The Secret Place by Tana French

with a verifiable reason: sprained her ankle playing hockey or polo or whatever, needed it strapped. The other three had headaches or period cramps or dizzy fits or some bullshit. Could’ve been legit, or they could’ve just wanted to get out of class, or . . .’ A lift of Conway’s eyebrow. ‘They got a couple of painkillers and a nice lie-down, right by the shelf with the key.’
    ‘And they all said they didn’t touch it.’
    ‘Swore to Jesus. Like I said, I believed Emmeline. The rest . . .’ The eyebrow again. Sun through the leaves striped her cheeks like war paint. ‘The headmistress swore none of her girls would yada yada and the key had to have gone in the bin, but she changed the lock on the connecting door all the same. Better late than never.’ Conway stopped, pointed. ‘Look. See that over there?’
    Long low building, off to our right through the trees, with a bit of a yard in front. Pretty. Old, but all the faded brick was scrubbed clean.
    ‘That used to be the stables. For my lord and lady’s horses. Now it’s the shed for their highnesses’ groundskeepers – takes three of them, to keep this place up. In there’s where the hoe was.’
    No movement in the yard. I’d been wondering for a while now; wondering where everyone was. Few hundred people in this school, minimum, had to be, and: nothing. A thin tink tink tink somewhere far away, metal on metal. That was it.
    I said, ‘Is the shed kept locked?’
    ‘Nah. There’s a cupboard inside, where they keep the weedkiller and wasp poison and whatever; that’s locked, all right. But the actual stables? Walk right in, help yourself. Never occurred to this shower that practically everything in there is a weapon . Spades, hoes, shears, hedge trimmers; you could wipe out half a school with what’s in there. Or get good money from a fence.’ Conway jerked her head away from a cloud of midges, started moving again, down the path. ‘I said that to the headmistress. Know what she said? “We don’t attract the type who think in those terms, Detective.” With a face on her like I’d shat on her carpet. Fucking idiot . Kid’s lying out here, bashed to death, and she’s telling me their whole world’s made of frappuccinos and cello lessons and no one here ever has bad thoughts. See what I mean about naïve?’
    I said, ‘That’s not naïve. That’s deliberate. And a place like this, things come from the top down. If the headmistress says everything’s perfect, and no one’s allowed to say it’s not . . . That’s not good.’
    Conway’s head turning to look at me, full on and curious, like she was seeing something new. It felt good, walking side by side with a woman whose eyes met mine level, whose stride was the same length as mine. Felt easy. For a second I wished we liked each other.
    She said, ‘Not good for the investigation, you mean? Or just not good?’
    ‘Both, yeah. But I meant just not good. Dangerous.’
    I thought I had a slagging coming, for being dramatic. Instead she nodded. She said, ‘Something was that, all right.’
    Round a bend in the path, out from thick trees and into a dapple of sun. Conway said, ‘That over there. That’s where the flowers came from.’
    Blue, a blue that changed your eyes like you’d never seen blue before. Hyacinths: thousands of them, tumbling down a soft slope under trees, like they were being poured out of some great basket with no bottom. The smell could have set you seeing things.
    Conway said, ‘I put two uniforms on that flowerbed. Going through every stalk, looking for broken-off ones. Two hours, they were there. Probably they still hate my guts, but I don’t give a fuck, ’cause they found the stems. Four of them, right about there, near the edge. The Bureau matched the break patterns to the flowers on Chris’s body. Not a hundred per cent definite, but near enough.’
    That brought it home to me, that bed. Here, in this place that looked like nothing bad could ever happen in