by Eva Hudson
All four students mumbled at once, making vague noises that at no point threatened to coalesce into actual words.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Ingrid stared directly at the female student.
“I didn’t really know her,” she said.
Ingrid pointed at the extra chair. “The registrar’s office told me this was Lauren’s study group. I’m supposing the empty chair is hers?”
The girl looked imploringly at Professor Younger.
“The whole group is very shaken by what has happened,” he explained. “I’m not sure firing questions at them is entirely appropriate. They’re clearly still in shock. Can’t it wait?”
“So you did know Lauren?”
The students nodded and mumbled again.
“It’s terrible, what’s happened,” the student in the polo shirt said. “Do you know if the police are treating it as murder?”
Professor Younger threw the young man a warning look.
“I’m sorry, I can’t discuss that with you.”
Younger levered himself off his desk and opened his arms wide. He moved forward slowly, shepherding his flock toward the door. “They should really be getting back to their studies.”
Ingrid stood to one side and watched the students shuffle out of the room. The man in the polo shirt was the last to leave. “Which sport do you play?” Ingrid pointed at his shirt.
For a moment he was confused.
Younger came to his rescue, butting in before he could answer for himself. “Hockey. Thomas represents the college in the university league.”
“Isn’t this the off-season?” Ingrid had no clue which season the Brits played hockey. She just didn’t want to let him off the hook that easily.
“We play all year round,” the bemused student finally managed before leaving the room.
“Good luck!” Ingrid called after him.
He turned back. “I’m sorry?”
“In your next match.”
“Right, yeah. Thanks.”
Ingrid closed the door. “I’m hoping you have a few moments for me, Professor?”
“Please.” He gestured toward a leather chair close to the desk. “Call me Stuart.”
Ingrid remained on her feet. “I’m trying to get some background information. Perhaps you could paint me a picture of Lauren’s life here at Loriners?”
Younger let out a long, quiet sigh.
“I guess it’s hit you hardest of all,” Ingrid said.
He blinked at her. “Why do you say that?”
“Lauren was effectively in your care during her time here.”
“It’s not as if I could have done anything to prevent what happened.” He lifted a trembling hand and ran it over his short hair.
“Even so.”
He nodded, bit his lip then made deliberate eye contact. “Why is the American embassy involved? Surely the police are investigating the circumstances of her death?” He scratched the side of his face, the pale skin beneath his beard reddening in long streaks.
“It’s a matter of routine.”
He frowned at her. “I’ve already spoken to the police, a chap named… Mills, I think. I answered all his questions. Can’t you liaise with him rather than asking me the same things all over again?”
“My role is to make sure the police investigate thoroughly, that if a crime has been committed, they deliver justice for American citizens.”
“I see. I didn’t know you did that sort of thing.” He blinked nervously.
“Tell me about Lauren.”
“I’m confused. Are you saying Lauren was murdered? The police didn’t give that impression.”
“I really can’t comment.” Ingrid moved toward him. “What kind of student was Lauren?”
He blinked again. “Lauren was, um, an exceptional student. Quiet. Reserved. Always impeccably polite. Her parents brought her up that way.” His eyes focused on an invisible distant object. “She’ll be missed.”
Ingrid smiled at him. “As far as you’re aware, Lauren hadn’t made any enemies here at college?”
“Enemies?” His eyes bulged. “What makes you say that?”
“You must have seen the graffiti?”
“Graffiti? I don’t understand.”
“On one side of the science block. It was—”
At that moment the door burst open so hard and fast Ingrid had to jump to avoid getting hit.
“Why are you ignoring my calls?”
Madison Faber stomped into the room, and Younger held up his hands defensively. Following his gaze, Faber spun round.
“Oh,” she said.
“Hello, Madison,” Ingrid said. “How are you doing?”
Faber cleared her throat. “Why are you here?”
“Actually, I’d like to talk to you. We didn’t really get the chance yesterday. After the lawyer arrived.” She smiled warmly at the student. “I’m glad to see you’re well enough to come into college.”
It took a few seconds for the scowl on Faber’s face to soften. She turned back to the professor. “We have to talk,” she told him. “I’ll find you later.”
8
Ingrid thanked Younger for his time and raced to catch up with Faber as she crossed the piazza. The girl was very pale, her large eyes bloodshot through lack of sleep. Ahead, the janitor had water-blasted all but the final r and e of the word whore from the concrete facade.
“That must have really upset Lauren. Did she speak to you about it?”
Faber raised an eyebrow. “It was new this morning.”
“It was?” Ingrid hoped Mills and his colleague had spotted it before the cleaning operation started.
Faber studied the janitor as he water-blasted the r of yellow paint. “It’s the first time I’ve seen it.”
“Any idea who would have written it?”
She shrugged in response. “How would I know?”
Ingrid shook her head. “Who would want to say something like that about Lauren, in these circumstances?”
Faber stared at the wall. “People never fail to appall me. The more I study, the more convinced I am in the limitless human capacity for cruelty. Some people are just plain evil. Surely I don’t need to tell you that, with your job?”
Ingrid turned to her. “You still believe Lauren had no enemies?”
