‘It’s about Iphigenia being led to her death.’ Clarissa took a gulp of wine, and translated it. ‘“Behold the maiden … with garlands in her hair, and holy water sprinkled upon her … walking to the sacrificial altar of the unspeakable goddess – which will flow with blood” – “α?ματορρ?τοι?” is the word in Greek – “as her beautiful neck is severed.”’

Mariana felt sick. ‘Jesus Christ.’

‘Not very appetising, I grant you.’ Clarissa handed the postcard back to Mariana.

Mariana glanced at Zoe. ‘What do you think? Do you think Fosca might have sent it?’

‘Professor Fosca?’ said Clarissa, with a startled look, as Zoe studied the postcard. ‘You’re not suggesting – you don’t think that the professor—’

‘Fosca has a group of favourite students. Did you know that, Clarissa?’ Mariana glanced at Zoe for a second. ‘They meet privately – secretly. He calls them the Maidens.’

‘The Maidens?’ said Clarissa. ‘First I’ve heard of it. A play on the Apostles, perhaps?’

‘The Apostles?’

‘Tennyson’s secret literary society – where he met Hallam.’

Mariana stared at her. It took her a second to find her voice. She nodded. ‘Perhaps.’

‘Of course, the Apostles were all male. Presumably the membership of the Maidens is female?’

‘Exactly. And Tara and Veronica were both members. Don’t you think that’s a strange coincidence? Zoe? What do you think?’

Zoe looked uncomfortable. But she nodded, glancing at Clarissa. ‘To be honest, I think this is the kind of thing he’d do. Sending a postcard like this.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘The professor is old-fashioned like that – sending postcards, I mean. He often sends handwritten notes. And last term, he gave a lecture on the importance of the letter as an art form … I know that doesn’t prove anything.’

‘Doesn’t it?’ said Mariana. ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

Clarissa tapped the postcard. ‘What do you think this means? I don’t – I don’t understand what its purpose is.’

‘It means … it’s a game. Announcing his intention like this – it’s a challenge – and he’s enjoying it.’ She chose her words carefully. ‘And there’s something else … that he might not even be conscious of. There is a reason he chose these quotations; they mean something to him.’

‘In what sense?’

‘I don’t know.’ Mariana shook her head. ‘I don’t understand – and we need to understand. That’s the only way we’ll stop him.’

‘And by “him”, you mean Edward Fosca?’

‘Perhaps.’

Clarissa looked extremely disturbed by this. She shook her head, but didn’t comment further. Mariana silently contemplated the postcard in front of her.

Then their food arrived, and Clarissa tucked into her lunch, and Mariana turned her attention to Zoe, making sure she got a little food in her.

Edward Fosca was not mentioned again during the meal. But he remained in Mariana’s thoughts – hanging there, in the shadows, like a bat in her head.

9

After lunch, Mariana and Zoe went to the college bar for a drink.

The bar was distinctly quieter than usual. Only a handful of students were there, drinking. Mariana noticed Serena sitting by herself. She didn’t notice them.

Zoe ordered a couple of glasses of wine, while Mariana made her way to the end of the bar – where Serena was perched on a stool, finishing a gin and tonic, and texting on her phone.

‘Hello,’ said Mariana.

Serena looked up, and went back to her phone without responding.

‘How are you, Serena?’

No response. Mariana glanced at Zoe for help, and Zoe mimed drinking. Mariana nodded.

‘Can I get you another drink?’

Serena shook her head. ‘No. I have to go soon.’

Mariana smiled. ‘Your secret admirer?’

This was clearly the wrong thing to say. Serena turned on Mariana with surprising ferocity.

‘What the fuck is your problem?’

‘What?’

‘What have you got against Professor Fosca? It’s like you’re obsessed or something. What did you tell the police about him?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

But Mariana was secretly relieved that Chief Inspector Sangha had taken her seriously enough to question Fosca.

‘I didn’t accuse him of anything,’ she said. ‘I just suggested they ask him some questions.’

‘Well, they did. They asked him a lot. And me too. Happy now?’

‘What did you tell them?’

‘The truth. That I was with Professor Fosca when Veronica was killed on Wednesday night – I had a class with him all evening. Okay?’

‘And he didn’t leave? Not even to have a cigarette?’

‘Not even a cigarette.’

Serena gave Mariana a cold look, and was distracted by a text message on her phone. She read it and stood up.

