morning? He’d have to make sure he was back in time to see her this evening or she’d think he’d given up on her.
He had stopped at a garage just outside of the city to consult a telephone book and get directions to the AIAO. It turned out to be on a ring road at the edge of the city in a building not at all like the old sandstone colleges—all modern concrete and glass. The receptionist looked at him suspiciously and he had to produce his warrant card before she would take him to the institute director. The director was a typical American and very friendly. He went to shake Evan’s hand and Evan only managed to draw it away just in time, explaining about the burns.
“I guess you’ve chosen a tough profession,” the director said. He listened to Evan’s story, checked the records, then shook his head. He didn’t remember that particular student personally but Evan was welcome to talk to her course directors. Half an hour later he was back in the street, not having learned anything. The faculty members he had spoken to couldn’t even put a face to her name. They handled so many students that they remembered very few of them. And there were no students remaining from the fall program. Sorry they couldn’t be of more help.
They did direct him to the hostel where Rebecca had lived. It was a large and rather ugly Victorian on the Banbury Road. It was called the Laurels, although any bushes in the front garden had been paved over to make a parking area. Evan spoke to the hostel administrator, a no-nonsense, middle-aged woman. She remembered the name. Quiet girl. Wasn’t in any kind of trouble. But everyone would have gone now who remembered her, apart from the cleaning staff. He could talk to the maids if he liked, but they usually cleaned during the morning when the students weren’t around.
“What about her violin?” Evan asked, with sudden inspiration. “Did you ever get complaints about her practicing her violin?”
The woman wrinkled her brow. “I don’t remember any violin. She can’t have played it here. We do occasionally get students who play the piano in the common room, but I don’t recall any violin practice going on.”
That was odd, Evan thought. Her parents had stressed that she loved her violin. Could she have gone a whole term without playing it? Which had to mean that she played it somewhere else. He got back in the car and drove back to the city center. At the student union building he stood studying the overflowing notice board. Chess club match against Moscow University, rowing eights, drama club auditions …
“Is there a music club or an orchestra?” Evan stopped a young man who was looking for an inch of space to pin another notice to the board.
“OUMS,” the boy said. Then, as Evan looked puzzled: “Oxford University Music Society. They’re the ones who put on concerts. Is that what you mean, or do you mean pop music?”
“No, they’d be the one I’m looking for,” Evan said. “Any idea how I could contact them?”
“Ask at the office. They’d have the yearbook with a list of the society officers.”
Evan did as suggested. A serious-looking young Indian girl peeked at him from beneath a veil of long dark hair. “If you’re interested in joining, why don’t you give them a buzz and find out when the next meeting is?” she suggested in a flat southern counties voice polished with overtones of a good education.
“I’m not interested in joining. I’m a police officer and I need to talk to them about a missing girl.”
The mane of hair was shaken back so that Evan saw two kohl-edged dark eyes. “Katherine Sparks, you mean? But that was ages ago. I thought they’d found her remains at last, haven’t they?”
“Katherine Sparks?” Evan was confused.
“Yes, you said the girl who was missing, so I thought you meant her. LMH Student, disappeared last year, didn’t she, and they never found her. I’m not sure, but I think I read recently that remains on the south coast had been identified as hers. She’s not the girl you’re asking about?”
“No. This one was an American exchange student—not officially part of the university.”
“Oh. American.” She paused for a moment. “Well, I don’t know where you’d contact any of these people during the day. Some of them might go back to college to eat lunch in the refectory if they’re not too far away, but most of us just grab fast food these days. If I were you, I’d leave a note with one of their college porters and have them call you.”
“It’s rather urgent,” Evan said. “I’m just here for the day and I have to get back.”
“Then I’d go round to the president of the society’s college and see if they’ll give you his class schedule. Or you could ask his college servant. They usually have a pretty good idea where students can be found.”
Evan left with directions to Baliol and was asking at the porter’s lodge when an arrogant voice behind him demanded, “Nicholas Hardy? Who wants him?”
“I’m a police officer, making inquiries about a girl who might have been a member of his music club,” Evan said. “Any idea where he is?”
“I left him wolfing down a large plate of spaghetti
Evan did as instructed and soon located the pale, fair-haired young man, who eyed him nervously. “Rebecca Riesen? The American girl? Yes, I remember her. Bloody good violinist, isn’t she? She asked if she could sit in on our rehearsals and I think she ended up playing with us in the Christmas concert.”
“Could you tell me anything about her, any friends she had, anything at all?” Evan asked.
The young man wrinkled his nose. “When I’m trying to conduct, I really don’t notice that much. I think she was chummy with some of the other violinists. There’s a group of three or four of them from LMH.”
“LMH?” Evan asked.
“Lady Margaret Hall. Sandra Vessey, Jane Hill, and what is the dark girl’s name? Greene, that’s it. Rachel Greene. I’ve no idea where you’d locate them at this time of day, but we’re having a rehearsal tomorrow night if you’d care to come to that.”
“Thanks, but I have to get back to North Wales. I’ll try their college if you could direct me from here.”
“Let’s see.” The boy wrinkled his nose again. “It’s not that simple. Nothing is around here. I’d better draw you a map.”
