Free Gone to Ground by John Harvey Page A

ten-minute walk across Parker's Piece. If she cut through the grounds of Downing College, less than that.
    "There's a music recital this lunchtime. Harpsichord. It finishes at around two. Why don't we meet after that?"
    "How will I find you?"
    "Well, the recital's on the first floor, in the long room that links the two parts of the building. On the north side you'll find some galleries devoted to French and British painting. I'll be in number five, nineteenth and twentieth centuries. In the corner just behind the door, looking at the Vuillards."
     
    Lesley, slightly anxious without being sure why, was early for her meeting with Mark McKusick, whereas he was a good twenty minutes late. Seated near one of the upstairs windows, by the time he arrived Lesley had all but finished her first coffee, leafed through
The Guardian
and was starting on
The Independent,
both papers courtesy of the establishment.
    She stood to greet him and they hugged briefly, McKusick apologizing for his lateness; too many tractors either side of Melton Mowbray, driving via Grantham would have been the better option. The waitress allowed them to settle before approaching to take their order.
    They made small talk until their coffees arrived, and then Lesley plunged in, unable to contain herself any longer. "You saw Stephen, didn't you? After ... the body, I mean ... the other day..."
    "Yes."
    "The police officer..."
    "Irving."
    "Yes, him. He'd warned me, of course. Warned all three of us, mum and dad and I. But we never ... I never..." Lesley stopped and gulped down air. "I just wasn't prepared."
    "No."
    "If I hadn't known him. He was unrecognizable. At first."
    "I know."
    "His poor face ... Whoever did that to him..."
    "They're sick," McKusick said. "Whoever it was. I know it's a cliché, but it's true. It must be. Sick. Truly sick."
    Lesley turned her own face away. "Do you think it had anything to do with the fact he was gay?"
    McKusick sighed. "Maybe."
    "That seems to be what the police are thinking."
    McKusick nodded. "When they're not thinking it was me."
    Lesley shook her head in disbelief.
    "You know, spurned lover, hell hath no fury, that sort of thing."
    "Mark, that's ridiculous."
    "A little obvious, maybe. Convenient, though. For them, I mean. Not for me." He tried for a smile that wasn't quite there.
    Lesley was making patterns in the foam on top of her coffee with a spoon. "What the police were suggesting to me, one possibility, is that Stephen went out and picked up the wrong man."
    "I know."
    "How likely is it, though? I mean, you knew Stephen far better than me. That aspect of his life, at least. I just don't know if Stephen ... if that was the kind of thing he'd do. Meet someone casually and then invite them back."
    McKusick lingered a little over his coffee. "It's hard to say. The whole gay scene, he hated it really—I can't see him going actively looking—but if he met someone he fancied, then yes, I suppose so. Why not? He was single, after all."
    "But surely there's a risk."
    "There's always a risk. Gay or straight, there's always risk."
    Lesley nodded, knowing it to be the truth. "Had you seen Stephen?" she asked. "Recently, I mean."
    "Not since we broke up."
    "I'm sorry."
    "Actually, that's not quite true. I did see him. Just the once. I was crossing Trinity Street, on my way to Heffers, and there was Stephen, some tome or other under his arm."
    "And he didn't see you?"
    "No."
    "How did he seem?"
    "Oh, you know Stephen. A little bit absent. Preoccupied."
    "With his teaching, you mean?"
    "That and the book he was working on."
    "The Stella Leonard thing?"
    "Yes. He was getting quite obsessed by it, it seemed to me."
    "I remember him writing to me about it when I was in Wellington. It must have been around the time he was starting his research. It was obviously a big deal to him, but I'd never heard of her, I'm afraid."
    "She was in some soap for a while, back in the eighties. Early eighties. I was vaguely aware of her from that, but