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Having established that Ursula Kravitz still taught at the university, it then took Bingley some time to locate on which of the several campuses she worked. If Sam Fleetwood had eloped, it wasn’t with Ms Kravitz, who was still very much around. She agreed to meet Bingley at her office, in between student tutorials.This was not a hallowed institution set in its own grounds, but one cobbled together from upgraded further education facilities, and whose buildings were scattered across the north of the city in an urban setting.
‘Much less daunting for our students,’ said Kravitz, as she and Bingley sat in her fifth-floor office of a modern block, the sun streaming in and making the small space uncomfortably warm. Somehow this wasn’t how Bingley ever pictured academia. In his mind they should be looking out over lush green lawns, not the number 997 bus meandering past the dog track towards the Aldridge Road. Ursula Kravitz was making coffee for them both, taking advantage of this snatched opportunity between appointments. She was, as Bingley had deduced from her photo, glamorous; pale and sleek with shoulder length hair and features perfected by flawless makeup. More than a little intimidating, in fact. ‘So, Constable Bingley,’ she said, passing him a bone china mug. ‘Are you sensible, good humoured and lively?’
‘Eh?’
‘Not a fan of Austen then,’ she concluded.
‘My dad drove an Austin Metro for a while,’ offered Bingley.
‘Never mind.’ She sat down beside her desk, her knees, exposed by her short skirt, almost touching his. ‘Now, what was it you wanted to ask me about?’
‘It’s a bit tricky,’ said Bingley, sliding back a couple of inches. ‘Do you remember a student called Sam Fleetwood? He would have been here between about six and nine years ago, on your Environmental Studies degree.’ He passed Kravitz a copy of Fleetwood’s photograph.
‘Yes,’ said Kravitz, examining the picture closely. ‘I do remember him, though it would have taken me a while to recall his name. We see so many students each year. But he was a bright boy and worked hard. Sensitive, as I remember. He did well I think, perhaps a first or at least a two-one., although no, that’s right, – he was on track for that, but had disappointing results after all.’
‘Have you any idea why that was?’ asked Bingley.
‘Not at all.’
‘When did you last see him?’
She chuckled. ‘Oh gosh, now you’re asking. It would have been at graduation, if he was there. I mean, he probably was, but I don’t specifically remember.’ She looked at Bingley. ‘Is he in some kind of trouble?’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Bingley. ‘It’s just that he hasn’t been seen for a few days.’
