Mariana glanced at Zoe to see how she was taking it. It was hard to tell. Zoe was clearly tense, and staring at the stone floor with a look of embarrassment.

‘I hope that clears it up,’ Fosca said. ‘What’s important now is we help the police catch whoever did this. I have suggested they investigate Conrad Ellis, that man Tara was involved with. By all accounts, he’s a nasty piece of work.’

Zoe didn’t reply. Fosca stared at her.

‘Zoe? Are we okay? God knows we have enough to deal with right now – without you suspecting me of something like this.’

Zoe looked up and stared at him. She slowly nodded.

‘We’re fine,’ she said.

‘Good.’ But he didn’t look entirely satisfied. ‘I have to go. I’ll see you later. Look after yourself, okay?’

Fosca glanced at Mariana for the first time, acknowledging her with a brief nod. Then he turned and walked away, vanishing behind a column.

There was a pause. Zoe turned to Mariana. She looked apprehensive.

‘Well?’ she said, with a slight sigh. ‘What now?’

Mariana thought for a second. ‘I’m going to talk to Conrad.’

‘But how? You heard the Inspector.’

Mariana didn’t reply. She caught sight of Julian Ashcroft leaving the dean’s office. She watched him walk across the courtyard.

She nodded to herself. ‘I have an idea,’ she said.

16

Later that afternoon, Mariana managed to see Conrad Ellis at the police station.

‘Hello, Conrad,’ she said. ‘I’m Mariana.’

Conrad had been arrested immediately following his interview with Chief Inspector Sangha – the police were confident he was their man, despite a lack of evidence, circumstantial or otherwise.

Tara was last seen alive at eight o’clock by the head porter, Mr Morris, who saw her leave college by the main gate. And Conrad said he was waiting for Tara at his flat, but she never turned up – although there was only Conrad’s word for this; he had no alibi for the entire evening.

No murder weapon was discovered at his flat, despite a thorough search. And his clothes and other belongings were taken away for forensic testing, in the hope they would provide something to link Conrad to the murder.

To Mariana’s surprise, Julian readily agreed to help her see him.

‘I can get you in on my pass,’ Julian said. ‘I need to do the psych evaluation anyway, and you can observe, if you want.’ Then he winked at her. ‘As long as Sangha doesn’t catch us.’

‘Thanks. I owe you one.’

Julian seemed to enjoy the subterfuge. They entered the police station, and he winked at her as he requested Conrad Ellis be brought up from the cells.

A few minutes later, they were sitting with Conrad in the interview room. It was a cold room, windowless, airless. It was unpleasant to be in – but presumably that was the point.

‘Conrad, I’m a psychotherapist,’ said Mariana. ‘I’m also Zoe’s aunt. You know Zoe, don’t you? At St Christopher’s?’

Conrad looked confused for a second; then there was a dim light in his eyes and he nodded absently. ‘Zoe – Tara’s mate?’

‘That’s right. She wants you to know how sorry she is – about Tara.’

‘She’s alright, Zoe … I like her. She’s not like the others.’

‘The others?’

‘Tara’s mates.’ Conrad pulled a face. ‘I call them the witches.’

‘Really? You don’t like her friends?’

‘It’s me they don’t like.’

‘Why is that?’

Conrad shrugged. Blank, expressionless. Mariana had been hoping to get some kind of emotional response from him, something that would help her read him better – but none came. She was reminded of her patient Henry – he had that same clouded look, from years of relentless alcohol and drug abuse.

Conrad’s appearance went against him – that was part of the problem. He was lumbering, huge, heavily tattooed. And yet Zoe was right; there was a niceness to him, a gentleness. When he spoke, his speech was slow and confused; he didn’t seem quite clear about what was happening to him.

‘I don’t understand – why do they think I hurt her? I didn’t hurt her. I love – loved her.’

Mariana glanced at Julian to see his reaction. He didn’t look remotely moved. He proceeded to ask Conrad all kinds of intrusive questions about his life and his upbringing – the longer it went on, the more torturous the interview became, the blacker things looked for Conrad.