“Everything I’ve learned tells me that says more about the person who wrote it than Lauren.” Faber inhaled sharply, her nostrils narrowing. “They heard her name on the news and decided to make a little news themselves. Make a mark. Shock the college authorities.”
“You’re the psychology student,” Ingrid said. “You’ll no doubt have some insights.”
“Are you making fun of me, agent Skyberg?”
“Absolutely not. No.”
The girl looked offended.
“No, I meant it. I wasn’t being glib.” Ingrid needed to change the subject. “I’m glad I ran into you today. I wanted to make sure you felt you were treated properly by the Metropolitan Police yesterday.”
Faber’s pace slowed. “I guess they were only doing their job.”
“Was it tough?”
“Finding Lauren was horrific enough.” Ingrid’s thoughts seized on the image of Lauren’s crumpled body, emptied of blood, and the gaping wound in her forehead where she had smashed into the coffee table. “Reliving it for the cops was almost as bad.”
Ingrid pushed her hands into her pants pockets. “I hope they were gentle with you.”
Faber bristled. “Like I say, it’s their job.”
“That’s a good attitude to have. It’ll help with future interviews.”
Faber pulled up. “How many more are there likely to be?”
“Um, well, I’m not entirely familiar with procedures here in the UK, but given you were the one who found Lauren, they will want to rule you out as a suspect. That’s standard in every case.”
“But Miriam said there was no need for me to worry.”
“Your attorney? I’m su
re she’s right. But nine times out of ten, the perpetrator is either the boyfriend or the witness who reports the crime. Don’t take it personally if they want to speak to you again. And the autopsy may well say it was an accident, anyway.” Ingrid rested a hand on Faber’s shoulder. “Between the embassy and your attorney, we have everything covered. You don’t need to be overly concerned.” She tugged gently on Faber’s arm.
Faber wouldn’t be budged. She was staring into space, chewing her lip. “You don’t think I had anything to do with Lauren’s death, do you?”
“Of course not.”
Faber put her hand on top of Ingrid’s. “It helps to know you’re in my corner.”
“You have no need to doubt that. Come on, let me buy you a coffee.”
“I guess… after losing your friend… you understand what I’m going through.”
Ingrid said nothing. She didn’t like that Faber knew, and she certainly didn’t like that the girl had brought it up, but Ingrid wasn’t about to give her a hard time. Faber was alone in a strange country, thousands of miles from home: at least when she had lost Megan, Ingrid’s mom and grandma had been around to look out for her. “I’m here for you.” She pulled out a card from her jacket pocket. “However I can help.”
“Thank you.” Faber tucked Ingrid’s contact details into her bag, and they walked to the cafeteria. “Can I tell you something?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve been thinking things over since yesterday,” Faber said, withdrawing her hand from Ingrid’s arm. “There is something I forgot to mention to the police.”
“Whatever it is, you should definitely tell them about it. The smallest of details can help.”
“I’m not sure what made me think of it, but it just didn’t make any sense.”
“Go on.”
“The desk in Lauren’s apartment was empty. Where was her laptop? Or her iPad? We were supposed to discuss her thesis. She would have been using her computer, surely?”
“Maybe she left her stuff somewhere else?”
“Or maybe they were taken. What if it was a robbery gone wrong?”
“I can mention it to the police if you like?”
Faber, lost in thought, didn’t answer. “Poor, poor Lauren. Her parents must be devastated. It puts my pain into perspective.”
“Don’t underestimate the impact losing Lauren, and finding her, will have on you. Has the college talked to you about counseling?”
Faber nodded vigorously. “That’s what I went to see Younger about.”
“Oh.” Ingrid wasn’t sure she believed her. “I’m glad. He seemed pretty upset too. Was Professor Younger close to Lauren?”
Faber shrugged. “I guess tutors and students form a special bond.”
“And is he, I’m not sure how they phrase things in the UK, like your personal supervisor? Is that why you were talking to him about counseling?”
They neared the refectory block.
“The exact opposite, in fact.”
Ingrid looked blank.
“I don’t agree with his research methods. I have my own way of approaching the work. I don’t want him getting involved in my personal affairs.”
Ingrid hadn’t warmed to the professor either. He exuded arrogance. The exterior wall of the cafeteria had a large patch of cleaned concrete. Ingrid pointed at it. “Do you remember what was written there before it was cleaned off?”
Faber shrugged. “No idea. You see a lot of graffiti in this neighborhood.”
They entered the large refectory, and Ingrid ordered them both large black Americanos.
“For here or takeaway?” the barista asked.
“To go,” Faber said firmly before Ingrid could answer. Ingrid looked over at the table where she’d spoken to Mohammed. “You’re not the first person to comment about Younger’s methods. What is it he does that you don’t agree with?”
“You should ask Professor Younger himself. My work is paper based: I research other people’s research. A lot of people think it’s dull, but I happen to consider it groundbreaking.” She was displaying more than a little arrogance herself. Ingrid marveled at the girl’s confidence. If only she’d been so self-assured in her early twenties.
“I’ve heard he uses other students in his experiments.”
