High school 

It was Monday the eighth of September 1969, and Hadidjatou Dieng was about to begin her last year at Silbury Grammar School. She was entering the upper sixth form during which she would have to finalise her applications to universities, through the Universities Central Council on Admissions, or UCCA as it was habitually known. She would no doubt be making a number of overnight trips away from home to go through interviews. Later that same school year she would sit her A level exams, results from which would determine whether she qualified for university and, if so, to which one she would go. It was a time of great excitement for the Dieng household, one of great trepidation for her father, Adama Dieng, who did not want to lose his little girl. 

The family sat at breakfast that morning, and their conversation naturally drifted towards school-based topics. 

“Well, Hadi, here we go again, but this time it’s for real,” said her mother. “You’re doing English, French and Russian. Which one do you think you end up studying at university?” 

Hadi’s mother was Inspector Fatima Dieng, chief police officer of the small West Country town of Silbury. She was very proud of her daughter and ambitious for her to do big things in her life. 

"I'm still trying to work that out, Mum," Hadi answered. "One degree course I'm interested in is European Studies. It's at Fenland University, and it's a mixture of language, literature, history, economy, law and so on. You get to choose two European languages and then go in depth into those cultures." 

"But what sort of job would that lead to?" Her father was concerned over what he saw as practicalities. 

"To tell you the truth, Dad, I don't exactly know. But I do believe the future of our country lies in Europe. The government is very keen on getting membership of the European Economic Community, isn't it? I think we shall become members soon, and then there would be all sorts of opportunities for someone like me, if I can build up my expertise on all things European. There'll be new jobs in government, in companies keen on doing business in Europe, in universities conducting research into different aspects of Britain's engagement in Europe, even, though this would not be my choice of career, in liaison among European police forces. As I see it, the possibilities are endless, unless, of course, our more jingoistic politicians scupper the whole exercise." 

"But, if that's what you want to do, why study Russian?  The EEC and the Soviet Union are enemies, aren't they?" Her father was still concerned. 

"Yes, Dad," Hadi went on, "but the EEC and Soviet Union are neighbours, at least the Satellites have borders with EEC countries.  Coexistence is one of the fundamental principles of the EEC, and that must extend to its relations to the east." 

Fatima decided to move the conversation along. 

"Who are your teachers this year, dear?" 

"It will be the same as last year, Mum. The A level courses in English are mostly taught by Mstr Muliaini, and in French and Russian by Mstr Regenvalu. We do also have some other teachers that work with us on specific books we have to cover for the exams." 

"They're both unmarried then?" Adama Dieng asked. "How old are they?" 

"Oh, they're really old, Dad," Hadi answered, "probably your age or perhaps a year or so more. But they're fantastic teachers. They seem to know everything, and they make learning such fun." 

"Confirmed bachelors then." 

"Yes, Dad, it certainly looks that way," said Hadi smiling broadly, "and they live together in a house on Sarum Road, just down the hill from the school." 

Fatima noticed the smile. She was also well aware of the rumours circulating around the town, in the way that they tend to do in a small place like Silbury, about the relationship between Mstr Muliaini and Mstr Regenvalu. She had no patience for such gossip, which was not to say that she was totally impatient with everyone that indulged in it. It takes all sorts to make a world. Some people find love with others of the same sex as themselves. And some people have such dull lives that they are driven to talk about those of others. Where she drew the line was when idle gossip turned to judgement or worse. She was grateful that the passage of the Sexual Offences Act two years previously had removed homosexual practices from the criminal code. It had always seemed to her wrong that any act of love between two consenting adults in the privacy of their own home should be a matter for anyone but themselves. 

Every year at Silbury Grammar School there would be a careers day organised during the first week back at school. The Headmistress felt that this helped to sharpen the minds of her pupils as they began a new school year, that it swept away cobwebs sewn during the summer holidays. The objects of the career day were especially the children in the fifth and upper sixth forms. The latter would definitely be leaving the school at the end of the year, many to go to colleges and universities but some also directly into employment, should they be successful and lucky in their job applications. Similarly, a number of the fifth formers would not continue on to A levels but would leave with whatever O levels they had passed and enter the world of work, sometimes preceded by, or associated with, a period of vocational training. 

The school would invite local professionals to come and address interested groups of pupils and to be available at a fair to answer individual questions. Fatima used to attend to talk about career prospects in the police force. Her friend, Kamala Peiris, when she was still the manager of the Western Provincial Bank’s Silbury branch, would also be there to talk about banking. Earlier that year Kamala had transferred to another branch of the bank in Sowdon, though she still lived in Silbury. Fatima knew, therefore, that Kamala would not be at the Grammar School careers day, and she decided this year to delegate that responsibility for the police to Sergeant Joyce Banda. It would be an interesting new opportunity for her, one that Banda would certainly relish. It provided her with much sought after profile and the opportunity to please. Fatima still went along out of curiosity, partly to see how Banda performed, partly to get to know some new faces among those who would be participating, partly to have the opportunity to talk informally with some of Hadi’s teachers. She did not wear her uniform and kept a reasonably low profile, so as not to steal Sergeant Banda’s thunder or to put her off her performance. 

She noticed at the fair that Banda had a fair little crowd around her table. School children took quite an interest in the police. Fatima positioned herself on the other side of a screen just behind where Banda was seated and listened for a while. 

“On the whole,” she heard Banda telling the pupils, “police work is routine. In a place like Silbury there isn’t that much big crime. Our days are spent in advising business owners, as well as members of the public more widely, on how they can avoid crime. Then we have to deal with small offences, such as parking on double yellow lines, shoplifting, and so on.” 

“But you do get some excitement as well, don’t you?” one pupil was asking. “I heard that a few months ago, before the summer holidays, Inspector Dieng chased a criminal all the way along Mabel Lane, and the next day that criminal was shot dead out in Stonely. My friend said she saw Constable Nguyen carrying a gun that day, though apparently she didn’t use it.” 

“Yes, that’s right,” Banda was answering, sounding slightly annoyed, “but you know that in Britain the police are not armed and are only allowed to carry guns in particular circumstances when authorised by the chief police officer. I have had to carry a gun myself on a couple of occasions, and I practise at a police shooting range twice every year. I also do a lot of physical training, so that I am in a position to chase criminals when that may be needed. The Inspector is always complimenting me for being in top physical condition.” 

Fatima almost burst out laughing at Banda’s imaginative way of presenting her own contributions to police work in Silbury, but she was happy to allow her this moment in the spotlight, and she certainly seemed to be entertaining her audience. 

“Hello, Inspector Dieng,” Fatima heard a voice behind her. She turned around. 

“Mstr Muliaini, I was hoping I might see you here. I wanted to get some advice on Hadi’s future. What do you think she should be looking for as she decides on her university applications?” 

“Have you asked her?” was Mstr Muliaini’s initial response. 

“Yes, my husband and I were talking it over with her on the morning that school began. We had the impression that she hasn’t yet made up her mind, and we’d like to be helpful to her in doing just that, without, of course, being pushy in any way.” 

“Well,” said Mstr Muliaini, “as they both found a chairs to sit down facing one another in a corner of the assembly hall, where the fair was being organised, “Hadi is excelling in her studies towards her English A level, and Mstr Regenvalu tells me he has exactly the same experience in French and Russian. I think we’d both like Hadi to choose our own subject for her undergraduate studies, but it does have to be she who decides. I did hear that she had been discussing European Studies both with Mstr Regenvalu and the head of herstory, Mrs Riaz. That would be an interesting choice given the government’s repeated attempts to join the EEC, which now look like they may bear more fruit. 

“Another thing to consider is that the Grammar School has a scholarship to Bronsnock College in Camford. Camford doesn’t have a European Studies programme, but she would be able to choose among English, French and Russian as a major, or she could opt to do a PPE degree.” 

“PPE?” asked Fatima. “I’m sorry but I’m not familiar with those letters.” 

“It is I who should apologise,” said Mstr Muliaini. “PPE stands for Philosophy, Politics and Economics. It would provide similar grounding to the degree in European Studies offered at Fenland, without the language components but with more depth on politics and economics. And it’s Camford, which shouldn’t necessarily be, but is a distinct advantage in job applications, especially in the civil service, which tends to be rather elitist.” 

“Wouldn’t it matter that Hadi will not have done an A level in Economics?” Fatima asked. 

