“Alright,” she said, “Who have you spoken to already.”
“Well I went to her office but I only got the official line from her co-workers.” I spoke to Ishmael and he said that her entire team is infamously incompetent. I’ve been going through her paperwork and files but it’s slow going. And now I’m speaking to you. So spill.” I said.
“[REDACTED]’s nickname was the Dingo. It comes from a blog that someone wrote about her called Dingo’s Got My Baby.” She said.
“Dingo? I never met the woman but I’ve seen pictures and if I was going to anthropomorphise her it wouldn’t be as a canid it would be as a [REDACTED].” I said.
“Maybe but the Dingo thing caught on. Partly because of the unfortunate facial hair problem, I think, but mainly because Dingos look pretty harmless but are anything but. I don’t know if she knew anything about it but I doubt her colleagues missed it.” She said.
“So what was she like then?” I said.
“A pain in the arse.” Said Isla.
“I’m going to need a bit more than that.”
“I’ve never been able to work out if she’s evil, incompetent or incompetently evil. She missed meetings all the time. Even the ones that she set up. When she did turn up she was late, even when we were meeting at her office. She was nearly impossible to get hold of. She would tell parents that she’d okay-ed something with the School and then just not tell us. I know at some schools they would actually run a sweepstake on how late she was going to be and what her excuse would be for not turning up.” She said.
“So she wasn’t popular with teachers?” I said.
“She wasn’t popular with anyone. Other social workers wouldn’t talk about it but you could tell they were embarrassed by her but the Family Support Workers heated her. You could see them tense up whenever she was mentioned. I think some of the Child Psychologists would have lynched her if they thought they could get away with it and I know at least two Educational Psychologists would have helped.”
“So what was she doing to the Psychologists?” I said.
“Oh she’d just ride roughshod over their recommendations. She’d ignore a diagnosis, sabotage education placements and blame parents for incurable developmental disorders. They’d have to write the same letter over and over again to various panels and hearings because if they didn’t write directly she just wouldn’t pass on their findings. She seemed to regard things like Autism, ADHD and Dyspraxia as excuses rather than diagnoses.” She said.
“So the parents must have hated her.” I said.
“Parents never like Social Workers. Even when you have dedicated, loving parents and a good social worker the best you get is simmering resentment. So was she murdered then?” She said.
“It’s being treated as suspicious.” I said.
“Why are you really looking at this?”
“Well I could tell you but then…”
“You’d have to kill me?” She said.
“Of course not. Nothing so brutal. I’d have to spike your drink and call in my superiors to have your memory restructured.” I said. I went to get myself a beer.