No Place to Die

by Donoghue, Clare

  She looked at the professor, still in full flow, and realized she hadn’t been listening. She glanced at Lockyer and let her shoulders relax. His eyes were focused. He was paying attention, even if she wasn’t. That had to be a first.

  She looked around her at the manicured lawns. This area would be called the ‘quad’ or something similar. She would bet that most universities in London would be all but deserted during examination week. But not here. Dozens of students were sitting on the grass around her, chatting, listening to music or tapping away on their tablets. It had an Oxford or Cambridge air about it, or even Hogwarts. Beautiful stone buildings and archways leading to different parts of the university. It had taken her and Lockyer twenty minutes to find their way in. There were at least four different campuses, specializing in different disciplines. She guessed that once you were signed up, it would all become simple. She imagined it was like Vegas. To the uninitiated, it could be impossible to leave. Lockyer was asking questions about the psychology department now. She took out her notebook to jot down any new names that came up. She still couldn’t believe Lockyer was here with her. After their drink in the pub, things had changed. Not quite back to normal; in fact, nothing like normal. She was going against procedure, and against Roger’s specific instructions, by having her boss with her. She never broke the rules – not if she could help it. In her experience, you couldn’t go far wrong if you followed the rules. But today she wasn’t doing so.

  After they had finished sorting out their ‘issues’ in the pub, Lockyer had asked for a rundown on the Leech and Hungerford cases. It was such a familiar question that she had reeled off the information without thinking. It was only when she was halfway through talking about Victor’s interview that she realized something was amiss. She wondered at the time, and now, if Lockyer knew and had pushed her for the details on purpose, keen to step back into the fray. Whatever his motives, she had to admit she was glad he was here. The Hungerford case was building momentum. Her interview with Victor had ended up taking three hours. What he had to say about Terry Mort wasn’t favourable, but was it true? Victor had been Maggie’s boyfriend; Mort was the ex-boyfriend and, according to Victor, deranged. Given his involvement, Victor was not a strong witness, no matter how credible she thought he was.

  ‘If it’s okay with you,’ Lockyer said to the professor, ‘we’ll just have a wander, and chat to a few of the students, while we’re waiting for Maggie’s MA group to get out of their exam.’ The professor muttered his disapproval. ‘Don’t worry,’ Lockyer continued, taking the guy’s hand to signify that the meeting was at an end. ‘We won’t disturb anyone or delay them unnecessarily. If I could have the list you were just showing us, with the timetables and registered students, that would be a big help. At least that way we can mark off who we manage to speak today, before calling anyone into the station.’ It was obvious the professor wanted to protest, but Lockyer held onto the hand he was shaking and took the pages of A4 with the other.

  ‘I’ll be in my office, and in and around campus, all day today,’ Cresswell said. It sounded more like a threat than a statement. ‘If I can be of further assistance please don’t hesitate to come and find me. I’ll no doubt see you. Also, if you can go through to the office, they will provide you with ID for the day. We are vigilant when it comes to strangers wandering around on campus.’

  ‘Very wise,’ Lockyer said, nodding his head. ‘If only all teaching institutions were as well organized as yours.’

  If the professor noticed Lockyer’s sarcasm he didn’t show it. He nodded to Jane, but didn’t bother to shake her hand, despite the fact that she was holding it out to him. He must have assumed Lockyer was in charge, but who could blame him? She had stood by, mute, and let him take the lead on her case. But why? This was her investigation. Lockyer said he was only here to observe and support her, but she had fallen back on old habits and stood quietly beside him while he ran the show. She had to snap out of this stupor. The last thing she needed was a disciplinary from Roger for bringing Lockyer along, and then the added insult of not having all the correct information, because she had let her boss ask all the questions. ‘Thank you,’ she said, as the professor walked away. ‘And thank you, sir, for stepping in there. I zoned out for a second. It won’t happen again.’ She could feel her cheeks heating up.

  Lockyer turned and stared at her. He nodded and gestured for her to enter the building first. ‘After you,’ he said. ‘It’s your show.’

