Good Girls Don't Die Read Free Page A

blinds failed to shield him from the bright sunlight. He peered at them from behind his unkempt desk and, before asking who they were, apologised that he was running late for a meeting. Although Jessica had told them he’d only just completed his Ph.D., he seemed more boyish than Grace had expected. He was physically slight but undeniably attractive in a cute sort of way and, despite his preppie clothes and the Arsenal pennant he’d hung on the wall behind his desk, it wasn’t astretch for her to imagine Polly inviting him home and into bed.
    Jessica had admitted that some of her reluctance to tell them that Polly’s overnight guest was a law lecturer had been down to the fear that she’d get him into trouble. And certainly the stressed way Dr Beeston was attempting to stuff a bundle of files into an expensive leather satchel made Grace wonder if maybe he was slightly out of his depth. Lance explained that they were detectives and would need five minutes of his time, and he gave them his full attention.
    Matt’s first response was that he didn’t know a student named Polly Sinclair, but when Lance suggested he might have accompanied her home last Thursday night, he blushed furiously.
    ‘Oh yes, of course,’ he said. ‘Her name had slipped my mind. Not very chivalrous of me.’
    ‘So you did spend Thursday night with her in Wivenhoe?’ asked Lance.
    ‘Yes. Why?’ His voice sharpened in alarm. ‘She’s not one of my students. And she invited me back.’ He seemed glad of the shelter of his desk, and busied himself again gathering up his papers. ‘I’ve never taught her.’
    ‘We’re the police,’ Lance explained patiently. ‘We’re not interested in university regulations.’
    ‘Right, right.’ Matt took a deep breath and sat down, the colour fading from his cheeks. ‘So why are you here? How can I help? What is it you want to know?’
    ‘Have you seen or heard from Polly since Friday morning?’
    It took another moment for him to take on board how carefully he was being observed, but when he did, Grace was curious to note that his reaction seemed to be a mixture of discomposure and aloofness. He still hadn’t asked if Polly was all right.
    ‘We were both pretty hammered,’ Matt explained. ‘It was only, you know … I left the next morning with a hangover, and that was that. Isn’t that what she says?’
    ‘Did you contact her?’ asked Lance. ‘Arrange to see her again?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Or try to?’
    ‘No. Look, she was sweet, but we both agreed it wasn’t the start of anything. She was no more keen than I was.’ His nervous attempt to sneak a look at his watch made Grace wonder how long it would take him to focus on anything other than himself.
    ‘We’re sorry to delay you, Dr Beeston,’ she said, speaking for the first time. ‘And we have no wish to embarrass you unnecessarily, but we have to ask: did you and Polly have sex that Friday morning?’
    Now he looked well and truly scared. ‘Look, am I being accused of something here, because, if so –’
    Grace continued to gaze coolly at him. ‘We need to corroborate other statements.’
    He gazed back, apparently trying to work out what they really wanted. Then his face cleared. ‘It’s that foreign builder guy, isn’t it? The one who was spying on us.’
    ‘Who was spying on you?’
    ‘He had a foreign name. Russian-sounding. He came to fix something downstairs.’
    ‘While you were in the bedroom?’
    ‘Yes. He was creeping around outside the door. A real peeping Tom.’ He let out a breath of relief and sat back in his chair. ‘Has he done something to her?’
    ‘Polly hasn’t been in contact with anyone since Friday night,’ Grace explained, watching him carefully. ‘Her family are concerned about her. You’ve no idea where she might be?’
    Comprehension was followed by a look of calculation, reminding Grace that he had a Ph.D. in law.
    ‘I spent
Thursday
night with her,’ he said. ‘I’d never met her before