‘I didn’t like Summers, as you have no doubt been told.’ Dunkley sat behind his desk, being interviewed. A handsome man; tall, thick fair hair to his shoulders, slightly balding in front. A still upright carriage. He was wearing army surplus clothing which he seemed to invest with its original military purpose. His office was lined with notices of meetings concerning aid to various refugee groups. Like most of his colleagues that Salter had seen, Dunkley was about forty.
‘I’ve heard as much. But no one has told me why.’
‘Because they don’t know. It has nothing to do with them. Or you, either.’
‘It might, you.know. You’ve been feuding for ten years, I hear. Might be reason enough to kill him.’
‘You are not paid to joke with suspects, are you, Inspector?’
‘Perhaps you could fill me in on what I am paid for, Professor?’
‘Persecution, mainly, of people who can’t defend themselves, as far as I can tell.’
‘Fascist pigs, are we?’
‘Could you come to the point?’
‘All right. Why were you feuding?’
‘There was no feud.’
‘Just you hating him and him hating you, for ten years.’
‘We disliked each other. Can we get on, please? I am extremely busy.’ The diction was precise, but underneath the vowels were flat.
‘You are Australian, Mr Dunkley?’
‘I was born in New Zealand. My family was German, originally. They changed their name from Dunkel in 1939 for patriotic reasons. I am married but separated from my wife, whom I still support. What else?’
‘It’s Summers I want to find out about. What did you have against him?’
‘I detested him. In my opinion, he should not have been teaching here?’
‘Why? Did he fuck the students?’
‘Probably. I was more concerned with his academic standards.’
‘Poor, were they, in your opinion?’
‘Non-existent.’
‘Bad teacher, was he?’
‘In my opinion.’
‘What about the students?’
‘Some of them enjoyed the kind of thing he did, no doubt.’
‘Did you ever see him teach?’
‘No.’
‘But you heard?’
‘Yes.’
‘From the students.’
‘Yes.’
‘They complained to you, did they?’
‘They rarely knew enough to complain, but from what I heard I knew what was going on.’
‘I see. Were his politics very different from yours?’
‘He had no politics. He was an opportunist in that area, too.’
‘I see. Well, well. He sounds pretty bad. Could we get back to the Friday night in Montreal? You got over your distaste for him enough to accept his hospitality. He bought you a dinner, I believe.’
‘Yes, he did. I don’t know where he got the money.’
‘Why did you accept his hospitality?’
‘He asked me in front of the others. They knew I had no plans. So I took the easy way out.’
‘For a change.’
‘What?’
‘You took the easier path for a change. In spite of your preference for the hard one.’
‘What are you talking about, Inspector?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Which was true. Salter had forgotten himself in his dislike for the man he was talking to. ‘So you went along,’ he continued. ‘When did Miss Tils leave the group?’
‘After dinner. About nine.’
‘Then what?’
‘Then Summers took -us to a striptease show.’
‘Then what?’
‘Summers went back to his hotel.’
‘Was he drunk?’
‘Sodden. At least I thought so at the time.’
‘What time did he leave you?’
‘About ten o’clock.’
‘Why do you say “you thought so”?’
‘I think he may have been play-acting.’
‘Why?’
‘I think he may have gone off to get a whore.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘He talked about it during the show.’
‘But you were just watching the show to keep him company?’
‘I saw it differently. Those girls were being paid to cater to the likes of Summers.’
‘Exploitation of minority group?’
‘Yes. As a matter of fact.’
‘What happened after Summers went home?’
‘We had another drink and walked about a bit. Then we went back ourselves. Carrier and I went to our room. I presume Usher did, too, although I can’t confirm that.’
‘That’s all right, Professor. I can. But this last drink. Where did you go for it?’
Now Dunkley’s face went darker. ‘Back to the bar,’ he said. ‘As you obviously know.’
‘I have to confirm everything, Professor. You tell me. The same show?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t talk behind my colleagues’ backs. Ask them.’
‘I have. They wanted to see some more tits. What was your idea? To organize a protest?’
Dunkley said nothing. Salter pressed on. ‘The striptease show didn’t have the same effect on you, Professor? There was no thought of you finding a girl?’
‘We went home to bed.’
‘What time was that?’
‘I couldn’t tell you. About half past ten.’
‘That’s a bit early, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t have to explain my sleeping habits to you, I think.’
‘It was your regular time, then, was it? Ten-thirty?’
‘Yes. And I had had a hard day.’
‘Right. You read a paper that day. Get a big audience?’
‘The room was half full.’
‘But none of your colleagues here came.’
‘None of my colleagues knew anything about my subject.’
‘Summers did, didn’t he? His field was the same as yours, wasn’t it?’
Dunkley was silent.
‘Wasn’t it?’
‘Summers didn’t have a field.’
‘I see. He thought he did, though, didn’t he? Wordsworth,