that one, but it's not great art.'
'The inspector's into painting,' Dave told her. 'Went to art college.
He does all our wanted posters.'
'Really?' she replied.
'He jests,' I told her. 'So what exactly is an ascaris what sit 'It's a nasty little parasite that lives in pigs and occasionally in humans.'
'You mean, like a tapeworm?'
'Very similar, but they only grow to about a foot in length.'
'Only a foot!' Dave exclaimed. 'Blimey! So how long does a tapeworm grow?'
'Oh, the common tapeworm can reach twenty feet,' she told him.
'Urgh!' he responded. 'I'll never have another bacon sandwich.'
Mrs. Holmes poured the tea and suggested we help ourselves to milk and sugar. 'Now, what is it you want to know about Essex University in the early seventies?' she asked. 'I'm totally fascinated.'
She was a good-looking woman, easier to imagine addressing a class or opening a fete than looking through a microscope. I sat down and took a sip of tea from the china cup. She'd also supplied scones which looked homemade and more in character with her appearance.
'Do you work from home?' I asked.
'Yes,' she replied. 'My husband left me two years ago, as soon as the children were off our hands. Traded me in for a younger model; and more streamlined.' She patted her hips, which looked perfectly reasonable to me. 'I'd always been an illustrator, which was considered something of a cop-out for someone with a degree, but now there's a bigger than ever demand for my services. I do lots of computer animation, too, of course, but a good animator can name her own price, almost.'
It explained a lot. The house was a four-bed roomed detached on a swish estate just down-river from the bishop's palace. We knew she'd lived there for nine years, so it must have been the marital home, but she'd managed to keep it. Working alone, in her studio, explained the hospitality, which was above that we normally received. Two handsome detectives were visiting and she probably hadn't spoken to anyone livelier than a checkout girl all week. Get out the decent cups and some buns.
'So,' she said, 'what's this all about?'
I reached for a plate and a scone and settled back in my easy chair, gesturing towards Dave. 'DC Sparkington will tell you,' I said, adding: 'The scones look good.'
'They're from Betty's,' she told me.
'And I thought they looked homemade,' I replied.
'No. I'm afraid I'm the world's worst cook.' Ah, well, I can't be right all the time.
Dave took a drink of tea and placed the cup and saucer back on the low table that was between us. 'You went to the Cathedral Grammar School at Beverley, I believe, Mrs. Holmes?'
'Yes, that's right.' She leaned forward, interested, and interlinked her fingers around her knee.
'And from there?'
'From there I went to Essex University for four years, as you know.'
'Reading…'
'Biology.'
'Was anyone else from Beverley accepted for Essex?' Dave asked. I had to smile. A week ago he'd have said: 'What were you taking?' and:
'Did anyone else go to Essex?'
'Yes, there was one other girl,' she replied.
'Called…' Dave prompted.
'Melissa. Melissa Youngman.'
'How well did you know her?'
'Quite well. We weren't friends, but we were in the same classes at Beverley for seven years, plus a year at Essex.'
'Were you on the same course?' Dave asked, puzzled.
'No. Melissa read palaeontology, but some of our courses were combined for the first year. And we shared a house.'
'You shared a house? How did that come about?'
'Melissa's parents bought a little semi for her, and I had a room in it. It was normal for freshers to stay in a hall of residence, so we had to have a special dispensation, but it only lasted a year. I moved out and Melissa moved on.'
'Where to?'
'Melissa? I don't know.'
'Tell me about her,' Dave invited.
I put my empty plate back on the table and settled back to listen.
'Tell you about Melissa?' she queried.
'Yes please.'
Mrs. Holmes's face looked mystified for a few seconds, then broke into a smile of realisation. 'It's Melissa you want to know about, isn't it?' she demanded, unable to contain her delight. 'What has she done now?'
'Her name has cropped up in an investigation,' Dave told her. 'We don't know if she is involved but we'd be grateful for anything you can tell us about her.'
'About poor Melissa? Good grief.'
'Yes please.'
'Well, let me see…' Mrs. Holmes hadn't spoken to a soul for a fortnight, and now she was being given the invitation to gossip about her best schoolfriend, who she hated, by two people who were trained listeners with no intention of interrupting. It was a moment to savour. She gathered her thoughts, smoothed her flowered skirt and began.
Melissa was head girl, which we knew, and a brilliant scholar.
Annoyingly, she was also good at games, and not considered a swot by anyone. She had long hair, down to her waist, and her parents doted on her. They were always in the front row at speech days and school plays, applauding their daughter long after everyone else had stopped.
But something happened to her in that first week at university, and Mrs. Holmes didn't know what it was.
'All sorts of societies organised meetings and parties for the new students, partly to entertain us and break the ice, partly to recruit new members. We went to one, I remember, about the rain forests, which weren't quite the cause celebre in 1969 that they are now. Oh! The high life! Those were the days,' she laughed, and I noticed that she still had a girlishly happy face. Betrayal and disappointment hadn't left their mark. 'On the Friday,' she continued,' and this is still the first week Melissa announced that we were going to a lecture about a man called Aleister Crowley. Have you ever heard of him?'
Dave said: 'No,' and I left it at that, although I had.
'He was the self-styled wicked est man in the world, apparently, although it all sounded harmlessly bonkers to me. He was a witch, a warlock, I suppose, who climbed Everest without oxygen or warm clothing and performed other fiendish deeds like that. He probably did spells and things, but the Everest bit is all that I can remember. Melissa was fascinated. Or maybe it was the lecturer who captivated her. He was a bit of a dish, if you like that sort of thing, but far too smooth for me. Afterwards she trapped him in a corner and wouldn't let him go. I waited for ages, sipping a half of beer and wondering why people drank the stuff,' she laughed again, 'until Melissa came over and told me that it was all right, Nick would see her home later.'
'Nick?' I asked.
'Nick Kingston, the lecturer. Apparently he also taught psychology at the university, although we didn't know that at the time. So I walked home all by myself and Melissa stayed out all night. I was shocked, but that was only the beginning.'
'Why? What happened next?'
'I didn't see her until she came in, late Saturday afternoon. She' dhad all her hair chopped off and it looked a dreadful mess. I asked her why and she just said she was sick of it. The following week she had it dyed and she had
