Rules of Vengeance

8

Fronted by the Meadow, a broad field of untamed grass and bordered by the meandering waters of the Isis River, Christ Church College, Oxford, was the picture of British higher learning. The college was founded in 1524 by Thomas Cardinal Wolsey who had expropriated the grounds from a group of stubborn monks. Henry VIII stole it back from Wolsey and appointed the monastery church as the cathedral of the diocese of Oxford. As such, Christ Church was the only college at Oxford to be both church and institution of higher learning. But that kind of history belonged in guidebooks. All anyone knew about it today including Kate Ford, was that its great hall served as the set for Hogwart’s dining room in the Harry Potter movies. She was suitably impressed.

Kate ducked her head into the dusk of the porter’s lodge and announced herself. “I’m looking for Anthony Dodd.”

“Second floor. First door on the right.”

She climbed the wooden stairwell. It was approaching six in the evening, and she was already bone tired. It was the videos that did it. All day she’d sat in One Park ’s security office reviewing tapes from the building’s closed-circuit camera system in hopes of spotting Robert Russell’s murderer. But no one-not she, nor Reg Cleak, nor any of the doormen who had worked the day before-had seen any unknown persons enter the building, or-and this was the crucial point-walk through the front door of Russell’s residence on the fifth floor. Eight hours and not a single clue.

At four the coroner had phoned with news confirming that Russell’s skull had been fractured before his fall. It was his opinion that the weapon was a blunt instrument, something akin to a ballpeen hammer. And though he couldn’t say whether or not the blow had killed Russell, he was able to state with certainty that the blow had rendered him unconscious. The news confirmed her suspicion that Russell was already dead, or at the least incapacitated, when he’d fallen from his balcony, and had bolstered her belief that the assailant had been waiting for Russell upon his return. The question remained: how in God’s name had he gotten in?

Reaching the second floor, Kate advanced down a gloomy hallway. The first door on the right stood ajar. Inside a cramped, sun-filled office, a burly young man in rugby kit was bent over a desk, shuffling through a stack of papers. Kate poked her head in. “Is this Professor Dodd’s office?”

“It is,” answered the student without looking up.

“Is he about?” Kate asked.

“He is indeed.” The young man put down his papers and stood up. He was taller than she’d expected, at least six feet four inches, and handsome. His cheeks were flushed, his brow damp with sweat below a head of tousled brown hair. But it was his legs she couldn’t help but notice. His thighs were as stout as tree trunks and striated with muscle.

“Where?”

“You’re looking at him.” Dodd nodded, stretching a hand to shake as he came closer. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’m used to it. I’ll be forty next week. I’m praying for my first gray hair.”

“Lucky you,” said Kate. “I’ve been plucking mine since I was thirty. Detective Chief Inspector Ford.”

“I figured as much.” Dodd moved his rugby ball off a chair and motioned for Kate to sit. “Can I get you something to drink? Water, beer, diet soda?”

“Water would be fine.”

Dodd picked up a cell phone and called the scout with his order. “Sorry about the getup,” he said afterward. “Coming from a practice. Season’s almost here. I’m only a coach, but I like to stay in shape.” He took up position, leaning against his desk. “Anyway, let’s talk about Robert.”

“You knew him well?”

“I was his tutor,” said Dodd. “I supervised his doctoral work. We met twice a week for three years. We kept up contact since. I’d say I knew him well enough to know he’d never commit suicide. I take it you’re not convinced either.”

Just then Tom Tower stroked the hour of six. Dodd’s eyes shot to the window, and the two of them sat waiting for Great Tom to stop tolling. As the last bell died, he turned his gaze to her.

“No, Professor Dodd,” said Kate. “We’re not.”

“Call me Tony. How can I help?”

“I’m interested in learning a bit about Lord Russell.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” said Kate. “Do you mind if I take notes?”

Dodd granted her permission with the wave of his hand. Kate pulled her notepad and pen out of her jacket. She did not carry a purse. Purses were for girly girls, and she’d never been one of those. Everything she needed-her badge and identification, her phone, her wallet, and her gun-she carried on her person.

