‘Why?’
‘The Knolls pour money into that school, you know,’ Jo continues. ‘Have done for generations of Knolls – Richard’s father, grandfather and great-grandfather were all pupils there, along with God only knows how many of their brothers, long before the school accepted girls.’ She pauses just long enough to pop an olive into her mouth. ‘Last year, Richard Knoll paid for the refurbishment of the sports hall as well as for a whole load of sports equipment. The centre reopened at the beginning of the month, for the start of the new school year, but Brook wanted to mark the event formally. I think he was pretty sure when he came up with the idea that the video wasn’t going to come back and bite him in the arse. And he goes to great lengths to keep the school’s benefactors buttered up.’
I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing. But all of a sudden, the school’s attitude to Iris’s ordeal seems clearer. The headmaster promised to take immediate action when Iris’s video was first diffused. He harped on and on about the school’s strict IT Acceptable Use Policy and he promised me that anyone found in breach of that policy would be punished. But the weeks went by and nothing happened. The pupils, including Joshua, were all forewarned and had time to delete anything incriminating from their phones. No one was disciplined. No one except Olly, who broke Josh’s nose. My fists are clenched so tightly now that my nails dig into my palms.
Iris is at South Lydacombe on a full scholarship and Olly on a bursary. Ash and I would have struggled to cover full fees for both of them. We never respond to the numerous requests for donations. Ash, Daniel and I all volunteer every year to help out with the school fête and I practically run the annual Book Fair, but it’s clearly a poxy contribution in comparison with the Knoll family’s philanthropy. No wonder the school didn’t do more to help Iris.
‘There’s something that will make you even madder.’ Jo encroaches on my thoughts. ‘But I think I should tell you before you hear it from someone else.’
I unclench my fists, pick up my wine glass from the coffee table and take a slug. ‘Go on,’ I say.
‘South Lydacombe is organizing a vigil for Joshua next week.’
Several swear words run through my mind and one or two escape under my breath.
‘There will be candles, a minute of silence, solemn music, pupils can share their memories of Joshua, and so on.’
‘But he’s not even a pupil at the school anymore.’
‘Yeah, I know. But his brothers are – Jordan and Jasper.’
‘I know their bloody names,’ I growl. ‘Oh, God. Sorry, Jo. Thanks for letting me know.’
She puts her hand on my knee. ‘I get it,’ she says. ‘The school are doing so much for him when they did so little for Iris.’ She really does get it.
‘Christ, they’re making him out to be not only a victim, but also a bloody martyr. It’s as though all his sins have been washed away now he’s dead. He’ll forever be remembered as the poor kid who was stabbed to death in the woods instead of the utter bastard who ruined Iris’s life.’ I glance at Jo, but my outburst doesn’t appear to have shocked her.
‘D’you know what?’ she says. ‘In a few months’ time, maybe even in a few weeks’ time, no one will remember him at all. This will all blow over.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ I say. I’ll hold on to Jo’s thought. I’ll be able to relax once this has all died down and everything has gone back to normal.
For a minute, Jo and I just sit there and munch on snacks. Then I pick up the remote controls from the coffee table. A film will lend me some essential escapism, if only for a couple of hours. And Jo doesn’t want to sit here all evening talking about Joshua Knoll any more than I do. Poor Jo has provided a shoulder to cry on since the day I was summoned to the headmaster’s office to pick up Olly and ended up having to take Iris home, too.
But just then, we hear the front door open and Ian’s voice bellow from the hallway, ‘Jo, you there?’
‘In the living room,’ she calls.
He storms into the room, clearly annoyed about something. ‘Those fecking Knolls,’ he starts, then stops as he sees me. ‘Ah, I’m sorry,’ he says, his voice notched down a few decibels, ‘I forgot it was your girlie night in. Hi, Carla. How are you doing?’
‘Good, thanks, Ian.’ I slur my speech noticeably in just those three words.
Jo jumps in before I can ask Ian how he is. ‘What have they done now?’ she says.
Ian looks from Carla to me, no doubt trying to weigh up what he can and can’t say in front of me. ‘They’re offering a substantial reward for anyone who can give information leading to the arrest of Josh’s murderer.’
My stomach plummets at the same time as a wave of nausea rises to my throat.
‘We advised them against it,’ Ian continues, ‘but Richard Knoll went to theNorth Devon Echo– it’s already been posted to their website and it will be in print in this week’s paper edition. And it will be broadcast on ITV News West Country, too.’
‘How much?’ Jo asks.
‘Fifty grand,’ Ian says. I splutter on my wine. ‘It’s already causing us a real headache. Crank calls, mediums offering their services. It’ll only get worse. It means we’re using up valuable police resources, wasting time, dealing with a whole load of nonsense and checking out fake information. But we have to do it in the unlikely event that one honest witness rings in with a useful lead.’
My nausea abates a little. The offer of a reward isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It might send the police on a wild goose chase. I feel selfish for having that thought – I should feel sorry for Ian. But I welcome any red herrings the public can throw into the mix because they may help keep the suspicion off Iris.
Chapter 23
Ian