“I don’t think so,” Mstr Muliaini answered. “Camford tends to select individuals it finds have a general academic bent and is less concerned about what particular subjects they have studied at school. Of course, if one wants to do pure sciences, then A level maths would be essential, but otherwise…” 

“Well thank you, Mstr Muliaini. That was most helpful. At least I’ll have something to say when we next discuss this with Hadi.” 

Fatima turned to leave but felt a hand on her arm. Mstr Muliaini had not yet finished. 

“Forgive me, Inspector Dieng,” he said, lowering his voice somewhat, “but there was something I had wanted to ask you, in fact, ask you as a police officer. I don’t think this is the right place to talk about it, and we’d also rather not be seen going into the police station. Mstr Regenvalu and I were wondering if we could invite you to tea at our house. That might be the best place to ask for your advice.” 

“Why yes, of course,” Fatima responded. “If the matter is urgent, I could even come today. Are you both free immediately after school, or do you have duties that might detain you here until later?” 

“We could both be at home by half past four, if that suits you.” 

“We’ll meet then. I know your house, and I’ll come dressed as I am now, not in uniform, so it will appear as a social visit. Will that suit you?” 

“That will be perfect.” Mstr Muliaini was visibly relieved. 

Fatima was very curious to know just what it was that the Mstrs Muliaini and Regenvalu wanted to ask her. She was equally curious to know why at least three other individuals in the room were so interested in the conversation she had just had. The school’s Deputy Headmistress and Senior Master had stared intently at Mstr Muliaini and Fatima all the time they had been speaking, as had the present manager of the Silbury branch of the Western Provincial Bank, sat at the table that heretofore would have been occupied by Kamala Peiris. Just what was that all about? 

Fatima arrived at 24 Sarum Road, the residence of the Mstrs Mulaini and Regenvalu, at just before half past four that afternoon. Mstr Regenvalu took her coat and ushered her into their modest sitting room, where a tea service and plates of sandwiches and biscuits were laid out. 

“How do you like your tea, Inspector?” Mstr Regenvalu asked. 

“Hot, strong and sweet,” said Fatima. 

“Mstr Muliaini was telling me about your conversation at the careers fair today,” he continued, placing the cup of tea in front of her and offering a sandwich. “I do agree with him that your daughter, Hadi, has the potential to go to Camford, if that is what she wants. We’re both big fans of hers. It’s not just the academics. It’s the whole person, if I can put it that way. She is the very model of kindness and tolerance.” 

“I suspect she gets that from her father,” said Fatima with a smile. “But I think you wanted to raise something else with me, isn’t that so?” 

“Yes, that’s right,” said Mstr Muliaini. “It’s a bit delicate, and it might take us a little while to get to the point. I hope you won’t mind that, Inspector.” 

“Take all the time that you need,” Fatima assured them. 

“Right,” Mstr Muliaini continued. “Well then. Um. This is very personal. Sela, that is Mstr Regenvalu, and I have been living together pretty much since we came to Silbury. We arrived, separately, that is from different places, seven years ago, when we were appointed to our present positions at the Grammar School. We had each previously worked in similar jobs, but not as head of subject, in grammar schools elsewhere. We had both been in larger cities, and we were both seeking positions in a small town to be closer to the countryside. We were both born and grew up in rural villages, actually only a few miles apart, though we didn’t physically meet until we came here. 

“Well, as you are hearing, we had an awful lot in common, and we quickly became friends. We lived separately in rented lodgings, but we got into the habit of spending our weekends together and then also taking holidays together. Neither of us has any living close relatives, at least not those that welcome our company. About a year after we had arrived, this house came up for sale. Sela asked me if I’d be interested in our buying it together. He had some money put by in a deposit account in the bank, and, surprise surprise, so did I. We were actually able to buy the property outright, which is just as well, because I doubt that a building society would give us a mortgage. We’ll explain that some more in a minute.” 

Mstr Muliaini didn’t seem able to go on for the moment, so Mstr Regenvalu took up the story. 

“Isaia and I moved in here just before the start of the 1961-2 school year. We already knew that we had a lot in common. We were firm friends. Neither of us was particularly interested in the close company of others. Neither of us, you understand, had a girlfriend, or ever had had one. We both enjoy the company of women, just not in that sense. In that first year of living under the same roof, we discovered that our relationship surpassed friendship. Do you understand what I’m saying, Inspector?” 

“Yes, I do,” said Fatima, “but I’m not sure why that is important. Who you love is entirely a matter for you.” 

“How very nicely put,” said Mstr Muliaini. “I think I heard your daughter say almost exactly that in a school debate last year. 

“The point - and excuse me if I’m being indelicate - is not your approbation, but what is being done to us by others because of our homosexuality. There I’ve said it. 

“We have received threats both verbal and written. Please take a look at this.” 

He passed Fatima a single foolscap page on which the following words were formed from words and letters cut out of a newspaper and glued to the sheet of paper. 

We know about you. We know what you get up to together. 

Who would want to leave their children in your disgusting “care”? 

Leave Silbury or you will live to regret it. If you live. 

Don’t ignore this and don’t talk to the filth. 

Fatima read the words with growing concern and anger. 

“When did you receive this?” she asked. 

“We found it pushed through our letter box last spring at the end of the term,” Mstr Regenvalu answered. 

“And it’s taken you all that time to decide to speak to the filth, which, I’m sure you know, is a euphemism for the police? What brought you to raise it with me now? Were you afraid then but not now?” 

“No, Inspector, it’s not like that,” said Mstr Muliani. “For one thing, we had already booked a holiday, a series of train journeys across the Alps. We thought that being away from Silbury might help. Out of sight, out of mind, on every side, as it were. The holiday lasted two weeks, and we got back with one more week to go before the start of the new term. 

“Then someone came to the house. It wasn’t anyone we’d ever met before. We’re convinced that she wasn’t even from around here. She didn’t have the accent, but neither, of course, have we, or you for that matter. But then us newcomers tend to have proper jobs, and we all know one another, even if it’s only a nodding acquaintance. There aren’t that many people living here, are there? 

“Sorry. This is difficult. She forced her way into the house and got hold of Sela’s arm, which she twisted behind his back until it looked like it was going to break. Sela was screaming with pain, and I was shouting at this woman completely incoherently. She told me to shut up, or she’d do the same to me. Then she let go of Sela and took a step towards me. I shrank back, and she laughed. She said that people like us are so weak, but we can’t be worse than bloody foreigners. We had been warned, so why were we still here? Sela had fallen to the floor and was sobbing uncontrollably. I was doing what I could to comfort him. We didn’t say anything to the intruder. 

“Then she said that this was the final warning. They - she said we - would give us until the end of the school year to clear out. After that they would come for us, and it wouldn’t be pleasant, like the visit we were just having. 

“We were so scared. We didn’t know what to do. And when you don’t know what to do, there is a tendency, isn’t there, to do nothing? We ended up making no plans to leave, which was what initially we both thought we should do. Over time we also began to discuss how this might be just the start of a life of similar reactions in other places. If we moved, we would never be able to recreate the wonderful life that hitherto we had had here in Silbury. We decided to wait things out. We bought a gun. That was silly wasn’t it?” 

“Yes, it was,” said Fatima. “Guns are dangerous. People end up dead for all the wrong reasons, when there are guns around. What happened next?” 

“Nothing,” said Mstr Regenvalu. “The end of the school year came and went, as did the beginning of this school year. We’ve had no more written threats, and that woman has not come back to our house. But we have started getting strange telephone calls. It happens at least twice a day, some days as much as four times, never at the same time, as far as we can tell. The telephone rings, one of us will pick it up, and whoever the caller is just hangs up without even waiting for us to say hello. 

“Somehow this has scared us more than the note, more even than that awful woman who came to make physical threats against us. Actually, it’s probably the accumulation of all three that caused us to decide to speak to you. What do you suggest that we should do?” 

Fatima thought for a few seconds and then asked: “Have you told me everything? You haven’t left anything out.” 

They both nodded, to the first question, and then shook their heads, to the rhetorical second. 

“Well, it’s difficult for me to be definitive,” Fatima went on, “and you have to make your own choices. It sounds to me though that whoever has been menacing you may have suffered a setback in their plans. I think I may know why, but I don’t want to chance my hand just at the moment. I suspect that, for now, you are safe to stay where you are, though you should take some rudimentary precautions, just in case. Don’t go out alone at night. See who is at your door before you open it, and don’t open it to strangers. 

“And please lock that gun away, so that no one has an accident with it. You will be much better served having something that just makes a lot of noise, like a whistle or a klaxon. 

