Careless Love

4

The meeting in the boardroom that Thursday morning was attended by the only four detectives remaining on the Eastvale Regional Homicide and Major Crimes squad: Detective Superintendent Alan Banks, DI Annie Cabbot, DS Winsome Jackman and DC Geraldine Masterson. Their fifth member, DC Doug Wilson, had recently left the force to pursue a teaching career. Due to budget restrictions, no replacement had yet been found for him, and Area Commander/Chief Superintendent Catherine Gervaise had warned Banks not to hold his breath waiting for one.

A few images of the victims and a number of points raised by the investigations so far graced the whiteboard, but it didn’t amount to very much. Winsome had talked to both Kirsten Brody and the van driver John Kelly again, and it was now clear that nobody involved in the accident on Belderfell Pass or the discovery of the body had placed Adrienne Munro in the passenger seat of the abandoned Ford Focus. The problem of how she had got there remained.

Banks finished his coffee, stood up and started the proceedings. ‘Basically, we’ve got two suspicious deaths,’ he began. ‘Let’s start with Adrienne Munro, aged nineteen. The way it appears is that Adrienne died from an overdose of sleeping pills, or to be more accurate, died from asphyxiating on her own vomit while unconscious from an overdose of sleeping pills.’ He waved Wednesday’s morning paper in the air. ‘Though thanks to some shoddy reporting, everyone thinks she died a drug addict’s death, probably with a needle sticking out of her arm. Jazz Singh is working on the toxicology to determine exactly what composition and brand of sleeping tablets were used. There was no physical evidence that they were forced on Adrienne in any way. The other death, a male in his mid-sixties, appears to be due to injuries sustained from a fall into a gully on Tetchley Moor.

‘Adrienne clearly had to have been taken — most likely driven — to the abandoned car she was found in after her death. The unidentified male appears to have wandered into a gully and died from the fall. But Tetchley Moor is pretty remote, so we need to know how he got there in the first place and what he was doing there dressed the way he was on such a night. It’s not impossible that someone could have pushed or tossed him over the edge of the gully. Or perhaps he was being chased.

‘In neither case do we have any evidence of injuries inflicted on the victim by another person, which means that both deaths could be accidental, or the result of suicide. What we do have is evidence of the involvement of another person or persons after death, or possibly even, for a short time, before death occurred. It’s a bit of a conundrum, to say the least.

‘As regards timing, the best I can gather from studying Dr Glendenning’s post-mortem results and Dr Burns’s crime-scene examinations is that the victims could have died at the same time, within a day of one another, or as long as two days apart. When pushed, the doctor told me that it was likely Adrienne Munro died first. Either way, we’re looking at last weekend, Friday night after midnight at the earliest, and Monday at the latest. Adrienne Munro’s parents last spoke with her on Saturday morning, and all they said was that she seemed a bit distracted, perhaps by her university workload.

‘We don’t know the identity of the deceased male yet, and needless to say that’s slowing us down. Animal activity has made arriving at a suitable image with which to go public difficult, but we have both our photographer Peter Darby and our occasional sketch artist Ray Cabbot working on it. Once we’ve identified him, we can work on finding out when and where he was last seen. He was wearing an expensive made-to-measure Hugo Boss suit and handmade leather brogues, so he was probably fairly wealthy. We hope for some results soon. In the meantime, we keep our eyes and ears open for any missing persons’ reports. Who knows, maybe he’s a Russian spy. Another Sergei Skripal. Maybe they’re both Russian spies. But somewhere, someone must be wondering where he is. Any more progress with this, Gerry?’

Gerry Masterson shook her head. ‘Nothing, sir. No missing persons of that description, no matching fingerprints in the system. Ray and Peter hope to have something for us before close of play today. I’ve spoken with Adrian Moss at media liaison, and he assures us he’ll get it on tonight’s news. Until then, there’s not much more we can do. We’re guessing that the man lived locally, or at least not too far away, so we’ve got some of the beat constables and PCSOs asking around the nearby villages.’

