In Love And Murder, page 7
Bridget had phoned ahead before leaving Kidlington, and made an appointment to speak to the warden of the college, Lord Bancroft, a Queen’s Counsel and now a life peer in the House of Lords. A quick search on Wikipedia informed her that Lord Bancroft, CBE, QC, had led a distinguished career as a defence barrister before taking over the wardenship of Wadham.
She and Ffion signed in at the porters’ lodge where the staff were sorting through the day’s mail deliveries. Undergraduates were coming and going, checking their pigeon holes, congregating by the noticeboard and making plans for the evening, as yet blissfully unaware that one of their fellow students had been murdered.
It was the start of a new academic year and there was a palpable excitement in the air. Bridget remembered all too well her first few weeks at Merton College twenty years earlier – the thrill of being immersed in a world of centuries of learning, surrounded by dreaming spires and secluded quadrangles and cloisters, combined with the whirlwind of new friendships and social gatherings fuelled by copious alcohol consumption.
When news of Gina Hartman’s death got out it would shatter the Oxford dream for her friends and fellow students, leaving a scar that might never fully heal.
The porter accompanied Bridget and Ffion to the Warden’s Lodgings where they were met at the door by the housekeeper, a middle-aged woman who introduced herself as Mrs Watkins.
‘The Warden’s waiting for you just through here,’ said Mrs Watkins, leading them through to a room lined with bookshelves, overlooking a well-tended garden. The room had the musty, comforting smell of age. Against the wall, an antique grandfather clock ticked slowly, beating out the steady march of time in much the same way as it had done for centuries.
Lord Bancroft rose from his desk and came forward to greet them. Bridget estimated the warden to be in his early seventies. His face was round, and his hair white. Tall, upright, and broad-shouldered, he leaned forward to shake Bridget’s hand.
‘DI Hart, DC Hughes, please take a seat.’
He indicated a leather sofa and chairs arranged around a low table strewn with copies of The Times, The Telegraph and The Economist. ‘Can I offer you a cup of tea or coffee?’
‘We’re fine, thanks,’ said Bridget as she and Ffion sat down on the sofa.
Lord Bancroft took the armchair opposite. ‘So, how can I help you? You mentioned on the phone that this was a matter involving one of the college’s students. I do hope they are not in some kind of trouble?’
He spoke with a deep, confident voice, well-versed in public speaking. His pace was measured, his words carefully chosen.
Bridget had dealt with a few college heads in her time as a detective inspector – the Dean of Christ Church sprang to mind, as did the Warden of Merton College who she had encountered more recently – but she had found none of them to be as immediately likeable as Lord Bancroft who seemed genuinely concerned about the welfare of his students and keen to help. She detected none of the arrogance or self-interest she had noted in the other heads of college she had encountered. Instead he exuded a quiet dignity.
‘I’m very sorry to have to inform you,’ she said, ‘that one of your undergraduates was found dead this morning at a house in West Oxfordshire. Her name was Gina Hartman.’
‘Good God,’ said Bancroft. ‘Do you have any idea what happened?’
‘The details are unclear at this time,’ said Bridget, ‘but we are treating it as a murder.’
‘How absolutely dreadful,’ said Bancroft with obvious dismay. ‘The poor girl. What can you tell me at this stage?’
‘Well,’ said Bridget, ‘I can tell you that Miss Hartman was employed by the owner of the house as a waitress at a private party. Two of her friends were also working at the party.’
‘Were her friends also students at the college? Has anything happened to them?’
‘Yes, Miranda Gardiner and Poppy Radley are both students here but we have no reason to believe they’ve come to any harm. I would like to speak to them, if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course, of course.’ Lord Bancroft leaned his large head in one hand. He seemed to be considering his next words carefully. ‘This is all very tragic, and will need careful handling. The students will require counselling to come to terms with something like this. If at all possible, I would like to keep this out of the media until I’ve had a chance to make a formal announcement to students and staff myself.’
