Camwolf Page 11

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tiff had never been in the Master’s Lodge. Somehow she’d thought it would be grander—it was nice enough, with some lovely wood panelling on the walls and lots of stern-looking portraits of previous Masters, but a bit faded, somehow. The curtains smelt dusty, like the ones in her Nan’s house that her mum always said couldn’t be washed as they’d fall to pieces if you tried. She was shown up to a room with a tatty carpet and an old desk with a policeman sitting behind it.

  “Tiffany Meadows? I’m Detective Inspector Phillips. Come and sit down. Is it all right if I call you Tiffany?”

  “Er, yes.” Tiff pulled the chair out and sat, her hands on her knees. “But I don’t know what you’re expecting me to tell you apart from what I told them before.”

  “Oh, I just like to hear things myself. Reported speech is never as good as speaking to the witness yourself.”

  “But I haven’t seen anything—that’s the whole point. Joo…Julian’s just disappeared. As far as I knew, he was just going out for the night on Saturday. He didn’t say anything about going anywhere afterward.”

  “Hmm. He went out with Dr. Sewell, didn’t he?” The inspector smiled at her, but Tiff noticed his eyes stayed cold. “I gather Dr. Sewell is your supervisor? That must be a little strange, your best friend going out with the man who marks your essays.”

  Tiff shrugged. “It’s all right. Dr. Sewell’s nice.”

  “It was a bit of a tempestuous relationship, though, wasn’t it?”

  “What?” Tiff frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Don’t you? Ah, I see. Dr. Sewell didn’t tell you he and Julian had an argument on Saturday?”

  “No. But what’s that got to do with him disappearing? You think he’s just bogged off because he was in a mood? Julian wouldn’t do that.” Not to me, she managed not to add. Then another thought struck her. “You don’t think Dr. Sewell’s got anything to do with it, do you? That’s just daft—” She coloured, realising that probably sounded a bit rude. “I mean, why would he do that?”

  “I’m sure you realise we have to explore all the avenues,” the inspector said blandly. “Now, is there anything else you can tell us about Julian? Any, ah, relationships he had which were worrying you? Anything at all unusual?”

  Tiff stared at the detective and tried to remember all the things that were supposed to make you look innocent. Eye contact—you had to make eye contact. And wasn’t there a direction people’s eyes were supposed to shift in after telling a lie? Probably safer just to keep on looking at him. But her eyes were starting to water from the effort.

  “Everything all right, Tiffany?”

  “Yes! Yes, I’m fine. Just trying to think.” Tiff laughed nervously, her hands balling into fists in her lap. “No, I don’t think so. Jools is pretty normal, really.”

  For a werewolf.

  The college grapevine was in fine fettle, Nick discovered when his first-years turned up for their supervision at two o’clock. Richard (minor public school, plodder) wouldn’t meet his eye, and Kate tiptoed in nervously as if she expected Nick to go homicidal any minute. Tiffany looked tired and stressed, her newly styled hair straggling around her face in rats’ tails, and Nick felt a sudden surge of affection for her. At least she genuinely cared about Julian. He wasn’t just a case to her, or a scandal waiting to happen.

  It was easily the least inspired supervision Nick had ever given, but then he strongly doubted any of his students were paying enough attention to notice. At the end, Tiffany stood up resolutely. “Dr. Sewell? Can I have a word with you?”

  “Yes, of course, Tiffany.” Nick glanced pointedly at Kate, who was dithering in the doorway.

  “Um, do you want me to wait for you, Tiff?” Kate’s eyes darted to Nick and then flicked away again as if it might be dangerous for them to linger.

  Clearly Nick wasn’t the only she was irritating, as Tiffany rolled her eyes briefly before turning to the girl. “No, thanks, I’ll be fine.”

  Apparently Kate wasn’t convinced. “Are you sure?”

  Tiffany gave her a patently fabricated smile. “If I’m not out in an hour you can call the police, all right?” After Kate’s huffy departure, she turned to Nick with a guilty look. “Um, sorry about that.”

  Nick shrugged. “No offence taken.” He paused. “Was it something to do with your studies you wanted to talk to me about?” he asked, trying to show willingness.

