Murder Is Academic by Christine Poulson Page A

think it would be to drown yourself in a swimming pool? On purpose, I mean.’
    â€˜Ah. So that’s the lie of the land? I thought there was something up. Well…’
    He lay back, looking at the ceiling as he thought this over.
    At last he said, ‘I think it would be difficult, that’s assuming you could swim. And Margaret could, I assume?’
    â€˜She was a good swimmer.’
    â€˜Well, you’d have to overcome a powerful physical instinct for survival. Drink or drugs could do it. Of course the pathologist will have checked for those in Margaret’s blood.’
    â€˜That’ll come out at the inquest, won’t it?’
    â€˜Yes, but it still wouldn’t prove that she’d killed herself. It might just be that she fell in accidentally and was too drunk to get out again.’
    Stephen shifted round so that he could look into my face. ‘But why are you asking? There’s something you haven’t told me, isn’t there? Have you found out that Malcolm was having an affair?’
    I turned my face away.
    â€˜There is something, though, isn’t there?’ he persisted.
    â€˜You won’t tell anyone?’
    â€˜Cass! I wouldn’t have lasted long as a lawyer if I didn’t know how to be discreet.’
    â€˜I know. OK.’
    I told him about the letters.
    He let out his breath in a long sigh.
    â€˜Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.’
    â€˜You don’t sound very surprised.’
    â€˜I thought there was more to this than met the eye. I just didn’t know what. Do you think Malcolm had any idea?’
    â€˜I’m sure he didn’t.’
    â€˜You know, it’s amazing what people can keep secret. One of my first jobs when I qualified was acting for a woman who had just discovered that her late husband had another wife – and child – tucked away for the last ten years of their marriage. Neither of them knew a thing about the other.’
    I was longing for a cigarette. Lying in bed talking: this was one of the times when I missed smoking most. I realized that I had made a mistake having that cigarette on the day of Margaret’s funeral. I rolled over, took a packet of extra strong mints out of the drawer of the bedside table and offered one to Stephen.
    As he took it, he said, ‘What folly though, keeping those letters. It’s amazing the way that people will hang on to incriminating evidence.’
    â€˜They were all she had left of Lucy.’
    â€˜You said she was dead. What happened exactly?’
    â€˜Climbing accident, in the Peak District.’
    â€˜Do you think there was any chance of her leaving Malcolm?’
    I sat up and rested my arms on my raised knees while I thought about this.
    â€˜Doubt it, really. She was so down on that sort of thing – people breaking up their marriages. And the scandal: her successful career here, the kudos of it, it all meant such a lot to her.’
    â€˜Would it have been such a scandal? People are more enlightened than that, aren’t they – especially here?’
    I considered this. ‘Well, in a way they are, of course. Academically there is a lot of focus on homosexuality, and it’s sometimes quite confrontational: Queer Theory is the latest thing – yes, it is really called that! And there are plenty of gay dons, there always have been, but it’s very much a male thing and there’s still quite a lot of misogyny around. Running off with a woman, and a student, at that…’
    â€˜So she was on course to destroy both her private and her professional life.’ He pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘When sensible people make a mistake, they often do it big-time. Pity she didn’t destroy those letters.’
    â€˜But lucky I found them and did it for her.’
    In the silence that ensued there was a thin, high wail like the cry of a baby. I got up and opened the bedroom door. Bill Bailey stalked in. When I