sharp with disapproval, and she turned away to consult her computer. ‘He’s giving a lecture at the moment, another twenty minutes to go. LT108. You could catch him when he comes out.’
‘Thanks, Karen.’
Kathy found lecture theatre LT108, its red LECTURE IN PROGRESS light illuminated, and opened the door. She found herself at the top of a steeply raked auditorium, packed with students, and took a seat halfway down towards the lecturer’sdais. A tall, dark-complexioned man was speaking. He was in his mid-forties, Kathy guessed, and spoke with a cultured drawl. His manner was confident and lively, and he emphasised his points with forceful gestures of his hands. From time to time, as he turned to his notes, he would sweep his long black hair back from his brow. His audience was attentive, especially the women, Kathy thought, and she wasn’t surprised, for his voice, appearance and manner were all quite compelling. She could see what Tina had meant.
When the lecture finished, Kathy worked her way down to the front against a stream of departing students. A couple of girls had cornered the lecturer, talking animatedly, and he was smiling as he replied, collecting his papers and moving towards the door. He spotted Kathy, and put a hand up to hold the door open for her. His face was a little fleshier and older than it had seemed from a distance.
‘Dr da Silva, I’m Detective Inspector Kathy Kolla,’ she said, showing him her ID, and watching his expression freeze. But she was used to that. She held out her hand and he shook it cautiously.
‘You want to talk about Marion?’ he said quietly.
‘Yes.’
‘Terrible. We’re all shocked. We just can’t believe it.’
‘Of course. Is there somewhere we can go?’
He led her to his room, a comfortable corner office with a large window. Books covered every inch of the walls. On the shelf facing her when she sat down were multiple copies of a thick volume, its title—
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
—printed in sumptuous Gothic script, as was the author’s name, Anthony da Silva.
‘Apparently it was on the radio that someone probably put something in her lunch, is that right?’ he asked.
‘That’s what we suspect.’
He pursed his lips with distaste. ‘I can’t understand how anyone could do that. There are some very sick people around. I suppose you have to deal with them every day.’ He gave her a sympathetic smile.
‘We have to consider the possibility that her attacker knew her in some capacity, so we’re speaking to her friends and work colleagues. How long have you known her?’
‘Um, it must be about three years. I first came across her in her honours year, and she’d be almost two years into her doctorate now.’
‘So you must have got to know her quite well?’
‘Well, academically, yes. I met with her on average, what—every couple of weeks during term time?’
‘How about socially?’
‘Oh not really. We bumped into each other from time to time—departmental drinks, open lectures, that sort of thing. And she came to our house once. Jenny, my wife, put on a little party for my doctoral students. She likes to do that occasionally, check them out.’ He gave a faint smile.
‘And you phoned each other frequently?’
He stared at Kathy for a moment, and she wondered if he was going to deny it. Then he said, ‘Well, yes, if she had a query about something in her work, or I had to change a meeting, that kind of thing.’
His reply was guarded, and Kathy sensed he wasn’t being completely open. ‘Have you been to her home?’
‘No. I don’t know where she lived, to be honest. I suppose the office will have the address.’
‘You don’t know if she shared with someone?’
‘Sorry, no idea.’
‘What about her friends, other people she went around with?’
‘No, I couldn’t say.’
‘I’ve just been speaking to Dr Ringland.’ Kathy saw the surprise register briefly. ‘He told me about Marion’s interest in arsenic
‘Thanks, Karen.’
Kathy found lecture theatre LT108, its red LECTURE IN PROGRESS light illuminated, and opened the door. She found herself at the top of a steeply raked auditorium, packed with students, and took a seat halfway down towards the lecturer’sdais. A tall, dark-complexioned man was speaking. He was in his mid-forties, Kathy guessed, and spoke with a cultured drawl. His manner was confident and lively, and he emphasised his points with forceful gestures of his hands. From time to time, as he turned to his notes, he would sweep his long black hair back from his brow. His audience was attentive, especially the women, Kathy thought, and she wasn’t surprised, for his voice, appearance and manner were all quite compelling. She could see what Tina had meant.
When the lecture finished, Kathy worked her way down to the front against a stream of departing students. A couple of girls had cornered the lecturer, talking animatedly, and he was smiling as he replied, collecting his papers and moving towards the door. He spotted Kathy, and put a hand up to hold the door open for her. His face was a little fleshier and older than it had seemed from a distance.
‘Dr da Silva, I’m Detective Inspector Kathy Kolla,’ she said, showing him her ID, and watching his expression freeze. But she was used to that. She held out her hand and he shook it cautiously.
‘You want to talk about Marion?’ he said quietly.
‘Yes.’
‘Terrible. We’re all shocked. We just can’t believe it.’
‘Of course. Is there somewhere we can go?’
He led her to his room, a comfortable corner office with a large window. Books covered every inch of the walls. On the shelf facing her when she sat down were multiple copies of a thick volume, its title—
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
—printed in sumptuous Gothic script, as was the author’s name, Anthony da Silva.
‘Apparently it was on the radio that someone probably put something in her lunch, is that right?’ he asked.
‘That’s what we suspect.’
He pursed his lips with distaste. ‘I can’t understand how anyone could do that. There are some very sick people around. I suppose you have to deal with them every day.’ He gave her a sympathetic smile.
‘We have to consider the possibility that her attacker knew her in some capacity, so we’re speaking to her friends and work colleagues. How long have you known her?’
‘Um, it must be about three years. I first came across her in her honours year, and she’d be almost two years into her doctorate now.’
‘So you must have got to know her quite well?’
‘Well, academically, yes. I met with her on average, what—every couple of weeks during term time?’
‘How about socially?’
‘Oh not really. We bumped into each other from time to time—departmental drinks, open lectures, that sort of thing. And she came to our house once. Jenny, my wife, put on a little party for my doctoral students. She likes to do that occasionally, check them out.’ He gave a faint smile.
‘And you phoned each other frequently?’
He stared at Kathy for a moment, and she wondered if he was going to deny it. Then he said, ‘Well, yes, if she had a query about something in her work, or I had to change a meeting, that kind of thing.’
His reply was guarded, and Kathy sensed he wasn’t being completely open. ‘Have you been to her home?’
‘No. I don’t know where she lived, to be honest. I suppose the office will have the address.’
‘You don’t know if she shared with someone?’
‘Sorry, no idea.’
‘What about her friends, other people she went around with?’
‘No, I couldn’t say.’
‘I’ve just been speaking to Dr Ringland.’ Kathy saw the surprise register briefly. ‘He told me about Marion’s interest in arsenic
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