8.30.’
‘I know.’ The other waitress looked at Jenny and shrugged. ‘But I don’t know her name.’
Rena said, ‘She’s sometimes with that guy. Is he called Alex?’
The first waitress looked blank.
‘
Alex
– the blond guy,’ Rena said insistently, ‘the one who asked for Linda’s number. He tells her he’s important, teaches economics at the university.’
‘Oh,
him
.’
Jenny brought out her phone and called up the web browser. ‘Economics?’
Rena nodded. ‘That’s right. He thinks he’s a good-looking guy.’ She rolled her shoulders from side to side, imitating his swagger.
Jenny tapped
Oxford University Department of Economics
into the search bar on her phone and found the departmental website. She clicked on
Academics
and up came a list of economics tutors. She scrolled through the names until at the very bottom she found
Alex Forster
. Another tap and she was looking at his CV and photograph. He had a PhD from the University of Wellington, was thirty-two years old and was a research fellow at Worcester College. She showed his picture to Rena. ‘Is this the man?’ Rena nodded, impressed with the speed of her detective work. ‘The picture’s a little old, though.’
It took only two phone calls, one to the Department of Economics and one to the receptionist at Worcester College, to be connected to Alex Forster’s extension.
He answered briskly in the manner of a man who had been interrupted at his work. ‘Dr Forster.’ He spoke with a pronounced New Zealand accent.
Jenny introduced herself with her formal title – Coroner for the Severn Vale District – and got his attention. ‘My inquiry doesn’t directly concern you, Dr Forster,’ she explained, ‘rather someone you may know. This may sound rather odd, but I’m told you sometimes share a table at a cafe in Oxford Castle with a woman with short black hair. She wears glasses and often carries a laptop with her.’
‘I’m conducting a tutorial at the moment, Ms Cooper. May I call you back?’
She detected a tightness in his voice, as if he been caught out.
She pressed him. ‘I’m here in Oxford. I could speak to you in person if you wish. Or if you’d prefer to check my identity, I suggest you call my office and ask my officer to patch you through.’
‘That might be wise. I’ll call you back.’
Jenny ordered a coffee while she waited the few minutes it would take for Forster to perform the same exercise as the one she had just conducted on him. Unlike a police officer, she was in no position to intimidate witnesses into speaking. She had instead to rely on their willingness to help, and her instinct was that Forster would.
He returned her call five minutes later.
‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Ms Cooper – you understand my caution.’
‘Of course. I ought to explain – the woman I’m attempting to trace was seen talking to a man who apparently committed suicide earlier this week. I’m conducting an inquiry into the surrounding circumstances and would like to speak to her.’
‘I see.’ He sounded relieved. Perhaps he had feared the incident with Linda the waitress had somehow come back to bite him. ‘The description you gave sounds like Sonia Blake. She’s a politics tutor here in college. I tried her number but she’s not answering. She’s usually back in her room by about 4.30.’
‘Are you and she close colleagues?’
‘Like all good Oxford dons, we often have tea,’ he joked.
‘I’d like to reach her before then if I can. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to give me her mobile?’
Thanking him for his help and ending the call, Jenny took stock. She decided a phone call to Sonia Blake wouldn’t be enough. She wanted to talk to her in person.
It was only a ten-minute walk – guided haphazardly by the tourist map she had picked up at the cafe – to Worcester College. It stood at the bottom of Beaumont Street, a short walk from the Randolph Hotel, and had the feeling of being
‘I know.’ The other waitress looked at Jenny and shrugged. ‘But I don’t know her name.’
Rena said, ‘She’s sometimes with that guy. Is he called Alex?’
The first waitress looked blank.
‘
Alex
– the blond guy,’ Rena said insistently, ‘the one who asked for Linda’s number. He tells her he’s important, teaches economics at the university.’
‘Oh,
him
.’
Jenny brought out her phone and called up the web browser. ‘Economics?’
Rena nodded. ‘That’s right. He thinks he’s a good-looking guy.’ She rolled her shoulders from side to side, imitating his swagger.
Jenny tapped
Oxford University Department of Economics
into the search bar on her phone and found the departmental website. She clicked on
Academics
and up came a list of economics tutors. She scrolled through the names until at the very bottom she found
Alex Forster
. Another tap and she was looking at his CV and photograph. He had a PhD from the University of Wellington, was thirty-two years old and was a research fellow at Worcester College. She showed his picture to Rena. ‘Is this the man?’ Rena nodded, impressed with the speed of her detective work. ‘The picture’s a little old, though.’
It took only two phone calls, one to the Department of Economics and one to the receptionist at Worcester College, to be connected to Alex Forster’s extension.
He answered briskly in the manner of a man who had been interrupted at his work. ‘Dr Forster.’ He spoke with a pronounced New Zealand accent.
Jenny introduced herself with her formal title – Coroner for the Severn Vale District – and got his attention. ‘My inquiry doesn’t directly concern you, Dr Forster,’ she explained, ‘rather someone you may know. This may sound rather odd, but I’m told you sometimes share a table at a cafe in Oxford Castle with a woman with short black hair. She wears glasses and often carries a laptop with her.’
‘I’m conducting a tutorial at the moment, Ms Cooper. May I call you back?’
She detected a tightness in his voice, as if he been caught out.
She pressed him. ‘I’m here in Oxford. I could speak to you in person if you wish. Or if you’d prefer to check my identity, I suggest you call my office and ask my officer to patch you through.’
‘That might be wise. I’ll call you back.’
Jenny ordered a coffee while she waited the few minutes it would take for Forster to perform the same exercise as the one she had just conducted on him. Unlike a police officer, she was in no position to intimidate witnesses into speaking. She had instead to rely on their willingness to help, and her instinct was that Forster would.
He returned her call five minutes later.
‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Ms Cooper – you understand my caution.’
‘Of course. I ought to explain – the woman I’m attempting to trace was seen talking to a man who apparently committed suicide earlier this week. I’m conducting an inquiry into the surrounding circumstances and would like to speak to her.’
‘I see.’ He sounded relieved. Perhaps he had feared the incident with Linda the waitress had somehow come back to bite him. ‘The description you gave sounds like Sonia Blake. She’s a politics tutor here in college. I tried her number but she’s not answering. She’s usually back in her room by about 4.30.’
‘Are you and she close colleagues?’
‘Like all good Oxford dons, we often have tea,’ he joked.
‘I’d like to reach her before then if I can. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to give me her mobile?’
Thanking him for his help and ending the call, Jenny took stock. She decided a phone call to Sonia Blake wouldn’t be enough. She wanted to talk to her in person.
It was only a ten-minute walk – guided haphazardly by the tourist map she had picked up at the cafe – to Worcester College. It stood at the bottom of Beaumont Street, a short walk from the Randolph Hotel, and had the feeling of being
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