Free Too Much of Water by J.M. Gregson

scarcely knew the girl. I was devastated to hear of her death, of course, as we all were, but—’
    â€˜You seem to have conducted rather more meetings with Clare than you recalled to our officers, Mr Carter.’
    Martin didn’t like that word ‘conducted’. It made it sound as if he had been controlling things. He said, ‘I’m sure I told your uniformed officers everything I could.’ He could feel his face hot from the blood beneath the skin. ‘Perhaps you’re not aware of the set-up here. I’m a postgraduate student, doing my own research, using the libraries of this and other universities. Clare was a second-year undergraduate. In the ordinary course of events, we might never have met at all.’
    â€˜Nevertheless, in this case you did. And for Clare Mills, life did not follow “the ordinary course of events” or she would not have ended up murdered and thrown into the Severn.’
    â€˜No. But I didn’t put her there.’ He regretted that ridiculous thought as soon as he had voiced it: it seemed to put him closer to the death.
    â€˜I’m glad to hear it. Let me explain why we are here.’ Lambert stretched his long legs out in front of him as he sat on the upright chair, perfectly at ease as the tension grew in the young man behind the desk. ‘Let me explain what happens in a murder investigation of this sort, Mr Carter. We take initial statements from as many people as possible who were in contact with the victim. Where it appears that there are discrepancies or omissions in the statements of individuals, more senior officers return to follow up these interesting anomalies.’
    He made it sound as though he were outlining the procedures from a lectern to an audience of interested students, and Martin nodded, as if playing his part in the exchange. Lambert said weightily, ‘Sometimes people quite innocently fail to mention certain things, either because they have forgotten them or because they do not consider them relevant.’
    Martin Carter waited for him to go on, to add the logical conclusion to his argument, that sometimes people withheld information from more sinister motives, that sometimes people wished to deceive the police. But Lambert said nothing, merely continuing to examine his man’s face with that steady, unrelenting stare which Martin was already finding disturbing. He said unwillingly, ‘And you’re saying that I forgot to tell you something.’
    Lambert gave him a small smile. ‘I’m saying that there are discrepancies between what you have told our officers and the information we have collected from other people who knew Clare here.’
    He had carefully failed to say that these were innocent discrepancies, and Martin was aware of it. ‘If I have forgotten anything, I apologize. I can’t at this moment think what it might be.’
    In his concentration on the long, watchful face of the superintendent, he had almost forgotten the more easy-going presence at his side. DS Bert Hook now opened his notebook, looked at a page of notes he had there, and said, ‘You say there was no reason why you and Clare Mills should have come across each other at all in the ordinary course of events. So how did you come to meet?’
    Martin forced himself to be calm. They couldn’t really know anything, not anything that mattered. ‘It is part of the postgraduate ethos in this university to be available to help more junior students.’ He was aware that this sounded pompous, and he heard himself give a small involuntary giggle as he added, ‘Clare came to ask me about a subject she was considering for her dissertation next year. I believe her tutor suggested that she consult me.’
    Hook nodded. ‘This was on the fourth of March, I believe. Was that your first meeting with Ms Mills?’
    Martin was shaken by the precision of this. That was part of the police method, he