Death at the Alma Mater sm-3

by G. M. Malliet

  St. Just said slowly, "A match that required his leaving a first wife. Do you think Lexy was still carrying a torch for him?"

  "I've thought about this, and I can only tell you her eyes would follow him absolutely everywhere." She paused to adjust a side comb in her hair. "I mean, she literally couldn't seem to take her eyes off of him. At moments it appeared mutual, all this gazing about. Then she'd get this wistful, sad, pained look. Hard to say what was in her mind, but she certainly looked lovelorn."

  "And what was his response? It would rather have given me the creeps to be stared at like that. How did he respond?"

  "He was gallant. He has rather a poker face, all stiff upper lip, so it is hard to know what he may really have felt, but he covered any discomfiture nicely. He strikes me as a bit buttoned up, wanting to do the right thing for King and Country. You know the type. India noticed all this, by the way, and she's easier to read. She didn't much like it, but she wasn't going to throw a scene over it. At least, not until the pair of them got safely back home. I overheard them talking together-the college is like living in a fishbowl, you know-and she was trying to persuade him to leave. He agreed, but basically asked her to wait and see."

  Again, she referred to the list.

  "Ah. Next up: the Texan. Big, tall, nice-looking man, friendly almost to a fault. He's had some adventures, but he manages to make every one sound incredibly boring before he's done. Given to providing extraneous detail in answer to questions one has not asked. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, despite his evident success in business. Maybe he's only thick in some ways. Some people are like that. Genius, but only in one or two areas.

  "Gwennap Pengelly-surely you must know Gwenn Pengelly, as she's more commonly known. The woman with 'the nose for news.' What I wouldn't have given to have her job at one point in my life, when I was hankering after glamour." She smiled at him. Portia had one of those smiles that caught the observer unaware-how he loved surprising or goading that smile into action. Not the easy smile of the seductress, the charmer, the con artist. One felt, thought St. Just, that one had to earn the privilege of seeing that smile transform her face.

  "This was before I gave it all up to sit in dusty libraries, no doubt developing life-long allergies to dust mites. Anyway, she and Geraldo Valentiano go back some way. Oh, I see you didn't know that? Yes, well. His reputation precedes him. It would be hard to find an attractive woman within miles who had not succumbed, or was not planning to succumb. The two of them seemed quite friendly this weekend, as well. I overhead a little of their conversation. She was definitely being romanced, and not for the first time."

  St. Just, looking rather alarmed lest Portia also find the Argentine charming, asked, "And Lexy? How did Lexy feel about all that?"

  Portia considered. "Irritated. I'm not sure she minded all that much, not really, but it looked bad. Made a bad impression, and I think impressions were rather important to Lexy. She seemed to have other fish to fry-Sir James was her focus, as I've said-so she wasn't positively seething over it. Anyway, Gwennap is very high profile, and a better match for the Argentine, really. Maybe he was getting ready to dump Lexy for her-is that your thinking? It could have provoked a quarrel? Yes… Geraldo is what we call a bad boy, no question. I imagine trouble with women is a recurring theme of his life."

  St. Just cleared this throat before saying, "But you were immune, of course?"

  Portia smiled. "That's rather the point. No woman is immune. But any sensible woman wanting a quiet life would definitely stay clear of him. No good saying to oneself that a casual fling couldn't hurt. It would hurt like mad, before it was over. He's rather poisonous, I think."

  Good, thought St. Just. Keep thinking that. Sensible girl. As for Geraldo, he'd talk with him about the relationship with Gwenn, but first he'd let him hang about a bit longer, beating his chest, or having it waxed, or whatever.

  "Very wise," he said aloud.

  Sergeant Fear nodded in unison. He knew Portia only slightly, but already held her in the highest regard. She'd done St. Just a world of good-nothing and no one must be allowed to interfere with that. Already his dislike of the Argentine was beginning to harden. Unlike St. Just, he felt no compunction about needing to keep an open mind. The man was a good old-fashioned rotter, and that was that.

  "Who do we have next?" asked St. Just. "Let's see. Hermione Jax. Wonderful, Empire-like ring to that name, don't you think? What's your impression of her?"

