A Quantum Murder

CHAPTER SEVEN

The interviews were the one part of the case Greg had been dreading. The word association game, watching the way minds reacted to key phrases, was chained too tightly to his army days. It intimated funereal dug-out bunkers, sweating defiant prisoners in torn bloody fatigues, the smell of gun oil and vomit, the high-voltage emotions of hatred and terror, perceptible even to non-psychics. The seemingly limitless brutality which men were capable of.

Even the interview room at Oakham police station was a party to the anamnesis; sombre fawn-coloured walls, a leaden grey desk, acutely curved plastic chairs, scuffed black door.

A rectangular conditioning grille emitted an annoying buzzing sound just on the threshold of audibility. Steely light shining through a high window was complemented by a harsh glow from two biolum panels set in the old fluorescent tube recesses in the ceiling. A wide-angle camera was mounted on the wall above the desk, optical cable running down to a twin-crystal AV recording deck.

Greg sat on one side of the desk, Langley and Nevin flanking him. He took out his cybofax and summoned up the list of questions he wanted to ask, then placed it on the desk.

Rosette Harding-Clarke came in, accompanied by her lawyer, Matthew Slater. Since the New Conservatives had been elected, anyone being interviewed by the police was entitled to legal advice, irrespective of whether they were being charged or not. The measure was intended to allay public mistrust of the dodgy practices which the People's Constables had included in police procedure.

There were three lawyers, out of Oakharn's pool of five, representing the six students. They had objected when he said he wanted to interview the students.

"You aren't an official investigating officer," Lisa Collier, a matronly fifty-five-year-old, had told him pompously. "You have no authority to conduct an interview, certainly not with co-operating witnesses, which is all the students are at this point. And I'm not having my clients subjected to a psychic privacy invasion. They have a right to silence so they don't incriminate themselves."

Greg had simply turned to Vernon Langley. "Arrange for a magistrate's hearing this afternoon. Charge all six students with suspected manslaughter." He gave Lisa Collier a thin smile. "As a specialist assigned to the investigation I am entitled to sit in on any subsequent questioning of legally detained suspects. And any evidence acquired psychically during those interviews is admissible in court."

The three lawyers had gone into a huddle, and decided not to call his bluff.

Matthew Slater slotted a man-black memox crystal into the recording deck, and sat down beside Rosette. She was wearing a black singlet of some glossy fabric, a cropped black jacket with thin white curlicues embroidered on the shoulders, and a short black leather skirt. Her auburn hair was folded in a neat pleat.

She gave Greg a fleeting glance of acknowledgement, completely ignoring the detectives behind him. The whole act informed them that she wasn't going to be intimidated.

He had to admit she was an impressive girl physically. Nor was there any hint of weakness in her emotional make up.

Langley pushed a memox crystal in the recorder's free slot, and touched the power stud. "Interview with Rosette Harding-Clarke," he said formally. "Conducted by CID advisory specialist Greg Mandel in the presence of officers Langley and Nevin."

Matthew Slater leaned forwards. "For the record, Miss Harding-Clarke's participation in this interview is entirely voluntary. She is here because of her wish to help apprehend the killer of Edward Kitchener. And therefore she reserves the right to refuse to answer any question which is not directly applicable to this topic."

Rosette Harding-Clarke stared straight at Greg, and gave him a lopsided knowing smile. "Silence wouldn't do me any good, would it?" she said. "Not with you. You could strip anything you wanted from me."

He ordered a low-level secretion from his gland. Her amusement began to impinge on his perception, it bordered on contempt. Rosette looked down on everybody from her own private Olympus.

"The reaction of your mind to questions cannot be disguised," he said.

"I can run, but I can't hide."

"Yeah. Something like that."

"If you begin to ask Miss Harding-Clarke irrelevant questions then we shall be forced to terminate the interview," Matthew Slater warned.

"No, I won't," she said. "I'm glad you are here. This case is obviously well beyond the ability of these bumbling Mr Plods. And I want the bastard caught. Too bad we haven't got the death penalty any more. So ask away. Did I do it? No. You can confirm that, can't you?" Her eyebrows arched challengingly.

"Unfortunately it's not that simple. I need to know what happened that night at Launde, build up a complete picture, so I have several questions."

"Yes, all right, get on with it then."

"Did you make any external calls that day, or establish a datalink to an outside 'ware system?"

"I made a few phone calls, sure. Just friends. I'd go bananas if the only people I had to talk to were the other students. And I was doing some work that morning, Edward had me trying to produce a more accurate figure for the age of the universe. I plugged into the Oxford University astronomy department mainframe for reference data."

"Now, that Friday morning, you were the first to find the body. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"What time was that?"

"God. It's in the statement, I must have told these oafs a hundred times."

