while Lynley and her husband went into the room.
The study was quite different from the rest of the house. A worn floral carpet covered the floor. Books crowded onto sagging shelves of cheap pine. A collection of photographs leaned against a filing cabinet, and a set of framed sketches hung on the wall. Beneath the room’s single window stood Weaver’s desk, large, grey metal, and utterly hideous. Aside from a pile of correspondence and a set of reference books, on it rested a computer, its monitor, a telephone, and a modem. This, then, constituted the Ceephone.
“How does it work?” Lynley asked.
Weaver blew his nose and shoved his handkerchief into his jacket pocket. He said, “I’ll phone my rooms in the college,” and walked to the desk, where he switched on the monitor, punched several numbers on the telephone, and pressed a data key on the modem.
After a few moments, the monitor screen divided into two sections, split horizontally by a thin, solid band. On the bottom half appeared the words:
Jenn here
.
“A colleague?” Lynley asked.
“Adam Jenn, my graduate student.” Weaver typed quickly. As he did so, his message to the student was printed on the top half of the screen.
Dr. Weaver phoning, Adam. I’m demonstrating the Ceephone for the police. Elena used it last night
.
Right
appeared on the bottom half of the screen.
Shall I stand by then? Do they want to see something special?
Weaver cast Lynley a querying look. “No, that’s fine,” Lynley said. “It’s clear how it works.”
Not necessary
, Weaver typed.
OK
, the response. And then after a moment,
I’ll be here the rest of the evening, Dr. Weaver. Tomorrow as well. And as long as you need me. Please don’t worry about anything
.
Weaver swallowed. “Nice lad,” he whispered. He switched off the monitor. All of them watched as the messages on the screen slowly faded away.
“What sort of message did Elena send you last night?” Lynley asked Justine.
She was still at the door, one shoulder against the jamb. She looked at the monitor as if to remember. “She said only that she wasn’t going to run this morning. She sometimes had trouble with one of her knees. I assumed she wanted to give it a rest for a day or two.”
“What time did she phone?”
Justine frowned pensively. “It must have been a bit after eight because she asked after her father and he wasn’t yet home from the college. I told her he’d gone back to work for a while and she said she’d phone him there.”
“Did she?”
Weaver shook his head. His lower lip quivered, and he pressed his left index finger to it as if by that action he could control further displays of emotion.
“You were alone when she phoned?”
Justine nodded.
“And you’re certain it was Elena?”
Justine’s fine skin seemed to tauten across her cheeks. “Of course. Who else—?”
“Who knew the two of you ran in the morning?”
Her eyes went to her husband, then back to Lynley. “Anthony knew. I suppose I must have told one or two of my colleagues.”
“At?”
“The University Press.”
“Others?”
Again, she looked at her husband. “Anthony? Do you know of anyone?”
Weaver was still staring at the monitor of the Ceephone, as if in the hope that a call would come through. “Adam Jenn, probably. I’m sure I told him. Her friends, I should think. People on her staircase.”
“With access to her room, to her phone?”
“Gareth,” Justine said. “Of course she would have told Gareth.”
“And he has a Ceephone as well.” Weaver looked sharply at Lynley. “Elena didn’t make that call, did she? Someone else did.”
Lynley could feel the other man’s growing need for action. Whether it was spurious or genuine he could not tell. “It’s a possibility,” he agreed. “But it’s also a possibility that Elena simply preferred to create an excuse to run alone this morning. Would that have been out of character?”
“She ran with her stepmother.
The study was quite different from the rest of the house. A worn floral carpet covered the floor. Books crowded onto sagging shelves of cheap pine. A collection of photographs leaned against a filing cabinet, and a set of framed sketches hung on the wall. Beneath the room’s single window stood Weaver’s desk, large, grey metal, and utterly hideous. Aside from a pile of correspondence and a set of reference books, on it rested a computer, its monitor, a telephone, and a modem. This, then, constituted the Ceephone.
“How does it work?” Lynley asked.
Weaver blew his nose and shoved his handkerchief into his jacket pocket. He said, “I’ll phone my rooms in the college,” and walked to the desk, where he switched on the monitor, punched several numbers on the telephone, and pressed a data key on the modem.
After a few moments, the monitor screen divided into two sections, split horizontally by a thin, solid band. On the bottom half appeared the words:
Jenn here
.
“A colleague?” Lynley asked.
“Adam Jenn, my graduate student.” Weaver typed quickly. As he did so, his message to the student was printed on the top half of the screen.
Dr. Weaver phoning, Adam. I’m demonstrating the Ceephone for the police. Elena used it last night
.
Right
appeared on the bottom half of the screen.
Shall I stand by then? Do they want to see something special?
Weaver cast Lynley a querying look. “No, that’s fine,” Lynley said. “It’s clear how it works.”
Not necessary
, Weaver typed.
OK
, the response. And then after a moment,
I’ll be here the rest of the evening, Dr. Weaver. Tomorrow as well. And as long as you need me. Please don’t worry about anything
.
Weaver swallowed. “Nice lad,” he whispered. He switched off the monitor. All of them watched as the messages on the screen slowly faded away.
“What sort of message did Elena send you last night?” Lynley asked Justine.
She was still at the door, one shoulder against the jamb. She looked at the monitor as if to remember. “She said only that she wasn’t going to run this morning. She sometimes had trouble with one of her knees. I assumed she wanted to give it a rest for a day or two.”
“What time did she phone?”
Justine frowned pensively. “It must have been a bit after eight because she asked after her father and he wasn’t yet home from the college. I told her he’d gone back to work for a while and she said she’d phone him there.”
“Did she?”
Weaver shook his head. His lower lip quivered, and he pressed his left index finger to it as if by that action he could control further displays of emotion.
“You were alone when she phoned?”
Justine nodded.
“And you’re certain it was Elena?”
Justine’s fine skin seemed to tauten across her cheeks. “Of course. Who else—?”
“Who knew the two of you ran in the morning?”
Her eyes went to her husband, then back to Lynley. “Anthony knew. I suppose I must have told one or two of my colleagues.”
“At?”
“The University Press.”
“Others?”
Again, she looked at her husband. “Anthony? Do you know of anyone?”
Weaver was still staring at the monitor of the Ceephone, as if in the hope that a call would come through. “Adam Jenn, probably. I’m sure I told him. Her friends, I should think. People on her staircase.”
“With access to her room, to her phone?”
“Gareth,” Justine said. “Of course she would have told Gareth.”
“And he has a Ceephone as well.” Weaver looked sharply at Lynley. “Elena didn’t make that call, did she? Someone else did.”
Lynley could feel the other man’s growing need for action. Whether it was spurious or genuine he could not tell. “It’s a possibility,” he agreed. “But it’s also a possibility that Elena simply preferred to create an excuse to run alone this morning. Would that have been out of character?”
“She ran with her stepmother.
Similar Books
