Sam Bourne - Pantheon

‘And once you’re in?’

‘That’s when the fun starts.’

‘Like what?’

‘More drinking, more larking around. But also,’ she lowered her voice, leaning in closer so that he could smell that musky scent once more, ‘parties.’

‘Fifteen male undergraduates drinking together doesn’t sound like much of a party to me.’

‘Who said the guests were all men?’ Her eyebrows twitched.

‘Ah, so that’s how you got inside. You were invited to a party there.’

She nodded, her eyes briefly drifting faraway as if savouring a memory. ‘It was last year. When I was an undergraduate.’

‘I thought there were no lady undergraduates at Yale.’

‘I wasn’t at Yale then. We were all from Vassar.’

‘All?’

‘Yes, a group of girls from Vassar went to Wolf’s Head for parties.’

‘I see.’

‘They brought us to Yale in a special bus. Took an age to get here.’

‘And what happened at these parties?’

She gave him a look. ‘Do you want me to draw you a map?’

‘I’m just trying to work out what this bloody society is all about, Miss Lake. Just in case it’s relevant. Please.’

‘You sound like you need a cigarette, Dr Zennor. Calm your nerves.’ Without asking if he wanted one, she took a cigarette from her case, put it to her mouth, lit it and then passed it to him. He hesitated before taking it, unsure whether he should collude in such an intimate exchange. But she was right; he did need to calm himself. He inhaled deep and long and then spoke again. ‘And you had a friend at Wolf’s Head who invited you to these parties?’

‘No, it didn’t work like that. Vassar decided who went on the bus.’

‘Oh, so that was an exclusive club too.’

‘You bet. And discreet. Only those girls who were picked even knew about it.’

‘And I bet they were the smartest, prettiest girls in the college.’

‘Now you’re asking me to be immodest, Dr Zennor.’ She smiled. ‘Put it this way, I’m sure Vassar was careful to choose girls the men of Wolf’s Head would enjoy meeting.’

‘And inside? Did you see anything, anything that might be useful to me?’

‘There’s lots of wood panelling in there, I remember that. You know, honour boards listing past members, names painted in gold letters.’

James leaned forward. ‘And do you remember any of them, any names?’

‘I was a nineteen-year-old girl surrounded by some of the most eligible young men in America, Dr Zennor: I had my eye on other things.’

‘I need to see a list of past members.’

‘I might be able to help you with that.’

James exhaled loudly. ‘That would be excellent, Miss Lake. Really.’

‘But now I think it’s your turn to help me.’

‘Not yet, I’m afraid. I have a few more questions to ask first.’

‘Come on, this is not-’

‘What, fair? Perhaps not. But there are probably a hundred people in this town who could tell me about the Wolf’s Head Society. There’s only one who can tell you about the death of George Lund. Remember, I was with the lead detective on the case a matter of hours ago. So, another question.’

She raised her hands in defeat.

He cleared his throat, signalling as much to himself as to her, that he was getting to what mattered most. ‘I want to know what you know about the Oxford mothers and children.’

‘This is about your wife and child, right?’

‘Right.’

‘Well, they arrived here on July twenty-fourth. They-’

‘I’ve read your newspaper, Miss Lake. I want to know what more you know.’

She crinkled her brow, as if she was struggling to think of anything interesting. ‘I didn’t cover this story, so I don’t really know much beyond-’

‘Try.’

‘OK. I know they were invited by a few faculty members at Yale. It was their initiative. I know that it had to be arranged real quick, over a few weeks. I also heard that Cambridge said no.’

‘Cambridge? As in the university? Why would they say no?’

‘I have no idea. I just heard that they did. People were asking, “How come we’re only doing this for Oxford? Is Yale Oxford’s sister university? Will Harvard be hosting Cambridge children?” And the answer was no, Cambridge were offered but said no.’

‘How odd. And you don’t remember where you heard that?’

‘Just around.’ She lit another cigarette. ‘Oh, there is one other interesting thing.’

‘Yes.’

‘Both camps agreed on this plan.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘You know, pro- and anti-war. Those who think we should join the war backed the Oxford rescue, saying it’s part of our historic ties to England and all that. And the anti-intervention people agreed, probably to show that just because they’re against the war doesn’t mean they don’t care what happens to sweet little kids.’

James resisted the desire to give her a brief lecture on why anyone who truly cared a jot about British children would be agitating to join the war this instant. Instead he asked, ‘Where did they go?’

‘All over. They’re staying with different families. People volunteered to open their doors. I heard there was one family who had their heart set on having a little girl and were shocked to receive four adolescent boys.’ She smiled at the thought of it.

‘And you didn’t hear anything about a mother with just one son, a two-year-old boy?’

‘I’m sorry, but I didn’t. I’m really sorry.’ What was odd about that last remark was that this otherwise unsentimental woman appeared to mean it.

Then she sat up straight. ‘Now it really is my turn.’

‘All right,’ James said, in a voice that suggested a reluctant concession. ‘But then we go back to past members of Wolf’s Head, yes?’ She nodded.

And so, as Dorothy Lake scribbled in her notebook, he ran through his meeting the previous day at the Dean’s office, the second encounter at Pepe’s restaurant, the rushed conversation over pizza and then the police visit this morning.

‘He also appears to have taken something from the killer,’ James said coyly, building up what he planned to be his big revelation.

‘You mean the pin in the cheek?’

‘Oh. So you know about that?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Of course. Why else would I have been sniffing around the Wolf’s Head? Come on, Zennor. Tell me something I don’t know.’

He contemplated describing the photographs he had seen in Lund’s bag. But he would not do it. Part of it was respect: why defame a dead man as a pervert, in the college newspaper of all places? But part of it was a more hard-headed calculation. He needed to hold something back, currency to be used later if needed.

‘I’ll tell you more if you tell me about these past members — and there’s something I need you to do for me.’

‘I have a better idea,’ she said.

‘What’s that?’

‘Why don’t we cut the deal-making and the horse-trading and just agree to work on this together? You need to get to the bottom of this and so do I. I can’t do it alone and nor can you. You help me, I help you. No more bartering. What do you say?’

‘I say that’s a much better idea.’

‘OK, then.’ She flicked through her notebook, finding an earlier page. ‘There’s only one document I could find that makes any mention of past members. It’s from an alternative college magazine that circulated a few years ago, before the Dean’s office shut it down. It was called Rebel Yale. Luckily the Sterling keeps everything.’

‘And you’ve seen it?’

‘I read it this morning. As soon as the editor got the tip-off about the link to Wolf’s Head.’

James leaned forward. ‘Go on.’

‘The formal group of Wolf’s Head alumni is called the Phelps Association. Named, I think, for Edward John Phelps, who went on to become ambassador to London, as it happens.’