  Two hours and two dozen conversations later Jane felt exhausted. Students were tiring. They were so young and enthusiastic. She couldn’t keep up. The majority of the people they had spoken to were only ten years younger than her, but she felt like an old woman by comparison. As she listened to endless stories about nights out in Greenwich, clubbing up in town and all-night parties she could almost feel her wrinkles getting deeper.

  ‘Mort’s name came up a lot,’ Lockyer said, pulling on his earlobe.

  Jane slid her sunglasses into her handbag and pursed her lips. ‘He’s not popular, that’s for sure.’ She looked up and down the hallways. ‘What I find a bit odd is that so many of the MA students seem to know him. I mean the PhD doesn’t run alongside the Masters. They have some linked events, but not many, and yet eight of the people we talked to mentioned him, without prompting. What does that tell you?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Lockyer said, wandering up to a noticeboard and repinning a couple of A4 pages that had come loose. ‘But we know where he is now, so let’s go and find out.’

  She nodded and they walked in silence towards the library. Terry Mort had just had a meeting with a tutor and was now, according to several of the students, in the library taking out more research material for his thesis. As they passed the lecture halls and smaller study rooms she thought over what Victor had told her about Mort, comparing it to what his fellow students had to say about the guy. It was true Mort was not popular, but none of the people she and Lockyer had talked to were quite as adamant, or as vocal, as Victor. Had his relationship with Maggie clouded his judgement, or did Victor just know Mort better?

  From the university file, Jane knew that Mort was thirty-two, lived alone in Greenwich and was in his second year of his PhD. According to the curriculum, which she’d checked, a full-time PhD would take three years. But Mort had chosen to study part-time, adding a further three years. She couldn’t imagine studying for that length of time. The bulk of the PhD seemed to be research-based, testing theories, finding new treatments or applications utilizing psychological theory – or so the handbook said. It all sounded like psychobabble to her. She kept thinking about a scene in the film Ghostbusters, where Bill Murray tests two students with Zener cards, measuring whether stimulus affects ESP. If they fail to guess the picture on the card, they receive a small electric shock. The attractive blonde gets all the questions wrong, but Murray – in his bid to woo her – pretends she’s some kind of telepathic marvel. Her dorky counterpart, however, is shocked mercilessly. Jane had always found the scene funny, but as she walked towards the library she found herself wondering if Mort’s experiments were similarly cruel. Victor had told her that Mort had formed an off-campus clique, and that the group was carrying out unauthorized experiments. When she had asked him to elaborate on what kinds of experiments, Victor had faltered and become vague. She slowed her pace now, allowing Lockyer to go ahead of her.

  There was no denying it. She was nervous about meeting Mort. She knew it was irrational, but ‘head-doctors’ freaked her out. She had been referred to a psychiatrist when Peter was first diagnosed, to help her adjust and cope with her son’s changing behaviour. She had felt violated, as if the therapist could read her thoughts and manipulate them. She worried that her feelings towards Peter would change, that the intrusion would damage their relationship. No one could tell her how to feel or understand the ever-changing combinations of love, anger, guilt, fear and acceptance that she dealt with every day. She had left the session and never gone back.
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  ‘Here we are,’ Lockyer said, pointing to two double doors.

  She looked up and saw the sign pointing towards the library. She had expected it to be in the old part of the building: a huge room with panelled walls and heavy oak doors. Lockyer pushed open one of the very ordinary-looking doors and gestured for her to go ahead of him. His expression seemed to reiterate his earlier statement. It was her show. Not for the first time, she felt unsure of herself. When Lockyer had been absent from the office – from her cases – she had coped fine. Well, maybe not fine, but she had managed to maintain both files without any major catastrophes. So why, when he was here supporting her, was she going to pieces?

  ‘And we’re not moving – why?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, pushing her shoulders back and walking into the library.

  Instead of row upon row of shelves filled with leather-bound books, there were banks of computers. The actual library section was relatively small, tucked away at the back of the large room. There were half a dozen students in the room, but she guessed which one was Mort as soon as she spotted him. He was seated at a desk off to one side, surrounded by large research texts. He looked like the love-child of Einstein and Justin Timberlake. His hair was wild, but Jane could tell it was styled to look like that. It was a statement. It said, ‘I don’t care what people think. I’m my own person.’ That made her even more uneasy. If individuals operated under their own set of rules, rejecting those set by society, then they could be unpredictable.