The barista placed two paper cups on the counter. Behind him, a colleague scrawled the word tonight across a poster for a music gig.
“Students are cheap and eager. They’ll do pretty much anything for a pizza and a few beers.”
“What kind of experiments are we talking about?”
“As I said—you’ll have to ask Professor Younger. I’m really not that interested in what my peers are doing. I need to be focused on my own studies.” Faber locked eyes with Ingrid, her large blue irises catching the light. “Talking of which, I should get to work.”
“Already? I’m sure the staff here would make allowances if you took some time off.”
Faber took a sip of very hot coffee. “I’d rather keep busy.”
“It’s as good a strategy as any,” Ingrid said. “You’ve got my card. Call me if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“Thank you. And thanks for the coffee.”
Ingrid watched Faber walk away. The girl’s gait was heavy, determined, and she didn’t look back or wave. It was as if she’d switched from friendly chat mode to serious academic mode in a heartbeat. There was a Jekyll and Hyde split in Faber’s personality, and Ingrid imagined that prickliness made friendships difficult: Lauren’s absence would leave a huge hole in her life.
Before Faber reached the door, a tall, familiar figure stepped into the cafeteria. Faber pretended not to have seen DC Mills, but he reached out one of his long arms and placed a palm on her shoulder. Ingrid was too far away to hear what he said to her, but her response was to slap him out of the way and push past him out the door. He ran after her. Ingrid ditched her coffee and did the same.
In the piazza, Faber had been apprehended by Mills and his uniformed colleague. “What’s going on?” Ingrid asked. “Has there been a development?”
“I’ve been leaving messages for Miss Faber all morning,” Mills said.
The girl shrugged. “My cell phone must be out of juice.”
“I was beginning to fear you’d left the country.” He smiled at each woman in turn. “Which wouldn’t be a good idea: you need to come with us to the station. Right now.”
9
Detective Inspector Natasha McKittrick wheeled round, arms raised ready for a fight, when Ingrid tapped her on the shoulder. She was waiting in line in a sandwich shop five minutes from Lewisham police station.
“Easy!” Ingrid held up her hands, surprised at McKittrick’s extreme reaction.
“Christ almighty. What are you doing creeping up on me?”
“Just saying hello.” Ingrid smiled at her. “But I can go again. If you’d like.”
What was up with McKittrick? Ingrid had got to know her as an easygoing, sharp-witted woman who wasn’t scared of an opinion or an extra drink. But for the past two days she had been weirdly uptight.
“How did you know I was here?”
“The desk sergeant told me you were between shifts.” Ingrid peered at the chalkboard above the counter. She’d forgotten to eat lunch again. “Your boy Mills just picked up Madison Faber. Thought I’d sit with her till her lawyer came, but one of your team said she didn’t want me hanging around.”
“You’ve pissed her off too?”
Ingrid was taken aback. “I take it that means I’ve pissed you off?”
McKittrick curled a lip. “I know you’re just doing your job.”
“Sorry. No one likes anyone second-guessing the way they run a case.” She thought about the paint-soaked tissue in her bag and decided to hold back from handing it over.
McKittrick studied the menu, giving Ingrid a chance to notice how run-down her friend was looking. Whenever they met for an after-work drink, McKittrick turned up in a tailored p
ower suit, kitten heels and a designer handbag. She wouldn’t be described as glamorous in any APB profile, but her hair was always fixed and her lipstick was always freshly applied. Right now, however, McKittrick looked considerably older than her thirty-five years and a bit scruffy. She reached the front of the line and ordered tuna salad on whole wheat. “Do you want anything?”
Ingrid nodded a hello at the weary woman behind the counter. “Make that two.” She turned her attention back to McKittrick. “If it makes you feel better, you’ve not been singled out for special treatment. We do it for every American citizen who dies in unexplained circumstances.”
McKittrick said nothing.
“It’s just a box-ticking exercise,” Ingrid explained. “I’m not keeping tabs on you.”
McKittrick’s shoulders finally dropped. “You’re probably the only one who isn’t, then.”
Ingrid’s eyebrows narrowed. “What’s going on?”
McKittrick grimaced. “It’s nothing I can talk about.”
“No? My lips will be forever sealed.”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get back.” McKittrick paid for both sandwiches, shoved one at Ingrid and pushed her way between the tightly packed tables to the door. Ingrid joined her on the sidewalk.
“Another time, then,” Ingrid said. “Before I let you go, anything I should know about why you questioned Faber again? Has something been flagged on the autopsy?”
“We call it a postmortem. And no, we’re just eliminating her from our inquiries,” McKittrick said. “We’ve spoken to a couple of neighbors and just need to make sure she gives us the same information. If she does, she can sign a statement and we’ll let her go.”
“Has someone corroborated her time of arrival at Shelbourne’s apartment?”
McKittrick sank her teeth into one half of her sandwich, took a messy bite and chewed vigorously for a few moments before answering. “A downstairs neighbor said she arrived at eight twenty. She had trouble opening the main door to the house. The key wasn’t working properly. She buzzed all the other apartments until someone answered.”