Ev looks across at him. ‘Would you be saying “nothing actually happened” if the genders had been reversed? If it was a male tutor and a female student? No, of course you wouldn’t.’
‘I know we all know this,’ says Asante evenly, looking from the one to the other, ‘but sexual assault isn’t about sex. It’s about power. And Fisher’s the one with all the power in this relationship. If she was abusing that power some other way – academically, I mean – then Morgan would have every right to make a complaint. Why is this any different?’
Quinn is shaking his head. ‘He’s still taking a massive risk –’
‘What about her?’ says Ev quickly. ‘Coming on to a student like that, knowing he could go straight to the college authorities and report her? That’s what I call taking a risk.’
‘But that’s the point,’ I say. ‘They’re both risk takers. Morgan said so himself, in interview. He said anyone working in that field has to be prepared to take risks or they’ll never get anywhere.’
Ev frowns. ‘They’re both as bad as each other, is that what you’re saying?’
‘I’m saying these are both people who might be more prepared than most to play a high-stakes game.’
There’s a pause. They’re not sure where that gets us and, frankly, neither am I.
‘I don’t know why CID are even on this,’ mutters Quinn. ‘Never mind the whole bloody team.’
Classic Quinn, but for once I sympathize. I wouldn’t have the entire team on it either, given the choice, but we don’t have the excuse of a more pressing case, and – rather more pertinently – I’m anticipating that sooner or later the Chief Constable will be ‘taking an interest’ or ‘just checking in’ or whatever apparently-casual-only-clearly-not phrase his PA comes up with. As my first Inspector once put it, ‘It’s only a suggestion, but let’s not forget who’s making it.’
‘There’s something about Fisher,’ says Asante eventually. ‘I can’t put my finger on it but something’s definitely off. All that stuff about not being able to remember – it’s a bit too convenient, if you ask me.’
‘On the other hand,’ I say, ‘why hasn’t Morgan mentioned the rip to the dress? He’s been upfront about the fact that there was a physical altercation – why not mention that the dress got ripped in the process?’
Ev shrugs. ‘Perhaps he didn’t realize? Perhaps he just doesn’t remember?’
Quinn gives a dismissive snort and looks away. ‘Yeah, right. He can’t remember, she can’t remember. He said/she said. It’s all bollocks – the whole thing.’
I see Ev about to object and decide to step in.
‘OK, we’ve probably all had enough for one day. But DC Quinn’s right about one thing: the CPS will never run with this as it stands. If we get DNA from Morgan’s body, it could be a whole different ball game. But meanwhile, whether we like it or not, we can’t ignore who his mother is. Not least because I doubt she’s going to let us. Remember that debate about sexual violence in the Union a couple of months back? She’d be all over this, even if the victim in question wasn’t her son.’
Quinn sighs heavily. ‘Just what we need. Being crapped on from a great height by an up-themselves politico.’
‘Right,’ I say briskly. Because that sort of attitude isn’t going to get us – or Quinn – anywhere. ‘So let’s not give her the satisfaction. Forensics will be at least a couple of days, and that’s if we’re lucky. So in the meantime, we do our homework. We need to confirm Morgan’s story with his girlfriend and talk to Fisher’s colleagues, both here and anywhere she’s worked in the past. I want to know if there’s been even the slightest hint of anything like this before. And check whether any of those people were also guests at the Balliol dinner – let’s see if we can find out if there were any signs of damage when she left, either to her or that bloody dress.’
‘We’ll need to be careful though,’ says Asante cautiously. ‘This sort of allegation – it would wreck her career. And if it turns out she didn’t do it –’
‘Precisely. So discretion, please. I want to eavesdrop on the rumour mill, not start it.’
I stand up; Asante’s making a note, Ev is gathering her things, Quinn just looks narked.
‘I’ll get DC Baxter going on Fisher’s phone and I’ll also see if we can get Bryan Gow to have a look at Fisher’s interview footage. If Asante’s right and something really is off here, he’s our best chance of nailing it. As for the rest of it, DC Quinn, you’re stand-in DS. Over to you.’
Quinn looks up. ‘Yes, boss,’ he says.
He’s perked up already.
* * *
It’s dusk, that most deceptive time of the day. The memory of light still in the sky, but the earth dark below. No one’s noticed the man parked up by the side of the road, not even the usually nosey old chap who’s just gone by with his dog. But why would he? The man hasn’t moved for a while – hasn’t read a newspaper, turned on the radio, dug a packet of mints out of the glovebox. The vehicle is silent, and so is he. He does nothing. Nothing, that is, but watch.
A few moments later a door opposite opens and a woman comes quickly down the path to the trellis enclosure by the gate. She lifts the lid of one of the bins and drops a black plastic bag inside, before turning and looking up and down the street. She’s looking directly at him now and he slides a bit further down in the seat, even though he knows it’s too dark, and too far, to see his face.
When the man glances up again two women are coming towards him along the pavement. Yakking away, their toddlers bundled up in buggies. There’s an older kid too, a
