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The man bowed to Charlie and Eddy. “Of course. Always willing to waste my time talking to the agents of the state. Though I’m a little busy with my tutorial group. Tom here will tell you how to reach me.”
“Back to staring at the wall, is it, sir?” Eddy said, “Fascinating stuff.”
Charlie kicked him, hoping no one was looking.
“Don’t mock what you don’t understand, Mr Policeman.”
With another wild arm gesture, he turned and strode off. This time the secretary stepped backwards so fast that she almost tripped.
“I tried, Tom, really I did,” she said.
“Nothing any of us can do,” Tom said. “Don’t worry about it. Just be grateful the pretentious twat didn’t persuade the Governors to appoint him Acting Principal.”
The secretary visibly shuddered.
“That, gentlemen, was Inigo Vitruvious, Senior Painting Tutor, and the self-proclaimed social conscience of the college.” Tom rubbed his hands over his face. “You probably should talk to him, though. Kaylan and Rico were both painting students.”
Charlie felt some sympathy, if only some. Two students were missing, by any definition of the term, and the college management appeared to have done nothing except debate the term missing and come up with excuses. The Vitruvious man had been revolting, but it didn’t mean he was wrong.
Maybe the two students had simply gone off to explore, or have a ball in Cardiff or London, but the fact remained that no one appeared to care. The college had colluded in the cover up of the assaults on female students, and their first response was to cover this up, too. He looked around him. The office was as big as the flat Charlie had left in Melin. There was room for a ten-seat conference-type table in a warm-coloured wood, highly polished, with individual blotters at each place. The chairs were upholstered in a light olive-green leather, which exactly matched the carpet and Tom’s own chair. There was a wall of bookcases in the same wood as the table full of large and heavy-looking hardbacks. An enormous window dominated the side of the room between the desk and the bookcase on the opposite wall. The view was straight onto the court with the fountain, students and staff wandering along the paths or drawing leaves. Beyond was the other side of the square, a mirror image of where they sat, and beyond that, the tops of a few shops and houses and then the wooded hills that surrounded the town. At this time of year, the Welsh woodlands were spectacular. The colours against the sky looked like a postcard. Charlie coveted that view, and the lovely room, and he understood that it would be hard to give up. Except that to keep it, the college management had let their students suffer. By the sounds of it, the staff weren’t suffering either. He didn’t know where Maes y Coed was, but if it went with driving a Jag, it probably wasn’t cheap.
Do you know that bloke?
Monday 12.30pm
From Breaking News
Still no arrests in the Llanfair assault scandal. A Clwyd Police spokesperson said that they had no comment to make, but that the alleged assaults were being taken seriously. They refused to confirm whether officers have been suspended.
A visibly distraught Jess Carter from the Llanfair College of Art Students’ Union told our reporter that she had received six reports of sexual assaults on women students over the past few months.
“Obviously it’s been quiet over the summer holidays, but two women were attacked in the first week of term, both new students. They’ve both left the college and returned home, with their education in ruins. What we don’t know is whether any other women were attacked in Llanfair over the summer, or if these attacks are only on students.”
Llanfair College of Art did not respond to our request for an interview.
“Do you know that bloke? The acting principal?” Eddy asked Charlie, as they walked back through the courtyard. Students were still drawing piles of leaves, but the group staring at the wall had gone, along with their tutor.
“We’ve met,” Charlie said, as repressively as he could.
“Because he surely recognised you. And was looking at you like I’d look at a triple chocolate cookie.”
Charlie laughed. “Not a good image, Eddy, mate.”
“True though. Triple chocolate cookies are excellent. It’s a compliment. We can pick some up on our way back and you’ll see. You’re a bit of a triple chocolate cookie yourself.”
“Could we think about work instead?”
“Sure. But you are gay, right?”
“Yes!” Charlie almost yelled. “Work, DC Edwards. Concentrate on work. I want to send Jellicoe and Hargreaves out to ask some questions—together, mind. Perhaps the delightful Vitruvious will be better behaved talking to women. They can canvas the other students while they’re there. I want you to talk to the owner of that white van from this morning and do a house to house round the police station in case anyone saw anything.”
“Will do. And you, Sarge? Reporting back to the Super? That man’s a legend. A legend, I tell you.”
“He’s a good boss.”
“He’s got the best clear-up rate in Clwyd. And he’s a bit of a triple chocolate cookie, if you know what I mean.”
Charlie could hardly pretend Superintendent Mal Kent wasn’t seriously good-looking. Equally, discussing the man’s appearance wasn’t the professional detective he wanted to portray.
