"Your client has infused syntho at some time," Greg said.
"Hey!" Uri protested.
"I simply wish to know how familiar you are with the narcotics availability at Launde, that's all," Greg said. "It's going to help me a lot."
"OK. All right," Uri held up his hands in placation. "No big deal. Yes, I tried it. Once, OK? One time. Like I told you, it's not my scene. I don't like that kind of loss of control, not in myself or other people. Infusing it just confirmed my view. It's stupid, self-destructive."
"You know where it was grown?"
"Yes. The vat in the lab. Everybody knew that."
"Thank you. Did you use the Bendix that night?"
"No."
"Do you know its management program codes?"
"No, not offhand, but they're all stored in the operations file. We all have access to that. Kitchener trusted us not to do anything stupid; we're all 'ware literate."
"What about the datanet; did you use it on Thursday, plug into a 'ware system outside the Abbey?"
"No."
Liz Foxton, Greg decided, was the kind of girl who was always open to other people's problems. To say that she was motherly would be unfair, she had a steely reserve, a no-nonsense practicality, but in addition there was a definite aura of reassurance about her. Even he felt less disquieted about this interview.
"I've been told you don't get on well with Rosette Harding-Clarke; is that true?" he asked.
"I don't dislike her," Liz said defensively. "There is no percentage in grudges, not when you have to spend a whole year cooped up in the same house together. I understand her perfectly; I'm just unhappy with her, that's all."
"Why?"
"She made a pass at Uri. More than one, actually. He turned her down each time."
"I see. What time did you get to sleep last Thursday night?"
"About two o'clock. I was watching the Globecast news channel. I was so happy about Scotland. Now this."
"I understand you were, um, active at three o'clock Friday morning. Did you hear or see anything unusual at that time?"
"No. There was just us."
"Was the flatscreen showing the newscasts at that time?"
"Yes. I'd fallen asleep watching it."
"What about after three o'clock, did it stay on?"
"Yes. I watched it for a while. I don't know how long for, I dozed off again."
"And you were woken by Rosette's screams?"
"Yes," she said in a tiny voice.
"Then you went straight to Kitchener's bedroom?"
"Yes."
"Was Uri in the bedroom when you woke up?"
"Yes! He was out of the door before me, but only by a few seconds."
"Do you remember if you arrived at Kitchener's bedroom before or after Isabel Spalvas?"
"Before, I think. She was standing behind me. She caught me. My legs went, you see." Her eyes filled with liquid. She blinked furiously, dabbing at them with a handkerchief.
"I understand," said Greg. "Just a couple more questions." He gave Lancaster an admonitory look. "Did you ever take syntho at the Abbey?"
She sniffed. "Yes, a few times. Three, I think. That was last year, about a month after I arrived. Just to try it. Edward was there to make sure I'd be all right. But that was the last time, Uri has a real bug about it."
"And you argued about it?"
"Yes. So silly." She gave him a fast plaintive grimace. "You remember the old song? The best part of breaking up, is making up. That's us."
"Right. So you must have known that syntho was being cooked up at the Abbey, that there was a vat in the lab?"
"Yes."
"Were you using the Bendix on Thursday?"
"No, I should have been, but Scotland seemed so much more important. I was watching the newscasts for most of the day."
"So you didn't use the datanet either, then?"
"No."
"Did you ever sleep with Edward Kitchener?"
He perceived the answer in her mind, in amidst all the turmoil of guilt, adoration, remorse, and grief. She took a long time to speak. The answer in her earlier statements to the police had been a resolute no.
"I did once," she said. "When I first went to Launde. I was lonely. He was kind, sympathetic."
"Was that one of the times when you infused syntho?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Does Uri know?"
"No." Her head was bowed. "You won't tell him, will you?"
"These interviews are strictly confidential," Greg said. "There's no need for him to know."
She rose slowly from her chair, gratefully accepting the hand Lancaster offered. "Do you know who it was?" she asked.
"Not yet, no."
Isabel Spalvas looked as tired as Greg felt. She was wearing jeans and a baggy mauve sweatshirt, her light fuzzy hair tied back in a pony-tail. Her face had wonderfully dainty features. She would have been very attractive under ordinary circumstances, he guessed, but today her skin was sallow, almost grey, there were red rings round her eyes from crying, slim lips were turned down mournfully. She moved listlessly when she came in, sitting down, showing no real interest in the proceedings. Matthew Slater sat behind her, looking appropriately concerned.
Greg could sense just how grave her depression was, a bleak distress interwound with every thought. Out of all the students so far, she was easily the most affected by the murder. He would go so far as to say traumatized.
"I understand you were seeing Edward Kitchener," Greg said delicately after Langley had started the AV recording.
She nodded apathetically.
"You were with him that night?"
Another nod.
"What time did you go to him?"
"Quarter-past one."
"Until when?"
"Half-past two."
"So you left Uri's room about midnight, and stayed in your own room until Rosette arrived, is that right?"
"Yes."
"What time did she arrive?"
"Half-past twelve, I think. She'd been in Cecil's room. We talked for a while, then we got changed ready for Edward. Rosette is quite fun when she's relaxed, when she's not trying to prove something. Don't get the wrong impression about her, most of that attitude is put on. She can't help it."
"When you left Kitchener's room, did you see anyone else in the Abbey?"
"No."
"Did you hear anything strange?"
"No."
"What about lights; shining under someone's door, or downstairs, outside even?"
"No. Oh, there was a bit of light in Uri's room. Bluish. I think the flatscreen might have been on. We were watching it in there earlier."
"You were taking syntho that night. Had it worn off by then?"
"Not quite, I was just starting to come down. I don't—"
She took a breath, then looked resolutely at the floor. "I don't like being in there after the boost has gone."
"In Kitchener's bedroom?"
"Yes."
"Why not?"
"I get cold. Not physically cold, but it's hard to face them afterwards. We get so high together, you see; when it comes to sex, Edward and Rosette have lifetimes more experience than me, they made me feel completely free with them. The way a child trusts an adult. His bedroom contained our own private universe, we were safe inside, nothing mattered apart from ourselves and what we wanted. But then when it was over the illusion vanished so quickly. And this shabby old world with all its inbuilt guilt comes flooding back in." She tugged at a strand of hair, twisting it nervously round and round her index finger. "You must think I'm horrible."
"I'm not a judge, Isabel. Your sex life is entirely your own. But I'd like to know why you started going, please?"
"Rosette started—well it was just hints at first. Joking. Then… I don't know. Somehow it wasn't a joke any more. And then I went home for Christmas. There was nothing wrong with that, my family. Except it was sort of pale, lacking substance; I was going through the motions. The Abbey, Edward, we were learning so much there, learning how to think, how to question. It was so much more real. Colour, that's what Launde had. I was glad to get back. I wanted more of it, more of the adventure. They offered me that."