Authors: Clare Donoghue
She swallowed and pushed the ball of anger back down her throat. ‘I did try and talk to you, sir,’ she said. ‘More than once.’ He stared at her. The colour in his face was beginning to settle, but he still had two livid spots on his cheeks. ‘I felt I had no alternative, sir.’ He said nothing. ‘You told me you had spoken to Sue Leech every day since Mark’s disappearance. I spoke to Sue. You hadn’t spoken to her. Not once.’
‘You asked Sue?’ His eyebrows disappeared under a mop of hair. He looked as if he had been to a festival for a month and had decided that haircuts were for repressed people.
‘No, sir. I didn’t. I told her you were going to speak to her, and she happened to mention that she hadn’t heard from you. That she had hoped to hear from you.’ Jane felt a tug of guilt. ‘It wasn’t just that, sir,’ she said, levelling her tone. ‘I was concerned about you. I was concerned about the amount of pressure you were under.’ Now she just sounded patronizing. She sighed, took a step forward and held her hands up. ‘I had no idea Roger would take it this far. He had indicated to me, privately, that he was . . . ’ she searched for a different word, but couldn’t think of one, ‘concerned. I wanted more support for the team, not less, sir.’
That was true. She would never have said a word if she had known. Yes, she was concerned about Lockyer’s behaviour. Yes, she was concerned that the Stevens case was having a detrimental effect on her boss. But that wasn’t it. She could see Lockyer spiralling down and, no matter what she thought about his actions of late, she couldn’t stand by and watch her senior officer – someone she had considered a friend – self-destruct. And she would not allow Mark’s disappearance, or Maggie’s death, to be lost in the crossfire.
‘I did it
for
you, sir, not
to
you.’
He held up his own hands, mirroring her gesture. He took a deep breath as if he was about to launch into another tirade, but instead let the breath out and walked over to his chair. As he sat down he pointed to the seat opposite. Jane obliged, pulling out the chair and sitting down. The tension in the room seemed to have imploded. She felt wrung out. From the look of Lockyer, he felt the same. ‘Okay, okay,’ he said, pushing his hair back, before pulling his hands down his face. ‘I should have—’ He stopped and looked up at the ceiling. ‘We should have talked sooner. You were in a difficult position – I can appreciate that.’ When he looked at her, Jane felt her heart squeeze in her chest.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said before she could stop herself. ‘I didn’t intend for it to go this far.’
‘I know,’ he said, his eyes on hers. ‘I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that.’ He shook his head. ‘I was stuck at home all weekend, and most of yesterday. I guess it gave me a bit too much time to think. Here I am, banging on about professionalism and responsibility to others, and what do I do?’ He pointed out towards the rest of the office. ‘I’m sorry.’ She wanted to say something. To acknowledge that she knew this was hard for him. To thank him. But she couldn’t. His eyes stopped the words coming. ‘We should have spoken about all of this weeks ago.’
She couldn’t disagree. ‘Yes, sir’ was all she said.
‘Have you got time for a drink later on?’ he asked. The question was so incongruous that she opened her mouth to answer, but shut it again. ‘We’ve worked together for a long time, Jane. The last thing I want is for this . . . ’ he pursed his lips, ‘situation to have a detrimental effect on our working relationship. You have questions, I’m sure, and I think it’s only fair that I answer at least some of them. That being said, I don’t think the office is the best place for us to have this conversation, do you?’ He managed a half-smile.
‘No, sir. I agree.’ She looked at her watch and pictured the files on her desk and the emails on her computer. ‘I’ve got two interviews this morning. I’ve got a follow-up with Sue this afternoon, and a few people to see after that. I should be done about six . . . six-thirty?’ Another evening when something – or someone – took precedence over Peter. Jane bit her tongue for a second, pushed the thought away and continued. ‘I could meet you in the Jolly Farmers?’
‘I was thinking of somewhere a bit further afield,’ he said, again gesturing to the office behind her. ‘Half the team will be in the pub later – there’s some quiz on. How about the Goose at Rushey Green?’
‘That’s fine,’ Jane said, feeling as if she was making a date. ‘I’ll meet you there at six-thirty.’ He nodded. ‘Sir,’ she said, pushing back her chair. ‘See you later.’
She kept her eyes trained on her desk as she crossed the open-plan office, but she could feel everyone looking at her. There would be whispers about this for weeks. If any of the team saw her and Lockyer together in the pub tonight, the whispers would be around for the rest of the year.
