The Scent of Death

Twenty-one

Plot reminder: Still believing there is a connection between the Kayleigh Harrison case and the recent cases, Jennifer is once more determined to find Gary - the man who presented Kayleigh with a toy horse shortly before her disappearance.

*

The following morning was cloudy but dry, breezy but not cuttingly cold. Neither winter nor spring, a not-one-thing-nor-the-other interseasonal truce. 

I woke up even earlier than usual, cut Dudley's tennis ball-chasing in the park by ten minutes or so. Back at home I filled his bowl up with water and magicked a cowhide bone from behind my back.

"Sorry Dud, just going to have to fend for yourself this morning."

The returned doeful gaze was heartbreaking to behold.

"Nice try boy, but really, made my mind up about this."

Two minutes later, I was folding forward the passenger seat of the Renault for him to bounce in behind. Being a dog owner at times requires a level of coldheartedness I was just not capable of.

At the main roundabout just north of Littleford I turned west onto the A967, headed towards Tannerston. We'd set off early enough to avoid the rush hour clog around the Wynmouth exit, arrived outside the gates of Church Road Primary a full three-quarters of an hour before first bell. The heavy iron gates were open but as yet free of fussing parents and scuttling under-twelves.

Stepping out over the road, Dudley and I peered across the playground to the staff car park. Only a couple of vehicles were present, neither of them the silver-coloured saloon I recalled the headmistress having pulled away in on my previous visit a fortnight earlier. This was good: I hoped to catch her as she arrived.

Indeed, I only had to wait a couple of minutes before spying the saloon's approach down the street. As it swung past us through tbe gate, the familiar petite figure behind the wheel glanced across at us in surprise.

"You two again?" she called, observing us over the top rim of her glasses as she emerged from the driver's door. As a greeting, it wasn't exactly welcoming.

She dove into the back seat as we approached, reappeared with an armful of files and scattered paperwork.

"I was wondering if you might spare me five minutes, Ms Robins."

She looked unsmilingly down at Dudley.

"I wanted to leave him at home today but..."

There was the flicker of a fond memory at the corner of her lips. "Those sad brown eyes, right?" She looked back up at me. "We had a West Highland terrier when I was growing up." Once a dog lover always a dog lover, I thought. "Come on then." She wafted an ushering hand towards the entrance of the school, glanced down at Dudley once more. "Both of you."

She was one of those diminuitive types of women imbued by a tireless dynamism, her steps more of a trot than a steady walking pace. Dudley and I had to bounce our strides a little to keep up with her as she scuttled through into entrance hallway. Popping her head briefly into the admin office, she exchanged good mornings with the secretary, Wendy, who nodded a surprised hello as Dudley and I appeared behind. From there, we were lead down the short corridor towards the headmistress's office.

"Five minutes," Ms Robins warned, waving us through. "Not a second more. Got a busy day ahead, I'm afraid."

It felt a little unnerving to be in a  principal's office once more. I remembered my regular visits there during secondary school, the disapproving tut-tuts, the exasperated shakes of the head. Ablutophobia isn't something which is certifiable, or at least wasn't at the time. Following cross-country runs and hockey matches, I was expected to be as thorough in matters of personal hygeine as my classmates, and was thus continuously reprimanded for my stubborn refusal to do so.