Fatal Witness (Detective Erika Foster #7) (64)

‘Were you contacted by a former student about these assaults? A woman called Vicky Clarke.’

Sheila seemed to think about this for a moment.

‘No, not that I remember.’

‘Okay, thank you. Just before we came into the building, we saw a man enter with Cilla Stone. Who was that?’

Sheila went back to her computer, and Erika saw that she’d pulled up the CCTV images from the front door.

‘That’s Colin McCabe.’

‘Does he have an office here?’

‘His office is up on the top floor. Fourth floor.’

‘What does he do here?’

‘He’s a senior lecturer in Classical Drama, and he’s on the school board. If you follow me I’ll buzz you through,’ she said.

When she let them through the door, Erika and Peterson started up a poky staircase. On each floor was a fire door with clear safety glass leading onto a corridor.

‘What a jobsworth,’ said Peterson, stopping at the second landing to catch his breath.

Erika stopped with him. ‘You see how she spoke to that young student whose essay was handed in a second past the deadline? Do you think she knew anything, or it was just her general demeanour to be obstructive?’

‘I dunno. Jobsworths don’t tend to care about the substance of what they do. They just tend to get a kick out of denying you information.’





42





Colin McCabe’s office was at the end of a long corridor with windows looking out onto the busy main road. They heard a murmur of voices coming from inside. Erika knocked on the door. The voices stopped and then Colin opened the door. He had the slightest stubble on his face, and carried with him a strong scent of aftershave. Something woody and expensive. They could see through into the office, where Cilla was perched on his desk. Her long thin legs encased in lime-green tights poking out from under the tartan cape made Erika think of those episodes of The Muppets, when Kermit the frog sat on a wall to play a guitar and sing a song.

‘Good afternoon, can I help you?’ he asked, smiling broadly at Erika and Peterson. They introduced themselves and held up their warrant cards.

‘We’re here about a former student, Vicky Clarke,’ said Erika.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Cilla, getting up off the desk. Her face was now gravely serious. ‘I was going to make myself available to you. As you know, Vicky came to stay with me.’

Colin opened the door wider.

‘Please, officers, do come in.’ They stepped into the office. It was a large room lined with bookcases. There was a dusty, worn herringbone wood floor, and a huge battered green leather sofa in front of an iron fireplace. A bay window next to the desk looked down on the garden.

‘Please, sit down,’ said Colin, indicating the large leather sofa. Erika saw on a cork board up on one of the walls, there were scores of Polaroid photos of the students, all of them staring dead-on at the camera, with an intense confidence. Their names were written underneath. She fleetingly wondered if any of the students visited this leather couch in the office.

‘I was expecting to have to contact you in Scotland,’ said Erika.

Cilla hesitated. ‘Yes… I wanted to come back down to London. To see if I could be a support to Vicky,’ she said, clutching one hand to her chest as she spoke, as if to emphasise just how much she cared. ‘And, as I said, to make myself available to the police.’

‘When did you arrive in London?’ asked Erika.

‘Late last night. We took a flight, shortly after Vicky.’

‘We?’

‘I was staying with Cilla, along with another colleague of ours, Ray,’ said Colin.

‘Where is Ray?’

‘He stayed in Scotland to look after my dog,’ said Cilla. ‘He teaches dance classes at Pineapple Studios in Central London.’

‘You said you came back to London to make yourself available to the police, but we haven’t heard from you,’ said Peterson.

‘I hope there’s no problem?’ said Colin. ‘Cilla, as far as she’s told me, was unaware that Vicky had run away from a crime scene. She could have stayed in Scotland, but chose to come back. That’s not illegal.’

‘Good heavens, I hope not!’ said Cilla. ‘If I’d known about Vicky, and what had happened, I’d have told her to go straight back to London. I thought she was escaping some disastrous love affair.’ She toyed nervously with a heavy silver pendant around her neck. Colin, in comparison, was very relaxed, standing with his arms uncrossed and hands on his hips.

‘Do you know why Vicky chose to travel all the way up to Scotland to your house?’ asked Erika.

‘No… And yes, we were close,’ said Cilla, still fiddling nervously with the pendant. ‘We’ve always kept in contact.’

‘Close friends?’

‘Yes. I don’t get close to many students, but Vicky is very special to me. I only recently moved up to Scotland, in the past year. I’ve asked her up to see me, or rather, I’d told her she was welcome at any time.’

‘Have you socialised regularly with Vicky since she graduated from GDA six years ago?’

‘Yes. We’ve seen each other at least once a month for dinner. I had a flat in Sydenham which I sold recently to buy my new place up in Scotland.’ She stopped fiddling with the pendant and looked up at Erika. ‘Hold on, you just said were you close?’ There was an awkward pause. Cilla looked between them. Colin’s brow furrowed.