"What time?"

"God, all right. About half-past five on Friday morning, give or take five minutes."

"And you didn't see anyone else in the corridor when you went to Kitchener's room?"

"No."

Greg tightened the focus of his espersense. "How about a presence you weren't sure about? A shadow? A noise? Something you didn't want to mention to the police because you couldn't prove it, or you thought it would sound stupid."

"No. Nothing. Nobody."

"Where were you before you discovered the body?"

"In my room."

"Was anybody with you?"

"No."

"Half-past five is a funny time to be visiting Kitchener. Was there a reason?"

She rubbed an index finger along the bottom of her nose. "So I would be there when he woke up. Edward didn't like to be alone."

"Nicholas Beswick said you went into Kitchener's room at quarter-past one that morning. Is that true?"

"Poor old Nicky. Yes, it's true. You want to know something else? I was having sex with Edward, I had been for three months. And to save you the trouble of working it out, he was forty-four years older than me."

"You had sex with him at quarter-past one?"

"Yes."

"When did you leave?"

"Isabel and I packed in about half-past two. Edward was nearly asleep by then anyway."

"Why not stay?"

"Edward snores. Silly, isn't it? But I'm a light sleeper, as well as being a virtual insomniac. I only need two or three hours' sleep each night. So out I creep after he's nodded off, then I get my head down for a while, and I'm back snuggled up beside him when he wakes. He probably knew, but…"

"So everybody would know that you left him alone for a few hours each night?"

"Every peeping Tom, yes."

"Which of the other students knew about you and Kitchener?"

"I would say all of them. Even Nicky, though he would never dare talk about it outright."

"So it was common knowledge?"

"Yes."

"What about the housekeeper and her staff?"

"Oh, yes, Mrs Mayberry knew. You can't keep secrets from the person who collects your sheets."

"Did you wash after you left Kitchener?"

Rosette sat up straighter. "Pardon me?"

"Did you wash, take a shower, bathe?"

"Yes. I had a shower afterwards. I always do."

"How long had Isabel Spalvas been having an affair with Kitchener?"

Rosette gave him a derisive grin, and started to laugh. "I'm sorry. The way you said it. 'An affair'. Like some Victorian aunt. Rutland really is the back of beyond, isn't it? Are you married until death do us part, Mr Mandel? Or may I call you Greg? Eleanor seems like quite a spectacular girl, physique-wise, that is. I saw the two of you on the channel newscasts at lunchtime."

"I'm happily married, thank you."

"And Julia Evans, no less, was at the ceremony. Your bridesmaid."

"Is that a problem for you?"

"No, an observation."

"Careful, your lawyer might stop this line of questioning." Matthew Slater shot Greg a look of undiluted malice. Rosette burst out laughing again.

"Oh, yes," she said. "I can see why they sent for you. Nobody gets off the hook when you're on their case, do they, Greg?"

"No. Now, Isabel Spalvas?"

"She wasn't having an affair, or whatever else you want to call it, with Edward."

"You said she was in his room for sex."

"She was there for pleasure, for interest, for self-exploration. I'm not saying they didn't have sex. They did. She also took some syntho. Perhaps it made it easier for her."

"Made what easier?"

"Sex with Edward. Oh, he was still reasonably capable. But he was sixty-seven, after all. You couldn't ignore it; not lie back and think of England. She found it difficult with me as well, to start with."

"You and Isabel made love?"

"I'm not sure about love, Greg, darling. But sex, yes. Edward enjoyed watching. She enjoyed it too, eventually, when the syntho was really boosting her. Am I turning you on, Greg?"

"No."

"Really? You surprise me. The first time I made this statement, all the boys in the office found an excuse to listen in." She cocked her head at Nevin. "Didn't you, Jonnie darling?"

Greg caught his mind clogging with fierce embarrassment.

"Was there any pressure placed on female students to sleep with Kitchener?" he asked.

"Not if you mean blackmail. Come to bed with me or I kick you out of the Abbey. Edward doesn't need to, he is… intriguing. Girl students are almost a double bluff. You understand? He tells the world he does. He tells us he wouldn't dream of it. And there he is, one of the geniuses of the age, complete with wicked reputation. Always there, day in, day out. He had this mockery for convention. He was so very clever at ridiculing any stricture society placed on his life. He makes you examine and challenge your own beliefs.

"That's why Isabel had joined us, she was probing her own limits, finding out where they lie. You can do that with Edward there to guide you. He made us feel safe, we trusted him. He'd never let us hurt ourselves, not with drugs or sex, or radical politics come to that. He knew what we were capable of, and showed us how to achieve it, intellectually, emotionally, physically. Launde was an incredible experience, spiritual more than anything else." She shook her head softly, re-emerging from the vortex of reminiscence.