“Robbie came up in ’96,” Dodd began. “He was an Old Etonian. But he was different. Humble, not arrogant. He was smart enough to know he didn’t know everything. You don’t see that often, not from that kind of family. The Russells go all the way back to the Domesday Book. They fought with William the Conqueror at Hastings. But Robbie didn’t care about that. He was of the here and now. He put his nose to the grindstone from day one. He had a remarkable mind.”

“How so?”

“He saw past the facts. Oh, he could memorize with the best of them.” Dodd tapped his forehead. “He had an encyclopedia up there. But he went a step further. He saw patterns where mortals saw shadows. He identified trends long before they were anything but random events. He divined intentions. He even dared to predict. And he was right every damn time.”

Kate nodded politely. Patterns. Trends. Intentions. This kind of talk was beyond her. Blather, she called it. She was an O-level girl who liked mayo with her chips and her Guinness lukewarm in a pint glass.

“What exactly did Russell study?”

“Twentieth-century Russian history. Postwar, primarily. His dissertation was titled ‘The Case for a New Authoritarian State: Benevolent Despot or Totalitarian Czar?’ He was not optimistic about the course that Russia is taking. He studied the language as well, though that was with another tutor. He spent some time in Moscow doing some work for a bank. He came back afterward and we took him on as a don.”

“And is that what he taught? Russian history?”

“At first, yes.”

“And now?”

Dodd rose abruptly and began pacing the office, cradling the rugby ball in his hands. “I’m not sure what he was up to lately, to be honest.”

“But I thought you said you’d remained friends?”

“We are. I mean, we were. I can’t bring myself to believe that he’s gone.”

“Did you see each other regularly?”

“Not for the past year.”

“Do you recall the last time you saw him?”

“A month, maybe three weeks ago.”

“Did he seem in any way distracted?”

“How should I know?” Dodd turned to her, his eyes wet and angry. He paused, and the rage left him. “We weren’t close anymore. Robbie had his projects. I had mine. I’m in love with the past. He had his eyes on the future. We didn’t talk shop.”

“What about his students?”

“He didn’t have any students. Not anymore. Robbie stopped tutoring a year ago.”

“Then what exactly was his position at the university?”

Dodd stopped pacing and put the ball down. “You mean you don’t know?” he asked, suddenly wary, off-balance. “Didn’t they send you up here?”

“Who’s ‘they’?” asked Kate.

“I thought you’d been cleared for all this. I mean, don’t all of you speak to one another?”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

Dodd stepped closer to Kate, and when he spoke, his voice had quieted and grown deadly serious. “Look, DCI Ford, it’s like this. Robbie’s work wasn’t a matter fit for public inquiry. I thought you knew that.”

“Was he doing something that might have jeopardized his life?”

“You’re putting me in a hard spot.”

“Am I?” asked Kate.

Dodd didn’t answer. He stood looking at her, shaking his head. Up close, she could see the lines spreading from the corners of his eyes. She no longer found it hard to believe that he was forty.

“Would it surprise you if I told you that we have proof Lord Russell was murdered?” she asked.

Dodd turned away and moved toward the window. “Robbie knew what he was getting into.”

“And what exactly was that?”

“The game.”

“What game?”

“There’s only one, isn’t there?” Dodd glanced over his shoulder. “Now, would you go? I can’t help you with this end of things.”

“I can’t find out who killed Robert Russell unless I know why someone wanted him dead. Please.” Kate paused and guardedly met his eye. “He was your … student, after all. I think he’d want you to help us find who took his life.”

Dodd considered this a moment, then looked away. “ Five Alfred Street,” he said. “That’s where you’ll find them. But don’t expect them to talk to you. They’re a secretive lot. It’s the nature of the business.”

“Who are they? What business are you talking about?”

“OA. Oxford Analytica.”

Kate ran the name across her tongue until she was certain that she’d never heard of it. “What do they do?”

“What Robbie did best.” Dodd’s eyes drifted away from hers, to the open window and the looming form of Tom Tower. “They guess the future.”