Nine Elms (Kate Marshall #1)(68)

“You’re full of quotes.”

“I thought you were going to say I was full of shit!” said Myra with a laugh.

“Well, that too.” Kate smiled. She leaned over and gave Myra a hug.

“Keep your chin up. If that police officer had seen some weirdo in the bushes, he wouldn’t be waving.”

“They can’t afford to keep an officer out here twenty-four hours for long,” said Kate.

“I’ll make him a cup of tea and give him a slice of cake, keep his energy levels up.”

When Kate got back inside the house, her phone rang. She almost didn’t pick up because she didn’t recognize the number, but she was glad she did. It was Malcolm Murray.

“Hello, love, I’m sorry I haven’t been in contact,” he said.

“How is Sheila?” asked Kate. She explained how she’d arrived at the house just as the ambulance left.

“Well, it’s been terrible. It was touch-and-go for a couple of days, but then we had a real miracle. A donor became available, and she has a new kidney. It’s going to take her time to recuperate, but she’s off the awful dialysis.”

“That’s wonderful news,” said Kate, feeling that something was going right, and then she remembered what she’d driven up to Chew Magna to tell them.

“I’m sorry, Malcolm, but we hit a dead end.” Kate outlined everything that had happened and how the man had turned out to be Paul Adler, who had an alibi. Kate didn’t share her reservations about him—she thought it best to give Malcolm the facts. He was silent for a long time on the end of the phone.

“Well, thank you, love . . . We both appreciate everything you tried to do. I thought I’d lost them both, Caitlyn and Sheila . . . Maybe Caitlyn was only meant to be in our lives for a short time. The brightest stars burn out fast.”

Kate felt a deep sadness for Malcolm and Sheila, and she wished she could do more. She heard herself promise that she would keep looking into it.

She came off the phone hating that she’d promised too much.





36

On Monday morning, Kate and Tristan were in their office working on the slides and notes for her lecture that afternoon when there was a knock at the door. Laurence Barnes, the dean of the university, entered. He was in his late forties, with graying hair. He had replaced Professor Coombe-Davies, who had passed away the previous year, but he didn’t share the same affection with his staff. He was petty, and divisive, and liked to rule with fear.

“Kate, I need a word,” he said, slapping a copy of the News of the World down on her desk.

“I’ll go down and get the projector set up,” said Tristan, making to leave.

“No. You stay. This involves you both,” he snapped, pointing for Tristan to sit. “Have you seen this?”

He turned to a lurid double-page spread about Kate and her involvement in the Nine Elms copycat killer case.

“I read the Observer on weekends,” she said coolly.

“Did you watch the news?”

Kate’s confrontation with Janelle Morrison, the BBC local news reporter, had made the news over the weekend, and journalists had made the link between the Nine Elms Cannibal and the latest copycat murders.

“Yes.”

“You know, this really doesn’t reflect well on the faculty . . .” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a photocopy of Kate’s private investigator business card. He placed it in front of her. “And neither does this. You running a business from your office. You have your direct number and university email on this card.”

“Where did you get the card?” asked Kate.

“Detective Chief Inspector Varia Campbell, when she was put through to my office by mistake. She says she’s concerned that you are getting in the way of her police investigation.”

It felt like a punch to the gut that Varia had sold her out to her boss.

“She didn’t seem concerned last week when we spoke to her,” said Tristan. “We were able to give her information about the case.”

Laurence seemed to turn his attention to Tristan for the first time.

“We?”

“Er, we . . . ,” started Tristan, looking to Kate.

“Tristan is my assistant in work, and he has been assisting me privately in an unpaid role,” said Kate, scrambling to remember the terms of Tristan’s employment contract, hoping that she wasn’t landing him in it.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you a formal warning. And, Tristan, your probationary period will be reinstated and extended for another three months.”

Tristan opened his mouth to protest. He looked devastated.

“Tristan, would you excuse us for a moment?” She gave him a look, and he reluctantly left the office. Kate smiled at Laurence and went to the filing cabinet and retrieved a piece of paper. “Have you read the UCAS submissions report for the 2011–2012 academic year?” she asked.

“Of course. What’s that—”

“Then you’ll see that my Criminology and Psychology course has five hundred applicants for eighty places. You’ll also be aware that when those eighty places are filled, come August, a large percentage of those students who are rejected will be offered the courses in forensics and psychology, of which I also lecture. That’s a lot of bums on seats thanks to me. Now depending on who wins the next election, and it’s not looking good for the Labour Party, tuition fees could increase, and university places become a buyer’s market,” said Kate.