  Portia replied slowly, "Decent enough sort, but I find her rather a type, I'm afraid. All tweeds and twinsets and long brisk walks by the river. No pearls, however-much more likely to wear a necklace that looks made of dried seaweed and barbed wire. Earrings to match. You know the sort of thing. Often seen wheeling about on her bicycle, with the basket full of her shopping and odd snippings of plants. She seems to have a formidable intellect, or she does a good imitation of having one, although I can't recall a brilliant remark I've heard her say. She can be rather frightening in her bluestockinged way. She's a botanist or something of the sort, but I suppose these days she'd be called an ecologist-she's written several famous tomes on the topic. Much given to ranting about the destruction of the planet by Mankind. That would be with a capital M-women are generally absolved of blame in her canon. You would be wise not to invite her views on the role of peat diggings with respect to existing British waterways, unless that is a topic of great and fathomless interest to you.

  "That leaves… let's see, apart from the odd stray student: the Master, the Bursar, and the Dean. The Master you've met, and I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions. As to the Bursar, well."

  And Portia gave them a quick rundown on what, from her viewpoint, were the Bursar's crimes (Portia, the gourmet, was of course appalled at being subjected to what came out of the college kitchen, "Although the rumors he's come to an arrangement with the zoology department are complete slander, but it is Cambridge and whenever an obscure and appalling cut of meat appears on the table one can't help but wonder"), concluding, "And then there's the Dean. What you see is what you get with the Reverend Otis. He is such a sweet man. We have to keep a constant eye on him or he'd be swindled every time he set foot outside the college, or put all his money in the first charity box he came across."

  "An innocent."

  "To quite an alarming degree. Sometimes that type can cause havoc unknowingly. He somehow knows everything that goes on and will repeat things in all innocence that should not be said. For example: The sous-chef and the gardener were having quite a pash and he kept repeating how much fresher the vegetables had been in recent months. Everyone knew, of course, but the Reverend Otis, why we had such a sudden uptick in the quality of the Brussels sprouts. I would think someone in his position would be more worldly, wouldn't you?"

  "One would think. All right. Now, tonight in the SCR, after dinner. Tell us-whatever. Your impressions."

  She closed her eyes a moment, thinking back.

  "James comes to mind first. He was a bit distracted looking. I had the impression he was watching the door… for Lexy? Anyway, he stood talking with India and the others, but kept rather a wary eye on the Argentine as well, I thought."

  "My God. Not yet another conquest for Mr. Valentiano?"

  "Could be. James seemed to think so. He was guarding her like a pit bull."

  "If Geraldo Valentiano did this," said St. Just determinedly, "it will be a pleasure having him up for it. I find him rather a useless person, don't you?"

  How thrillingly macho, she thought, deducing the reason behind St. Just's evident dislike. She returned the list to him, and watched as his eyes again scanned the list of names. Suspects all. His face held the puzzled, fretful look of a man examining a computer-generated letter from the Inland Revenue. She knew he would worry at this case until he solved it, at least to his own satisfaction, and she loved him for that tenacity. She knew already he would not entirely be hers again until the case was over. But it was what made Arthur, Arthur. She had lo
ng since accepted she could not envision life without him, and if these terrible working hours came with the territory, she'd just have to cope.

  "Did anything happen during dinner tonight that struck you?" he asked her now. "Anything at all?"

  She thought back to the meal, and what she had been able to hear of the conversation. As usual when people reminisced about events to which others had not been witness, the conversation struck her as a trifle dull, although the others had seemed engrossed-happy, even. They had been talking at some point about Pennying, she remembered, the drinking game they had used to play during Formal Hall using Smarties, with, apparently, disastrous effect. As she had looked up from her meal, they had all been laughing. Someone had slipped a penny in someone else's drink, making the pennied person obliged to drink up. No wonder the results could be ruinous. Had anyone struck her as being melancholy or distracted? Maybe the Bursar, but that was his default position. No doubt he was worrying about how much the meal was costing. And if a look of any significance passed between Lexy and another of the diners, probably no one could have said.

