by Eva Hudson
“You’re doing really well. What you’re telling me is really helping my investigation.”
Jamil looked at his friend, who urged him on, nodding encouragingly. “I said I’d report her to the college authorities. Tell them about her twisted experiment.”
Ingrid nodded. “And how did Madison react to that?”
“She went mental. Told me I didn’t understand anything. Called me a moron. She said no one would listen to a loser like me.” He shook his head. “Maybe I was a moron—to actually believe she liked me in the first place.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“She threatened me.” He shivered more violently. Mohammed jumped up and closed the window. “She said she’d get the guardians to come and speak to me, see if I might change my mind about ratting on her then.”
“The guardians?”
“It’s a private group in the psychology department.”
“Private army more like,” Mohammed added. “You spoke to me about them in the cafeteria when I first met you. I said I didn’t know what you were talking about. You remember? The blokes in the polo shirts? You don’t see the shirts anymore, but the guardians are still around. I steer well clear of them.”
“Me too,” Jamil said. “And Madison. Every time I see her, I get the shits. I ran right into her after my tutorial last week. She threatened me again.”
“Man, I’m sorry,” Mohammed said, “you should have told me. I didn’t realize it was that bad. Is that why you’ve been locked up in here since Thursday?”
Jamil nodded. “After I saw her, I came straight back. Been living on pot noodle ever since.”
No wonder the room smelled. Ingrid had heard enough and she didn’t want to make Jamil relive any more of his pain. “Jamil, you’ve been incredibly helpful. I really appreciate it.” She handed him a card. “You should know, the experiment you took part in? I’ve seen it before, and you don’t need to worry about what you did to the other students.”
“You didn’t hear them scream.”
“Really—it’s OK. You weren’t torturing anyone. You were the subject of the experiment. Madison Faber was testing just how far she could push you. And from what you’ve told me, that wasn’t very far at all. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.” She offered him her hand. “Thank you, Jamil. You too, Mo.”
Ingrid got to her feet. Mohammed did the same. “I’ll walk you down to the street.”
“It’s OK, I can find my way.” Ingrid opened the door and stopped just outside the room. She turned back. Something Jamil had told her wasn’t right. “You said you’ve been holed up in here since last week?”
The student nodded at her. “Since Thursday.”
“Last Thursday, that’s when you ran into Madison? You’re certain?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Ingrid smiled at him. “No reason. Don’t worry about it. Thanks again.” She closed the door quickly and hurried in the direction of the exit.
What was Madison Faber doing at Loriners on Thursday when she’d told Ingrid on Wednesday morning that she was too terrified to set foot back on campus?
45
Ingrid stood on the street for over ten minutes waiting for a black London cab with its light on to drive past. She told the driver to take her to Lewisham police station. With any luck, she could get there while Madison Faber was still giving her statement.
Her phone rang. It wasn’t a number she recognized.
“Ingrid Skyberg.”
“Miss Skyberg, is that you?” A polite, male voice.
“Speaking.”
“This is John Taylor.” He paused. “Emily’s father.”
Ingrid’s brain trawled through its databases, trying to place him.
“You came to our house in Lewes the other day.”
Ah! “Yes, yes of course. How is Emily?”
“She’s much better, thank you for asking. My wife and I are just bringing her back to Loriners College, so I think that’s a good sign.”
“That’s excellent news. I’m so pleased to hear that.” Ingrid still had no idea why he was calling.
“She said she would like to talk to you.” There was some chatter in the background. “Now, if you’re free.”
Ingrid asked the driver to turn around and take her back toward Loriners. Emily had rented a room in an apartment in a street identical to the one Ralph had walked her down earlier in the day. The buildings were large, five-story houses with bay fronts and would once have been respectable family homes. But in recent decades, they had been bought up and divided by landlords seeking to exploit the transient student market. Ingrid wasn’t able to stop herself from thinking that, if Emily had been living somewhere a bit nicer, she might not have found herself standing on a window ledge contemplating suicide.
John Taylor opened the door before Ingrid got a chance to knock. “That didn’t take long.”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
He showed her into a tattered kitchen at the rear of the house. Cupboard doors were hanging off their hinges; washing up was stacked in the sink. Ingrid remembered the nice, well-maintained house she had visited in Lewes with its clipped yew hedge. Coming back to such a student dive would be hard on Emily’s fragile psychology.
The girl smiled when Ingrid walked into the room. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Emily.”
Ingrid noticed a tattoo of an infinity symbol on the girl’s wrist as they shook hands. “Ingrid, nice to meet you.”
“Would you like a cuppa?” she asked.
Ingrid looked at the counter, imagined the dirt in the cups and the Legionnaires’ in the pipes and declined. Emily’s father hovered in the doorway, just as he had done in Lewes.
“We’re OK, Dad,” Emily said.
“Right, yes. I’ll bring some more things in from the car.”
Ingrid joined Emily at a small square dining table that wobbled. “Sorry about the state of things. Mum’s gone to the supermarket to buy a year’s supply of cleaning products.”
