The Mandel Files, Volume 1

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Greg hesitated, that ambiguous notion returned at the mention of the lake. What was it about those three lakes? He hadn’t been able to explain, not even to Eleanor. It was more than intuition, there was memory involved as well. Something had happened at Launde, quite a while ago. For the life of him he couldn’t think what. It was bloody annoying.

  ‘Was there ever anything unusual about those lakes?’ he asked.

  ‘No, not as far as I know.’ Cecil gave Lisa Collier another mistrustful glance. She maintained her cantankerous expression, eyes not leaving Greg.

  ‘OK.’ Greg gave up. He touched a key on his cybofax, bringing up another page of questions. ‘Did you ever take any syntho with Isabel?’

  ‘Once or twice, yes. She was always timid about narcotics. Her background is very middle class.’

  ‘Could anybody help themselves to Kitchener’s stash?’

  ‘It wasn’t kept under lock and key. I always asked him, or Rosette. He would have known if someone had been taking it. The only thing he was concerned about was that we didn’t OD.’

  ‘Tell me what happened when the body was discovered.’

  ‘Christ. The screams woke me up. That was Rosette. By the time I got into the corridor Nick and Uri had already got there. I … went in to Kitchener’s bedroom … Wish to God I hadn’t. That was one sick fucker who did that, Mr Mandel. I mean seriously fucked.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Yes. Well. Nick was puking his guts up. Uri was in shock, he just stood there, like he wasn’t seeing it. What do they call it? Thousand-metre stare. I think Rosette had fainted by then. Passed out, swooned, something. She’d stopped screaming, anyway. I got in one look and tried to stop Liz and Isabel from going in.’

  ‘When did they arrive?’

  ‘Right after me.’

  ‘Both together?’

  ‘God, I don’t know. Yes, more or less.’

  ‘Did you see any movement in the corridor before you got to Kitchener?’

  ‘The murderer, you mean? No. If I had, I would have killed him.’

  Lisa Collier gave a censorious cough.

  Cecil looked round at her. ‘I would have killed him,’ he repeated firmly.

  ‘When did you wash that night?’ Greg asked.

  ‘When did I wash?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘About eleven o’clock. I had a shower. My conditioner couldn’t cope with the storm. My room was like a sauna. I couldn’t open the window, not with the rain we had that night.’

  ‘OK, thanks, Cecil.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask me if I did it? I thought that’s why they brought you here.’

  ‘There’s no need, not a direct question. It wasn’t you.’

  Greg stood up and flexed his arms while they waited for Uri Pabari, shrugging off the stiffness which came from sitting in a chair designed for Martians. The air in the interview room was growing stuffy.

  ‘Vernon, do you remember anything else ever happening at Launde?’ he asked. He just couldn’t ignore the presage – if that’s what it was.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I don’t know. Something important enough to be newsworthy, or gossipworthy.’ Where did I hear it? Or did I see it? Bugger.

  ‘Kitchener was in the news once or twice each year with his lectures,’ Langley said reasonably. ‘Universities and societies used to invite him to make addresses. He was famous, after all.’

  ‘No, not Kitchener, not something he said. An event. Or an incident.’ He was annoyed at the amount of petulance creeping into his voice.

  ‘Kitchener and a girl student?’ Nevin suggested. ‘I mean, he’s had two out of the three staying with him this year. Maybe one of them objected.’

  ‘Could be,’ Greg said. But he knew it wasn’t.

  They both looked at him expectantly.

  ‘Buggered if I can remember. Can you run a check through your files for me?’

  ‘Yes.’ Langley loaded a note into his cybofax. He had been laying off the dudgeon since Greg started the interviews. More impressed, or unnerved, by his espersense than he was willing to admit. Even Nevin had stopped looking for flaws in everything he said, the opportunities to underline the obvious.

  Progress. Of sorts.

  Edwin Lancaster was representing Uri Pabari. The first of the three defence counsellors who actually looked like a lawyer, to Greg’s mind. A sixty-year-old in a suit and silk waistcoat, pressed white shirt, small neat bow tie. He sat behind Uri, stiffly attentive. Instead of using a cybofax, a paper notebook was balanced on his leg, the tip of his gold-plated Parker biro flicking constantly, producing a minute shorthand.

