A Matter of Trust (15 page)

Her bright hard eyes met Lisle's with a challenging stare, and Lisle nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

He glanced at the tall, silent blond man, who seemed to be thinking furiously, and wondered if he realised that he had an unlikely champion in the supermodel.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Markie Kendall had never been inside a
police
station before and she rather thought it might be the first time for Dr Callum Fielding as well. Lisle wanted to separate them for interview, but the supermodel was having none of it, and threatened him with a barrage of her father's solicitors if he wanted to make an issue of it.

So Lisle smiled wryly and showed them both into interview room three. At this point, he didn't want to antagonise possibly vital witnesses. Or unnecessarily alert his best suspect to date. He wondered if the psychology Don had realised yet that he'd been earmarked for that role.

He didn't look particularly worried, if he did.

As he took his seat, Callum was far more interested in his female companion than in what the police might be thinking, and he looked at Markie with a mixture of irony, sexual awareness and annoyance. Was she always this bossy and aggressive? And why did it attract him so? If he'd been asked, he'd have said that he liked his women more contemplative and thoughtful. She was definitely not his type, so why did she keep getting under his skin?

‘So, what can you tell me about the night Sir Vivian died?' Lisle began, once the tape was rolling, and they'd made themselves as comfortable as they could in the moulded plastic chairs. ‘Miss Kendall, we'll start with
you
shall we?'

Markie nodded, and began by telling them why she was in Oxford, and everything she could remember about the night of the party. Since her meeting with the victim had been relatively short, this didn't take long.

After getting a few things clarified, Lisle turned to his real target. ‘Dr Fielding. I understand you knew the victim well?' he began easily.

‘Yes. He was one of my tutors when I did my postgraduate course, and he was my mentor at St Bede's.'

‘So you were close?'

‘Yes.'

‘Did you expect to be left anything in his Will?' Lisle asked bluntly, and Markie stiffened in her chair. She knew she was here under sufferance, and that if she made a nuisance of herself, this Inspector Jarvis was more than capable of sending her out of the room, so she forced herself to be calm. Even so, she had to bite her lip to keep from asking exactly what the Inspector was implying, and her hands clenched into fists under the table.

Callum regarded the policeman across the table warily. ‘I wasn't expecting anything,' he said calmly. ‘Sir Vivian and his wife have children and grandchildren. I would imagine all his property and assets will be divided between them.'

Lisle nodded impassively.

‘Would
you consider yourself a wealthy man?'

‘Relatively, yes,' Callum said easily. ‘Let me make this easier for you, Inspector. I have nothing to gain from the death of Sir Vivian.'

‘And this prize, the Kendall Prize, it's worth a lot of money. Was Sir Vivian a serious threat to your chances of winning it? I understand that it means a lot to have your research funded for five years?' he carried on remorselessly.

‘Yes it does, and I can tell you that Sir Vivian wasn't even Short listed this time,' Markie couldn't resist interrupting this time. ‘As a Kendall, I was one of the few who knew who'd made the Short list. So you see, Sir Vivian posed no threat at all to Dr Fielding.'

Lisle smiled wryly. She was like a tigress defending her cub. Which was interesting. He glanced at the academic to see how the big man was taking it, but Callum's face was totally inscrutable. Lisle knew he wouldn't like to have to play poker with this man.

‘Have you've known Dr Fielding long?' he asked the beautiful woman mildly, and Markie felt herself go hot then cold at the knowing look in the policeman's eye. Damn! Was it so obvious that she was smitten by the blond giant? She hoped not. ‘Marcheta' never did the chasing. She was always the one who was chased.

Well. Until now, maybe.

‘We
met for the first time at the night of the party. This is only the second time we've had a chance to speak,' Markie corrected the Inspector stiffly.

Callum Fielding smiled at the surprised look on the policeman's face. ‘Were you thinking we were part of some kind of conspiracy, Inspector?' he asked dryly. ‘In which case, please let me assure you that we're not. And, as you can tell, we are far from close. In fact, the only reason I approached Miss Kendall today was in order to apologise to her.'

