G Malliet - Death at the Alma Mater

As Sebastian was leaving, he stopped and turned back into the room, his tall frame dwarfed by the ancient panel door.

"When will I be able to get back into the boathouse?" he asked. "I'm in training, as I told you. That's why I'm staying over this summer."

"Oh, not the chance to catch up with the parents that's the big draw then?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes and screwed up his face in the time-honored tradition of youthful contempt for the company of elders.

"No," he said flatly.

"A murder investigation takes precedence," St. Just said mildly.

Sebastian had the grace to look abashed. "Of course. Sorry. That came out the wrong way."

Once the door closed behind him, Fear asked, "Why all the questions about James?"

"I'm just trying to get a feel for the dynamics of the family formed when James threw over Lexy for India. There's usually some sort of feeling, you know. Lots and lots of emotion to go 'round, especially among the offspring who are affected by the new arrangements. And yet Sebastian seems to be handling it all with some maturity-or indifference. Assuming he's telling the truth."

"Do you like him for this murder?"

St. Just shrugged.

"It's difficult to say. With that athlete's build, he's more than physically capable. And he is still at an age to waver on the fence between maturity and immaturity. A sudden passion, a flare of hatred, and he might strike out, maybe without the intent to kill… maybe with just the intent to quieten her… maybe she was taunting him somehow… Yes, I can see any and all of that happening with someone like Sebastian. The why is the puzzle."

"Isn't it always."

"He doesn't have an alibi, did you notice?" asked St. Just.

"I did, Sir. He's vouching for himself, him with his fitness routine and his sculling schedule. Lights up or down or whatever it is. There was nothing to prevent him coming back early, at any time, really, and killing her. Certainly, as you say, he has the hands for it."

"Let's have his stepfather in here next."

Sir James was a man dark haired and dark eyed, a complete contrast to his stepson's fairness. He wore glasses with thick, black frames that might have been selected from a manufacturer's "Serious Writer" catalog. He looked shaken, but composed. St. Just had a feeling Sir James would look composed if the college suddenly came under mortar attack. He had the air of a man not only raised up to deal with that sort of thing, but one who might live for the chance to display a little derring-do. A chance to throw on some armor, save England, and rescue his lady fair.

St. Just put these fanciful chivalric ideas aside, invited Sir James to take the chair just vacated by Sebastian, and said, "We've just spoken with your stepson."

"I know. Poor kid. I saw him just now, looking completely gored. This must be a nightmare for him."

"I think you'll find youth is a great restorative in and of itself. He's shaken and trying to hide it, but by tomorrow it may all be a fading memory."

"I'll have a word with my wife. Perhaps we should get him away from here."

"Not anytime very soon, Sir. We'll need everyone to stay around until we're satisfied they have no more to tell us about these tragic events."

"Oh, I see. Yes, quite. Of course. Anything… anything at all… "

"I've heard from other sources a bit about the… somewhat unusual arrangements of this weekend. The fact that Lexy Laurant was your ex-wife. I'd like to hear the circumstances from you."

"I thought you might. But it was years ago, you know, and I can absolutely assure you it could have nothing to do with this… this appalling tragedy."

"You and Lexy were married how long?"

"Three years. We met at the college. Married in haste, as they say."

"I see. And you and your present wife have been together how long?"

"It will soon be seventeen years."

"You also met her while you were here at St. Mike's?"

"Yes. I was here as a visiting scholar. I was here for some time working on a book, you see."

"That all seems clear. Now, as to this weekend get-together: Was this in any way pre-arranged?"

"Did I know Lexy would be here, do you mean?"

"Yes."

"Not until it was too late to prevent her coming. Not that I could have prevented it," he added quickly. "Lexy could be rather headstrong." Seeming to fear that last sentence might be misconstrued, he rushed on, "But only in some ways. Basically, she had a gentle nature." He shook his head reminiscently. "That's what makes this all the more inexplicable to me, that she should… should die like this."

"In what ways was she not headstrong, Sir?"

James just looked at him. This was indeed a poser.

"Never mind, Sir. So you didn't know she would be here, until, presumably, you received the list of attendees from the college." He held out the copy of the list in his own hands.

"That is correct. Well, to be precise, I didn't know until I saw her here. She was quite capable of changing her mind."

"Still, since the invitation went out to all the old members connected with a certain time frame, you knew she would receive an invitation, along with your wife?"

"If I'd thought about it, yes."

"And did you, Sir? Think about it?"

"Fleetingly, perhaps. I must tell you, Lexy was always heard to say, and loudly, that she detested this place, so my thinking about it would consist of cataloguing all the reasons she would almost certainly not be here."

"But, as it turns out, you were wrong."

He smiled bleakly; the skin under his eyes was smudged with dark shadows. "Yes."

"And your wife's reaction to finding out that Lexy was going to be here?"

"She wasn't exactly pleased, of course. What woman would be? But India is a sensible soul. She soon decided she would simply rise to the occasion. Meaning, ignore it. She could afford to."

"No jealousy, then?"

"Good lord, no. India-Lady Bassett-is too level-headed for that, I tell you. Plus, she has no reason whatsoever to doubt me, no reason for jealousy-over Lexy or anyone else, for that matter."

St. Just allowed a long pause. When James did not elaborate further on his complete devotion to his present wife, St. Just went on:

"You had no residual feeling for Lexy, then."

The man heaved an enormous sigh, as if he'd been expecting-and dreading?-this very question.

"I was fond of her, of course. I suppose one always retains a vestige of fondness for someone who reminds one of one's youth. We were young together, and happy, and in love-for a time. One can't pretend those years never existed. But I had 'moved on,' as the parlance goes. I'm afraid I thought seldom of Lexy these days, if at all. Awful thing to say now, I know, but it is the truth."

"Now, this evening, when you heard of her death, what did you do?"

"I simply could not believe it. I thought Seb must be mistaken."

"But you went to investigate."

"It was rather a reflex action. But really, the situation couldn't be ignored while we stood about sipping our port, could it? Although I did gather others were inclined to do just that. Some things about Cambridge never change, you know. Anyway, just to calm Seb I went to have a look. I thought it likely he'd stumbled across a tramp sleeping it off… it was bloody dark out, you know. The moon was hidden behind clouds, and the Bursar has never been one to 'waste' money on electricity." He broke off. "This is just ghastly. There was… a certain amount of talk when I left Lexy for India, you know. It wasn't universally received as joyous news… a lot of jealous old cats here, rather. This will just rake up all the old scandal. The media will have a field day. I can just see the headlines now: 'Killing at Cambridge College.'"