Greg could perceive how sincere she was when she talked about Kitchener. Fondness for the old guru acted as a subtle reinforcement for the philosophies he had spun out. He was suddenly very curious about Edward Kitchener. How much of this professional dissident ideology had he believed in, all or none?

"How long had Isabel been taking part in these sessions with you and Kitchener?"

"Sessions! You have no soul, Greg, darling, no poetry. About a fortnight, I think. As soon as we came back from the New Year break."

"Did Nicholas Beswick know that Isabel was becoming involved with Kitchener?"

Rosette pursed her lips, contrite for once. Her thought currents were subdued. "Oh, dear little Nicky. No, he didn't know a thing about us until that night. Caught us sneaking down the corridor to Edward, he did. Such a shame. He is quite infatuated with Isabel, did you know that? Now that is authentic love, Romeo and Juliet revisited. Teasing him was such fun, it's so dreadfully easy. Nicky lacks that cosmopolitan touch necessary to survive adult life, he's just a country boy at heart. He makes me seem terribly jaded and old by comparison. Edward was delighted with him, of course."

"Why, 'of course'?"

"Because people like Nicky are the reason he founded Launde in the first place. Nicky is very intelligent, he's far smarter than I am. And if the four of you in this room were to add up your IQs, the figure would be less than half of mine. That gives you some idea of what he's like. But he's flawed; emotionally retarded, if you like. Edward called it perpetual adolescence. Whatever, Nicky has this terrible trouble relating to other people. And that is what Launde is for, to cure us of our adolescence, realign our thought patterns into sensible maturity. Edward plays the tyrant king to great effect, and the students bond together for mutual protection. You can't do anything else, survival depends on it. And for all its crudity, the technique works. Even with Nicky, although it was pretty slow going in his case, but there was definitely some progress. When he arrived, Nicky would sooner starve than ask someone to pass him a knife and fork.

"Then the evening before Edward was killed, Nicky actually answered me back at supper. Me! Edward didn't stop talking about it for the rest of the evening, he was simply over the moon. Then I went and ballsed it up by getting caught when I went and fetched Isabel out to play. Naughty me."

"So Nicholas Beswick would have been on an emotional roller-coaster that night?"

Rosette's eyes narrowed. "Oh no you don't, Greg, darling. You're not pinning that perverted atrocity on Nicky. He wouldn't do that. Besides I was there when he came into the room and saw what had been done to Edward. He was in hysterics, worse than me. Go away and harass someone else, Greg. Not Nicky."

"And how about you? Were you at all jealous that Kitchener was becoming involved with Isabel?"

"My, my," she cooed. "And I thought I was a prime bitch. No, Greg, darling. I wasn't jealous. But I am disappointed. In you, darling. I thought you would be able to see why not. You should do. If you're any good, that is. Or is Mindstar like a rock star's codpiece, pumped up with hot air?"

It was the tone which keyed him in. Greg concentrated on the shimmering thought currents in front of him, congealed with hauteur, and smug complacency. Something was helping her to recover from the anguish of Kitchener's death, the shock scars of the psyche were healing too rapidly. When he went deeper, he found her cherishing a brittle triumph. Intuition kicked in. He refocused his espersense, moving it down through her body, feeling the grainy texture of warm cells, a fast surge of blood through veins like velvet pipes, obtuse chemical reactions flared and died all around, nerves flashed like lightning conductors. He left her brain behind, slipping past her throat, neck, breasts, chest, further down.

"Oh, shit," he said. "You're pregnant." The embryo hung in the centre of black and scarlet shadows, a delicate white porcelain sculpture, beautiful, tiny, and tragically fragile.

"What?" Langley jerked upright.

"This interview is now over!" Slater cried.

Rosette slapped her hand against the desk as the detective and the lawyer started to shout at each other. "Not yet!" she yelled. "We haven't finished yet."

Slater bent over her urgently, plucking at the arm of her black jacket. "Miss Harding-Clarke, I must insist you do not continue."

"No." She waved him away. "You are afraid the child gives me a motive. That I can contest Edward's will on behalf of the baby. That's right, isn't it?"

Slater glanced round at the detectives, his lips pressed together. "That is a likely argument for the prosecution, yes."

"My family is richer than Edward. Money is irrelevant to me."

"Please!" he implored her.

"Are we still being recorded?" she asked.

"Yes," Nevin said.

Greg sat perfectly still. He could guess what was coming next. Like she said, she had an IQ well above average.

"Excellent. Now I've been sitting patiently in this squalid filthy little room, and opened my soul to one of the most experienced and highly trained psychics in the country. I haven't held anything back, and I've answered every question put to me. Now, Greg darling, would you please tell everyone here whether I've been telling the truth."