Ingrid smiled nervously.
“I know, we still have to use them.”
“Perhaps your mom will draw up a cleaning rota for everyone too?” Ingrid reached out a hand toward Emily, stopping short of touching her. “How are you doing?”
Emily’s eye twitched. “Good, I think. The worst bit was the drugs. I feel like they’re out of my system now, so almost back to normal, really.”
“And,” Ingrid lowered her voice, “have you spoken to a therapist or a counselor?”
“Nah. I would never have tried anything like that if it hadn’t been for the drugs. That’s why I wanted to talk to you, and also kind of why I came back.”
Ingrid waited for her to explain.
“I read that Younger’s in prison—”
“Not yet. He’s been arrested, but they haven’t charged him yet.”
“So he’s in police custody, is that what they call it?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“So he hasn’t actually been found guilty of anything yet?”
“No, that would require a judge and a court case.” Ingrid was amazed at how naïve the girl was about criminal proceedings. It was one of the hallmarks of a middle-class upbringing where no one she knew had ever been in trouble with the police. “But it seems very likely that he will be charged, and he will serve time. Do you think you know something pertinent to his case?”
The girl nodded and gave her a brief, weak smile. “I’m not sure where to start.”
“How about I ask some questions, and we’ll see where we get to? Why don’t you start by telling me how you got involved in Professor Younger’s research program?”
Emily shook her head.
“You don’t need to worry. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
Emily Taylor frowned. “Why would he want to hurt me?”
Ingrid was confused. “I assumed you felt able to speak to me now because he’s
not around.”
“No! It’s the opposite of that. You have to tell the police they’ve made a mistake. I don’t suppose they’ll listen to me; that’s why I thought you could help. They’ve probably labeled me as unstable or unreliable. Or just mad. I want you to tell the police that Stuart’s not a bad man. He shouldn’t go to prison. You have to believe that.”
Ingrid pressed her palms against her thighs. “He systematically gave drugs to students, Emily. It was part of how he controlled everyone.”
“No.” She tapped the table firmly for emphasis. “I went into it with my eyes open. I knew exactly what was involved. So did everyone else. Look, I’m interested in the brain, right? It’s what I want to specialize in. Psychology is all part of the same whole. Being involved that closely with live experiments was a fantastic opportunity for me. It’s why I chose Loriners in the first place. There are better colleges in London to study medicine. But none of them has a psychology department that even gets close to Stuart’s.”
Emily was yet another student with a crush on the handsome professor. Which made her testimony dubious at best, useless at worst. “So tell me about the experiments.”
Emily craned her head close to Ingrid’s. “It’s the drugs you’re really interested in, isn’t it? That’s the important thing as far as the investigation is concerned, isn’t it?”
“It’s almost certainly what he’ll be charged with.”
“Then you need to understand the drugs were why I was taking part. They produce transformative results. Groundbreaking.”
“You took drugs voluntarily?”
“Of course I did. Did you think they were forced down my throat?”
Ingrid rubbed her chin. “How were they administered?”
“I swallowed them with a glass of water. How else? No one forced me to do anything. I knew what I was doing.” Emily’s eyes were bright and alert. “I can’t be sure whether I was given real drugs or a placebo—these were proper robust trials—but I certainly felt the effects. The whole experiment was carefully designed and properly monitored. I didn’t leave the lab for four hours after I took the pills. I was under observation the whole time.”
“So what happened this last time? How did you end up—”
“You want to know how come I was on the top floor of the admin block, dangling out of the window?”
Ingrid nodded.
“I’m not sure. I don’t understand what happened, and I’ve been trying to analyze it myself. Maybe the purity of the drugs was different. Maybe it was a new batch. Or I was given the wrong dose.”
“Is that possible? That something could go that wrong?”
The girl shrugged. “With Lauren not around to double-check everything? Sure. I nearly didn’t continue in the program after she died. I thought it would be disrespectful to her somehow. But then if I hadn’t, it would have messed up all the results.”
“Who was supposed to be watching you?”
“They were short-staffed. Stuart popped in at regular intervals to make sure I was OK.”
“Did he give you the drugs himself?”
“No, it was another of the researchers.”
“And was there a staff shortage the week before? When the other student jumped from the same window? Could she have been administered the wrong dose?”
“I spoke to Lauren about that right after it happened. Jessica—the Canadian student—was taking a placebo. It couldn’t have been the drugs that made her jump.”
“She had high levels of LSD in her system.”
“What?”
“According to the blood tests the police carried out.”
“She couldn’t have. She was definitely taking a sugar pill.”
“Not before she died she wasn’t.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. That means someone switched her from the control group to the active group without letting Lauren know. Who would do something like that?”
Ingrid took a moment to figure things out. “Is it possible someone was deliberately trying to meddle with the experiment?”
“It’s possible, I guess.”
“Is it possible you were previously on the placebo, but your dose was also switched last week?”