‘I think that would be the right course of action,’ agreed Bridget.
Lord Bancroft’s concern for his students’ wellbeing rather than the college’s reputation was making Bridget like this man more and more. Which only made it harder for her to break the next piece of news to him.
‘There’s something else you should know. We’re currently talking to a suspect with regard to Miss Hartman’s murder. I’m afraid to tell you that he’s one of your tutors, Dr Nathan Frost.’
‘Frost?’ Bancroft appeared shocked to the core by this latest news. He gripped the armrests of his chair tightly. ‘Was Dr Frost present at this party too?’
‘Yes, he was.’
‘I must say I find that mystifying. As far as I am aware, Dr Frost has no social life outside the college. He’s a virtual recluse, wedded to German literature. What on earth was he doing there?’
‘We’re keeping an open mind about that for the moment,’ said Bridget, recalling Frost’s various conspiracy theories. ‘I have to admit, it’s something of a mystery.’
‘Hmm,’ said Bancroft. He stared into the fireplace for a moment or two, deep in thought. Then he collected himself and turned back to Bridget with a brisk, business-like manner, acquired, no doubt, from his years as a barrister. ‘What about Miss Hartman’s parents? Have they been informed yet?’
Bridget turned to Ffion. ‘Any news on that?’
As always, Ffion had the facts at her fingertips. ‘They live in Manchester and local officers have spoken to them this morning. They’ll be bringing them to Oxford.’
‘Please assure them that the college will provide accommodation in one of our guest suites,’ said Bancroft. ‘For as long as necessary, of course.’
Bridget smiled her thanks. ‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’
‘It’s the least we can offer under the circumstances. Now, what can I do for you next? Would you like to speak to Gina’s two friends?’
‘We would, and we’d also like to talk to anyone who knew Gina well.’
Bancroft nodded. ‘Her tutor, perhaps. That would be Dr Ashley. I’ll take you to him now.’
*
While Ffion went off in search of Gina’s friends, Miranda and Poppy, Bridget accompanied the warden to Dr Ashley’s room across the quadrangle.
Lord Bancroft rapped smartly on the door and waited until it was opened by a good-looking young man with floppy brown hair and blue eyes. He seemed to Bridget to be too young to be a tutor – in his late twenties perhaps, or early thirties at most. If she’d passed him in the quadrangle she would have taken him for a graduate student. But then, what did she know? According to Chloe, she was already well into middle-age and completely past it, whatever “it” was exactly.
Dr Ashley wore a casual shirt, open at the neck, teamed with a pair of slim-fitting dark jeans. When the warden explained the reason for their visit, his face paled and his mouth fell open.
He gestured weakly into the room. ‘Please, come in.’
The warden took his leave and Bridget thanked him once again.
Dr Ashley removed a pile of books from a sofa which was probably where his students sat during their tutorials. ‘Take a seat, and please excuse the mess. I was just in the middle of marking a pile of essays.’ He sat down opposite her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. ‘Gina dead. My God. I can’t believe it. When did it happen?’
‘Some time last night.’
‘Do you have any idea who did it?’
‘We’re speaking to a suspect at the moment, but I can’t say more than that.’
‘Right, of course not. So, what can I do to help?’
The young tutor appeared devastated to hear about Gina’s death, and only too keen to assist. Bridget was struck again by the caring community that seemed to exist at Wadham.
‘Maybe you could start by telling me a bit about Gina,’ she said. ‘What was she like as a person?’
Dr Ashley sat back and gazed out of the window as if trying to picture his dead student. ‘Gina was very bright, very likeable. Outgoing, but not in a pushy way, and she had lots of friends. She came from a relatively modest background, I believe. I remember she made a very strong impression at her interview and continued to perform well throughout her university career. She was due to take her Finals next summer, and I think she would almost certainly have got a first-class degree.’ He shook his head and looked back at Bridget. His eyes were glistening. ‘Such a tragic waste of a young life.’
