Pryce came through. ‘I’ve told Catskill we don’t need him anymore. I thought you were going back to the college?’ Jo rubbed her cold hands together, and explained she was being sidelined in favour of the boys’ club. ‘It’s just you, Stratton, Carrick and Dimitriou. Think of it like a four-ball.’
Pryce looked bewildered. ‘I don’t think DI Carrick plays golf,’ he replied.
‘It was a joke,’ said Jo. ‘To break the tension and prevent me killing someone.’
She stood up, grabbed her coat, and left. Andy Carrick had texted with a single word, ‘Sorry’, and an unhappy emoticon. She appreciated the gesture and wrote back ‘No hard feelings,’ with a face gritting its teeth in rage. If the last six months had taught her anything, it was that life was too short. She hoped they found Malin quickly, in good health.
Security lights illuminated the car park as she trailed over to her navy Peugeot. It was a dry day, but there was a thin layer of ice on the inside of the windscreen. She got in, started the engine and cranked the heaters. As she grabbed the de-icer, she wondered about getting a new car. Her brother had kindly offered her some money from the sale of the family house, if it ever happened, and her promotion had more than covered the costs of the fertility treatment back in the clinic in Bath. Compared to sixth months ago, in the aftermath of the break-up with Ben, she was comparatively well-off. At the moment, she was still paying for a one-bed flat in Oxford, though spending almost every night at Lucas’s. She’d been meaning to talk with him about it, about moving in properly, but it seemed to be just the opening of a much bigger conversation they needed to have about the future. About family, particularly. When she thought about it, it brought her out in a sweat. Somehow Dr Forster had coaxed it all out of her, like the forensic interviewer she was in just their second session. Lucas was twenty-eight, and there was really no reason at all he should be thinking about kids, but Jo didn’t have that luxury. She’d wasted her best years with Ben, only to be betrayed, and now – just shy of thirty-nine – she felt time slipping between her fingers at accelerated speed. The eggs she’d frozen with the Bright Futures clinic in the autumn would practically keep forever, but she was under no illusions that her chances of being a mother were anything but shrinking. If Lucas wasn’t ‘The One’ – and how she hated that term – then she had to make some difficult decisions soon. Maybe tonight was the night to do it.
She cleared the ice, reversed carefully and drove out onto St Aldates.
There was a Korean place on the route back to Lucas’s flat that they both liked, and she pulled up outside. She ordered a Bulgogi for herself, and veggie Bibimbap for him, and was waiting for the food to come when her phone rang.
‘Hello?’
‘Detective Masters, it’s Anna Mull, Malin’s friend. Have you found her?’
‘Not yet,’ said Jo. Anna didn’t answer but let out a sigh, so Jo asked, ‘Is there something else you want to tell me?’
‘I don’t know if I should say anything,’ said Anna.
‘Then you probably should,’ said Jo. ‘Even if it doesn’t seem important, it might assist us.’
‘You asked me earlier, about enemies …’ Anna was speaking quietly, and Jo wondered if she was with someone else.
‘And you said not,’ Jo replied.
‘Something happened,’ she said. ‘Last term. I don’t know if it’s important … ’
She’s really nervous.
‘Why don’t you tell me, and we’ll see.’
‘There’s a tutor here – Professor Ronald Myers. Malin made a complaint about him … being inappropriate. Anyway, he’s retired now. I just thought you should know. It’s probably nothing.’
‘You mean sexually inappropriate?’
‘He tried to kiss her,’ said Anna. ‘She told him she wasn’t interested.’
‘And Myers teaches at Oriel?’
‘Not anymore,’ said Anna. ‘He left in the summer.’
‘How old is he?’
‘I don’t know. Sixties, I suppose. I didn’t want to say before – it’s seems quite unlikely …’
Jo’s heart quickened, her chest fluttering. ‘Do you know where we can find Myers now?’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t,’ said Anna. ‘Ms Frampton-Keys will be able to tell you. I’d rather you didn’t mention me, though.’
‘No, of course not. Thanks, Anna. Oh, one more thing. We spoke to Ross, and he told us that Malin thought she was being followed recently. Did she ever mention anything like that to you?’
A pause. ‘I’m sorry – I don’t think she did.’
‘It’s something you’d remember, presumably?’
‘Well, yes. I can’t imagine why she’d keep anything like that from me.’
‘Okay – thanks for your time.’
Jo waited by the counter. Maybe she wasn’t being followed at all, and it genuinely was paranoia. It did seem strange that she’d only made the claim to Ross Catskill. Unless he’s lying, to throw us off …
Jo thought about ringing Frampton-Keys for Myers’ address, but thought better of it. She’d shown where her loyalties lay already, and would probably call Professor Myers right after getting off the phone. The college office might help, but the same issue applied. She called Heidi instead, and asked casually for an address check without mentioning the case it related to. In half a minute, she had it.
‘Thanks, Heidi.’
With the Korean food losing heat and filling the car with its scent, Jo turned around and drove to the address in the north east of the city. Her toes still stubbornly refused to warm up. Ronald Myers’ place was a quaint cottage in Marston that opened right onto the narrow pavement. Jo drove past once and, seeing lights on, parked around the corner. She walked between the pools of light from the streetlamps, her breath clouding on the air. She used the heavy brass knocker.
As he opened the door onto a narrow and cosy hallway, Jo’s first impression was that Myers wasn’t all that old. A swarthy black beard covered his lower face; he looked more like a sea captain than a tutor of history. The thick and slightly shapeless jumper he wore only added to that impression, and his broad forearms stuck out through the bottom of the shrunken sleeves. His nails, on his squared fingertips, were thick and yellowing.
Jo introduced herself. ‘We’re investigating the disappearance of a former student of yours – Malin Sigurdsson.’
Myers’ brows contracted around a deep vertical cleft. ‘Has something happened to her?’
‘Maybe I could come in?’ said Jo.
Myers moved aside. ‘Go on through,’ he said.
Jo squeezed past and found herself in a cosy lounge, lined on two sides by floor-to-ceiling shelves of books. A wood-burning stove was blazing and she was too hot at once. On a small table was a set of car keys with a branded Morris Garages keyring.
‘Can I get you anything?’ asked Myers, with his back to her. He crouched, opened the stove and placed on another log.
‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘I won’t take up much of your time. When did you last see Malin Sigurdsson?’
Myers straightened, turned to face her and spread his shovel-like hands. Jo wondered how he’d feel about giving fingerprints. ‘I haven’t seen her for weeks,’ he said. ‘Months. Not since I retired. Before the summer break.’
‘So you’ve had no contact since then?’