Emily covered her mouth with her hand. “I guess.”
Ingrid felt she was getting somewhere. “Do you remember which researchers gave you the drugs the last time?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I don’t know her name, but I’d seen her around the lab now and then. I got the impression she was more senior than the other researchers. She certainly acted that way.”
“Can you describe her?”
“Oh, you’d be able to track her down if you need to speak to her, I’m sure. She was the only other American in the program.”
46
Ingrid left Emily Taylor and called Natasha McKittrick. When she got her voicemail, she called Ralph Mills and left a message for him too. She thought about calling Madison Faber on the pretense she was concerned for her welfare, but the girl was smart, she was manipulative, and Ingrid wasn’t convinced she could keep her ulterior motive out of the tone of her voice.
If Madison was at Lewisham police station, Ingrid was willing to risk that at some point while she was in the neighborhood, she would pay a visit to her apartment, so that was where she headed. Ingrid wanted to see her face when she confronted her.
The street Madison Faber’s apartment was on felt like genteel suburbia compared to the house share Emily Taylor had rented. The cars parked in the street were newer and larger, and the front gardens were tended and abundant. Either Faber was taking on a lot of debt to get her master’s, or her parents were footing a sizeable bill.
Ingrid looked up at Madison’s apartment from the sidewalk. The shades were open, but that didn’t mean Faber was at home. She rang the bell, one of four buttons on the intercom panel. No answer. She tried all the other buttons.
“Hello?” A woman’s voice.
“Hi.” Ingrid leaned into the intercom. “I’m from the American embassy. I need to get hold of the girl who lives on the top floor.”
“Sorry, haven’t seen her.”
The woman disconnected. Ingrid buzzed again.
“Hello.”
“I’m so sorry to disturb you, but I think she might be in trouble.”
The crackle on the intercom ceased, and Ingrid was ready to turn.
“Who did you say you were?”
“Ingrid Skyberg. US Embassy.”
The locked clicked and Ingrid pushed the door open. Ahead of her was a neatly decorated hallway, a table on the right-hand side with mail in piles, a staircase straight ahead. A door on her left opened and a middle-aged white woman in pajamas and a heavy cardigan stood in the doorway.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
The woman smiled. “I work from home.”
Ingrid smiled at her. “Thanks for letting me in. So you haven’t seen Madison?”
“No, I don’t really know her. Only know her name from the post.” She didn’t open the door further.
“When was the last time you saw her?”
She shrugged. “I’d have to think. Day before yesterday maybe. When you work from home, the days sort of merge. Why are the embassy interested in her?”
“We think she might be in some difficulty.”
“Is it to do with what’s going on at the university?”
Ingrid dodged answering directly. “It may be adding to her stress. Have you ever seen her come home with anyone?”
“What kind of trouble?” the woman asked. “Should we be taking precautions?”
“I think she’s in danger more than she’s in trouble, which is why I want to trace her.” Ingrid reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card. “If you do see her, would you please give me a call? No matter what time of day.”
The woman looked at the card. “You work for the FBI? Really?”
Ingrid smiled apologetically. “Yup, there’s a bunch of us in most
embassies around the world.”
“So she’s committed a crime?”
Ingrid didn’t reply.
“Is she dangerous? I’ve got a kid.”
“Mostly I’d say she was a danger to herself. The moment you see her, please call me.”
The neighbor looked at the card again. “OK. You need me to do anything else?”
“You don’t have the number for a local taxi company, do you?”
The woman nodded to the table where the mail was. “You’ll probably find a flyer amongst that lot.”
Ingrid leaned against the wall separating the front yard from the sidewalk and called herself a taxi. It would be a ten-minute wait. She tried calling Ralph Mills again. This time his phone didn’t go straight to voicemail, but rang and rang until she got the automated message. Neither he nor McKittrick had returned her calls. She left another message for Natasha, saying she had spoken to credible witnesses and that she had concerns Faber had deliberately sabotaged Younger’s experiment.
When her phone rang, she was disappointed to see it was an embassy number.
“Ingrid Skyberg.”
“It’s Sol.”
Ingrid ran her fingers through her short hair. “Hi, Sol.”
“I notice you’re not at your desk.” His voice rasped with forty years of cigarette addiction.
“Ah. About that.”
“Where are you?”
“Outside Madison Faber’s apartment.”
“Who’s she?”
Ingrid was taken aback. She had been so consumed by Faber and her erratic behavior over the past few days it seemed impossible that Sol wouldn’t know who she was. “The girl who found Lauren Shelbourne’s body.”
“And why are you there?”
That wasn’t an easy thing to explain. “I’m helping the Met.”
He said nothing.
“But I’m taking it easy. No motorcycle. In fact, I’m waiting for a taxi. Is there a reason you’re checking up on me?”
“It’s called pastoral care, Ingrid. Just checking you hadn’t jumped off another building or a moving vehicle.”
“All limbs still in working order.”
“Also.”
