Rough Justice In Academia (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 2)

by P. J. Thurbin

  “Ralph are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or is this your usual after lunch slump? When blood is diverted from the brain to the stomach after eating, many people do have a bit of a slump. It’s a well-known medical phenomenon. Remember, I am a trained nurse,” she said with a smile.

  Ralph realised that she was teasing him, and that perhaps he was over-reacting to a lot of small coincidences. It was good to have someone around to pull him to his senses. But Rainton was not a common name, and he was determined to do the checks with academic registry when he got back to his office. He also determined to search the internet and find out just who Sir George Rainton was.

  “Sorry, Jean. And you’re right. I am a bit knocked out today. By the way, I have to meet with Joe Bullen, the chap who is running the catering for the University now that they are outsourcing everything. I want to talk to him about the conference and the arrangements we need to make for accommodation for our guests and the speakers. If you aren’t tied up, perhaps you might like to come and join me? And we can compliment

  him on the lunch. I’m sure he never gets much feed-back, and the way Rupert tucked into his food must be a good sign.” They both laughed as the pair made their way to the refectory office.

  After the usual exchanges that accompany a first meeting, Ralph got the impression that Bullen wanted to take charge of the meeting as he launched straight in.

  “As I will be in charge of all the catering arrangements for the Spring Conference, I’ve prepared a list of questions for you, Professor Chalmers. Making sure that these events go to plan and sticking to budget isn’t easy. I have a lot of experience, and the devil is always in the detail.” With that Bullen leant back in his chair as though expecting a challenge.

  “I couldn’t agree with you more, Joe, but let’s take things one at a time. It’s important that the people who are going to present the papers are accommodated in the student halls of residence on campus. The caretakers will be told which rooms have to be cleaned out once the students have left for Spring break. This will also apply to staff attending from overseas Universities. Then special guests will be accommodated at the Kingston Hill Lodge Hotel. We can arrange to bus them in each morning. Naturally you won’t need to worry about additional catering for the people staying at the hotel, but there may be a need to put on a few extras for those staying in the Halls.”

  Ralph ploughed on with the details and as he did so he noticed that Joe visibly relaxed.

  “Seems as though I won’t have too much to do then, Professor,” he interjected with a grin. You academics certainly know how to cover all the bases. But you forgot the tea and coffee breaks,” he said with a chuckle.

  Ralph looked at Jean and he could see that she was warming to Joe and soon joined in

  “Joe, we have some pretty important guests coming, as you can imagine. Professor Chalmers is considering Sir George Rainton as our keynote speaker, and he is well connected. If it goes well, then I would imagine that he would be a good contact for your company for any future conferences, if you wanted them,” she added.

  Bullen seemed taken aback for a moment but soon got back on course.

  “In our business we treat everyone as important. You just tell me how many are coming and we will do the rest.”

  Ralph noticed a change in Bullen’s attitude and realised that in the catering and hospitality world they must be constantly faced with people expecting preferential treatment because of their position or status and power. No doubt this was a sensitive issue as far as Bullen was concerned, and made a note to tread carefully in future.

  “And the banquet in the summer, Joe. Professor Granger tells me that you will be handling that one as well?” Ralph asked the question as a way of giving Joe a chance to compose himself.

  “Yes. But that’s a long way away compared to the conference although it sounds as though that one might be a bit trickier. I’ll need to set things up at Hampton Court Palace. A few more toffs at that do, and I hear that they’ve even de-mummified one of the old Vice Chancellors from the past so he can be there,” he said, with a forced laugh as he rocked back in his chair.

  They discussed a few more details and then after agreeing the next steps to be taken, the meeting ended. The winter light was fading as they walked back to Kenry House. Ralph invited Jean to meet with Peter and David for a drink that evening in the staff bar, their regular haunt after lectures, but Jean made her apologies as she was busy making arrangements about the examinations for her nursing students.

  Over the years the three colleagues had met regularly to exchange experiences about their teaching and to catch up on the latest gossip. In a University of 30,000 students and a staff of over 300, there was a lot going on. Meeting in the bar over a beer or the occasional glass of wine made a nice antidote to the stresses of the day. As he approached his two friends, he was greeted by Peter.