“I’m going to make a few discreet inquiries, and then I’d like to talk with you again, perhaps in a few days’ time. 

“And thank you both for your kind words and advice regarding my daughter. I do very much appreciate all that you have been doing for her.” 

It had been Fatima’s intention to go directly home after her meeting with the Mstrs Muliaini and Regenvalu, but instead she decided not to turn from Sarum Road into Mabel Lane but to continue to London Road, and from there to Kabeya Square and School Lane. She was headed to the Red Cow Inn to have a word with her friend, the proprietor, Anna Kaboré. Anna was also a Borough Councillor. On entering the lounge bar, she found that another friend, Kamala Peiris, was already seated nestling a whisky and soda. 

“Inspector, what a pleasure!” Anna called from behind the bar. “Are you sure I can’t offer you something appropriate for that kind of day?” She indicated Kamala, who was not looking in the best of spirits. 

“If only that were possible, Councillor,” Fatima played along in their habitual jocular greeting at the first contact of any given day, “but alas my culture dictates that I may only imbibe my regular blackcurrant and lemonade, except, of course, when tea is on offer.” 

“Drinks in the bar, tea in the kitchen,” Anna exclaimed, scowling as she passed a glass of pinkish sparkling liquid to Fatima. “Here. Knock yourself out.” 

Fatima sat down next to Kamala. Anna came and joined them, having been relieved at the bar by her husband, Paramanga. 

“Why the long face?” Fatima asked Kamala. 

“I’m in hot water with our regional office. My successor here, bless her heart, has made a formal complaint against me. When I left the Silbury branch for the one in Sowdon, there were three prominent customers, who insisted on moving their accounts also to the Sowdon branch. They said it was a matter of trust, and they trusted me to work in their interests. Someone new would upset them, and so on. 

“To be fair, all three of these customers have businesses that are actually situated in villages that lie between Silbury and Sowdon. Those accounts could easily always have been in Sowdon, rather than Silbury. For the account holders there is no geographical advantage of one place over the other. I did tell them that it could foster some jealousy on the part of my successor. She might think that I had persuaded them to follow me just to pad my own career. But they insisted. 

“Now Mrs Joshi has made just that complaint, and the Regional Director herself has written to me asking that I explain myself.” 

“Get the customers to write themselves to your Regional Director,” put in Anna, “or at least have them give you a note to indicate that the movement of the accounts was entirely their own choice and that you had actually advised against it.” 

“Yes,” said Kamala, “I suppose that is my only choice. But I don’t like to impose on my customers in this way. I also worry that they might later come back to me asking for some favour in return.” 

“Perhaps there’s a middle way,” Fatima suggested. “You could ask to speak to your Regional Director and explain the circumstances to her, either in person or over the telephone. You can provide her with the telephone numbers of the concerned customers, suggesting that she feel free to verify your version of events, should she so wish. And you could ask her if this might suffice, or whether she would prefer to have a written response to her memorandum, which, in any case, would be a simple restatement of what you had already said. 

“In this way, you don’t have to ask anything from your customers. Your Regional Director might, but that could not be construed as your asking them for any favour. My guess is that no one will ask them for anything. After all, why would you say that they can corroborate your story, if they can’t? QED!” 

“Yes, I think that would work, Fatima,” said Kamala, “just as long as I can pluck up the courage to speak directly to the RD. I think I could do that. Thank you. Now I feel so much better.” 

She downed her drink and then said: “That one was commiserations. Now I want another for celebration.” 

She went to the bar for her refill, and Fatima took the opportunity to get around to the issue she had come there to raise. 

“I had wanted to ask you, Anna, if you might have heard about anyone operating any intimidation or blackmail schemes. I’ve just come across just such an allegation, and it sounds a deal more sophisticated than one might expect from anyone here.” 

“I’ve not heard about blackmail, or anything of that sort,” Anna responded, “but I did have some news for you from our friend, Vitiana Radaveta, in Brigstow. She got a tip off that a gang that operates in various places across England is planning to begin pushing drugs in what they see as a potentially lucrative new market: young people in rural towns. And Vitiana told me that includes Silbury, where, with three secondary schools, if you include Silbury College, they think there could be quite a few potential clients.” 

“That,” said Fatima, “is not good news. I should consult with the County Constabulary to see what they might have heard and to have their advice. Anyway, thanks for the tip off. I don’t suppose it’s connected in any way with the other scheme I mentioned. 

“Just one more unrelated question, and then I must be off. Kamala, I wonder if you know Mstr Muliaini, the head of English at the Grammar School. I was talking with him earlier today at the careers fair they do there. You remember the one that we both used to present at. Well, whilst we were having our conversation, your successor, who was sat at a nearby table, was just looking daggers at him or me, or perhaps both of us. You don’t know that is about, do you?” 

“I honestly couldn’t say,” Kamala responded. “Like I’ve said before, I don’t know Mrs Joshi at all. She’s essentially avoided almost all personal contact. Indeed, this incident with the Regional Director is a case in point. It’s a matter we could have sorted out between us, if she had just had the decency to pick up the telephone and speak to me directly. But that clearly isn’t her style. 

“I don’t know what she could have against Mstr Muliaini. He’s kind, he’s witty, and my daughter tells me he’s a wonderful teacher, not something children often say about their experiences in school these days. You haven’t crossed her at all, have you, Fatima?” 

“No, I haven't. As I said, it was very strange. And even stranger, it wasn’t just her that was staring at us. The new Deputy Headmistress and Senior Master were doing the same thing.” 

Anna said nothing but appeared deep in thought. 

“Alert! Alert! Alert!” Fatima could hear someone screaming as they ran down the corridor outside her office. This was two days after the school careers fair. Sergeant Banda knocked and put her head around the door. 

“Ma’am there’s an alert,” she said. 

“So I hear, Sergeant. What is it about?” Fatima asked. 

“We just received a telephone call from the Deputy Headmistress of the Grammar School. They’ve found a suspicious package in the staff room and need our assistance.” 

“Right.” Fatima shot out of her chair. “You and Constable Nguyen should get up there immediately. I’m going to ring back right away to advise that they follow their evacuation procedure, exactly as they would if there were a fire. You two should supervise that and then assure that all of the children are relocated to the far end of their playing fields, whilst we work out a plan to get them sent home in an orderly manner. 

“I’m also going to get the army to send over a bomb squad just in case. I do hope this is not a sign of any escalation of the Troubles in Northern Ireland now that the army is deployed there. 

“Don’t stand around listening to me, Sergeant. Move, and on the double, if you please!” 

Fatima got up to the school herself about twenty minutes later to see that the evacuation had been carried out with military precision. All of the children were now at the far end of the playing fields, and the teachers had cleverly arranged activities to keep them occupied and stop them from wandering off. Fatima sought out the Headmistress but was told that she had been absent for some days with a mystery illness. She was presently being treated at Forest Hospital. The Deputy Headmistress came forward, accompanied by the Senior Master. 

“I’m Mrs Mehta, and this is Mstr Mehta. Every time we introduce ourselves, we always have to say the same thing, which is that we’re not related.” 

“Yes,” said Fatima, “I’m aware that it is quite a common name. I’m Inspector Dieng. We spoke earlier on the telephone. 

“I’m very pleased to see that the evacuation has proceeded well. An army bomb squad should be here shortly, and then we can assess whether the children might be allowed back into the building, or whether we should make arrangements for their orderly departure to their homes.” 

Just then she heard the sound of a siren. 

“That will be the army now. I must go and meet them. Who would be best placed among your staff to brief them on the position of this suspicious package, potentially to accompany them at least part of the way from the front door to its location?” 

“I should do that,” said Mrs Mehta, “and Mstr Mehta will remain in charge here, and liaise with your Sergeant Banda.” 

The bomb squad completed its work remarkably swiftly. Within less than half an hour, Sergeant Major Afridi, leading the squad, presented Fatima with a folio size parcel covered in white paper on the back of which Fatima thought she could discern some printed words or figures. It was undamaged and unopened. 

“There’s your suspicious package, Inspector,” she said. “It’s not a bomb. Indeed, there is no metal content whatsoever. I’d advise though that have your forensic bods take a first look inside, just in case, what? 

“There’s nothing else in the school building that might be any cause for concern, so, Mrs Mehta, you may invite the little kiddies back inside. 

“I’ll just say good day and thank you for the outing.” 

She came to attention and saluted smartly. Fatima could not help herself and returned the salute, which drew a wry smile from the Sergeant Major. She did not wait to talk further though but turned on her heel and marched briskly to her waiting landrover. 

