"Collins? Collins, get over here, I need to know what the state of play is."
Almost as soon as Liam leaves the room, the old man is on him like a particularly hungry dog with a bone – coffee clenched in one hand, a plethora of reports and files in the other. Liam catches the name on one of the tabs, -- Enright – and knows that that must be only a small selection of the rap sheets that the legal system must hold on the young man sitting in the waiting area with his thumb up his arse. He's been boning up on the guy. Maybe, that will make him easier to convince of Beauchamp's guilt.
"Superintendent. Great to see you. Listen, I'm going to get right to it – we have a strong suspect in August Beauchamp. The kid can't answer a straight question to save his life, no alibi, and he failed his drug test." Although, that must not have come as much of a surprise. "The chap with him – Molloy or something – he's a tricky one, though. Lucky that the guy is so stubborn that he won't listen to a word his lawyer says."
"Yes." His senior looks at him, wearily, as though his complete assurance is something that tires him. "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about, Collins. Come with me."
And he is taken by the elbow, like a child, and led away from the examination room. The Haughton boy is still sat in there, under the watchful eye of one of his patrolmen, but Liam can't help but find himself just a little bit antsy at being removed from the situation. It suddenly feels like the control he was certain he had has been snatched away from him. "What can I do for you, superintendent?"
"Beauchamp. There's a little bit of an issue with him. We're going to have to tread quite carefully, do you understand?" The superintendent – James, his name is, Edward James – leans a little closer, his voice dipping. "His father and I happen to rub shoulders quite often, and as you'll imagine, he's not best happy that my men have taken his son in for questioning over a murder charge."
"Superintendent..." Liam would like to say that this news is unexpected, or shocking, but it isn't. He's been taken aside like this before, whispered to like this before, and he hates it; but it's a fact of the job. "He's a brilliant suspect, if you'll just take an objective look at the evidence."
"That might be so, but I'm just... telling you to have a look in some other directions before you decide to double down on him." James clears his throat. Behind him, the grind is going on – policemen and sergeants treading through the hallways; sometimes together or sometimes, with members of the public, but none of them catching any wind of the conversation that was occurring between the two men, just beside the water cooler. "Have you checked out the ex-boyfriend, the – "
The black kid? Yeah, I know what you're thinking. Liam presses his lips together in irritation, but nods. It was a loose end that they had to look into, after August mentioned it casually. "Yeah, but his alibi is rock solid. We've got a few more persons of interest lined up."
"Like?" The prompt is annoying.
"The friend."
Okay, so next, she had philosophy, and then a French lecture after lunch. Lottie's mind was already moving at a million miles an hour, and she was trying to recall which books she'd need, whether or not she'd have to stop back home for more supplies, if she'd have time to grab something to eat before choir at seven, while Professor Stewart was still trying to fit in those last thirty seconds of copyright law that no one had any desire to register.
Lottie had become just a tad more... well, relaxed about classes in recent weeks. It wasn't as though she had designs on throwing her whole degree out the window after losing out on the Bentham internship, but she was no longer hanging on every word that came from her lecturer's mouth, like she'd been before. It had been a case of wondering if anything he said might come up as part of the interview questions, but now – well, that wasn't so much of a concern for her, not at that moment in time. Maybe, just a little of it was ill placed resentment; but for the most part, she was being reasonable.
She felt.
As soon as Professor Stewart had dismissed the class she was on her feet and walking towards the door with persistence – wait, was it French or Philosophy first?
French, she thought.
Life just wasn't catching up – it felt as though sometimes, it was nipping right at her heels, putting her in danger of tripping up and letting everything wash over her, so that it was all too much. Classes. Extracurricular activities, CV fillers, social events with her flatmates, nights in – and out, when she was dragged against her will – with Louise; she found it difficult to make everything fit into its own, specific place. Now that there was no longer a singular goal in mind, everything else that had been neglected was now, clamouring for her undivided attention. And Lottie wasn't exactly adept at splitting herself into several different pieces.
"Ms. Weller, just a moment before you leave, please."
As she had hit the bottom of the stairs and started towards the door, Lottie heard her teacher calling after her and paused; not making any moves to go forward, or back. Frozen in her spot for a minute. Considering. That wasn't much unlike how Louise's tutoring situation had begun; kept back with a quiet reprimand. But Lottie hadn't thought that her slightly-less-meticulous note-taking had reflected in any of her essays or tests. This surely couldn't be what the issue was.
Was it?
After getting herself together, she twisted, a little stiffly, so that she could answer Professor Stewart. Students just kept brushing past her, making her feel like a small fish, buffeted in a fast moving stream; completely out of control. "Professor?"
"Yes, hi. Is it alright if we have a quick chat, Charlotte? I know you probably want to get on to your next class, but I just need two minutes." As soon as he was certain that he had caught her attention, Professor Stewart had positioned himself up against his desk again, one hand moving back through his thick thatch of hair. She wondered if she caught a couple of strands of grey in the warm light; but just as they had appeared, they'd faded again. "How are you?"
"How... am I?" Well, wasn't that an odd question? Lottie gave him a nervous little smile. What exactly is this about? "I'm fine, yeah. Yes."
"Ah, good. Good." A slightly awkward pause. "Listen, I'm not going to dance around the issue, Charlotte. The head of the department has had a word with me."
What? What the fuck? Lottie could feel her heart picking up pace, threatening to burst through the fluffy blue jumper she was wearing. What on earth could she have done to get the department head involved? "Oh. And, um, what were you... what seems to be the... um, issue?"