Professor Edward Cresswell, the head of psychology at Greenwich University, was in interview room one with Penny. Victor Lebowski was in room two, waiting for Jane. She looked from one door to the other. As much as she was keen to get started, part of her was still deciding how to handle the interview. It wasn’t being recorded. Lebowski wasn’t here under caution. As far as he was concerned, this was just a chat to flesh out Maggie’s university career, but Jane had other ideas.
As soon as Lebowski had said his name on the phone the previous night she had felt a buzz of adrenaline, but he hadn’t called to admit his relationship with Maggie. On the contrary, he had called to express concern for his students and the university as a whole, and to give her a name. She stood at the sergeant’s desk now, signing in, putting her name and the time. The name he had given her was Terry Mort’s. He was one of Lebowski’s PhD students and, according to Lebowski, Mort and Maggie had dated the previous year. Of course Jane knew all of this already. Chrissie had told her about the relationship in her interview at the weekend, but she said it happened over the summer and was over before the second year of their MA began, which begged the question: how did Lebowski know about it? This would be one of the questions she would be putting to him in a moment, along with several others. She said thank you to the desk sergeant, turned and paused outside the interview room. The hairs on the back of her neck were vibrating. She took a deep breath, opened the door and walked in.
Lebowski was standing at the far end of the room, leaning against the wall. He was about six foot, wearing tan Birkenstocks, blue jeans and a white T-shirt, with a David Bowie album cover emblazoned on the front. His forearms were tanned, his skin the colour of digestive biscuits. He pushed himself upright and approached her, his hand out in greeting. ‘Detective Bennett,’ he said, ‘it’s a pleasure to meet you.’
She shook his hand. His grip was firm, his hand hot and clammy. Was he nervous or was it just the temperature outside making him sweat? She felt a blush in her cheeks. She looked down. ‘Mr Lebowski,’ she said, ‘thank you for coming in.’ She gestured to the chair on the other side of the table. ‘Please, take a seat.’ He sat down. He appeared calm. If anything, she felt more on edge than he looked. She took the seat opposite him. ‘So, Mr Lebowski,’ she began.
‘Please, call me Victor,’ he said. He crossed his legs, straightening the front seam of his jeans.
‘Victor,’ she responded. ‘As I said, I appreciate you coming down to the station. I have some questions I would like to ask you. But, first, why don’t you tell me how you knew Maggie.’ He opened his mouth to speak. ‘I know you told me a fair bit last night, but I would appreciate it if we could go over it again. I’ll be making notes, if that’s all right with you?’ She put her notepad on the table and laid a biro next to it.
‘Of course,’ he said, raising both hands, palms facing upwards. ‘Anything I can do to help. I really
do
want to help.’
She had heard the same phrase innumerable times in her career. She looked up and studied his face. He was telling the truth. She could tell by his eyes. He did want to help, but that in itself felt odd. She opened her pad and gestured for him to continue.
‘Okay, well, as you know, I am a tutor on Maggie’s MA. She was in her second year, doing very well. She was incredibly hard-working. Mature students are, by their very nature, more focused, but Maggie was exceptional. Her knowledge and grasp of psychology were enviable. As was her dedication. I wish I had been like that at her age. I had already been married a year, and was far more interested in starting a family than concentrating on my studies.’ He held up his hands. ‘Sorry – not relevant. Anyway, yes, Maggie was one of my students. I taught her in the first year, along with her housemate, Christina O’Reilly, and I had her for two modules this semester.’
‘And they were?’ she asked, noting his slight embarrassment at his turn of phrase.
‘Cognitive and applied psychology,’ he said, running his hand over his head.
‘Go on,’ she said, making a note. She listened while he elaborated on his teaching techniques, how much coursework was involved and what his students were expected to produce. He ran his hand over his head every two to three minutes. His hair was fair and cut short. It was not quite a buzz-cut, but it was close. His eyes were blue. The lack of hair, and his colouring, made them stand out. There was no denying he was attractive. Jane doubted that she would be able to concentrate in any class Victor was teaching. A flash of a scene from an Indiana Jones film popped into her mind: the adoring college student who, when Dr Jones looks at her, closes her eyes to reveal that she’s written ‘I love you’ in make-up on her eyelids. Jane cleared her throat. ‘So what is the basis of cognitive and applied psychology?’ she asked, pulling her brain back to the job in hand.
