Nicholas nodded vigorously, secretly cheered by the way Lisa Collier's disapprobation had darkened still further at the gibe. "Yes. Of course. I do want to help."
"Yeah, I can see that. You really liked Kitchener, didn't you?"
Lisa Collier had warned him never to lie to the psychic; no matter how painful any admission, he would see it, and it would be entered against him. "I did. I do. But…"
"Isabel," Greg said sympathetically.
"I didn't know about her and Kitchener. Not before that night."
"What time did you see her and Rosette going into Kitchener's room?"
"About a quarter past one."
"And then what did you do?"
"Went to bed."
"Did you sleep?"
"Suppose so. I was thinking a lot at first. But I was asleep when I heard Rosette screaming."
"Before you went to sleep, did you hear anything?"
"No!" Nicholas said hotly.
"I meant, Nicholas, anybody walking about in the Abbey?"
He knew he would be blushing again. Why couldn't he ever understand what people meant straight off? Why did they always have to use baby talk to get through to him? "Oh. Sorry. No, nobody was moving round."
"So you didn't hear Isabel and Rosette leaving Kitchener's room?"
"No."
"What were you doing in the time between leaving Uri's room and seeing Rosette and Isabel?"
"Running the Antomine 12 data through a detection program. I was looking for dark-mass concentrations."
"Dark mass?" Greg sounded privately amused.
"Yes. In space. Kitchener was interested in them. He thought they might act as wormhole termini. You see, if you move a wormhole in a specific fashion it may be possible to generate a CTC directly. A non-paradoxical temporal loop would…" Nicholas forced himself to stop, chastened. He'd done it again. There was that dreadfully familiar expression of polite incomprehension on Greg's face. "Sorry," he mumbled.
"Don't be ashamed of a gift, Nicholas."
He looked up, startled. But Greg was serious.
"I go on, sometimes," he said limply. "I don't realize. Cosmology is interesting, Mr Mandel."
"I know what it's like. My wife tells me I talk about Turkey too much."
"Turkey?"
"The war."
It took a moment before Nicholas remembered the Jihad Legion. He had been eight or nine at the time the Islamic forces had invaded Turkey, so it was classed alongside all the other terrible incidents which childhood jumbled together. "Oh, yes."
"About the detection program," Greg prompted. "Were you running it on the Abbey's Bendix?"
"Yes."
"Until when?"
"When I saw Isabel and Rosette, quarter-past one. I couldn't work after that."
"Did you use the English Telecom datanet that night?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I had to, the Antomine data comes direct from its mission control in Toulouse. There's no other way of accessing it."
"So you only used the one datalink?"
"Yes."
"OK." Greg typed something into his cybofax. "Did you know Rosette was mildly insomniac?"
Funny question. He couldn't think why Greg should want to know. "No. But she was never tired at the end of an evening, when we were in a room, or if we went to the Old Plough. And she was usually first up. So I suppose, thinking about it, I knew she didn't sleep much."
"Have you ever taken syntho, Nicholas?"
"No," he said, because it was true, so he could say it without any guilt showing. But he dropped his gaze in shame. There was an achingly long moment of silence.
When he risked looking up, Greg was giving him a calculating stare. All his doubts about the psychic searching freely through his memories returned in a flood.
"Let's see," Greg said. "You took another kind of narcotic?"
"No," Nicholas said miserably.
"Somebody offered you syntho?"
"Yes."
"Rosette?"
"Yes."
"And you refused?"
"Yes. I know Kitchener says there's nothing wrong with it. But I didn't want to."
"I can see the incident has a lot of connotations for you, what else happened?"
Nicholas decided the best thing to do was just say it fast. Greg might move on to another subject. He stared unblinkingly at his Nike trainers. The lace on the left foot was fraying. "She wanted me to go to bed with her."
"When was this?"
"November the third."
"Did you?"
"No! She thought… She thought it was funny."
"Yeah; I can imagine, I've been introduced to Rosette. So you knew syntho was available at the Abbey?"
"Yes."
"Did you know where the vat was?"
"In the chemistry lab."
"You were the first person to arrive at the bedroom after Rosette screamed, is that right?"
"Yes."
"Did you see anybody else in the Abbey, apart from the other students?"
"No. Well…" Nicholas tugged at the front of his sweatshirt. It seemed to be constricting around him; his skin was very warm. Both detectives were studying him keenly. This was all going to sound so incredibly stupid, they really would think he was backward now. "There was a girl," he said reluctantly.
Greg's eyes had closed, his face crinkled with the effort of concentration. "Go on."
"It was earlier. When I saw Isabel and Rosette. She was a ghost."
Nevin let out an exasperated groan, leaning back in his chair. "For Christ's sake!"
Greg held up a hand, clicking his fingers irritably to silence him. "You said: girl. How old?"
"About my age. She was tall, very pretty, red hair."
"How do you know she was a ghost?"
"Because I saw her outside first. Then she was in the corridor behind Isabel and Rosette."
"You mean she was out in the park?"
"No. Right outside my window. I thought it was a reflection in the glass at first."
"Your room is on the second floor, isn't it?"
"Yes. That's why she couldn't be real. I think I imagined her. I was very tired."
"Have you ever seen the combat leathers which army squaddies wear?" Greg asked. "They are a bit like biker suits, only not so restrictive, man-black, broad equipment belts, and there's normally a skull helmet as well."
"Yes, I think I know what you mean."
"Was this girl wearing anything like that?"
"Oh, no. She had a jacket on, that was quite dark, but it was just an ordinary one; I think she was wearing a long skirt, too."
Greg opened his eyes, and reached up to scratch the back of his neck. "Interesting," he said guardedly.
Nicholas studiously avoided eye contact with the two detectives.
"Hardly relevant, Mandel," Langley said.
Greg ignored him. "Have you ever seen her before?" he asked Nicholas.
"No."
"What about other ghosts, or visions?"
He hung his head. "No."
"What time did you get up that morning, Nicholas?"
"Half-past seven."
"OK. It probably was just fatigue." He sounded satisfied. "A lot of squaddies used to suffer from it in Turkey; amazing what they thought they saw after two or three days without sleep. There; told you I talked too much about my old campaigns."
Nicholas smiled tentatively, it didn't seem as though he was mocking.
Greg yawned and squinted at his cybofax. "When was the last time you washed?"
"Lunchtime, just after the lawyers finished briefing us about you conducting our interviews."
Nevin's face split into a huge grin.
"No, Nicholas." Greg was labouring against a similar grin. "I meant last Thursday. When was the last time you washed prior to the murder?"
Blood heated his cheeks and ears. "Just after seven o'clock. Before I went down to supper."
Nevin frowned and pulled out his cybofax. He muttered an order into it, and scanned the screen.
Greg had turned to watch him.
"Must have been later than that," he said in a low tone.