“And you also have one.” May pointed at the sticker on Ruby’s backpack.
Below them, the doorbell rang. “Excuse me for a moment,” said Ruby.
“Do you want me to get it? Your leg – ”
“I can manage.”
May walked over to the kitchen table and thumbed through a paperback. He heard the slam of the front door, followed by thumping footsteps on the stairs. The wild-haired Indian student who appeared in the doorway did not bother introducing himself. He was trying to prevent a fat stack of papers from sliding out of a plastic folder, which was splitting under several loose items of shopping. “Have you seen Theo?” the newcomer asked Ruby.
“I think he had a meeting with one of his tutors. Why on earth didn’t you get a bag?”
“I forgot. Don’t start. I don’t know what he’s bloody playing at. Did Matt leave me any money?”
“Matt didn’t turn up last night. I’m really upset, actually. Are you making toasted sandwiches?”
“You know I am. I don’t know why you always have to ask.” The boy stamped off up the stairs.
“That was Rajan,” Ruby explained to May. “He has the room above this one.” She did not seem pleased to see him.
“Who else lives here?” May asked. He had forgotten the peculiar atmosphere of urgency, languor and confusion that could be detected in student digs.
“Apart from Matt, there’s a guy called Toby Brooke, then there’s Nikos Nicolau and the guy you just saw, Rajan Sangeeta. Theo Fontvieille has the top floor because his rich parents own the building, and we pay his family the rent direct, so it gets kind of feudal around here just before rent day.”
“And you,” May reminded.
“They gave me the attic at first. I wanted to change rooms so I wouldn’t have to go up and down the stairs all the time, but of course I’m a mere girl, so my vote didn’t count until Theo stepped in and supported me. We have too many alpha males living under one roof. Sometimes the competitiveness drives me crazy.”
“Are you in the same field of studies?”
“Toby, Theo, Matt and Rajan are all taking social engineering together.”
“That sounds rather Nietzschean.”
“It’s a branch of urban planning; they’re happy to explain it to anyone who listens. Niko’s aiming for a degree in biochemistry. The rest of his family owns restaurants, and they’re very anxious to ensure that he passes. Theo’s in line to inherit his parents’ fortune and doesn’t have to study, so he’s just doing it for fun.”
“Why were you meeting Matthew Hillingdon at Russell Square tube?”
“We were going to go to the Horse Hospital. I mean, it’s not a horse hospital anymore, although it’s still got cobblestones and there are horse ramps inside. It’s a club, stays open until two. My leg was hurting like hell, but I wanted to spend some time with Matt. Have you got a cigarette?”
“I don’t smoke. So you’re at the same college.”
“I’m a second-year research student, doing Bioinformatics.”
“I’m afraid I have no idea what that is.”
“Bioinformatics is mostly about searching databases for protein modelling and sequence alignment.”
“How long have you been seeing Mr Hillingdon?”
“He’s missing – you don’t really need to know about our private lives, do you?”
“No, but I might find something you haven’t thought of. Please.”
“Well, we’ve been dating about four months. He’s very sweet, a bit helpless. Probably needs a mother more than a girlfriend. He spends a lot of time at the Karma Bar. He specialises in the analysis of pedestrian traffic flow in urban areas. He’s very goal-oriented, works long hours.”
“And sometimes forgets about meeting you?” added May, gently.
“It’s happened before. But not this time, I’m sure of it. When I heard from him, he was definitely catching that train.” She checked her watch. “I’m due at a class.”
“I’ll walk down with you.”
The sound of The Avalanches playing over the roar of an engine outside sent Ruby to the landing window. “Here’s another one,” she told May. “Theo’s probably the richest guy in the whole of UCL. His father owns, like, half of Hertfordshire or something.”
“That would explain the car,” said May, impressed. Theo Fontvieille was driving a new red Porsche Carrera, a beacon of conspicuous consumption branded with the licence plate THEO 1. He was unfolding himself from the driver’s seat as May arrived back on the street.
“Theo, this is John May. He’s from – ”
“The Peculiar Crimes Unit,” May explained, holding out his hand. “We’ve met.”
“I thought you were a little too old to be a foot soldier. Peculiar Crimes Unit? What’s that?” The surname might have been French, but he had no trace of an accent. Although he shook hands, Fontvieille was clearly keen to get inside.
“It’s a specialist detection unit.”
“I don’t understand. Why are you here? Ruby, what have you been up to?” Although he could have been no older than twenty-one, Fontvieille had the patrician air of someone mature, confident and secure in his wealth. Tanned and moisturised, his long black hair sleekly groomed, he was dressed in a grey hooded top and jeans too well cut to be confused with the kind generally worn on the street. His clothes were bookended with a red silk scarf and red leather trainers that perfectly matched his car. He might have been a model or a city executive, except that there was a discordant note in his appearance that May couldn’t nail down.
“This young lady has lost a friend,” he said.
“What’s he talking about? Ruby, who have you lost?”
“Matt’s been missing since last night.”
“You know he doesn’t always come home.”
“He was supposed to be with me.” She was clearly uncomfortable arguing about a mutual friend in front of May.
“You’ve got to give the guy a bit of room to manoeuver, he’s really stressed out at the moment.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Theo, you never get worried about anything. You don’t have to worry.” It sounded like a put-down. She’s wrong, thought May, who had pinpointed what was bothering him. Theo Fontvieille looked as if he had not enjoyed a good night’s sleep in a week. Beneath the young man’s smooth tan were fault lines and shadows.
“I’ve got to get going,” said Theo. “I’m meeting Rajan, running late. Is he up in his room?”
“God, you guys hang out together every night – don’t you ever get tired of each other’s company?” She sounded jealous.
“Ask me in five years’ time, when we’re running the country. Nice to meet you again, Mr May – and Ruby, when you find Matt tell him he owes me fifty quid.” Theo swung a smart red leather case onto his shoulder and bounded up the stairs.
“Not the bookish type?” May suggested to Ruby.
“I’m sure he only attends UCL to annoy the rest of us, he makes it all seem so easy. He’ll go to an all-night party, then come back and knock out a paper that will have his lecturers mooning over him for weeks.”
“No Karma Bar logo,” May noted.
“Theo wouldn’t be seen dead sticking a cheap club advert on his fine Italian leather. I fear our common ways don’t appeal to him.” She hates him, realised May. Just because of his money, or is there something else? Perhaps that’s not hatred in her eyes, but something quite the opposite.
“All right,” he told her, “I’ll cut a deal with you. Keep your eyes open for any more of these stickers, and I’ll see if I can get you some information on Mr Hillingdon’s whereabouts today, to save you waiting for the regular police.”