‘The parents are saying it was an accidental overdose. In their version, Satnam took a couple of pills so she could stay up late to write an essay and had some sort of reaction to them. I got the impression that they couldn’t bear to bring themselves to accept that their daughter might have tried to kill herself.’

‘It could have happened like that, though, couldn’t it?’ Cullen says, hopefully. An accident could be made to go away. A confirmed suicide bid would have to be looked into. And that would bring all kinds of trouble.

‘I suppose so, but there was a lot of alcohol and Ritalin in her blood so I’d say the chances are pretty slight. I googled Ritalin overdose. It can be fatal, not immediately, but after a few days or even weeks. The heart goes into overdrive and the organs eventually fail. Once that starts, it’s only a matter of time.’

‘I see,’ Cullen says, wondering now if it might actually be easier if the Mann girl did die. It might solve a few of his problems. ‘Does she have any record of mental ill health?’

‘Obviously, I can’t access her medical records but she’s never engaged with student welfare. No time off. No red flags at all. When Jackie quizzed her flatmate in the ambulance, she said they’d spent the early part of the evening together and Satnam was her usual self. I looked through her file. It seems she was struggling academically in the first year, but she must have knuckled down because her grades this year have been excellent. I suppose she might have been feeling under a lot of pressure.’

‘A couple of students did some remedial maths with me last summer. She was among them, but there was no sign that she wasn’t coping,’ says Cullen. ‘In fact, as you say, the opposite. She’s been doing extremely well. Have you informed the Vice Chancellor yet?’

‘No, I thought you would probably want to do that.’

‘Right,’ Cullen says, relieved that Keane has remembered the correct chain of command. Cullen and the VC, Madeleine Ince, go back years and he’d much prefer to have this conversation with her himself.

‘I could use a coffee. Can I get one for you?’ Cullen says, relenting on his previous decision, but only because his head is banging from lack of sleep.

‘I’ve already had too many this morning.’

As Cullen goes over to the coffee machine in the corner of his office, an uncomfortable thought comes into his mind. ‘Is the flatmate one of ours too?’

‘Yes. Nevis Smith. Same year and subject area as Satnam. You know her too presumably.’