‘Getting anywhere with the keys in his pocket?’

‘No, sir. Just common or garden house keys. A couple of Yales, deadlock, a few smaller ones that could belong to cupboards or sheds. I doubt they’ll tell us anything more until we find a house to match them.’

‘The key ring itself?’

‘Generic. No initials or “a present from Benidorm” sort of stuff.’

‘Pity.’

‘We could use a bit more help with the door-to-door enquiries, sir. Can’t we draft in a few foot soldiers?’

Banks nodded. ‘I’ve put in for a couple more PCSOs. And if we find we’re dealing with homicide, then I’ll have to go on my knees to headquarters and beg for office staff. For the moment, we’ll work both cases out of here. What did Dr Glendenning have to say about the body on the moor?’

‘No evidence of a struggle,’ Annie Cabbot said. ‘It was much the same as Dr Burns told us at the scene. All the evidence points to the fact that he died where we found him, two or perhaps three days earlier. On further examination, we found nothing more in his pockets to help us uncover his identity, and there were no distinguishing marks on his body. There are still too many unanswered questions. What if someone did push him down that gully? A gentle push would have done it, and wouldn’t necessarily have left any traces. We’ve no way of knowing who else might have been up there at the time, no footprints or handy threads of fabric caught on the heather.’

‘Any signs of a boyfriend in the Munro case?’ Gerry asked. ‘Or someone she’d rejected recently, upset in some way?’

‘There was someone she was seeing last year, and we’ll be talking to him,’ said Banks. ‘But no one at the moment. Not according to her mother.’

‘Perhaps her parents didn’t know?’ said Gerry. ‘My parents certainly didn’t know about all my boyfriends.’

Annie looked at her. ‘All?’

Gerry blushed. ‘Never you mind, guv. What I’m saying is that parents don’t necessarily know everything. When it comes right down to it, they don’t know very much at all.’

Banks thought about his own adolescence and how little his parents knew about what he got up to. It had been the same with his own children too. ‘True enough,’ he said. ‘I suggest that first we find out what we can from Adrienne’s teachers and friends at the college. Winsome and I will head down there later this morning. We’ve got results on some of the phone numbers from her mobile. Nothing suspect so far, except perhaps the ex-boyfriend her parents mentioned to us. Colin Fairfax. They were supposed to have split up last year, but there are a number of calls from him since then. He may have been pestering her or stalking her. The last call made from her phone was on Saturday morning. The parents. That checks out. Annie, I’d like you and Gerry to keep on trying to find out the identity of the male. Put a bit of pressure on Peter and Ray. And keep in touch with Adrian Moss, too. He might be a bit of a pain in the arse, but he does have the contacts and the occasional good idea when it comes to media liaisons.’ Banks picked up his folders and empty coffee cup as the detectives drifted out of the boardroom.

Annie got his attention in the corridor.

‘Got time for a coffee? My treat.’

‘Fine,’ said Banks.

The Golden Grill had morphed into a Costa almost overnight, or so it seemed, and by mid-morning on a Thursday it was full of shivering shoppers taking a break. Banks ordered simple black coffee and a lemon poppy seed muffin, while Annie went for a latte and a giant chocolate chip cookie, and they made their way through the prams and shopping bags that cluttered the aisles and managed to find a table for two at the back, next to the toilets. The sound of children overdosed with sugar, and of babies crying for attention, made it unlikely that anyone would overhear their conversation.

Before Banks could open his mouth, Annie touched his forearm and said, ‘I want to apologise for last night. I was out of line.’

Banks nodded. ‘Maybe I was insensitive. I hadn’t realised how difficult it must be for you seeing Ray and Zelda together.’

‘No need to be patronising, Alan. I’ve said I was out of line. I’ve apologised. And, by the way, you were flirting with Zelda.’ She paused and took a bite of her cookie without taking her eyes off him.