“I’ll have police forensics examine this parcel,” Fatima said to Mrs Mehta. “So many people have now handled it, including me, that I doubt there will be any fingerprints of consequence. We may, however, find other clues, and then there is also the question of what might be its contents. 

“Once we have our results, no doubt we shall need...” 

She stopped talking as she heard the shout of a familiar voice. 

“Mum! Mum!” She could see Hadi waving to her. 

“Sorry for the interruption. That’s my daughter,” Fatima said. 

“I know,” Mrs Mehta responded looking annoyed. 

Fatima wasn’t sure whether Mrs Mehta’s annoyance was with her or Hadi, but she let it pass and decided to finish what she had been saying earlier. 

“Yes, as I said, once we have our results, no doubt we shall need to speak again. Meanwhile, if you should see her, do give my regards to the Headmistress.” 

Fatima knew that it would take some days before she had anything back from forensics. In the meantime, she decided to assuage her curiosity and find out what was happening to the Headmistress of Silbury Grammar School. She concluded on a two-pronged approach. She had Constable Nguyen drive her up to Forest Hospital, explaining to her on the way what she wanted to do. 

“Mrs Wek has apparently been absent from school since the start of the new school year. She has an illness that no one has yet been able to diagnose. Now I’m not saying that this is a police matter, Constable, but you know me. It is a mystery, and I both love and hate mysteries. Add to that we are investigating a mysterious parcel found in her school. I would probably be wrong in thinking that there is a connection between our investigation and her absence, but I would like to prove that for myself. Do you understand?” 

Constable Nguyen chortled, which meant, Fatima knew, that she had understood. 

“And what do be my part, Ma’am?” she asked. 

“Yes, you do know me, don’t you?” Fatima replied. “I shall pay a well-wisher's visit on Mrs Wek. If she’s conscious and coherent, I’ll see what she may want to tell me herself. You, Constable, are to ingratiate yourself with the nursing staff, a task at which I know you will excel. Please see what they may be able to tell us, particularly in a less guarded moment. You still understand?” 

Again, Nguyen chortled. She didn’t need to say more. 

Constable Nguyen dropped Fatima off at the main entrance to the hospital before finding a space to park the car. Fatima identified herself to the young man at the front desk, who directed her to the ward where Mrs Wek was being treated. She found her fast asleep and pulled up a chair to sit and wait, reading the book she had brought with her just for that purpose. In order not to cause a stir, she was not wearing her police uniform. To the untrained eye, she would appear as just another relative visiting a patient, albeit these were not normal visiting hours. As she sat there, she noticed that Constable Nguyen, in uniform, had gone into the nurses’ station at one end of the ward. 

About twenty minutes into her vigil, Mrs Wek opened one eye and then the other. She otherwise did not move but was attempting to say something, very faintly. Fatima bent closer. 

“Are you from the school?” she seemed to be asking. 

“No,” Fatima whispered back, “I’m a parent.” 

“Good,” said Mrs Wek seeming to gain some strength. “Listen. I need your help. I need to get back to the school. Something there is wrong.” 

Then she heard another voice, one that was a good deal louder. 

“Who are you, and what are doing here? Don’t you know that these are not visiting hours? You are disturbing my patient just when I’m here to give her her medication. Please leave immediately.” 

A man in a nurse’s uniform stood in front of Fatima. She was holding a kidney basin in which Fatima could see a syringe. But she had not come from the nurses’ station, which gave Fatima grounds for some suspicion. She decided for the moment not to reveal her true identity. 

“I’m a relative of Mrs Wek’s,” she said. “I do understand that these are not the normal visiting hours, but I’ve had to travel some distance to get here from my home in North Wales. We only just heard that she was sick, so I came straight away. The man at the front desk thought it would not matter to bend the rules a little, given the circumstances.” 

“I’ll see about that.” The nurse continued her officious tone. “Whether you are permitted to stay or not, you’ll have to clear out now, while I give her an injection.” 

“Of course, I don’t want to prevent my dear cousin from getting the treatment she needs,” said Fatima, maintaining the deception. “If I might ask, what is in the syringe? You see, back home I have a chemist shop, so I’m quite familiar with medicines.” 

“That’s as it may be, but it’s still none of your business.” There was now anger in the nurse’s voice. “Now just get out before I call the police!” 

“No need for that. We’re already here. Constable!” 

Fatima caught hold of the kidney basin, just as Nguyen arrived and pinned the man’s arms behind him, releasing his grip, so that now Fatima had the basin and syringe in her hands. 

“Now we’ll end the pretence,” Fatima was saying. “I am Inspector Dieng, and this is Constable Nguyen. Who might you be, and what were you about to administer to Mrs Wek?” 

“Why, Inspector.” The voice was now obsequious. “This syringe contains the treatment prescribed by Mrs Wek’s doctor. It’s my job to administer it, and that’s all. I’m so sorry for any confusion, but I didn’t know who you were. I’m sure we can clear up any misunderstandings, if your Constable would just release my arms.” 

“He be lying,” Nguyen declared. “He did not tell you his name when asked. And look on the front of his uniform. There be no name badge there, like what nurses is required to have. The other nurses have had their suspicions, but they was scared of this one. He have roughed up one or two of them.” 

“Filth!” shouted the nurse, struggling to get free of Nguyen’s grip. 

“I think we had better get some handcuffs on this one, Constable,” placing the nurse into a choke hold. “Keep still, while we do this, Mstr, or you might find yourself losing consciousness, at least momentarily.” 

As Constable Nguyen led her prisoner away, Mrs Wek demanded Fatima’s attention. 

“Did you say you were Inspector Dieng?” she asked, now much more lucid, and beginning to sit up. “Yes, I know you. You’re Hadi Dieng’s mother, aren’t you? She’s a very gifted young girl by the way. Look. You have to help me. That man, who was here just now, has been drugging me. They’ve been keeping me here against my will. Please get me out of here.” 

“We’ll have you out of here soon,” Fatima promised. Then she asked one of the nurses, who had been watching from the end of the ward, to find the doctor on duty and bring her there post haste. It took her only a few seconds to arrive, and Fatima introduced herself, showing her warrant card. 

“Dr Nair,” said Fatima, reading the name on the front of her coat, “This is Mrs Wek, who is the Headmistress of Silbury Grammar School. She has been detained here against her will, being kept in a near coma thanks to the administration of this drug, which I am going to have analysed by forensics experts.” 

She showed Dr Nair the syringe. 

“I should like you personally to examine her,” Fatima continued. “I think you will find there is really nothing wrong with her, though she will no doubt need some fortification before she is able to get back on her own two feet. 

“Now we have removed the supposed nurse that was administering whatever drug they were using, but there may well be a doctor, who has prescribed the treatment.” 

One of the nurses piped up: “There was a woman in a white coat, who used to come into the ward, along with that nurse. We didn’t know who she was. We all thought that you were aware of her presence, Dr Nair Madam, although the visits always seemed to occur when you were off for dinner or tea. Sorry.” 

“That’s all right, Mstr,” Fatima went on. “If this doctor should ever appear again, you are immediately to dial 999, any one of you. Please do not try to apprehend her alone. I fear she could be very dangerous. Do you all understand what you should do?” 

They all nodded. 

“You are in good hands now, Mrs Wek,” she said, addressing the distraught headmistress. “They will provide you with real care, and I’m sure that we shall soon have you up and about. And I promise that I shall return tomorrow to see how you are. Also, if you feel up to it, you can tell me then how you came to be here at all.” 

There was a lot to do the following morning at the police station. Fatima wanted to get a number of matters concluded before the weekend intervened. She hoped that her officers might have at least some time off then. She asked Constable Nguyen to question the person masquerading as a nurse, whom they had apprehended the previous afternoon at Forest Hospital. They had deliberately made her wait, so she could ponder her situation, and perhaps desist from her initial bravado. 

Whilst that was going on, she and Sergeant Banda sat down with their favourite two forensics experts, whom everyone had agreed to nickname Mrs Shoe and Mrs Gun. The pair never seemed to mention their names, although, when they had first appeared in Silbury, they had duly shown Fatima their warrant cards to verify their bona fides. The names had stuck, as Shoe appeared to be the expert on everything to do with footprints, whilst Gun knew everything there was to know about firearms and ballistics. Today they both demonstrated an equal expertise in pharmacology. 

