‘She did. I think once we’ve got to the bottom of what is going on with Caitlin, then Gillian Mitchell should be the next person on our list to interview; she was quite evasive when we spoke to her at the university,’ Imogen said.

‘Do you think she is part of this?’ Gary asked Imogen.

‘I only wish I knew what this was,’ Imogen said.

Chapter Fourteen

Gillian Mitchell had agreed to be present at her student Caitlin Watts’ police interview. Caitlin was a first-year student of hers. The only family Caitlin had was her grandfather, the Reverend Nigel Watts. Her parents were still alive but no longer a part of her family and, for obvious reasons, she didn’t want her grandfather to have to listen to her witness statement of a violent sexual attack. Gillian made herself look presentable but nothing too overstated. She opted for a matt lipstick instead of her usual metallic shade; she wanted to look respectful, sombre.

Gillian had noticed Caitlin’s potential from the first day of the course. Some kids just got it. Having an unconventional and somewhat traumatic background usually went some way towards an understanding of psychology. If you have had to spend your life adjusting to your own world versus the world around you, or what you perceive to be normal, then you just see things differently. Over the years, Gillian had noticed that it was usually the kids from atypical backgrounds who took an interest in psychology anyway. Caitlin was different from the other girls in the year, though. First of all, she had this magnetic power over men – completely unintentional, but it made Gillian almost glad she wasn’t a straight man; she would hate to be a slave to sexual attraction.

There was some jealousy there, of course. Gillian had got better looking with age and she knew how to do her hair and make-up in the most flattering ways, but she was no natural beauty. She had small hazel eyes and thin eyelashes, and her nose was slightly off-centre, thanks to a hockey accident when she herself was at university. Her lips were small and modest. She wouldn’t say she was obsessed with her looks, but now that she was getting older, noticing the crow’s feet, she had considered a face lift or Botox or something to slow down the ageing process. This was her time.

The interview was early morning; Gillian had asked the police officer if he wouldn’t mind doing it that way because she would find it hard to get cover for her first lesson. Caitlin agreed and so it was set. Caitlin had already had a preliminary interview, where she outlined the basics of the attack and labelled her accuser. They had tried to interview her again but couldn’t get much out of her, so they asked for her to have someone she knew and trusted present. Naturally, she asked for Gillian. They had grown close over the last few weeks.

Gillian now settled in her seat next to Caitlin, whose face was multicoloured with bruising, reminiscent of the greasy rainbows you would see in oil-slicked puddles, circles of colour radiating out from her eyes. Gillian tried not to be pleased that Caitlin’s pretty face had taken a beating. She had never really liked beautiful girls; it was jealousy, pure and simple. Although she had finally figured out her own look and how to turn heads, albeit significantly fewer than someone as beautiful as Caitlin would, she’d realised long ago how much easier life was for attractive people and that made her mad.