‘She’s a remarkable woman. Ray’s a lucky fellow.’

‘There you are. That’s exactly what another bloke would say. I’m trying to apologise here, not start another argument.’

‘All right, all right.’ Banks tested his coffee. It was still too hot.

‘It’s just so sudden, that’s all,’ Annie said. ‘And startling. I mean, I’ve been used to Ray having girlfriends over the years. Of course I have. I was just a kid when my mother died, and when I look back, Ray wasn’t so old. He had his needs, as they say. And they all treated me respectfully.’

‘It’s quite a shock when you realise how young your parents were at certain key moments of your life. Somehow, they always seemed so much older than you.’

‘That’s because they were, you daft pillock.’

Banks laughed. ‘You know what I mean.’

Annie smiled, cradling her latte in both hands. ‘Yeah, I suppose I do. My mother always seems young. In my memories. In my dreams. But she never got old, so I suppose that makes sense.’

‘You still dream about her?’

Annie nodded. ‘Sometimes.’

‘What’s so different about this time, about Zelda?

‘I don’t know what it is. Partly because they’re here, of course, and not in Cornwall. Also maybe it’s because it so obviously is the “real thing” this time, whatever that is. For Ray, at any rate. And maybe it’s because I’m getting old, and I don’t have anything like that myself, or anyone in my life, for that matter. I could analyse myself till the cows come home and still not find an answer. Maybe I’d like to be adored. I mean, I couldn’t even keep Nick bloody Fleming, and he’s not exactly the catch of the day.’

‘Simple jealousy?’

‘Jealousy’s rarely simple.’

‘It’s still a dog-in-the-manger attitude.’

‘Sort of. Maybe. I don’t know. Watching them just put me in a bad mood, that’s all. Not being able to drink didn’t help much, either.’

‘Next time we’ll take a taxi.’

‘Lord knows what I’d say or do if I got pissed with them.’

Banks laughed again. ‘Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as you think’

Annie gave him a sideways glance and cockeyed smile. ‘Ever the optimist.’

‘Do you really hate Zelda?’

‘I think I do, yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she’s young and beautiful and she’s going to break my father’s heart.’

‘You can’t know that. What makes you say that?’

‘Come on, Alan. Open your eyes. You can’t tell me a beautiful woman like Zelda is going to stay with Ray on a permanent basis. She’ll be off with the first handsome pizza delivery man who comes along, and guess who’ll be left to clean up the mess.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Annie. And I think it’s a harsh thing to say.’

‘I’m talking about my feelings now. Aren’t I allowed to talk about my feelings?’

‘Calm down. I didn’t say that.’

‘You certainly implied it.’

Banks paused and sipped some coffee. Just right. The espresso machine hissed and gurgled in the background. ‘For what it’s worth,’ Banks said, ‘I think they’ve got a chance. No, hear me out. I don’t know why, but there’s a powerful chemistry about them, and that may be what makes you feel the way you do. Maybe Zelda needs a father figure. What’s so bad about that? I get the impression that she’s had some tough experiences in her life. In fact, I think she was probably trafficked herself. It would be one way of explaining how she first saw those faces her organisation wants her to recognise again. Remember, she recognised the man with Keane and said he was evil, that he liked to hurt the girls. If that’s so, can you imagine what her experiences must have made her feel about men, about sex?’

‘Yuck. I don’t even want to think about their sex life. Besides, how do you know what her life was like? You’re only guessing.’

‘Perhaps. But maybe she feels safe with Ray. Have you thought about that? That’s all I’m saying.’

‘Whatever that means.’

‘It means he’s a good man, Annie, a kind man, a gentle man. Maybe that’s what she sees in him. Maybe that’s what she needs. Maybe that’s why she loves him. Not all women are hung up on six-packs and pecs.’