“You’ve kept us busy over the past 48 hours, Inspector,” Shoe, who was also the more senior of the two, began, “sending us first a parcel and then a syringe for analysis. We quite enjoyed ourselves, and you’ll see why very shortly. 

“I’ll start with the parcel. First the wrapping. As you will already have seen, that was white paper. It was actually eight sheets of A4 size paper, 80 grammes per square metre; we’re a bit ahead of the times with paper weights, using metric measurements already. There were a lot of fingerprints on the exterior of the wrapping, so many different types that we gave up on that particular avenue.  

“The inside though was quite interesting, typewritten, not from a typewriter itself but via a stencil from a duplicator. It was cyrillic script for the most part, Russian, which neither of us can read. I’d guess though that it was a quotation from a book of some kind. At the end there were a number of questions written in English. Oh, and there were fingerprints here too, from three individuals. If you’re lucky, you might find a match. 

“The paper itself has to be preserved in our evidence locker, unless it should be required for a trial of any kind. However, I took the liberty of taking photographs. Here are copies for your use. 

“Any questions so far?” 

“None from me at present,” said Fatima. “Sergeant?” 

Sergeant Banda looked disappointed, as she shook her head. 

“Then we’ll get to the inside, shall we?” Shoe continued. “A layer of polyethylene, and then one hundred narrow glass bottles all sealed with plastic caps. Each was packed to the gunnels with little triangular blue tablets, dexamyl, also known popularly as purple hearts or bombers. They have been prescribed as antidepressants or for management of chronic pain, including, I believe, for a former Prime Minister, though they are now on the illegal drugs schedule. They give you a simultaneous high and a general feeling that nothing matters.  

“The sale of these little pills would net sufficient funds to sustain a family of four in some luxury over a substantial number of years. This is a significant drugs haul, Inspector. 

“Now, any questions?” 

“How would such a parcel have come to be found in the staff room of a school, and then be mistaken for a bomb?” Sergeant Banda asked, pleased that she had been able to think of something. 

“Very good questions, Sergeant,” Shoe responded, “but more in the realm of a police investigation than one for the forensics expert, I’d say.” 

“Indeed, Sergeant,” Fatima stepped in. “You’re helping us to frame the right questions.” 

“Shall we move on to the syringe?” asked Gun, who was fidgeting, having had nothing so far to contribute. 

Fatima agreed, so she went on. 

“It was helpful, Inspector, that you were able to preserve the syringe with its contents intact. As you were able to see for yourself, it was a clear liquid. You had thought that this might be the reason why the victim of this apparent crime had been maintained in comatose state. You were right. It was morphine sulphate. The amount and concentration in that syringe would be enough to cause a person of average size and weight to sleep for approximately twelve hours. 

“Now, after reading a little bit in our library about morphine, I decided to telephone one of our medical consultants. She told me that, assuming this drug had been administered over quite some period of time, there was a considerable risk that death could have ensued, given its effect of depressing respiration. Your intervention may prove to have been most timely indeed. I wrote down the main points of our consultant’s advice, which I think it will be useful to pass on to the doctor now attending to the case.” 

“Thank you both,” said Fatima, when Gun had finished. “We have some questions to consider ourselves, as Sergeant Banda has already pointed out. 

“That just leaves one question from me to you. Do you have any clues from your analyses that may indicate the provenance of either of these substances?” 

“Nothing from my side,” Gun responded. “My guess is that it was simply taken from a hospital pharmacy. You might want to check inventories at Forest Hospital itself and see who has signed out what.” 

“As far as the parcel is concerned, again there are no indications of where the paper and polyethylene may have come from,” Shoe continued, “though the typewriting on the paper seems to indicate it came from a school or a college. Dexamyl used mostly to be manufactured in North America. I did hear, I think, from a detective at the regional crime squad, that there was a large shipment suspected to be in transit at the port of Brigstow. I don’t know if they ever found it though.” 

Fatima thanked the two forensics experts, who took their leave. 

“Now,” she said, “let’s get Constable Nguyen in here, so that we can see what she has learned this morning and decide how best to proceed.” 

Sergeant Banda went to the adjoining office and came back with Constable Nguyen, to whom Fatima summarised the findings of the forensics experts. She then asked her to report on her interview with the man they had detained the previous evening at Forest Hospital. 

“His name do be Enos Kagaba. He are not from around here, as you noticed yourself, Ma’am. He be staying at a boarding house in Cherry Orchard, same one as those two goons employed as guards at River Park, came there two weeks ago, same time as Mrs Wek were admitted to the hospital. I did tell him that he can be accused of attempted murder, and that did scare him mightily. It were bluff on my part, but now we know that it could be a possibility. 

“He say that none of this be his idea. He were brought here to do one job. He do know how to give injections, because he is trained as a veterinary assistant. Doing for humans is same as doing for larger animals, he do say. He were approached in London by someone as knew he had a prior conviction for smuggling animals without veterinary certification. That be how he lost his vet job.  

“He were offered a very large sum of money, he won’t say exactly how much. He have to pose as a nurse at the hospital and follow instructions that be given to him by one Dr Patel. He don’t know this person, but she do provide him with the drug he is to inject twice daily into one patient. That be Mrs Wek. Otherwise they tell him to lie low and not get into too much contact with other staff in the hospital.  

“He say it were easy. If you acts like you belong, and you is intimidating enough, no one asks any questions, either of him or of the doctor, who he says is no doctor at all. He asked her once some technical question about the drug they was injecting, and he say she didn’t understand it at all. Just tell him to mind his own business and do what he is paid for.” 

Nguyen stopped abruptly. As ever, she had distilled all of the most salient points of what was clearly an extensive interview into highly jumbled, but at the same time very clear, English, a version of the language to which Fatima had become habituated during her time in Silbury. 

“Thank you, Constable,” she said. “Now, any thoughts, Sergeant?” 

Sergeant Banda had been squirming in her chair waiting for just this opportunity. 

“Ma’am, I’m sure there is a connection between what was found at the school and what has been done to is headmistress. I think we should start at the school. The paper used to wrap that parcel could easily be sheets from an exam, or something like that. That would point us to the school’s Russian teacher, who must somehow be implicated in this. 

“Do you think, Ma’am, that there might be national security dimensions?” 

Three years ago, Sergeant Banda had spent a few days attached to a team of MI5 agents, and this had led her to see spies almost everywhere. 

“I’m not sure, Sergeant, that we need yet leap to conclusions about the fact that writing in Russian must necessarily imply a connection with enemies of the state. On the other hand, you are undoubtedly correct that there are leads at Silbury Grammar School that need to be followed up. 

“Firstly though, let me take the opportunity to talk to the Headmistress, Mrs Wek, who must by now be out of her induced sleep. I’m going to Forest Hospital to see her. Once I return, we shall go together to the grammar school, where we shall need to interview a number of members of staff. Sergeant, could you please telephone the Deputy Headmistress, Mrs Mehta, to forewarn her and ask her to have the staff available at the end of the school day? I think we should be able to be there just after four o’clock.” 

Fatima got Constable Senanayake to drive her to Forest Hospital. Stopping at the main entrance, Fatima asked her to park the car and then join her in the women’s ward, having first surveyed all the other entrances to the hospital. 

Mrs Wek was where she had left her the previous day. She was sitting up drinking a cup of tea, and she looked already appreciably better. 

“Do you feel well enough to tell me what you remember, how you got here, and so on?” Fatima asked. 

“Yes, I’d like to get it all off my chest,” the headmistress answered. “It began at a meeting of all the department heads in my office the Friday before the new school year was to begin. We had all been hard at work to prepare everything, and I decided it would be nice to have a little party to set everyone off in the right spirit. It wasn’t much, just a bottle of sherry, some fizzy drinks for those that don’t drink, and some cheese biscuits. 

“Well it seemed to be going quite well. I must admit that I was concerned we should all come together among the old staff and the newcomers.” 

“How do the mean, newcomers?” Fatima interjected. 

“Well,” Mrs Wek continued, “most of us have been at the school for a number of years. I’m now in my seventh year, and I’m by no means the longest serving among the group of department heads. But at the end of the last school year the Deputy Headmistress and Senior Mistress both resigned unexpectedly. They were apparently enticed to move to a private school with offers of salaries well above what they were earning here. The Board of Governors carried out a recruitment in which I was involved, but I didn’t have the final say on who would be engaged to the two vacant positions. The Chairwoman of the Board was most insistent that we should have Mrs Mehta and Mstr Mehta at the school, although I had preferred two other candidates. Anyway, even though they were not my choice, I did want them to feel welcome, as I said, for everyone to come together. 