"You have," he said, awash with the sense of inevitability.

"Did I kill Edward?"

"No."

"Thank you!" She stood up. A grinning Sister rose behind her.

"Rosette?" Greg said.

She turned, exasperation on her face. "Now what?"

He pointed casually at the camera. "For the record, could you tell us which of the other students at Launde you slept with, please?"

Her fists clenched and unclenched, long red nails leaving white imprints on the flesh of her palms. "Cecil," she said woodenly. "That's all."

"Thank you, Rosette. No more questions."

"You used to be Rosette's lover," Greg said.

Cecil Cameron inclined his head reluctantly. "Yes. When she first came to Launde, last October. Talk about impact; we started screwing the day after she arrived."

"How long did it last for?"

"About a month."

"Why did it end?"

He shrugged expansively. "You've met Rosette. How long could you put up with her for?"

Greg heard Vernon chuckling softly behind him. Lisa Collier, who was acting as Cecil's adviser, tapped on his arm, giving him a disapproving frown. "No opinions," she murmured.

"I didn't even get on with her to start with," Greg said. "You obviously did."

"For a while. I mean, don't get me wrong. Rosette and me are still good mates. But she's difficult to please. She thrives on variety, everything has to be fresh for her. Her tolerance threshold is non-existent. We burnt out. I knew it would right from the beginning. It was good while it lasted, mind. I mean, let's face it, she can take her pick."

"Did she pick Kitchener?"

"No. That was mutual attraction."

"What were you doing on Thursday night after supper?"

"Working on a project of Kitchener's; I was studying theoretical perturbations in electron orbits."

"Were you interfacing with the Abbey's Bendix lightware cruncher?"

"Yes. Why, you think I can do that kind of thing in my head?"

"What time did you stop using the Bendix?"

"About eleven o'clock."

"Could you be more precise, please?"

"Five past, ten past, something like that."

"Was it functioning normally when you were interfacing with it?"

"Yes."

"Did you use the English Telecom datalink to access any 'ware cores outside the Abbey that night?"

"No."

"Did you use the datanet for anything that night?"

"No."

"What did you do after you stopped work?"

"Rosette came in, that's why I stopped. We had a drink and a talk. The other four were in Uri's room. She doesn't get on terribly well with Liz, and Nick isn't exactly enthralling conversation at the best of times."

"Do you like him?"

"Who, Nick? Yeah, I don't mind him. He's a bit shy, but he's a sodding genius when it comes to physics. We all knew that."

"How long was Rosette with you?"

"Until after midnight—quarter-past, half-past maybe. She went off to see Kitchener then." He pulled an indignant face. "What a waste. Old man like that. Her choice, mind."

"What about the other three students, how did you get on with them?"

"Fine. Uri and Liz had been involved for a year. Uri's great, one of the lads. Liz too, come to that."

"And what about Isabel?" Greg watched the conflicting emotional surges corrupt Cecil's thought currents, the twinges of guilt coupled with an almost paternal urge of protectiveness. Cecil was being pulled apart by indecision.

"Nice girl. Bit disorientated by Abbey life, but she was coping."

"Did you sleep with her?"

"Hey! I said we were friends."

"Your relationship is something more than an ordinary friendship, though."

Cecil looked round at Lisa Collier for guidance.

"It's a legitimate question," she said sourly.

"You can tell that from my mind?" Cecil asked apprehensively.

"Yeah."

"OK. Well, I meant what I said, mind. We weren't screwing each other. Wish we had been, she's got a terrific body. I asked her often enough, but she wasn't keen. She said that it couldn't last, not with me leaving at the end of the year, so it would be pointless, she'd only wind up getting hurt. I might have managed to change her mind in the end. Still… I was happy enough playing big brother to her. There weren't many others she could turn to. I mean all that New Age crap Kitchener spouted about liberating your mind. Christ. The longest chat-up routine ever written. He said anything that would get them into bed with him, and they did as well, two by two. Isabel was confused by it. So we talked, that's all. Nick would have burst into tears if she'd told him what she was up to with Kitchener. As for Liz and Uri, hell, it's a miracle if they get out of bed for a meal! And Rosette, well she was with Kitchener."

"Did Isabel come and talk with you that night?"

"No."

"You were taking syntho. Why was that?"

Cecil drummed his kinaware fingers on the desk, black nails producing a tiny click on the smooth surface. "Because it was available. I never took much."

"You infused some that night." Greg found himself staring at the silver-hued hand. Powerful enough to make the butchery easy?

"Yes."

"When?"

"Rosette brought some in. I was bored. I'd been in the Abbey all day. We didn't even get out for a swim."

"A swim?"

"Yes, we usually went for a dip in the top lake in the afternoon. Mornings as well, if it was fine. We're all reasonable swimmers, even Nick."