  “Um. No. It’s—Julian. I just thought maybe we should pool our information. Apart from the obvious problem that I haven’t got any. But I think we’re the people who know him best, so maybe…?”

  “Yes. Yes, you’re right.” Nick ran a hand through his hair. “Look, sit down and I’ll make us some coffee.”

  Once they’d established that she wasn’t the one student in a million who didn’t take her coffee white, no sugar, an uneasy silence fell which, predictably, they both tried to break at once.

  “Sorry. You go on,” Nick encouraged her, glad to have the excuse of politeness for not speaking first.

  Tiffany bit her lip. “Look—I thought I ought to say, I know about Julian. What he is, I mean.”

  Nick stared at her, heart racing.

  She swallowed. “The wolf thing, I mean. He showed me. He said you knew too,” she added, obviously panicking slightly at Nick’s lack of response.

  Nick felt lightheaded. It all seemed so unreal, discussing this with a student in broad daylight. “Yes. Yes, I knew. Know.”

  The tension dropped out of her shoulders. “Good. So do you think it’s got anything to do with that? I mean, maybe he saw—you know—and panicked? Got stuck in wolf form and couldn’t get back?”

  Nick couldn’t imagine anything less likely. “I’m still not convinced the murder’s got anything to do with Julian’s disappearance. I suppose…maybe he didn’t want to change back?” he mused aloud. “But damn it, it was such a stupid quarrel.”

  “That inspector said you’d had a row.”

  Nick flushed. “Yes—well, just a disagreement, really. I can’t—no, no, that can’t be it.” Nick stared into his coffee cup, watching the dark flecks swirl around where he hadn’t stirred the granules in properly. “He wouldn’t do that, would he? Make us all worry like this, I mean?”

  He felt a hand touch his arm. “No, I’m sure he wouldn’t. Not for so long—I mean, they’re contacting his family and everything.”

  Nick looked up into her soothing dark eyes. He gave her a wry smile. “Except, that’s hardly comforting, is it? We’ve just determined that the only reason he’s not come back to college is because he can’t.” He took a deep breath. “Did he ever tell you about someone in Germany? A…boyfriend, I mean. Well, he might not have called him that. Someone who didn’t treat him very well.”

  She frowned. “Boris. But that was ages ago, wasn’t it?”

  Nick sighed in frustration. “I know—but damn it, it’s all we’ve got to go on.”

  Tiffany looked troubled. “It could have been anyone, though, couldn’t it? I mean, there’s got to be plenty of weirdoes out there. Sorry. This isn’t helping, is it?”

  “Actually it is, in a strange sort of way,” Nick admitted. Somehow it was a comfort, having her here. She was kind, and concerned, and she smelt familiar… He frowned, nostrils flaring. “Is that Julian’s jacket you’re wearing?”

  Tiffany coloured faintly. “Yes. He lent it to me last week and I never got around to giving it back.”

  “It smells of him, doesn’t it?” Nick sympathised without really thinking what he said. Tiffany’s eyes widened. Too late, it sunk into his aching brain that she hadn’t known he was a werewolf. It didn’t seem all that important now, in any case.

  “I was wearing it the other night,” she began slowly. “I put my bike in the shed and then I had this feeling there was someone watching me. I thought I saw his eyes…” She swallowed. “I didn’t realise at the time, but they were wolf eyes. Dr. Sewell, this Boris bloke—was
he a wolf?”

  Nick stared at her, his throat gone dry. Up until now he hadn’t really believed it could be that psychotic bastard who had Julian. “We need—” Nick cleared his throat and started again. “We need Julian’s father’s address. No, telephone number.”

  “His father?”

  “Yes.” Nick could feel his face twisting in disgust. “This Boris is a friend of his.”

  It took a combination of lies, half-truths and evasions, evenly distributed between the Porter, the Master and Angus Lemon, but eventually Nick was in possession of Peter Herrscher’s telephone number.

  Dialling it, Nick suddenly wished he’d had a stiff drink beforehand. Christ, how was he going to persuade the man to help? Or even talk to him? From all Nick had heard, Julian’s father didn’t give a damn about his son. His tension increased with every ring of the telephone, and he started when a click announced his call had been answered.