“Well, as I was saying, everything seemed to be going well, when I suddenly felt like I’d been stung by an insect or something, and I became dizzy. And then I must have lost consciousness. 

“I presume someone must have made a 999 call, as the next thing I remember was that I was being carried on a stretcher to some sort of ambulance. It was strange, because the two people carrying the stretcher also turned out to be the doctor and the nurse that ended up treating me here at the hospital.” 

Fatima interrupted her again: “Actually neither one has any medical training, at least that is what we learned from the man masquerading as your nurse but actually paid only to keep you drugged. We know about him, but we haven’t yet found the so-called doctor.” 

“The thing is,” said Mrs Wek, “that I thought I knew this doctor. At least there were moments when she seemed to be familiar. I felt I could even put a name to the face. And then I’d be asleep again. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.” 

“I’m sure you’ll remember things more vividly as time passes,” Fatima reassured her. “In the meantime, please know that all you have told me has been extremely useful, and I’m sure it will help us to get to the bottom of what has happened to you. I want you now to focus on getting better, but, in the event that you should remember anything else, I’ll have a police officer sit with you this evening. Here she is now. This is Constable Senanayake. Please tell her anything that comes to mind. I just need first to brief her.” 

Fatima indicated to Senanayake to follow her to the nurses’ station. 

“Constable, I want you to stay with Mrs Wek tonight. This is partly to make sure she is able to tell us anything else she might remember, as her mind clears. But it is also for her protection. The person masquerading as her doctor must know now that her accomplice is in custody and that Mrs Wek is no longer fully under the influence of the drugs they were giving her. It is possible that she will try to shut her up once and for all. 

“One further precaution we need to take is for you to have her moved to another part of the hospital. You can help her with that, can’t you?” she said to the nurse on duty. “Since you’ve already reconnoitred the grounds, Constable, you will know the best place for Mrs Wek’s bed. 

“I expect the kind nurses here will also be able to ensure you have something to eat and drink during your vigil. I hear that this hospital has excellent food. Constable Nguyen will relieve you in the morning.” 

Fatima left the hospital for the police station, and then on to Silbury Grammar School. 

The Deputy Headmistress and Senior Master were waiting at the main entrance, as Fatima, Sergeant Banda and Constable Nguyen arrived in a police car. 

“No relation,” Fatima muttered to herself, “and yet they seem inseparable.” 

Nguyen, in the driver’s seat, snorted. Banda looked glum. 

“Good afternoon, Mrs Mehta, Mstr Mehta,” Fatima greeted them. “I wonder if we could begin in the staff room, as I have something to say to the full staff. Following that, it will be helpful if we could have three rooms in which to interview individual staff members.” 

“Yes, of course,” said Mrs Mehta. “We’ll make the Headmistress’ room available for you. As you can imagine, it’s not being used at the moment, but we’re keeping it warm for Mrs Wek’s return. And you can also use our own offices.” 

She smiled obsequiously, and they then proceeded to the staff room, which was located at the beginning of a corridor almost directly opposite the entrance. 

“Mrs Wek’s office is at the end of the corridor”, Mstr Mehta explained. “Mine is just next to it. Mrs Mehta has her office in another part of the school, adjoining the second form classrooms and our main storeroom.” 

The staff room, which they now entered, was a rectangle with a large table in the centre and not very comfortable chairs around the outside. On one side of the room there was a large window overlooking the grounds. Here another smaller table stood against the wall. On it were two large urns, both presumably containing hot water for tea and coffee, as well as a collection of mugs and plates. On the opposite wall there was open shelving in a boxlike pattern, each box having the name of a staff member on it and containing papers, text books and exercise books, some also personal knickknacks. 

As they entered the room, the teachers all stood up. Mrs Mehta and Mstr Mehta ushered the three police officers to some empty chairs at the head of the room. Mrs Mehta asked everyone to be seated, introduced her guests, and then gave the floor to Fatima. 

“Good afternoon,” she began. “Let me begin by apologising for detaining you all at a time when you might normally have been heading home. We felt though that it was better to talk with you after school hours than potentially to disrupt classes. 

“Sergeant Banda, Constable Nguyen and I have come here today in pursuit of two cases in which the school is somehow involved. You are all, I am sure, very much aware of the first of these. Two days ago, we were alerted to the presence of a suspicious parcel, which at first it was thought might be a bomb, something we have begun to see in our larger cities, as the Troubles in Northern Ireland begin to spill over to the mainland. Fortunately, as confirmed by the army bomb squad, which we called in, the parcel did not have lethal contents, at least not in the way of explosive matter.” 

She paused, as Constable Nguyen was trying not to laugh out loud. 

“By the way, I should like to commend you all for the admirable manner in which you conducted yourselves in the face of presumed danger. Your evacuation of the children from the school, and especially your foresight in keeping them occupied, while the bomb squad was doing its work, were outstanding examples of all that is good in this country's education system. 

“Now, as I said, the parcel did not contain any explosive material. What our forensics experts tell us it did contain was a very large quantity of illegal drugs. That is more or less all that we know about the parcel. So many people have handled it that fingerprint analysis may not give us any useful leads. Still we need to try and determine how that parcel came to be in this staff room, including who put it here and why.” 

Again, she paused, this time to make sure that her words had sunk in. There was some whispering around the room, which gradually petered out. 

“You had said, Inspector Dieng, that there were two matters that brought you here,” one of the teachers ventured. “What was the second?” 

“Mrs Wang, Head of Physical Education,” Mstr Mehta explained. 

“Yes, I did indeed say there was a second matter,” Fatima continued. “Some of you have spoken to me about the absence of your Headmistress, Mrs Wek, and of her mystery illness. I’m very pleased to tell you that Mrs Wek is well on the road to recovery. Indeed, I was with her at Forest Hospital, where she had been admitted to the women’s ward, just this afternoon. 

“She did not, however, suffer from any mystery illness. She has been deliberately drugged, and we have reason to believe that that began in this very building on the Friday before the start of the new school year. We have already arrested the person masquerading as a nurse and who was administering the drug to her at the hospital. We are now seeking that person’s accomplices, the person or persons who directed his actions and who are ultimately responsible for this very serious crime.” 

There was a collective gasp and another round of whispering, which again halted Fatima’s flow. She went on. 

“That is all I have to say at present. I’ll pause shortly to answer any questions that you may have, any that are not of a private nature. After that we intend to conduct individual interviews with each of you. Sergeant Banda has a list of your names and an order for those interviews, which will be done in parallel by Sergeant Banda, Constable Nguyen and myself. We shall try to complete everything as quickly as possible, so that you can all get back to your homes and families in good time. Please reflect carefully on any information you might have that can help us in our inquiries. 

“Questions?” 

“When will the Headmistress be back at school? We need her here.” It was again Mrs Wang who spoke out. 

“I’m afraid I can’t say at present, Mrs Wang,” Fatima responded. “That will be a matter for her doctor. She seemed to me, however, to be making a rapid recovery, so we can hope that she can resume her duties very shortly.” 

There were no other questions, so they began preparations for the interviews. Despite the insistence of Mrs Mehta and Mstr Mehta, Fatima insisted on using the furthest office from the staff room, that of the Deputy Headmistress, having Sergeant Banda sit in Mrs Wek’s room and Constable Nguyen that of the Senior Master. This was a deliberate decision on her part, so as to maintain as much confidentiality as possible for the interviews that she was to conduct. 

She began by interviewing the Head of PE, Mrs Wang, and the Head of Herstory, Mrs Riaz, neither of whom had anything significant to add to what the police already knew. She then got to the one teacher she most wanted to question that afternoon: Mstr Sela Regenvalu. In response to the common questions that the police were asking of all members of staff, he had nothing to add. Then Fatima showed him a picture of the wrapping for the parcel that had contained the drugs, with both Russian and English writing on it. 

“That does look familiar,” he said. “It’s nothing current that we are studying in Russian class. This is a book that was in the A level syllabus a number of years ago. Yes, I’ve got it now. This was part of a mock exam that I had my pupils do in, I think, 1964. I haven’t seen it since then.” 

“You’re sure you wouldn’t have copies of this paper stored at your home?” Fatima asked. 

“Oh goodness!” Mstr Regenvalu exclaimed. “You think I did this, that I’m some sort of drug dealer.” 

“No,” Fatima assured him, “we are not going to make any leaps of false logic. I just want to know where someone might have obtained this paper. Did you have copies at home?” 