  Uri gave Greg a curious stare as he settled into the chair, not nearly as apprehensive as Cecil.

  The student had a powerful build. Greg called up the police data profile on the flatscreen. Uri had played rugby for his university, he was also a karate second dan.

  ‘You were the third into Kitchener’s bedroom, is that right?’ Greg asked.

  ‘Yes. I got there on Nick’s heels.’

  ‘And prior to that you were with Liz Foxton all evening?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Greg caught the tension budding in Uri’s mind. ‘Pleasant evening, was it?’

  Uri tried to smile. ‘God, that gland of yours is quite something, isn’t it?’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘We had a row. Early on, before supper. Stupid really.’

  ‘What was it about?’

  ‘Kitchener. His syntho habit. Except Liz didn’t think it was a habit. She said … Well, she kind of drinks up that dogma of his. Everything he says is right because he’s the one that says it. Me, I’m a bit more sceptical.’ He grinned reflectively. ‘Kitchener taught me that. And that evening, things got said that shouldn’t have been, you know how it is.’

  ‘Do you and Liz quarrel often?’

  ‘No. That’s what makes it worse when we do. And Liz was already wound up tight over Scotland. She can get a bit political at times, she had a rough ride in the PSP decade.’

  ‘Didn’t we all,’ Greg murmured under his breath. ‘Is that why there was a scene at supper between you and Kitchener?’

  Uri laughed. ‘There’s a scene at every meal. God, he was an obstinate old sod.’

  ‘And afterwards? You made up, you and Liz?’

  ‘Yes. We’re in love.’ He looked at Greg, trying to gauge the reaction he was getting. ‘Hopefully we’ll get engaged. I was going to do it during the summer, I thought it would be a nice way to leave Launde.’

  ‘OK, back to Thursday. What happened after supper?’

  ‘Nick and Isabel came up to my room, and we sat around talking and watching the newscasts. They left around midnight.’

  ‘When did you wash?’

  Uri’s forehead formed narrow creases as he frowned. ‘Just before we went to bed. Liz and I had a shower. It was hot that night.’

  ‘What time did you go to bed?’

  ‘About half twelve.’

  Greg couldn’t help a small smile. ‘And what time did you go to sleep?’

  ‘Just after one. Liz was still watching the newscasts, though. I don’t know what time she fell asleep. But we were both awake at three again.’

  ‘Who woke who?’

  ‘Dunno. It just happened, you know.’

  ‘Was your flatscreen still showing the newscasts?’

  ‘Er, yeah, I think so. Couldn’t swear to it in court. Wasn’t paying much attention, see?’

  ‘Were you aware that Rosette was having an affair with Kitchener?’

  Uri gave a mental flinch at Rosette’s name. He wasn’t afraid of her, Greg decided, more like demoralized.

  ‘Yes,’ Uri said. ‘It was bound to happen, those two.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Two of a kind. Intellectually, you know. Didn’t give a stuff for convention.’

  ‘And did you know about Isabel?’

&n
bsp; Uri scratched his stubble. ‘The old nocturnal visiting? Yes. Shame that. I blame Rosette more than Kitchener.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘She’d enjoy seducing Isabel. It would be a challenge to her.’

  ‘You liked Kitchener, didn’t you?’

  ‘He was bloody amazing. I don’t just mean his work. When I came to Launde I was almost as bad as Nick, all meek and tongue-tied. It’s trite, but he really was like a father to me. He brings people out of themselves. God, the stories he told us! That reputation of his was one hundred per cent earned. He was wicked, disgraceful, terrible. And absolutely beautiful. Totally unique. The only thing I disagreed about was the syntho, but it didn’t seem to affect his serious thinking. And he’s still pushing at frontiers even now—’ The lively smile on Uri’s face died a tormented death. ‘Was pushing …’ he whispered.

  ‘Did you notice anything out of the ordinary about the Abbey that night?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘A visitor.’

