A Matter of Trust

by Maxine Barry

  He felt his loins begin to harden, and he quickly glanced away again, telling himself not to be so juvenile. He was hardly a sex-starved teenager anymore with hormones running amok!

  ‘I may have given you the impression at the Dinner that . . . Er . . .’

  ‘You wanted to be rid of me?’ Markie asked bluntly, delighted to see a dull flush creep across the fine angular lines of his face. Not many men knew how to blush in this day and age, Markie thought with a tender pang that caught her by surprise.

  ‘It’s all right you know,’ she said quickly. ‘I could see that you wanted to be alone with your friend. He’d had a little bit too much to drink, I think. I hope he’s all right now?’

  Callum paled. ‘I take it you haven’t seen the papers?’

  ‘No. Why?’ Markie asked sharply.

  ‘Sir Vivian died right after the party. The newspapers are speculating that he was mugged, but as far as I know, the police haven’t issued any official statements yet.’

  ‘Oh no! That’s awful. Was he feeling ill, do you think? Perhaps he wasn’t tipsy after all.’ And now Markie felt acutely guilty. All the time she’d been scoring points off Callum Fielding because she’d felt slighted, and had her ego bruised, that poor old man had been feeling ill. Damn it, she shouldn’t have left him on the bench alone like that.

  She said as much.

  ‘I know how you feel,’ Callum agreed bleakly. ‘Ever since I heard the news, I’ve been thinking the same thing. But what worries me most is what Vivian said just before you joined us.’

  ‘Interrupted you so rudely you mean,’ Markie said dryly, then waved a hand vaguely in the air as he made to demur. ‘No, it’s OK, that’s what it amounted to really. But you seemed to be talking so intently to Dr Ngabe that I was curious. So, what did Sir Vivian say?’ she insisted.

  ‘He told us that somebody at the party didn’t deserve to be in Oxford,’ Callum repeated boldly. ‘He intimated that somebody had somehow cheated, which usually means either on their exams, or via plagiarism. It’s one of the worst things that most academics could be accused of, and Sir Vivian wasn’t the sort of man to make such an accusation lightly. He loved Oxford with every atom of his being, and something like this, a scandal of this type, would have hurt him very badly.’

  Markie stopped walking, and put a hand on his arm. She understood at once the importance of what he was saying. ‘Do you think it was playing on his mind? Could the stress have been too much? You fear he had a heart attack, don’t you?’

  Callum sighed and shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t see him sit down to Dinner, and afterwards I wanted to find him and ask him to explain further. But then I won the award, and everyone wanted to congratulate me, and I never saw him again.’ His voice cracked just a little on the final words, and he scowled at his weakness.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said gruffly. ‘Sir Vivian was one of my tutors. More than that, I regarded him as my mentor.’

  Markie felt his distress and took a step towards him, then groaned aloud as three men with cameras came running up to them.

  ‘Marcheta, this way!’

  ‘Give us a smile, Marcheta, you look gorgeous.’

  The youngest one shoved his way between them, and Callum took a few steps backward, looking non-plussed. His body tensed for a moment, as he was clearly wondering if she was being attacked, then, as she went into ‘posing mode’ he shot her an astonished look.

  ‘All right, boys, just a few shots, then you must go and promise not to be a pest. I’m talking with the winner of the Kendall Prize, and we have business to discuss.’

  She gave them a few more minutes, then with varying degrees of good-natured reluctance, they left them.

  ‘Sorry about that, but I’ve found it’s easier in the long run just to give them what they want, then they stop pestering you,’ Markie said. Then grinned at him widely. ‘You really do have no idea who I am, do you?’

  Callum, his face tight, smiled grimly. ‘Clearly not. I’m sorry, I don’t watch much television, so please don’t take it the wrong way if I’ve never seen any of your films. Or, er, music videos or whatever,’ he added vaguely. Perfect. He’d come to apologise for his boorish behaviour, now he was insulting her again. What was it about this woman that made him feel so tongue-tied?

  Markie laughed. ‘I’m just a model, Dr Fielding. I don’t have any acting talent I’m afraid, and I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.’

