Free Chasing the Dark by Sam Hepburn Page B

for afters. It was a bit like a posh school dinner except everyone was old and I had to keep stopping between mouthfuls so the Professor could introduce me to his mates. This is my good friend, Joe Slattery . I wish Mum could have seen me sitting there will all those crusty old professors. It would have made her year. She used to badger me all the time about going to university, getting a better life, not ending up like her. I was nodding, being polite and struggling to keep my elbows in, but all the time I was stressing about the questions I should ask Professor Lincoln. I was certain that if I only asked the right one I’d hit on the connection between Ivo, Mum and Yuri. But what that question was, well, that was anyone’s guess.
    After lunch the Prof took me and Oz on a tour of the town, pointing out a chapel the size of a cathedral, guiding me through narrow cobbled alleyways, dodging streams of students on bikes and letting me peer into a few more ancient colleges that looked like stately homes. I’m not usually into that kind of stuff but he made it pretty interesting, telling me stories about famous people who’d studied there and the wild stuff they’d got up to as students. Only instead of getting ASBOs they’d all gone on to become prime ministers, bankers and bishops. Even the ones who’d ended up as robbers, spies and murderers seemed to have got away with it, mainly because theywere rich and posh. Just like Greville Clairmont. When I said that to the Professor he gave me a funny look.
    â€˜You’re a bit young to know about the Clairmont murder,’ he said.
    We’d crossed a narrow stone bridge and as we walked along the river bank I let Oz off the lead and told the Prof about living in Saxted, my nan working for Norma Craig and how I’d had a peek inside Elysium when the cleaners were there. He was so interested that I got a bit carried away and nearly let it slip about Yuri. I stopped myself just in time.
    â€˜The murder was a huge story at the time,’ he said. ‘The papers talked about little else for weeks. And you’re right. Clairmont was a Cambridge man.’ He pointed to another big toffee-coloured building on the other side of the river. ‘He was at Trinity, that college over there. Read History if I remember correctly.’
    History!
    The word lit a spark in my brain. It flickered for a couple of seconds then flared, lighting up a great big gap in my search of Ivo’s laptop. I stopped dead.
    The Prof turned and looked back at me. ‘What’s the matter?’
    â€˜I’m an idiot. I never checked Ivo’s browsing history .’
    We hurried back to St Saviour’s and as soon as we got to the Professor’s rooms I ran to Lincoln’s laptop and hit the keys.
    No triumph. Just a paralysing rush of fear. According to Ivo’s browsing history, between the evening of 3 March and the morning of 4 March he’d searched the nameSadie Slattery nine times. Half of me was desperate to know why. The other half was suddenly terrified of what I might find out.
    I glanced up at the Professor, who was scanning the screen over my shoulder. He’d gone very pale. But he said, coolly and calmly, ‘We mustn’t get carried away. It’s possible that Ivo just wanted to hear your mother sing.’
    I wasn’t even pretending to be cool or calm. ‘Come on, Professor. I’m probably Mum’s greatest fan and when she was on form her singing was really good. Just not good enough for anyone to get off a plane and start looking for her next performance before they’d had time to unpack. And anyway you don’t go to the births, marriages and deaths register, the electoral roll or the vehicle licensing agency to find a music gig.’
    I clicked through all the sites in the list till I got to the last one.
    â€˜Look at this, Professor,’ I said. ‘I don’t think Ivo even knew that Mum was a