Bryant & May and the Secret Santa Read Free Page A

manager, Miss Prentice, was a formidable presence, as stately as a galleon in full sail. Bryant imagined that she might have once been a headmistress, reluctantly released by the board of governors for being too free with the cane.
    ‘Branways has been supplying school uniforms to St Crispin’s for nearly four hundred years,’ she said with fierce pride. ‘My staff can get the measure of a child in a single glance. Of course, they’re getting chubbier these days, but boarding school soon knocks that out of them.’
    ‘I bet they hide the doughnuts and save the dosh,’ said Bryant. ‘Schools like St Crispin’s are a closed book to me. What’s to stop the parents from shopping elsewhere?’
    ‘We hold the licence for the uniforms,’ Miss Prentice explained. ‘No other stylings are allowed. Lapels, ties and belts must all be a certain width, collars must be a specific distance from the hair, sleeves and cuffs have rigidly dictated lengths and cuts. And of course no one else has the right to hand-sew pocket badges, heraldic devices or crests. They’re unique and impossible to duplicate. St Crispin’s sportswear is renowned for its quality. Our pants have a double-lined gusset for those chilly mornings on the rugger pitch.’
    ‘So it’s fair to say you have the school uniform racket stitched up,’ said Bryant, laughing at his own joke. Miss Prentice shot him a look that could have dented a frying pan.
    He placed the plastic bag on her counter and shook the scrap of material out of it. ‘I presume you’ve seen one of these before?’
    Miss Prentice pushed back her iron-grey hair and peered closely. ‘That’s one of ours. It’s the manufacturer’s tag from the school tie. It’s been cut off. They can’t be torn. And it’s not more than eighteen months old.’
    ‘How can you tell?’ Bryant asked.
    ‘We briefly flirted with nylon thread but switched back to our own blend after complaints. This is from the new stock.’
    ‘Can you provide us with a list of all the customers who have bought a tie like this?’ asked May.
    Miss Prentice pursed her lips alarmingly. ‘I’d rather not divulge our client details.’
    ‘Good Lord, you’re not a doctor, you’re flogging togs to nippers,’ said Bryant, exasperated. ‘Everybody’s a big shot. I want a list of all the parents who bought this tie, right now, please.’
    ‘There are one hundred and sixty boys in Covent Garden day school and four hundred and twenty in the main boarding school in Sussex.’ Miss Prentice was suddenly agreeable. She had been stood up to, and respected that.
    ’Is there any way of narrowing that number down?’ asked May.
    ‘Let me see. Actually, yes. There are three ties, first year, junior and sixth form. They’re all slightly different in length and colour. This label is from the first-year size.’
    ‘We only need you to check the boarding school,’ said Bryant.
    May was puzzled. ‘Why?’
    ‘This boy’s family lives in Lewes. He and his mother had come up to town for the Christmas lights. He was in the first year so the tag is likely to be from someone of the same age.’ He turned to Miss Prentice. ‘St Crispin’s. I’m sure it provides a wonderful education but I vaguely remember it being in the news.’
    ‘I—heard something…’ Miss Prentice began tentatively. ‘There was a culture of bullying among the new boys. Of course, you tend to get these things in boarding schools but this one was particularly unfortunate.’
    ‘Unfortunate in what way?’
    ‘I think a boy died.’
    ‘How long ago?’
    ‘About a year, right around this time.’
    May had already found a report of the case on his phone. ‘Andrew Gormley, aged eleven,’ he said. ‘Hanged himself in the school dorm. An independent investigation carried out by the board of governors found a culture of persistent bullying existed among the first-year students.’
    ‘I remember Andrew.’ Miss Prentice suddenly softened, and Bryant saw kindness