And all the more Mariana felt he was innocent. He wasn’t lying; this man was heartbroken. At one point, exhausted by Julian’s questioning, he broke down, held his head in his hands – and quietly wept.

At the end of the interview, Mariana spoke again.

‘Do you know Professor Fosca?’ she asked. ‘Tara’s tutor?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And how did you know him? Through Tara?’

He nodded. ‘I scored for him a few times.’

Mariana blinked. She glanced at Julian. ‘You mean drugs?’

‘What kind?’ asked Julian.

He shrugged. ‘Depends what he wanted.’

‘So you saw him regularly? Professor Fosca?’

Another shrug. ‘Often enough.’

‘What did you make of his relationship with Tara? Did it seem in any way strange to you?’

‘Well,’ Conrad said with a shrug, ‘I mean, he fancied her, didn’t he?’

Mariana exchanged a glance with Julian.

‘Did he?’

Mariana was going to press him further, but Julian abruptly ended the interview. He said he had enough to make his report.

‘I hope you found that informative,’ said Julian as they left the station. ‘Quite a performance, don’t you think?’

Mariana looked at him with astonishment. ‘He didn’t fake that. He’s not capable of faking it.’

‘Trust me, Mariana, the tears are all an act. Or else it’s self-pity. I’ve seen it all before. When you’ve been doing this as long as I have, you realise every case is depressingly similar.’

She looked at him. ‘You don’t think it’s concerning – that he sold Professor Fosca drugs?’

Julian dismissed it with a shrug. ‘Buying a little weed every now and then doesn’t make him a murderer.’

‘And what about Conrad saying Fosca fancied her?’

‘What if he did? By all accounts, she was gorgeous. You knew her, didn’t you? What was she doing with that moron?’

Mariana shook her head sadly. ‘I imagine Conrad was simply a means to an end.’

‘Drugs?’

Mariana sighed and nodded.

Julian glanced at her. ‘Come on. I’ll drive you back – unless you fancy a drink?’

‘I can’t, I have to get back to college. They’re holding a special service for Tara at six.’

‘Well, one evening, I hope?’ He winked. ‘You owe me, remember? Tomorrow?’

‘I won’t be here, I’m afraid – I’m leaving tomorrow.’

‘Okay, we’ll work something out. I can hunt you down in London if necessary.’

Julian laughed – but not, Mariana noticed, with his eyes. They remained cold, hard, unkind. There was something about the way he looked at her that made Mariana feel distinctly uncomfortable.

She was rather relieved when they got back to St Christopher’s, and she could make her escape.

17

At six o’clock, a special service for Tara was held in the chapel.

The college chapel had been constructed in 1612 from stone and timber. There was an ebony marble floor; stained-glass windows in vibrant blues and reds and greens, illustrating incidents from the life of St Christopher; and a high moulded ceiling decorated with heraldic shields and Latin mottos painted in gold.

The pews were packed with fellows and students. Mariana and Zoe sat near the front. Tara’s parents were sitting with the dean and the master.

Tara’s parents, Lord and Lady Hampton, had flown down from Scotland to identify the body. Mariana imagined how their minds must have tortured them all the way from their remote country estate; the long drive to Edinburgh Airport, then the flight to Stansted, giving them time to think – hope and fear and worry – before a final trip to the mortuary in Cambridge cruelly resolved their suspense: reuniting them with their daughter – and showing them what had happened to her.

Lord and Lady Hampton sat rigidly; their faces were white, contorted – frozen. Mariana watched them with fascination – she remembered that feeling: like being plunged into a freezer, icy cold, numb with shock. It didn’t last long – and it was a blessed state compared with what came next, when the frost melted and the shock wore off, and they began to experience the enormity of their loss.

Mariana saw Professor Fosca appear in the chapel. He walked down the aisle, followed by a group of six distinctive young women – distinctive because they were all extremely beautiful and because they were all dressed in long white dresses. They walked with an air of self-assurance, and also self-consciousness, aware they were being watched. The other students stared as they passed.

Were these Tara’s friends, Mariana wondered, who Conrad disliked so much? The ‘witches’?