The Name of the Star - Maureen Johnson [36]
“You don’t know that.”
It looked like the zombie apocalypse in the hall, everyone shambling toward the steps, looking confused, blank, deadeyed. One or two people had put on their uniforms, but mostly people wore sweatpants or pajamas. Jazza and I were of the pajama variety, with our PE fleeces on top for warmth and snuggle factor. Outside, it was one of those drizzly, it’s-rainingeven-though-it’s-not-raining English days I’d been getting used to. The cold and wet woke me up a little, but it was mostly the sight of the police . . . that, and the small white tent and work lights that had been erected in the middle of the green, and the people in the sterile suits that were coming in and out of it.
“Oh, my God,” Jazza said, grabbing my arm. “Oh, my God, Rory, that’s . . .”
It was one of those forensic tents, is what it was, like you saw in crime shows and news bulletins. Everyone processed this fact at the exact same moment. There was one large intake of breath, then a teetering hysteria that Claudia tried to shortcircuit by waving us into the dining hall with huge, semaphorelike motions.
“Come on,” she said. “Come on, girls, come on, come on.”
We allowed Claudia to herd us into the dining hall, which was full of people who had all just received this jolt of adrenaline. There was a lot of noise, people running from table to table, a lot of phone checking. All the faculty who lived nearby were there as well, sitting up on the dais, looking as surprised as the rest of us. When everyone had been shoved inside, the door was slammed shut loudly, and Mount Everest gave us an “all right, all right, quiet down,” which had very limited effect.
“This is Detective Chief Inspector Simon Cole,” he yelled over the noise, “and he needs to speak with you. You will give him your full attention.”
There was the man from the news, the suited and seriousfaced chief inspector, flanked by two uniformed officers. This was the real thing. That brought the silence down.
“At two fifteen this morning,” the inspector began soberly, “a body was found in your school green. We believe this relates to an ongoing investigation, which you are probably aware of . . .”
He didn’t say “Ripper.” He didn’t need to. A shock wave passed over the room—waves of people inhaling all at once, then a buzzing murmur and a scraping of benches as people turned around to look at each other.
“Was it someone from Wexford?” a guy shouted.
“No,” the inspector said. “It was not someone from your school. But this area is now a crime scene. You will not be permitted to cross the square while our forensic team is working. There will be a police presence here for several days. Today, several detectives will be stationed in the library, ready to take statements from any of you who saw anything out of the ordinary last night. We want to know if you saw or heard anything at all, no matter how unimportant it seems. Any people you saw. Any strange noises. Nothing is too trivial.”
Mount Everest jumped in again.
“Any of you who might be afraid of coming forward to the police because you were violating a school policy at the time . . . you will not be punished. Come forward and tell the police everything you know. There will be no repercussions from the school if you aid the police. Everyone will stay on school grounds today. We will arrange for breakfast items to be brought to your houses, so there will be no breakfast in the refectory today, in order to limit the amount of traffic through the green this morning. Lunch will go on as normal. If you have something to tell the police, step forward. And remember, there is no reason for alarm.”
We were dismissed. We’d only been there for a few minutes, but everything had changed. Everyone was awake and unsure. There was a lot of low, confused mumbling. But unlike every other time the entire school was assembled, no one was snickering or talking too loudly. Several more police were already by the refectory door, eyeing us all as we passed out of the building.
I realized I was