Child of Nike |1| The Oxford Diaries (A Morseverse Fanfiction)

2. Whom The Gods Would Destroy

Late one evening, in his office at one of Oxford's many colleges, Sefton Linn was working late. Well, it was a kind of working—specifically the kind that involves glasses of port drunk around a fireplace by a group who had yet to arrive. As he began setting the glasses out, he noticed a red light blinking on his answerphone and played the message. It was a woman's voice.

"Mr Linn, you don't know me, but my name is Fury. I'm a freelance journalist and I've been speaking to a Son of the Twice Born." Linn straightened suddenly. "If you'd like to know what he had to say about that little group, call when you've returned from High Table. Say, 9:00 this evening? Number's 993-817."

The message finished, and Linn picked up his coat.

***

As requested, he found himself a quiet, secluded spot on campus to make the call, keeping his voice hushed in the shadows. "Hello?" He listened for a moment, then scoffed impatiently. "Yes, this is Sefton Linn. Look, what's this all about?" The next words brought more confusion than horror. "He's dying? Well, what do you mean, he's dying?"

***

The next evening, an old associate of his was at his houseboat on the Cherwell, crafting a painting while a CD played. A thunk sounded from outside and he stopped, turning off the music, and headed outside. There was nothing to be seen, no kids running away, just a rounded stone sitting on the deck of the boat. He scoffed. "Bloody kids." He tossed the stone into the water, then climbed off onto the path by the river. "Come on, you little scumbags!" He chased a shifting shadow into the treeline, disappearing into the shadows and then...

"Oh!"

***

The next morning, Hathaway and van der Vries were in a sunny Oxford street, leaning up against the car as they waited for Lewis to come out from the building opposite. For once, Hathaway wasn't smoking—he and van der Vries had been far too interested in Lewis's turning up with an Open University prospectus for any of that sort of thing and now, as he joined them, they were poring over the course list. "Well, there's a stack of courses to choose from."

Lewis, who hadn't noticed they'd got their hands on the prospectus until now, groaned. "Oh, no."

"What about human geography?" van der Vries suggested, and winked at Hathaway. "I know some humans whose geography I'd like to explore."

He made a face. "Let me know if that line ever works on anyone. I'll call in the men in white coats for them."

"I've had a look at human geography already," Lewis told them. "It's not... whatever that was. It's all about understanding the physical and human environment and means of improving it."

"Oh," said van der Vries, frowning. "Well, what's wrong with that?"

He scoffed. "I'm a copper. I'm already doing all that."

Hathaway tilted his head. "Well, that's one way of looking at it." He nudged van der Vries. "Hey, you know what day it is, don't you?"

"Oh, shit. Er, Christmas?"

"What?"

"Sorry, you put me on the spot and I panicked," she explained sheepishly. "Thursday?"

Hathaway's brow furrowed. "N-no, it's... it's Tuesday, Oli. But anyway, that's not the point." He held the door open for her and kissed her cheek. "Happy Didn't-Die-In-A-Ditch Day!"

She smiled. "Oh, you say the sweetest things."

***

With such flirting on offer, Lewis had despatched his younger colleagues upon arrival at the crime scene to search the houseboat while he spoke with Laura Hobson. "There's no great mystery," she was telling him as the body was loaded into an ambulance in front of them. "Clubbed to death with a blunt instrument."