Greg hesitated, that ambiguous notion returned at the mention of the lake. What was it about those three lakes? He hadn't been able to explain, not even to Eleanor. It was more than intuition, there was memory involved as well. Something had happened at Launde, quite a while ago. For the life of him he couldn't think what. It was bloody annoying.

"Was there ever anything unusual about those lakes?" he asked.

"No, not as far as I know." Cecil gave Lisa Collier another mistrustful glance. She maintained her cantankerous expression, eyes not leaving Greg.

"OK." Greg gave up. He touched a key on his cybofax, bringing up another page of questions. "Did you ever take any syntho with Isabel?"

"Once or twice, yes. She was always timid about narcotics. Her background is very middle class."

"Could anybody help themselves to Kitchener's stash?"

"It wasn't kept under lock and key. I always asked him, or Rosette. He would have known if someone had been taking it. The only thing he was concerned about was that we didn't OD."

"Tell me what happened when the body was discovered."

"Christ. The screams woke me up. That was Rosette. By the time I got into the corridor Nick and Uri had already got there. I… went in to Kitchener's bedroom… Wish to God I hadn't. That was one sick fucker who did that, Mr Mandel. I mean seriously fucked."

"I know."

"Yes. Well. Nick was puking his guts up. Uri was in shock, he just stood there, like he wasn't seeing it. What do they call it? Thousand-metre stare. I think Rosette had fainted by then. Passed out, swooned, something. She'd stopped screaming anyway. I got in one look and tried to stop Liz and Isabel from going in."

"When did they arrive?"

"Right after me."

"Both together?"

"God, I don't know. Yes, more or less."

"Did you see any movement in the corridor before you got to Kitchener?"

"The murderer, you mean? No. If I had, I would have killed him."

Lisa Collier gave a censorious cough.

Cecil looked round at her. "I would have killed him," he repeated firmly.

"When did you wash that night?" Greg asked.

"When did I wash?"

"Yeah."

"About eleven o'clock. I had a shower. My conditioner couldn't cope with the storm. My room was like a sauna. I couldn't open the window, not with the rain we had that night."

"OK, thanks, Cecil."

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

"Aren't you going to ask me if I did it? I thought that's why they brought you here."

"There's no need, not a direct question. It wasn't you."

Greg stood up and flexed his arms while they waited for Uri Pabari, shrugging off the stiffness which came from sitting in a chair designed for Martians. The air in the interview room was growing stuffy.

"Vernon, do you remember anything else ever happening at Launde?" he asked. He just couldn't ignore the presage—if that's what it was.

"Such as?"

"I don't know. Something important enough to be newsworthy, or gossipworthy." Where did I hear it? Or did I see it? Bugger.

"Kitchener was in the news once or twice each year with his lectures," Langley said reasonably. "Universities and societies used to invite him to make addresses. He was famous, after all."

"No, not Kitchener, not something he said. An event. Or an incident." He was annoyed at the amount of petulance creeping into his voice.

"Kitchener and a girl student?" Nevin suggested. "I mean, he's had two out of the three staying with him this year. Maybe one of them objected."

"Could be," Greg said. But he knew it wasn't.

They both looked at him expectantly.

"Buggered if I can remember. Can you run a check through your files for me?"

"Yes." Langley loaded a note into his cybofax. He had been laying off the dudgeon since Greg started the interviews. More impressed, or unnerved, by his espersense than he was willing to admit. Even Nevin had stopped looking for flaws in everything he said, the opportunities to underline the obvious.

Progress. Of sorts.

Edwin Lancaster was representing Uri Pabari. The first of the three defence counsellors who actually looked like a lawyer, to Greg's mind. A sixty-year-old in a suit and silk waistcoat, pressed white shirt, small neat bow tie. He sat behind Uri, stiffly attentive. Instead of using a cybofax, a paper notebook was balanced on his leg, the tip of his gold-plated Parker biro flicking constantly, producing a minute shorthand.

Uri gave Greg a curious stare as he settled into the chair, not nearly as apprehensive as Cecil.

The student had a powerful build. Greg called up the police data profile on the flatscreen. Uri had played rugby for his university, he was also a karate second dan.

"You were the third into Kitchener's bedroom, is that right?" Greg asked.

"Yes. I got there on Nick's heels."

"And prior to that you were with Liz Foxton all evening?"

"Yes."

Greg caught the tension budding in Uri's mind. "Pleasant evening, was it?"

Uri tried to smile. "God, that gland of yours is quite something, isn't it?"

"So what happened?"

"We had a row. Early on, before supper. Stupid really."

"What was it about?"

