He coughs again. ‘He takes his father’s surname, but Caleb’s mother – she’s Petra Newson. I imagine you’ve heard of her?’
Of course I’ve bloody heard of her. An extremely combative local MP, with an agenda longer than my service record. If Reynolds hasn’t already put in that call to Bob O’Dwyer, odds are Petra bloody Newson has beaten him to it.
I keep my tone even. ‘I assume Ms Newson is aware of what’s happened?’
Reynolds nods slowly. ‘I believe Caleb called her, yes. She’s in the US this weekend but is due back in her constituency tomorrow.’
So with luck we may have twenty-four hours’ grace. Sufficient unto the day and all that.
I take a deep breath. ‘Tell me about Professor Fisher.’
If Reynolds thinks that’s a conversational swerve he gives no sign. He leans forward and starts busying himself with the tea.
‘Marina is one of the country’s leading authorities on Artificial Intelligence. Not my area, of course,’ he says, with one of those apparently-self-deprecating-only-not-really looks academics give you, ‘but those in the know tell me her work’s been genuinely groundbreaking. And, needless to say, that whole field is extremely media-worthy these days.’
Needless to say, but he still went ahead and bloody said it. I remember now there was a Radio 4 programme about machine learning a few weeks ago, which I vaguely recall having on in the background when I was cooking, but I was distracted and didn’t follow it all. Thinking about it now, I reckon it was Marina Fisher who was fronting it; the BBC were bound to want a female voice for something like that.
‘Between ourselves,’ says Reynolds, proffering me the slices of lemon, ‘she’s just been approached for this year’s Royal Institution Christmas lectures.’
Despite everything – despite the crime she’s just been accused of – he still can’t quite keep the smugness out of his voice. Which tells me everything I need to know about what sort of asset this woman must be to the college. EL isn’t up there with the likes of Balliol or Merton – none of the former women’s colleges are. They don’t have the prestige, and they don’t have the pulling power. But a world expert in something as sexy as AI – that’s quite a coup. But the greater the triumph, the vaster the potential elephant trap: I don’t need to tell you how ‘media-worthy’ this story will be.
If it gets out.
‘There was a fund-raising dinner last night,’ he’s saying now, ‘for the University’s most important Chinese donors. Marina was the keynote speaker. The Faculty is aiming to create the world’s leading AI research facility pioneering the use of interdisciplinary methodologies.’
He’s beginning to sound like a sponsorship proposal, which perhaps he realizes, because he flushes very slightly and does that cough of his again. It’s already starting to get on my tits.
‘All this is highly confidential, needless to say. Negotiations are at a very delicate stage.’
‘Were you there?’
Reynolds gives a quick laugh. ‘No, Inspector, I was not. But I hear Marina stole the show. The Vice-Chancellor was relying on Marina to lead from the front and it appears she more than delivered. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that there’s a lot riding on this.’
He’s going to offer to draw me a diagram next. But I’ve got the message. Loud and clear. Both the college and the University are going to do their damnedest to prevent this woman going down. And taking them with her.
‘Mr Morgan said the incident took place at Professor Fisher’s house, last night.’
Reynolds raises an eyebrow. ‘Yes – that’s what he claims.’
I register the nuance of that ‘claims’, and wonder in passing if Reynolds’ facade of scrupulous objectivity is starting to crack.
‘So what was Morgan doing there?’
Reynolds frowns now, and I press my advantage.
‘You just told me that Professor Fisher was at a University dinner, so she must have got back quite late. So I’m going to ask again – what was Morgan doing in her house at that time of night?’
Reynolds’ frown deepens. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know. Your officers will have to ask Mr Morgan, but I cannot think of any reason why he should have been there.’
‘Is Professor Fisher in the habit of inviting students to her home?’
‘I doubt it – indeed, it is explicitly prohibited by college policy, as Professor Fisher will be well aware. We make an exception for occasional social gatherings – Christmas drinks, for example. But Fellows are strictly forbidden from holding one-to-one meetings or tutorials in their private residences. Not least, in these litigious times, for their own protection.’
He’s looking unsettled now – as if he’s only just realized how disquieting Morgan’s story is.
‘Who else lives in Professor Fisher’s house? Does she have a family?’
He shifts in his seat, making the leather creak.
‘I will need to be mindful of privacy issues here, Inspector. Data protection and so on. Someone in your position, you know how it is. But it’s common knowledge that Marina lives alone, with her son.’
‘How old?’
‘Eight, I think. Perhaps nine now?’
I sit back, allow the pause to lengthen a little.
‘The address you gave DC Quinn – it’s a very desirable part of town.’
That’s an understatement. Georgian town houses. Golden stone, sash windows, wrought-iron balconies; even Pevsner was impressed. A lot are offices now, or flats, but judging from her address, Marina Fisher has the whole three storeys. That’s some chunk of real estate.
Reynolds reaches to pour tea. And – apparently – buy time.
‘Marina’s former husband was a financier,’ he says eventually, lifting his cup. ‘He returned to Boston after the divorce. I believe Marina got the Oxford house as part of the settlement.’ He looks at his watch. ‘Now, if you will forgive me, I promised my wife I’d be home over an hour ago.’
There’s something he’s avoiding here, and it’s not just the quagmires of the Data Protection Act. But I’ll play the game. For now.
The door opens and the guard-dog PA stands there once again, waiting to show me safely off the premises.
‘I trust I can rely on you to keep me in the loop, Inspector?’ says Reynolds as I get to my feet. ‘This is going to be challenging enough, without being blindsided into the bargain.’
‘I’ll do my best, sir. But I’m sure you can appreciate that there’s only so much I’ll be able to tell you.’ I allow myself a small smile. ‘Data protection and all that. Someone in your position, you know how it is.’
* * *
Thames Valley Police
INITIAL INVESTIGATIVE REPORT
Rape and Sexual Offences
LOCATION AND IDENTITY OF THE PERSON MAKING THE REPORT
Professor Hilary Reynolds, Principal, Edith Launceleve College, Oxford OX2
THE EXACT LOCATION (WHERE POSSIBLE) AND TIME OF THE INCIDENT
Monmouth House, St Luke Street, Oxford OX1
06/07/2018 11.30 p.m.
WHETHER THE PERSON MAKING THE REPORT IS THE VICTIM, THIRD PARTY OR WITNESS, AND THE CAPACITY IN WHICH THEY ARE MAKING THE REPORT
Third party (head of the college, to which report was initially made)
NATURE OF THE INCIDENT
SEXUAL ASSAULT
Suspect made sexual advances to the victim, which he rejected. The suspect persisted, leading to a minor physical altercation, which resulted in minor scratches being sustained by the victim, and intimate touching in the groin area. It is not yet known if the suspect sustained any injuries. After this altercation occurred, the victim was able to leave the premises.