  Callum blinked and found his mouth was hanging open, and closed his jaw with a snap. This bewildering woman was like nobody he’d ever met before. One moment she was a vamp, and the latest love interest of the College Casanova. Then she was the all-important Kendall family representative who was awarding him the Kendall Prize, no less. Then she was a supermodel, surrounded by adoring paparazzi. And now she was a down-to-earth girl-next-door who could laugh at herself and knew how to call a spade a spade.

  Which one was she?

  She smiled across at him, the breeze blowing a strand of hair across her eyes. Raising a hand to brush it away, Markie moved a step closer to him. ‘I’m really sorry about your friend,’ she said softly. For all of his height and the solid build of him, there was something touchingly vulnerable about this man.

  It made her want to comfort him, and at the same time, throw herself into his arms and demand he take her somewhere private, where she could . . . .

  ‘Dr Fielding?’

  Callum turned abruptly, his eyes piercing the man who’d come up beside him. He didn’t know what Markie Kendall had been about to say next, but he knew that he’d very much wanted to hear it, and to have some stranger barge in was enough to make his eyes darken ominously.

  Lisle Jarvis stood stock still and tensed. ‘You are Dr Callum Fielding?’ he asked bluntly. He’d been told by the St Bede’s porter that Dr Fielding had been asking after a Miss Kendall, who was registered at the Randolph. And at the hotel, the desk clerk, after some persuasion, had told him that he’d overheard Miss Kendall and her visitor say they were going to walk in the park. Now, having had to spend a good half an hour tracking down his quarry, Lisle was in no mood to be given the run around.

  The porter at St Bede’s had given a very accurate description of Dr Fielding. Very tall, very well built, and very fair. He’d failed to mention that Dr Fielding also had eyes that could stop a charging bull in its paces.

  He wondered what had made the man look such daggers at him. And wondered, even more, if Dr Fielding usually had such a temper.

  ‘Yes, I’m Callum Fielding,’ Callum said calmly. The moment of anger had quickly passed, and he was already telling himself that he should be glad of the interruption. He’d probably been just about to make a monumental fool of himself with Markie Kendall anyway.

  Although he’d had his fair share of female company since hitting his late teens, he was hardly anyone’s idea of a ladies man. He’d spent all of his adult life at Oxford, both living in college, and remaining unmarried. If anyone had asked him, he would have said that he would probably just fall into perpetual bachelorhood and become one of those old men that never seemed to leave the city.

  A woman like Markie Kendall was way out of his league.

  ‘I’m DI Jarvis sir,’ Lisle said, showing the academic his ID and relaxing slightly as he sensed the tension in the big man subsiding. ‘I have a few questions for you about the murder of Sir Vivian Dalrymple.’

  Callum felt a cold hard knot clench his insides. He went pale. For a moment, he felt and heard a roaring in his ears, and the world seemed to recede then suddenly flow back. He blinked.

  Lisle watched these signs of shock with interest.

  ‘Murder?’ Callum repeated bleakly. ‘Someone murdered him?’

  Beside him, he heard Markie gasp.

  ‘Yes, Sir. I need to talk to you about the Dinner you attended. I need to know when you last saw Sir Vivian alive, and what you talked about. I think it would be easier if you would follow me back to St Aldates Police Station,
Sir. We’ll be more comfortable in an interview room, I think,’ he added firmly.

  ‘Just a minute, are you arresting him?’ Markie demanded, and Lisle looked at her curiously. He recognised her at once, of course, but until then he hadn’t made the connection. So Miss Kendall was also ‘Marcheta’ was she?

  He also instantly picked up on the aggression in her voice, and smiled bleakly. She was expensively dressed and looked just the sort to know all about her rights, and have hot-and-cold running solicitors on tap.

  ‘No, Miss Kendall, is it? I’m not arresting Dr Fielding. But I am questioning all of Sir Vivian’s associates and the people who attended the Dinner the night Sir Vivian’s body was found.’

  ‘In that case, you’ll be wanting to talk to me then as well,’ Markie said. And smiling brightly, she moved closer to Callum and looped her hand firmly under his elbow. ‘We’ll come in together. We both talked to Sir Vivian at the same time, so you can get both our stories at once.’