‘You’re so bloody naive sometimes, Alan Banks. Most of us aren’t really interested in six-packs or pecs at all. We’re far more interested in the person inside than in the packaging. That’s why you men can let yourselves go, eat what you want, get fat and grow man breasts and still end up in the sack with a stunner like Zelda. Look at you. What about that Italian babe you had, Ophelia, or whatever her name was, and the lovely Sonia? They were both young enough to be your daughters.’

‘Surely you’re not saying I’m fat or have man breasts?’ Banks said. ‘And besides, it’s Oriana and Sophia.’

Annie stared at him open-mouthed for a moment, then she burst out laughing. One or two people at the nearby table gave her funny looks. ‘No, Alan,’ she said. ‘That wasn’t my point at all. As a matter of fact, you’re in pretty good shape for a bloke your age. No tits at all.’

‘Now you’re talking.’ Banks paused. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry. Sorry you feel that way. If you ever want to talk about it again...’

‘I’ll know where not to go. Just joking. Strangely enough, I do feel a bit better, thanks. At least you’ve given me a good laugh.’

‘Give them a chance.’

‘Promise you’ll help clean up the mess if she bolts? A shoulder to cry on?’

‘Promise. I like Ray. I’ll be there for him. I consider him a good friend.’

Annie nodded. ‘I know you do. You and your bloody sixties music.’

Banks shrugged. ‘I feel sorry for you, having to grow up in the eighties.’

‘It wasn’t so bad. At least we had Michael Jackson. Anyway, what are we going to do about Phil Keane? Do you believe that, too? Little Miss Super-brain?’

‘Super-recogniser,’ said Banks. ‘I’ve heard of that. Again, why would she lie? And it makes sense. Keane would hardly go back to his routines in the art world after what happened. He’s probably persona non grata in every art institution in Europe. His skill was in altering the past and forging official documents, making them appear real, as if they’ve been around for years. He’s like the Donald Pleasence character in The Great Escape, only he’s not going blind. He’s also a psychopath. What better line of work for him?’

‘I suppose you’re right. Should we have a chat with Charlie, then?’

Charlie Fox was their contact on the Met. He was a specialist who dealt in art fraud and theft, consulting with the various squads both at home and around the continent when they needed his expertise. ‘We should,’ said Banks. ‘But I don’t think he’ll be able to help us.’

‘Why not?’

‘Think about it. Keane has moved on. What’s the odds he no longer has anything to do with the art world? What’s the odds he hasn’t changed his name?’

‘People make mistakes. You know that as well as I do, Alan. Criminals sometimes make the most basic mistakes because they can’t give up a certain routine or line of operation. They have habits, like everyone else, and habits are often unconscious.’

‘True. Modus operandi. But Keane is smart, remember. And he tried to kill a police officer. Me. He’d know it makes sense to move on, adapt his skills to another criminal venture. It sounds like this is it.’

‘Can’t we contact the people Zelda works with ourselves?’

‘It doesn’t appear as if she’s likely to help us with that. You heard her. I suppose we can’t really blame her. It’s obviously a relationship that nobody wants broadcasting. We could go through other channels, I suppose. Dirty Dick Burgess, for a start. But I don’t want to bring trouble or danger down on Zelda.’

‘God forbid.’

‘Annie!’

‘Sorry. So where do we go next? Do we just wait for Super Zelda to come up with something?’

‘There’s not much else we can do,’ said Banks. He glanced at his watch. ‘In the meantime, I’d better go and pick up my car from the garage, or they’ll be charging me parking for it.’

Winsome knew the campus of Eastvale College fairly well. A couple of cases over the years had taken her there, and she found the racial mix of the area most refreshing after the almost total whiteness of the rest of town, and of the Dales in general. Not that she felt uncomfortable with where she lived or what she did, just that she felt a bit more at home when she walked down a street crowded with young Asian, Chinese and black students as well as white ones. Besides, she liked the tree-lined streets of tall Victorian houses, divided into student flats, with the steep front steps and iron railings and brightly coloured doors, the outside stairs leading down to basement bedsits, the aromas of curry, Thai and Chinese spices that infused the air. It was another world. You could almost imagine yourself in a thriving city rather than a quiet country town.

