G Malliet - Death at the Alma Mater

"I don't get it, Sir. Why would Sebastian be mixed up in something like this anyway?"

"Why would the golden-haired boy lower himself to this kind of scheme? At a guess, it's Seb's way of being independent of the parents. That's normally done by taking a paying job, of course, but Seb is one who would hold himself above the dull nine-to-five routine. That's for losers like you and me, Sergeant."

Just then, Constable Brummond stuck his head through the open door.

"They're leaving now, Sir."

"Good. Dispatch someone to bring me the package they found in the river." To Fear he added, "At least now we know who did it."

We do?

"Give me"-St. Just looked at his watch and back at Brummond-"exactly three minutes. Go down right now and tell the members of the media to gather downstairs in the entrance hall-now. I'll meet them there."

"How much are you going to tell them?" asked Sergeant Fear.

"Whatever I can think up in three minutes."

Fear didn't have time to puzzle over this statement.

"Tell them," St. Just went on, "that I'll be briefing them on important developments-make sure they understand anyone who is late is not being allowed in. While I'm talking to the media, tell the alumni guests and the Master, the Bursar, and the Reverend Otis: five sharp for sherry in the SCR. No excuses, no exceptions."

As Brummond left, St. Just turned to Sergeant Fear.

"Now, Sergeant, I have a special assignment for you."

He told him. Fear looked at his chief as if he'd gone mad, but slowly nodded his assent, thinking he'd get Brummond to go do the dirty work. Wasn't that what delegation was for?

St. Just, as if he could read his mind (one of his most annoying talents, in his sergeant's reckoning), said, "Oh, no you don't, Sergeant. Brummond already has his hands full."

They were all there when he got to the SCR just after five. All the old members, along with Constance Dunning, Geraldo Valentiano, the Reverend Otis, Master Marburger, and Mr. Bowles, were crowded around the mullioned windows, murmuring worriedly amongst themselves, watching as the still, shrouded little form was removed from the college and lifted into the waiting ambulance. There were a lot of "My God"s and "This can't be happening"s. There was even some gentle sobbing and a shrill, hysterical questioning, this coming from India Bassett. It seemed to be aimed at her husband who, white and shaken, looked helplessly at his wife. Outside, pandemonium had broken out as members of the media shouted questions and brained each other with their video cameras as they struggled to get the best shot of a shrouded corpse. The scene would be replayed endlessly that night, often in slow motion, and accompanied by shocked, gasping voiceovers from Gwennap's various colleagues in the news world.

St. Just looked about the room, taking them all in. All his suspects. There were James and India, of course, they of class and privilege, oblivious to anyone's happiness but their own, oblivious most of all to their son and his doings. There was Hermione Jax, the kind of woman for whom the words "harmless eccentric" were coined. But was she harmless? Geraldo Valentiano, bolstered by an impenetrable belief in his own charms of seduction, living only for his own pleasure. The Master, the Bursar, and the Dean, the holy-or was it the unholy-trinity? Mr. and Mrs. Dunning, Karl and Constance. A clever man, who had known Lexy well; his wife, a woman expert at getting her own way. Gwennap Pengelly, Lexy's old rival for the attentions of men. Augie Cramb of Texas, a man with violence in his past, and a past that included a monumental failure to impress Lexy. Sebastian, spoiled but neglected, was the only one connected with the case not there. And Saffron, of course.

Predictably, Constance Dunning was first to speak.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I've had quite enough." Turning slowly, she bestowed her lemony gaze upon them all. Today she wore a gold and purple tunic appliqued around the hem with dolphins frolicking in a stylized sea. The garment, unlike the couture creation he had seen her wear previously, looked amateurishly handmade and the dolphins cross-eyed, but that was difficult to say: He would have to verify this against his limited experience of folk art. Altogether it looked more like something Hermione would wear in a show of dolphin solidarity.

"That's two people we've seen go out of here feet first," Constance was running on. "We've already re-booked our flight-I just knew something like this was going to happen. I told my husband last night something like this would happen, didn't I, Karl?"

Karl seemed to understand that questions such as this when directed at him were emblematic and not requiring his full participation. Constance Dunning continued:

"We had to reschedule our plane at no little expense, and who's going to pay for that, I'd like to know? Anyway," and she turned to face St. Just, "we'll be leaving tomorrow, Detective Chief Inspector. You can't hold us here further, and that's a fact. I have spoken at length with the American Embassy." The emphasis on the last words could not have been greater had she claimed to have spoken with the Almighty. She looked around triumphantly, as if to suggest that at any moment a team of storm troopers dispatched by the embassy might appear to rescue her from her hostage situation in the SCR. "So don't try to stop us," she concluded.

"I'm sure that will be fine," said St. Just quietly. He watched with some amusement as she deflated, turning a bewildered face to her husband. "However," St. Just continued, "if you'll indulge me just awhile longer, I think we can unravel this skein for you before you leave."

"But you have your suspect… these kids were obviously mixed up in this. And now she's paid… the ultimate price."

"It's the murderer I want," said St. Just.

"But Seb is-"

"You'd be advised to keep your trap shut. Ma'am." They all turned in surprise in the direction of the harsh voice. Augie Cramb, much like James, looked pale, shaken, and at the end of his Texan rope.

"Your fatherly show of protectiveness becomes you, Sir, but I would advise you to get a rein on your temper," warned St. Just. "Otherwise, we can continue this conversation in much less opulent surroundings."

Augie Cramb subsided.

"Father?" asked the unstoppable Mrs. Dunning.

"If anyone's been a father to Sebastian, I have," cut in James gruffly. "I've fed and clothed him; I've tried to keep him in the right path. And where were you? Riding around playing cowboy on some dude ranch, without a care in the world, and without sending a penny of support."

"She told me to leave him-and her-alone," said Augie Cramb. "I tried. But I knew he would be here and realized I wanted to see him. That's only natural, especially after all these years. I have no other children."

"James, please," said India to her husband, but tentatively, as if expecting to be ignored.

"No, India," said Sir James. "I've seen what he's been up to. He thinks he can just swan in here after all these years and play the benevolent and understanding parent. The prodigal parent, in fact. But he has no idea. Seb was always a handful. But now this… wanted for murder! My God…"

"Now, who said anything about Sebastian and murder, Sir?" said St. Just. "It's early days, early days. Calm yourself. Now-"

"Father?" repeated Constance Dunning. "You mean to say Augie Cramb is Seb's father?"

Augie answered without looking at her, addressing instead some point midway on the fireplace mantle. "Yes, dammit. I am Seb's natural father. Not that it's got anything to do with any of this." Turning to St. Just he said, "How did you find out?"

"You mean apart from the fact your son inherited your physique, and your love of rowing? That part was simple observation-it was the genealogical research to back it up that took all of five minutes. Seb's middle name on his birth certificate is Augustus. What were the chances someone born in 1988 would be given such an unusual, old-fashioned name? Coincidence? Sebastian Augustus Windwell Burrows. The name Augustus appears nowhere in the Bassett family tree, although it's rife with Sebastians and Windwells. India must have had some feeling that Seb at least deserved to have his real father's name, in some form, if not his real father."