  ‘No – God, I would have told the police if I had!’

  ‘Yeah. There was no trace of syntho in your blood when the police took a sample.’

  ‘Well, there wouldn’t be,’ Uri said cautiously.

  ‘Have you ever taken it at Launde?’

  Edwin Lancaster’s gold biro halted, its tip poised a couple of millimetres in the air. ‘You are asking my client to incriminate himself,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, but that wasn’t part of the basis for this interview.’

  ‘We are not interested in bringing charges against anybody concerning past narcotic infusion,’ Langley promised. ‘Providing it is external to this case.’

  ‘As a police officer, you have a duty to investigate illegal narcotics abuse.’

  ‘We know the source of syntho at Launde. Kitchener’s vat is in police custody, it cannot be used to supply anyone in future. And we have no desire to prosecute past victims.’

  ‘Your client has infused syntho at some time,’ Greg said.

  ‘Hey!’ Uri protested.

  ‘I simply wish to know how familiar you are with the narcotics availability at Launde, that’s all,’ Greg said. ‘It’s going to help me a lot.’

  ‘OK. All right,’ Uri held up his hands in placation. ‘No big deal. Yes, I tried it. Once, OK? One time. Like I told you, it’s not my scene. I don’t like that kind of loss of control, not in myself or other people. Infusing it just confirmed my view. It’s stupid, self-destructive.’

  ‘You know where it was grown?’

  ‘Yes. The vat in the lab. Everybody knew that.’

  ‘Thank you. Did you use the Bendix that night?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you know its management program codes?’

  ‘No, not offhand, but they’re all stored in the operations file. We all have access to that. Kitchener trusted us not to do anything stupid; we’re all ’ware literate.’

  ‘What about the datanet; did you use it on Thursday, plug into a ’ware system outside the Abbey?’

  ‘No.’

  Liz Foxton, Greg decided, was the kind of girl who was always open to other people’s problems. To say that she was motherly would be unfair, she had a steely reserve, a no-nonsense practicality, but in addition there was a definite aura of reassurance about her. Even he felt less disquieted about this interview.

  ‘I’ve been told you don’t get on well with Rosette Harding-Clarke; is that true?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t dislike her,’ Liz said defensively. ‘There is no percentage in grudges, not when you have to spend a whole year cooped up in the same house together. I understand her perfectly; I’m just unhappy with her, that’s all.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She made a pass at Uri. More than one, actually. He turned her down each time.’

  ‘I see. What time did you get to sleep last Thursday night?’

  ‘About two o’clock. I was watching the Globecast news channel. I was so happy about Scotland. Now this.’

  ‘I understand you were, um, active at three o’clock Friday morning. Did you hear or see anything unusual at that time?’

  ‘No. There was just us.’

  ‘Was the flatscreen showing the newscasts at that time?’

  ‘Yes. I’d fallen asleep watching it.’

  ‘What about after three o’clock, did it stay on?’

  ‘Yes. I watched it for a while. I don’t know how long for, I dozed off again.’

  ‘And you were woken by Rosette’s screams?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said in a tiny voice.

  ‘Then you went straight to Kitchener’s bedroom?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was Uri in the bedroom when you woke up?’

  ‘Yes! He was out of the door before me, but only by a few seconds.’

  ‘Do you remember if you arrived at Kitchener’s bedroom before or after Isabel Spalvas?’

  ‘Before, I think. She was standing behind me. She caught me. My legs went, you see.’ Her eyes filled with liquid. She blinked furiously, dabbing at them with a handkerchief.

  ‘I understand,’ said Greg. ‘Just a couple more questions.’ He gave Lancaster an admonitory look. ‘Did you ever take syntho at the Abbey?’

  She sniffed. ‘Yes, a few times. Three, I think. That was last year, about a month after I arrived. Just to try it. Edward was there to make sure I’d be all right. But that was the last time, Uri has a real bug about it.’

  ‘And you argued about it?’

  ‘Yes. So silly.’ She gave him a fast plaintive grimace. ‘You remember the old song? The best part of breaking up, is making up. That’s us.’