“As a matter of fact, I don’t take papers home with me, except those that need to be marked. In the case of this mock exam, though it’s so long ago that it’s hard to recall exactly, I might have taken the papers home to mark, or I might have done it here. In either case they were all handed back to the pupils, and there would have been no more than three or four of them. That’s the maximum number that enrols for Russian A level in any year. Those papers would have included the pages you have just shown me, as well as the pupils’ answer sheets.” 

“Would there have been any additional copies?” 

“Yes,” said Mstr Regenvalu, “now I remember. I made up those questions back in 1962 and duplicated them for use with pupils over a number of years. That saved having to type it up each time. I kept them in the storeroom and then took out the number I needed each year, when we did the mocks. As I explained before though, those texts haven’t been in the syllabus in more recent years. I honestly don’t know if there would still be any left in the storeroom.” 

“The storeroom, is it the one that is next door to this office? Would we be able to go and see if there are still copies of these papers kept there?” Fatima asked. 

“Yes,” Mstr Regenvalu answered her, “we could go and have a look, but first we should need to get the key. It’s kept by the Deputy Headmistress.” 

Fatima looked around the room, and then pulled open some drawers in the desk. 

 “Is it this key?” she asked, taking one from one of the drawers.  

Mstr Regenvalu nodded, and they went next door. Fatima checked that no one was watching them and then opened the door to the storeroom. Mstr Regenvalu examined the box files on the various shelves and extracted one of them. 

“Here you are, Inspector. This is where I had put the papers. You’ll see that it’s marked Russian A level mocks 1962. But there don’t appear to be any left. The box file is empty now.” 

“Right,” said Fatima. “Let’s put that back where it was, and we’ll return to Mrs Mehta’s office.” 

Back in the office, Fatima returned the key to the drawer from which she had taken it. Then she placed another picture on the desk in front of her. It was the drawing made by Miss Mata Sane of the woman who had paid her and her friend to commit acts of vandalism in Silbury earlier in the year. 

“Do you recognise this person at all?” 

“Oh, my goodness!” Another exclamation from Mstr Regenvalu. “That’s the person that came to our house and threatened us, the one that assaulted me. Have you caught her?” 

“She died some months ago in a shooting incident at Stonely. You might have read about it in the papers,” Fatima explained. “That is why you only received the one threat, and why no one followed through on it, when you didn’t do anything. I had wondered if there was a connection between these two cases. 

“Now I just need you to do one more thing for me. Would you agree to have your fingerprints taken? This is not with the intent of incriminating you, quite the opposite. We know that you would probably have handled the papers used to wrap that parcel of drugs. You had prepared the mock exam questions. We, therefore, need to eliminate your prints and then see whose are left.” 

“But didn’t you say that there was no useful fingerprint evidence?” said Mstr Regenvalu, surprised. “I was sure I heard you say just that at the staff meeting just now.” 

“You’re probably right,” Fatima answered him. “I must have neglected to make a distinction between the outside of the wrapping and the inside. On the one, there is a plethora of prints, including my own, but on the other, there are just three. But please keep that to yourself for the present, Mstr Regenvalu. 

“You needn’t come to the police station, if you would prefer not to. Constable Nguyen and I could come to your house early tomorrow morning before we go on up to Forest Hospital to check on Mrs Wek.” 

The remainder of her interviews - Fatima only had two more herself - were uneventful, as apparently were all those conducted by Sergeant Banda and Constable Nguyen. Mrs Mehta and Mstr Mehta were again together to bid them farewell. Fatima thanked them both. As they drove away, Banda wondered if they should have taken Mstr Regenvalu into custody, given the evidence of the Russian papers. Fatima assured her, with a smile, that she would be keeping an eye on him, and she and Constable Nguyen would be paying a call first thing in the morning. 

And that is exactly what they did. At a quarter past eight the next morning, Fatima and Constable Nguyen came to take Mstr Sela Regenvalu’s fingerprints. 

“Are you sure you want to do this, Sela?” his partner, Mstr Isaia Muliaini, was asking. “You don’t want to have a criminal record.” 

Fatima was about to answer him, but Constable Nguyen got in first. 

“No need to worry on that, Mstr. This be only for purpose of elimination. We knows that the Mstr her were not involved. But we has to have his prints so we knows which other ones to concentrate on. After that, we destroys the prints taken. Guides honour!” 

Fatima smiled. She never ceased to appreciate Nguyen’s means of delivery, and somehow the clarity that ensued. 

“Really it’s all right, Isaia,” Mstr Regenvalu also assured him. “I’m doing this completely voluntarily. Inspector Dieng has been very clear that it is entirely my choice, my decision. And I trust her. After all, Hadi Dieng is her daughter, and we both know how good and true she is.” 

For the first time that morning, they both laughed. 

As they left, Fatima said to Nguyen: “Constable, could you please drop this evidence off at the police station and have it sent to our friends Shoe and Gun? Then please come and join me at Forest Hospital.” 

It was just after nine o’clock when Fatima arrived at the hospital. She proceeded straight to the nurses’ station in the women’s ward to ask where they had moved the Headmistress of Silbury Grammar School, Mrs Wek. One of the nurses there, the one to whom she had spoken the previous afternoon, took her towards a small room opposite the scullery, outside which they could see what appeared to be a sleeping policewoman. Constable Senanayake was slumped forward in her chair. Fatima and the nurse ran forward. The nurse felt Senanayake’s pulse and assured Fatima that she was alive but appeared to have lost consciousness. He then ran off to get help. 

Fatima pushed open the closed door of the room into which Mrs Wek had been moved. She was horrified to see a figure in a white coat standing over her. Mrs Wek appeared to be asleep. The figure bent down towards a large holdall and came up again holding a scalpel. 

“Stop!” she cried. 

The white-coated woman turned around, and Fatima saw immediately why Mrs Wek had thought she recognised the doctor that had been treating her. Fatima knew immediately exactly who it was. 

“Councillor Patel, I didn’t know you were already out of prison,” she said calmly, hoping to defuse the palpable tension in the room. There was little hope of that, as Mrs Wek woke up and began to scream. 

Former Borough Councillor Priyanka Patel had been sent down for five years for offences under the Forgery and Counterfeiting Act, following an arrest made in 1966 by Inspector Fatima Dieng. She had served two and a half years of her sentence before being paroled. 

“Dieng!” she shouted, “this is most fortuitous. Now I don’t have to have the stupid headmistress’ death on my conscience. This is much better.” 

“What have you done to Constable Senanayake? Is she all right?” Fatima continued to speak softly, still hoping to maintain a modicum of calm. 

“Oh, that one will be fine,” Mrs Patel assured her, now also assuming a conversational style. “I just gave her a little barbiturate to help prolong the slumber into which she had already fallen. But this may well hurt you a lot more.” 

She suddenly put head down and began to charge towards Fatima with the scalpel thrust out in front of her. Fatima stayed completely still. She waited right up to the moment where her assailant was only one step away from her, and then she dove to her left at the same time kicking out both of her feet. Fully committed to a forward lunge, her attacker tripped over Fatima’s legs and was sent sprawling onto the floor. But Fatima was also prone, and Mrs Patel came back up quickly for a further attack, which it was unlikely Fatima would be able to ward off. 

At that moment Constable Nguyen arrived, accompanied by two nurses, who had come to attend to Constable Senanayake. Nguyen grabbed at Mrs Patel’s arm, as she tried to plunge the scalpel into Fatima’s rib cage. Her intervention allowed Fatima to get back on her feet, and she then delivered a devastating blow to Mrs Patel’s neck. She slumped to the floor, relinquishing her grip on the scalpel. Fatima quickly secured her wrists in a pair of handcuffs. She then directed the nurses to attend to the distraught Mrs Wek. 

Together Fatima and Constable Nguyen dragged Mrs Patel and her voluminous bag out past the still sleeping form of Constable Senanayake and into the police car. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to leave your motorcycle here. I’m going to need your help in the car,” she said to Nguyen. “But perhaps Senanayake can ride it back, once she is awake again.” 

“I might just walk or hitch back up here to get it myself,” she replied with a smirk. 

On the way to the police station, Mrs Patel, seated in the back next to Fatima, whilst Constable Nguyen took the wheel, made it clear that she was saying nothing without the presence of her solicitor. On arrival, therefore, they placed her in a holding cell to await the arrival of the ubiquitous Mrs Meledi Mbeko, Senior Partner at Mbeko, Mbeko and Mbeko, Solicitors. And whilst they were waiting, Fatima went through Mrs Patel’s holdall, assisted by Sergeant Banda and Constable Nguyen. 

