The Administration Series (242 page)

She nodded again.

"Well, you should stick to what he said the first time, because if you don't you could get into deep sh . . . big trouble. And my job is making sure that people
do
do what the Administration says."

"Why?"

"Because if people don't obey the law, then the Administration won't work."

"Why not?"

"Because . . . " Jesus, how did
anyone
work in Paediatric Interrogation and keep their sanity? He took a deep breath. "Look, remember what I said about not asking questions? Well, that's a good example of a question you really, really shouldn't ask."

"Oh. Okay. Only Daddy always said you should ask 'why' if you don't understand something."

And that is exactly why the fucking idiot is doing a deep-fried crispy chicken wing impersonation in an ICU. "For some things. Not everything. Not the things they tell you about in citizenship classes, to start with." How the hell had they ended up here? "I thought you wanted to know why Dillian doesn't like me."

"You said. Because of your job."

"Right. Because my job is to stop people misbehaving, which includes asking 'why' too much. Sometimes your daddy used to ask questions he shouldn't have done. She thinks I'd tell people about that and he'd get into trouble."

That seemed to give her pause for thought. "And did you?" she asked very quietly.

"Nope. Can you guess why?"

He watched her thinking it over. Then her expression cleared and she smiled. "Because you're one of the nice teachers!"

God, in a few years she'd be a real heartbreaker. He hoped he'd still be around to find out. "Got it in one. That's me. One of the nice teachers. And now I've got some work to do."

She craned her neck to try to see the screen. "Are you marking homework?"

He looked at the file, which was B-C's IIP for the day before. "Yeah, in a way."

The school looked like the brand of minor corporate/middling Administration outfit that could afford to provide a decent level of security. Also the kind of place where the management would be nervous about losing its reputation for the same. A large new extension suggested a recent Administration grant or corporate tax-deduction gift, but the other buildings were old. In places they could do with some work.

He took Valeria's hand and walked into the school. He'd thought he might have to flash his ID, but in the end he was welcomed in the entranceway by a slender, grey-haired woman in her fifties, with slightly rabbity teeth. Katherine stood next to her.

"How are you, Val?" the woman asked.

Toreth blinked, but Valeria was already answering, "I'm fine, Ms Plaice."

"I'm very glad to hear it. Now, Katty, I want you to take good care of Valeria today. Go along to registration with her now."

Katty took Valeria's hand and led her off, looking delighted with the responsibility.

"I don't think we've met before?" Ms Plaice asked.

"No." He considered lying, then weighed up the chances of Valeria and Katherine keeping his name quiet if asked. "My name's Val Toreth."

She raised her eyebrows at the name.

"Yes, it is a coincidence, isn't it? I live with Valeria's uncle, Keir Warrick. Can I have a word with you somewhere private?"

She showed him to a small, obviously communal office — not as spruce as the public parts of the building, which suggested either a stretched budget or a low priority on staff comfort.

Once he'd refused a coffee and they'd sat down, she said, "I couldn't help but notice your uniform, Mr Toreth."

He smiled. "People do. Senior Para-investigator Toreth."

"Are you here about the accident?"

He didn't feel like exposing his interest to that extent. On the way over, he'd considered a variety of stories, none of which would stand up to close scrutiny.

"Actually, no; I'm doing a favour for someone. I'm investigating a complaint by a parent." He waited until she stiffened, then said, "Nothing to do with the school as such. Someone said their kid had been approached outside the gate by a man who wanted to talk to them."

He waited for her to ask why the parents hadn't come to the school directly. Instead, she sighed.

"I bet that what they didn't tell you was that they were breaking school policy."

"I'm sorry?"

"We ask people to come through the gate and drop off or collect their children in the designated areas of the grounds. But there are always queues and consequently people who are too busy to worry about child safety."

"I, ah — " He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to look a little uncomfortable. "No. I'm afraid they didn't mention that."

"No doubt they said they thought a complaint would have more weight with the I&I name behind it."

