‘My boss, Detective Chief Inspector Brock, whom you met, discussed this with your boss, Professor Haygill, very carefully this afternoon,’ Kathy smiled back, playing what she assumed to be her best card. ‘Professor Haygill was in complete agreement, in fact very insistent, that we speak to you. But if there’s any question you’d feel uncomfortable about answering, then please don’t.’
‘Oh, but then I’m being uncooperative, which is only a small step down from being a trouble-maker, no?’
Kathy struggled on, mentally striking off her list the questions she’d prepared on the Christmas e-mail saga. Yes, Dr Darr had been aware of Professor Springer’s attacks on Professor Haygill. Springer was a very foolish, irrational old man who had lost touch with the realities of life, quite beneath contempt, more to be pitied. No, he couldn’t recall the CAB-Tech team ever discussing Springer before the murder, why would they? He may have raised the matter with Professor Haygill at some stage, he wasn’t sure, but Professor Haygill had no wish to talk of such foolishness. At the time of Springer’s death he, along with all the other members of the team, was working here in the laboratories, naturally. And he had no theories to explain why anyone should want to kill the old man.
At the end of it, Kathy felt as tense as if she’d been stepping through a minefield, though Darr seemed rather pleased. ‘Have I satisfied you, Sergeant?’ he demanded, beaming.
‘I believe so. Do you know where I can find the other members of the team, Doctor?’
Darr’s good humour abruptly evaporated. ‘The others? But I have spoken for everyone. It will not be necessary for you to interview them. I cannot agree to it.’
‘Professor Haygill was quite specific, Dr Darr. We have to speak to everyone. You could talk to him if you want to check.’
After a tense little negotiation Darr relented. The two Iraqis were working in another lab on the floor below. The others he wasn’t sure about. As they made their way there they marvelled at the equipment they passed, ranks and batteries of gleaming machines stretching away in all directions, all looking new and well maintained. Greg Talbot compared it to the dismal state of the technology available at Shadwell Road police station.
‘Ah, but you’re not editing the book of life, Greg,’ Kathy said. ‘You’re just trying to stop it nicking cars.’
Talbot hadn’t recognised any of the photographs on the staff information sheets, but they had made an arrangement that he would pull out the purple handkerchief he carried and blow his nose if he thought he knew them when they were interviewed, and he confirmed that he’d never seen Darr before. When they found the two Iraqis the purple handkerchief remained in his pocket. They had none of the confidence and bluster of the senior researcher, and Kathy wondered what experiences they’d had with police in the past as each in turn answered her in low monosyllables, eyes on the floor. They also worshipped at the East London Mosque and denied having heard of Springer before his death.
They moved on, leaving the warmth of the CAB-Tech building and hurrying through the cold night to the extreme east end of the campus developments, where a series of serrated-roofed zigzag blocks along the waterfront provided dormitory accommodation.
‘They’re like monks,’ Kathy muttered as they followed the colonnade behind Block A towards Block C. ‘Haygill’s team. They’re all either single or they’ve left their families behind. They toil by day in the labs and retire at night to their cells to pray.’
The stairwells and corridors were spartan, clean and free of graffiti and the two police met no one, although from time to time they would hear the sounds of music or a TV behind a closed door, and smell cooking. The Lebanese computer expert answered their knock at room C-210 and Kathy knew as soon as she registered his face, and even before Greg Talbot started loudly blowing his nose, that he was the one.
Afterwards she tried to work out how she had been so certain. He had been warned of their coming, that was obvious, and no doubt Darr had been on the phone to all of them as soon as they’d left his lab. But it wasn’t that he had mentally composed himself for their arrival. It was something to do with the look and body tension beneath the composure, a mixture of fright and exhilaration and relief, as if he’d been preparing himself for much longer than the half hour Darr would have given him for this first bold stare into the eyes of his fate. It radiated from him and she felt it instantaneously, and knew, as soon as she met his eyes and smiled at him, that he knew she had picked it up.
Without a word he stepped back into the room to let them in. A monk’s cell it was, Kathy thought, with barely enough possessions to fill a small suitcase, and cold, as if to test his resolve and his faith.
‘Mr Khadra?’ Kathy asked, continuing to smile at him. ‘Mr Abu Khadra?’
He was an extremely attractive young man, she thought, lean and svelte like a colt, with delicate, sensitive features and large dark eyes. His hair was cut short, his ears tight against his skull emphasising the impression of intense alertness, and he was wearing a white T-shirt, black jeans and a pair of old trainers, once white but now worn and grey. Behind him, on a small wooden table, a book lay open.
He answered her questions with barely more words than the Iraqis had used, but with a calm that brought back to Kathy the word that the student Briony Kidd had used about Max Springer, ‘serene’.
He went to mosque in Shadwell Road, he said, and Kathy wasn’t in the least surprised. She was about to ask him if he’d ever met a Pakistani boy there, by the name of Ahmed Sharif, when her phone began to ring. She frowned with annoyance and turned away to answer it. It was Brock, sounding tense and short of time. She excused herself and went out into the deserted corridor.
‘Kathy, how far have you got?’
‘We’re on number four, the Lebanese.’
‘Anything?’
‘This one’s promising. Definitely a possible.’ She was conscious of her voice sounding loud in the empty corridor.
‘Nothing more concrete?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Well, we’ve got a problem. Just had a call from Haygill. Dr Darr’s been onto him, complaining that your questions are personal and intrusive and insulting to their faith, and now Haygill’s denying that he gave us permission to interview his staff individually. Says he’d meant for him to approve the questions first and to be present. Darr’s obviously put the wind up him, told him he’s got another Christmas e-mail situation on his hands, and he says he’ll get the University President to kick us off the campus if we don’t stop what we’re doing immediately and wait for him to come over to mediate.’
‘How long will that take?’
‘He’s at home in Enfield, in his pyjamas. Darr caught him just as he was going to bed, exhausted from his trip. He’s very agitated and wanted us to leave it until morning. When I refused he said I’d have to meet him at the university to negotiate with him, but I’m tied up with this bloody meeting for at least another half hour.’
‘What do I do?’
‘Leave.’
‘Can I take this one with me? I think…’
‘Definitely not. If Haygill gets too stroppy we’ll go back in with warrants, but for the moment we’ll do it his way. I promised him you two would get off the campus right away.’
Kathy returned to room C-210 where Abu Khadra and Greg Talbot were standing exactly where she had left them, in silence. She gave the Arab a big warm smile. ‘Well, that’ll be all, Mr Khadra. We’ll leave you in peace now.’
‘You’re going?’ He looked mystified.
‘Yes, we’re quite satisfied, thank you.’ Her eyes met his and she knew immediately that he didn’t believe it for a minute. ‘If I have forgotten anything, will you be staying here for the rest of the evening?’
He nodded, still mystified, and they left. When Greg started to say something outside in the corridor she put a finger to her lips and led him away. Not until they were well clear of the building did she explain what had happened.