Cavendish's sympathy had evaporated now. "I don't believe you people," he snarled. "My Land Rover is part of a murder investigation?"
"Afraid so. Sorry about that."
Cavendish looked furious. "You'll be hearing from me about this."
Alex and Ziggy watched in grim silence as the other two staggered back down the path with their suitcases. Before they could say more, they had to step aside to let the police leave. There were four uniformed officers and a couple of men in plain clothes. They ignored Alex and Ziggy and headed for their cars.
"What was all that about?" Alex asked as they finally made it indoors.
Mondo shrugged. "They didn't say. They were taking paint samples from the walls and the ceilings and the woodwork," he said. "I overheard one of them say something about a cardigan, but they didn't seem to be looking at our clothes. They poked around everywhere, asked if we'd decorated recently."
Ziggy snorted with laughter. "As if that's going to happen. And they wonder why they get called plods."
"I don't like the sound of this," Alex said. "I thought they'd given up on us. But here they are again, turning the place upside down. They must have some new evidence."
"Well, whatever it is, it's nothing for us to worry about," Ziggy said.
"If you say so," Mondo said sarcastically. "Me, I'll stick with worrying for now. Like Alex says, they've left us alone, but now they're back. I don't think that's something we can just shrug off."
"Mondo, we're innocent, remember? That means we've nothing to worry about."
"Yeah, right. So what's with Henry and Eddie?" Mondo asked.
"They don't want to live with mad axe-murderers," Ziggy said over his shoulder as he went through to the kitchen.
Alex followed. "I wish you hadn't said that," he said.
"What? Mad axe-murderers?"
"No. I wish you hadn't told Harry and Eddie we're murder suspects."
Ziggy shrugged. "It was a joke. Harry's more interested in his precious Land Rover than in anything we might have done. Except that it gives him the excuse he's always wanted to move out of here. Besides, you're the one who benefits. With an extra couple of rooms, you're not going to have to share with Weird anymore."
Alex reached for the kettle. "All the same, I wish you hadn't planted the seed. I've got a horrible feeling we're all going to catch the harvest."
Chapter 12
Alex's prediction came true a lot sooner than he'd expected. A couple of days later, walking down North Street toward the History of Art Department, he saw Henry Cavendish and a bunch of his cronies approaching, swaggering along in their red flannel gowns as if they owned the place. He saw Henry nudge one of them and say something. As they came face to face, Alex found himself surrounded by young men in the standard uniform of tweed jackets and twill trousers, their faces leering at him.
"I'm surprised you've got the nerve to show your face round here, Gilbey," Cavendish sneered.
"I think I've got more right to walk these streets than you and your pals," Alex said mildly. "This is my country, not yours."
"Some country, where people get to steal cars with impunity. I can't believe you lot aren't up in court for what you did," Cavendish said. "If you used my Land Rover to cover up a murder, you'll have more than the police to worry about."
Alex tried to push past, but he was hemmed in on all sides, jostled by their elbows and hands. "Fuck off, will you, Henry? We had nothing to do with Rosie Duff's murder. We're the ones who went for help. We're the ones who tried to keep her alive."
"And the police believe that, do they?" Cavendish said. "They must be more stupid than I thought." A fist flashed out and caught Alex hard under the ribs. "Steal my wheels, would you?"
"I didn't know you could do thinking," Alex gasped, unable to keep himself from goading his tormentor.
"It's a disgrace that you're still a member of this university," another shouted, prodding Alex in the chest with a bony finger. "At the very least, you're a shitty little thief."
"God, just listen to yourselves. You sound like a bad comedy sketch." Alex said, suddenly angry. He lowered his head and thrust forward, his body remembering countless rucks on the rugby field. "Now, get out of my road," he yelled. Panting, he emerged on the far side of the group and turned back, his lip curled in a sneer. "I've got a lecture to go to."