Friend of the Devil

coffee shops, cheap cafes and Indian restaurants, student f lats and bedsits. The college even got decent bands to play in its new auditorium, and there was talk of The Blue Lamps making an appearance there to kick off their next tour.

Austin’s office was on the first f loor, and when Winsome knocked, he opened the door for her himself. It was a cozy room with a high ornate ceiling and broad sash windows. In his bookcase were a lot of travel guides to various countries, some of them very old indeed, and on his wall was a poster of the Blue Mosque in Istanbul. Against one wall stood a battered old sofa with scuffed black leather upholstery. The only window looked over a f lagstone courtyard, where students sat at wooden tables between the trees eating sandwiches, talking and drinking coffee in the spring sunshine. It made Winsome yearn for her own student days.

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Austin was about fifty, with his gray hair worn fashionably long and tied in a ponytail at the back. He also had a deep tan, probably one of the perks of the business, Winsome thought. He wore a loose blue cable-knit jumper and faded jeans torn at the knees. He kept himself in shape, and was attractive in a lanky, rangy sort of way, with a strong jaw, straight nose and large Adam’s apple. Winsome noticed that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. He pulled out a chair for her and sat behind his small, untidy desk.

Winsome first thanked Austin for agreeing to talk to her so early in the morning.

“That’s all right,” he said. “My first class is at ten o’clock, and I’m afraid my Wednesdays just get worse after that.” His smile was engag-ing, and his teeth seemed well cared for. “It’s about Hayley Daniels, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

A frown creased his broad forehead. “It’s a terrible tragedy. Such a bright girl.”

“She was?” Winsome realized she knew nothing about Hayley’s academic life.

“Oh, yes. Not just the written work, mind you. She had the personality for the job, too. You need personality in the travel business.”

“I’m sure,” said Winsome. “Do you know of any boyfriends or anyone on campus Hayley might have been involved with?”

Austin scratched his head. “I honestly can’t say. She seemed a very gregarious type, always hanging out with a group rather than any particu lar individual. I think she enjoyed the attention.”

“Do you know of anyone who disliked her?”

“Not enough to kill her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Perhaps some of the other girls envied her her figure and her good looks, her easygoing manner, even her good marks. There is a school of thought that maintains you shouldn’t have it all—brains and beauty.

Perhaps some of the boys resented the fact that they couldn’t have her.”

“Stuart Kinsey?”

“He’s one example that comes immediately to mind. He was always hanging around her, drooling. It was pretty obvious he was carrying a 1 3 0

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torch for her. But Stuart wouldn’t harm a soul. He’d probably just go home and write sad love poems.”

“What was your relationship with Hayley?”

Austin looked puzzled. “Relationship? I was her tutor. I marked her essays, she attended my lectures. I helped supervise her work experience, advised her on career paths, that sort of thing.”

“Work experience?”

“Oh, yes. It’s not just an academic course, you know. Students get the chance to work with travel agents and for airlines, sometimes even as overseas representatives and guides. I was trying to get Hayley a temporary position as a yellow shirt with Swan Hellenic, but I’m afraid they’ve lost their ship to Carnival, so things are a bit up in the air.”

Winsome paused and crossed her legs. She was wearing jeans today—good ones—because she wasn’t going to make the same mistake as yesterday, though the likelihood of her being paired with Templeton again was slim to non existent. “Hayley was a very attractive girl,” she said.

“I suppose she was,” said Austin. “There are a lot of attractive girls around the college, or hadn’t you noticed?”

“But maybe Hayley was your type?”

“What on earth do you mean? Are you asking if we were having an affair?”

“Were you?”

“No, we were not. She was nineteen, for crying out loud.”

Yes, Winsome thought, and Annie Cabbot’s latest conquest was twenty-two. Only three years’ difference. So what? she almost said.

“Are you married?”

Austin hesitated before saying, “I was. Twenty years. We separated four months ago. Irreconcilable differences.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Winsome.

“These things happen. We’d been drifting apart for some time.”