A rhetorical question. Crombie looked away, muttering. Bish heard the words “useless fucker.”
Gorman’s phone rang and he answered it. “The embassy,” he mouthed, as if Bish had asked. “I’ll be a minute.” He walked back inside.
“Does anyone know where Violette’s been taken?” Bish asked the group. She wasn’t at the hospital, according to Carmody, and her disappearance didn’t sit right with him.
“Ask Gorman,” Charlie Crombie said. There was a suppressed rage about the kid.
The last thing Bish wanted was another conversation with the chaperone. But he went after him.
Inside, the parents made a beeline for Bish. Saffron was there, holding out a tea for him.
“Are you going to speak to the parents?” She tucked two digestive biscuits into his hand. “They’ll be relieved to know our police are involved.”
“But our police aren’t involved,” he said.
“They don’t need to know that. Just flash your badge. Everyone wants reassurance.”
Bish wasn’t really in a position to flash anything these days. He’d been asked to leave his badge behind a week ago. But his job with the Met hadn’t been out on the streets. He was the man back at the station taking care of the uniforms. He was also the liaison guy with the community, and that was the part he’d miss the most if they didn’t let him return. He knew how to distribute information and answer questions and keep the peace.
He ushered the adults into a small room at the back of the hall used to store gym equipment. He could hear the words “police inspector” whispered among the dozen or so people surrounding him.
“Is everyone’s child accounted for?” he asked.
A show of hands and nods. Thankfully no one belonging to Michael Stanley or Julius McEwan had turned up in the past half hour.
“I’m one of the fathers too,” he said, “so I’m not here as the police. I know exactly how you’re all feeling: frustrated and tired and emotional, and all I want to do is take my daughter home.”
“Where are our embassy people?” one of the women asked.
“They’ve been dealing with the injured at the hospital,” Bish said. “Someone will be here soon, though.”
“The French say they won’t let us go home until the kids have been questioned,” a man said. “Except they haven’t even started yet, have they? We could be here for days.”
This thought caused a ripple of distress among the rest of the parents.
“They need to do all they can to piece together what happened today, so we have to be patient,” Bish insisted.
“My girls are beside themselves,” the mother of the twins said. “One of their friends is listed as unaccountable.”
A few others voiced similar fears. How would they tell their children that the person who’d sat opposite them at dinner for the past seven days could be dead, or badly injured?
“I just spoke to one of the parents at the hospital,” Bish said. “Reggie Hill and Amy Jacobs will be allowed to go home soon enough. Their injuries are minor. There are four students in a critical condition: Fionn Sykes, Lola Barrett-Parker, Manoshi Bagchi, and Astrid Copely. They were all seated at the front of the bus. If there’s any relief in this situation, it’s that the bus wasn’t at full capacity and the vacant seats were closer to the front.”
“Whose bodies are outside?” a woman dared to ask.
“I can’t say for sure.” Not quite a lie. Bish cleared the hoarseness from his voice. “A young Spanish girl was killed at the steps of her bus. The two closest to the destroyed bus are obviously ours. So you’ll have to prepare your children for the worst news.”
“They need to remove the bodies,” said a father dressed as if he’d just walked off a golf course. Half these people had been on holidays. They seemed to have got into their cars or onto a flight with nothing more than what they were wearing. “It’s wrong for them to still be out there,” he added.
“I’m afraid that can’t happen until everyone’s done their job,” Bish said.
He watched as a number of the women wept. Men wiped tears from their eyes, shaking their heads in disbelief.
“Can I ask that you don’t take up Ms. Gilies’s time for the next couple of hours?” Bish continued. He kept his tone gentle. “There are at least half a dozen parents and guardians still in transit, and it’s important she’s free to speak to them if they ring. If there’s any further information, I’ll update you. All I can say is that I’m grateful my daughter’s here and not at the hospital. Or lying outside. The best thing for now is to be with your kids.”
The group seemed less manic, at least. There was a murmuring among them and Bish went to walk away.
“This business with the LeBrac girl,” one of the fathers said. “My son said she was cagey. Strange.”
“And gave out sexual favors to more than one of the lads,” a woman said. “If she comes from that heinous family—”