“Well,” said Fatima, examining the varied assortment now spread across a table in her office, “this is very interesting. We have a pistol, for which a convict on parole would certainly not qualify for a license, along with enough ammunition to bring down a couple of football teams, not that I’m suggesting they may have been her targets.” 

Nguyen let out a laugh. Banda, who generally didn’t know when the Inspector was joking and when she wasn’t, just looked uncomfortable. 

“Then, we have another couple of scalpels, three syringes and a collection of vials and bottles containing drugs unknown. This will all have to be examined by the good Shoe and Gun. 

“But here is perhaps the most interesting find of all in this cornucopia of treasures.” 

She pulled from the bag, using, of course, a gloved hand, a sheath of papers, the exact replicas of those that had been used to wrap the parcel of drugs found in the staff room of Silbury Grammar School. 

“Everything is indeed about something else.” 

At that moment, Mrs Mbeko arrived. She and Fatima proceeded together to the interview room, whilst Banda and Nguyen went to fetch Mrs Patel. As they walked, Fatima informed Mrs Mbeko about the new charges that Mrs Patel was facing. On arrival at the interview room, she asked Sergeant Banda to join the questioning, whilst Constable Nguyen was to remain on standby. 

“Mrs Priyanka Patel,” Fatima began, “I warn you that we have a substantial amount of evidence that implicates you in the abduction and forced detention of Mrs Ajak Wek, Headmistress of Silbury Grammar School, also impersonation of a medical practitioner, and other offences under the Dangerous Drugs Act. Add to this an attack on a police officer, and possession of a firearm while on parole. 

“You will certainly return to prison, but the terms you will have to serve may depend on the degree of cooperation you are now willing to give to us. Are you ready to answer my questions?” 

Mrs Patel looked at her solicitor, who nodded almost imperceptibly. 

“My client is willing to answer all reasonable questions,” Mrs Mbeko confirmed. “We expect that to be taken into account, when she comes before the Parole Board.” 

“Understood,” said Fatima, turning on the tape recorder. “This interview with Mrs Priyanka Patel is being recorded. It is being held on Friday the twenty-sixth of September 1969 at twenty minutes past two in the afternoon. In attendance are Mrs Meledi Mbeko, Solicitor to Mrs Patel, Sergeant Joyce Banda, and myself, Inspector Fatima Dieng. 

“Can we begin with matters pertaining to the Dangerous Drugs Act? Mrs Patel, do you admit to having placed a parcel containing an extremely large quantity of dexamyl tablets in the staff room of Silbury Grammar School?” 

Mrs Patel looked again at her solicitor, who once more nodded. 

“I admit to having supplied the parcel containing the drugs, but I did not place it in the school. That was done by someone else.” 

“Who was that person?” Fatima asked. 

“I’m not able to tell you. I never met the person. I just left the parcel at a dead letter drop.” Mrs Patel went on to explain what she meant by that phrase and to give the location of the drop, which Sergeant Banda noted down. 

“Was it the same person that provided you with the wrapping paper for the parcel?” Fatima pressed. 

“As I told you, I never had personal contact with anyone at the school,” Mrs Patel countered. “I left her the parcel at the drop. It was wrapped according to her instructions with paper that she sent to me in the post.” 

“You have said her and she in your last answer,” said Fatima. “Wouldn’t that indicate that you are fully aware of the identity of your accomplice in this matter but that you are obscuring her identity?” 

Somewhat flustered, Mrs Patel answered: “I used those words simply on the assumption that whoever was giving me instructions must be a woman, that a man could not in such a position of…” 

She let the sentence hang. Fatima frowned but did not press this point further. 

“You supplied a large quantity of drugs for someone connected with Silbury Grammar School, is that right?” she went on. “Did you know for what purpose? Were they somehow to be pushed to the pupils of the school?” 

Again, Mrs Patel glanced at her solicitor before replying. 

“Yes, I did know that the person instructing me was connected with the school. That much was obvious from the papers used to wrap the parcel, but I already knew it anyway. At no time was there any mention of pushing drugs to school pupils, and I would not want to be involved in anything like that. I had a certain reputation before I got sent to prison, which I intend to regain once I am out again definitively. The purpose, I was told, was to embarrass someone at the school to the extent that they would have to resign. 

“It may have been more than one person,” she added. 

She is definitely hiding something, Fatima thought. All of what she has told me so far indicates that she must have conversed with a person intimately connected with Silbury Grammar School and masterminding a huge hoax. Even if those conversations occurred on the telephone, and not face-to-face, Mrs Patel would surely have been able to say whether this was a woman or a man giving her instructions. But she had chosen to dissimulate on that question, which led Fatima to believe that her interaction had been in person, and that she knew very well the identity of her interlocutor. Still she did not immediately press the point. 

“And where did you obtain the drugs in question? Was it from the same source as the drugs and medical equipment, now being analysed, that we found in your holdall? Could we say the same for the firearm and ammunition?” 

Once again, Mrs Patel looked towards her solicitor, who seemed to raise one eyebrow. 

“As far as I know,” she said, “everything came from the same source. I received instructions by post through typewritten letters that I was instructed to destroy having read them. The envelope would also contain a key, which was to a locker at the Sowdon railway station. That was where my principal controller would have things left for me to collect.” 

“Do you still have the keys, or indeed any letters?” asked Fatima. 

“No,” answered Mrs Patel. “I burnt all of the letters, as I was instructed to do. I left each key in the locker once I had recovered what had been left for me. I do recall the numbers of the lockers, since there were only three.” 

She recited the numbers, which Sergeant Banda noted down. 

“But how did you come into contact with your so-called controller in the first place?” Fatima pressed. “You seem to be painting yourself as some kind of unwitting and powerless minion in all of this enterprise, whilst you yourself had pressed at least one other person into this nefarious endeavour.” 

And now Mrs Mbeko stepped in. 

“Inspector, I think that my client has been highly cooperative, but now you are beginning to badger her.” 

“I disagree,” Fatima countered forcefully. “She is happy to tell us about what she has done as an apparent pawn of others, but she is not willing to divulge their identities. She claims not to know who they are, but I do not for one moment believe that. Her own answers to my questions clearly indicated otherwise, not, of course, through what she has said, but through what she has left unsaid but manifestly implied. 

“I have to tell you that this will not help at all in her hearing before the Parole Board. Now, is it possible that we might have some real cooperation. Is your client prepared to answer further questions at this point?” 

Mrs Patel suddenly blurted out: “I have nothing to say to you. Can’t you see, Dieng, you’ve already lost?” 

And then, following a stern look from Mrs Mbeko, she abruptly stopped speaking. 

“My client has nothing to add, Inspector,” Mrs Mbeko summed up. “If you wish to lay any charges against her, please do so, and she will answer them in court.” 

“Very well then,” Fatima answered, knowing well the drill with this particular solicitor, and she recited her preliminary caution, noting that further charges may follow. 

A month later, Fatima sat in her office reviewing the files of the major cases she had just been following. They were about to come to trial with Priyanka Patel as the principal defendant and Enos Kagaba as a minor accomplice. She wondered if the police had missed anything in the course of their investigation. 

Additional forensic evidence had been limited to the identification of the contents of the holdall, and fingerprint evidence that definitively linked it all, including the parcel of drugs, to the principal defendant. Still there was another set of prints on the parcel that remained unidentified. The lockers at Sowdon railway station and dead letter drop, which was below a pinball machine at the Autobar in Silbury High Street, did not turn up anything. It was clear that the persons to be embarrassed by the finding of the parcel of drugs in the Grammar School staffroom were the Mstrs Regenvalu and Muliaini, but there was no indication of a motive, beyond simple homophobia, which Fatima was convinced was too simplistic. Nor could they connect evidentially this incident and the prior instances of abuse the two teachers had suffered. And finally, the reason behind the abduction of the Headmistress of Silbury Grammar was as unclear as ever. 

Everything seemed to depend on the testimony of Mrs Patel, and she had clammed up completely. Still Fatima went backwards and forwards through the files finding nothing new. The only thing she saw, which she had not previously remarked, were the residential addresses of the Deputy Headmistress and Senior Master at the Grammar School, respectively, Mrs Nutan Mehta and Mstr Mukund Mehta, no relation, as they often said. They both lived in River Park.