  She related all this to St. Just.

  "Sorry not to be of more help. They just seemed to be enjoying themselves. I was a bit distracted myself. The writing, you know-it makes me preoccupied and oblivious to my surroundings, sometimes."

  "It's all right-you're doing fine, in fact. Now, everyone was in the SCR when you got there after dinner?"

  She said slowly, "I think so. There may have been one or two missing but offhand I can only say there were more there than were not there, if you know what I mean. Excepting Lexy-I did notice, for some reason, she wasn't there. Well, people did notice Lexy. I saw her sitting in the Fellows' Garden earlier, just after dinner."

  "Was she alone?"

  "No. Sir James was with her."

  "Do you recall in what order everyone left Hall after the meal?"

  "Sorry, no, as I was among the first to leave. I wasn't really part of the group, as I've said, so I'm afraid I rather bolted at the first opportunity. Tried to bolt, I should say. I was waylaid by Gwenn Pengelly, and then the Master wanted a word. Anyway, as you pass through the gallery from the dining hall, headed towards the SCR, you overlook the Fellows' Garden. She was there-Lexy, I mean. As I told you, I went up to my rooms to freshen up, then I came straight down. I imagine others did the same, or visited one of the ground-floor facilities. They all drifted in to the SCR after dinner fairly quickly, is all I can tell you."

  "But by-what-say, nine-thirty? You'd all gathered together? All except Lexy."

  She nodded.

  "When you saw Lexy in the Garden, what was her manner?"

  Portia shrugged. "She was just sitting quietly. She was with James, as I've said."

  "He sat with her?"

  "No, he was standing."

  "And he was definitely one of those you saw shortly afterwards in the SCR?" St. Just could not keep the tension from his voice. Sir James would probably have been the last person but one to have spoken with Lexy.

  "Yes. Guarding India."

  "And what was his manner with Lexy?"

  She considered. "Placating. He seemed to be-oh, I don't know. Calling on all his reserves of patience. Not angry, but maybe trying to convince her of something, was my impression. Placate her, perhaps. Of course, one couldn't hear what was said. The windows in the gallery overlooking the Fellows' Garden are sealed closed. Anyway, he was definitely in the SCR dogging India when I arrived, which was fairly quickly. So he can't have stayed long with Lexy. Not long enough for… you know. Which in any event he wouldn't have done in such a public spot."

  "Try to remember who else was definitely there in the SCR." The leather chair creaked like a wooden ship under St. Just's weight as he sat forward.

  She sighed. "One wishes one weren't so distracted by that blasted thesis-and whatnot-all the time. Let's see, the Reverend Otis was there, of course. I was talking to him, you see, and I had my back to the room… I was rather trying to dodge the Texan, if and when he came in."

  Fear thought St. Just looked inordinately pleased to hear it.

  Portia went on, "Let me think about it some more-maybe there was a voice or two I heard and could recognize. I'll try to make a list, give you the approximate times I think they came in, or at least-and this is very different, isn't it?-when they were in the room talking. But I wasn't wearing my watch and I was facing away from the clock on the mantelpiece, so even times will be very rough estimates. At some point Geraldo joined us-the Reverend Otis and myself-for a moment. I'm sorry, that's all I can recall."

  St. Just said, "So, what do we have? At some point after dinner-"

  "It ended at nine-fifteen, but some people hung about in Hall, talking."

  "Right. Let's say you saw Lexy and James in the garden at nine-twenty-would that be roughly accurate?"

  She nodded. "Perhaps a minute or so later."

  St. Just folded his arms across his chest, and she noticed the elbow was giving out on the light sweater he wore. Typical. St. Just was always scrupulously clean in meticulously pressed clothing, but some of his wardrobe was so worn Oxfam would have rejected it.