But that feeling lasted only as far as the campus itself. Its buildings were spread over a large area, mostly ugly and functional squat concrete and glass blocks with fields and woods beyond. There were a few listed buildings, remnants of the original agricultural college, but mostly it was an architectural mess. Winsome paused and consulted her map, then headed for the science buildings, which formed a quadrangle with a central square of grass surrounded by benches. When the weather was fine enough, Winsome knew, students would sit out there chatting or working on essays. They would stretch out on the grass, the young lovers side by side. But not in November.

Professor Luke Stoller had agreed to talk to her about Adrienne Munro in his office. She entered the building through the double glass doors, and a security guard at a semi-circular reception desk told her where the office was on the first floor. The steps were concrete, the rough walls lined with cork boards on which were pinned ads for concerts, ‘ladies’ night’ at The Cellar Club, any lecture changes or cancellations, departmental communications and the meetings of the various clubs and societies. There seemed to be so much going on, Winsome almost wished she were a student again. Almost. The problem was that if she went back these days, she would leave not only with a degree but with the albatross of debt around her neck for many years to come. The Munros were right: it was no way to start a working life.

Professor Stoller answered her knock with a chirpy ‘Come in’ and stood up to shake Winsome’s hand as she entered. He was a paunchy man in his early fifties, she guessed, curly grey hair and matching beard. Even his suit was grey. His tie was the only colourful thing about him, and that looked as if a drunken student had done the Technicolor yawn all over it. He wore it loose at the top, the way Banks always did whenever he had to wear a tie. The bookcases were stuffed with textbooks, and piles of papers sat on top of his filing cabinets and desk, but though the office was cluttered, it was tidy. A large poster showing the human circulation system hung on his wall.

‘Please excuse the mess,’ Stoller said. ‘Work tends to pile up.’

‘I know the feeling,’ said Winsome, sitting down in the hardback chair.

‘It’s about Adrienne, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. When did you last see her?’

‘Wednesday, just over a week ago, when she came for her weekly tutorial.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘This is a terrible business. I simply can’t take it all in yet.’

‘It came as a shock?’

‘A huge one.’

‘Did you know Adrienne well?’

‘As well as one gets to know a student. We met in tutorials, of course, and I also supervised some of her lab work.’

‘Was she a good student?’

‘Excellent. She was very intelligent. Quiet and thoughtful. Adrienne took her work seriously. She wasn’t flighty or lazy, like some of her classmates. She was a hard worker. She was usually on time with her projects, and her examination results last year were exemplary. She had a clear, logical mind. Not only was she good academically, but she had a real feel for the work. She would have made an excellent agricultural scientist.’

‘Not a farmer, then?’

‘Good heavens, no. Whatever gave you that impression?’

‘Agricultural sciences.’

‘A bit misleading, I’m afraid. It’s a catchall discipline, but we’re not a training school for farmers. The students study methods of farming, true enough, but we tend to see the larger picture: crop management, land use and efficiency, environmental issues, food needs, animal husbandry. It’s a very broad field, including courses in statistics and earth sciences, climate, geology and geography, even a bit of chemistry, and biology, which is my area of speciality. Inter-disciplinary, if you like.’

‘And Adrienne?’

‘Adrienne was especially interested in conservation and wildlife issues, responsible land use, growth cycles, environmental factors such as climate change, alternative energy sources, GMOs. that sort of thing.’

‘GMOs?’

‘Sorry. Genetically modified organisms. Adrienne wasn’t sure whether she was for them or against.’

‘Where would she have been likely to end up working after she’d finished?’

‘A government department? Or a consortium? Perhaps even one of the many private consulting firms.’ He smiled. ‘Who knows, she might even have ended up teaching somewhere like this. What she really wanted to do was to go to Africa and work in farming, energy and land use. She was very forward-looking. She always said there’s no practical reason at all for anyone in today’s world to be starving. And she’s right, of course.’

