The Ringmaster

by Vanda Symon

  ‘No, she had a boyfriend in the Computer Department. James Collingwood.’

  ‘Did you see much of him?’

  ‘No, he didn’t come up to the lab. They used to meet for lunch and she’d meet him for dinner often when she was working late.’

  That was curious. I recalled when watching the video of James’ interview he’d said they often met for lunch but not so much in the evenings.

  ‘Did you see them meet for dinner?’

  ‘No, that’s just what she said. I don’t pay too much attention to everyone’s love lives. You’d never get anything done.’

  I was definitely going to have to engineer a meeting with the boyfriend. There were a few too many inconsistencies here and they all supported the idea Rose-Marie was having an extra-relationship affair.

  ‘What can you tell me about the commercial side of your research? Professor Simpson said that there was quite a bit of money to be had from this,’ Smithy said, changing tack.

  ‘Yes, the potential commercial applications are huge, as were possible spin-off lines of research. We’re talking on a global scale. So again, Rosie’s death is a huge loss.’

  ‘Did she stand to make money from the venture?’

  ‘Not directly. The intellectual-property rights belong to the university, and Otago has the organisation in place to take advantage of them. But then, she would benefit from funding, and would be looked after by them, as it were. The University looks after its own, because it’s in its best interests to do so. Otherwise, it would lose its best researchers to private enterprise.’

  ‘So it wouldn’t have been in anyone’s interests here, financially speaking, to remove her from the equation.’

  ‘Hell no. Quite the contrary, in fact.’

  54

  ‘So what have people been saying, then? That I was jealous of her? Why would I be jealous of her? Just because she was everyone’s little darling and their golden child? That she was handed every opportunity on a plate, while others of us had to justify our presence every single day. That what she was working on saw the bulk of the research dollars and overshadowed any other individual projects that may have had merit because they might make some money out of hers? Why do you think that would make me jealous or angry?’

  Okay, so we’d stumbled upon the department’s designated bitch, but she wasn’t a very smart bitch, as most people toned it down and kept it looking civil for the police. Maybe she was hormonal, or caffeine-deprived. Even Smithy looked startled. He’d interviewed Dr Penny Hawkins earlier, but I don’t recall him mentioning she was this aggressive.

  ‘I bet it was Simpson, that puffed-up, pompous git,’ she ranted on, oblivious to the impression she was making. ‘He’d be just the type to say something like that. Talk about the pot calling the kettle—’

  ‘Look, I don’t mean to criticise,’ I interrupted. Her behaviour was way over the top and despite the Rottweiler demeanour, I had one of those nagging little feelings about her. ‘But you’re not doing yourself any favours being so aggressive.’ Smithy looked at me like I’d gone all barmy on him, so I shook my head a fraction, then stepped up to her and put my hand on her shoulder. ‘Are you okay? Is everything alright?’ At this, she looked as though she was going to let rip, but then she paused, stuttered, then visibly deflated like an airbed with a leak. It was as if someone had pulled the plug.

  Smithy looked at me again, surprised, and even I was shocked by the transformation. ‘Do you want a tissue?’ I asked, concerned she was about to start blubbing all over us. If she was, in fact, hormonal, this was one hell of a mood swing.

  ‘God, I’m sorry,’ she said and fished into her pocket for a tissue. ‘It’s been a really bad morning, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Please don’t hold what I said against me. My mother died two months ago, and I’ve just found out my brother, who had power of attorney, has systematically bled her savings dry, so I’m feeling more than a little angry and upset right now.’

  And I thought my family had problems.

  ‘Can I get you a cup of coffee or something?’ I asked, then realised this wasn’t my turf. She smiled at the gesture and started to move towards the door.

  ‘I think that’s a probably a good idea. Come up to the staffroom, you must need one too.’

  Smithy sidled up to me and spoke low, so Dr Hawkins wouldn’t hear. ‘This one’s yours, too damned unpredictable for me.’ I loved the fact that a man of Smithy’s size and disposition could be intimidated by a woman.

