Murder on the Marshes_An absolutely gripping English murder mystery

by Clare Chase

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Would you feel able to tell me some of the ways you thought she was special?’

  After a moment, he nodded. ‘It was just that she always stuck by me. And if there was ever any trouble, she’d just laugh it off.’ He laughed himself, just for a moment, but it was a hollow sound. ‘The institute can be a poisonous place to work sometimes,’ he said. ‘So many people, all wanting recognition, all wanting things run their way. And then a load of students, full of confidence because they haven’t lived life yet. Don’t know what it’s like when things go wrong. Basically,’ he necked more of his pint, ‘there’s always someone who’s ready to do you down, or make your life tricky. Either to bolster themselves up, or just for a lark.’

  ‘You’ve had trouble with the students?’ Tara took a long drink of her own soft beer.

  Cooper nodded. ‘And one time, it all revolved around Sam. They’d noticed we were close, I guess, and then, well…’

  ‘They started rumours about the two of you?’

  ‘And “funny” posts on Facebook. You can imagine.’

  ‘Charming.’

  ‘Right. I was embarrassed, but Sam just laughed it all off. Said she was flattered by the attention.’ He finished his beer. ‘Not shamed by it, like Askey said.’

  She paused and then, not looking at him, she asked: ‘Did Askey ever taunt you about Professor Seabrook when she was still alive?’

  Jim Cooper’s eyes remained damp, but the light in them sharpened. ‘No,’ he said. ‘He didn’t.’

  He’d seen the conclusions she might draw, depending on his answer. He was quick; and maybe he had reason to be on his guard, too.

  ‘I guess you’ve talked about her more since she died, and he’s seen his chance to get at you.’ It was the best follow-up she could manage, and Jim Cooper’s eyes were still suspicious.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said, finishing his pint.

  God, she needed the night in the Travelodge. She wasn’t firing on all cylinders and given it was her life that was on the line, that wasn’t an acceptable risk.

  Twenty-Four

  As he sat in Professor da Souza’s eyrie with a coffee in front of him, Blake wished the chairs weren’t so low and that they didn’t recline so far. He wanted the man to understand the urgency of his questions. These seats were only fit for discussing the weather.

  He decided to ask about Dieter Gartner first, and showed the professor the photograph he had with him.

  Da Souza took it and held it tight between thumb and fingers, bending it. ‘Yes. Yes, I’ve met Dieter. Samantha never said anything telling about him, but I did get the impression they had some kind of dalliance.’

  Dalliance? ‘Dr Gartner’s not married, is he?’

  ‘No, no.’ Da Souza’s lips were tight. Whatever the background, he clearly didn’t approve.

  ‘Were you worried about the way he treated Professor Seabrook?’

  There was a long pause where Blake got the impression the institute head would have liked to pin some kind of criticism on the man, but couldn’t. At last he said: ‘Take no notice of me, Inspector. I’m old-fashioned, that’s all.’

  Fair enough. If that really was all. Blake remembered that both Tara and Chiara had wondered if da Souza had been in love with Samantha Seabrook himself.

  ‘I’d like to know more about Samantha Seabrook’s relations with other members of staff here, too,’ Blake said. Specifically those with an interest in religion, however tenuous. ‘What about Mary Mayhew, for instance?’

  Professor da Souza shrugged. ‘Mary’s not the most effusive of individuals. She works very long hours, and the pressure can be immense sometimes. But what she lacks in warmth she makes up for in professionalism.’

  ‘She must have been frustrated by the professor’s hobby of climbing all over university property.’

  Da Souza sipped his coffee and put his cup on its saucer before he answered. ‘She dealt with it sensibly.’

  ‘Did the professor ever talk to you about it?’

  Da Souza smiled for a moment. ‘She said she’d had her hand slapped. And then she giggled.’

  ‘She wasn’t too bothered about losing Dr Mayhew’s good opinion then?’

  ‘Samantha wasn’t the sort to worry about things like that. She saw it as wholly unimportant. She was focused on research that could change the lives of millions of people. I think she felt that if Mary had decided instead to devote her life to dusty rule books and keeping up appearances then that was her own affair.’

