for it. But I did not kill him. I don’t believe in violence.’
Knight glanced at the photo of her with the automatic weapon. But he decided not to challenge her, asking instead: ‘Can you account for your whereabouts around ten forty-five last night?’
The classics professor arched back in her chair and took off her glasses, revealing amazing sapphire eyes that stared intently at Knight. ‘I
can
account for my whereabouts at that time, but I won’t unless it’s necessary. I enjoy my privacy.’
‘Tell us about Cronus,’ Pope said.
The professor drew back. ‘You mean the Titan?’
‘That’s the one,’ Pope said.
She shrugged. ‘He’s mentioned by Aeschylus, especially during the third play in his Oresteia cycle,
The Eumenides
. They were the three Furies of vengeance born from the blood of Cronus’s father. Why are you asking about him? All in all, Cronus is a minor figure in Greek mythology.’
Pope glanced at Knight, who nodded. She dug into her bag. She came up with her mobile, which she fiddled with for several seconds as she said to the professor, ‘I received a package today from someone who calls himself Cronus and who claims to be Marshall’s killer. There’s a letter and this: it’s a recording of a recording, but …’
As the reporter returned to her bag, looking for her copy of Cronus’s letter, the weird, irritating flute music began to float from her phone.
The classics professor froze after a few notes had played.
The melody went on and Farrell stared at her desk, becoming agitated. Then she looked around wildly as if she was hearing hornets. Her hands shot up as though to cover her ears, dislodging the hairpins and loosening her headscarf.
She panicked and raised her hands to hold the scarf in place. Then she leaped to her feet and bolted for the door, choking: ‘For God’s sake turn it off! It’s giving me a migraine! It’s making me sick!’
Knight jumped to his feet and went out after Farrell, who clopped at high speed down the hall before barging into a women’s loo.
‘That set off something big,’ Pope said. She’d come up behind him.
‘Uh-huh,’ Knight said. He went back into the office, headed straight to the classics professor’s desk and plucked a small evidence bag from his pocket.
He turned the bag inside out before picking up one of the hairpins that had fallen before Farrell bolted. He wrapped the bag around the pins and then drew them out before dropping them back on the desk.
‘What are you doing?’ Pope demanded in a whisper.
Knight sealed the bag and murmured, ‘Hooligan says the hair sample from the envelope was female.’
He heard someone approaching the office, slid the evidence into his coat chest pocket and sat down. Pope stood, and was looking towards the door when another woman, much younger than Farrell but with a similar lack of fashion sense, entered and said: ‘Sorry. I’m Nina Langor, Professor Farrell’s teaching assistant.’
‘Is she all right?’ Pope asked.
‘She said she’s suffering from a migraine and is going home. She said if you’ll call her on Monday or Tuesday she’ll explain.’
‘Explain what?’ Knight demanded.
Nina Langor appeared bewildered. ‘I honestly have no idea. I’ve never seen her act like that before.’
Chapter 24
TEN MINUTES LATER , Knight followed Pope up the stairs into One Aldwych, looking questioningly at the hotel doorman he’d spoken with earlier and getting a nod in response. Knight slipped the doorman a ten-pound note and followed Pope towards the muffled sounds of happy voices.
‘That music got to Farrell,’ Pope said. ‘She’d heard it before.’
‘I agree,’ Knight said. ‘It threw her hard.’
‘Is it possible she’s Cronus?’ Pope asked.
‘And uses the name to make us think she’s a man? Sure. Why not?’
They entered the hotel’s dramatic Lobby Bar, which was triangular in shape, with a soaring vaulted ceiling, pale marble floor, glass walls and
Knight glanced at the photo of her with the automatic weapon. But he decided not to challenge her, asking instead: ‘Can you account for your whereabouts around ten forty-five last night?’
The classics professor arched back in her chair and took off her glasses, revealing amazing sapphire eyes that stared intently at Knight. ‘I
can
account for my whereabouts at that time, but I won’t unless it’s necessary. I enjoy my privacy.’
‘Tell us about Cronus,’ Pope said.
The professor drew back. ‘You mean the Titan?’
‘That’s the one,’ Pope said.
She shrugged. ‘He’s mentioned by Aeschylus, especially during the third play in his Oresteia cycle,
The Eumenides
. They were the three Furies of vengeance born from the blood of Cronus’s father. Why are you asking about him? All in all, Cronus is a minor figure in Greek mythology.’
Pope glanced at Knight, who nodded. She dug into her bag. She came up with her mobile, which she fiddled with for several seconds as she said to the professor, ‘I received a package today from someone who calls himself Cronus and who claims to be Marshall’s killer. There’s a letter and this: it’s a recording of a recording, but …’
As the reporter returned to her bag, looking for her copy of Cronus’s letter, the weird, irritating flute music began to float from her phone.
The classics professor froze after a few notes had played.
The melody went on and Farrell stared at her desk, becoming agitated. Then she looked around wildly as if she was hearing hornets. Her hands shot up as though to cover her ears, dislodging the hairpins and loosening her headscarf.
She panicked and raised her hands to hold the scarf in place. Then she leaped to her feet and bolted for the door, choking: ‘For God’s sake turn it off! It’s giving me a migraine! It’s making me sick!’
Knight jumped to his feet and went out after Farrell, who clopped at high speed down the hall before barging into a women’s loo.
‘That set off something big,’ Pope said. She’d come up behind him.
‘Uh-huh,’ Knight said. He went back into the office, headed straight to the classics professor’s desk and plucked a small evidence bag from his pocket.
He turned the bag inside out before picking up one of the hairpins that had fallen before Farrell bolted. He wrapped the bag around the pins and then drew them out before dropping them back on the desk.
‘What are you doing?’ Pope demanded in a whisper.
Knight sealed the bag and murmured, ‘Hooligan says the hair sample from the envelope was female.’
He heard someone approaching the office, slid the evidence into his coat chest pocket and sat down. Pope stood, and was looking towards the door when another woman, much younger than Farrell but with a similar lack of fashion sense, entered and said: ‘Sorry. I’m Nina Langor, Professor Farrell’s teaching assistant.’
‘Is she all right?’ Pope asked.
‘She said she’s suffering from a migraine and is going home. She said if you’ll call her on Monday or Tuesday she’ll explain.’
‘Explain what?’ Knight demanded.
Nina Langor appeared bewildered. ‘I honestly have no idea. I’ve never seen her act like that before.’
Chapter 24
TEN MINUTES LATER , Knight followed Pope up the stairs into One Aldwych, looking questioningly at the hotel doorman he’d spoken with earlier and getting a nod in response. Knight slipped the doorman a ten-pound note and followed Pope towards the muffled sounds of happy voices.
‘That music got to Farrell,’ Pope said. ‘She’d heard it before.’
‘I agree,’ Knight said. ‘It threw her hard.’
‘Is it possible she’s Cronus?’ Pope asked.
‘And uses the name to make us think she’s a man? Sure. Why not?’
They entered the hotel’s dramatic Lobby Bar, which was triangular in shape, with a soaring vaulted ceiling, pale marble floor, glass walls and
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