  "So, some time after that," he said, "Lexy left the garden, we assume for the boathouse. We'll need to ask Sir James if she left him or if he left her sitting there, and find out if any other witness saw her leave. We'll also need to look for signs that she was dragged from where she'd been killed-say, the garden. The killer had plenty of time, as it turns out, before she was found, but dragging her about would run the risk of exposure-as you point out, the garden is much too public a spot for that to be a likely scenario. Much more likely she was killed at the boathouse. But-why was she there? Just wanting to be near the river? Sergeant Fear, I'll need a diagram of the grounds. Get someone to clock the distance from the garden to the river. She could have been carried, of course. She was a little thing, and we have at least one strapping candidate who could have lifted her, even dead, as easily as carrying a large toddler. Your Argentine, for example," he said, with an amused glance at Portia.

  "He is hardly my Argentine," she said firmly.

  St. Just grinned happily and went on. "So, she was meeting someone, or someone found her. She met up with someone, by accident or design." He sighed. "We're not getting very far yet. But thank you, Portia. That was invaluable. We'd better have a word now with the young man who found her."

  GOLDEN LADS AND GIRLS

  The young man who answered the summons to the Master's study also fit the profile of someone strapping enough to carry Lexy Laurant's body without effort. He was perhaps twenty years of age, tall and blonde in a way that recalled the genetic legacy of Norse invaders of the medieval British Isles. He wore his hair long in front, razored in the back, and he had a coltish habit of tossing the thick strands off his forehead with a shake of his head. He sported the British white-man's tan, a darkening of the fair, rosy complexion already reddened by the icy blasts of winter.

  He was trying, St. Just thought, to look man-of-the-worldish, as if discovering corpses were pretty much a monthly experience in his adventurous and full young life. St. Just felt sorry for him-the first corpse is always the hardest.

  He anticipated St. Just's first question by denying any real knowledge of Lexy, and spent most of the interview painting her as a figure lurking on the periphery of his vision. This would be normal for one of his youth. She was not that much older, but perhaps just old enough to hold little fascination for a young man barely in his twenties. Still, by Hollywood standards, she wasn't too old for him by a long shot. Realistically, however, Sebastian struck St. Just as too immature for the role just yet, barely out of the pram. Lexy may have been immature in her own way, but still: Sebastian belonged to a different young world entirely, and it was hard to imagine what common ground these two might have found. St. Just hoped he wasn't giving in to some creeping old fogey-ism: He could be wrong, completely out of touch with the current mores.

  "As I say," Seba
stian Burrows reiterated, "I barely knew her."

  "Even though she was once married to your stepfather?"

  "Precisely. She was once married to my stepfather, that's all." Again, he shook back the golden locks. St. Just wondered if it were a nervous affectation, or an indicator he was lying. "No blood tie."

  "How often had you met her?"

  Sebastian answered indirectly.

  "I know her mainly through the tabloids and magazines, and a few chance sightings in London."

  "Where, precisely?"

  He named several nightclubs, including Boujis, that St. Just knew were all the latest rage. Sebastian could be lying about how often he met her, thought St. Just. They might frequent the same nightclubs very often. Run into each other, get to know each other. It wasn't impossible…

  "When you saw her, on these extremely rare occasions then," said St. Just, "it would help us awfully to get your impressions. Of her character."

  Sebastian shrugged. "I don't know, I tell you."

  "Do try."

  "All right, my impressions, however fleeting: She was kind of neurotic, you know? She liked excitement, noise, people around her. She liked to be the center of attention. This is only my impression from her look, the way she dressed. I didn't really notice her, it's just that she seemed to be everywhere I was for a while."

  As he didn't seem to want to budge from the "hardly knew her" line, St. Just moved on to ask him about the events of the evening. Immediately, he sensed a shift in Sebastian's tone. The reminder of the murder sobered him. In response to his request that Sebastian outline his movements, Sebastian said, "That's easy. I have a schedule I rarely stray from."

  Why was he here during the summer? St. Just wondered. Did he have nowhere else to go? But Sebastian was speaking:

  "I'm in training," he said, with a little glow of pride. "I stick to rather a rigid daily schedule so I can be sure to get my time in. This night I went into the water at about nine, after my workout. Later than I liked-you don't want to be caught out there after Lighting Up. Penalties and so forth. I really do try to play by the rules. I want to compete at a very high level one day, you see."