  Her bright hard eyes met Lisle’s with a challenging stare, and Lisle nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

  He glanced at the tall, silent blond man, who seemed to be thinking furiously, and wondered if he realised that he had an unlikely champion in the supermodel.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Markie Kendall had never been inside a police station before and she rather thought it might be the first time for Dr Callum Fielding as well. Lisle wanted to separate them for interview, but the supermodel was having none of it, and threatened him with a barrage of her father’s solicitors if he wanted to make an issue of it.

  So Lisle smiled wryly and showed them both into interview room three. At this point, he didn’t want to antagonise possibly vital witnesses. Or unnecessarily alert his best suspect to date. He wondered if the psychology Don had realised yet that he’d been earmarked for that role.

  He didn’t look particularly worried, if he did.

  As he took his seat, Callum was far more interested in his female companion than in what the police might be thinking, and he looked at Markie with a mixture of irony, sexual awareness and annoyance. Was she always this bossy and aggressive? And why did it attract him so? If he’d been asked, he’d have said that he liked his women more contemplative and thoughtful. She was definitely not his type, so why did she keep getting under his skin?

  ‘So, what can you tell me about the night Sir Vivian died?’ Lisle began, once the tape was rolling, and they’d made themselves as comfortable as they could in the moulded plastic chairs. ‘Miss Kendall, we’ll start with you shall we?’

  Markie nodded, and began by telling them why she was in Oxford, and everything she could remember about the night of the party. Since her meeting with the victim had been relatively short, this didn’t take long.

  After getting a few things clarified, Lisle turned to his real target. ‘Dr Fielding. I understand you knew the victim well?’ he began easily.

  ‘Yes. He was one of my tutors when I did my postgraduate course, and he was my mentor at St Bede’s.’

  ‘So you were close?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you expect to be left anything in his Will?’ Lisle asked bluntly, and Markie stiffened in her chair. She knew she was here under sufferance, and that if she made a nuisance of herself, this Inspector Jarvis was more than capable of sending her out of the room, so she forced herself to be calm. Even so, she had to bite her lip to keep from asking exactly what the Inspector was implying, and her hands clenched into fists under the table.

  Callum regarded the policeman across the table warily. ‘I wasn’t expecting anything,’ he said calmly. ‘Sir Vivian and his wife have children and grandchildren. I would imagine all his property and assets will be divided between them.’

  Lisle nodded impassively.

  ‘Would you consider yourself a wealthy man?’

  ‘Relatively, yes,’ Callum said easily. ‘Let me make this easier for you, Inspector. I have nothing to gain from the death of Sir Vivian.’

  ‘And this prize, the Kendall Prize, it’s worth a lot of money. Was Sir Vivian a serious threat to your chances of winning it? I understand that it means a lot to have your research funded for five years?’ he carried on remorselessly.

  ‘Yes it does, and I can tell you that Sir Vivian wasn’t even Short listed this time,’ Markie couldn’t resist interrupting this time. ‘As a Kendall, I was one of the few who knew who’d made the Short list. So you see, Sir Vivian posed no threat at all to Dr Fielding.’

  Lisle smiled wryly. She was like a tigress defending her cub. Which was interesting. He glanced at the academic to see how the big man was taking it, but Callum’s face was totally inscrutable. Lisle knew he wouldn’t like to have to play poker with this man.

  ‘Have you’ve known Dr Fielding long?’ he asked the beautiful woman mildly, and Markie felt herself go hot then cold at the knowing look in the policeman’s eye. Damn! Was it so obvious that she was smitten by the blond giant? She hoped not. ‘Marcheta’ never did the chasing. She was always the one who was chased.

  Well. Until now, maybe.

  ‘We met for the first time at the night of the party. This is only the second time we’ve had a chance to speak,’ Markie corrected the Inspector stiffly.

  Callum Fielding smiled at the surprised look on the policeman’s face. ‘Were you thinking we were part of some kind of conspiracy, Inspector?’ he asked dryly. ‘In which case, please let me assure you that we’re not. And, as you can tell, we are far from close. In fact, the only reason I approached Miss Kendall today was in order to apologise to her.’

