Peter Hamilton - The Mandel Files

“Did Isabel come and talk with you that night?”

“No.”

“You were taking syntho. Why was that?”

Cecil drummed his kinaware fingers on the desk, black nails producing a tiny click on the smooth surface. “Because it was available. I never took much.”

“You infused some that night.” Greg found himself staring at the silver-hued hand. Powerful enough to make the butchery easy?

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Rosette brought some in. I was bored. I’d been in the Abbey all day. We didn’t even get out for a swim.”

“A swim?”

“Yes, we usually went for a dip in the top lake in the afternoon. Mornings as well, if it was fine. We’re all reasonable swimmers, even Nick.”

Greg hesitated, that ambiguous notion returned at the mention of the lake. What was it about those three lakes? He hadn’t been able to explain, not even to Eleanor. It was more than intuition, there was memory involved as well. Something had happened at Launde, quite a while ago. For the life of him he couldn’t think what. It was bloody annoying.

“Was there ever anything unusual about those lakes?” he asked.

“No, not as far as I know.” Cecil gave Lisa Collier another mistrustful glance. She maintained her cantankerous expression, eyes not leaving Greg.

“OK.” Greg gave up. He touched a key on his cybofax, bringing up another page of questions. “Did you ever take any syntho with Isabel?”

“Once or twice, yes. She was always timid about narcotics. Her background is very middle class.”

“Could anybody help themselves to Kitchener’s stash?”

“It wasn’t kept under lock and key. I always asked him, or Rosette. He would have known if someone had been taking it. The only thing he was concerned about was that we didn’t OD.”

“Tell me what happened when the body was discovered.”

“Christ. The screams woke me up. That was Rosette. By the time I got into the corridor Nick and Uri had already got there. I… went in to Kitchener’s bedroom… Wish to God I hadn’t. That was one sick fucker who did that, Mr Mandel. I mean seriously fucked.”

“I know.”

“Yes. Well. Nick was puking his guts up. Uri was in shock, he just stood there, like he wasn’t seeing it. What do they call it? Thousand-metre stare. I think Rosette had fainted by then. Passed out, swooned, something. She’d stopped screammg, anyway. I got in one look and tried to stop Liz and Isabel from going in.”

“When did they arrive?”

“Right after me.”

“Both together?”

“God, I don’t know. Yes, more or less.”

“Did you see any movement in the corridor before you got to Kitchener?”

“The murderer, you mean? No. If I had, I would have killed him.”

Lisa Collier gave a censorious cough.

Cecil looked round at her. “I would have killed him,” he repeated firmly.

“When did you wash that night?” Greg asked.

“When did I wash?”

“Yeah.”

“About eleven o’clock. I had a shower. My conditioner couldn’t cope with the storm. My room was like a sauna. I couldn’t open the window, not with the rain we had that night.”

“OK, thanks, Cecil.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I did it? I thought that’s why they brought you here.”

“There’s no need, not a direct question. It wasn’t you.”

Greg stood up and flexed his arms while they waited for Uri Pabani, shrugging off the stiffness which came from sitting in a chair designed for Martians. The air in the interview room was growing stuffy.

“Vernon, do you remember anything else ever happening at Launde?” he asked. He just couldn’t ignore the presage-if that’s what it was.

“Such as?”

“I don’t know. Something important enough to be newsworthy, or gossipworthy.” Where did I hear it? Or did I see it? Bugger.

“Kitchener was in the news once or twice each year with his lectures,” Langley said reasonably. “Universities and societies used to invite him to make addresses. He was famous, after all.”

“No, not Kitchener, not something he said. An event. Or an incident.” He was annoyed at the amount of petulance creeping into his voice.

“Kitchener and a girl student?” Nevin suggested. “I mean, he’s had two out of the three staying with him this year. Maybe one of them objected.”

“Could be,” Greg said. But he knew it wasn’t.

They both looked at him expectantly.

“Buggered if I can remember. Can you run a check through your files for me?”

“Yes.” Langley loaded a note into his cybofax. He had been laying off the dudgeon since Greg started the interviews. More impressed, or unnerved, by his espersense than he was willing to admit. Even Nevin had stopped looking for flaws in everything he said, the opportunities to underline the obvious.

Progress. Of sorts.

Edwin Lancaster was representing Uri Pabari. The first of the three defence counsellors who actually looked like a lawyer, to Greg’s mind. A sixty-year-old in a suit and silk waistcoat, pressed white shirt, small neat bow tie. He sat behind Uri, stiffly attentive. Instead of using a cybofax, a paper notebook was balanced on his leg, the tip of his gold-plated Parker biro flicking constantly, producing a minute shorthand.

Uri gave Greg a curious stare as he settled into the chair, not nearly as apprehensive as Cecil.

The student had a powerful build. Greg called up the police data profile on the flatscreen. Uri had played rugby for his university, he was also a karate second dan.

“You were the third into Kitchener’s bedroom, is that right?” Greg asked.

“Yes. I got there on Nick’s heels.”

“And prior to that you were with Liz Foxton all evening?”

“Yes.”

Greg caught the tension budding in Uri’s mind. “Pleasant evening, was it?”

Uri tried to smile. “God, that gland of yours is quite something, isn’t it?”

“So what happened?”

“We had a row. Early on, before supper. Stupid really.”

“What was it about?”

“Kitchener. His syntho habit. Except Liz didn’t think it was a habit. She said… Well, she kind of drinks up that dogma of his. Everything he says is right because he’s the one that says it. Me, I’m a bit more sceptical.” He grinned reflectively. “Kitchenen taught me that. And that evening, things got said that shouldn’t have been, you know how it is.”

“Do you and Liz quarrel often?”

“No. That’s what makes it worse when we do. And Liz was already wound up tight over Scotland. She can get a bit political at times, she had a rough ride in the PSP decade.”

“Didn’t we all,” Greg murmured under his breath. “Is that why there was a scene at supper between you and Kitchener?”

Uri laughed. “There’s a scene at every meal. God, he was an obstinate old sod.”

“And afterwards? You made up, you and Liz?”

“Yes. We’re in love.” He looked at Greg, trying to gauge the reaction he was getting. “Hopefully we’ll get engaged. I was going to do it during the summer, I thought it would be a nice way to leave Launde.”

“OK, back to Thursday. What happened after supper?”

“Nick and Isabel came up to my room, and we sat around talking and watching the newscasts. They left around midnight.”

“When did you wash?”

Uri’s forehead formed narrow creases as he frowned. “Just before we went to bed. Liz and I had a shower. It was hot that night.”

“What time did you go to bed?”

“About half twelve.”

Greg couldn’t help a small smile. “And what time did you go to sleep?”

“Just after one. Liz was still watching the newscasts, though. I don’t know what time she fell asleep. But we were both awake at three again.”