my elaborate stories. Maybe she's finally sick of having a young hothead with the mentality of a seventeen year old chasing around after her. And if that's the case, then who the hell else is gonna put up with me?
We're standing in the office now. She leans on the front desk, both of her arms resting on the surface as she awaits the young receptionists attention. The girl at the desk looks no older than the students, her long, red hair tied back in a professional ponytail, the skin even and pale, with the odd freckle dotted on her cheeks. Her square, black-rimmed glasses complete her face, and she's one of those people that you can't picture without the item of eyewear.
"How can I help you?" she asks, a distinct Irish brogue filtering through in her voice.
"Hi," Faith replies, "I'm Detective Faith Yokas, and this is Officer Maurice Boscorelli. We're looking to speak with one of your students. He goes by the name of James Brent."
The young girl looks startled by her request, her eyes darting around the office.
"Can I ask what it's in connection with?" she chokes out, licking her lips nervously.
"We just need to speak with him, it's a private matter," Faith tells her. The girl looks more than flustered, shuffling papers on her desk and moving items around. Faith watches her with interest as she suddenly stops, pinching the bridge between her eyes and nose.
"I just need to speak with the principal," the receptionist informs her, standing.
"You do that," Faith says, giving her a wry smile. My eyes follow the redhead into the back office. She knocks on the door, entering slowly. The man in the office puts down his phone and listens as she tells him of our visit. He looks out at us and Faith nods as she catches his gaze. He looks back at the receptionist, pausing for a moment and finally stands up, making his way out.
He moves into the reception area, graciously holding his hand out to greet us. We both shake it, introducing ourselves while exchanging pleasantries. He too looks confused by our presence, a line of sweat appearing on his dark forehead.
"How can I help you?" he says, leading us to his office. He's a big man, around six foot or so, black in colour, with dark beady eyes and a baldhead. He is emblematic of the principal profession.
"We're looking to speak with one of your students, a Mr James Brent," Faith says, standing at the foot of his mahogany desk. The man sits in his leather armchair, leaning back to meet Faith's gaze.
"Is Mr Brent in some sort of trouble?" he asks her. She smiles, despairing slightly at his reluctance to help.
"We just need to talk with James, Mr Jacobs," she replies, "I would be very grateful if you could tell me where I could find him."
He glances towards me, his eyes scrutinising my appearance. I stare back, refusing to be intimidated by him. He reminds me of my own principal, and I don't like it. He had it in for me too.
"I'll call him to the office," he says, pushing the inter-com. He calls the boys name, repeating it for emphasising effect. Faith glances back at me and flashes me a quick smile, which I return. We stand there for several minutes before there is a knock on the office door. The redhead pokes her head around.
"Mr Jacobs, James is here," she informs him.
"Send him in."
A young male, standing about five foot six inches tall enters. His overgrown sandy blonde hair hides his blue eyes, while his pale skin makes him look rather sickly. His white shirt is baggy, although he is of good build, and he digs his hands into his pockets upon entry.
"Hello James," Mr Jacobs welcomes him, "These people are from the police department. They were looking to have a word with you."
Faith watches him as he shakes his hair back from his face, but still refuses to greet us in any one way. He's still assessing the situation. His eyes travel the length of Faith's body and back to her face, a smile ghosting his face.
Almost immediately I take a dislike to him. It's not that he looked at her more as it is the way he looked at her. Like she was prey. And I can tell she didn't appreciate it much either. Her brow furrows and her eyes narrow, her maternal side taking over for the second time today.
"Hello," the kid says, sticking out his hand for her and then me. We both shake it and I note his firm grip. It's almost like he wants me to know the kind of authority he has. "How can I help?"
"Hi…James," Faith says forcing a smile, "I'm Detective Yokas and this is Officer Boscorelli. We were wanting to speak with you about the death of Jacinta Williams."
The boy frowns, leaning back while crossing his arms. "I'm sorry, you must have the wrong person. I don't know any Jacinta Williams."
His tone is polite but his body language is defensive and rather rude. He stares at us both, almost as if he is bothered that we interrupted him.
"Everyone knows Jacinta," I say to him, "Don't you watch the news? She was murdered just a few streets away."
"I don't watch much television," he replies, only glancing towards me for the briefest of moments. I feel like a bit of dirt that he's scraped from the bottom of his shoe, and I don't like it. He seems to have more respect for Faith than for me. He keeps eye contact with her the entire time, the odd smile forming on his face.
"But surely you've heard of her murder," Faith tries, "I mean it must be all over the school."
"I don't listen to gossip either," he tells her, his voice remaining monotone.
"The murder of a young girl is not 'gossip'," I correct him. He smiles at me, a smile that, for some reason, sends a shiver down my spine.
"You took what I said the wrong way Officer. What I meant was I do not listen to the idle chitchat that goes on in the school corridors. I prefer to busy myself with study rather than fill my time listening to concocted and over grown tales."
Faith nods slowly, looking back at me. The principal looks between us nervously.
"So you didn't know Jacinta Williams then?" she asks him. He shakes his head.
"You said she was from a few streets down? Well I do not associate with anyone from that area."
Faith frowns, disgusted by his answer. "You see the thing is James…your name was in the check in book for a hotel not far from here. And guess who was seen with you that night?"
"I think that's enough Detective, unless you want to take James in for formal questioning," he interrupts, jumping to his feet. James stares at her and she simply smiles back at him.
"I might just do that," she replies, licking her lips, "But firstly, with your permission of course, I'd like to speak with some of James's classmates."
"You most certainly do not have my permission to do anything of the sort," Mr Jacobs snaps at her, obviously losing his cool. She shrugs glancing back at James.
"Well that's your prerogative Mr Jacobs…I could just go get a warrant summonsing all your students to the house so we can have more of a…formal…chat," she says. I don't like the way the kid is staring at her. He's sizing her up, his eyes constantly moving to places other than her face. She seems totally unperturbed now, adjusting to his little idiosyncrasies like she has known him a lifetime.
I was right.
She is good at this job.
The principal considers her for a moment, assessing just how serious she is. Eventually he sighs, submissive to her threat.
"You have one hour Detective," he tells her, "And don't be bothering my students. If they refuse to talk, they refuse to talk."
"Thank you Mr Jacobs," she breathes, "I'll be seeing you soon Mr Brent."
His eyes follow us as we leave the room and I suddenly feel protective over Faith, placing one hand on her back as we leave, all the while glaring back at the young male.
We move out through reception, the secretary eyeing us curiously.
"Stuck up little prick," Faith mutters to me as soon as we're out of earshot. I smile, her 'tuff detective routine' collapsing finally. There's the Faith I know and love.