"Do you think this Psychology course Handsworth was doing is relevant to his murder?" Lewis asked, as they left the University College, back to the scorching heat of the day.
"I'm not sure," Hathaway replied, "it was interesting, though. Someone fascinated with murder and violent human behaviour meets a violent end – it could have potential."
"Aye – maybe one of his classmates did it," Lewis sighed, tugging at his tie to loosen it as they approached the porter's lodge, "maybe we'll get lucky and one of them will confess."
"I'll bet you a pint they won't," Hathaway replied, confidently.
They paused by the porter's window, and Hathaway supplied the names of the three students Rutledge had mentioned.
"You're in luck," the porter told them, "all three of them signed up to stay in their digs over the summer. Here's the addresses – all off site, sorry."
"Thanks," Lewis said, taking the slip and scanning it quickly, "come on, sergeant – Susan Harper's the closest, so let's start with her."
They made their way back to the car – on the way to the University, Hathaway had dropped his off at the station, and they now used Lewis's Vauxhall to navigate the city centre, locating the converted house of flats that Susan Harper called home. Lewis knocked on the door of the basement flat. It opened on a security chain, and a wary eye peered out.
"Hello," Lewis said, holding up his badge, "Susan Harper? I'm Inspector Lewis, and this is Sergeant Hathaway, Thames Valley. Can we come in, please?"
The door shut quickly, the chain rattled back, and the door was suddenly flung open to reveal a young woman with short, dark hair, wearing jeans, and a tight red tee-shirt.
"Is this about Nigel Handsworth?" she asked, looking at each of them in turn.
Lewis and Hathaway exchanged a look. This was not what they had expected.
"As a matter of fact, yes it is," Lewis said, frowning slightly, "do you mind if we come in and discuss it?"
"Not much point, really," Susan shrugged, holding out her hands with the wrists pressed together, "you may as well arrest me. I killed him."
~*~
The interview room was wonderfully cool after the baking heat outside. Hathaway brought in three plastic cups of tea, set them down, passing one to Susan and the other to Lewis. Susan had not said a word to them since Hathaway had read her the rights, and they had brought her to the station. Lewis set the tape recorder going, and started the interview.
"Tell us about Nigel Handsworth," he said, "you knew him, is that correct?"
"Yeah, we were mates," Susan replied, not looking up from staring into her cup of tea, "Nigel was a nice guy – more money than sense. He was generous, though – always the first to buy a round in the pub. I liked him."
"We found Nigel's body in Wytham Woods this morning," Lewis told her, "what can you tell us about that?"
"I killed him," Susan said, bluntly, looking up at him for the first time, "Nigel and I had been drinking together. We went out for a drive, and ended up at the woods. We thought it would be a laugh to go for a walk, midnight, in the woods, all spooky, like. We walked for a while, talking, and then Nigel went a bit weird. He said he loved me, he wanted me, and the next thing I knew, he pulled out a knife and tried to rape me. I fought him off, and he suddenly turned, laughing, and said I wasn't worth the effort. In the torchlight I saw the knife. I grabbed it, came up behind him, and slit his throat. He fell down into a ditch. I grabbed the knife and the torch, went back to the car, and dumped it in a layby on the way back from the Woods. It took me nearly three hours to walk back home. End of story."
Lewis exchanged a long look with Hathaway, barely able to comprehend what the girl was telling him so casually.
"We'd like you to submit to a medical and forensic examination, if you don't mind," Lewis said to her, "to check you for any trace evidence."
"I wouldn't bother," Susan shrugged, "I showered the minute I got back, and, like I said, he didn't actually rape me."
"Nonetheless, we'd like a doctor to take a look at you," Lewis replied, "where's the knife?"
"Sorry?" Susan frowned, vaguely.
"The knife you used to kill Nigel Handworth," Lewis prompted her, "where is it?"
"Oh, that," she responded, dismissively, "a friend of mine, Neil, came around to see me this morning after I called him. I gave him the knife and asked him to get rid of it for me. I didn't tell him what I'd done with it. I just said I'd found it."
