“Late lunch…”
“If she’s coming from Camden, where would she get the train from?”
“London Bridge is the overground line,” said Harry. “She could get the Northern Line from her flat to the station.”
“Check with TFL. She must have bought a ticket, used her Oyster card, something.” Garrick’s mind was suddenly firing on all cylinders. He hadn’t felt this alert for months. “She comes to Tonbridge to meet Rebecca Ellis. Why?”
He looked expectantly between Harry and Fanta. They gave sheepish shrugs.
“To move the money!” He tapped the photograph. “That’s what’s in the bags! She didn’t bring them with her.”
He was expecting a triumphant whoop from the others, but there was only doubt.
“Why…?” Fanta squinted at the board. “Aren’t we saying Oscar Benjamin made off with the loot?”
“Maybe not all of it. And she just bought herself an expensive laptop.” Garrick now doubted his own idea. What had started off sounding promising had just hit the rocks labelled lack-of-evidence. Yet, he was sure there were flecks of truth in there somewhere. Or was he just tangling himself up in false leads?
“Mmm, maybe your idea is not as stupid as it sounds,” said Fanta thoughtfully. With her hands still behind her head, she slowly revolved three-hundred and sixty degrees on her chair. As ever, she was oblivious to her lack of workplace etiquette.
“You flatter me,” Garrick said sardonically, but he saw she was chasing the same thread that was tantalising him. Then he got it. It was obvious. “The only reason for Terri Cordy to be there is if she was in on the whole thing. Like Rebecca.”
Fanta suddenly bolted upright in her chair as he latched on to his reasoning. “Because she’s the one connected to the second gunman!” It came out in one fast squeal.
Garrick nodded encouragingly, then looked to Harry for confirmation.
“Does that sound completely mad?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah. But we’ve gone out to bat off madder ideas than that.”
PC Sean Wilkes entered, clutching a sandwich bag from Subway. He glanced around the room, picking up on the mood.
“Have I missed anything?”
Harry ignored him. “The only problem is, we don’t know who he is.”
Garrick smiled as Fanta dropped back in her chair, suddenly deflated.
“No. But we know where he is.”
Garrick left with PC Harry Lord. He thought having a uniformed officer, and a marked car, would be useful. Plus, if things were going to get physical, Harry was more than capable of fighting for them both. He left Chib to extract another interview from Rebecca Ellis, while PC’s Fanta Liu and Wilkes put together as much background information as they could.
Terri Cordy had let slip she was dating a medical student in Canterbury, and that meant he had to be studying at the Kent and Medway Medical School. Having no description or name left a lot of potential students to sift through. Although Garrick was convinced that he’d recognise those wide, frightened eyes again. And since they’d been up-close and personal, he had a good measure of the man’s physical build. That ruled out the short, tall, and fat and thin students.
Fanta trawled through social media accounts, while Wilkes took the more formal avenue of calling the Dean and arranging a meeting.
The University of Kent campus was on the northwest edge of Canterbury, bordering the countryside, as if a conscious decision was made by the founders to keep the students as far from the townsfolk as possible.
The campus was packed with students moving in between lectures. The marked police car and PC Harry Lord in his full uniform, and cutting a handsome figure, drew more than a few curious looks. A receptionist was waiting and hastily guided them into the Dean’s office.
Professor Julian Anderson, BM BS, had an impressive CV, which Wilkes had recited over the phone. He was a well-regarded academic figure, and an active champion for diversity. Garrick had been expecting a stern, lanky man, not the pleasant round welcoming face and demeanour that greeted them. The professor sat behind his desk, anxiously circling his thumbs as he went through the niceties of offering drinks. Garrick got straight to the point. Although he couldn’t specify the exact nature of the offense, Professor Anderson guessed at least part of it.
“I thought I recognised you from the telly. Well, needless to say that I don’t think any of our students would be involved in such a crass thing. We are talking about some of the brightest minds in the country.”
“Of course not. But we need to eliminate suspects from our enquiries.”
Garrick was constantly amazed how people thought intelligence somehow lessened a person’s penchant for crime. In his experience it was cut down the middle, regardless of creed, colour, or sex. The only discrepancy he had discovered was that the thicker ones were more easily caught. He was equally surprised by how many people assumed ‘eliminate for our enquiries’ meant just that. Most of the time when Garrick mentioned it, it was to dig up as much dirt on the suspect as possible.
Eager to cooperate, Professor Anderson fetched his secretary and told him to allow the police access to the student records. Garrick sat at the desk outside with the receptionist, with Lord peering between their shoulders.
They cycled through the profile pictures of the male medical students. The chubbier ones were instantly dismissible, as were any non-Caucasians. But with no information regarding their height, Garrick worried it might resort to an ID parade.
“Do students require a parking pass?”
“Yes.”
They searched for any registered black Hyundai. There were two. Only one was a Hyundai i40, registered to Huw Crawford, a 32-year-old mature student. Checking the timetables, his lecture was ending at this very moment.
It was easier to find the Hyundai in the car park than it was to filter everybody coming out of the lecture halls. Garrick and Lord were halfway across the parking bay when they spotted Huw Crawford. He was the right build. His black curly hair and dark stubble hinted at an Italian heritage rather than Welsh. He was too far