‘Oh? For what?'

Callum shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘We didn't exactly get off on the right foot at the party,' he said, hoping he could leave it there.

He couldn't, of course, and Callum had to explain why he'd been concerned that Markie Kendall might have found his attitude towards her a little cold and aloof. And Lisle's eyes sharpened when the psychology Don repeated the murder victim's words on the night he died.

‘Let me get this clear,' Lisle said, tensely leaning forward in his chair when he'd finished. ‘Professor Dalrymple intimated to you that he'd discovered a cheat and a fraud amongst the academic body within the university?'

‘That's what I took him to mean, yes,' Callum agreed cautiously. ‘But you must
understand
that he'd had a little too much to drink and that there wasn't time for him to actually elaborate. You can ask Dr Ngabe, she was there with us at the time.'

Lisle nodded. He would most definitely be doing that. Because, for the first time, he'd finally got the whiff of a proper motive—if what Fielding had to say was true.

And after all his years on the force, Lisle never took anybody's uncorroborated word for anything.

‘Would you say that an academic would be willing to kill to safeguard his or her professional reputation, Dr Fielding?' he asked bluntly. ‘I mean, you are a psychologist, yes?'

Callum sighed. ‘I'm not a practising psychiatrist, Inspector, and I don't have patients or give out therapy. I'm purely a research man. But I think I can safely say that most rational, mentally well-balanced people wouldn't react with such extreme violence,' he said carefully. ‘Of course, the stress of exposure would be enormous. In Oxford, your perceived intelligence and reputation are paramount. And if the person threatened was drunk, or panicked—I suppose the situation could have escalated out of control.'

Lisle nodded. A very careful answer, that. ‘And how is your mental well-being, Dr Fielding?' he asked casually.

‘That's enough!' Markie shot to her feet.
Now
the man was implying that Callum, of all people, was out of control. Which, she thought a shade hysterically, was almost funny. A more buttoned down, aloof, and aggravatingly controlled person, Markie had never met. It made her want to rip off his mask and see the naked face of the man underneath.

And rip off his clothes whilst she was at it.

‘We've told you all we know, and unless you intend to make an arrest, we're leaving,' she threatened. She shot Callum a frustrated look. Couldn't he see what the policeman was getting at? Why didn't he fight back?

Callum read her glance in an instant, and although his eyes flashed, his body language remained calm. In fact, he smiled across at the policeman wryly. ‘It's fine, Inspector. My mental health is just fine, thank you. And I didn't kill Vivian, and I'll do anything I can to help you in your efforts to find out who did. All you have to do is ask. Is there anything else you want to know?' he continued, ignoring the beautiful woman who was standing beside him, fulminating.

‘Not at the moment, Sir, thank you,' Lisle said, turning off the tape and showing them to the door. Once they'd left, he sat for a moment, thinking.

He had to smile. Dr Callum Fielding had a wildcat on his hands there, whether the man liked it or not. And, unless Lisle missed his guess, the St Bede's Fellow probably hadn't
made
up his mind if he was happy about that or not.

But the interview had raised some distinct possibilities.

Thoughtfully, he reached for the phone and rang St Bede's to find out the likely whereabouts of Dr Ngabe.

*           *           *

Outside the police station, Markie stormed up the road towards Christ Church College.

‘You do realise that man thinks you're a suspect, don't you?' she fumed to Callum, who was silent as he walked alongside her. ‘It's ridiculous. You're a well-respected academic!'

Callum smiled dryly. Several tourists moved off the pavement to give the big blond man room, and he smiled a vague thank-you at them as Markie power-walked her way through them obliviously. ‘I've a good mind to hire the most high-powered and obstructive solicitor I know, just to get on Inspector Jarvis's nerves.'

