G Malliet - Death at the Alma Mater

He dismissed him, warning him not to leave the college grounds until further notice. He left, St. Just noticed, with some alacrity.

"You really think money might be a motive here, Sir?" asked Sergeant Fear when they were alone.

"She was wealthy, and according to Portia, a vulnerable type. The perfect pigeon for a man like that. Let's have a rundown on his financials and find out where he got the cash to live as he apparently does… or if he's living above his means now. And yes, the fact that she was wealthy might be a factor overall. Someone as famous as Lexy may also have been the object of envy."

Sergeant Fear nodded.

"We need to get someone talking with the college servants, but I would be amazed if they're involved. There was a little money found in her purse, so robbery isn't looking like a motive."

"Still, Sir. Money isn't the only motive, if it was someone from the staff. Some of them have been here years, according to the Master. And some people leave a long trail of memory. Like a snail."

St. Just smiled. "You're quite right, of course. An ancient grudge cannot be overlooked. Her wealth and beauty could have aroused all kinds of feelings, especially in someone who felt like one of the 'have nots.' The outsider looking in at all this privilege."

He swept out a hand to encompass the room's sumptuous if somewhat worn furnishings-the carved, stained oak; the fireplace surround of antique tiles depicting the nine Muses, the leather chairs and leather-bound books.

"And there is always the crime of passion, of sexual jealousy," he went on, "although I can see the Argentine jealous of no one but himself. No one else could hold his attention for long. That does not discount the possibility that Lexy impugned his manhood, somehow. Some slight, however silly, that he would feel would have to be avenged. Even so… " he trailed off. St. Just's inclination was to discount no one too soon, but the Argentine was so blithe, so carefree, so indifferent and unconcerned. Most people involved in a murder spared at least a moment's thought for the victim.

If Geraldo Valentiano did commit this crime, they were indeed dealing with a cold-blooded monster.

St. Just said to his sergeant, "Let me take a look at that list the Master left with us-the list that was mailed to all the participants of this weekend." He ran an eye over two pages of typescript. "Just names and addresses, mostly London addresses, excluding the Americans." He read aloud: "There's a Karl and Constance Dunning, no doubt a married couple, of New York; an Augie Cramb of Texas; Gwennap Pengelly-now, how is it I know that name?"

"She's on the telly, Sir."

"Of course, that's right, the news announcer. God help us. All right. Then there's Sir James and Lady Bassett of London-may God continue to come to our aid. Hermione Jax, with an address just outside Cambridge, so she doesn't live in college despite the fact she's a Fellow. No doubt she took rooms here for the weekend to avoid having to drive after the revels of High Table. Very sensible. Next listed: Geraldo Valentiano, who maintains a London residence, a home in Argentina, and one in France. He has been careful to list them all. I suppose we are meant to be impressed."

Sergeant Fear, who had been taking notes, asked, "Is that the lot?"

"That's the lot as far as the visitors are concerned. Then of course there's the boy, Sebastian. I say…" thoughtfully he tapped the paper against the Master's desk. "Let's get Portia in here first. I want you to hear her impressions of everyone. It will help to have someone as observant as she give us the lay of the land before we start the interviews."

He had passed the stage with Portia where at the sight of her he could do little more than make an inarticulate, guttural noise in the back of his throat, followed by what he was convinced were some of the most inane comments in the history of recorded or unrecorded speech. Still the sight of her lifted his heart, and it was a moment before he could speak.

"I've organized some tea to be sent in," she told them. "You look famished. I should avoid the biscuits if I were you, however. I think the Bursar's found a bakery that sells week-old goods."

St. Just got her settled in a chair and handed her the list. He knew Portia would be able to give him not just her impressions as to character, but a sense of whatever undertow may have been in motion throughout the weekend. She read through the list and then, looking up, began to speak.

"Constance Dunning, the New Yorker, is the most hideous, non-stop whinger you'll ever meet. She has already earned the sobriquet 'Constant Complainer' from the bedders, and she only arrived yesterday. Her husband bears it well, to quite a remarkable degree, in fact. He's rather a poppet. She's… well, you'll see. What their ties might be to Lexy, if any, I don't know."

She returned to the list.

"India-that's Lady Bassett to you-I'd say she has brains, and she's enormously attractive, if in rather an equine way. Good, English-rose skin with a high color. She always looks like she's just come in after a particularly vitalizing ride on a sunny day. Her son looks a great deal like her-Sebastian, I mean."

"The boy who found the body?"

She nodded. "Her husband, Sir James. Not Sebastian's natural father, by the way-stepfather, rather. I commented to someone how much Sebastian resembled India and that's when I was told-by the Reverend Otis, it was-that Sir James is Sebastian's parent only by marriage. Anyway, he's quite a famous author, did you know? I mean famous in terms of winning acclaim and literary awards, not famous as in best-selling, necessarily. Two entirely different things, of course. Yes, he and India are quite the team. He seems devoted. I'd say it's quite an intellectual bond, and it's a good match in that regard-as I say, she has brains, so does he. Plus he fancies her silly."

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.