Death Row - Mark Pearson [37]
‘The rooms are arranged in groups of twenty,’ the Dean explained. ‘Each group has its own kitchen area. With a toaster and a fridge, et cetera.’ She pointed to the kitchen as they passed and turned to the right-hand set of rooms, fitting the key into the lock of the second room. ‘This is Jamil’s one.’
She opened the door and led them in. It was a small room. A window directly opposite the door with a bed lengthwise underneath. The walls were brick and painted white. Against the wall to their right was a medium-sized pine wardrobe with the doors closed. There was a small rug on the floor and to the left of the door was a desk and chair with bookshelves above. On the desk was a laptop computer and some stacking files that looked to Kate as though they were filled with paper and correspondence. The books on the shelves were arranged neatly. She looked at the titles. All textbooks, law-related. No fiction, she thought. She looked again and corrected herself: one novel, J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye. The walls were bare, everything was neatly arranged, not a spot of dust in sight.
‘You sure a student lives here?’ Kate asked dryly.
‘I know what you mean.’ Sheila Anderson said, looking around the room. ‘Like I say, Jamil is a model student. I’ve never once had a complaint about him or any hint of trouble. Some students, their first time away from home and they see it as a chance to really let their hair down.’
‘But not Jamil?’
‘Never.’
‘He’s a second-year student. Isn’t it unusual to still be in a hall of residence?’ Kate asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, when I was at uni, after the first year a group of us on the same course rented a house together. Most second-years seemed to.’
‘I’m not sure Jamil has a lot of friends. There’s Malik, of course.’
Bennett took a book from the shelves. ‘The lad who reported him missing?’
The Dean nodded. ‘His cousin. Malik Hussein. From Iraq, studying chemistry.’
‘Can we speak to him?’
‘I already checked. He has lectures until four o’clock.’
DI Bennett put back on the shelf the textbook that he had been flicking through and turned to her.
‘You can think of no reason why anyone would want to hurt him?’
‘No, he was a beautiful man.’
Kate reacted. ‘Odd choice of expression.’
‘I meant he had a very spiritual quality. There was something about him.’ The Dean smiled apologetically.
‘He is very handsome,’ Kate conceded.
‘Like I say, it’s not just that. “Jamil” means charming, you know.’
Kate shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t know that.’
Bennett’s phone rang, the strident ring tone echoing loudly in the small bare-walled room. He pulled it out of his pocket and quickly flipped it open. ‘DI Bennett.’ He listened for a few moments. ‘Okay, I’m on it.’
He closed the phone and nodded to Kate and the Dean. ‘Good news. Jamil has just regained consciousness.’
Sheila Anderson sighed audibly. ‘Is he going to be all right?’
Bennett shrugged sympathetically. ‘They don’t know, I’m afraid. He’s still in a very critical condition. They’re keeping a close eye on him. I am sure he is in the best of hands.’
Kate nodded to the Dean. ‘Thanks for your time.’
‘Not at all, if I can be of any more help at all, just let me know.’
‘Sure.’
*
Bennett fished his car keys out of his jacket pocket and beeped the locks open. ‘What did you make of her – the Dean?’ he asked Kate as they climbed into the front seats.
‘Pleasant enough. Seemed genuinely concerned about Jamil.’
Bennett looked across at her. ‘Your university?’ he asked. ‘Some posh Oxbridge college, no doubt?’
‘No doubt at all.’
‘Hall of residence during your first year, you said?’
‘I did.’
‘Same here. Did you socialise with the Dean of your halls of residence much?’
Kate shook her head. ‘I don’t think I even talked to him.’
‘Nor me. Saw him make a speech on arrivals day as we sipped cheap sherry. And saw him