And utterly unprofessional.
DS Warren Beckford did not possess a “need to protect”, he possessed a mandate toobserve. But with Jude…this feeling was hitting heights he'd never wanted to reach before.
So he leaned on his cover: the students. Casual questions, idle chatter on the field, nothing more than surface interest. Or so it looked. In truth, it was UC training kicking in, digging for crumbs. The year sevens in Jude’s form told him Mr Ellison was still kind, still one of their favourites, but less warm. The spark had dulled. But they didn’t know him that well. So Warren pressed the older ones. GCSE groups. Sixth formers, too. They agreed. His lessons were still good but the ease was gone. The charm muted.
Jude Ellison was retreating.
And Warren couldn’t tell if it was the fallout of the OCG's presence... or him.
That was his compromisation kicking in. He wasn't assessing the risk; he was obsessing over the personal slight. He was too up his own arse thinking Jude was avoidinghim, rather than considering the dozens of other things it could be. It was fatally hindering his judgment.
But the other teachers had noticed too. Angie had made a passing comment in the staffroom on Wednesday, stirring milk into her tea.
“Has anyone seen Ellison? Did he change his PPA to live in the Humanities cupboard or something?”
A few laughed.
Warren didn’t.
And he started checking the perimeter at lunch. Taking the long route between buildings, looping the playing fields, then circling the car park. But he never caught sight of him. Wherever he was having lunch, it was a secret. He even followed him home. Jude was always the last to leave. Not completely against the norm for him according to the other staff, but it was getting later. Especially as Jude walked, his car still locked up in the garage. But Warren kept a measured distance, circling the blocks in his car, never close enough to spook him in the dark. He noted the way Jude slowed as he neared home, hesitation written into every step. Once, he even mounted the path, turned on his heel as if fleeing, then finally surrendered with a sigh and slipped inside.
The house told its own story. Curtains sealed tight. Front room unlit. That would raise red flags in every training manual.
By Friday, Warren had had enough. Jude’s shift in behaviour wasn’t personal. It was operational. If Ellison was under threat, or worse, being used, then Warren was obligated to find out. And if he wasn’t? Then Warren was supposed to cut the cord. Step back. Stop caring.
But that was impossible.
Caring was the thing that kept him alive in this job, the tether stopping him slipping under. Only with Ellison, it was no longer professional duty. It had shifted. Warped into something riskier. Something he couldn’t define, except to admit it was already more than it should be.
School had closed a couple hours earlier and he’d pulled into the side of the nearly empty car park, engine idling as rain hammered down on the roof. A storm had been threatened to attack the southeast coast, and this was the start of it. The Head had urged everyone to go immediately home, with all afterschool clubs cancelled. Everyone should have left.
Except not everyone had.
Warren knew that.
His wipers ticked, and Warren once again had to tell himself that sitting here, waiting for Jude to emerge from the building, was routine. Another check-in. When really, he’d be here if Patel told him to pull back. Which was probably the reason why he hadn’t told her his suspicions yet. He didn’t want to be pulled away. He didn’t want them calling in Jude, because then his time with him would be over.
But he had to do something. So with his breath fogging the air, he rubbed a thumb over the corner of his phone before flipping open the burner.
Two rings.
“Tell me you’re not still loitering near the sixth form entrance like a creep,”Naomi’s voice came low and dry through the line, her usual greeting.
“Only to build character.”
“You eaten?”
“Flatbread and regret. Couple hours back.”
“Christ. You’ve got that ‘malnourished-in-a-van’ tone. Try something hot, yeah?”
He smirked. Let it die. “Secondary’s gone quiet.”
“Ellison?”
“Yeah.” Warren kept his focus on the darkened side gate. “Behaviour’s changed. No staffroom since Monday. Walks with his head down. Kids still engage, but he’s withdrawn. No personal chatter. No social overlap. Avoids me, too.”
A pause. Slight crackle on the line.
