Patel jotted something down. “Anything else?”
Naomi nodded. “Overheard her talking to Morgan. Something about maintenance payments. She’s clearly considering divorce, but there’s a complication.”
“What kind of complication?”
Naomi met Patel’s eye. “She thinks Radley’s got another kid. Somewhere else.”
That landed heavier than expected. Patel paused mid-note. Across the table, Havers shifted in his seat, lips pressing into a tight line.
“Do we know where?” Patel asked.
Naomi shook her head. “No. She was vague. Talking to Morgan, trying to make it sound casual. But it’s playing on her. Might have been the straw that broke her. I’ll keep digging. Could be another thread to unravel. Someone else to follow.”
Havers exhaled. “If he’s got an unlisted kid, we need to know about it. Could be hush money. Could be leverage. Could be someone else he’s trying to keep quiet.”
“Or someone worth protecting,” Naomi added.
Patel nodded. “Agreed. We treat it as a potential vulnerability. Cross-check all outgoing payments in Radley’s financials for the last five years. Anything that looks like regular support. Rent. School fees. Transfers through intermediaries.” She turned to Warren. “You’ve got teacher access now. If there’s a minor on the books connected to either of them, anything odd in safeguarding, flag it.”
Warren gave a sharp nod. “Understood.”
Patel looked back at Naomi. “Stay close. Keep the tone friendly, non-confrontational. If she cracks, I want us ready with a name.”
Naomi leaned back in her chair. “Copy that. She’s opening up more. Especially when Morgan’s not around.”
Patel tapped her pen once, then pivoted without pause. “Alright. That’s the Radleys. DS Beckford, you’re up. What’ve you got from Worthbridge Academy?”
Warren leaned back, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, casual on the surface but every word calculated. “Looks polished. Refurb’s fresh, floors gleam, walls still smell like paint. But underneath? It’s all thin ice.”
Patel raised a brow. “How thin?”
“Staff are burnt out. Kids are wired. There’s tension in the corridors, like everyone’s waiting for something to go off. I’ve worked prisons with a calmer energy.”
“Sounds delightful,” Havers muttered.
Patel stayed focused. “And the fire?”
“Still lingering. Staffroom talk’s cautious. They’re grieving something. Safety, maybe. Some blame, some denial, no realunity. I’ve been trying to get a read on what theyreallythink, but no one’s saying much. Not openly.”
“Because?” Patel asked.
Warren shrugged. “Could be trauma. Could be the fact that Radley Enterprises paid for the entire rebuild. New science block, new sports hall, fresh everything.”
Patel exchanged a look with Havers. “Which says more than they think it does.”
“Exactly,” Warren said. “It’s like they owe them. Whole place is walking on eggshells.”
“Good. Keep pressing. Start subtle. If there’s a crack, we need to be ready to push.”
Warren nodded once, jaw tight. “Understood.”
Patel narrowed her eyes. “And the target?”
Warren hesitated.
That was the part he still hadn’t figured out how to box neatly. Jude Ellison didn’t fit the mould. Not the usual red flags, nor the typical tells. And that difference was interfering with Warren’s ability to stay detached. He’d spent the night after the quiz parked three cars back from Jude’s cottage, watching the lights go out as if waiting for him to run out, stupid string music playing in the background, and Jude diving into his arms. Then he’d gone home and tried to sleep, only to end up tangled in dreams filled with dark curls and crooked glasses.
It was weird.