  ‘Bet you a tenner that’s him,’ Lockyer said, pointing in the same direction she was looking. ‘I know we aren’t meant to go on stereotypes, but for me he’s ticking all the boxes, so far, of an anti-establishment academic.’

  As if he could sense their presence, the young man looked up and smiled. ‘Are you looking for me, Detectives?’ he asked in a whisper.

  ‘Yes,’ Jane said, walking over to the table, with Lockyer close behind her. She held out her hand. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Bennett and this is Detective Inspector Lockyer,’ she said, gesturing behind her.

  ‘Good to meet you,’ he said, standing up to shake Lockyer’s hand and then hers. ‘I heard you were on campus today.’

  ‘Have you got a minute?’ she asked, looking down at the pile of books on the table.

  He seemed to consider her question. He looked over her shoulder at Lockyer and then down at the books in front of him. ‘Actually, do you think you could you give me five minutes?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got a shared office down the hall, Room 407. I’ll meet you in there. Grab a coffee, if you like. There’s a vending machine just outside the library.’

  Jane opened her mouth to respond.

  ‘That’s fine,’ Lockyer said. He started walking towards the exit. Jane found herself following.

  ‘I’m Terry, by the way,’ he called after them, again in a hushed whisper. ‘Terry Mort.’

  ‘Yes, we know,’ Lockyer said pushing open the double doors for Jane. She walked out without looking back. Was she invisible?

  Ten minutes later Jane and Lockyer were sitting in what Mort had called an ‘office’; ‘broom cupboard’ would have been more appropriate. There was a desk against the back wall, a small window, two plastic chairs and a rusty-looking filing cabinet. Lockyer was leaning against the door-jamb, sipping his coffee. ‘Do you think he’s done a runner?’ he asked, an amused expression on his face.

  Jane blew on what was now her second cup of tea and crossed her legs, bumping the chair opposite. ‘I think Mr Mort – soon to be Professor – is making us wait. I think he wants to show us just how relaxed he is, and who is in charge.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ he said, leaning out into the hallway. ‘He was a bit,’ Lockyer seemed to be searching for the right word, ‘intense, wasn’t he?’

  ‘He looks older than thirty-two,’ she said. ‘You can see why people don’t warm to him. He’s a condescending prick.’ Lockyer chuckled at her description. Despite her feelings about therapy-types, she had tried to resist the urge to prejudge Mort. She had failed.

  ‘Speak of the devil,’ Lockyer said in a stage whisper. He raised his hand and nodded. ‘He’s just getting himself a drink. He isn’t portraying the grieving ex-boyfriend very well.’

  ‘No, he isn’t,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Mort said, appearing in the doorway and sliding past Lockyer into the office. ‘The scanner’s buggered again. I’ll have to go back and try again later.’

  ‘Technology,’ Lockyer said.

  Mort put his cup down on the filing cabinet, before dropping a pile of folders onto the desk. He waved his hand at Lockyer. ‘Come in, come in, shut the door,’ he said, reaching for his cup. ‘It’s a bit snug, I know, but at least it’s all mine . . . well, for today at least.’ He sat down opposite Jane, raised his cup to them both and took a sip of his drink.

  ‘Terry,’ Jane began, pulling her notepad out of her trouser pocket and placing it on the desk next to her, ‘as I’m sure you’re aware, my colleague and I have been talking to Maggie’s MA group today, but we’re also interested in speaking to anyone who studied, taught or had contact with Maggie Hungerford at the university in general.’

  Mort nodded. ‘Well, I’d have to say yes to all three,’ he said, raising his cup again.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ she asked.

  He shrugged and said, ‘Well, I guess you could say that I studied with her, in that we sometimes studied together. I taught one of her modules for a term. Teaching is a requirement of my PhD, and I obviously had contact with her at university and outside it.’

  ‘Were you friends?’ Jane asked.

  Mort’s brow creased. ‘Er, yes,’ he said, although he might as well have said, ‘Duh, yeah’, like a character from The Simpsons. ‘I’m sure you already know that Maggie and I dated.’