  Blake could only imagine what institute socials must have been like. Professor da Souza would need to be a dab hand at breaking up spats and keeping the small talk going. He was betting they got through a lot of booze, to try to foster some level of bonhomie.

  ‘And what about Peter Mackintosh in the library?’ he asked. ‘What was his attitude to Professor Seabrook, and vice versa?’

  Da Souza relaxed back in his chair. ‘Warm,’ he said, ‘in both directions. They weren’t a bit alike, but they found each other refreshing. Perhaps it’s because Peter’s rather separate. His work runs parallel to ours but he’s not tussling over the same end goals.’

  It confirmed what Tara had said. Da Souza looked calm now, but Blake had just the thing to jolt him out of it. ‘And what you can you tell me about relations between Professor Seabrook and her PhD student, Chiara Laurito?’ He leant forward as best he could in the ridiculous chair.

  Da Souza’s eyes were wary for a second, but then reverted back to their ‘earnest and keen to help’ expression. ‘They weren’t close.’

  ‘I saw some of the comments the professor wrote on Chiara’s work,’ Blake said. ‘I can’t imagine the atmosphere between them was easy, given Professor Seabrook’s blunt way of delivering her criticisms.’

  Da Souza sipped his coffee and shook his head. ‘Samantha always was one to say what she thought.’ He met Blake’s eye. ‘Personally, I admired her for it. But it’s true that some of her younger colleagues found it harder to take in the spirit in which it was meant.’

  Having read the words, Blake thought Chiara Laurito had probably taken it in exactly the spirit it had been intended. ‘I hear the professor also tried to cut Chiara out of informal social gatherings.’

  Da Souza frowned. ‘It’s very easy for a sensitive person like Chiara to mistake a chance happening for a deliberate slight.’

  ‘So the professor wouldn’t have left her out deliberately?’ Blake’s eyes were on the institute head.

  The man hesitated. ‘I wasn’t aware of it if she did. And I am aware that Chiara Laurito is’ – he stretched out a hand as though hoping to clutch the right words from the air – ‘highly strung.’

  ‘And what’s your evidence for saying that?’ Blake was up on the edge of his chair now, feeling triumphant at having finally got vertical.

  Da Souza sighed. ‘I don’t want to muddy the waters of your investigation with irrelevant tittle-tattle,’ he said. ‘Apart from anything else, it would be wrong to colour your views of either Samantha or Chiara unfairly.’

  ‘Just give me the facts, as you know them; there’s nothing unfair about those.’

  The man waited for a moment, but then gave a sharp sigh. ‘All right. All right. Chiara Laurito had put in a formal complaint against Samantha. Only to us here at the institute; it hadn’t been escalated.’

  ‘And what triggered it?’

  ‘She felt she’d been singled out for unfair criticism; she went so far as to allege that Samantha was trying to drive her out.’ Da Souza’s tone was irritable. ‘We took action. It’s my duty, and I wouldn’t shirk it just because the accusation involved a personal connection. Chiara’s work was sent for an outside, objective review, and Mary Mayhew made enquiries about Samantha’s attitude to Chiara more generally.’

  ‘And?’

  Da Souza looked at him. ‘Some of Mary’s findings tie in with your assertions. Yes, there were occasions when several people had gone to the pub without Chiara.
Yes, some people felt in a general way that Samantha didn’t enjoy her student’s company. But there was no evidence of any whispering campaign or deliberately cruel behaviour.’

  And there was no law to say you had to invite people you didn’t like out on social occasions. But Samantha Seabrook had been Chiara’s manager, with a duty of care towards her. And her repeated rejection must have stung… enough to make Chiara kill, or aid a killer? And what about Mary Mayhew? She must have been frustrated to have to deal with yet another scandal caused by the professor. ‘What about Chiara Laurito’s work?’

  ‘The external reviewer found that Samantha’s comments had been justified.’

  Blake caught the slight hesitation before he’d uttered his final word and raised an eyebrow.

  Da Souza looked up at the ceiling for a moment. ‘They did suggest she could have phrased her criticisms more tactfully.’

  ‘But in the end, her complaint was found to be an overreaction? And that led you to conclude she’s over-sensitive?’