‘You teach Psychology, I understand,’ enquired Bridget.
Psychology, that’s right.’ Dr Ashley drew a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. He took a moment to recover his poise before continuing. ‘The study of the mind and human behaviour. Of course, everyone’s an armchair psychologist these days, but there’s a lot more to the subject than just Freud’s theories on sex. Gina was especially interested in human behaviour and social interactions between people. I think she would have liked to continue into post-graduate research, perhaps here or elsewhere.’
‘What about a boyfriend?’
The tutor smiled weakly. ‘Gina was a beautiful girl. I imagine that a lot of guys would have liked to be her boyfriend. But she never mentioned anyone in particular. Perhaps her friends would know more.’
‘Were you aware that she and two of her friends had part-time jobs working as waitresses at private house parties?’
Dr Ashley nodded cautiously. ‘Yes, she did mention something about that. I had my doubts about the suitability of such a job, but she assured me that she could take care of herself. In fact, she told me that she saw it as an opportunity.’
‘An opportunity? For what?’
‘Gina wrote articles for one of the student newspapers. I don’t know how serious she was about it, but she wanted to apply the skills she was learning in her degree course to the real world of human behaviour in all its complex forms. I think she saw these parties as a chance to mix with some influential people. Perhaps she hoped to expose some of the dirty secrets behind their public personas.’
‘Did she say how she was planning to do that?’
‘No, but I imagine she could have used her phone to take photos or videos.’
Bridget thought of the politician who had been at the party but who had left early that morning and wondered if Gina had had him in her sights. ‘Did she mention anyone in particular that she was hoping to expose?’
‘No. I never asked.’
There was one more question Bridget wanted to ask. ‘Can you tell me anything about Dr Nathan Frost?’
Dr Ashley looked bewildered. ‘Who? The German lecturer?’
‘Yes.’
‘I hardly know him. He keeps himself to himself.’
‘Did he have any kind of relationship with Gina?’
‘Dr Frost and Gina? Well, not to my knowledge.’
‘Okay, thank you,’ said Bridget, rising to her feet. She gave him her card. ‘If you think of anything else that might be relevant, please get in touch.’
‘I will,’ said Dr Ashley. He opened the door for her. ‘Good luck, Inspector. Please catch whoever did this. Gina was a good student and a lovely individual. She didn’t deserve to die like this.’
*
Ffion received no answer when she knocked on Poppy Radley’s door, and instead made her way in the direction of Miranda Gardiner’s room, following the directions that the porter had given her. She was glad that Bridget had decided to interview Gina Hartman’s tutor herself, leaving her to track down and talk to Gina’s two friends. She could use some time on her own to think over what had happened this morning.
Although Jake had sometimes mentioned the girlfriend he’d known since his university days and who was the reason he’d come to live and work in Oxford in the first place, he had never shown any desire to talk about her, and Ffion hadn’t been keen to press him for details. All he’d told her was that very soon after he came to live in Oxford, he discovered that she was cheating on him, and they’d split up. That had been months before Ffion had even met him, and she’d never expected to hear anything about this ex-girlfriend again, let alone come face to face with her. And on a murder investigation too.
Arriving at the house this morning and discovering that her new boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend was Mr Damon’s personal assistant had given her quite a shock. To be fair, Jake had seemed taken aback too. Only Brittany herself had handled the situation with any degree of aplomb, something which hadn’t the least bit endeared her to Ffion.
There was something about Brittany Grainger that Ffion instantly and instinctively mistrusted. Whether it was her bright self-confidence, her overt femininity, or her obvious delight at seeing Jake again, Ffion acknowledged that she’d experienced a strong visceral and emotional response, and the name of that emotion was jealousy. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.
Ffion hated not being in control of a situation. She didn’t enter into new relationships easily, and had deliberately kept Jake at a distance for several months before gradually softening towards him. First, she’d confided in him about her bisexuality. Then she’d offered him some encouragement, to see if he could win her over. Finally, she’d dropped the last of her defences and had given herself to him entirely. He was only the second man she’d ever slept with, and she hoped she wouldn’t live to regret it.
