Murder Is Academic by Christine Poulson Page B

more than that. There were no signs of heart disease or history of epilepsy. Bruising on her right temple was severe enough to have induced temporary unconsciousness. She had been wearing a swimming-costume. The coroner, a balding, middle-aged man, concluded that Margaret had probably hit her head while diving into the pool, suffering a glancing blow to the head, which had rendered her unconscious. She had been a healthy woman in the prime of life with everything to live for. He felt justified in bringing in a verdict of accidental death, and offered his condolences to Margaret’s husband and family. He directed a sympathetic half-smile towards Malcolm and began shuffling his papers together. There was a scraping of chairs as people got to their feet.
    I felt relief and exhilaration.
    I made my way to where Malcolm was sitting. I noticed that he had just had his hair cut; there was a little scattering of tiny red-gold strands on one shoulder of his dark suit. The attempt at smartness was touching.
    I put my hand on his arm.
    â€˜Thank you, Cassandra,’ he said.
    â€˜What for?’
    â€˜For giving your evidence so calmly. It can’t have been easy.’ He took my hand and squeezed it hard. ‘I’m glad it’s over,’ he said.
    At that moment I knew that I’d done the right thing.
    After all that worrying, it was all over. But I still felt so tired.
    I let my eyes wander around the back room of the little terraced house in Newnham. The floral patters of the sofa and armchairs had faded to a soothing dimness and one entire wall was lined with books. Paul was lying back, eyes closed, the hand that held his cigarette dangling loosely over the arm of the chair. The French windows were open onto the narrow strip of garden. Alison was weeding the herb-bed close to the house. The scents of thyme, rosemary and mint mingled with Paul’s cigarette smoke. The perfumed air seemed to fill my head. I gave a yawn so wide that my eyes filled with tears.
    Alison straightened up. She put her hands in the small of her back and stretched. Brushing some soil off her skirt, she stepped into the house, and sat next to Paul. He opened his eyes and smiled at her.
    â€˜I haven’t had many afternoons in the garden this summer, I can tell you,’ she said. ‘I’ve been slogging it out in the university library.’
    â€˜Bless you,’ I said.
    â€˜Oh, I don’t mind really. I’m quite enjoying it. I ought to have written up this piece of research years ago. And anyway we’ve all got to do our bit. How’s Merfyn getting along?’
    â€˜Fine, I think,’ I stifled the twinge of anxiety that I felt whenever I thought of him. I had read the opening of his book and it had seemed a model of scholarly detachment, but that didn’t mean I was happy at the way it came into being.
    With an effort, I got to my feet. ‘I’d better be off. I need to do some shopping. See you in a fortnight, Paul. I’ll get my revenge then.’
    It’s a pleasant walk into the centre of town from Newnham. As I strolled across Lammas Land recreation ground I was only half-conscious of the sounds of a warm August day: the thud of tennis balls, a man calling a dog, the cries of small children. I was reflecting on the way that trouble so often comes from the direction that you least expect. I had dreaded the inquest for weeks, but it had been over in less than an hour, and Lucy’s name hadn’t even been mentioned. I’d been worried about Alison and Merfyn, but at least they were trying to get some writing done. And now I was wondering whether I should be even more concerned about Aiden. I’d taken it for granted that there wouldn’t be a problem – he’d been appointed on the strength of his research record after all – but when I looked at his list of publications, I understood why Margaret had been concerned. There was nothing dated later than the