the world expert.’
‘Yes, I know. What about Marion’s paper?’
‘Well, she gave me a fairly sensational title: Murder, literal and phenomenal, in the work of Dante Gabriel Rossetti. But she was a bit slow giving me a synopsis. She did say that it would cause a stir.’
‘I see. But I suppose Dr da Silva would know all about it.’
‘I assume so. I met Marion with him when I was in London last year, and I was very impressed by her. I’m sure it would have been a very good paper. It’s really devastating that this has happened. Maybe if Tony has a copy we might get him to present it as a tribute to Marion. So how can I help you, Inspector?’
‘I’m talking to anyone who may have had contact with Marion around the time she died. Did she say anything to you when you spoke that struck you as odd in any way?’
‘No, not at all. She’d got a grant from her university to help her to attend our conference, and she was very excited about coming. I got the impression that everything was going really well.’
As Kathy rang off, Bren came over to her desk. He’d been in touch with Keith Rafferty’s boss at Brentford Pyrotechnics, Mr Pigeon, who’d promised Kathy he’d check their arsenic supplies.
‘He can’t find any discrepancies, Kathy, but I got the impression he’s not completely confident. Your last visit seems to have rattled him. He’s given Rafferty the boot.’
‘Sacked him?’
‘Yeah, he reckoned Rafferty lied on his original job application.’
‘What did Rafferty have to say?’
‘Told him he could keep his job. Didn’t seem much bothered.’
Kathy thought. ‘You said he was spending money on the horses.’
‘Yes, a fair bit, from what I could gather. Just gossip, mind you, down the pub.’
‘Maybe it would be worth checking at the local betting shops.’
‘Yeah.’
Kathy worked on the phone for a while, coordinating teams at the library and university student flats. Later, when Brock returned from his briefing, he called Kathy up to his office.
‘They’ve decided not to close the libraries,’ he said. ‘Public warnings instead. Won’t do much for the cafe business. What have you got?’
‘Several witnesses who saw her in the library today, but no one at The Last Word except for the waitress. Forensics haven’t been able to find any traces of arsenic in the cafe. It’s likely her coffee cup was put through the washing machine before we got there. They’re working through the contents of all the rubbish bins. So far nothing from Tina’s student room-mates.’
Then she told him about her call to America.
‘You’re wondering if Marion was going to embarrass Dr da Silva at the conference?’
‘Something like that. Sophie Warrender suggested that she may have discovered some problem with his scholarship-plagiarism, maybe. And according to Donald Fotheringham, Tina had da Silva in her sights. And
… I think someone’s been in Marion’s house since we locked it up.’ Kathy hadn’t put this into any of her reports, still uncertain if she was right.
‘You haven’t spoken to da Silva?’
‘Not since Monday, to ask him about Marion’s computer. I told him then about the house in Hampstead. What do you think? We have nothing concrete. Should we wait until we do?’
Brock thought, then shook his head. ‘I’d like to meet him.’ He checked his watch. ‘Six. Let’s see if we can catch him on home ground. Do we know anything about his family?’
‘Wife’s a rich lawyer, apparently.’
‘See what you can find out while I order a car.’
By the time it arrived, Kathy had put together an outline of the da Silva household. ‘Wife is Jenny da Silva, a commercial lawyer with Braye Sneddon Wilkes. Her father is Sir George Thorpe.’
‘The furniture chain?’
‘Yes. That’s where the money comes from, presumably. First marriage for both of them. She’s forty-two, he forty-six.’
‘The difficult age,’ Brock murmured.
‘Is there an easy one? They have two children: Mortimer, nine, and Leslie, seven.’
‘A perfect family.’
‘Yes. I had Googled him previously, and there’s no doubt about his reputation. Terrific reviews for his Rossetti book from the TLS and New York Review of Books, and a profile in the Observer magazine.’
‘Lot to lose, then.’
They came to the broad, tree-lined streets of Hampstead Garden Suburb, the model development laid out a hundred years before, and found the da Silvas’ house, a substantial rendered semi-detached villa. The red BMW Z4 M Roadster was sitting in the driveway.
‘He’s at home,’ Kathy said.
They walked up to the door in the fading light and Kathy rang the bell. After a while the door was opened by Jenny da Silva.
Kathy liked her straight away. She had a warm, open smile and looked as if she might be just about to tell you a good joke she’d heard. There was a streak of flour on her brow where she’d pushed her hair back, and Kathy noticed a half-full glass of white wine on the hall table behind her. She seemed very practical and competent, and just looking at her Kathy felt she could tell that her wealthy father hadn’t spoiled her, but had made her serve her time in the packing department or accounts during the school holidays. She had managed the production of children into a compact timeslot before resuming her career, and was now a success in her own field and married to a star in another. An admirable life, and Kathy knew that they were about to trample all over it.
And Jenny da Silva knew it too, Kathy saw. As she showed her ID and introduced herself and Brock, she saw the smile drain from the other woman’s face, as if she’d always known that something like this was going to happen.
‘We’d like to speak to your husband, please, Mrs da Silva.’
‘Oh dear, what’s happened? Nothing serious, I hope?’
‘If we could just speak to him.’
‘Well… you’d better come in.’ She stood back and they stepped into a generous hall, where they waited while she went into one of the rooms that led off it. The sound of a TV newscast was cut off abruptly, and they heard Tony da Silva’s voice. ‘Who? What?’ He came out, wiping a hand across his face as if he might have been caught having a nap. Recognising Kathy he said, ‘Ah, Inspector,’ and thrust a hand forward awkwardly.
‘This is my colleague, Detective Chief Inspector Brock, Dr da Silva. We’d like to have a word with you.’
‘Do you want to use the living room, darling?’ Jenny spoke from the doorway, a sleepy child in her arms. ‘I’ll take Leslie up to bed.’
‘Right, yes.’ He led them into the rear room and offered them seats, sitting stiffly on the edge of his. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘You have a student, Tina Flowers.’
‘Oh yes?’ He stared fixedly at Kathy.
‘You know who I mean?’
‘Um, I think so. Third year? Yes. Why?’
‘Did you see her today, by any chance?’
His eyes moved from one to the other, and he seemed unable to speak at first. Then he said tightly, ‘Today? No, I don’t believe so.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Can’t recall seeing her, no.’
‘Would you mind telling us your movements today, Dr da Silva?’
‘Um, normal sort of day. Ten o’clock lecture, afternoon tutorials. Why?’
‘The lecture finished at eleven? What did you do then?’
‘Bit of library work, then a sandwich in my room.’
‘Which library did you use?’
‘The university…’ He hesitated, staring at Kathy’s face, then corrected himself. ‘No, I went up to the British
