Engleby (16 page)

‘Thank you, Groucho.’

Stellings put on his headphones again, which was my signal to leave. I think he was listening to
Gigi
– or ‘the dry run for
My Fair Lady
’ as he invariably called it.

One thing I couldn’t risk with Stellings was Jen’s diary. I stuffed the photocopy of her letter home inside it and went to the toilet on the half-landing of my staircase. By standing on the seat, I could reach round behind the back of the raised cistern. It was a perfect fit, with shades of the Topley run.

My room in Clock Court is on the top floor of an uncarpeted staircase, so it wasn’t hard to hear the approach of three police officers.

I had candidly thrown back the outer door and had only to open the flimsy inner one when I heard the knock. I had bathed and shaved, trimmed my hair and put on my old Chatfield tweed jacket. I thought about a tie but didn’t want to go too far. With jeans and an open shirt beneath the jacket, I imagined I looked normal.

I was looking forward to this interview. It was about time they came to see me, instead of messing about with that Wilson bloke.

Peck I recognised from Jen’s Last Walk and from television. He was a genial type who smiled a lot. DC Cannon was about thirty-two with gingery sideburns, rather on edge. The ‘student liaison officer’ was a fat woman with a too-tight uniform and black lace-up shoes with rubber soles.

I got them arranged round the room and sat at the desk myself.

‘So,’ said Peck, ‘I understand you knew Jennifer Arkland a little. Perhaps you could begin by telling us how well.’

‘I knew her very well. I went to lectures with her most days. Although I’m doing Natural Sciences, I’m interested in history and I had spare time in my day, so I often went along.’

‘I see. And what was her attitude?’

‘What? To my being there?’

‘Yes.’

‘She was flattered, I think. Pleased. We were friends, so . . . It was, you know, fine.’

‘And what about the lectures? Were they happy to have someone from another subject?’

‘Oh, God, yes.’ I laughed. ‘In History they don’t get much of an audience. They’re delighted. More the merrier. It’s not like Medicine or something where you have to go to all the practicals and sign in. It’s not like school. In History, lectures are completely optional. Lots of people don’t go at all.’

‘I see.’ Peck sounded a bit surprised. ‘And it didn’t interfere with your own studies.’

‘Not at all. You can check with my supervisor, Dr Waynflete. He says I’m doing fine.’

‘Thank you. We will.’ That was said by Cannon. His first contribution.

Peck looked across at him. Cannon was sitting under the Procol Harum poster, with the photograph of Julie just behind his head. Their presence was quite intrusive really.

Cannon pulled a packet of Embassy out of his jacket pocket and lit one with a side-action Ronson Varaflame. I leaned over from the desk and pushed the ashtray across the low table towards him.

‘Mr Engleby,’ said Cannon, ‘I’d like you to tell us more about Jennifer. How did you first meet her?’

I told him about Jen Soc, the meetings, getting to know her there, helping out with the clearing up, the film in Ireland and—

‘Did she invite you to go on this trip to Ireland?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘Were you a member of the Film Society at that time?’ said Peck.

‘It wasn’t a Film Soc project. It was a private thing. Nick had the camera. Nick, you know, her housemate as he became. Stewart Forres just borrowed some of the Film Soc facilities when he came back. For the edit and so on. The screening room.’

‘I see.’

‘Have you seen the film?’ I asked.

‘Yes. Several times.’

‘Was it helpful?’

‘Yes,’ said Peck, ‘it’s very unusual in a missing persons inquiry to have such a clear and recent picture of what they’re like.’

Cannon said, ‘And what did you do on this film?’

‘Some sound, some carpentry, some catering.’

‘There’s a rape scene, isn’t there?’ Cannon stubbed out his Embassy.

‘Yes.’ Something told me to keep the answers short at this point.

‘Were you involved?’

It occurred to me that since it was now over two weeks since Jennifer’s disappearance they must have talked to Stewart, Nick and Hannah – at least – of the Tipperary people.

‘Yes, I did the sound that day.’

‘How was Jennifer?’

‘Fine.’

‘Go on.’

I shrugged.

Cannon said, ‘It’s not every day a twenty-year-old girl pretends to be raped. In front of a camera crew.’

‘No.’

‘Come on, Michael,’ said Peck in an avuncular way. ‘Barry just wants to know if she seemed all right.’

I turned to face Peck again. ‘Yes. She was an actress. It was a challenge.’ I was thinking of her tears and wondering if anyone had mentioned them. ‘I expect it was difficult but she was determined to get it right – because there was a political point to be made.’

‘And what was that?’ said Cannon.

‘A feminist point about rape.’

Peck looked at Cannon as though asking him not to speak.

I also looked at Cannon and wondered what on earth he knew about feminism, rape or sex. I could tell what sort of family he came from. Slightly better than mine, but still working-class prudes. They don’t do sex, those guys – the upper-lowers – except as a bargaining counter for marriage. I wondered how many girlfriends he’d had. Did they send him on a course to learn about the promiscuous middle classes and their soft ideas? ‘Simone de Beauvoir for Plods’. ‘Free love among the Posh: an introductory series of five lectures’. Don’t get excited, Cannon. Keep your ginger hair on.

I found Peck was looking at me. ‘And what was your reaction, Michael?’

‘My reaction to what?’

‘The rape scene. Were you upset?’

I bit my lips a little and looked at the policewoman. She looked down at her rubber-soled shoes. I looked over at Cannon, who was leaning forward in his chair, then back to Peck.

‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘I was just doing a job. Trying to get a clean soundtrack without aeroplane noise.’

‘And it didn’t upset you at all to see this girl you were . . . very good friends with, as you say, it didn’t upset you to see her being raped?’