  “Hi Ralph. I hear on the grapevine that you’ve made a new conquest in the person of Jean Maitland, the Florence Nightingale of Gypsy Hill. Some of my students saw you two together having lunch with your pal Granger,” said Peter, adopting his usual provocative role.

  “Don’t go turning a lunch with a colleague into a conquest, Peter. I’m not the member of this trio noted for his conquests,” Ralph reminded him.

  “Touché,” replied Peter. “But I’ve sworn off all that now.”

  By the way, Peter, Granger tells me that he has the final say about the music you’re to play at the Hampton Court banquet,” Ralph chided his friend. He knew that Granger wasn’t exactly Peter’s bosom buddy and couldn’t resist winding him up a bit.

  Peter Cavendish had been Professor of Music for more than 30 years. He was an accomplished composer known world-wide for his work on Medieval Organ music. More locally he was infamous for his many romantic exploits. His long suffering wife, Marcia had stayed with him in spite of his dalliances and carousing. Ralph was always amazed at how Peter managed to get away with things.

  “The man’s a fool,” Peter retorted. He wants me to play that damned Greensleeves piece. I think that he must have read about it in some kids’ comic somewhere. Henry VIII is alleged to have written it for one of his wives, which is utter nonsense. Greensleeves was written in Elizabethan times and based on an Italian style of exposition that didn’t reach England till after old Henry was dead. So as usual Granger got it wrong. I’ll probably go for Handel. His Water Music would be much more appropriate for the river barge theme. Greensleeves, indeed. What a comedy. The man’s a buffoon.”

  “Steady on, Peter,” interjected David. You keep getting on your high horse when all the man did was to ask for your help in putting on what for the University is a pretty important event. If you were a bit more positive about it you might see it as a way to get yourself known by some of the big wigs from the Ministry and get that research grant you are always going on about. Your chance to buy your way out of teaching all those third rate students you seem to disdain so much.”

  David Walker, Professor of Jurisprudence in the Law School, always had a tilt at Peter. They were old rivals at the cut and thrust game, and in some ways it did help them to relax and let off steam at the end of a sometimes frustrating day’s teaching. Peter was getting to the point in his career where working with new students was becoming ‘a bit tiresome’, as he would put it. He wanted the research grant so that he could buy his way out of teaching time and get some new acolyte to do the treadmill stuff that underpins most of a lecturer’s day.

  “Look you chaps, I know we’ve all had a tough day, but I want to ask your opinion on something that’s been bothering me,” said Ralph trying to engage his two friends.

  “It’s not you and Jane again. We told you to either marry the girl or get back to that Betty or Mabel or whatever that bar maid was called that you were driving down to the country for weekends with in that old banger of yours,” said Peter, referring to Ralph’s vintage car that was his pride and joy.

  “Look Peter,
I’m being serious here.” He then explained how he had been to see Alice Berick, and his concerns that someone was trying to exact revenge on Granger for his part in the incident that had led to Jack Royston resigning. He also told them that Jean Maitland was Jack’s niece, and that she had recommended Sir George Rainton as a keynote speaker for the conference. Further, that Rainton was the name of the other student involved in the swapping of exam papers, and that according to Alice, Rainton had offered to pay Ted Berick 10,000 pounds for the swap and then paid him only 500 after the deed was done.

  “Wow, if that story about the lad, what’s his name Berick, offering to swap papers for 10,000 quid had got out, then the balloon would have really gone up. But now it’s 20 years after the fact, and all the people who were involved are either dead, no disrespect to poor Jack, or long gone from the scene,” said Peter. David was quick to respond to Peter’s conclusion.

  “Not quite, Peter. Granger got Jack’s job as a result of his resigning. And Tiverton, the Vice Chancellor at the time has now got his Knighthood. I’ll wager Sir William Tiverton would not like any scandal even if it was over an incident that occurred a long time ago.”

  “And if that other knight of the realm, Sir George Rainton turned out to be the other lad involved in the swapping, then a whole pack of cards would come tumbling down around their ears,” added Peter, warming to the idea of someone else being on the receiving end of a scandal for a change. But as always, David’s powers of reasoning as a trained lawyer came into play.

