anorak and carrying a battered leather briefcase. Making awkward small talk, Jenny followed him through cold, deserted corridors to his office: a tiny, cluttered room on the second floor overlooking the street. Clearing her a chair, he apologized for the temperature - economies meant that the heating was turned off on Sundays. They sat on either side of the desk in their coats. Jenny could barely feel her toes.
Agitated, Brightman pushed his thick glasses up his nose. 'Do you mind if I ask what manner of conversation this is, Mrs Cooper? My employers would normally expect me to inform them if I were being questioned by the authorities.'
'You're not under any suspicion, Professor. You can tell them anything you wish.'
He tapped his fingers anxiously on the desk. 'I'd rather this remained between us for now, if you don't mind. Obviously, if you need me to make an official statement—'
'Let's take it a step at a time, shall we? What brings me here today is a more recent student of yours - Anna Rose Crosby.'
'I remember her. You're not going to tell me — '
'No. All we know is that she's missing. The only reason I'm interested in her is because she works in the nuclear industry, and, as I told you, Mrs Jamal's body shows signs of radioactive contamination.'
Brightman frowned, perplexed. 'Caesium 137? You're sure?'
'The Health Protection Agency confirmed it. One hundred and ten milliSieverts.'
He shook his head in bewilderment. 'How on earth? Why?'
'I've no idea. But with Anna Rose having been missing for ten days, her connection with this department makes this an obvious line of inquiry, I'm sure you'll agree.'
'I hardly knew her, not personally - I only supervise postgrads these days - but she was a perfectly ordinary student as far as I know. Caesium 137 ... ? We don't have anything like that here. I don't know if you know how — '
'I've got some idea. It's not the sort of thing you'd find lying around a university. Am I right?'
'Correct. Minute quantities for specific experiments, maybe, but very tightly controlled. There's not been any here.'
'Anna Rose Crosby was on the graduate-training programme at Maybury. Does that surprise you?'
'Not particularly. She was an average student from what I recall.'
'I meant more from the point of view of her character.'
'Really, I couldn't comment. Dr Levin would have more of an opinion.'
'I tried, but she's not inclined to help.'
'Oh,' Brightman said guardedly. 'You've already spoken to her?'
'Anna Rose Crosby's mother says that Dr Levin helped her daughter get the job. She formed the impression she used her influence.'
'I suppose she may have contacts. We do have the occasional industry presentation for the students.'
'You seem uncertain.'
'No . . . I'm just thinking about what you said. Dr Levin is still quite junior in the department. I can't see that she would have much influence to exert. And it's not really how we do things here.'
Jenny studied his face. He seemed genuinely confounded and troubled at the direction her questions were taking. He didn't strike her as a man who would lie convincingly. He was a scatty academic, unworldly to the bone. There were stains on his anorak, and signs of frequent shaving injuries on his neck. She could imagine him misreading people, failing to notice all manner of things happening right under his nose, but she couldn't see him orchestrating anything underhand.
'Anna Rose's parents think she may have had an Asian boyfriend last year. Salim someone. Ring any bells?'
He shook his head. 'Sorry. As I explained, I'm really not the person to ask.'
'Perhaps you could check with one of your colleagues who might have been closer to her, Dr Levin, even.'
'Yes . . . Yes, of course,' he said distractedly, his mind clearly racing ahead to the possible scandals that might engulf him.
Jenny hesitated, feeling sympathy for him. He seemed helpless; plainly he wasn't a political creature. She could imagine junior colleagues eagerly manoeuvring to lever him out of his untidy office at the slightest suggestion of mismanagement.
She struck a softer tone, moved by an urge to make him less anxious. 'Could I ask you something purely in your professional capacity?'
'Of course.'
'All I know about caesium 137 so far is that it's dangerous, that it's a by-product of the nuclear industry and there's a lot of it near Chernobyl. What could it be used for, exactly?'
'You're right to mention Russia,' he said, in rapid, animated staccato. 'That's where most of the illegally held substance is suspected of having originated - impoverished Soviet scientists making a few dollars in the early nineties. Yes, from what I've read in the popular press it's the material of choice for a dirty bomb. A small amount at the heart of a conventional device would scatter over a city on the wind, rendering it uninhabitable for decades. Dreadful.'
'I see.' A clearer picture began to form in her distinctly unscientific mind. She'd had a vague idea that it might be used for poisoning, or even in a localized bomb, but had never conceived of a target as vast as an entire city.
They looked at each other across the unruly stacks of books and papers, and for the first time Jenny understood the true depths of his concern.
'Do you have any idea how Mrs Jamal came to be contaminated?' he asked. 'I can't think of anything more worrying for the anti-terrorist people.'
'No,' Jenny said. 'But a man was sighted at the scene. Tall, white, slim, around fifty years old. He bears some resemblance to a figure seen leaving the hall of residence where Nazim Jamal was living on the night he disappeared.'
Brightman gazed into space. 'I remember the police mentioning someone like that at the time. One of the students claimed to have seen him.'
'Her name's Dani James. She gave evidence at the opening of my inquest last week. She also claims to have slept with Nazim during the week before.'
'I saw a press report. . .' His voice trailed off as he tried to make sense of these disjointed fragments.
Jenny said, 'There's a hint that Nazim might have been seeing another girl at the end of his first term; someone well spoken. I don't suppose you're able to say if that was Dr Levin?'
Brightman swivelled his eyes towards her. 'I beg your pardon?'
'I just wondered if she and Nazim had been an item?'
'What gives you reason to ask that?' His pupils, dilated with surprise, were grossly magnified by his thick glasses.
Jenny said, 'His mother accidentally took a phone call from a girl. It's a long shot, but whoever she is might still know something about him we don't.'
Brightman swallowed uncomfortably.
She'd hit on something, she could tell.
'As a matter of fact I did once see them together,' he said. He cleared his throat. 'The reason I remember is that I was asked this question once before - in late 2002 it must have been - by Mrs Jamal's solicitor, I think it was.'
Jenny's heart started to race. 'Alec McAvoy?'
Brightman frowned. 'Yes - Scottish.'
'He asked you if you thought Nazim and Sarah Levin had had a relationship?'
'He did,' he said, guiltily. 'And all I could remember was the one incident. It was in the lab along this corridor. One gets used to it among students . . .'
Jenny could barely speak. 'What did you tell McAvoy?'
'That I walked in on them. They stepped apart as if they'd been kissing. I remember they both looked rather flustered.'
