Free The Happier Dead by Ivo Stourton Page A

have, but only for a little while I’m afraid. I’ve got some business in London, but then I’ll be back.”
    “Ah. You mustn’t think me rude, it’s just that as you know we run on double time here. By the time you get back from London it may well be the middle of the night again. We’ve already had one night of interviews and other excitements. I do wish to avoid any further disruption to the students, routine is incredibly important here.”
    Oates was conscious of the effect the accelerated days were having on him. The morning sun was rising with unnatural speed. He felt jet-lagged, his body unsure of whether it wanted food, sleep or activity. In identifying this influence, he was able to diagnose a malaise that had affected him ever since his arrival. The creeping sense of loss of control, of having only one opportunity to do everything, must in part be due to the accelerated pace of the day. It was one more thing to beware, in the spa’s wide spectrum of disorientating effects.
    “I’m sure my Sergeant can get everyone else interviewed during the day while I’m gone, but there’s some guests he’s been told he can’t see.”
    “You may continue to interview all students in the main school.”
    “Where are the rest?”
    One of the players performed a perfect serve, sending the ball skimming low over the grass, sliding past the leading edge of his opponent’s racket. The cry went up, “Ace!” Miranda clapped, holding her hands above her head. Calls of acclamation came from the group of teachers.
    “The rest of the guests could not possibly have had anything to do with the murder,” she said, “nor would they be in any position to give you information, helpful or otherwise.”
    “Why not?”
    “Guests are physically segregated from St Margaret’s for the first fortnight of their stay.”
    “Mr Egwu wasn’t.”
    “Mr Egwu arrived late for term. He was to have been transferred to our induction centre today.”
    “This induction centre inside the dome?”
    “It is.”
    “Where?”
    “You have the suspect, Inspector. One of my own men apprehended him for you. I understand he has confessed. Surely it’s not too much to ask that the police should remove both the criminal and themselves from this private institution with the minimum disruption to our lawful business. I really fail to see what further help either my staff or my guests could possibly provide. Or should we prepare to try him here as well?”
    “He didn’t do it.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Whoever killed Prudence Egwu was right handed. Ali is left handed. There’s been an obvious clear up at the crime scene. No DNA, no fingerprints, nothing. Now I want every single person in this whole dome brought to the gym and sat down, and I want statements. If you’ve got a problem with that, I will arrest you and charge you with obstructing a police officer.”
    Miranda still wouldn’t look at him. A desire came over him to grab her perfect little chin in his hand and turn it forcibly to face his own. It was some time before she spoke again.
    “I had hoped not to involve you in the detailed workings of St Margaret’s. But if you are going to insist on interviewing all the guests, I suppose I must show you why that is quite impossible.”
    Oates followed Miranda back down to the towpath. They turned away from the school, and walked for some time in the deep green shadow of the vegetation growing along the bank. In the distance, Oates heard the ringing of the great bell in the courtyard tower. Under the shade of the trees, they met another groundsman. He was carrying a plastic bag held loosely at the top, and when they walked past Oates saw it was filled with dead birds.
    Further down the river, they came upon a bend where a tree sank its branches into the clear depths of the water. Moored by a rope to a branch was a punt, and inside on tartan blankets there lay a new-young man and woman in school uniform. They were not touching, but the girl