"I wouldn't exactly call it an issue. More of an opportunity, God forbid me for saying it. See, a group of students were expelled – drug charges, nothing violent, but it was enough that the governors decided that it was best to ask them to leave. Amongst them were two law students." The young man sucked on the last two words, his sharp eyes focused on her as he waited for her to infer. Filled in the gaps, before she could. "Two law students that had been shortlisted for the Bentham internship. Now, I'm not saying anything is a shoe-in, don't get me wrong, but the partners had a quick look down the list of rejected applicants, and there's going to be a second round of entry-level interviews. They'd quite like you to come back for another go at it, if you're willing."
"Another go?" Lottie said, rather quietly. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Another go. A second chance. She didn't even know that Catcher Enright gave second chances. But it wasn't just Catcher Enright, it seemed – it was the Board of Governors, and this mysterious other partner, and probably God, listening to her prayers just a little bit later than she'd anticipated. "Really?"
Professor Stewart nodded, seemingly mildly in shock as well. "I must confess that I'm quite surprised myself, but it's happened a couple of times since I began here, and Bentham have always held replacement interviews before moving on to the next round of tasks. Shall I pass it on to Catcher Enright that you're interested, Charlotte?"
Lottie's lips began to move before her vocal chords caught up, an instinctive response. "I – of course, yes, please, Professor. Yes, please. This is..." She gave a short chuckle. "Insane."
"Isn't it? I would say run with it, Charlotte. Take it with both hands and run with it." He gave her arm a gentle pat, and smiled. "Go on. I'll let you know when they give me another date, alright?"
"Yeah, of course. Yes. Thank you, Professor. Thanks much." Lottie's shellshocked little smile began to grow – she tucked her hair back behind one ear as she retreated, towards the door.
"And once Ms. Weller had been offered a second trial based on her...." Liam glances down at the page of notes in front of him that have accumulated throughout the interview, so that he knows that his query will be entirely correct, "... her A –level grades and subsequent exam results at Cambridge, did you observe anything in Ms. King as a result?"
"I would say... jealousy, if anything."
Stewart watched her go with his own small twitch of the lips. It was obvious that his words had planted a seed inside of Charlotte Weller's mind; one that was already beginning to extend tendrils out in each and every direction, touching previously unexplored corners of her brain. There was something more inflammatory about second chances; they took you on in a feverish blaze in a way that the original goal never could. It was an interesting thing to watch.
Other students were trailing past, books clutched to their chests and looking all together very studious. He hoped that that was all it was. Teaching and lecturing were two wholly different things. Past talking at the lot of them and trying to lend some form of order to their shitty essays, James couldn't do much more.
In most cases, anyway. Louise King's blonde curls caught his eye, as tumulous as she was, bouncing over her shoulders once she came down the stairs. She was eye-catching – well, she liked to make sure she was. And on this particular occasion, thunderous – her carefully painted expression was black.
A little sigh.
Oh, wonderful, what have I done wrong this time?
"Louise, are you coming?"
"Just a couple of minutes – grinds, you know." She pulled a little bit of a face and pointed to Stewart with what was a clearly displeased expression. He waited, one eyebrow arched almost comically -- it was difficult to tell whether her obvious annoyance was all part of the act, or something else was provoking the behaviour. "Tell you what, give me twenty minutes—" What an insult!! "—And I'll come meet you for a coffee or something, I just need to get this essay back. Thanks, darling."
As soon as the coast was clear, Stewart felt his mouth open in an incredulous gape. "Twenty minutes?"
"Don't you start that shit, not when I'm annoyed," Louise said, tossing her tawny locks with a few pointed, blood-red talons. They were lethal looking things – he had first experience of the damage they could do. "What is it you were saying to Lottie, exactly?"
There was a pause between them, one that seemed to echo in the warmth of the newly-empty lecture hall, before he cracked a smile, bemused. "Louise, I'm not in the habit of sleeping with my students."
"I just happen to be a special case, then, is that it?" She tilted her head to one side, taking what could only be described as a lingering step towards him. Click. Click. Click. God, that red lipstick.
"You could say that. Louise –"
Hot hands pressed themselves onto his body, burning through the thin fabric of his shirt; her fingers were curling, dragging over his chest. A shared breath between them.
"What did you tell Lottie?"
"Nothing of note," he murmured, head bowed, lips parted. "Not in here, Louise."
"Yes in here, Professor," She mumbled, kissing him once, fierce. The taste of that minty-flavoured bubblegum she always chewed on was pervasive, unnervingly sweet. Shit. "Yes, in here, Professor."
"You're trouble, to you know that?" His touch drifted to her hip, slipping over the tight denim of her jeans. "Take your damn essay back. You did better this time, actually, but you're still forgetting your references."
"Maybe you could remind me?"
"That makes next to no sense. Go on, you scamp." His hand slipped a little lower, squeezing gently. It was the most cliché thing in the world, but the danger – the knowledge that their little... romance had very real-life consequences was... exciting. "Louise, you have a class to get to. Or a project to work on. Like mine. If you're serious about Bentham, I would like to see some progress."
She gave a little, displeased pout, snagging the papers that he had sitting on his desk – the ones that belonged to her, and then some. Louise pressed herself closer to Stewart's body, her hips pressing into his, and slung both arms over his shoulders so that she could read. It was headed paper – Bentham paper.
"What are you looking at?" He shifted, to try and catch her out, but Louise clung on, instead moving with him to avoid any scrutiny. Her eyes flashed quickly over the text, and she cleared her throat.
Louise couldn't remember how she'd started sleeping with her lecturer. She'd not had designs on him, mind—he was much shorter than most of the chaps that she'd ever dated, and significantly older, and not even that rich, but there was just... something about him. About James. And once she'd decided she wanted him, that was that. He'd fought her, and that was to his credit – he'd fought her advances, made her work a little harder than usual. That had been sexy.
And he knew things. Things like how Lottie had been asked back for interview, and he hadn't said anything, and she'd asked. Bentham wasn't nothing.
She frowned.