Authors: Clare Donoghue
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.
‘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.
‘No, Terry,’ she said, choosing her words before she continued. ‘We know you had a relationship with Maggie. We know she had a relationship with someone else. We know there was an overlap. You weren’t happy about the situation, which – given the circumstances – is understandable. All of that is, as I’m sure you are aware, circumstantial evidence. What we are trying to “establish”, as you put it, is whether or not you have any information that can assist in this investigation. My job is to gather as much information as possible in order to ascertain who murdered Maggie and then arrest that person.’ She stopped and waited for Mort to look at her. ‘Does that make things clearer for you?’ The shift in power was almost imperceptible, but Jane felt it, and it felt good.
‘Just ask your questions,’ Mort said. ‘I have work to do,’ he went on, gesturing at the files on his desk.
30th April – Wednesday
‘I appreciate you’re a busy man, Terry,’ Jane said, ignoring the blank stare Mort was giving her. He had folded his arms and his bottom lip was stuck out like that of a petulant child. ‘Detective Inspector Lockyer,’ she said, gesturing at Lockyer, ‘assured Professor Cresswell that we wouldn’t unnecessarily detain his students.’
‘I certainly did,’ Lockyer said with a solemn nod, catching Jane’s eyes for a second.
‘So,’ she said, relieved to feel in control again, ‘if you would prefer to continue this discussion at a more convenient time?’ She kept her eyes on Mort as she closed her notepad. ‘I can arrange for you to come over to the station in Lewisham. Whatever’s easiest for you?’ She waited. Mort wanted to believe he was in charge, but he wasn’t. He might have a degree in psychology and a Masters to go with it, but Jane had been interviewing suspects since he was in secondary school. As soon as he lost his cool she had him. And Lockyer, to his credit, had backed off.
Mort looked at her and then up at Lockyer. If he was expecting any kind of brotherly support, he didn’t get any. ‘Now is fine, Detective,’ he said.
‘Good. Great,’ she said, reopening her notepad. ‘Let’s get on with it then, shall we?’
‘Fine with me,’ Mort said, looking anything but fine.
She waited for a few more seconds and then continued where they had left off. ‘Did Maggie tell you who she was seeing behind your back?’
Mort shook his head. ‘No, she didn’t; or rather, she wouldn’t. Further demonstration of how little respect she had for me and our relationship.’
‘You said earlier that Maggie was . . . ’ she flicked back a few pages in her notes, ‘ . . . that she was smart. We know from friends of hers that she didn’t date a great deal, that her work was very important to her. Would you agree with that statement?’
‘That her work was very important to her? Absolutely,’ he said. ‘That she didn’t date much? I wouldn’t be the best person to answer that, now would I?’
‘Of course not,’ Jane said. ‘As far as you know, did Maggie ever fall behind in any of her studies, lectures, assignments – anything like that?’
Mort was shaking his head before she could finish speaking. ‘No. She was a dedicated student. We spent a great deal of our time together discussing theories, reading academic articles and journals. Maggie was, in my opinion, Detective, a lousy girlfriend, but she had the potential to be an outstanding academic.’