"Kitchener. His syntho habit. Except Liz didn't think it was a habit. She said… Well, she kind of drinks up that dogma of his. Everything he says is right because he's the one that says it. Me, I'm a bit more sceptical." He grinned reflectively. "Kitchener taught me that. And that evening, things got said that shouldn't have been, you know how it is."

"Do you and Liz quarrel often?"

"No. That's what makes it worse when we do. And Liz was already wound up tight over Scotland. She can get a bit political at times, she had a rough ride in the PSP decade."

"Didn't we all," Greg murmured under his breath. "Is that why there was a scene at supper between you and Kitchener?"

Uri laughed. "There's a scene at every meal. God, he was an obstinate old sod."

"And afterwards? You made up, you and Liz?"

"Yes. We're in love." He looked at Greg, trying to gauge the reaction he was getting. "Hopefully we'll get engaged. I was going to do it during the summer, I thought it would be a nice way to leave Launde."

"OK, back to Thursday. What happened after supper?"

"Nick and Isabel came up to my room, and we sat around talking and watching the newscasts. They left around midnight."

"When did you wash?"

Uri's forehead formed narrow creases as he frowned. "Just before we went to bed. Liz and I had a shower. It was hot that night."

"What time did you go to bed?"

"About half twelve."

Greg couldn't help a small smile. "And what time did you go to sleep?"

"Just after one. Liz was still watching the newscasts, though. I don't know what time she fell asleep. But we were both awake at three again."

"Who woke who?"

"Dunno. It just happened, you know."

"Was your flatscreen still showing the newscasts?"

"Er, yeah, I think so. Couldn't swear to it in court. Wasn't paying much attention, see?"

"Were you aware that Rosette was having an affair with Kitchener?"

Uri gave a mental flinch at Rosette's name. He wasn't afraid of her, Greg decided, more like demoralized.

"Yes," Uri said. "It was bound to happen, those two."

"Oh?"

"Two of a kind. Intellectually, you know. Didn't give a stuff for convention."

"And did you know about Isabel?"

Uri scratched his stubble. "The old nocturnal visiting? Yes. Shame that. I blame Rosette more than Kitchener."

"Why is that?"

"She'd enjoy seducing Isabel. It would be a challenge to her."

"You liked Kitchener, didn't you?"

"He was bloody amazing. I don't just mean his work. When I came to Launde I was almost as bad as Nick, all meek and tongue-tied. It's trite, but he really was like a father to me. He brings people out of themselves. God, the stories he told us! That reputation of his was one hundred per cent earned. He was wicked, disgraceful, terrible. And absolutely beautiful. Totally unique. The only thing I disagreed about was the syntho, but it didn't seem to affect his serious thinking. And he's still pushing at frontiers even now — " The lively smile on Uri's face died a tormented death. "Was pushing…" he whispered.

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary about the Abbey that night?"

"Like what?"

"A visitor."

"No—God, I would have told the police if I had!"

"Yeah. There was no trace of syntho in your blood when the police took a sample."

"Well, there wouldn't be," Uri said cautiously.

"Have you ever taken it at Launde?"

Edwin Lancaster's gold biro halted, its tip poised a couple of millimetres in the air. "You are asking my client to incriminate himself," he said. "I'm sorry, but that wasn't part of the basis for this interview."

"We are not interested in bringing charges against anybody concerning past narcotic infusion," Langley promised. "Providing it is external to this case."

"As a police officer, you have a duty to investigate illegal narcotics abuse."

"We know the source of syntho at Launde. Kitchener's vat is in police custody, it cannot be used to supply anyone in future. And we have no desire to prosecute past victims."

"Your client has infused syntho at some time," Greg said.

"Hey!" Uri protested.

"I simply wish to know how familiar you are with the narcotics availability at Launde, that's all," Greg said. "It's going to help me a lot."

"OK. All right," Uri held up his hands in placation. "No big deal. Yes, I tried it. Once, OK? One time. Like I told you, it's not my scene. I don't like that kind of loss of control, not in myself or other people. Infusing it just confirmed my view. It's stupid, self-destructive."

"You know where it was grown?"

"Yes. The vat in the lab. Everybody knew that."

"Thank you. Did you use the Bendix that night?"

"No."

"Do you know its management program codes?"

"No, not offhand, but they're all stored in the operations file. We all have access to that. Kitchener trusted us not to do anything stupid; we're all 'ware literate."

"What about the datanet; did you use it on Thursday, plug into a 'ware system outside the Abbey?"

"No."

Liz Foxton, Greg decided, was the kind of girl who was always open to other people's problems. To say that she was motherly would be unfair, she had a steely reserve, a no-nonsense practicality, but in addition there was a definite aura of reassurance about her. Even he felt less disquieted about this interview.

"I've been told you don't get on well with Rosette Harding-Clarke; is that true?" he asked.

