Death Row

His smile did little to appease Kate. ‘There are jobs to be had and I thought we were supposed to be out of the recession,’ she said.

Bennett climbed out of the car and sniffed dismissively. ‘Twenty to thirty grand of debt and no job. Where’s the sense in that?’

Kate closed the car door, tempted, but resisting the urge, to slam it. ‘I take it you didn’t go to university, detective inspector?’

‘You take it wrong, then. But I did a proper degree, not some Mickey Mouse degree in media studies or the like,’ Bennett said as they walked toward the halls of residence.

‘As in?’

‘Criminology.’ Bennett jiggled his car keys in his hand as they walked along. ‘University of Kent. Vocational, linked to work. No debt at the end of it and a job.’

‘Some people believe it’s healthy for a culture to have people studying simply for the pleasure of studying.’

‘Some people believe little green men from Mars are running our government.’

‘They may be right.’

‘Did you know you can get a degree in stand-up comedy now?’

‘I teach medical students, Inspector Bennett. I know all about stand-up comics.’

They approached the building, stepping between three white concrete posts just outside the entrance that allowed bicycles through but no vehicles. A high arch bisected the building and led through to a square, surrounded on all sides by separate buildings that provided three floors of accommodation each. Around the arched tunnel, the fourth wall of the square housed the staff quarters and the Dean’s office. A woman in her early to middle fifties bustled up towards them as they came through into the square. She was dressed in charcoal-grey trousers with a matching jacket and a mauve blouse underneath. Silk, Kate thought, and expensive.

‘Doctor Walker? I’m Dean Anderson … Sheila,’ the woman said.

Kate nodded and held out her hand. ‘This is Detective Inspector Bennett.’

The woman shook her hand and turned to Bennett to do the same.

‘Tony,’ he said.

The Dean removed her glasses. Oliver Peoples, Kate couldn’t help noticing, liking her style.

‘I would make some sort of feeble joke, but I am sure you have heard them all and this doesn’t seem the right time for levity, does it?’

‘No,’ the detective inspector agreed. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a six-by-four photo of the man lying a mile or so away in the intensive-care wing of the hospital that was attached to this same university.

‘Is this him?’

The Dean took the photo and studied it, dipping her head and blowing out a sigh. ‘Jamil Azeez. Yes, it is.’ She handed the photo back. ‘Do we know what happened?’

Kate shook her head. ‘He hasn’t regained consciousness yet.’

‘And it was you who found him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Last night?’

‘Yes. In Camden.’

The Dean frowned. ‘And what time was this?’

‘Just before midnight.’

‘What was he doing in Camden?’

‘We don’t know,’ said Bennett.

‘Especially that late at night.’ The Dean shook her head, puzzled.

‘It was a Friday. A lot of people socialise on a Friday night,’ said Kate. ‘Camden is a very popular place for people of his age, particularly at the weekends.’

‘But Jamil never drank.’

Bennett cleared his throat. ‘Forgive me, but as a Dean of the halls of residence how would you know that?’

‘Because of his religion. He was very devout. We know because students with special dietary requirements inform us of it, for obvious reasons.’

‘He was a Muslim?’ DI Bennett pulled out his notebook.

‘Yes.’

‘He wouldn’t be the first Muslim to drink and it may well be that he wasn’t drinking anyway. They do serve soft drinks in the pubs and nightclubs.’

‘I get the sense he was pretty devout.’ She caught herself. ‘Sorry, that he is pretty devout. How is he, by the way?’

The Dean seemed a little embarrassed to be asking that question only now. Kate put a reassuring hand on her arm. ‘He is in a very serious condition. The next few hours are going to be critical.’