As I lay letting the pills do their work and my maltreated body began to quiet, my mind began to work, chasing loose ends here and there, trying to come up with some sort of scenario that would explain phantom blood stains and an attack on me.
Alan got off the phone and reported. ‘Elaine had some news, if only negative. There are no reports of missing persons that could match with the timing of the blood on the floor, and no one has been admitted to local hospitals with wounds that could produce that much blood. So no help there. She also reminded me of what Tom told us: that the rooms in Hutchins, except for the lecture rooms, are routinely kept locked. Lecturers have keys, but they wouldn’t be in on a Sunday. Some of the graduate students may be, I imagine.’
‘So can we get in, or not?’
‘Perhaps. Of course, Elaine’s position would allow her to march in and demand that the building be unlocked for us, but …’
‘Politics.’
‘Yes. We still have no concrete evidence to support the idea that a crime has been committed.’
‘Meanwhile, someone is getting away with – perhaps not murder, but something very nasty. I feel it in my bones, Alan.’
‘Your poor, mistreated, aching bones! We’ll get in eventually, love. Elaine happens to be a good friend of the master of St Stephen’s College. She’s going to ply him with sherry after lunch and persuade him to let us have a private tour.’
‘I don’t want a “tour”. I want to be able to poke around and see if I can’t find something incriminating.’
‘Ah, but this is no ordinary tour. Our guides will be Elaine and her nephew.’
‘Oh, well, that’s different. But Alan, I’ve been thinking. If the Hutchins security is so tight, how was it that I could get into the lab that first afternoon?’
‘Someone was either very careless or very careful. If you need to get away fast, or if you need to remove a body, you don’t want a locked door to slow you down. Now, love, if you’ll promise to stay in this room with the door locked, and not allow visitors, I really should put in an appearance at the conference. It’s nearly lunchtime and there’ll be some mingling. I’ve been neglecting my duties shamefully.’
‘I promise I won’t let in even the distinguished gentleman with the ribbon of some foreign order. Really, I’ll be fine, Alan. Go and mingle.’
‘Shall I fetch you for lunch, or can you find your own way?’
‘You won’t believe it, but I’m truly not hungry. You can bring me a roll or an apple or something. I’m going to read one of my new mysteries.’
I’m sure Alan expected me to nap, and to tell the truth I expected that, too, but after reading a few pages, I fell to musing about my problem.
A prank gone badly wrong. That’s what Tom thought, and now that Elaine had found nothing … But what sort of a prank would involve a large quantity of blood?
I let my mind freewheel. Blood. What did that suggest? Images of a cape and fangs floated across my mind. Vampires. Vampires were popular just now in the more sensational kind of fiction. Vampires and – what were they called, the ‘undead’? Zombies – that was it. Where did the ideas of these mythical creatures arise? Was Bram Stoker the first to conjure up a Dracula figure, Mary Shelley the first to think of bringing a dead man to hideous life? Surely not. The concepts must go back to folklore origins somewhere. Vampire bats. Did they get their name before or after the vampire legends arose? Bats. Spooky creatures, though helpful. They eat mosquitoes. The ones that don’t suck blood, that is. Of course, mosquitoes suck blood, too. Blood. Blood can carry disease. Pathogens in the lab. Blood. Bats. Belfries.
I nearly jumped out of my skin as my hair was brushed lightly.
‘Didn’t mean to startle you, love. Did you have a nice nap?’
‘I … what time is it?’
‘Ten past one.’
‘Oh, then I can’t have slept very long. I didn’t know I’d fallen asleep at all. I was thinking about blood and zombies and vampires and bats, and I was sure I was about to figure out something important … but I guess … oh, well.’
‘Never mind. How are you feeling?’
I wiggled experimentally. ‘Not too bad, except for my posterior. I have a feeling it’s going to be sore for quite a while. That marble floor at the Fitzwilliam didn’t have a lot of give to it.’
‘I brought you some salad. They kindly gave me a plastic box to put it in.’