  We were led into the corridor, where Smithy had to duck to avoid hitting his head on a shower head and emergency handle hanging from the ceiling. We walked past more locked freezers and climbed the stairs to the seventh floor. My head spun at the view, as the bank of windows alongside the metal stairwell highlighted the precipitous drop to the courtyard below. They didn’t have buildings this tall where I came from. The staffroom had the usual trappings of a communal watering hole – plenty of dirty dishes in the sink, in direct contravention of the, I thought, rather optimistic ‘Please clean up after yourself’ poster, complete with passive-aggressive smiley face.

  ‘Urgh, usual mess I’m afraid. You know what these mad scientists are like, can’t tie their own shoelaces, let alone clean up after themselves.’ She seemed to be trying very hard to undo the first impression she’d made earlier. ‘Help yourselves to a mug; the tea and coffee things are over here.’

  Smithy took a bog-standard brown glass mug and started filling it up with his usual mix of one and a half teaspoons of coffee and three teaspoons of sugar. I picked up a plain purple ceramic job. I was about to toss in a tea bag when Dr Hawkins said, ‘Oh.’

  ‘Oh? Did I spill something?’ I asked, checking the bench and then the floor.

  ‘No, it’s just that,’ she pointed to the mug in my hand. ‘That was her mug.’

  ‘Rose-Marie’s?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The mug suddenly felt heavier and I placed it back down on the bench with exaggerated care. ‘Do you have a place where her personal belongings are being kept?’

  ‘The police collected most of her things shortly after her death, but yes, there are a couple of things we’ve come across since that we’ve put in a box near her old desk.’

  ‘What sort of things?’

  ‘A scarf, pack of herbal teabags, odds and ends we keep discovering. Actually, it’s like a little stab, every time we find something more.’ For someone who was venting her spleen not too long ago, she looked genuinely sad.

  ‘So you didn’t resent her that much, then?’

  She laughed, deep and throaty, and smiled in my direction. ‘Oh, I resented her alright, wouldn’t you? But she was a nice kid, and no one deserves to die like that.’

  ‘What particularly griped you, then?’ She seemed to be quite open, and I felt there was quite a lot of leeway for digging.

  ‘She was young, gorgeous and brilliant.’ She shrugged her shoulders like that was stating the obvious. It seemed a bit odd coming from someone who, though slightly more mature, was beautiful, Hepburnish and probably not that shabby in the intelligence stakes.

  ‘So which part irked the most?’

  ‘The brilliant part. You know what we academics are like. We all want to be the most clever, the most inventive, the most highly esteemed. We envy brains, not beauty, although some of the men around here seem easily distracted and find it hard to keep their hands off the beauty.’

  ‘Is this a problem you’ve encountered?’

  She smiled at my blatant attempt to massage her ego. ‘I’ve had my fair share of admirers over the years, but I think the men’s tastes tend towards the younger. And yes, before you ask, Rosie did attract a lot of attention.’

  ‘Did she seem responsive to it?’

  ‘Well, she already had a boyfriend, apparently.’

  ‘Apparently?’

  ‘Look, let me be frank. She didn’t show that much enthusiasm towards her young man, which is a pity, because I thought he
seemed very nice. I always suspected she was infatuated or involved with someone else.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘I was a young woman once. I recognised the signs: the sighs when she thought no one was watching. She suddenly started to take more care of how she looked, hair always tidy, clothes a little more trendy, occasional make-up. She’d get evasive if you asked her about what she was doing for dinner or things like that. She was being secretive.’

  That confirmed my thoughts about her having a lover other than her hapless boyfriend, and also brought the focus back to the fact that this lover was most likely her killer. Loved to death.

  ‘Did you have any theories as to who this mystery person might be?’ I asked.

  ‘I’d initially thought she might be having it off with her professor, but it could be someone else in this department, or the Biochemistry Department, which she had a bit to do with too.’