"Neil Dickinson?" Lewis queried.
"Yes, that's him," she nodded, apparently unsurprised that he knew who she meant, "he's got the knife."
Lewis looked at Hathaway, knowing that they had to get the knife before anything happened to it. He ended the interview, summoning a duty sergeant to take Susan back to the cells and to arrange for her to see a doctor, before he and Hathaway headed back outside into the oppressive heat.
"This can't last much longer," Lewis commented, as they got into the car and he immediately turned on the air conditioning, before pulling out of the car park, "bloody heat makes it hard to think."
"Do you reckon she's telling the truth, sir?" Hathaway asked, as they headed for Neil Dickinson's student house.
"I don't see why not," Lewis replied, "why admit to murder if you didn't do it?"
"She could be covering for someone," Hathaway pointed out, "or out of her mind. Or both."
"We'll see what this Neil Dickinson comes up with," Lewis answered, grimly, "oh, and by the way, don't forget you owe me a pint for the confession… valid or not, it still counts!"
They pulled up outside a three storey house which had been converted into flats. Neil Dickinson occupied the basement flat, and, when Lewis rang the doorbell, the door opened to reveal a young man in ripped jeans, with a black vest shirt on, and spiky blonde hair. He gazed at them blearily, as if he had just woken up.
"Neil Dickinson? This is Inspector Lewis and I'm Sergeant Hathaway," said Hathaway, gesturing in turn, "we're from Thames Valley. May we come in, please?"
"Oh," Neil looked at each of them in turn, "you must be here about the Nigel thing, right?"
Hathaway glanced across at Lewis, with a slight frown.
"What would you know about that, then, Mr Dickinson?" Lewis asked, folding his arms.
Neil shrugged, and copied Lewis's gesture mockingly. He smirked, and rocked back on his heels.
"Why aye, man," he said, in an appalling parody of a Geordie accent, "I killed him, like."
"You what?" Lewis said, disbelievingly.
"I said, 'I killed him'," Dickinson repeated, slowly, "The bastard had it coming. So are you going to arrest me, or what?"
~*~
Dickinson was sitting in the interview room with a cup of tea. Lewis and Hathaway sat the other side of the table. The interview had dragged on for half an hour already – Dickinson alternating between disdainful mockery of the two officers and cheerful co-operation.
"So you and Nigel were in the pub," Lewis said, patiently, "and there was a disagreement over money?"
"Yeah," Neil scowled, "he claimed he'd loaned me five hundred quid, which is bullshit. We got into a fight over it and the landlord chucked us out."
"Which pub was this?"
"The New Inn," Neil replied, "it was about eleven last night, not long before closing."
"So what happened next?"
"I told Nigel I'd had enough of him being a prick all the time," Neil said, slowly, "he was always showing off, flashing the cash, and putting me down in front of people. I'm not rich, you see – not like that bastard. He was taking the piss something chronic last night."
"What did you do?"
"Nigel went to his car and pulled a knife out of the glove box. He was drunk, laughing, waving it at me. I flipped out and went of him. I got the knife and forced him into the boot. I drove the car out to Whytham Woods. I made him get out. We climbed over the barriers. Suddenly he took off. I'd grabbed the torch from the glove box, so I went after him. When I caught up with him, I got really pissed off. I grabbed his hair from behind, slit his throat, and kicked him into a ditch. I'd hoped he'd just stay there and rot."
Lewis glanced across at Hathaway, who was making notes at the interview progressed. Lewis rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.
"Where's the knife and the car now?" Lewis asked.
"Wouldn't you like to know," Neil smirked.
"Where?" Lewis repeated, emphasising the word.
Neil sighed and rolled his eyes; "I dumped the car in a lay-by somewhere on the way back from the Woods. I didn't know what to do with the knife, so I gave it to a mate. I cleaned the blood off and told him it was a present."
"Who's your 'mate'?" Lewis asked.
"Simon Green," Neil replied, with a sudden grin; "you should go and see him. I bet he'd love to talk to you."
~*~