I sat up and slid my feet to the floor. The fresh vegetables smelled good. I pulled a pillow over to the desk chair and gingerly sat down to eat. ‘Did you mingle successfully?’
‘I suppose. My mind was only half on my business, though. The other half was occupied with our problem, and from what you say, I have the feeling we were pursuing the same line. Blood. What could blood have to do with anything, in a facility where it is present only in minute quantities, if at all?’
‘Especially, what could it have to do with a student prank? And my thoughts were leading me, before I fell asleep, to vampires and zombies.’
‘Very useful.’ Alan’s voice was arid in the extreme.
‘No, but it is, actually. Or it could be. Because vampires and zombies are the stuff of legend, of folklore, of superstition. Do you remember Tom mentioning that story his aunt told him, about a voodoo cult?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘I don’t think I ever passed it along to you, but it had to do with a small West Indian community right here in Cambridge, and a man who disappeared. And there was quite a lot of blood involved, though not human blood.’ I told the story as best I could remember it.
‘Hmm.’ Alan made one of his noncommittal, all-purpose sounds that always annoy me.
‘If you don’t believe me, ask Elaine.’
‘I didn’t say I didn’t believe you. You’ll admit, though, it takes a bit of believing.’
‘The point is that the incidents she described did happen. You can make whatever deductions you like, but the story serves as undeniable evidence that a particular strain of superstition, or religion – or whatever you want to call it – did exist in ultra-civilized Cambridge, England, as recently as twenty years ago. Who’s to say it doesn’t still exist? The university brings people here from all over the world. To a certain extent, they bring their culture with them.’
‘So you’re suggesting that the blood you saw had to do with some religious ritual?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything except a line of thought that might be worth exploring.’ I impaled the last piece of cucumber and wiped my mouth free of salad dressing. ‘And speaking of exploring …’
‘Yes, Elaine should call soon. She was leading the master off to his fate as I left the dining room. Meanwhile, I may have a little snooze myself.’
TEN
I’d slept enough, so I picked up my abandoned book and tried to immerse myself in it. For once, though, fiction failed to capture me. The real mystery I was involved in was more interesting. I followed paths of thought down unproductive byways for quite a while, and was just wondering what on earth was keeping Elaine so long when Alan’s phone rang (or whiffled, or whatever these things do). He was still snoring, so I picked it up and answered.
‘Dorothy, Elaine here. I need to speak to Alan, please.’
That was odd. Why couldn’t she talk to me? I nudged him awake and handed him the phone.
His end of the conversation consisted mostly of monosyllables. Finally, he said, ‘Sorry, I can’t. I’ll explain in a bit.’ He rang off.
‘Can’t do what?’
‘Keep you out of it. There’s been a crisis, love. I know nothing more than that. Elaine wants me at the Hutchins Building immediately, and she asked – no, she told me to have you stay here. “Where she’ll be safe,” she said. You heard my reply. When we get there, I’ll explain that we come as a pair.’
I just looked at him for a long moment, remembering all the times in the past when he had tried to keep me out of trouble, tried to protect me, shield me, wrap me in cotton wo
ol. He still wanted me safe – witness his insistence on not leaving me alone – but he’d learned that I needed to follow my own way.
‘But get a move on, love! Whatever’s happened, it’s urgent.’
‘Alan Nesbitt, I do love you.’ I put my shoes on, reached for my hat, remembered it had met its fate, and followed Alan out the door, feeling vulnerable, like a knight without his armour.
There was a service drive leading to the side door of the Hutchins Building, the one I had blundered in on that first memorable occasion. I hadn’t noticed the drive then, but now it was occupied by two cars so blandly inconspicuous that they had to belong to the police. No flashing blue lights, no markings, but somehow they looked very official. Alan and I looked at each other. ‘Something very serious, then,’ I murmured, and he nodded. We avoided that door and went to the imposing front one. It was locked, but Alan had barely raised his fist to knock when it opened. A uniformed constable stood aside to let us in. ‘Mr and Mrs Nesbitt?’
I let that go. It was close enough.