  ‘Professor Simpson?’ I supposed he did have that natural charm and air of allure. I could understand a young woman being drawn to his maturity. But let’s face it. He was older and a really bad dresser. ‘You say “initially”. What’s changed your mind?’

  ‘The fact that Simpson is a sponging, fame-grabbing, parasitic, lazy, male-chauvinist pig.’ She wasn’t one for holding back.

  ‘I take it from that you don’t like him.’

  ‘Not particularly, and I thought surely Rosie would see through him, and that he was just a leech on the back of her and all our work.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I was beginning to realise I had no concept of the politics of academia.

  ‘The abridged version is: Rose-Marie has the idea, makes the breakthrough, our team researches and trials and tests and retests the information, we do all the hard work, and at the end of the day, that sponging bastard’s name goes first on the academic paper.’

  ‘Why? That hardly seems fair.’

  ‘Because, he is the Professor, the all-hallowed High and Mighty. He is supposedly the supervisor, and even though his input has only been a half-hour meeting once a week, he gets the glory. In fact, if it came down to it, he’d get the bloody Nobel.’

  ‘That’s not right. Surely the university knows about this; wouldn’t they do something about it?’

  ‘No, because it comes down to dollars. The professor is a high-profile, internationally esteemed researcher, even though he’s done pathetic little in the last few years, and in order to attract outside money, you need the high-profile names. Industry isn’t likely to invest money in an untried doctorate student, or a couple of lowly departmental academics, so they chuck in the big name and he gets the glory.’

  ‘God, if it’s like that, why does anyone bother?’ And I thought police internal politics was bad.

  ‘Not everyone is like that, don’t get me wrong – the vast majority of professors are hands-on, in there and passionate about what they’re doing. Which is why the university is flourishing. Unfortunately, we happened to get the leech.’

  55

  ‘So what do you make of all that?’ I asked Smithy as we walked back to the car.

  ‘It makes me glad I’m just a dumb-arse detective and don’t have to put up with all the bickering, infighting and arrogant giant egos.’

  Well actually, I’d had to put up with the arrogant-giant-ego thing, and I didn’t think either of us came into the dumb-arse category. Smithy must have realised what he’d said, as he added a proviso: ‘That doesn’t include Dickhead Johns, of course,’ and gave me a knowing grin.

  ‘You know what I think?’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That if you take away all the smokescreens and petty jealousies, especially after listening to Penny Hawkins, who although she comes across as a bit of a prickly bitch I think is pretty astute, Rose-Marie Bateman was having an affair with someone, who took it upon themselves to kill her. And the reason she was killed was because she’d become surplus to requirements or things were getting too complicated for the killer. Penny said she was behaving like she was in love. Perhaps the killer wasn’t expecting that – or couldn’t cope with it. Anyway, I don’t think it has anything to do with what she was researching or her university work because everyone there had too much to lose with her gone.’

  ‘What about the professor? Wouldn’t he get more glory with her out of the picture, one less name on the list of authors of the research paper?’

  ‘Short term yes, but long term, if there was a lot of offshoot research because of this, she was his meal ticket. I’m quite sure he would be looking at the long-term view.’

  My pontificating was abruptly cut off by the sound of my cellphone. The shock of it breaking the quiet set my heart racing. When I saw the name on the screen, it ramped up a little more.

  ‘Shit,’ I muttered and then answered. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Gidday.’ He was so self-assured he didn’t even say who it was. I’d fix him.

  ‘Hi, who’s this?’

  ‘My number’s programmed into your phone, Sam. You saw the name when you answered the phone. Stop playing silly buggers.’

  Damn, sprung. I turned aside, so Smithy wouldn’t see the embarrassed look on my face. ‘Hi Paul.’

  ‘That’s better. Say, what are you doing for lunch today? Court’s taking a recess, so do you want to grab a bite?’