‘If it weren’t for politics,’ Winsome said.

‘Yes.’

‘Would you say Adrienne was a conscientious student?’

‘Yes, I’d say she was.’

‘What do you think went wrong? Was something eating away at her?’

Stoller shook his head slowly. ‘I can’t for the life of me think what it was. The newspaper seemed to imply that she was a drug-taker, which I found hard to believe, but you said on the phone that she committed suicide?’

‘I said it appeared that she took an overdose of sleeping pills. Had she been depressed lately, upset about anything?’

‘Not to my knowledge. Her work...’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, this year her work wasn’t quite up to the standards she set herself in her first year, but that’s not uncommon in second-year students. They all seem to hit a patch where other things seem more important than university work. I suppose it means they’ve finally settled in. Besides, it’s early days yet. Start-of-term struggle.’

‘What other things?’

‘Who knows? Almost anything can get in the way, really. Social life. Boyfriends. Shopping.’

‘Did Adrienne have a boyfriend?’

‘Not that I knew of. But then, I wouldn’t be in the best position to know. It’s not a good idea to discuss such private matters with students, as I’m sure you’re aware.’

Winsome nodded. ‘The times we live in. But was she still doing well enough academically?’

‘Oh, yes. So far. She just missed a few lectures, a couple of tutorials, was late with an essay once. Seemed distracted in lectures. That sort of thing. In most students you wouldn’t even notice, it’s par for the course, but with Adrienne... well, I suppose she’d set herself too high a standard last year.’

‘Do you think the course work was too hard for her? Did it lead to stress?’

‘There’s always a certain amount of stress involved if you want to do a good job, but I’d say Adrienne could handle it. I can’t imagine it being too hard for her.’

‘Do you know if she had something else on her mind, what it was that might have been distracting her?’

‘No. If she did have any serious problems, she didn’t tell me about them.’

‘Was she worried about anything? Anxious?’

‘On occasion, I thought so. Like I said, distracted, distant, as if her mind were elsewhere.’

‘But you’ve no idea about what? You’ve no idea where?’

‘No. Sorry. Maybe it was money. A lot of the students have money problems these days.’

‘What about the scholarship?’

Stoller frowned. ‘What scholarship?’

‘According to her parents, Adrienne was awarded a scholarship at the beginning of this year.’

‘First I’ve heard of it.’

‘Would you be likely to know?’

‘There are all kinds of scholarships around. I can’t say I always pay as much attention as I should to departmental memos and the like, even if they sent me one. I can’t say it surprises me though. As I said, she was a bright student.’ He paused. ‘But I like to think she would have told me about something like that. If she’d been her old self she would have been excited, and I’m sure she would have told me.’

‘Could being free of money worries have affected her work?’

‘In what way?’

‘I don’t know. Made her feel she had to give more in return? Or the opposite — feel that she could kick back and relax a bit. Have fun. She’d have more money to go drinking or clubbing, shopping, do other things. Things that might distract her from her studies.’

‘I suppose it’s a possibility. But, as I said, I know nothing of this scholarship, or what she did in her own time. You’ll have to check with the bursar’s office about the money.’

‘Do you know of anyone Adrienne might have confided in?’

‘Neela, perhaps. Neela Mitchell. They were very close. Best friends.’

It was one of the names Winsome had already picked up from the phone calls and emails. ‘Do you know her address?’

‘Yes. She was in the same tutorial group as Adrienne. I needed her details in case I had to get in touch.’ Stoller walked over to his filing cabinet and pulled out a folder. ‘Should I be giving you this information?’ he said. ‘I mean, isn’t there some sort of confidentiality rule?’

‘Professor Stoller,’ said Winsome, ‘a suspicious death usually trumps confidentiality, but if you insist, I can go and get a court order.’

‘No, no. I’m sorry. I wasn’t meaning to be difficult. I gave your colleague Adrienne’s address. I just don’t want to get into trouble.’

