No wonder she never wanted to admit knowing Athena, Livingston thought. It made perfect sense that she wanted to start a new life for herself. And even if she was interviewed the day Athena disappeared, it might be totally irrelevant. He had seen those incongruous coincidences where people happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Livingston thanked Margaret Heslop for her time and got up to leave, promising not to hesitate to call if he needed any more questions answered.

At the staircase that went down to the carpark he hesitated, pausing a moment to soak up the momentary bout of sunlight that crept from behind the clouds while he reflected on what he had just heard.

“Oh dear, now where did I park that darn thing?”

Livingston looked over at an older woman whom he guessed to be about seventy and smiled.

“My husband always gets a bit ratty because I can never remember where I parked the car. He has trouble walking, so I drop him off at the door and then go park it. They’re having a crafts fair in the auditorium today. Some lovely things. You might want to have a look.”

Trying to help, Livingston asked, “What kind of car do you have?”

“It’s a blue Austin and it’s been giving us a good deal of trouble lately. We’ve been calling our blue Austin our bad apple.” She cackled to herself. “Oh, thank you, now I see it,” she said as she grabbed hold of the railing and negotiated her way down the steps.

Blue Austin. Bad Apple. B.A. Livingston flipped through his notebook and looked up exactly what had been written on the matchbook found in Athena Popolous’s pocket. “B.A. 315.”

Turning on his heel he hurried back inside. “I’m taking you up on your offer sooner than you think,” he told the surprised headmistress. “Did you by any chance keep a record of faculty automobiles?”

“Of course. Faculty members all get stickers for the carpark.”

“What kind of car did Valerie—er—Mrs. Cook drive when she was here?”

“Now let’s see. Her file’s right here. Ah yes, it was a blue Austin.”

“What was the license number?” Livingston asked tightly.

“Three-one-five-seven-six-four.”

“You’ve been most helpful.”