Blood Will Tell

by Jeanne M. Dams

  ‘Ah, but they get out. The rain comes and raises the water level, and they get out and win the day.’

  It was my turn to sigh. ‘Then we’d better pray for rain. Meanwhile, I’m going to take a nap.’

  ‘It’s nearly dinner time. You won’t be able to sleep tonight if you sleep now.’

  ‘Right. I’ll chance it.’

  I could hardly keep my eyes open long enough to stretch out comfortably and pull the spare blanket over my clothes; I’d taken off only my shoes. I was asleep in minutes, and so was distinctly annoyed when my phone set off its infuriating jangle just when I was sinking into the deep comfort of oblivion.

  I was lying on it. With some difficulty I pulled it out of my pocket and glared at it for a moment before stabbing at the stupid icon that meant ‘answer’.

  ‘Yes?’ I growled.

  ‘Dorothy? Are you all right? You sound as if you’ve caught cold.’

  I cleared my throat and tried to clear my mind. ‘Oh, Nigel. No, I’m fine. Just a frog in my throat.’

  ‘Oh, I thought I might have caught you at a bad moment.’

  ‘Wicked child! You’re much too observant. As a matter of fact, I’d just settled into a nap, and you woke me up. Let me put the phone down for a minute so I can get to the kettle and make some coffee.’

  I ignored the croaks from the phone until I had the kettle full and turned on. ‘Now. What were you saying?’

  ‘Only that you’ll pay for the nap and the coffee when you try to sleep tonight.’

  ‘You sound just like Alan. You both know me too well. What time is it?’

  ‘A little after six, and I have some information for you, or at least some ideas. Are you awake enough to listen?’

  ‘Now I am. Wide awake, in fact.’ I moved the few feet to Alan’s bed and poked him. ‘Wake up, love. It’s Nigel, and he has something for us. Talk loud, Nigel, and Alan and I will both listen.’

  ‘You asked me,’ he began, ‘to think about the sort of prank a student of the sciences might think worthy of the noble annals of Cambridge, along with the cars dangling from bridges and atop roofs, and so on. Now, those feats were all very well in their day, as was the placing of various objects on the pinnacles of King’s. As a matter of fact, had I remained a little longer at King’s, some friends and I … but no matter. You’re concerned with present-day students.’

  ‘I’ll get you to tell us someday.’

  ‘Ah, now that I’m an old married man with children, the stories of my youth are buried forever. Well. You must remember, Dorothy and Alan, that technology is firmly in control now, not only of the world, but especially of the minds of the young.’

  ‘And the younger the mind, the greater the absorption,’ said Alan.

  ‘Indeed. That is why I asked you, Dorothy, if I might posit the cooperation of students in other scientific fields.’

  ‘You did, and I agreed. But I don’t know what you’re getting at.’

  ‘I’m thinking of robotics.’

  Alan and I looked at each other. Robots. Those strange insect-like creatures in the market. Made, the man had said, by students here at Cambridge.

  ‘Hello? Anybody still there? Hello?’

  ‘Yes, Nigel, sorry. It’s just that Alan and I saw some robots in the market only this morning, and I don’t quite see how they’d tie in with a student prank. Look, we’d better tell you what we know so far.’ I briefly sketched what Terence had told us.

  ‘Yes, that would fit, although … But here’s what I came up with.’ Nigel sounded excited. ‘I talked to some of the chaps studying robotics here at Sherebury, and they say there’s some world-class work going on in the field at two or three of the Cambridge colleges. They’ve come up with some marketable devices, in fact.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what Alan and I saw. They didn’t seem very practical to me, and they’re terribly expensive.’

  ‘Well, they would be, wouldn’t they? The avant-garde, as it were. But suppose those inventors were to get together with the biologists at St Stephen’s. I think they could come up with something truly spectacular, perhaps a remote-controlled robot that looked exactly like a lab animal. You mentioned blood. Wouldn’t it be a fantastic joke if someone were to stab this creature as it walked across the quadrangle, and it bled – and kept right on going?’

  ‘Like one of the Stepford Wives,’ I mused.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Never mind. A book and movie. Before you were born. Nigel, that’s brilliant, and it answers a few of our questions.’

