Where Professor Simpson had distinguished charm but a lack of manners, Dr Jeffrey Collins had a look best described as unfortunate but a natural warmth. He put me at ease from the first handshake. I’d been hauled back to the office before we had a chance to interview him last week, so Smithy did the introductions. I observed a mid-forties man whose face was dominated by a raised strawberry birthmark that spread across his right cheek and down to his jaw. He was of slim build and dressed entirely in black like a Johnny Cash wannabe. My mind immediately put him off the suspects list because he was so distinguishable. No amount of make-up could disguise his face.

‘What can I help you with today?’ he asked and sat down on the corner of a desk. ‘Are you any closer to finding out what happened to Rosie?’

‘We’re going back over her work and associations at the university, so if you don’t mind, I’ll probably be going over some of the things I asked last time.’

‘That’s okay. Anything I can do to help. I saw in the papers that dreadful business with the circus. I take it if you’re back here, then you no longer believe anyone in the circus is a suspect?’ At his mention of the circus, my eyes filled up with tears and I turned and pretended a great interest in a poster on the wall. God, Sam. I’d thought I was getting over that. Apparently not.

‘We’re spreading our investigations wider and not making any assumptions at this point.’ Smithy gave my hand a slight brush. ‘We’ve talked with Professor Simpson this morning, and will be talking with Dr Hawkins after you. You worked with Miss Bateman every day, is that right?’

‘Yes, she was doing her research in my lab and we were collaborating on the project. She had an amazing mind, that girl.’ The tone of his voice told of his admiration for her. ‘I’ve seen some very bright young people come through this lab, but she had not only the intelligence, but the smarts, if you see what I mean. She wasn’t one of those all-brains-no-sense people. She could figure out how to tackle a problem, bring in thoughts or ideas that seemed completely unrelated or unlikely. It’s like this project we’re working on – such an elegant solution. It’s a huge loss.’

I’d composed myself enough to turn back and join in. ‘Will her loss put an end to the research she was doing?’ I asked.

‘Not for this specific project, as we’re far enough along the track, but as far as offshoots are concerned and just the … her potential. It’s an unbearable loss.’ His face reflected his words.