  ‘I’d love to, but I’ve already arranged to meet Maggie – I have a little debt to settle. Perhaps tomorrow. Will you still be in town?’ I was quite relieved I didn’t have to lie to him as, yes, I was meeting Maggie, at Modak’s for a cinnamon pinwheel to make good on my gambling debt. I could work on tomorrow’s excuse tomorrow. I realised I’d left an opening this evening and decided to close it. ‘I’m meeting Mum for dinner tonight; it looks like they’re heading home tomorrow.’ Okay, so I did have to lie, after all.

  ‘Excuses, excuses,’ he said, with good humour in his voice. I felt a pang of guilt. He was a good man and he sure as hell got my pulse racing, but ‘us’ just didn’t feel quite right. ‘I’ll give you a ring tomorrow and see if you’ve got a space in your busy schedule for lunch. Bye.’

  He hung up before I had a chance to respond and I was left staring at the phone.

  ‘That guy from Gore?’ Smithy asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said.

  ‘Hummph.’

  56

  There was a bit of a buzz on in the squad room when we got back. The atmosphere had been rather muted this morning, but now there was a new energy. Something must have happened while we were out chasing academics.

  ‘What’s all the excitement?’ I asked. ‘Did someone finally get rid of the seagull?’

  ‘No, it’s still crapping in the foyer. Do you want the good news, or the bad news?’ Reihana asked.

  ‘I’ll vote good,’ Smithy said, sticking up his hand.

  ‘Good,’ I said and raised my hand too.

  ‘Thought you’d say that. As well as a few positive leads in Timaru, the good news is we’ve got a possible description of the offender in the Bateman case.’

  ‘Fantastic. Who from and how?’

  ‘The uniform branch guys down at the Botty Gardens. They went back to stopping everyone who used the walkway for a chat and got a hit from a student who reckons he might have seen our vic with a man on the night she was killed.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Not a very detailed one, I’m afraid. The guy said the man had his back to him for most of the time, and he wasn’t taking that much notice of them anyway, but he appeared to be a Caucasian, five-foot nine or ten. He guessed around thirty to forty years old.’ He saw my raised eyebrows. ‘Yeah, I know, not terribly helpful, but he said it was hard to tell the age because the guy was wrapped up, had a beanie, trendy hooded anorak-type jacket, scarf, jeans and the light wasn’t that good. He thought it was around eight o’clock.’

  ‘So in reality, he could have been any age. And it was definitely Rose-Marie?’

  ‘Yes, recognised her from a photograph.’

  ‘And
his comments on their body language?’

  ‘Said they just appeared to be having a friendly chat.’

  The question that always jumped to mind in these situations popped out.

  ‘Why’s it taken so damned long for him to say something? Why didn’t he come forward last week? It’s been splashed all over the news and I’m sure it’s been all the talk down at the uni.’

  Reihana gave a snort. ‘They asked him that and his dumb-nut excuse was he didn’t think it would be important.’

  ‘I’d bet he’d have thought it was important if it was his sister,’ I said. Some people were so thick it defied belief.

  ‘You said he was a student. He didn’t recognise the man as someone from the university?’ Smithy asked. Reihana shook his head. ‘What faculty was he in?’

  ‘Law and commerce.’ Another flaming law student.

  ‘So chances are the man wasn’t a law or commerce lecturer or prof then?’

  ‘They’re big faculties, but no, most students would recognise their main teaching staff.’

  ‘Narrows the field down a bit, for our theory of her having an affair with someone at the university. And the older age group again increases the possibility of an extra-marital affair for the perpetrator,’ Smithy said.

  ‘That idea’s gaining traction?’

  ‘Yeah, we’ve been talking with some of her colleagues this morning.’

  ‘Sounds like you’d better enlighten me further,’ Reihana said.

  ‘Yes, but in a minute. Has he done a compusketch?’

  ‘As we speak.’

  Yay, something positive, even if it was tenuous. How many other people were out there, harbouring pieces of information they didn’t think important? I remembered the other half of Reihana’s tidings.

  ‘So what was the bad news?’

  ‘I’ve been talking to the tech guys.’