‘Superintendent Barker is waiting for you in one of the labs, sir. I’ll show you the way.’
‘No need, constable. We know the way. At least, if it’s the zoology lab.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘It would be,’ I whispered. ‘What is it about that place that makes it the focus of everything?’
Alan didn’t answer, but he grasped my arm firmly. ‘Thank you, constable. Carry on.’
I was glad of Alan’s presence. Whatever awaited us in that ill-omened room, I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to see it, but with Alan, I thought I could manage.
Prepared for almost anything, I opened the door to the lab, Alan close behind me.
What I was certainly not prepared for was nothing.
There was no blood on the floor, at least that I could see. There was no body on the floor, as I had half feared. The lab was in perfect order, its only occupants Elaine Barker, looking very official, and a man I recognized as the master of St Stephen’s, who had welcomed us that first evening of the conference.
They were conversing in low tones, but they stopped and looked up as we entered. I expected Elaine to greet us, and when she did not, there was something in the quality of her silence that put me on full alert.
Alan gave my arm an encouraging squeeze and moved away from me. ‘Alan Nesbitt, sir,’ he said, holding his hand out to the man.
‘My apologies, Alan,’ said Elaine, finding her voice. ‘This is Dr Robert Everidge, master of this college. I don’t believe you met him earlier. Robert, Alan Nesbitt and his wife, Dorothy Martin.’
The men shook hands and murmured something polite, and even in the midst of my growing unease, I could be amused at the niceties of English manners. If the sky were falling, one would take time to introduce Chicken Little to all the others before taking cover.
Elaine continued. ‘Alan, I hope I didn’t sound too – er – distraught on the phone just now. The situation may not be as serious as I fear.’ She paused to clear her throat and, I thought, to get firm hold of her composure. ‘The fact is, however, that Tom seems to have disappeared.’
I would have burst into speech, but Alan gave me a look of warning and I managed to keep still. We waited. Elaine bit her lip and continued.
‘We walked over here, Dr Everidge and Tom and I. Robert could let us into this lab, as he has a master key, and Tom has only the keys he needs for his work. There seemed to be no one else in the building.’
‘Is that unusual?’ I asked, after consulting Alan with raised eyebrows.
‘Normal on a Sunday afternoon,’ said the master. ‘Even scientists do take some time away from their work, and it’s a lovely day to go out on the river.’
I nodded, and Elaine went on. ‘Of course, I had told Robert all that had happened, starting from your experience on the first day of the conference, Dorothy. He agreed that an investigation was in order, but preferred, as I thought he would, that we keep it private for a start. So we got into the building, and Tom said he wanted to pick up his notes from his conversation with the students. He’s very methodical, you see. He’d written it all down.’
I groaned. ‘And kept it in his lab, right here in this building.’
Elaine bristled a little. ‘Locked up, of course. He’s neither careless nor stupid.’
This time it didn’t take Alan’s look to keep me silent, but I couldn’t stop my thought processes. Locked up, right. In a desk drawer or a filing cabinet with a lock that could, I was sure, be picked in about two seconds flat, once someone got into the lab itself.
Alan was speaking. ‘I’m assuming,’ he said mildly, ‘that he couldn’t find the notes.’
‘I don’t know. He didn’t return.’
Oh, dear. This was not good. I still kept my mouth shut.
‘You have looked for him, of course.’ Alan was reverting to policeman mode.
‘Robert and I searched the building. When we found no trace of him, I phoned him. No ring; apparently, he’d turned it off. By that time I was seriously concerned, so, with Robert’s permission, I called in a few constables. They are trained in search procedures, as you would know, Alan. They found no trace of him, nor any indication that anyone had been subjected to force.’
‘That would seem to mean, then, that he left the building voluntarily.’ Alan frowned. ‘Why would he do that, without letting you know? He doesn’t strike me as an irresponsible young man.’
‘He isn’t. Not at all. He has always been most considerate. I can think of only one thing that would induce him to behave this way.’