‘I'd rather you didn't,' Callum said mildly. Inwardly he was both amused by her passionate defence of him, and just a little alarmed. And excited too. Was he reading the signals wrong? Or was she actually being proprietorial towards him. And if she was . . . He felt a hot flash of sexual desire hit him, which in turn set off a warning in his
head.

‘Why not?' she stopped by the famous Carfax clock with its moving figures, and looked at him challengingly.

‘Because that's the person responsible for finding my friend's killer,' Callum said reasonably. ‘And I don't want him distracted. And I wouldn't have thought you would want that either. When the press get a hold of this, the name of the Kendall Prize is going to be associated with a murder, you do realise that?'

Markie stared at him aghast. ‘Oh no! That's terrible!' The first time her father asked her to be the family figurehead, and this had to happen!

‘We've got to find out who really did it,' she said, making Callum gape at her, dumbfounded.

‘Now hold on a minute,' he said sharply. ‘Just who do you think we are? Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson?'

Markie Kendall sighed. ‘Only if I get to be Sherlock,' she said, feeling subdued. He was right. It had been a foolish thing to say.

Callum shook his head.

‘But we can help somehow, can't we?' she persisted, her voice hopeful but small. ‘I mean, he was your friend. And this is your city,' she said, waving a hand around at the spectacular scenery. ‘You're an academic, you'll be able to find things out that the police probably won't. If Sir Vivian suspected someone of being a
cheat,
people will speak more freely to you than they will to that Inspector Jarvis!'

Callum smiled grimly. ‘Perhaps,' he agreed warily. And she was right, in a way. As soon as it became clear what the Inspector was implying by way of motive for Vivian's murder, the whole academic community would curl up on itself like a prickly hedgehog repelling intruders.

‘So, where do we start?' Markie asked, her eyes glowing.

‘We?' Callum said sharply. ‘What's this “we” business?'

‘It's my family Prize. It's up to me to defend the family name. Besides, whilst you might be the high-and-mighty brainbox of this outfit,' she grinned at him cheekily, ‘there might come a time in our investigations when you need a woman's touch.'

‘We're not investigating,' he said warningly. ‘We're just going to ask around, see if we can get a few hints, a lead or two, and then hand them over to Inspector Jarvis. Before he arrests me,' he added under his breath, but Markie heard him.

‘See! We need to stick together. And if they do cart you off to jail, I'll bake you a cake with a file in it.' And then she thought about her lack of prowess in the kitchen, and added, scrupulously honestly, ‘or rather, I'll hire a baker to bake one for you and I'll put the file in.'

Callum
Fielding burst into spontaneous laughter.

And it was, he realised with a sudden pang in his heart, the first time he'd done so in a long, long time.

*           *           *

Rosemary Naismith watched her lover packing, and tensed when he took down the specially shaped, nylon case that would house his bows.

But Jerry simply picked up his selection of crossbows and carefully stowed them away without a qualm. Slowly, she began to relax. He hadn't suspected a thing. She'd been very careful to make sure they didn't look disturbed from the last time he'd practised with them.

‘Right then, I'd better be off. The plane leaves at six,' he said with forced brightness.

Rosemary smiled briefly. ‘You'll call from the States when you arrive?'

Jerry didn't quite meet her eyes when he smiled back. ‘Sure,' he said.

He was lying, they both knew that.

Their affair had been brief but passionate, but it had run its course, and they both knew it. But for form's sake, and because it was easier, they were both willing to pretend that this wasn't the final break up.

After he'd gone, Rosemary let herself out of the house that Jerry had shared with three other students, and walked back towards
Truman
Hall. She felt restless and nervous. The newspaper reports about Sir Vivian Dalrymple's death were surprising, inaccurate. They still thought he was the victim of a random mugging, although they must know that wasn't the case by now. She could see why the police were keeping the details from them though, of course, but surely the story would break soon?

But she was confident there was nothing that would lead back to her. How could there be?

Nevertheless, she felt keyed up and unable to settle down. What she needed was a distraction.

With a sudden glint in her eye, she changed direction and headed towards St Bede's College instead.

*           *           *