Endangering Innocents Read Online Free Page B

his usual stance, arms akimbo, legs slightly apart, blocking the doorway reminiscent of a Blackamoor guarding a harem.
    Sally Tomkinson glanced nervously at him as she opened the file. “It’s a terrible responsibility,” she said, “all these young children. And working mums are frequently late picking them up. I do worry when the children go charging out of school like the wildebeest migration. But they get so excited.”
    Joanna nodded.
    “The man’s been spotted quite a few times,” Sally continued. “We don’t know who he is. No one seems to recognise him. And as far as I can ascertain I don’t think he’s ever approached anyone - not children or staff or parents. He’s never picked anyone up. He just sits there, watching the children come out of school - almost as though he’s hoping one of them will run to him.”
    She shivered. “You can’t be too careful these days. The children run out so fast. They’re so young. And vulnerable. It would be awful if …” She didn’t need to complete the sentence.
    Joanna took out her notepad. “When was he first noticed?”
    “Sometime in the winter when the afternoons were dark. When the children came back to school. January sometime. I didn’t keep a record at first. I don’t know how long he’d been coming here. No one seems to remember him being there before Christmas.”
    “How often is he around?”
    “A couple of times a week. No regular day. He just appears.”
    “Has anyone approached him?”
    “One of the teachers tried to talk to him one day but when he saw her walking towards the car he drove off. That was when she took down the registration number.”
    “We’ll need to talk to that teacher.”
    “Fine - yes.”
    Joanna’s pen was poised. “Her name?”
    “Vicky. Vicky Salisbury. She teaches the reception class.”
    “Then maybe we’ll start there.”
     
    A sea of earnest faces turned upwards as Joanna and Mike entered the classroom. The teacher was casually dressed in trousers, a T-shirt and trainers. Sally Tomkinson had a brief, quiet word with her and she nodded her head.
    “I’m glad you came,” she said. “I had such a bad feeling about him.”
    “What did he look like?”
    “I don’t know,” the teacher said. “Dishevelled, mousy hair. It was the van I really noticed, a blue Ford Escort.”
    “I’m glad you took the number plate.”
    Joanna turned to her side. Korpanski was squatting on the floor, already chatting to the front table of children. He looked as though he was enjoying himself. She turned back to the teacher. “Have any of the children mentioned him?”
    “No. None of them.” Vicky tucked her straight shoulder-length hair behind her ears. “But one or two of the parents have,” she said. “And they want something doing.”
    Joanna scanned the children. They were busily colouring bits of paper, absorbed in their task. Mike was giving his table a hand, passing around the colouring pens.
    In the corner of the room was a small, screened off area with a soft rubber mat on the floor. Shelves of books formed a room divider. A few toys were scattered around.
    She tapped Korpanski on the shoulder. “Why don’t you talk to the children, a table at a time,” she suggested. “Give them the old ‘don’t talk to strangers’ routine. And tell them if they can’t actually see the person they
know
is going to be picking them up to stay safe in the classroom.”
    “I wish,” the teacher muttered.
    Sally Tomkinson edged forward. “Can I leave you to it then? I’ve got a heap of paperwork to do.”
    “Fine. We’ll call in before we leave. And we will be having a word with your ‘visitor’.”
    Joanna waited until the door had swung to behind the headmistress and Korpanski had headed for the story-time area.
    Madeline Wiltshaw sat, still as a mouse, and stared up at the policewoman who smelt so nice. Like oranges and lemons and flowers instead of fags and chips.
    She followed the policeman obediently