  ‘Oh? For what?’

  Callum shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘We didn’t exactly get off on the right foot at the party,’ he said, hoping he could leave it there.

  He couldn’t, of course, and Callum had to explain why he’d been concerned that Markie Kendall might have found his attitude towards her a little cold and aloof. And Lisle’s eyes sharpened when the psychology Don repeated the murder victim’s words on the night he died.

  ‘Let me get this clear,’ Lisle said, tensely leaning forward in his chair when he’d finished. ‘Professor Dalrymple intimated to you that he’d discovered a cheat and a fraud amongst the academic body within the university?’

  ‘That’s what I took him to mean, yes,’ Callum agreed cautiously. ‘But you must understand that he’d had a little too much to drink and that there wasn’t time for him to actually elaborate. You can ask Dr Ngabe, she was there with us at the time.’

  Lisle nodded. He would most definitely be doing that. Because, for the first time, he’d finally got the whiff of a proper motive—if what Fielding had to say was true.

  And after all his years on the force, Lisle never took anybody’s uncorroborated word for anything.

  ‘Would you say that an academic would be willing to kill to safeguard his or her professional reputation, Dr Fielding?’ he asked bluntly. ‘I mean, you are a psychologist, yes?’

  Callum sighed. ‘I’m not a practising psychiatrist, Inspector, and I don’t have patients or give out therapy. I’m purely a research man. But I think I can safely say that most rational, mentally well-balanced people wouldn’t react with such extreme violence,’ he said carefully. ‘Of course, the stress of exposure would be enormous. In Oxford, your perceived intelligence and reputation are paramount. And if the person threatened was drunk, or panicked—I suppose the situation could have escalated out of control.’

  Lisle nodded. A very careful answer, that. ‘And how is your mental well-being, Dr Fielding?’ he asked casually.

  ‘That’s enough!’ Markie shot to her feet. Now the man was implying that Callum, of all people, was out of control. Which, she thought a shade hysterically, was almost funny. A more buttoned down, aloof, and aggravatingly controlled person, Markie had never met. It made her want to rip off his mask and see the naked face of the man underneath.

  And rip off his clothes whilst she was at it.

  ‘We’ve told you all w
e know, and unless you intend to make an arrest, we’re leaving,’ she threatened. She shot Callum a frustrated look. Couldn’t he see what the policeman was getting at? Why didn’t he fight back?

  Callum read her glance in an instant, and although his eyes flashed, his body language remained calm. In fact, he smiled across at the policeman wryly. ‘It’s fine, Inspector. My mental health is just fine, thank you. And I didn’t kill Vivian, and I’ll do anything I can to help you in your efforts to find out who did. All you have to do is ask. Is there anything else you want to know?’ he continued, ignoring the beautiful woman who was standing beside him, fulminating.

  ‘Not at the moment, Sir, thank you,’ Lisle said, turning off the tape and showing them to the door. Once they’d left, he sat for a moment, thinking.

  He had to smile. Dr Callum Fielding had a wildcat on his hands there, whether the man liked it or not. And, unless Lisle missed his guess, the St Bede’s Fellow probably hadn’t made up his mind if he was happy about that or not.

  But the interview had raised some distinct possibilities.

  Thoughtfully, he reached for the phone and rang St Bede’s to find out the likely whereabouts of Dr Ngabe.

  * * *

  Outside the police station, Markie stormed up the road towards Christ Church College.

  ‘You do realise that man thinks you’re a suspect, don’t you?’ she fumed to Callum, who was silent as he walked alongside her. ‘It’s ridiculous. You’re a well-respected academic!’

  Callum smiled dryly. Several tourists moved off the pavement to give the big blond man room, and he smiled a vague thank-you at them as Markie power-walked her way through them obliviously. ‘I’ve a good mind to hire the most high-powered and obstructive solicitor I know, just to get on Inspector Jarvis’s nerves.’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ Callum said mildly. Inwardly he was both amused by her passionate defence of him, and just a little alarmed. And excited too. Was he reading the signals wrong? Or was she actually being proprietorial towards him. And if she was . . . He felt a hot flash of sexual desire hit him, which in turn set off a warning in his head.