As Grant opened up the lecture he stared out across the faces in the room. He noticed there was no sign of Jessica Bradford. She’d missed the Monday lecture too, which was particularly strange given her previous keen interest, and her request the last time he’d seen her for some more of his time to discuss her thesis. Despite his previous discomfort at her fan-girling, he was quite disappointed that one of his few keen students was once again absent.

Regardless, he carried on and was soon well into his stride, until another face caught his attention. A woman. She stood out among the other people in the room. Most obviously, she was older than the other students, who were virtually all eighteen and nineteen, just a handful of more mature students in their twenties. Ok, she wasn’t old, probably in her thirties, so younger than Grant, but she looked old among everyone else there. Grant didn’t think he recognised her, but he did feel like he knew what she was. There was a serious and slightly world-weary look about her that only certain people had. Police.

Feeling more on edge, Grant carried on the lecture as best he could, but he was hyper-aware of the woman, who remained seated throughout, her gaze never leaving Grant.

As he closed off the lecture, the students quickly stampeded towards the exit. It was five p.m. after all, and the poor sods were likely shattered at such a late finish to their short day. The woman, however, was clearly going nowhere. As Grant gathered his things, she got up from her seat and came down the steps towards the podium.

‘Professor Grant?’ she asked.

‘Yes, can I help you?’

‘I’m Detective Inspector Dani Stephens, from West Midlands Police. Do you think we could chat in private?’

‘Is this about Ethan again?’

‘Not exactly.’

Grant frowned. ‘Ok, right. Let’s go to my office.’

He slung his laptop bag over his shoulder and made his way up the stairs and out of the theatre. DI Stephens followed him out, neither of them saying a word as they traipsed through corridors towards Grant’s office.

Once inside, Grant shut the door behind him and moved over to the desk where he began shuffling the many scattered papers into some semblance of order.

‘Sorry about the mess,’ he said.

‘A cluttered desk is a cluttered mind,’ said Stephens.

Grant smiled. ‘Indeed. And if a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk a sign?’

‘Einstein, right?’

‘Indeed. Please, take a seat.’

Stephens sat and continued to look around the room, at the messy bookshelves filled with all manner of reference books. Grant sat down at his desk and studied her for a few moments, waiting for her to say whatever she’d come to say.

‘I remember reading about you years ago,’ Stephens said.

Grant sighed. ‘Yes. Many people do.’