‘Believe me, you’d be in much more trouble if you didn’t tell me what I want to know. Besides, we have this Neela’s phone number and email address already. You’ll just be saving me a little time. If you wouldn’t mind, sir?’

‘You said “suspicious death”,’ Stoller said. ‘I thought she’d committed suicide? Are you saying now that you suspect foul play, that someone might have done this to her? Do you think Adrienne was murdered?’

‘I’m not suggesting anything of the kind, and I’d be very grateful if you wouldn’t go around repeating that to anyone else. Suspicious means there are unanswered questions, that’s all. We like to dot our i’s and cross our t’s, just like you academics.’

Stoller gave her Neela Mitchell’s address. ‘I don’t know if she’s still there, though,’ he said. ‘She was very upset when she heard the news about Adrienne. She came to see me, and I recommended counselling. We have an excellent centre here on campus. She may even have gone home to her parents.’

‘I’ll take it from here, sir, don’t worry. Thanks for the address.’

Stoller nodded, sat down again and rearranged the papers on his desk. At least he wasn’t playing the busy card, trying to get rid of her, Winsome noticed, the way a lot of professionals tend to do with the police. ‘Do you happen to know if Adrienne was on any prescription medication? Was she taking antidepressants, tranquillisers, sleeping pills, anything like that?’

‘Good Lord, I don’t think so. I doubt it. Not Adrienne.’

‘Drugs?’

‘I never saw any signs.’

‘Would you have recognised them if you had?’

‘We’ve had seminars on the problem of drugs on campus, so I know a few of the things to watch out for. I saw none of them in Adrienne’s case. At worst, she was sometimes overtired in a morning, but I just assumed she’d been up working late. Otherwise she always seemed perfectly normal to me.’

‘Did she go clubbing, that sort of thing?’

‘Again, I wouldn’t know. At a guess, I’d say she did about as much and no less than most of the girls, which wasn’t excessive. Dances, pub nights, that sort of thing. Young people need to have fun as well as work, DS Jackman.’

‘I know that, sir. It wasn’t so long ago.’

‘I... I... didn’t mean... Which university, if you don’t mind my asking?’

Winsome smiled. ‘Not at all. Birmingham. And I studied psychology and criminology. So you saw no signs of excessive clubbing, drug-taking or binge-drinking, just Adrienne being tired occasionally from a late night’s working?’

‘As far as I know. I mean, I assumed it was work, but she may have been out dancing late. Where’s the harm in that?’

‘There isn’t any, as far as I can see. Is there a doctor or a student clinic on campus?’

‘Yes. A very good health centre. But they won’t tell you any-thing, of course. I know doctors are bound by confidentiality.’

‘Oh, they’ll tell me,’ Winsome said. ‘That sort of thing only happens on television.’

‘But patient confidentiality—’

‘Is all very well and good, sir. While the patient is alive. I’m afraid that all bets are off now.’

Stoller hung his head. ‘Of course.’

‘Ever heard of a Colin Fairfax?’

Stoller’s brow furrowed. ‘No. I can’t say as I have.’

‘He wasn’t a student?’

‘Certainly not in this department, or I’d remember.’

‘Is there anything else you can tell me about Adrienne? Anyone else I should talk to?’

‘Neela would know far more about her other friends and her social life in general.’

‘I’ll talk to her. Thank you very much for your time, Professor. You’ve been most helpful.’

‘I have? It’s a pleasure. I... I mean... I’m only too glad to help. Poor Adrienne.’

Winsome scribbled a few more notes in her book, but all it really amounted to was that Adrienne had seemed a bit more tired and distant than usual this year, but that her work hadn’t suffered seriously yet because of it. That and the mysterious scholarship. She hoped Neela Mitchell would have a bit more useful information to tell her. Or Colin Fairfax, when they tracked him down.

For now, it was time to get back to the squad room and do a bit of work on the computer. The rest could wait until tomorrow morning.