Кара Хантер - No Way Out

Quinn's eyes are already glazing over.

``“ he wrote a very impressive doctoral thesis and got a post at Liverpool almost immediately afterwards. For a while his career looked unstoppable.'

`But?' says Gislingham.

Her eyes flicker. `I'm sorry?'

`I've been doing this a lot of years,' he says drily.

She smiles, a trifle uneasily. `Let's just say that he hasn't progressed quite as far `“ or as fast `“ as one might have expected. His research has stalled rather, and I happen to know he's applied for several other jobs in the last few months, both here and at other universities, but hasn't been shortlisted. That's confidential, of course,' she adds quickly. `I was his referee, so I would have known.'

`And how did he feel about that?'

`I'm sure he was frustrated. Who wouldn't be?'

Something else Gislingham knows when he hears it is a professional evasion. He changes tack.

`How has he been lately?'

`I'm not sure what you mean.'

And there's another one. OK, he thinks, if that's how you want to play it.

`What's his mood been like? Any recent change in his habits or behaviour?'

She glances at him, then away. `Michael is always very careful `“ very considered.'

`But?'

`But lately he's become, well, I suppose the only word is `њloud`ќ. Outspoken, voicing quite controversial opinions. That sort of thing.'

`How long has this been going on?'

`I don't know, three or four months, perhaps?'

`Is there anyone in particular he's pissed off?'

`No. Not that I'm aware of. Nothing significant, anyway.'

The door opens and Mrs Beeton comes in with three mugs, a cafetière and a carton of semi-skimmed milk. She edges the tray on to the desk and leaves, though not without a meaningful look in Jordan's direction. Gislingham suspects she's been listening outside for a while. No kettle takes that long to boil.

`So what about the rest?'

`I'm sorry?'

Gislingham holds her gaze. `You said `њnothing significant`ќ. There's something else, isn't there? Something you'd rather not tell us. But believe me, Professor, it's all going to come out in the end. Far better you tell us now than we have to find out for ourselves.'

It's a line he'd heard Fawley say once, and filed away for future use.

They stare at each other for a moment, and then she says, `I need to consult the university's legal team before I say anything more. It's a sensitive matter, and given what's now happened `“'

She looks from one to the other and back again. She can see they're not buying it.

She sighs. `Very well. In the very strictest confidence, we had a complaint from a student.'

`About Michael Esmond?'

She nods.

Jesus, thinks Gislingham, this is like drawing teeth.

`Getting a bit on the side, is he?' asks Quinn, who seems to have decided that there are advantages to his demotion, not the least of which is the freedom to be a bit of a tosser with complete impunity.

Jordan glares at him. `I have no evidence for that whatsoever. Nor does the young woman in question allege anything of the kind.'

`So what was it?' says Gislingham. `Sexting? Dodgy emails?'

Jordan hesitates. `There seems to have been an unfortunate incident at the departmental Christmas party.'

`Just how `њunfortunate`ќ are we talking?'

She flushes. `Some inappropriate comments and apparently some physical contact. All of which Michael vehemently denies. Unfortunately there were no witnesses.'

`So he said, she said , eh?' says Quinn.

`Quite. It was clear we were going to have to involve the legal department.'

`Were?'

`Sorry?'

`You said `њ were going to involve`ќ. Past tense.'

Another flush. `Yes, well, the latest turn of events has put a rather different complexion on the matter.'

Right, thinks Gislingham. He suddenly has the absolute conviction that the call Jordan made earlier wasn't to China at all.

`You didn't see fit to inform the police?' he says.

`As I said, we haven't yet decided on the best course of action.'

Gislingham flips open his notebook again and writes a few words.

`When did you have this conversation with him `“ the one when he denied all knowledge?'

`I told him about the allegations at the end of last term and we met again on Tuesday.'

Gislingham can't disguise his reaction. `Tuesday as in January 2nd? Tuesday as in less than three days ago? You just said you'd had no contact with him `“' he flips back a couple of pages `“ ``њfor some time`ќ. I wouldn't call three days some time .'

She looks embarrassed now `“ embarrassed and outmanoeuvred. `When I saw him before Christmas he was clearly rather overwrought, so I suggested he think it all over during the vac and we'd talk again in early January. He came here first thing on Tuesday on his way to London. I was hoping we'd be able to bring matters to a satisfactory conclusion.'

Gislingham starts to nod. `I get it `“ you were hoping he'd resign, right? Give him the pearl-handled revolver and hope he'd do the decent thing?'

She bridles. `Not at all. You're quite wrong about that, officer. Quite wrong.'

But the look on her face is saying something very different.

`So how did it go?'

She hesitates. `Let's just leave it that we had a frank exchange of views.'

More like a slanging match, he thinks, to judge from her face. And that old bag Beeton must have heard every word.

`How were things left?'

`I said that, in the circumstances, I would now be consulting the University authorities and it would be up to them to determine the best course of action.'

`But he could lose his job, couldn't he.' It's Quinn. And it's a statement, not a question. `I mean, sexual harassment of a student, in the current climate? `њMe too`ќ and all that. They'd hang him out by the balls.'

Jordan gives him a look of undisguised loathing. `In theory, it could lead to dismissal, yes. But we're a long way from that. At least at this stage.'

But that's not how Michael Esmond might have seen it. Quinn and Gislingham exchange a glance.

`Can we talk to the girl?' asks Gislingham.

Jordan frowns. `She has not made a police complaint.'

`I'm aware of that, Professor. But you can appreciate why we'd like to talk to her.'

`Yes, I'm sure you would. But there are procedures `“ consents I have to obtain. I will speak to the lawyers, and then to the young woman, and I will come back to you as soon as I reasonably can.'

In Summertown, meanwhile, Everett has only just got back from dropping her father off at his house just outside Bicester. Anything involving him always takes five times longer than she allows for, and this morning was no different. And she hasn't spoken to him about the care home yet either. But she's looked up the number for his local Social Services and she's going to force herself to call them by the end of the day. Though right now she has a job to do. She pops back up to the flat to check on the cat (who's clearly as relieved as she is that normal service has been resumed) and then returns to the pavement, where she takes out the picture Baxter found on Samantha Esmond's Facebook page. He was pretty sure it was taken in one of the shops on the Summertown parade, and she'd agreed with him. She hasn't lived here for two years for nothing.

Five minutes later, she's pushing through the door. Candles, china, bathrobes, towels. If it's not white, it's glass. And it's all so delicate and refined and sweet-smelling she feels twice her normal size just standing there. Thankfully she doesn't have to do it for long; the girl behind the counter looks up with a smile. `Is there anything in particular you were looking for? We have some of our discontinued items in the sale.'