  ‘Only a few?’

  ‘Nigel, you’ve been a great help,’ said Alan, ‘but you’ve perhaps raised as many questions as you’ve answered. I don’t suppose your fertile imagination can explain the disappearance of one of the students? A botanist, by the way.’

  Nigel whistled. The sound came down the airwaves in ear-piercing fashion. ‘A botanist. Not likely to be directly involved in the planning of the prank, then. No, I haven’t the slightest idea. Would you like me to ask in the botany department here?’

  ‘Why not?’ But my voice held little hope. Sherebury is a long way from Cambridge, and not only in miles.

  ‘Just one more thing, Nigel, and we’ll let you get back to Inga and the children. What would you say is the greatest problem confronting university students these days? That is, what would cause them the greatest distress?’

  ‘Hmm. Not an easy question. If I remember my own days at King’s, our greatest worry, leaving out examinations, was how to live our lives the way we wished with a minimum of official interference.’

  ‘I assume that means that some of your activities would not have met with official approval,’ said Alan with the hint of a chuckle.

  ‘Most of them, actually. And as you know, I did eventually fall foul of the regulations and was sent down.’

  ‘And a great pity, too,’ I said sternly, and then checked myself. This was no time for a lecture on irresponsibility, and in fact it wasn’t needed. Nigel’s life might have been very different if he’d continued with his studies, but it could hardly be better. Sometimes things do work out for the best.

  ‘So,’ I said when we’d ended the call, ‘what do you think is causing Mahala’s distress?’

  ‘I think Nigel put his finger on it. He’s worried about a serious encounter with the authorities. Except in his case, I have the distinct feeling it’s not the university regulations he’s worried about, but the law.’

  ‘He’s certainly afraid of you.’

  Alan struck one fist into his other palm. ‘Confound it, I wish we – I wish Elaine had a good reason to question him officially. I’m quite sure that boy is at the root of whatever’s going on in this college, but without at least a hint of evidence, she can’t bring him in.’

  ‘No. Andrews would be on her back the minute she tried. Cultural sensitivity, town-and-gown relationships, you name it.’

  ‘And he’d be right, Dorothy. I can’t bear the man, but the law is the law. One can’t interrogate someone because his manner is offensive, or one doesn’t like his looks.’

  ‘Well, Elaine can’t. But I can, can’t I? I’m not official. I never was. And I established a certain rapport with him for a while today. Suppose I were to help him move his rats back to their own sweet little home, as soon as it’s allowed.’

  ‘For one thing, among many others, he would sense your repugnance to the beasts. He may be ill-mannered and all the rest, but he is neither stupid nor unperceptive. How long do you think your celebrated rapport would last, the first time you looked at a rat with loathing?’

  Alan had a point. ‘I’ll just have to be careful about my reactions. Who knows, I may learn to love the disgusting little creatures.’

  ‘Furthermore,’ Alan went on, as if I hadn’t spoken, ‘this chap is plainly unstable emotionally. Don’t forget he may have once pushed you downstairs. You could have been killed, Dorothy!’

  ‘I know. My guardian angel was obviously working overtime. But I do
n’t think he was the one, Alan, I truly don’t. He didn’t show any reaction at all when I mentioned stairs. Besides, he’s fairly conspicuous, with his very dark skin. I know I wasn’t paying any particular attention, but I think I would have spotted him if he’d been there.’

  ‘I don’t like it, Dorothy.’

  The poor man! His well-developed English instinct for getting the women and children out of the way of danger was surfacing again.

  ‘Suppose I were to take someone with me,’ I said. ‘Someone who wouldn’t be a threat to Mahala.’

  ‘For example?’

  ‘I’ll bet Jennifer knows someone, or Terence. Some stalwart student – perhaps a hearty type whose brain is not his most prominent feature. If he’s obviously a mental lightweight, Mahala would have contempt for him and would dismiss him as any sort of threat. Besides, he could help us carry those miserable rats.’

  ‘You’re going to have to stop thinking of them in those terms,’ he said with a resigned sigh as he picked up his phone.