  “Herrscher.”

  Mustering his clearest Hochdeutsch, Nick began his spiel. “Hallo? I’m Dr. Sewell, a fellow at your son’s college. I regret to tell you Julian has disappeared—”

  “This is already known to me,” Herrscher interrupted brusquely.

  Nick swallowed and continued. “I wondered if you might be able to tell me anything about Boris Schräger? Are you still in contact with him?”

  There was a short silence. “I will be with you tomorrow,” Herrscher announced and hung up.

  Back in her room, the door locked and bolted, Tiff hugged her cup of coffee. She waited in vain for it to warm her. Dr. Sewell—nice, ordinary Dr. Sewell—was a werewolf. She couldn’t believe it. He rode a bike to lectures and drove a Mini, for God’s sake. But he’d smelled Julian’s jacket. Like a bloodhound or something. That was when she’d remembered what Jools had said, that night he’d changed in front of her. He’d said Dr. Sewell was in disguise too. How could she have forgotten? Of course, she had just seen her best friend turn into a bloody werewolf. That sort of thing wasn’t exactly going to help with the logical thinking, was it?

  God, how many of them were there round here? Julian, Dr. Sewell, that bastard in the bike sheds who might or might not be holding Jools captive…who might or might not be a murderer.

  She tried to imagine Dr. Sewell as a wolf. Looking at her with big, amber eyes. Slinking around the college on all fours, hunting for prey. Her stomach churned, and she put the coffee mug down on her desk, unable to face drinking anymore. It’d gone cold in any case.

  Maybe she was reading too much into what he’d said? No. It all made sense. She’d wondered—God, she’d been naïve—just what Dr. Sewell had that all the other blokes Jools had shagged hadn’t got.

  Turned out it was four legs and a tail.

  As dusk fell, Nick leaned his bike against a wall at the edge of Coe Fen and fastened the padlock. He wished to God the phrase “clutching at straws” would get out of his head. All right, it wasn’t much to go on—but if the Cambridge Evening News werewolf sighting had been real, and if the wolf had been Julian’s insane German ex-lover, then just maybe the fact that he’d come for a run out here meant he was living nearby? And that Julian might be a captive somewhere near? Which meant, in turn, that there was a chance Nick might be able to catch his scent. After all, surely that had been what led him to Julian that night, months ago, outside the Rat & Ferret, even if he hadn’t realised it at the time?

  It was still too light for Nick to risk changing into a wolf just yet—well, actually, changing into a wolf he might have got away with, as any witnesses were highly unlikely to call the police and risk getting carted off to the funny farm. It was the stripping naked that had to precede the change that might just cause the odd problem. Nick could just imagine what Inspector Phillips would think if he got himself arrested for indecent exposure. So he walked anxiously across the fen in human form, cursing the sun for setting so bloody slowly today. He tried to pick up all the scents that were blowing in the bitter wind, but his human nose was just not equal to the task.

  As the last of the light drained from the sky, the temperature dropped. Nick made his way to what cover there was, in a clump of trees a good distance from Fen Causeway. He stripped off hurriedly, shoving his clothes in an Asda carrier bag that hopefully no one would think contained anything worth taking, then steeled himself to transform. The moon was already visible, thank God. Last time he’d focussed on Julian to transform, but he didn’t think he could bear doing that now.

  Nick fixed his mind on the moon, trying to ignore the fact that it was barely more than half full. In his imagination, he filled it out to a shining silver circle. He concentrated, trying to feel its pull, to let it take him over. The change came with frightening swiftness. As Julian had told him, the pain had lessened considerably. It was like pulling off a scab, this time: intense, but soon over. The ease of it unsettled Nick—it was as if the wolf within him was gaining confidence. Gaining power.

  Nick shivered for a moment, standing there on all fours, and then shook himself more deliberately. Julian. That was all that mattered now. Finding Julian. Cautiously, he padded out from the cover of the trees and sniffed at the air.

