“That’s a lot of questions,” said Bowen. “As far as I know, he’s neither a cheat nor a plagiarist. My staff and I are quite aware that students can purchase essays over the Internet, for example, so we’re always on the lookout for anything that seems inauthentic. But I think you would be aware of it yourself, if you were a teacher. It’s usually not difficult to tell if the work a student presents isn’t his own. Chris has a perfectly fluent, though somewhat pedestrian, writing style. His spelling is usually correct—though that may well be due to a good spellcheck program—and he is not without original ideas. I’m not making out he’s a genius or anything, but he has a good mind when he decides to use it.” Bowen smiled to himself. “You might say that laziness is one of his less admirable attributes. But he usually gets the work done and does it well. Otherwise, there would be no possibility of his taking a place at Oxford.” He put his hands palms down on the desk and half stood. “And there,” he announced, “I have to leave things. I have a class in fifteen minutes, and it wouldn’t do for the head to be late.”

Banks and Gerry stood and thanked him for his time. At the door, Gerry paused. “I got the impression when you endorsed the superintendent’s summary of Christopher’s character, that you weren’t entirely comfortable with it. Was there something he omitted? Something he got wrong?”

“You’re very perceptive, DC Masterson,” Bowen said, then to Banks, “You’d better watch her. She’ll go far.”

“Oh, I know,” said Banks. “Private school education. Cambridge. Chief constable next stop. I have no doubts.”

Bowen looked at Gerry again and raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. I’m even more impressed.”

Gerry blushed and struggled for composure. “Is there anything to it?” she asked. “Did we miss something?”

Bowen sat down again, rather heavily this time. “I’m probably speaking out of turn here,” he said, “though I’m fully aware there’s no binding confidentiality agreement between teachers and students. It’s not so much Chris who worries me, as much as the company he keeps.”

“Anyone in particular?” asked Banks.

“Jason Bartlett. They’re very close friends. Chris gives him a lift to and from school, as Jason doesn’t own a car, and the public transport situation is horrendous. And Jason, of course, is nowhere near as bright as Christopher.”

“What’s the problem?” Banks asked.