"I don't dislike her," Liz said defensively. "There is no percentage in grudges, not when you have to spend a whole year cooped up in the same house together. I understand her perfectly; I'm just unhappy with her, that's all."

"Why?"

"She made a pass at Uri. More than one, actually. He turned her down each time."

"I see. What time did you get to sleep last Thursday night?"

"About two o'clock. I was watching the Globecast news channel. I was so happy about Scotland. Now this."

"I understand you were, um, active at three o'clock Friday morning. Did you hear or see anything unusual at that time?"

"No. There was just us."

"Was the flatscreen showing the newscasts at that time?"

"Yes. I'd fallen asleep watching it."

"What about after three o'clock, did it stay on?"

"Yes. I watched it for a while. I don't know how long for, I dozed off again."

"And you were woken by Rosette's screams?"

"Yes," she said in a tiny voice.

"Then you went straight to Kitchener's bedroom?"

"Yes."

"Was Uri in the bedroom when you woke up?"

"Yes! He was out of the door before me, but only by a few seconds."

"Do you remember if you arrived at Kitchener's bedroom before or after Isabel Spalvas?"

"Before, I think. She was standing behind me. She caught me. My legs went, you see." Her eyes filled with liquid. She blinked furiously, dabbing at them with a handkerchief.

"I understand," said Greg. "Just a couple more questions." He gave Lancaster an admonitory look. "Did you ever take syntho at the Abbey?"

She sniffed. "Yes, a few times. Three, I think. That was last year, about a month after I arrived. Just to try it. Edward was there to make sure I'd be all right. But that was the last time, Uri has a real bug about it."

"And you argued about it?"

"Yes. So silly." She gave him a fast plaintive grimace. "You remember the old song? The best part of breaking up, is making up. That's us."

"Right. So you must have known that syntho was being cooked up at the Abbey, that there was a vat in the lab?"

"Yes."

"Were you using the Bendix on Thursday?"

"No, I should have been, but Scotland seemed so much more important. I was watching the newscasts for most of the day."

"So you didn't use the datanet either, then?"

"No."

"Did you ever sleep with Edward Kitchener?"

He perceived the answer in her mind, in amidst all the turmoil of guilt, adoration, remorse, and grief. She took a long time to speak. The answer in her earlier statements to the police had been a resolute no.

"I did once," she said. "When I first went to Launde. I was lonely. He was kind, sympathetic."

"Was that one of the times when you infused syntho?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Does Uri know?"

"No." Her head was bowed. "You won't tell him, will you?"

"These interviews are strictly confidential," Greg said. "There's no need for him to know."

She rose slowly from her chair, gratefully accepting the hand Lancaster offered. "Do you know who it was?" she asked.

"Not yet, no."

Isabel Spalvas looked as tired as Greg felt. She was wearing jeans and a baggy mauve sweatshirt, her light fuzzy hair tied back in a pony-tail. Her face had wonderfully dainty features. She would have been very attractive under ordinary circumstances, he guessed, but today her skin was sallow, almost grey, there were red rings round her eyes from crying, slim lips were turned down mournfully. She moved listlessly when she came in, sitting down, showing no real interest in the proceedings. Matthew Slater sat behind her, looking appropriately concerned.

Greg could sense just how grave her depression was, a bleak distress interwound with every thought. Out of all the students so far, she was easily the most affected by the murder. He would go so far as to say traumatized.

"I understand you were seeing Edward Kitchener," Greg said delicately after Langley had started the AV recording.

She nodded apathetically.

"You were with him that night?"

Another nod.

"What time did you go to him?"

"Quarter-past one."

"Until when?"

"Half-past two."

"So you left Uri's room about midnight, and stayed in your own room until Rosette arrived, is that right?"

"Yes."

"What time did she arrive?"

"Half-past twelve, I think. She'd been in Cecil's room. We talked for a while, then we got changed ready for Edward. Rosette is quite fun when she's relaxed, when she's not trying to prove something. Don't get the wrong impression about her, most of that attitude is put on. She can't help it."

"When you left Kitchener's room, did you see anyone else in the Abbey?"

"No."

"Did you hear anything strange?"

"No."

"What about lights; shining under someone's door, or downstairs, outside even?"

"No. Oh, there was a bit of light in Uri's room. Bluish. I think the flatscreen might have been on. We were watching it in there earlier."

"You were taking syntho that night. Had it worn off by then?"

"Not quite, I was just starting to come down. I don't—"

She took a breath, then looked resolutely at the floor. "I don't like being in there after the boost has gone."

"In Kitchener's bedroom?"

"Yes."

"Why not?"

