ten forty-five on Saturday evening with a lad aged around eighteen to twenty years old with dark hair, black plastic-rimmed specs and a mild case of acne.”
Before Neal had a chance to point out that half the town’s student population would fit that description, Ava’s smug expression gave her away.
“Do you know something I don’t, Sergeant Merry?” he asked patiently, then listened, frowning as Ava described her impromptu meeting with Anna Foster and her son.
“Simon denied knowing Amy but the description fits. He could be Amy’s stalker, sir. Predictably, your fancy woman shoved an alibi his way; claimed they were at her place sorting through some books on Saturday evening, but what mother wouldn’t lie to protect her child?”
Neal let Ava’s remark go without comment, but he cursed himself for his indiscretion in revealing his thoughts about Anna Foster in the café. It had been a tiny slip, but Merry was sharp, damn her. He was well aware of the speculation that went on at the station about his personal life, particularly amongst the female staff, and let it pass. He had two lives, and it was vital to his sense of balance that they remain separate.
Archie knew what his father did for a living and when he was younger he had often asked Neal to tell him stories about real-life criminals. Neal had told imaginary tales, sweetened versions of the real thing that would not give his son nightmares. Maggie often accused him of being over-protective, but he had seen enough of what happened to unprotected children to worry about damaging his son with too much kindness. And his sex life — or lack of it — was none of their damn business.
“Let’s not leap ahead of ourselves, Sergeant,” he said dryly, adding, “Find out where Simon Foster lives at the university. We need to question him as soon as possible. And while you’re at it, see if you can find out anything about that other lad, Bradley Turner. We’ll need to question him as well, and his father.”
* * *
The complex of buildings that made up the new university campus and student village had sprouted up on former brownfield land, which in the city’s past had been the site of a sizeable goods yard for railway freight, taking in disused railway sidings, warehouses and buildings that had long ago lapsed into various stages of dilapidation and disrepair. After a big clean-up operation that had included decontaminating the site and demolishing or renovating a substantial number of buildings, the whole southern aspect of the Stromford Pool area had been transformed. The area was now vibrant and modern; several of the new and renovated buildings had won prestigious awards for their daring design and architectural style. There were ambitious plans for sports facilities, a theatre and an arts centre.
Across the water, on the north bank of the Stromford Pool, (or the Marina, as the modest lake was increasingly referred to nowadays) restaurants, hotels and a new Cineplex had sprung up.
Many saw the regeneration of the area as a new golden era for the small city, an opportunity to reclaim some of the prestige and grandeur it had enjoyed in its glory days in Medieval times, when it had been a religious and commercial hub. Certainly the university was attracting private investment that would otherwise have passed the city by, enabling the planners to think big and long term.
Of course, there were others who were against the whole venture; who had seen the redevelopment as an abomination, but even they would sometimes now admit, albeit grudgingly, that on a good day, it fitted in well with the town’s older and more prestigious edifices — the cathedral and castle to the north.
Stromford had been an important destination for tourists and visitors even before the coming of the University, thanks to its rich Roman and Medieval heritage. It had long been a site of significance. Archaeological remains confirmed its early importance in pre-Roman times as an