  ‘That’s correct. She involved her father, who has been requesting updates from me almost daily. He’s been in touch since Samantha’s death; he wants to know who will supervise his daughter now. And he’s demanding to vet them.’

  ‘I see.’ That did sound over the top, but he could readily understand why Chiara had been upset. The professor’s comments had been brutal; he wouldn’t forget them in a hurry.

  ‘It wasn’t like that in my day,’ da Souza went on. ‘We were expected to fight our own battles. And – as we’ve delved this far – I can say that I don’t believe Samantha Seabrook is the only person Chiara’s fallen out with since her arrival here.’

  ‘No?’ He waited for da Souza to prove how unreasonable Chiara Laurito was in comparison to Samantha.

  ‘I happened to be walking past Simon Askey’s office and heard raised voices. I could only hear him, as a matter of fact. He sounded furious; I’m afraid he has a short temper. I was three-quarters of the way down the corridor when I heard his door open. I glanced over my shoulder for a second and saw Chiara Laurito come out. She’d clearly upset him too.’

  Interesting. ‘When was this?’

  Da Souza was brought up short. ‘Goodness, I don’t know. Sometime last month maybe? Not that long ago.’

  From Tara’s notes, Chiara had been pleased that it had been Simon Askey who’d put her forward as an interviewee for the article in Not Now magazine. Tara mentioned she’d blushed. Perhaps she’d taken the news as a sign that Askey had got past their disagreement? Maybe he’d flared up on the spur of the moment. There were plenty of people who could be ferocious one minute and fine the next. But then he remembered Tara thought Askey still had a gripe with Chiara…

  So maybe he hadn’t forgiven her then, for whatever it was she’d said. He’d probably just offered her up for Tara’s entertainment. But that blush Tara had mentioned… did Chiara fancy Askey maybe? He quelled a shudder. There was no accounting for taste.

  Blake frowned. How the hell did this all fit together? Sleep might help him think but he’d have to wait a while for that. He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus. ‘Did you catch what Askey said to Chiara that day?’

  Da Souza stared at the coffee table, his brow furrowed. At last he looked up and said: ‘Something about how it wasn’t always best to tell the truth. Maybe she’d put him in an awkward situation through a lack of tact.’ He put his empty coffee cup down. ‘She and Samantha were both apt to voice their thoughts without considering the consequences.’

  It worried Blake that being honest at the institute might lead to being yelled at. Had it also led to Professor Seabrook’s death?

  Blake told da Souza not to bother seeing him downstairs. He knew the way, and besides, he wanted to take his time. He walked the length of each corridor, alternating the staircases he used to descend, which lay at opposite ends of the building. A lot of the rooms were empty. Shut up with notes on the doors, explaining how to contact the absent occupant. Conducting research in New Orleans; gathering material in Sicily for a new book. Both academics back in September before the start of Michaelmas term.

  What had Simon Askey been talking about when he’d advised Chiara Laurito against telling the truth? And why had da Souza been so against Samantha Seabrook’s relationship with Dieter Gartner? Had he really just disapproved of the love affair because it had been casual? And then there was Chiara Laurito, in Askey’s thrall perhaps, and deeply hurt by Samantha Seabrook’s personal attacks. And Mary Mayhew, whose ordered world had been repeatedly thrown into chaos because of the professor’s hot-headedness. And in the middle of it all sat da Souza, treating the memory of his star employee as beyond reproach.

  At that moment his mobile rang. He picked up as he was exiting the building, through the heavy wooden door and out under the archway, into the sunshine. ‘Blake.’

  ‘Boss.’ It was Wilkins.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘We’ve got a student in.’ A pause. ‘Jeremy Patten. He’s a member of Pembroke College and attends a couple of lecture courses at the institute. He wanted to talk to us about Jim Cooper.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Says he saw photos of Samantha Seabrook in Cooper’s drawer at the institute. He’d gone in there to report a fault with one of the printers. Cooper had to reach into the drawer for some kind of smart card and this Jeremy Pattern was looking over his shoulder.’

  ‘Is he still with you now?’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘Right,’ said Blake. ‘I’m on my way.’