  Nick quickly realised that this was nothing like his little patch of woodland on the Godolphin Estate, haunt of wild animals and the occasional lost rambler every other month or so. Here, close to the city with its people and cars and fast food outlets, the profusion of scents was overwhelming. His nostrils were flooded with the smells of people—hundreds, no, thousands of them—and of the reeking detritus they left: putrid, half-eaten food; empty beer cans; urine tinged with lager. Nick’s brain whirled with the input, but he searched on frantically, covering the same ground over and over again, desperate to find some trace of his lover.

  There was none.

  One thing he was certain of, though: the Cambridge Evening News sighting had been neither a mistake nor a hoax. Another wolf had been here before him. Its scent was unmistakeable—a foul, feral stench like a rotting canker that sickened him to his stomach and sent him snarling into the bushes, his vision misted with blood, to root out this interloper and tear him limb from limb. Nick tried to follow the stinking trail, track it to its source, but it was everywhere—and worse, it was old, thick in the bushes but washed away by recent rains elsewhere and overlaid with yet more pungent odours from two-footed visitors to the fen.

  It was long after midnight when a subdued, hopeless Nick hauled himself back into his clothes (thankfully still where he’d left them) and onto his bike to begin the weary ride back to college. He cursed his own ineptitude, his sheer lack of experience at this sort of thing. What kind of a wolf was he? Julian, he felt sure, would have been able to track the invading wolf to its lair.

  Nick wasn’t fit to have a pack. He wasn’t fit to keep a bloody pet poodle.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Next morning Nick rose from his bed exhausted and queasy, having hardly slept. He forced down a cup of tea, but the toast he made clogged his mouth like blotting paper and he discarded it uneaten. He didn’t have any lectures first thing, thank God. He paced restlessly in his rooms, struggling to think of something, anything he could do that might be even slightly better than useless in finding Julian, bringing him back. Maybe he should ask around at Julian’s old haunts? But what was the point? The police would be doing that already. Nick didn’t have the first clue about interrogating a suspect—and he wasn’t sure he could trust himself if faced with one of Julian’s past conquests. The last thing he needed was an assault charge at a time like this.

  Nick stopped in the centre of the room and drew in deep, ragged breaths. He needed to stop running around in circles and just think. Going to Coe Fen had been a ridiculous idea. There would have been no earthly reason for Julian to go there of his own accord. Far more likely he’d have headed into town for solace. Nick found his face drawing up into a snarl and forced his breathing to slow. Calm. Focus.

  He needed to go into town in wolf form and try to pick up a scent, t
hat was all. Which meant waiting until after dark, and then hoping he’d be mistaken for a dog. His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. Perhaps he could persuade Tiffany to pretend she was taking him walkies? She’d seemed astonishingly matter-of-fact about Julian being a werewolf, after all. Nick only wished he could have had half her composure on discovering their existence for the first time.

  But what the hell was he going to do in the meantime?

  The phone rang, answering his question and sending a physical jolt along his spine with its discordant jangle.

  “Yes?”

  “Is that Dr. Sewell?” The Master’s querulous tones sounded down the line. “Are you there, Dr. Sewell?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m here, Dr. Earle.” Nick hurried to reassure the old man before he started banging the phone on the hook and calling for the exchange. God knew, Cambridge was full of people clinging on to the past with both hands, but the Master’s skeletal grip seemed more tenacious than most. Nick was half surprised he hadn’t become a High Court judge.

  “Ah. Good. I wonder, Dr. Sewell, if it isn’t too much to ask, but as I understand you are, ah, familiar with our unfortunate Mr. Lauder, perhaps I might prevail upon you?”

  Nick forced himself to speak calmly. “What can I do for you, Dr. Earle?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Markham arrived in Cambridge late last night. Julian Lauder’s mother and stepfather, you understand. I spoke with Mr. Markham this morning and both he and his wife would like to meet you. If you don’t have any pressing duties today…”

  “I…” Nick hesitated. “I have a supervision booked, but I can’t see any reason why it couldn’t be rescheduled.” The students would most likely be heartily relieved.

  “Good man. The Markhams are staying at the University Arms. I offered the use of the Lodge for your interview, but Markham seemed to think his wife would find it too, ah, painful.”