Coding Isis by David Roys Page A

‘I’m so sorry Michelle,’ he said. ‘If there’s anything I can do?’ He seemed genuine enough. Frank had been close to Chris, he’d even been over for dinner on more than one occasion. They’d talked shop for most of the evening but, from what Michelle had seen, he was a good man, he had integrity and he liked Chris. He offered a seat to Michelle and she took it; he sat beside her. The chairs were there for those times when Frank wanted to make a student feel more comfortable, a time when he didn’t need to assert his authority quite so much.
    ‘Chris has been arrested,’ she said.
    Frank fidgeted. This was an awkward conversation, he tugged on the seams of his flannel pants, as though trying to straighten them, and then ran one hand to his neck where he rubbed. He looked tired. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘That detective, the one that was using my office, called me. He said they found some new evidence that points to Chris. He had lots more questions.’
    ‘He didn’t do it.’
    Frank put his hand on Michelle’s forearm and gently squeezed it. ‘I know,’ he said.
    ‘Do you?’
    ‘I don’t believe he could have done it,’ he said, ‘not Chris.’
    ‘And what about the affair?’
    Frank reddened and shifted uncomfortably. ‘So you know about that?’
    ‘I know it’s bullshit. Chris loves me. Me and these damned computers, there’s no room for anything else in his life, he wouldn’t fool around with a student, no way.’ She looked at Frank, trying to see through his expression, trying to read his thoughts. He had his doubts, she could tell. ‘I want to talk to the students,’ she said.
    Frank took his hand back from Michelle’s arm. He stood and walked around the desk to the window that overlooked the courtyard, he made a pretense at looking out the window. ‘Chris is a brilliant man you know?’
    Michelle waited, she didn’t want to get drawn by Frank’s segue; if he stepped over her requests, she would keep throwing them at him. She could keep this up all day. ‘I want to talk to the students,’ she said.
    Frank turned from the window and faced her, he seemed smaller somehow, as though he was trying to shrink away from an awkward situation. ‘I cannot allow that,’ he said. He gave a smile, only slight, or maybe it was just his eyes. ‘You can go into Chris’s office and collect his things if you like. You may meet some of his students along the way, but I can’t allow you to interview them formally, do you understand? I’m sure they’d be happy to talk to you, Chris was well liked.’
    ‘He’s not dead Frank.’
    ‘I’m sorry that came out all wrong,’ he said. He looked embarrassed.
    ‘Relax Frank,’ Michelle said. ‘This whole thing’s a mess, no one knows what to say, maybe there isn’t anything you can say. I just want to get it straightened out. There’s no way Chris was screwing that girl, I’d have known. I’m here to find something, some proof that will show there’s no way he could have killed her.’
    ‘I hope you do,’ he said.

FOURTEEN
     
    Ben Naylor walked into the Washington D.C. gun club. The reception area was spacious and decorated in a modern style. In the center of the room stood a high reception counter, semi-circular with wooden panels that ran horizontally between brushed aluminum strips. The counter was topped with black marble and behind it sat a pretty young receptionist who was busy at the computer, although he doubted her activities were work-related. She looked up as he entered and flashed a smile, it was warm and welcoming. Ben looked around the room before walking over to the counter. The stylish décor, reception desk, and glass trophy cabinet gave the club the air of a gentleman’s squash club, it didn’t look like any gun club he could afford and it was poles apart from the shooting range at the station. He guessed the Washington glitterati demanded a more sophisticated experience, even if they simply wanted to let loose a few