‘I have to go.’

‘Wait.’ Mariana lowered her voice. ‘Serena. I want you to be very careful, okay?’

‘Oh, fuck off.’ Serena grabbed her bag and walked out.

Mariana sighed. Zoe sat onto Serena’s empty bar stool.

‘That didn’t go well.’

‘No.’ Mariana shook her head. ‘It didn’t.’

‘Now what?’

‘I don’t know.’

Zoe shrugged. ‘If Professor Fosca was with Serena when Veronica was killed, he couldn’t have done it.’

‘Unless Serena is lying.’

‘You really think she’d lie for him? Twice?’ Zoe gave her a dubious look and shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Mariana …’

‘What?’

Zoe evaded her gaze. She didn’t speak for a moment. ‘It’s the way you are about him – it’s weird.’

‘What do you mean, weird?’

‘The professor has an alibi for both murders – and you still won’t let it go. Is this about him – or you?’

‘Me?’ Mariana couldn’t believe her ears. She could feel her cheeks colouring with indignation. ‘What are you talking about?’

Zoe shook her head. ‘Forget it.’

‘If there’s something you want to say to me – just say it.’

‘There’s no point. I know the more I try and talk you out of this thing about Professor Fosca, the more you’ll dig your heels in. You’re so stubborn.’

‘I’m not stubborn.’

Zoe laughed. ‘Sebastian used to say you were the most stubborn person he ever met.’

‘He never said that to me.’

‘Well, he said it to me.’

‘I don’t understand what’s going on here, Zoe. I don’t understand what you’re trying to say. What thing with Fosca?’

‘You tell me.’

‘What? I’m not attracted to him – if that’s what you’re suggesting!’

She was aware her voice was raised; a couple of students across the bar heard her and looked over. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she and Zoe were teetering on the edge of an argument. Mariana was feeling irrationally angry. Why was that?

They stared at each other a moment.

Zoe backed down first. ‘Forget it,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I’m sorry. I’m talking crap.’

‘I’m sorry too.’

Zoe checked her watch. ‘I have to go. I’ve got a class on Paradise Lost.’

‘Go on, then.’

‘See you for dinner?’

‘Oh …’ Mariana hesitated. ‘I can’t. I – I’m seeing—’

She didn’t want to tell Zoe about her dinner plans with Professor Fosca – not now; Zoe would read all kinds of things into it that weren’t there.

‘I – I’m seeing a friend.’

‘Who?’

‘No one you know, an old college friend. You should go, you’ll be late.’

Zoe nodded. She gave Mariana a quick peck on the cheek. Mariana squeezed her arm. ‘Zoe. You be careful too. Alright?’

‘Don’t get into any cars with strange men, you mean?’

‘Don’t be silly. I mean it.’

‘I can take care of myself, Mariana. I’m not afraid.’

It was that note of bravado in Zoe’s voice that concerned Mariana the most.

10

After Zoe left, Mariana sat at the bar for a while, nursing the wine in her glass. She kept going over their conversation in her head.

What if Zoe was right? What if Fosca was innocent?

Fosca had an alibi for both murders, and yet, despite this, Mariana had woven a web of suspicion around him, simply by grabbing at a few strands of – what, exactly? Not even facts, nothing that concrete. Small things: that fearful look in Zoe’s eyes, the fact he taught Tara and Veronica Greek tragedy, and the fact Mariana was convinced Fosca had sent those postcards.

And her intuition told her that whoever sent the postcards to these girls also killed them. While that might seem an irrational leap, even delusional, to a man like Chief Inspector Sangha, for a therapist like Mariana, her intuition was often all she had to go on. Although it seemed incredible – that a professor at this university would murder his students, so horribly, so publicly, and hope to get away with it.

And yet … if she was right …

Then Fosca had got away with it.

But what if she was wrong?

Mariana needed to think clearly – but she couldn’t think. Her head was cloudy, and it wasn’t the wine. She was feeling overwhelmed, and increasingly unsure of herself. So what now? She had no idea what her next move should be.

Calm down, she thought. If I were working with a patient and feeling like this – so out of my depth – what would I do?

The answer came to her immediately. She would ask for help, of course. She would get some supervision.

That wasn’t a bad idea.

Seeing her supervisor could only help. And getting out of here – going to London, escaping this college and its poisonous atmosphere, if only for a few hours – it would be an immense relief.