‘He was following someone, or something.’ I spoke with certainty. ‘He didn’t want to waste time phoning you, or else he didn’t want to be overheard.’
‘I think so. A person, or some sort of indication. Probably a person, or he would have told us. And that unfortunately means …’
She lost control of her voice, and Alan finished for her. ‘That means he could be in danger.’
Elaine nodded. The master frowned. ‘But Elaine, would Tom do something so foolish as to pursue someone who might be … well, unbalanced, or even criminal? He has always struck me as a sensible sort.’
‘Sensible, intelligent, yes.’ Elaine was in command of herself once more. ‘But he has also been, from a child, headstrong and impulsive. He’s so very bright that he always thinks he knows best. He’s sure that no one can do the job, whatever it is, as well as he. I have to admit that he’s often right about that.’
‘But not always.’ Alan sounded sombre, and I realized he was speaking now not only as an experienced policeman, but as a father and grandfather who had done his share of worrying about his offspring.
‘All right,’ I said with a brisk assurance I didn’t feel. ‘Let’s think logically about this. If Tom decided to follow someone, who might it be?’
Elaine looked a bit cross. ‘Someone he thinks is involved in this series of peculiar events, of course.’
‘Yes, that’s a given, but I mean, who would that be? One of the other students, right?’
‘We don’t know that.’ Elaine was frowning now.
‘We don’t know anything,’ I retorted, ‘but we can make a reasonable guess. Tom thought from the beginning that we were dealing with a student prank gone wrong. When he began talking about pranks to some of his fellow students the other day, he got a reaction, though he wasn’t sure where it came from. What are the odds that he saw one of those students doing something suspicious and decided to follow him to see if he couldn’t learn something?’
‘Something suspicious,’ said Alan in flat tones. ‘What, for example?’
‘How would I know? To me, a non-scientist, almost anything anyone would do around this building could look suspicious. But suppose … suppose one of the students working in the plant sciences, like Tom with photosynthesis, was doing something with a lab animal – a rat or whatever. Wouldn’t that look a little strange?’
‘Unless they were playing
with it.’ Alan was, it seemed, determined to play the sceptic.
I shuddered. ‘Perish the thought. Play with a rat – ugh! And I don’t think lab rats are meant to be played with. Anyway, that was just an example. I don’t know enough of what goes on around here to know what might be suspicious. What we need to do – that is, if you agree, Elaine – what I suggest we do is find a student who is absolutely to be trusted, and take him, or her, into our confidence. We could find out more about what work is going on here, and perhaps who’s doing what, and that might lead us to Tom. Does that sound reasonable?’
Alan grimaced. ‘There’s one big, obvious flaw.’
‘Exactly,’ said Elaine. ‘How do we know what student might be perfectly trustworthy? Tom would know, but …’
‘I have a suggestion,’ said the master, clearing his throat. ‘Perhaps you’ve forgotten, Elaine, if you ever knew, but a young friend of mine is one of the students here. An undergraduate. Brilliant boy, with a good future in the offing. His name is Terence Faherty, and he is, in fact’ – more throat-clearing – ‘looking to be my son-in-law once he has taken his degree and found a job.’
Alan and I exchanged glances. I knew we were thinking the same thing. If we’d gone to this man at the very beginning, instead of taking feeble stabs at solving the problem ourselves, we might have had all the answers long before now.
Elaine was plainly thinking the same thing. ‘Oh, Lord, Robert, I did know about Terence, but I had forgotten. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Do you happen to know where he’s to be found just now?’
The master allowed a small smile to break through his concern. ‘Given that it’s a fine Sunday afternoon, my guess would be on the river. With my daughter. Shall we?’
‘Perhaps we could simply phone him,’ Elaine suggested. ‘I really do want to find Tom as soon as possible.’
‘My wife tried to phone him this morning, to invite him to dinner tomorrow. He seems to have forgotten to charge his phone, not for the first time, and Jennifer has mislaid hers, also not for the first time. I understand your anxiety, Elaine, but I truly think searching the river is the quickest way at this point.’
Blood Will Tell Page 8
