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“There’s no trouble, honestly, I just have a couple of really brief questions and I’ll be out of your way,” he said. “Five minutes, I promise.”
“I guess that’s OK,” she said. “But should I have a lawyer?”
She hadn’t opened the door more than a couple of inches, and Charlie had made sure not to crowd her. He heard the sound of someone else in the room; the sound of fabric against fabric, and the sound of feet hitting the floor.
“If you want a lawyer, that’s fine,” Charlie said, “but you truly don’t need one. I’m not accusing you of doing anything wrong, but I think you can clear something up for me. You’re potentially a witness, that’s all.” He smiled again until his cheeks ached. “We can go in the kitchen if you like, or down to the lounge, and I’m happy to wait while you get dressed.”
The sounds from behind the door turned into a man’s face over Katy’s shoulder. The man’s bed hair was more dramatic: the right-hand side stood up straight, while the left was pasted sweatily against his head. Seeing it made Charlie flatten his own hair in an unconscious gesture.
“Let him in, babe," the man said. "I’ve seen him around talking to the principal, and the cops don’t have guns in this country. You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.”
Charlie let a breath out. The man’s accent was American; with luck, another painting student.
“Would you like a few minutes to get dressed?” Charlie asked.
Katy looked up and down the corridor. “It’s fine, come in.” She opened the door.
The room was the same as the two rooms he’d already seen. Tidier than Kaylan’s, but not as tidy as Rico’s. There was the same smell of oil paint, and the same pile of paint brushes and sketch books. Clothes lay neatly across the back of the desk chair. The duvet was thrown back on the narrow bed, and the smell of sex told Charlie that somehow, two full sized adults had spent the night together in it.
Without being asked, he sat down on the very edge of the armchair, making himself as small and unthreatening as he could, while signalling that he wouldn’t be staying long. He waited until the man rested his arse against the desk, and Katy sat on the bed, tucking the gown under her legs and around her body and looking fractionally less worried.
“May I ask your name, sir?” Charlie said to the man.
“Sal Corbin,” the man said.
Charlie smiled. “That’s great, Mr Corbin. I was planning to speak to you as well. It’s simple. I wanted to know how much you—or your parents—contributed to the college’s special fund. I know that international students often make an additional donation, and I wondered if you had done the same.”
“Why would you want to know that?” Sal asked.
“It’s part of an ongoing investigation,” Charlie said. “You should know there is absolutely no suggestion that there was anything wrong with those donations.”
Katy’s blush had faded, but it returned with full force. She wrapped her arms around herself. “My parents did make a donation,” she said, looking sideways at Sal. “But they said not to talk about it. Not everyone can afford to pay extra.”
Sal reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Compared to what we could have paid in the US, this was a good deal. A degree only takes three years here, so they saved a year of tuition. My folks paid forty grand on top of the fees. I’m not scholarship material, detective, I’m just a lucky dude whose family had some good investments.”
“I don’t know what mine paid,” Katy said. “But I know Dr Vitruvious talked to them about it. We don’t discuss money. My mom told me they’d fixed it, and here I am.” She tried a smile. It didn’t come out very well, but given the way he’d interrupted her morning Charlie could only admire the effort.
Charlie stood up. “Thanks. That was all I needed to know. I might ask to speak to your parents on the phone later, but for now, that’s it.”
“Can we ask about Rico?” Katy said. “Because people are saying he was murdered, but no one is telling us what happened. He was a really nice guy.” Her voice shook on the last few words, and Sal moved to sit next to her on the bed, his arm around her shoulders.
He looked up at Charlie.
“We, the painting students, wanted to do some kind of memorial. I know none of us have been here long, but…”
“I can’t tell you anything yet, I’m sorry. When we can say more, we’ll be in touch with the college principal.” Charlie hated having to retreat behind police-speak when these young people were upset. Murder did that. Spread shock and misery far beyond those immediately affected.
“Kaylan knows stuff,” Katy burst out. “He was there, but he just sneers when anyone asks. When Sal suggested a memorial, he laughed and said there would be one though we would be too stupid to see it. I hate him.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I don’t hate him. I just wish he’d say…”
Charlie kept quiet, hoping for more. Nothing came.
“Thank you for talking to me,” he said in the end, and let himself out.
As he walked down the corridor back to the stairs, he heard rapid footsteps behind him. He turned and it was Sal.
“Kaylan is a jerk, detective. We all think he knows something about Rico’s death. Some people think he did it. Katy is just too nice to say so.”
As agreed, Charlie waited for Eddy and Patsy by the entrance to the hall of residence. He stayed inside, on a sofa by the window. Outside, the chilly wind had turned chillier, and the sun appeared only intermittently between the clouds. When the outside door opened, Charlie could smell rain in the air.
