The police’s search team had been in the night before and cleared anything from Damon’s bedroom that could be classed as evidence, leaving the space eerily empty. The bed had been stripped, exposing a plain blue mattress. Wardrobe doors were hanging open, coat hangers limply clinging to the rail, while there was a dusty patch on the desk in front of her from where a computer had been taken. At this very moment, someone at the forensics base in Bradford Park would be picking over the hard drive. Damon’s mobile phone records would be checked, and everything in the room would be examined meticulously in case there was a clue. Occasionally they’d come up with something; usually it was a lot of work for no reward.

Jessica tried the final door, Alistair’s room, and was hit by the toxic whiff of aftershave. She hadn’t noticed it on him in the living room but it was as if he bathed in the stuff, the rampant pong almost making her sneeze. Taking a breath of cleanish air from the hallway, Jessica crept into the bedroom.

Above the unmade bed, a large poster of a barely clothed model with breasts the size of her head was pinned to the wall. Jessica lifted the duvet onto the mattress and used her phone to light the space underneath the bed.

Dust, fluff, a crusty tissue – ick – some football magazines, a pair of trainers marginally less stinky than the aftershave, and a bong.

Jessica sniffed it but could only get the faint whiff of marijuana. Putting it back where she’d found it, she next tried the bottom drawer of the cabinet next to the bed.

Socks, boxer shorts, a jock-strap – ick – a mucky mag – double ick, didn’t they have the Internet for that nowadays? – a flattened baseball cap.

Middle drawer: pyjamas, red checked lounge pants, a toilet roll, a Mars bar, packet of chewing gum.

Top drawer: more boxer shorts, a belt, two ties, a paperback Kama Sutra – seriously? – the back panel of a mobile phone, some batteries, and a small polythene bag containing black, vaguely green, flakes.

Jessica had a sniff and finished checking through the drawer just in case. She then had a poke around the dressing table and wardrobe before convincing herself that the hardest drugs on the premises were as Alistair claimed. She had believed him anyway but it was worth the search.

Back in the kitchen, Jessica could hear Archie’s and Alistair’s voices drifting from the living room. She couldn’t make out the words but they seemed to be having a back-and-forth conversation. In the cupboards were packets of couscous, dried risotto and some fancy seasoning. It was all a far cry from baked beans, Cup-a-Soups and noodles.

Jessica gave it a few moments and then returned to the living room, holding her phone in the air. ‘We’ve got to go,’ she said, looking at Archie. ‘Sorry, Alistair, unless there’s anything else, we need to be elsewhere.’

Alistair exchanged a glance with Archie and then shrugged. ‘I’ve told you everything.’

Back in the car Archie was swaggering as per usual. ‘Come on then,’ Jessica said.

‘He reckons Damon had a girl or two on the go – nothing serious, just a Friday-night fumble. Lucky sod.’

‘He’s not that lucky . . .’

‘Oh right, yes, er, sorry . . .’

‘Any names?’ Jessica asked.

‘I can pass them on to Louise at the station. It didn’t sound like much.’

‘Anything else?’

‘He reckons Damon was popular because he had money and would buy drinks on a night out. It doesn’t feel like he was killed for money, though, does it? If he’d been coked up and robbed, they’d only be able to steal what he had on him because everything else is in his dad’s name or in a bank account. At most they’d have got a few hundred quid, perhaps a thousand if we’re pushing it.’

Jessica agreed – Damon’s financial situation was worth keeping in mind but it didn’t seem like it was a legitimate motive, plus it would be a strange way to kill someone if it was a straight robbery. Why go to the hassle of dumping him at the back of the rowing club?

‘Did you find out why he’s apparently been happier in the past week?’

‘No idea,’ Archie replied with a barely concealed smirk.

‘What?’ Jessica asked.

‘I did find out what he was up to the night before last.’

‘The night he died?’

‘Aye – those rowing jessies were all getting bevvied at that club of theirs.’

6

The rowing club looked significantly different in daylight compared to the night before. What had appeared to be gentle black waves from the river lapping at the shore was in fact a browny liquid clattering into the rocks, with empty beer cans bobbing on the far side of the bank. The grass surrounding the building was muddy and soft, the white front of the clubhouse greyer and dirtier. The bins and their contents had been taken somewhere else for Rowlands, Joy Bag Jane and the rest of the fingertip team to check over. There were wheel marks on the ground where they had been pushed up the slope.

Jessica and Archie headed across the decking towards the front of the clubhouse for her second meeting with the student president.

‘Afternoon, Holden,’ she said, entering the clubhouse and making him spin with such surprise that he almost fell off the stool. As he composed himself, she took a moment to take in the enormous room. Aside from a wall at the far end with one door marked ‘changing rooms’, another labelled ‘office’, and the small bar area in the far corner, the rest of the giant area was given over to a single hall.

‘Nice of you to leave the door open,’ Jessica added, walking towards the bar. Above it was a row of plaques, trophies, medals and certificates. On the wall to the side was a roll of honour, with a list of competitions the club had won.

Holden got up and glanced between Jessica and Archie, waiting for an introduction that she didn’t provide. He had been alone in the large room, using the bar as a table and working on a laptop.

‘There was a bit of cleaning up to do here,’ he said.

Jessica was about to reply when her phone buzzed. It was a text message from Rowlands: ‘The bastards are calling me Bin Boy. Joy Bag’s furious too.’

She could feel Holden watching but Jessica took the time to reply: ‘She’s not going to get any happier if you keep calling her Joy Bag, is she? Stop moaning and find something.’

‘Sorry,’ Jessica said, peering up. ‘Important police business. I arranged to meet you here because I wanted to ask a few more questions about the club’s hierarchy. You’re student president, so what does that let you do?’

Holden’s brow furrowed as he stared at Jessica. His hair was fairer than she’d thought the night before. ‘Am I under arrest?’

‘Why would you be?’

He nodded gently, weighing up the situation. If he wanted to be awkward, then Jessica would happily take him down to the station and caution him. ‘It means I sit on the committee. We decide the competitions we’re going to enter each year, plus deal with various things relating to how we spend our funds. We had to renovate the changing rooms over the winter, plus get a new rowing machine. It’s only a twelve-month position. You take over in June each year, at the end of the summer term. It’s almost always someone doing a post-graduate course.’

‘What are you studying?’

‘An MSc in global management.’

‘Did you do your undergraduate degree here?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’ve been a member of the club since your first year?’

Holden nodded as Jessica gave Archie a nudge, letting him know he was up.

He peered at the honours board and then addressed Holden. ‘If you’re student president, that implies there’s a real president.’

‘There’s a life president, he’s on the committee too. There are ten positions, all voted for except life president.’