  NINETEEN

  Terence was able to come up with just the person we needed. ‘His name is Jim Ashby. He plays rugby for St Stephen’s, rows for the college, and does a good many other sports as well. If he has ever been seen attending a lecture or studying in the library, the word hasn’t reached me. A nice lad, but thick as two planks.’

  ‘How does he manage to stay at the university?’

  ‘He hasn’t had to take any examinations yet. How he got in at all is the real question.’

  ‘Can you find him and have him call me or Dorothy?’

  ‘He’ll be on the river or the tennis courts. I’ll find him, but it may take a little while. He doesn’t carry his phone – says it distracts him while he’s working. By which he means playing.’

  Alan reported to me, and with that I had to be content. Not willingly. I had got over my sleepiness and wanted to get on with it. ‘Well, then, let’s go over to the Hutchins Building and find out how soon they’re going to open it up again. Then we’ll know when I can plan to tackle Mahala about helping.’

  ‘We’ve not got a lot of time before supper. If you want to eat in hall, that is.’

  ‘It won’t take long. And then we can work out our plans about eating, depending on what Elaine says.’

  But all thoughts of supper vanished when we talked to Elaine. We were approaching the front door of the Hutchins Building when she flew out and ran to us. ‘He’s alive!’ she cried. ‘I just talked to him!’

  She meant Tom, of course. ‘Is he all right? Where has he been? Is he coming home?’ Alan and I peppered her with questions, which she waved away.

  ‘That’s just it. I don’t know! He rang up just now, not on his own phone, but when I answered, he said only a few words before we were cut off. And when I tried calling back, the mobile was out of service. I don’t know what to do!’ She turned away to try to hide her tears.

  I stood there, helpless. I knew from my own experience that when a person is fighting for composure, sympathy is the last thing she wants.

  Alan sensibly reacted like a cop. ‘What exactly did he say?’ His voice was crisp and businesslike.

  ‘Nothing helpful. Only my name, and “I’m OK, but—” and then nothing.’

  ‘Any background noises?’

  She shrugged. ‘You know what mobiles are. The signal wasn’t good. I heard nothing but his voice, and that wasn’t clear.’

  ‘Not a strong signal. That could mean he’s not in a city or town.’

  ‘Or that the phone’s battery was low, or he was near a solid structure, or … almost anything.’

  ‘You’ll try to trace the phone, of course.’

  ‘I’ll try. It’s much harder when we’re dealing with mobiles. Landlines were traceable to a subscriber and a location. Mobiles …’ She shrugged again. ‘But I’ll phone the station and give them the number, and see what they can do. Excuse me.’

  ‘She’s no worse off than before,’ said Alan. We had let Elaine get a little ahead of us before going into the building. ‘In fact, better, because now she knows for sure that he’s alive.’

  ‘But it’s such tantalizing knowledge! Alive, but where? Alive, but why can’t he use his phone? Alive, but why was the call cut off? Alive, but obviously in trouble. She’s frantically trying to think how to find him, and there’s no better way now than before, but she feels even more helpless.’

  Alan said nothing. There was nothing to say.

  Nora, who was apparently Elaine’s most senior forensic investigator, came to talk to us as we walked into the building. ‘We were just about to shut down here when the super got the call. With the blood coming, apparently, from an accident, there’s nothing for us to do here. Steve is taking the tape down now and reopening the building.’

  ‘Did you find anything of any interest in the more intensive search?’

  She shrugged. ‘This and that. Some soft porn in somebody’s locker. A little stash of scalpels and syringes, apparently used, but clean.’

  Alan’s attention sharpened. ‘Syringes?’

  ‘Very small ones. No druggie would want them. Some really old comic books about Godzilla, most of them in Japanese.’ She shrugged. ‘No accounting for taste, I suppose. There was really nothing of any importance.’

  ‘Do all the students have lockers here in the building?’

  ‘I don’t know how many students work here,’ she said, the patience in her voice undercut by weariness. ‘There are ten lockers, all of them in one room on the second floor. There were lab coats in most of them.’

  ‘CCTV footage?’ Alan glanced up at the camera over the door.

  ‘First thing we checked, of course. Not working.’ Her patience was definitely wearing thin.

