Dishonour. Helen Black

aye?’

      She leaned towards Jack so that her beard was inches from his nose. ‘Some of the Asian pupils have difficult family members.’

      ‘Difficult how?’

      ‘Storming into the classrooms, dragging the girls out of their lessons,’ said the secretary.

      Jack scratched his signature across the form. ‘That doesn’t sound good.’

      A voice came from behind. ‘Ancient history.’

      The secretary blushed and filed her paperwork.

      Jack turned and got to his feet.

      A tall blonde with long tanned legs strode towards him.

      ‘Mara Blake,’ she smiled. ‘Head Teacher.’ Her accent was South African, clipped.

      Jack smiled back. Jesus, teachers had never looked this good when he was at school.

      ‘Sergeant Jack McNally,’ he said. ‘I made an appointment to discuss race relations.’

      ‘Indeed you did. Shall we walk while we talk?’ She had already set off, leaving Jack to trot after her firm thighs.

      The corridors were strewn with rucksacks and footballs but Mara picked her way through in dangerously high heels without a second’s pause.

      ‘We pride ourselves on discipline,’ she said. ‘You get caught with drugs, you’re out. The same goes for weapons.’

      Jack stifled a laugh. Zero tolerance or not, he would bet that a random spot check of the students’ pockets would furnish enough flick knives and bags of weed to send the Daily Mail into meltdown.

      ‘The children are here to learn and they know it,’ she said.

      Again Jack smiled. Denleigh Secondary School had one of the worst academic records in the country. In the League Tables the government insisted on publishing each year it usually came somewhere between West Brom and Sunderland.

      Mara gave him a hard look. ‘I know what you’re thinking.’

      ‘You do?’

      ‘That our results are terrible.’

      Jack shrugged. He could scarcely deny it.

      ‘Just bear in mind that some of these children are incredibly disadvantaged. Over a quarter don’t have English as their first language, the rate of divorce within families is high, as is unemployment,’ she said.

      He passed through to the art rooms and was hit by the familiar smell of acrylic paint. He scanned the walls covered in batik prints of Chinese dragons.

      ‘We try to incorporate as many cultures as possible into the curriculum,’ said Mara. ‘Art is a great way to express mutual respect.’

      Jack hovered next to a particularly well-crafted design. The dragon’s eyes narrowed menacingly, his teeth appeared ready to bite.

      ‘Over half the kids here are Muslim, right?’

      Mara joined him with a smile. ‘At least.’

      ‘Is there any racial tension?’ Jack asked.

      She rattled her answer like a gun. ‘We don’t tolerate any form of discrimination.’

      Jack put up his hand. ‘I know the policy. What I’m asking is if there’s an undercurrent. Your secretary mentioned some problems with parents.’

      Mara sighed, her breath escaping in a minty rush. ‘Not parents so much,’ she said. ‘Older brothers.’

      Jack raised an eyebrow for her to continue.

      ‘We tried to put on a musical last year, Grease.’

      ‘Don’t tell me,’ said Jack, ‘there were riots over who was going to play Sandy.’

      Mara laughed and put her hand on his arm. ‘I wish. To begin with none of the Asian pupils would take part and we knew we couldn’t go ahead with half the school unrepresented in the cast.’

      ‘So what did you do?’ asked Jack.

      ‘We had a chat with some of the more integrated students, made them see how great it would be.’

      ‘Something tells me it didn’t end up being that great.’

      Mara removed her hand from his arm. It immediately felt cold.

      ‘Two of the girls involved didn’t tell their families and when they found out they were not happy,’ she said. ‘Certain brothers and uncles arrived en masse and made a scene.’

      ‘Did you call the police?’

      Mara shook her head. ‘To be honest, I felt we’d caused the girls involved enough stress without making matters official.’

      ‘And no more musicals?’

      Mara laughed again. ‘Definitely not.’

      ‘Something funny, miss?’ A boy had entered the studio. He was in his mid-teens, his trainers muddy.

      Mara nodded at the batik dragon. ‘We were just admiring your work, Ryan.’

      Ryan bounced back and forth on his heels. ‘It’s alright, innit?’

      Jack traced the dragon’s tail with his finger. ‘It’s excellent.’

      ‘You can buy it for a tenner,’ said Ryan.

      ‘Don’t you need it for your assessment?’ asked Mara.

      Ryan shrugged. ‘I’d rather have the tenner.’

      ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Jack, ‘do me another just like it and you can have the cash.’

      Ryan watched Jack, his slits of eyes mirroring his dragon. ‘You’re on,’ he said, and headed for the door.

      ‘Don’t you want to know where to find Mr McNally?’ asked Mara.

      Ryan gave her a pitying look. ‘Down the nick, innit?’

      ‘Am I that transparent?’ asked Jack.

      Ryan laughed and closed the door behind him.

      Jack took a last look at the print. The fire and rage seemed even stronger now he had met the artist.

      ‘The boy has a real talent.’

      Mara smiled but there was a sadness to it.

      ‘Problem?’ asked Jack.

      ‘He’s easily our most talented student,’ she said. ‘He should apply for a scholarship to art school.’

      ‘But he won’t?’

      She shook her head. ‘He’s often absent, always scruffy. His attitude will let him down.’

      ‘Teenagers, eh? They’re all cocky little so-and-sos.’

      ‘It’s more than that,’ she said. ‘He’s a very angry young man.’

      ‘What’s the family like?’

      ‘They’ve never set foot in the place, not even for parents’ evening,’ she sighed. ‘I fear it’s going to end badly for Ryan.’

      ‘What a waste.’

      ‘I don’t know what else to do,’ said Mara.

      ‘If you’re worried, I could make a few enquiries,’ said Jack, ‘discreetly, of course.’

      Mara’s face lit up. ‘That’s very, very kind of you.’

      Jack nodded. It was totally beyond his remit, but what was the good of being a copper if you could only stick to the script? Jesus, you may as well work for the Inland Revenue.

      DI Bell’s office was extraordinarily tidy. Lilly wondered how