G Malliet - Death at the Alma Mater

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."

"And Lighting Up on this particular night was when?"

"21:51 hours."

Sergeant Fear's head came up from his notebook. "So precise?" he asked.

"It's the time at which the sun sets to ninety-four degrees below the zenith, if you want the official definition," Sebastian informed him. "But God help you if you ignore Lighting Up or Down. Not a good idea, in any event. You're liable to row straight into the bank on a dark night."

"And so you finished your practice and arrived at the boathouse…?"

"Just before. Say nine-fifty. May I go now?"

"How do you keep track of the time so precisely as you're sculling? You'd have to stop to look at your watch, wouldn't you?"

Sebastian shook his head.

"The curfew warning still chimes at nine forty-five, although it's mainly a holdover from the very old days. There's a warning chime, as I say, followed in fifteen minutes by the final chime-curfew."

"Tell us what happened. You finished your practice, returned to the boathouse, and…"

"And I was carrying the boat and equipment from the river when I saw her, sort of crumpled there. Well, you know. I went over, took one look, dropped everything, and ran for help."

"You didn't have a mobile phone with you?"

"Funnily enough, I did have it in my pocket, but I don't usually. I mean, I'm out there working, not taking calls, and if the worst should happen I wouldn't want to see the mobile end up in the water. That's why I didn't think of it, I suppose-I don't normally have it with me on these occasions. I just ran for help, which was less than two or three minutes away, in any event."

"Did you see anyone about? At any time?"

He shook his head. "No."

St. Just sighed. Not much help there. "We'll need a signed statement from you to this effect, of course," he told Sebastian. "Now, you say you didn't know Lexy too well, but the same must not be true of your stepfather, her ex-husband?"

"How would I know what was true of him?" said Sebastian, staring down peevishly at the Persian carpet. "I barely saw him as I was growing up. I was sent away to school, and he was not really interested in 'bonding,' to use that hideous expression, when I was at home. No more was I. Frankly, I was grateful that he didn't come over all fatherly, trying to teach me how to fish or shoot or whatnot."

"He didn't try to be your friend, or anything."

"God, no-not really. That would have been worse, wouldn't it, by far?"

A fate worse than death. St. Just supposed he could see the boy's point of view.

"And your relationship with your mother?"

"What about it?" asked Sebastian, still addressing the carpet. St. Just noticed his hands as they rested on the arms of the chair-gripped the arms, rather. They were a rower's hands, large and capable, to match his rower's physique. Strong shoulders, arms, and legs.

He also had the hard narrow waist of a rower; St. Just could see the muscles of the boy's flat stomach clearly outlined against the thin material of his shirt. St. Just remembered from his own rowing days that it was the best exercise of all, as it worked every muscle in the body. Sebastian, he thought, could practically have choked Lexy one-handed without breaking a sweat.

"Did your mother's marriage to Sir James affect your relationship with her in any way?"

It didn't seem to occur to Sebastian to wonder what this had to do with Lexy's murder. St. Just didn't really know himself, but was trying to get a better sense of this young man.

"Not really. I was at school, as I've told you."

"Was their marriage a success, did you think?"

Sebastian looked genuinely baffled at this question. It surprised him so that he dragged his gaze away from the carpet at last and looked quizzically at St. Just.

"I've really no idea at all. I think so."

St. Just thought, after some reflection, that was probably true. The doings of these two oldies was probably too far outside the boy's realm of interest. St. Just may as well ask Sebastian for his views on the comings and goings of the Hapsburgs.

"But, you must have formed some opinion of James, at least insofar as his appropriateness as a mate for your mother?"

Sergeant Fear also wondered at the direction of St. Just's questions. Did it matter what the boy thought of the parents? He shrugged and continued to jot down notes in case it did.

"I've told you. I rarely saw him or my mother. He's a nice enough chap, I suppose. I got along with him well enough. He was clever, as I said, never to try to play the heavy-handed father bit. You know, come over as all in charge or giving unwanted advice or interfering or anything. Well, he did once try to give me advice on women and that was quite an awful moment, but we shouldered through even that somehow. He talked about how they had to be wooed and courted, for God's sake, like he was reading from some eighteenth-century guide for the gentry. I just let him get it off his chest and then I thanked him kindly. I think he realized it was a failed experiment and it was never repeated."

"So, your love of rowing-not something you got from James, then?"

This was greeted with a snort of derision. "God, no," he said again. "If it doesn't have hooves and a saddle, James is not terribly interested anymore."

Sergeant Fear began to interject a question.

"When you were out in the rowboat, did-"

Sebastian turned to him and said, through gritted teeth, "It is not a rowboat. It is called a scull." A sudden alertness came over the boy as he was turning back around. He cocked his head and said to St. Just, "If that's all, I have to go." He pulled a mobile from a pocket of his jacket and began fiddling with the keys. For this we grew opposable thumbs, thought St. Just, watching him.

"Put that away," he said mildly. "We're not done here."

With elaborate reluctance, Sebastian obeyed. St. Just could almost see the scales in the boy's mind, weighing the pros of getting out and away quickly with the cons of making an enemy of the police. Still, he apparently couldn't resist muttering, "The law has nothing to do with me. Laws were invented by old white men."

St. Just, who had heard many a criminal espouse much the same philosophy, said nothing, refusing to be drawn into this sophomoric debate.

They talked awhile longer with Sebastian but elicited little of note: The young man again insisted that he scarcely knew Lexy. St. Just suddenly wondering where the scull that lay next to Lexy's body had come from, Sebastian reluctantly admitted he always left the boathouse unlocked while he sculled, but locked away the equipment on his return.

"Except this time, of course. I just ran for help."

"Surely that's inviting theft," said St. Just. "To leave the place open while you're on the water."

Sebastian, admitting as much, said it was "too much hassle and besides, I'm not gone all that long." St. Just gathered that as the property wasn't his, Sebastian wasn't overly concerned what happened to it.