Liam told them that when it came to the elite races, culminating in the national championships in which they raced against other universities, the teams were almost always dominated by post-graduate students. He’d studied for three years doing a finance undergraduate degree, before staying on for an extra year for the post-grad course specifically because he wanted to take part in those races. After working his way through the fourth-, third- and second-string teams, over the course of three years, he’d been eagerly awaiting his chance with the elite squad. He had rowed in some of the preliminary races but was then dropped for an American third-year student who was only going to be there for nine months.

‘And he was called fooking Corey,’ Liam fumed. Despite the fact he was an apparently successful sole trader working from home, it still enraged him.

After Archie had brought Liam’s annoyance to the fore, it was Jessica’s turn to steer the conversation. Given the conspiracy of silence from the rest of the club members, this might be their only chance for an insight into what really went on when the clubhouse doors were closed.

‘I suppose you read about the death of Damon Potter,’ Jessica said.

Liam was tall and lean with short dark hair, dressed casually in loose jeans and a shirt. On the arm of his chair was perched a laptop that he kept checking, saying it was for his trading job.

He nodded without looking up.

‘We’ve been having increasing problems with the club in the past few years: rape allegations, public disorder complaints, someone ended up in hospital with hypothermia . . .’

A hint of a knowing smile crept across Liam’s face but he still didn’t look up. ‘Training accident, was it?’

‘So we were told. I realise almost all of this comes after your time, but I couldn’t help but notice that when you were in your final year with the university, the person who is now student president was in his first year.’

‘Holden Wyatt?’

Jessica made a show of checking her notes to ensure she didn’t seem quite so keen on him as she was. ‘Do you know him?’

‘There were always one or two a year – first years who already knew people. Sometimes their parents had been to the university, or perhaps they were keen sportsmen. For some, the social side of university and joining the club is far more important than what you study.’

‘Was it like that for you?’

Liam finally looked up from his laptop, fixing Jessica with his bright blue eyes. ‘I just liked being fit and it seemed fun. I’d never even been on the water before university.’

‘But Holden was different?’

A knowing laugh: ‘He’d been doing it since he was a kid but wasn’t good enough to get into Oxford or Cambridge, either for rowing or academically. I think his dad knew a few of the Salford alumni and they come from somewhere around here. From day one, he was in with the post-grad students and the elite team. Usually when that happened, they’d get slapped down – but he had something about him.’

‘Did you ever talk to him?’

‘Not really. As soon as you drop off the team, suddenly the younger lads aren’t interested in you any longer.’

‘When I brought up the hypothermia, you seemed to indicate that perhaps it wasn’t an accident . . .’

Liam glanced down at his laptop and tapped on the tracker pad but the atmosphere had changed. ‘I suppose what happened to that Damon kid was only going to be a matter of time . . .’

‘How do you mean?’

At first, Liam didn’t reply, tapping away at his computer before sighing and finally closing the lid. When he looked at Jessica again, his eyes had lost some of their blue. ‘Obviously I don’t know for certain, but . . .’

Jessica said nothing, hoping Archie wouldn’t fill the silence either. He didn’t, and Liam was left to do so himself. ‘The big November party they have is more of a congratulations to the students left standing who still want to be members after “hell week”.’

‘Hell week?’

Liam took a deep breath, perhaps wondering if he’d said too much but there was no going back now: ‘It happens in the final week of October leading up to Halloween. If you’re a first year and want to become a full member, then you have to have a series of tests. It’s usually only the elite lads involved after-dark in the clubhouse. At first it’s something simple, like drink a few pints in a row, but the tasks get more intense as the week goes on.’

He shivered slightly and Jessica felt it catching as a chill rippled along her spine. ‘It can move on to things like taking a beating from the team. They’ll hit you with paddles but every time you take it, the next day it’s worse.’

‘What happened to you?’

‘When I was a first year, it wasn’t too bad. I think it comes down to who the student president is. I had to do some drinking, late-night swimming in the water – I’ll bet that’s how your other lad got hypothermia – and this game where you had to do a lap of the park, then drink, then more laps, more drinking. I was sick a few times and took my beating on the final day but that’s as bad as it got.’

‘What might’ve gone wrong with Damon?’

Liam now seemed resigned to spilling everything. ‘I don’t know for sure – I don’t talk to anyone there – but things were beginning to get out of hand when it was my final year. We had this real sicko student president. Night one was swimming a width of the river, doing shots and pints, then going again over and over. People were collapsing and everyone else was uneasy. I mean I was there but . . .’

He didn’t need to finish the sentence – he hadn’t spoken up because he didn’t want to be kicked off the team.

‘The week got worse. On night two it was beatings, night three they had these eating challenges.’

‘Who could eat the most?’ Archie asked.

Liam shook his head. ‘Not how much, what could they eat. At first it was these awful meat products: offal, I don’t even know what that is. Then they’d have to drink milk really quickly, so people were vomiting. But because they were being sick, the president was saying that was cheating as they weren’t keeping it down, so he made them . . . well, you can guess . . .’

Ugh.

‘By day four, some people hadn’t come back and it kept getting worse. You might be surprised – but all the first years knew what hell week was, so they didn’t even bother starting it unless they thought they could do it. There’s a code of silence about it, too. What happens in the club stays in the club – that sort of thing. It was pretty grim but everyone from my year got through. I never heard of anyone pulling out until that year.’

‘And that was the year Holden was a first year?’ Jessica asked.

‘Exactly – but he was the one person who never flinched. I know you might not believe me but I never went in for any of that; it was only ever a few of the guys. That’s why student president is an odd position – it’s more social and organisational. The best athletes just want to row. It’s more of a tradition but certain people take it more seriously than others.’

‘Like Holden?’

‘Yes. I didn’t know he was student president until I read it but I’m not surprised. He wasn’t the best of athletes but he wanted to be a part of everything. If you get to student president, you’ve got to really want it – but also have to do some crazy things to get there.’

‘What sort of things?’

Liam glanced between the two officers and then turned away. ‘For a start you need the kind of mind to come up with things for hell week.’

‘Didn’t anyone ever say anything?’ Jessica asked.

A shrug: ‘I know it sounds bad . . . it was bad . . . but it was also part of this weird bonding thing. Especially if you weren’t popular, it gave you a chance to get in with the cool kids. When you first signed up, you’d start to hear the whispers, then you’d be told to get ready for hell week. If you chose to walk away, that was that – but no one would ever have told the lecturers or faculty. It would have been denied and there would have been a long line of people to call you a liar. Then you’d have all the pressure from the people who were into it. Ultimately you’re there to study, so it’s not worth it.’