  Twenty-Five

  Going to the institute late-summer garden party was the last thing Tara felt like. It made her realise she was at rock bottom. If ever there was an occasion that ought to be an eye opener it was this one. She had the promise of seeing how all the staff interacted with each other; and how they dealt with the gaping hole left by as big a personality as Samantha Seabrook. She needed that information. She needed to be there. But back at her cottage, seated at her kitchen table, she stared into space. When she managed to check the time she realised she’d been there, sitting absolutely still, for half an hour.

  At last, she dragged herself up out of her chair and went to prepare. A cool shower that lasted under two minutes. A tailored dress, and make-up to hide the shadows under her eyes. After that she grabbed a rucksack from her wardrobe and stuffed overnight gear into it. Then she picked up her handbag. Each time she lifted it she tried to ignore the extra weight; tried to block out the knife she’d put in there two days earlier, before she’d gone to interview Professor da Souza and Simon Askey. But the thought was there. She should leave it behind. She looked out of her bedroom window, down at the common. She wouldn’t have to cross it that night.

  But two minutes later, when she left the room, the knife was still there in the bag’s side pocket, knocking lightly against her hip through the soft leather.

  She cycled to the Travelodge, checked in and dumped her rucksack on her bed. She was so tempted to lie there for a moment, listening to the traffic rumble by on the main road, but she turned away, went back down to reception and out of the building. Within fifteen minutes she’d arrived at some cycle racks just beyond the door to the Institute for Social Studies, locked up her bike, and walked under the stone archway towards the grassy courtyard that lay to the rear of the building. A small crowd was already assembled. She noticed Simon Askey first; his voice carried as he was facing in her direction, and she recognised his New York accent. He looked up over the shoulder of Chiara Laurito, who he’d been talking to, and caught her glance. She could see the derisive amusement in his eyes. Chiara must have sensed she’d lost his attention too. She glanced behind her for a moment, her chiffon dress shifting slightly in the light breeze. Her eyes refocused on Tara and her expression was a lot cooler than it had been when they’d first met. Of the others, she recognised the librarian, Peter Mackintosh, Professor da Souza of course – and then, there was Jim Cooper. Even though she had known he was likely to be th
ere, she could have done without a second encounter with him that day.

  Da Souza came over, accompanied by a middle-aged woman in a skirt and short-sleeved jacket. ‘Good evening,’ he said. ‘It’s lovely to see you again, Tara. May I introduce Dr Mary Mayhew, our administrator?’

  Mary Mayhew nodded.

  Tara was about to ask her about Samantha Seabrook, but da Souza opened his mouth to speak again, forestalling her.

  ‘We’re just going to say a few words about Samantha. We want to pay tribute to her, and for people to know it’s all right to talk about what’s happened. Everyone needs the chance to air their feelings.’

  His eyes were anxious and eager, but Mary Mayhew’s expression, she noticed, was grim. The pair went to stand on the grass next to the drinks table, where da Souza picked up a glass and tapped it with a fork. It took Mary Mayhew to call order though. Her sharp voice cut across the chatter.

  It was interesting to watch the faces in the crowd as da Souza spoke. Simon Askey was unsmiling, but hardly sad. He downed his drink within seconds, Tara noticed, after which his eyes kept drifting towards the open bottles on the table. Chiara tapped the fingers of her right hand on her left arm. Her eyes were on Askey’s face. Peter Mackintosh’s attention seemed entirely concentrated on da Souza’s words. He nodded at several points, a smile on his lips, his eyes damp. Jim Cooper’s features were contorted, his fists clenched. As she watched him, Tara suddenly realised the custodian was trying to contain his emotions. Mary Mayhew was poker-faced.

  Da Souza finished by encouraging them all to use the occasion to remember Samantha.

  Tara suddenly found herself with no one to talk to, and awkwardly near to Simon Askey and Chiara Laurito, whose heads were close together. Chiara looked petulant and Askey dogmatic, his jaw clenched.

  Askey hadn’t acknowledged her but now, without warning, he manoeuvred so that she formed part of his and Chiara’s circle. ‘Speaking of people who get a helping hand from their parents,’ he said, drinking his glass of fizz in one go, ‘I heard a little rumour about Tara Thorpe here, and her mother.’