"I get cold. Not physically cold, but it's hard to face them afterwards. We get so high together, you see; when it comes to sex, Edward and Rosette have lifetimes more experience than me, they made me feel completely free with them. The way a child trusts an adult. His bedroom contained our own private universe, we were safe inside, nothing mattered apart from ourselves and what we wanted. But then when it was over the illusion vanished so quickly. And this shabby old world with all its inbuilt guilt comes flooding back in." She tugged at a strand of hair, twisting it nervously round and round her index finger. "You must think I'm horrible."

"I'm not a judge, Isabel. Your sex life is entirely your own. But I'd like to know why you started going, please?"

"Rosette started—well it was just hints at first. Joking. Then… I don't know. Somehow it wasn't a joke any more. And then I went home for Christmas. There was nothing wrong with that, my family. Except it was sort of pale, lacking substance; I was going through the motions. The Abbey, Edward, we were learning so much there, learning how to think, how to question. It was so much more real. Colour, that's what Launde had. I was glad to get back. I wanted more of it, more of the adventure. They offered me that."

"Cecil said you were unhappy."

"Not really. It's peculiar, what I was doing, so far outside my norm. Edward called it walking the boundaries of the mind. I had trouble adapting to the affair at first; when I was with Edward and Rosette it didn't matter at all, it was just outside, afterwards, when it seemed wrong, or stupid, or both. I was going to them more frequently, and staying longer too. But that wasn't the answer, not shutting myself away with them. Talking about it to someone who understood helped me. Cecil was the only one I could really go to. Cecil is worldly wise, or so he claims. He sympathized in a funny sort of way, and he didn't criticize. That meant a lot to me."

"Did you know Rosette was pregnant?"

Isabel's head came up, her blue eyes full of melancholy. There was no resentment in her mind, which was what he actually wanted to know. No grudge. He didn't think a gentle soul like Isabel could hold a grudge.

"Yes," Isabel said. "She never said. But I knew. I'm glad in a way, certainly now. It means there will be something of Edward left. I almost wish it was me."

"How about Kitchener, what sort of mood was he in that night?"

"Edward? Happy. Rosette and me… I… It was good that night."

"No, apart from that. His general mood that night, over the last few days. Was he preoccupied at all? Worried about something? Agitated?"

"No." She gave him a brave little smile. "You don't know Edward or you wouldn't even have asked. He pretended to be this awful old monster. But it was all a sham. Oh, he'd shout at us if we were blatantly stupid. And politicians infuriated him. Apart from that, he didn't have any worries. That was part of the attraction, I've never met anyone so carefree. He'd done so much in his lifetime, won so many battles. I don't think anything could upset him any more."

"I have to ask this, Isabel: how do you feel about Nicholas Beswick?"

"Oh, God!" She buried her face in her hands. "Why did he have to come out and see us? He's so sweet. I didn't want to hurt him. Really. Why did any of this happen? What did we do?"

Slater patted her gently, but she shrugged him off. He shot a silent appeal at Greg.

Greg waited until she finished screwing tears from her eyes with damp knuckles.

"Were you the last to reach Kitchener's bedroom after Rosette discovered the body?" he asked, feeling a prize turd for pressing the anguished girl.

"Yes. I think so. They were all ahead of me. I don't remember much. I'm sorry."

"No matter. Before then, after Nicholas had found you and Rosette together in the corridor, did you tell Kitchener he had seen you?"

"No. God, I couldn't. I didn't know what to do about that. Even Rosette was upset. Edward had a real soft spot for Nick, he had such high hopes for him. Nick has a very high IQ and he wants to learn, I mean really wants. The whole universe is a glorious puzzle to Nick. That's the only time he ever comes out of his shell; when we're talking about the everyday things like the channels or politics he sits quietly in the corner; but say anything about Grand Unification or quantum mechanics and you can't shut him up. He's lovely like that, so animated. I'm rambling, sorry."

"Did you and Rosette discuss what to do about Nicholas seeing you?"

"Not much. It was a sort of mutual silence. I made up my mind to go and see Nick in the morning. Really I was. I would have tried to explain. He was about the one person I would have given Edward up for. I looked after I left Edward, but Nick's light was out. And anyway, it wouldn't have been right, not going in straight afterwards. That would have seemed like Edward had total priority on me. But then…"

"Nicholas Beswick's light was off at two-thirty? You're sure of that?"

"Yes."

"When did you wash that night?"

"I had a shower before I started getting our supper ready, then I had another after I left Edward."

"Were you using the Bendix at all on Thursday?"

"Yes, most of the afternoon."

"Did you access any external 'ware systems?"

"No."

The last question slid from his cybofax's little screen. He couldn't think of any more. Isabel already looked like he'd physically wrung the answers from her.

It was raining outside again, big warm drops beating incessantly on the high window.

"OK," he told Vernon. "Let's have Nicholas Beswick in."