Shakes of the head. Lips resolutely pressed. He senses that there’s no way out of this one without looking as if he has something to hide. Which he does, obviously. When the police officers promise they don’t need much of his time, he fakes a smile and waves them in, hoping that whatever it is they want they’ll be quick about it.

‘We’ll go in here,’ he says, ushering the officers into his study and inviting them to sit.

‘Lovely house,’ the woman says, looking around.

‘Yes. Regency,’ he says.

‘Must take quite a bit of upkeep. Tough on an academic salary,’ she says. There is something in this, he thinks, a suggestion that the police may know more about his financial dealings than they are letting on.

‘My wife has family money,’ he says, doing his best to sound unrattled though his whole body is battling to remain calm. He coughs. ‘I don’t mean to rush you, but perhaps we could get on to why you came?’ He has already considered his moves and decided that at this point a feint is what’s required. ‘I’m guessing it’s about Satnam Mann?’

The policewoman’s head snaps round. ‘Why would you think that?’

‘Oh, I assumed you’d come with the news that she had sadly passed away.’

The two police eyeball each other in a way that makes Cullen feel slightly panicky. ‘I mean, because I am the Dean of the faculty.’ The woman frowns as if struggling for comprehension. Desperately playing for time, he says. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your names?’

‘I’m DC Linda Worsley and this is DC Mo Hassan. We’re here about another of your students, Natasha Tillotson, the young woman who was found up at Three Lakes. Just a few routine questions.’

He takes a step back and tries to shake his hand free of pins and needles without the police officers seeing. For a moment he feels he might suffocate.

‘About what?’ he says, doing his best to seem genuinely baffled. Somewhere nearby he hears the sound of a car alarm going off. ‘I mean, of course, absolutely, whatever you need, naturally.’

‘We’re wondering how well you knew her?’ This from DC Hassan.

‘Natasha?’ he says, as if momentarily forgetting. ‘Not well, I’m afraid. An average student, a bit unstable as I recall. One of the unhappy ones.’ He wonders whether to say that she’d been asked to leave then decides it’s best not to give away anything he doesn’t have to.

‘Can you tell which of your students are unhappy?’ This from DC Worsley.