Chapter 8

David Rossi watched as the three women left. Then he looked around the room, the "cultural studies" room. There were computers and some books, classic literature that Rossi recognized. What was a cultural studies room supposed to look like? There was nothing that pointed to the subject that was taught in here.

"Does anybody get the feeling that the Institute is hiding something?" he asked.

"Indira Inkpen certainly knows more than she is saying." Hotch nodded. "Did you ask her if the school has a website?"

"I got an address from Ms Whithers." Prentiss said. "I've sent it to Garcia now."

"Good." Hotch said. "Morgan, you call her and see what she can tell us."

Morgan took out his phone and walked about, holding it up at different angles.

"I'm not getting any reception." he said.

He walked over to a patch of carpet, a blue circle that was a completely different colour from the rest of the floor.

"That's weird." he said. "Now it's working."

"Magic blue circle of reception?" JJ said, raising an eyebrow and looking at the floor.

"Okay, I've got her." Morgan said. "Baby Girl, do your stuff. You're on speaker."

"First off," Garcia said, her voice springing from the phone, "I would just like to say that I can not believe I missed this."

"It's okay, Garcia." Hotch said. "Everyone misses something occasionally."

"I am not everyone!" Garcia said. "I searched every possible tag. This should have come up. Hello."

"What?" Prentiss asked.

"The links on the site don't go anywhere." Garcia replied. "You can't even click on them."

"Maybe it's a new website?" JJ suggested. "They're probably still having problems with it."

"Oh, it's new alright." Garcia said, sounding gleeful. "I just checked when it was created."

"When?" Hotch said.

"Try five minutes ago."

"Five minutes!" Rossi said in disbelief. "Tell me that's significant!"

"I would definitely say you've found a clue, Scooby Doo." Garcia said.

"Thanks for that Garcia." Hotch said. "I want anything you can find on Indira Inkpen."

"Will do, Sir. Penelope out."

And with that the phone went dead.

The BAU stood in silence, assessing their situation. Something was definitely up. Finally, Hotch gave the orders.

"I'm going to talk to Miss Inkpen about the website situation. Divide yourself among the staff when they come. Try and find out more about the school, as well as what happened on the night Amber died."

And on that instruction, Rossi found himself sitting in a side room, opposite a woman who had folded her arms in a way that clearly suggested she wasn't going to co-operate. She had long, black hair, pale skin and deep, dark brown eyes.

"My name is David Rossi. Special Agent Rossi." Rossi said. "And you are?"

"Septima Vector." the woman said in an English accent.

Rossi raised an eyebrow.

"My parents had a sense of humor." Septima said dryly.

"And what is your position here at the institute?" Rossi asked.

"I teach math." she replied.

Rossi raised his eyebrow again.

"I also have a sense of humor." she said, giving a small smile.

Rossi asked the routine questions: how well had she known Amber Kersley; who were her friends; did she notice anyone behaving out of the ordinary? All of Ms Vector's answers were vague: she hadn't known the girl well, as she had just come from England on an exchange program, from a school she couldn't name; Amber had a group she hung out with, but Ms Vector couldn't point them out. The last question Ms Vector answered with a laugh and the statement, "does anyone really ever behave in a normal way?" Rossi moved in his seat. He didn't get flustered, but this woman was pushing him.

"This is a murder inquiry, Ms Vector." he said, looking at her, a frown on his face. "Are you aware of that fact?"

"I'll do what ever I can to help you." the woman assured him.

"Can you start by telling me the name of the school you came from?"

"No. Can't tell you that."

Rossi tensed, something that didn't go unnoticed by Ms Vector.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." she smiled. "Let's just leave it at that."

"Alright then." Rossi replied, clearly not alright with this summary. "As you can't seem to remember your past scholastic endeavours, I'll ask you about the present. The Institute. Ms Indira Inkpen. What do you think of her?"

"Professionally," Ms Vector said, her voice cool, "I'd say she's very capable. Extremely capable. A dedicated teacher with a good brain. Personally, though I've only known her a little while, I think she's very amiable."

"Okay." Rossi said. "You haven't noticed anything odd about her?"

"Odd?"

Now it was Septima's turn to be uncomfortable, something Rossi seized upon.

"Yes," he said, "odd. The Institute as well. You haven't found their methods strange?"

"Strange? No, no. Nothing strange about the institute. Nothing strange or odd. And nothing odd about Indira. She's great. A great teacher. Just a normal teacher. In a normal school. She's perfect. The Institute is perfect. It's all just-"

She paused for breath.

"Perfect?" Rossi suggested.

"Yes." she said coldly, regaining her composure.

"Interesting." Rossi said with a smirk.

A sound penetrated the silence that had began to grow in the split second they had stopped talking. The sound of voices raised. Though muffled, the thin walls couldn't contain what was being said:

"We haven't had a proper briefing! What if someone lets something slip?"

"Have a little more faith in your staff, Minerva."

"Have you met my staff, Indira?"

"She means me. She's talking about me, aren't you Minerva?"

"Rolanda, we all know you're notoriously bad at keeping secrets."

"I'll just act. I'm a superbly good actor."

"Which is why they cancelled the drama club in your second year of teaching?"

"How is it he knows that? I can't believe you told him that!"

"As it happens, I heard the rumours from your students, not my dear sister."

"Minerva! Your brother's being mean."

"Honestly children, play nicely."

"Robert! Your sister's mocking me."

"Maybe we should just tell them."

"With all due respect, Indira, are you insane?"

"Minerva, do you think they'd let me see the body?"

"I shouldn't think so. You're the school nurse, Poppy."

"NURSE! I bloody well-"

"- Poppy, it's all part of the cover. We can't let them know."

"Oh, so I shouldn't do this during the interview?"

"NO, Rolanda, you should definitely not do that during the interview."

"How about this?"

"Did I really hire you?"

The voices got louder and more muffled, but Rossi had heard enough. Before Ms Vector could even react, he had jumped to his feet and ran out into the corridor. He reached the door to the room and listened, just to check he had the right place.

"Robert, I'm not a mind reader, how should I know what they'll ask? Poppy, I can not sneak you in to see the body. Indira, what have we told the students? ROLANDA, WILL YOU PUT THAT VASE DOWN!"

Rossi pushed the door open and stopped in the door way, looking at the scene before him, his mouth open. Indira Inkpen sat on the edge of a table, her palm on her forehead. Minerva McGonagall sank into a chair, shaking her head. A tall man with greying-brown hair leant against wall. He must have been Robert, Minerva's brother; they had the same intense stare. A woman stood by the window, soft, white hair piled in a knot on her head. Her grey eyes watched Rossi, frozen like a deer in the headlights. Her matrons outfit suggested she was Poppy. But Rossi was looking at the woman who stood in the middle of the room. Rolanda had spiky grey hair and yellow eyes. A long, wooden stick was in her hand. Suspended above her head was a vase with red tulips. It hovered, spinning slowly, nothing but the air around it.

Rolanda let the stick fall to her side and, as it lowered, the vase came crashing to the ground, water and porcelain decorating the floor.

"Well...uh...haha, that, uh, vase on the ceiling was pretty weird, huh?" Rolanda said.

There was a collective groan and Indira Inkpen stepped forward.

"Mr Rossi, would you get your supervisor?"

She sighed.

"I think there's something we have to tell you about."