I laughed. ‘Not at all. It was fun. It was interesting. We were all acting. She didn’t
really
get raped.’

‘And when you saw the actor who played the rapist . . . Er . . .’

‘Alex Tanner,’ said Cannon.

‘Yes,’ said Peck, ‘when you saw Alex pretend to rape Jennifer . . . You were . . . That was all right, was it?’

‘I . . . Yes. That was all right. Stewart was very professional. Also, Hannah was there, the actress. You know, the girl who did the Walk. So she was like a chaperone.’

It was funny hearing them talk about all these people in that formal way – Alex Tanner, for instance – as though they were real grown-ups in a significant life. They were students, making things up as they went along. They didn’t know what they were doing, right, wrong or neither. They had nothing to compare it with because it was all still being done for the first time.

‘So you watched this young man,’ said Cannon, ‘who was naked, I think, and this girl, your close friend, also naked . . . And how close did he actually go in his acting to raping her?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t look.’

I felt a tightening of interest from all three.

‘Why not?’ said Cannon.

‘I was looking at her face to make sure she was all right. I told you. She was my friend.’

No one said anything for quite a long time. I could feel a headache starting, but didn’t say so.

Eventually, Peck began again on the nature of my friendship with her. Had I been to her house? Yes. How many times? Not that often, we saw each other mostly at lectures. Did I know her parents? Certainly not! Most people don’t admit to
having
parents . . .

I became quite bored with this after a while and offered to make tea. To my disappointment, they all said no.

‘Now, Michael,’ said Peck. ‘I’m going to have to ask you a more difficult question. I want you to tell me what you were doing on the night of Jennifer’s disappearance.’

I inhaled and turned round to look down at my desk. I heard the clock strike half-past five. I located my Heffer’s ringbound desk diary.

‘Let me see . . . Yes. I remember very well, in fact. I went to the party that Jennifer was at. It was in a house in Malcolm Street.’

‘We know where it was,’ said Cannon.

‘And who did you talk to there?’ said Peck.

‘Jennifer, of course.’

‘How was she?’

‘Fine. Absolutely fine.’

‘You didn’t notice anything unusual. She didn’t seem agitated or upset?’

‘Not at all. She was always fine.’

‘Who else did you talk to?’

‘I can’t remember. No one much. I didn’t stay long. It wasn’t my kind of party.’

‘Can you remember the name of anyone at all that you spoke to?’

‘The music was very loud, it was hard to hear. A guy called Steve. In Corpus, I think. Or maybe Christ’s. Anne, maybe? Was she there?’

There was another silence. Then Peck said, ‘Is there anyone who could corroborate your whereabouts on that night?’

‘I called in at the Bradford hotel for a drink on the way.’

‘The Bradford? Are you a regular there?’

‘Fairly regular.’

‘What’s the barman’s name?’

‘I don’t know. He’s a transvestite.’

‘Have you ever spoken to him?’

‘Only to order a drink.’

‘You’re a regular but you’ve never spoken to the barman?’

‘No, I . . . No.’

‘Where were you between one and two a.m.?’

‘In bed.’

‘Can you prove that?’

‘There was no one with me, if that’s what you mean. I got back about twelve-fifteen. I rang the bell at the porters’ lodge. The porter might remember letting me in.’

‘So what time had you left the party then?’

‘About twelve, I suppose.’

‘So you did stay
quite
a long time at the party, then.’

‘No, I got there late. After the pub. I really didn’t hang around there.’

The pauses were now becoming more frequent and rather tense. There was a lot of body, a lot of clothes – a lot of cubic footage of police officer in my room.

Cannon fired his Ronson again. I noticed that although he was on his fourth cigarette, he still hadn’t offered me one. I would have said no anyway, in case it made me look nervous.

‘Do you have a girlfriend, Mr Engleby?’ It was Cannon.

‘Well, there was Jennifer.’

‘I thought Robin Wilson was her boyfriend.’

‘It depends what you mean by that word.’

Cannon began to speak, but Peck held up his hand. Another treacly silence.

Eventually, Peck said softly, ‘Michael, are you being quite honest with us? We’ve talked to a lot of other people, you know.’

I said nothing.

‘Do you have girlfriends at home?’ said Peck.

‘Some. No one special.’

‘You see, what people have been telling us is that you prefer boys.’

I laughed. It was such a relief of tension. I couldn’t stop laughing for about a minute, and I noticed them looking at one another and signalling.

‘All right,’ said Peck. ‘I just want you to remember, Michael, that we’re looking for a lovely girl, someone people were very fond of. If you remember anything – it doesn’t matter how small – anything that might help us, I want you to ring this number.’ He handed me a card.

‘If there’s anything you suddenly “remember”,’ said Cannon. ‘Anything you feel you’d like to share. Sometimes it’s hard to bottle things up . . .’

‘We’re all on the same side,’ said Peck. ‘We’re all trying to find Jennifer.’

‘Sure,’ I said.

I thought of saying ‘Now if you’ll excuse me’, which is what the person in my position says in every detective story ever written for page, stage or screen. It’s a law. They can’t not.

But when I looked round their faces, I had a feeling that they wouldn’t get the joke.

I just waited for them to gather up their stuff and thunder off downstairs.

Then I cleared up Cannon’s mucky ashtray and threw the dog-ends in the pantry bin, where, after, a moment’s thought, I threw the unopened Rich Tea as well.

I felt badly in need of a real smoke and thought of going to get my stuff back from Stellings. Then I thought I’d better leave it for a bit in case there was a sudden knock at the door and Peck stuck his head sound, saying, ‘sorry, just one more thing . . .’