threatened to sue, but let it go in the end.’
‘Was this very recent?’
‘About a year ago, I think. I’m not aware of anything very recent. Since then our Great Leader has abolished the Senate and put in his own man to control the campus magazine, and generally adopted a policy of pretending that pests like Max and myself don’t exist. And by and large he’s been pretty successful, I must say. We rot away in this slum, deprived of funds and students and gratefully accept the package, when it’s finally offered to us by some smooth little human resource consultant shit with a BMW. probably sound very bitter to you.’
Brock smiled. ‘You do rather.’
‘Ah well.’ Pettifer waved his hand airily. ‘We all find our own forms of consolation. I might go and replenish mine now, I think, unless I can be of any further assistance.’
‘No, that’s fine. Do you know where I could find Max’s student, Briony Kidd?’
‘She shares a room just down the corridor. It’s not far, I’ll show you. She’s usually there.’
Pettifer led him down the deserted corridor and tapped on a door marked ‘Postgraduates’, then stepped in. Four workspaces had been crammed into the little room, two down each side, but only one was occupied. Brock recognised the slight figure dressed all in black, the gamine looks, the large dark-ringed eyes made more dramatic now by tears and the red rims of crying. She hurriedly grabbed a tissue from a box on the little table in front of her and wiped her nose.
‘All right, love?’ Pettifer said breezily, not appearing to notice her distress. ‘Got a visitor for you. ’Bye now,’ and he left, closing the door behind him.
Brock felt immediately uncomfortable, waiting to speak while the woman drew more tissues and rubbed vigorously at her eyes and nose.
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Brock, Briony,’ he said when she finally turned in her seat to half face him. ‘I’m sorry to intrude. I wanted to speak to you about Professor Springer, but I could come back.’
‘No, it’s OK,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m just very upset about it, that’s all.’
‘Of course. It was very shocking.’
‘I should have got used to the idea of it, but I was just . . .’ She looked at a sheaf of paper in front of her. ‘I was just . . .’ Her shoulders began to shake beneath the thick black sweater, and she began to sob.
Brock wondered if perhaps this was the only person who was really upset by Springer’s death. Everyone else seemed rather enthralled by it. As he stood waiting, he wished again that Kathy were here. He wondered what another student would make of it if they walked in now and saw him, a big bear of a man standing over the weeping girl.
‘I was reading his comments, you see,’ she blurted out suddenly. ‘What he’d written on my text. He only gave it back to me yesterday morning. With what happened, I hadn’t looked at it until now.’ She sobbed and wiped. ‘Seeing his words . . . so normal, as if nothing has happened.’
‘Of course. Look, would it be better if we went and got a cup of coffee somewhere? A bit of fresh air, you know . . .’
She shook her head. ‘It’s all right. I’m OK. What did you want to ask me?’ There was a green Bic cigarette lighter beside her papers, and she turned it over and over in her fingers as she spoke.
‘The same thing I’m asking anyone else I can find who was in contact with Professor Springer recently. Is there anything you can tell me to help us find whoever did this? Can you think of any reason why someone would do it? Did he tell you of any threats to his life?’
‘No, nothing like that. The only thing . . . the thing that keeps coming back to me was something he said in his tutorial yesterday, about how it was up to “us” now. It was like Martin Luther King’s last speech, do you remember, “I have a dream”? About how his people would reach the Promised Land, but he wouldn’t be with them, as if he knew
‘Was this very recent?’
‘About a year ago, I think. I’m not aware of anything very recent. Since then our Great Leader has abolished the Senate and put in his own man to control the campus magazine, and generally adopted a policy of pretending that pests like Max and myself don’t exist. And by and large he’s been pretty successful, I must say. We rot away in this slum, deprived of funds and students and gratefully accept the package, when it’s finally offered to us by some smooth little human resource consultant shit with a BMW. probably sound very bitter to you.’
Brock smiled. ‘You do rather.’
‘Ah well.’ Pettifer waved his hand airily. ‘We all find our own forms of consolation. I might go and replenish mine now, I think, unless I can be of any further assistance.’
‘No, that’s fine. Do you know where I could find Max’s student, Briony Kidd?’
‘She shares a room just down the corridor. It’s not far, I’ll show you. She’s usually there.’
Pettifer led him down the deserted corridor and tapped on a door marked ‘Postgraduates’, then stepped in. Four workspaces had been crammed into the little room, two down each side, but only one was occupied. Brock recognised the slight figure dressed all in black, the gamine looks, the large dark-ringed eyes made more dramatic now by tears and the red rims of crying. She hurriedly grabbed a tissue from a box on the little table in front of her and wiped her nose.
‘All right, love?’ Pettifer said breezily, not appearing to notice her distress. ‘Got a visitor for you. ’Bye now,’ and he left, closing the door behind him.
Brock felt immediately uncomfortable, waiting to speak while the woman drew more tissues and rubbed vigorously at her eyes and nose.
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Brock, Briony,’ he said when she finally turned in her seat to half face him. ‘I’m sorry to intrude. I wanted to speak to you about Professor Springer, but I could come back.’
‘No, it’s OK,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m just very upset about it, that’s all.’
‘Of course. It was very shocking.’
‘I should have got used to the idea of it, but I was just . . .’ She looked at a sheaf of paper in front of her. ‘I was just . . .’ Her shoulders began to shake beneath the thick black sweater, and she began to sob.
Brock wondered if perhaps this was the only person who was really upset by Springer’s death. Everyone else seemed rather enthralled by it. As he stood waiting, he wished again that Kathy were here. He wondered what another student would make of it if they walked in now and saw him, a big bear of a man standing over the weeping girl.
‘I was reading his comments, you see,’ she blurted out suddenly. ‘What he’d written on my text. He only gave it back to me yesterday morning. With what happened, I hadn’t looked at it until now.’ She sobbed and wiped. ‘Seeing his words . . . so normal, as if nothing has happened.’
‘Of course. Look, would it be better if we went and got a cup of coffee somewhere? A bit of fresh air, you know . . .’
She shook her head. ‘It’s all right. I’m OK. What did you want to ask me?’ There was a green Bic cigarette lighter beside her papers, and she turned it over and over in her fingers as she spoke.
‘The same thing I’m asking anyone else I can find who was in contact with Professor Springer recently. Is there anything you can tell me to help us find whoever did this? Can you think of any reason why someone would do it? Did he tell you of any threats to his life?’
‘No, nothing like that. The only thing . . . the thing that keeps coming back to me was something he said in his tutorial yesterday, about how it was up to “us” now. It was like Martin Luther King’s last speech, do you remember, “I have a dream”? About how his people would reach the Promised Land, but he wouldn’t be with them, as if he knew
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