As that had indeed been his cover, he didn't have to fake surprise at the statement.

She smiled wryly. "It's happened before, Para-investigator. Do you have any details you can let me know without compromising the parent's identity?"

"I have a picture of the man."

Ms Plaice studied the sketch carefully for a few seconds, then nodded confidently.

"He's been there four or five times. I've seen him twice, personally, on band practise afternoons. I know all the regulars who collect the band members, at least by sight. He wasn't one of them, though there are always relatives or new responsible adults picking up the children for the first time. I saw him this week, in fact . . . " She hesitated. "On the afternoon of Mr Marriot's accident."

He ignored her questioningly raised eyebrows. "Did he ever do anything suspicious?"

"Not as such. I noticed him because he was watching the children leave, but
I
never saw him approach a child."

"Why didn't the school call the Justice Department about him?"

"We did, a couple of weeks ago. We sent pictures from the security system. They investigated and told us that since the man had no record of unlawful behaviour they couldn't do anything. Lack of manpower."

"Always the way. Did they give you a case number? I can pass it on to the concerned parties, and they can make their own enquiries if they're not satisfied."

"Just let me find it for you."

As he waited, Toreth studied the picture again. Cele had given the man a neutral expression, helpful in a witness picture. On prolonged inspection, however, it gave him a secretive, slightly sinister look.

The case number was handed over on a strip of paper, saving Toreth the bother of faking a problem with his hand screen. The fewer electronic trails he left, the better.

"One last thing," he said. "Can you tell me where I might find a Mr McVade?"

Through the window in the classroom door, Toreth could see but not hear the lesson in progress. McVade leaned on his desk, hands braced behind him. Toreth had expected him to be young, mostly because of his suicidally open expression of anti-Administration sentiments. In fact, McVade had a slightly crumpled, hangdog face, and Toreth guessed him to be forty, although his untidy sandy hair and slightly scruffy clothes might be deceiving and he could be older. It would be easy enough to check in the security files when he reached I&I.

Finally, McVade stood up and turned to pick something up off the desk. He caught sight of Toreth and paused, eyebrows raising in a silent question. Toreth raised his own eyebrows and pointed into the room. McVade nodded, beckoning him in.

Closed, the door had hidden everything except Toreth's face. When Toreth opened it, McVade performed one of the most beautiful double takes Toreth had even seen, then sat down abruptly on the edge of the desk. The class, seated behind their screens, watched in undisguised fascination.

"Do you recognise my uniform?" Toreth asked as he strolled over to the desk.

McVade nodded, looking as though he were about to be sick.

"Well?" Toreth prompted after a few seconds.

"You're a — " He cleared his throat. "You're from I&I. The Interrogation and Investigation Division."

"Investigation and Interrogation — just think of the order we do them in. You really ought to be able to get that right, given your subject."

"Of course. Investigation and Interrogation." He turned to the class and gathered himself with an obvious effort. "Can anyone tell me what department the Investigation and Interrogation Division belongs to?"

After a long pause, a few hands rose.

"Alan?" McVade said, his voice rather high.

"The Department of Internal Security?" the boy said.

McVade sagged slightly with relief, and Toreth smiled.

"I'd like you to step outside with me, just for a few minutes," Toreth said evenly.

McVade didn't respond — he looked as though he were trying to summon an excuse and the courage to use it. Finally he nodded.

"Now, class, while I'm away I want you to start test number, uh, seven-six-six. Anyone who finishes that may read the next government history chapter."

Once in the corridor, Toreth looked both ways. Quiet enough. He returned his attention to McVade, who had his hands clenched in his pockets and his back braced against the wall. Toreth examined him with mild interest, wondering if the man was about to faint.

When the teacher had started to shuffle his feet, Toreth said, "Mr McVade, I have a question. Would you say that the Administration tries to do what's right for its citizens?"

"Of course," he said quickly.

"Of course. Would you say that children should be taught that the Administration has their best interests at heart? And that the people who run the Administration know what's right and what's wrong?"