As she crossed the college quadrangle, her thoughts drifted inevitably to Jake’s unconventional looks: a little too tall for comfort, with arms and legs that seemed needlessly and pointlessly long; his gigantic feet; the wiry hair that sprouted from his head; and the beard that spread like ginger fur over his face. She had to suppress a smile. The guy was charming, and she’d fallen for him hard.
Then the image of Brittany Grainger appeared unbidden: Brittany, with her manicured nails, long blonde hair, short skirt and high heels. A snake seemed to uncurl in Ffion’s heart and a deep-seated fear gripped her. She would never allow that treacherous woman to steal Jake from her.
She located Miranda’s staircase and went in search of her room, pushing all thoughts of Jake and Brittany from her head as she climbed the steep stairs. She had a job to do, and needed to regain her usually unwavering focus. Hearing two female voices inside Miranda’s room, she rapped loudly on the door. The voices fell silent and the door opened to reveal a long-haired girl dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a college sweatshirt.
‘Miranda Gardiner?’ enquired Ffion.
‘Yes?’ The girl stared back at her. ‘What is it?’
‘I’m Detective Constable Ffion Hughes from Thames Valley Police.’ She flashed her warrant card. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Um, sure.’ Miranda stepped back so that Ffion could enter.
A second girl was in the room, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed. She wore black leggings and boots, with a bright yellow jumper. She and Miranda exchanged mystified glances.
‘Are you Poppy Radley?’ asked Ffion.
The girl on the bed nodded. ‘Yes. What’s going on?’
‘Can you both confirm that you worked as waitresses last night at a party in a house in West Oxfordshire?’
‘Yes,’ answered Miranda. ‘What’s this about?’
Ffion scrutinised the two girls’ faces for any indication that they already knew what had happened to Gina, but they both seemed genuinely puzzled by the arrival of a police detective. She softened her voice in an effort to take the sting out of what she was about to reveal.
‘I’m very sorry to have to tell you that Gina Hartman’s body was found this morning in one of the bedrooms at the house.’
‘What?’
‘No!’
The two girls’ shock seemed genuine enough. Miranda sank onto the bed next to Poppy, putting her arm around her, and pulling her close.
Tears sprang to Poppy’s eyes. ‘Oh my God. What happened to her?’ Her voice sounded small and scared.
‘That,’ said Ffion, ‘is what we intend to find out. But I can tell you that we’re treating the death as murder.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Poppy. ‘I can’t believe it.’
The tears that filled Poppy’s eyes began to run down her cheeks and Ffion gave her a moment to recover her composure.
‘I’d like to ask you both some questions about the party,’ she said. ‘Firstly, can you tell me how long you and Gina have worked for Mr Damon?’
‘We started last term,’ said Miranda. ‘Gina spotted an online ad for occasional work, and the pay was good, so we decided to give it a try. At first we weren’t sure what to expect, but Mr Damon seemed all right, and his assistant, Brittany, was really nice and friendly, so we decided it was safe enough to continue.’
Poppy nodded her agreement.
Ffion narrowed her eyes at the mention of the blonde PA. This wasn’t exactly what she’d been hoping to hear, but the two girls seemed sincere in their praise of the personal assistant extraordinaire. She really must try not to let her jealousy cloud her judgement in this investigation.
Poppy was still dabbing her eyes with a tissue but seemed to have recovered from her initial shock. ‘The set-up was a bit weird, though. All the guests wore masks. And the place was right out in the middle of nowhere, a huge house like something out of a film. And Tyler, the guy who picked us up and brought us back was a bit of a creep.’
‘Tyler drove you to the party last night?’
‘Yes,’ said Miranda.
‘At what time?’
‘About six.’
‘And what time did he bring you back?’