  ‘Terry,’ Lockyer said, leaning against the filing cabinet, ‘we prefer to ask the questions and get the information from the source, if you get my meaning?’

  ‘Sure, that’s fine,’ Terry said. ‘No problem. I just assumed you’d sooner skip the details at this stage.’

  ‘Not the way it works, I’m afraid,’ Lockyer said, as if he too found it tiresome that questions had to be asked and information repeated.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Terry replied, looking at Jane. ‘So, do you want me to start from the day we met, or would you prefer to ask questions and I’ll answer them?’ His intention was obvious. He was managing the meeting, a further demonstration to her that he was in charge.

  ‘Go ahead and tell us as much as you can recall, and we’ll jump in with questions as and when,’ Lockyer said. ‘If that’s all right with you, Terry?’

  Jane tried not to react. This interview was going to be even more difficult if Lockyer acted as if she didn’t exist as well.

  ‘I met Maggie in her first year – nothing specific, just saw her around campus, at social events, stuff like that. I don’t tend to see that much of the Masters lot, unless I happen to be in college or coming in for a visiting lecturer. Anyway we met, enough to say “Hi” when we saw each other, but that’s about it. I had a party for my birthday in May last year and I invited her and a bunch of others off the MA course to come.’

  ‘Why?’ Jane asked, aware of how practised Mort’s speech seemed and how, when he spoke, she felt less and less comfortable with his proximity to her.

  He looked at her as if reading her mind, his eyes travelling over her face and body. ‘I always think parties are more interesting if you have both sexes present, don’t you?’ He didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘She came, we got talking and things sort of happened from there,’ he said.

  ‘Can you expand on that, Terry?’ she asked, indicating her pad and the lack of notes so far.

  He looked up at Lockyer, smiled and then turned back at her. ‘Okay,’ he said, his tone indulgent, ‘we hooked up at the end of the party – nothing serious, but enough to know we liked each other. She was
smarter than the others. Her insights into psychology and its possible applications were quite interesting.’ He must have thought he saw confusion on Jane’s face as he said, ‘It’s not everyone’s thing, but I find the whole subject fascinating, hence the PhD. So we met up for drinks and I guess you could say we were dating for most of the summer.’

  ‘How would you describe your relationship?’ Lockyer asked.

  Again Mort smiled. Jane felt as if he and Lockyer were on the same team and she was the outsider. ‘Not much at first,’ he said, ‘just casual dating, but by the end of the summer we were pretty serious – or rather I was serious.’

  ‘Maggie didn’t see the relationship as “serious”?’ Jane asked, jumping in.

  ‘I thought she did,’ Mort said, shaking his head. ‘But I realized there was someone else. You don’t have to be a psychologist to know when a woman is lying.’ He laughed, but there was no mirth in his voice.

  ‘How do you know she was seeing someone else?’ Jane asked.

  ‘She admitted it,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders, looking up at Lockyer. ‘At first I ignored her behaviour. She was late turning up at my place, or sometimes not turning up at all. Mystery absences – you know how women are,’ he said, again not giving Jane time to respond, to defend her sex. ‘I just assumed she was trying to get my attention. I’m a busy guy. I’m only in the second year of my PhD. I have a huge amount of work to do.’ He let his words hang in the air. His implication was clear. Jane was wasting his time. Just as Maggie had. ‘Anyway, eventually I confronted her and she admitted she had feelings for someone else. End of discussion. End of relationship.’

  ‘How did you feel?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Really?’ Mort said, laughing. ‘Is that how you’re going to play this?’ he asked, looking at her and then at Lockyer. He looked disappointed. ‘I have a degree in psychology, Detective. I have a Masters in applied psychology and I’m studying for my doctorate. Interviewing techniques are not unfamiliar to me. Maggie was murdered, and from what I hear, the manner of her death was not, shall we say, very nice. You’re establishing that I knew the victim. Now you’re establishing whether I had a grudge or a reason to dislike her. Parlay that into a motive, and all you have to do is disprove my alibi and wham, bam and you’re done: I’m your man. Is that how this is going to work?’ The disdain in his voice made Jane sit back in her seat.