"Well, yes. Para-investigator, all teaching staff are required to have extensive background checks and interviews about their — "

"Shut up," Toreth said evenly. "I'm not a citizenship specialist, but would I be right in saying that nowhere in the current curriculum does it say that children should be taught that it's important to learn to think for themselves about questions of right and wrong?"

Now his skin had the curd-pale colouring of one of Warrick's more exotic cheeses. "Oh, Christ," McVade breathed.

"Or maybe
I'm
wrong. Have they changed the curriculum and not told us?"

To his surprise, McVade straightened, taking his hands from his pockets and putting them behind his back. "I'm not saying anything else until I have access to an independent legal representative."

Under the new P&P, the bastard would probably be in luck. "For a political crime like spreading sedition — and to minors at that? I think you know better than to expect a rep for that."

Some of the colour had returned to McVade's face. "Then I demand to have the head teacher present before we continue this, this . . . "

"Interrogation?" Toreth broke out one of his nastier intimidating smiles. "Mr McVade, this isn't an interrogation. It's a friendly informal interview. Besides, the school wouldn't thank you for making the whole incident official. Even if it went no further, I'd have to put a note in your security file and the establishment's file. You know what that would mean?"

"My complete and irreversible unemployability?" McVade said bitterly.

"Right." Toreth relaxed his stance. "But I don't think it needs to go that far, do you? Not when it's all based on a misunderstanding."

McVade stared, obviously wondering if he'd misheard. Finally, he licked his lips. "Misunderstanding?"

"Do you know why I'm here? Someone I know has a child in one of your classes. We had an interesting little chat recently about your idiosyncratic interpretation of the citizenship lessons. I told her that she'd probably made a mistake and you just weren't very clear when you explained things. Kids that age can easily get the wrong end of the stick."

"Yes, they, er . . . they can." McVade looked like a man trying to work out where the trap lay. "I'll make sure I'm clearer in the future."

"You do that. Nice talking to you, and I hope I don't have any reason to do it again." Toreth clapped him on the shoulder, and the man nodded fervently.

"You won't, I promise."

"You'd better get back in there, eh? Before the little bastards set the place on fire."

When Toreth arrived in the office, he found that Sara had left a physical note on his desk, in bright red ink on yellow paper, to remind him that it was Warrick's birthday a week from today. That, he realised, was after the move, assuming it all went ahead in light of the recent excitement. Warrick hadn't said otherwise.

The corporate kidnapping interviews had provided no immediate leads for Nagra and B-C. Everything they had so far pointed to amateurs trying their luck in the volatile political situation. That meant a higher chance of finding them eventually, but also that they probably didn't understand the corporate anti-extortion rules. Very soon, it would dawn on the kidnappers that they had a high-profile victim on their hands, no chance of getting the ransom they wanted, and no backup plan. That was usually bad for the victim.

As the case had ground to a halt, Tillotson was already sending memos suggesting if Toreth didn't get somewhere soon, the four pool investigators he'd been assigned would find new work elsewhere. A two-day investigation was hardly old enough to write off as hopeless, Toreth thought, but he knew there was no point arguing. He applied himself to the case, trying — not always successfully — to avoid wondering what Warrick was doing.

By lunchtime, Toreth found his concentration wandering more and more often. Finally, he abandoned official work for a while. Nagra's attention would suffice for the kidnap victim, Toreth decided, while he concentrated on a genuine political criminal.

Oblique avenues of investigation into Tarin were limited, but at least Toreth could firm up the cover for his visit to the school this morning. McVade must have been telling the truth about his vetting for the teaching position, but Toreth pulled the man's file anyway. The 'no action' flag caught his eye at once. Panic gave him a stirring adrenaline kick until he checked the details and relaxed. It was only a low-level warning, meaning no arrest and no interrogation, but also no absolute prohibition on contact. An informal interview at the subject's place of employment wasn't likely to arouse the wrath of . . . whoever.