‘Well, cognitive psychology is all about mental processes, like speech, memory, perception and so on. If we can break down and study a mental pathway, we can devise ways in which to alter it. For example, developing ways to help drivers concentrate on the road better, or – as with cognitive behavioural therapy, or CBT – how to help someone understand and control their reactions to certain triggers: fear of heights, agoraphobia, that kind of thing.’ She watched his hand move towards his head. He stopped, as if resisting the urge, returning his hand to his lap. ‘That’s where applied psychology comes in. The two modules work alongside each other.’
‘You said before,’ she said, glancing down at her notes, ‘that Maggie was “exceptional”. Could you elaborate on that?’
‘She was gifted,’ he said, without hesitation. ‘Gifted.’ He stopped and looked down at his hands. ‘I have no doubt she would have been a brilliant practitioner. Such a waste. An absolute waste of a brilliant young woman.’
Jane listened, tapping her pen against her lips. ‘Miss O’Reilly mentioned that Maggie was a bit behind in her studies. That she had planned to stay in over Easter to finish a piece of coursework.’ Victor rubbed his hand back and forth over his head. ‘She also said one of Maggie’s tutors had given her an extension until the Tuesday after the bank holiday.’ She waited. She didn’t really need to ask Victor if it was him. It was clear from his expression that it was.
‘That was me,’ he said, stroking the end of his nose with the edge of his hand.
‘Are the students in after Easter?’ she asked. ‘I may be wrong, but I’d assumed lectures would have finished before the break?’
‘They did,’ he said. ‘The students have two revision weeks that straddle Easter, before their exams this week.’ He seemed flustered. He was pulling at the skin on the inside of his thumb. ‘The paper was due two weeks before Easter. I gave Maggie the extension because . . . well, because she asked. She said she was just a bit behind, that was all. It happens to the best of us,’ he said, with a shrug of his shoulders.
‘Can you excuse me for just a second?’ she asked. He seemed taken aback that she would leave now. As if the admission of Maggie’s slip in performance needed further justification. ‘I won’t be a second.’ She pushed her chair back, left the room and knocked on the door to the first interview room. Penny’s head appeared around the edge of the door. ‘Can I borrow you for a sec?’ she asked.
‘Sure.’ Penny closed the door and Jane heard a murmured apology before she reappeared.
‘Has Cresswell mentioned anything about Maggie’s grades – her recent performance?’ she asked.
‘Just now,’ Penny said, raising her eyebrows. ‘You must have X-ray ears.’ She smiled and walked a few paces away from the interview rooms. ‘He said Maggie’s work had been in the top five per cent until September of last year. Then she was late with three pieces of work for the Christmas hand-in and missed several classes.’
‘Do you know which classes she missed?’ she asked. She had a pretty good idea Maggie wasn’t missing Victor’s classes.
‘Yes, hang on,’ Penny said, opening her notebook, which she had brought out with her. ‘Reeves, she missed two of his classes; and Baxter, she missed one.’
Jane nodded. ‘Right, good. Thanks, Penny. Have you spoken much about Victor – I mean, Lebowski? Does Cresswell know he’s here?’
‘Not as far as I can tell,’ Penny said, shaking her head. ‘I’ve asked him about all of the tutors and senior members of staff, but I’ve not gone into detail yet. I’ll come back to it now, shall I, and get some more info on Lebowski?’
‘Yes, do that,’ Jane said, already walking back to the interview room. ‘Come and get me if you think there’s anything I need to know.’
‘Yes, boss,’ Penny said, with a mock salute. ‘How’s it going with you?’
‘Good,’ Jane said smiling, ‘I think I might be making some headway.’
Penny’s expression changed. ‘I hope so, boss. That girl’s poor family could do with some news – any news. I went out to see them over the weekend. Anne’s doing her best, but they’re in bits. The mother’s aged twenty years overnight. It was awful . . . awful.’
Jane put her hand on Penny’s arm. ‘I know. We’ll get there, Pen. We’re not even a week in. You know how long these things can take.’
‘God, I so do, boss,’ Penny replied, shaking her shoulders as if shrugging off the emotion that was trying to drag her down. ‘Right, I’ll come and get you if the Prof. says anything important.’
Both women stood at their respective doors, took deep breaths, dropped their shoulders and walked back into the interview rooms. They made a good team, Jane thought. Maybe she and Penny would end up like Lockyer and her. Jane the DI and Penny the senior DS. She thought about Lockyer and how he had been this morning. She couldn’t imagine not working with him every day. ‘Sorry to keep you,’ she said, sitting down opposite Lebowski. ‘Just a few more questions.’