Death Drop

"Okay." Then aloud, laconically. "Be seeing you, Dad."

"So long, David. Letters from India this time."

"Super!" Eyes too bright, but the word coming out without a tremor. "Super!"

A traitorous wave of emotion took Fleming unexpectedly and for a moment he couldn't hide it. Bra

It was several minutes before he was able to return to the folder.

The next three books were on mathematics. They contained average problems set a twelve-year-old and were reasonably handled. The book of essays he wanted to take away with him and read in private. He didn't feel he could trust himself to read them in Bra

And further on: "The best pet I ever had was a gerbil. I» had it when we had a house with a long garden in the Cotswolds. It lived in a shed in the orchard. It was a long time ago when I was young. My mother didn't like it, but she didn't say she didn't like it because she knew I did. It got lost under the floorboards once but my Father found it with a torch. My mother said she was glad it had been found. That was not honest, but it was kind." Fleming turned back a page and saw that the essay was headed Honesty. He closed the book and put it on one side.

Honesty. "How are things with you at school, David?"

"All right, Dad."

"Any problems?"

"No – not really."

"You'd tell me if there were?"

"Yes, of course."

Had the inflection been right? Had he listened hard enough to find a note of doubt, of false brightness? Had he just hoped everything was all right and been too quick to accept David's word for it?

Surely he had known his own son well enough to be aware that he was putting on one hell of a cover-up.

As he must have been.

But these books were normal.

Inside the main folder was another smaller one with the words Project on Maritime History written carefully across it. There were drawings of Aegean Bronze Age vessels and Phoenician biremes. Then came a drawing on graph paper showing the measurements of a Viking ship. He had been given high marks for these and the written comment in red ballpoint: Good. You have done your research well. He turned to Bra

Bra

"The boys were taken on a preliminary visit before each section was written about. The section on cargo vessels was the fourth."

"So it was on his fourth visit that he was killed?"

"Yes."

Fleming closed the folder and then ran his fingers up and down the edges of it as if he were loath to part with anything that David had touched. At last he pushed it aside.

"How would you rate his work?"

Bra

"And you would expect this sort of work from a twelve-year-old?"

"Yes. As I told you, he was average. Not brilliant -just a good, steady, middle-of-the-road ability. The sort that sometimes surges ahead in early adolescence."

"Not the sort that drops back six years and regresses to the intellect of a child of six?"

Bra

Fleming took the sketch out of his wallet and handed it to him without a word.

Bra

"What is this supposed to be? Some of David's early work from his kindergarten?"

"Some of David's most recent work – during his period in the infirmary when he had mumps."

"I don't believe it!" It came out explosively. What Bra

He handed it back. "You've kept this a long time."

"I've kept it a matter of hours. I saw it for the first time this afternoon. David drew it for Je

Bra

He asked Fleming to explain the significance of the drawing and listened without interrupting while he did so.

"And he hadn't drawn the caterpillar since he was – how old?"

"I think the last nightmare-linked drawing was when he was seven and a half going on eight."

"You took him to a psychiatrist?"

"No. We – his mother and I – tore up the drawings. We sensed that was what he wanted and it worked."

"You think he suffered some shock that pushed him back into this?"

"Shock. Or a long period of unhappiness. I don't know. That's what I mean to find out."

"And you believe that the state of his mind was disturbed – perhaps to the extent that the fall into the hold was suicidal – is that what you're saying?"

"I think it's possible. And if it's proved true then God help you, the school, and everyone in it."

Bra

"A little teasing – a caterpillar in David's bed – that's the easy and most likely explanation." He managed to say it quite smoothly, almost persuasively.

"The caterpillar was linked with the terror of waking alone in a dark unfamiliar house – it's a symptom, not the disease."

"And what do you believe the disease is in this particular instance?"

Fleming answered flatly, "A prolonged period of bullying – perhaps sexual assault."

He had expected Bra

"I shall say nothing provided the investigation is carried out without bias. I want to be around to see that it is."

Bra