  ‘Right. So you must have known that syntho was being cooked up at the Abbey, that there was a vat in the lab?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Were you using the Bendix on Thursday?’

  ‘No, I should have been, but Scotland seemed so much more important. I was watching the newscasts for most of the day.’

  ‘So you didn’t use the datanet either, then?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you ever sleep with Edward Kitchener?’

  He perceived the answer in her mind, in amidst all the turmoil of guilt, adoration, remorse, and grief. She took a long time to speak. The answer in her earlier statements to the police had been a resolute no.

  ‘I did once,’ she said. ‘When I first went to Launde. I was lonely. He was kind, sympathetic.’

  ‘Was that one of the times when you infused syntho?’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  ‘Does Uri know?’

  ‘No.’ Her head was bowed. ‘You won’t tell him, will you?’

  ‘These interviews are strictly confidential,’ Greg said. ‘There’s no need for him to know.’

  She rose slowly from her chair, gratefully accepting the hand Lancaster offered. ‘Do you know who it was?’ she asked.

  ‘Not yet, no.’

  Isabel Spalvas looked as tired as Greg felt. She was wearing jeans and a baggy mauve sweatshirt, her light fuzzy hair tied back in a pony-tail. Her face had wonderfully dainty features. She would have been very attractive under ordinary circumstances, he guessed, but today her skin was sallow, almost grey, there were red rings round her eyes from crying, slim lips were turned down mournfully. She moved listlessly when she came in, sitting down, showing no real interest in the proceedings. Matthew Slater sat behind her, looking appropriately concerned.

  Greg could sense just how grave her depression was, a bleak distress interwound with every thought. Out of all the students so far, she was easily the most affected by the murder. He would go so far as to say traumatized.

  ‘I understand you were seeing Edward Kitchener,’ Greg said delicately after Langley had started the AV recording.

  She nodded apathetically.

  ‘You were with him that night?’

  Another nod.

  ‘What time did you go to him?’

  ‘Quarter-past one.’

  ‘Until when?’

/>   ‘Half-past two.’

  ‘So you left Uri’s room about midnight, and stayed in your own room until Rosette arrived, is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What time did she arrive?’

  ‘Half-past twelve, I think. She’d been in Cecil’s room. We talked for a while, then we got changed ready for Edward. Rosette is quite fun when she’s relaxed, when she’s not trying to prove something. Don’t get the wrong impression about her, most of that attitude is put on. She can’t help it.’

  ‘When you left Kitchener’s room, did you see anyone else in the Abbey?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you hear anything strange?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about lights; shining under someone’s door, or downstairs, outside even?’

  ‘No. Oh, there was a bit of light in Uri’s room. Bluish. I think the flatscreen might have been on. We were watching it in there earlier.’

  ‘You were taking syntho that night. Had it worn off by then?’

  ‘Not quite, I was just starting to come down. I don’t—’ She took a breath, then looked resolutely at the floor. ‘I don’t like being in there after the boost has gone.’

  ‘In Kitchener’s bedroom?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I get cold. Not physically cold, but it’s hard to face them afterwards. We get so high together, you see; when it comes to sex, Edward and Rosette have lifetimes more experience than me, they made me feel completely free with them. The way a child trusts an adult. His bedroom contained our own private universe, we were safe inside, nothing mattered apart from ourselves and what we wanted. But then when it was over the illusion vanished so quickly. And this shabby old world with all its inbuilt guilt comes flooding back in.’ She tugged at a strand of hair, twisting it nervously round and round her index finger. ‘You must think I’m horrible.’

  ‘I’m not a judge, Isabel. Your sex life is entirely your own. But I’d like to know why you started going, please?’

  ‘Rosette started – well it was just hints at first. Joking. Then … I don’t know. Somehow it wasn’t a joke any more. And then I went home for Christmas. There was nothing wrong with that, my family. Except it was sort of pale, lacking substance; I was going through the motions. The Abbey, Edward, we were learning so much there, learning how to think, how to question. It was so much more real. Colour, that’s what Launde had. I was glad to get back. I wanted more of it, more of the adventure. They offered me that.’