  We thanked her and let her finish her job. ‘That wasn’t very interesting,’ I complained as we plodded to the dining hall.

  ‘Except for the syringes. I have to believe the woman when she says they’re not the sort addicts would use, but dashed if I can work out why anyone else would want used syringes. If they’re plastic, they couldn’t even be sterilized again.’

  ‘And everybody nowadays uses the throwaways, syringe and needle all in one.’ I threw my hands out, disposing of the idea. ‘I think we should skip supper. Let’s go back to the library to see if we can help Mahala with his rats.’

  ‘To see if you can help,’ Alan corrected. ‘He doesn’t like me. And you need to find that stalwart dunce to go along. We’ll have time to eat, and we need some rest in any case.’

  ‘But what if Mahala gets away before I can go back there?’

  ‘Darling, he’s not going to “get away”. You forget the rats – the passion of his life. He’ll never be far away from them.’

  I wasn’t satisfied, but I had to concede the point. If I didn’t take someone with me to meet Mahala, Alan was going to put his foot down and veto the whole project. I sighed and followed him to the hall, where serving was about to end and the pickings were somewhat slim.

  The stalwart dunce phoned just as we’d finished eating. He sounded pleasant enough. ‘Mr Nesbitt? You don’t know me, but a friend said you need help with something?’

  ‘Ah. You must be Mr Ashby.’

  ‘Oh, yes, sorry. Jim Ashby, at your service.’

  ‘It’s actually my wife who requires some assistance. Here she is.’

  He handed me the phone. We went through the usual my-name-isn’t-Nesbitt routine, and then I explained my mission, including only the information I considered necessary.

  ‘Rats?’ he said cheerily. ‘I’m your man. I love rats. Had a pair when I was a kid. Sweet little things. I’ll just need to clean up a bit; been on the courts, you know.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t bother,’ I said hastily, visions of a fleeing Mahala rushing through my brain.

  ‘No bother. Where is it you need me to go?’

  ‘The library, but truly—’

  ‘Right-o. I’ll see you in about twenty minutes. Or thereabouts.’r />
  I gave Alan’s phone back to him. ‘What’s the matter? He can’t come?’

  ‘He wants to clean up first. He’s been “on the courts”, whatever that means. Tennis, I suppose. It’s sweet, I suppose, that he doesn’t want to show up all hot and sweaty, but every minute wasted is one more chance for Mahala to disappear. And after that frustrating call from Tom, we need to talk to him more than ever.’

  ‘Yes. There’s time. I’ll walk you over there and vanish as soon as Ashby appears.’

  The long twilight of an April evening was beginning to settle over the college as we walked slowly to the library. The beauty and serenity seemed to touch even the noisy students; their voices were softer, their laughter less raucous. I wished the turmoil in my own mind could be similarly quieted, but too many trains of thought were criss-crossing. There was going to be a major train wreck, I thought uneasily. What could a missing student, robotic rats and the blood of a haemophiliac have to do with each other? What kind of pattern could they make that would also accommodate a nearly hysterical student, terrified of the police? My mind conjured up a horrific picture of colliding locomotives, spilling out bleeding rats by the hundreds.

  I stumbled. Alan caught my arm and kept me upright. ‘Daydreaming, darling?’

  ‘More like day nightmares.’ I shook my head to clear it and looked up. We had arrived at the library.

  It, too, looked serene and idyllic. The glow of lights within turned our twilit world to a soft blue. One could almost believe in the peaceful world of academe where, as Sayers’s Harriet Vane had put it, the restoration of ‘a lost iota subscript’ was of supreme importance.

  But even in Harriet Vane’s fictional world, the clamour and confusion and, yes, the crime of the real world came pressing in, intruding on the blessed peace. The serenity of an Oxbridge college was an illusion.

  The serenity right here was abruptly shattered by the loud noise of something clattering to the ground, a high-pitched squealing and a male voice screaming words I couldn’t understand, but whose profane nature was easily deduced.

  ‘Oh, Lord, he’s dropped one of the rats!’ I stifled the scream that tried to escape, and looked around for a bench to climb on in case the miserable thing escaped.