  “But if you think about it, the University did nothing wrong. They listened to the complaint from Alice Berick about her son having failed his exams and her belief that there had been an error or mistake in marking his papers. They found that his papers were marked correctly and that he had failed them all in spite of his previous good track record. They told her that she did not have a case against the University as they had followed the correct processes as laid down in regulations. As for her part, and her lad Berick, she did not tell them that the cheating had been deliberate and that young Berick stood, or thought he stood to profit from his actions. Sure, they should have closed that loophole in the system where someone using a scribe could put someone else’s name on the paper, but that was before we introduced photo ID’s for students. Nowadays it couldn’t happen.”

  “But what about that kangaroo court they held when they decided to make Jack the scapegoat so that they had someone to carry the can for their mistakes?” Interjected Peter.

  “I’m sorry to say it, but Jack did not have to resign,” said David. If he had decided to fight it out he would have had the staff Union to support him and the fact that he was related, in a fashion, to the Bericks did not mean that he had been involved or was aware of the cheating that was going on. We would have stood by him. Unfortunately Jack was from the Edwardian era, just like in Rattigan’s play, The Winslow Boy. But the difference was that Jack decided to walk rather than fight. In some misguided way he thought that he was doing it to save the reputation of the University that he loved so much.”

  Ralph had been listening intently to David’s reasoning. But something still worried him.

  “I agree with what you say, David, but that still leaves us with the question of who would want to exact revenge on Jack. If it was a case of mistaken identity and Granger was the target, why would someone, assuming it was from the Berick family, wait so long to take action? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “One point you have all missed,” added Peter. That other student, Rainton. If he was the one, and has now got a knighthood and is running a global empire, he might be being blackmailed by someone who knew. It could be that young Berick saw him at the top and decided to get his long overdue money from him. Maybe he thought that by attacking Granger, or the man he thought was Granger, it would put the fear of God into Rainton so that he would pay up.”

  “Peter I think that it’s time that you went home. Your logic is as usual slightly amiss. The next thing you will be telling us is that Granger is running amuck and wants to kill off anyone who could unearth the background to his getting promoted to Head of School when Jack resigned,” said David with a smile.

  “You never know,” replied Peter. “If Henry VIII is anything to go by, then stranger things than that can happen. Don’t forget, we are holding the summer banquet in old Henry’s palace.”

  “Come on Peter, I’ll give you a lift home,” said Ralph. “Time to get you back to Marcia’s loving arms and your bedtime cup of cocoa. And I expect that Mary will be wondering where you have got to, David.”

  They made their way along the tree lined path to the car park. But as was often the case, Ralph had that feeling that the ghosts of Gypsy Hill were not far away. It was comforting to be seated in his Jag, the engine running smoothly, and headed for the lights of town and home.

  Chapter 5

  Inspector Linham had what is often called a bout of policeman’s intuition. This time it was triggered in part by the way Ralph Chalmers had insisted that Arthur Berick was involved in the killing of Jack Royston. He decided that it was time to pay a visit to White Marsh prison and at least satisfy himself that Berick was safely under lock and key. The lights on the screen of his office system might blink happily as they sent him a message that all was well, but he never really trusted modern technology when it came to tracking down a murderer. He liked the feeling of getting his hand on the collar.

  White Marsh was a foreboding institution built in the Victorian era to house medium risk felons. As the gates swung open the police car bumped over the cobblestone courtyard that led to the visitor’s gate. A quick exchange with the warders confirmed his impression that they saw the CID as the ones with the cushy jobs while they were left with the dirty work of handling the villains. He was shown into the visitors’ meeting room, a sparse and dreary area that had been the scene of many a tearful exchange between relatives and friends of the inmates. Berick, a squat, broad shouldered and visibly ageing man, was soon brought before him.

  “Well. Arthur Berick. It seems only yesterday that you and I were standing in that court room when you got sent down. Since we recovered most of the bullion it was all pointless, but you and your gang paid the price.”

  The Inspector had no time for criminals like Berick. The death of an innocent warehouse guard as a consequence of the raid did nothing to encourage him to be sympathetic. Berick looked defiant.

  “Come here to gloat ‘ave you Inspector? Well now you’ve ‘ad your fun, can I get back to me studies? I’ve got me on-line Open University exams in English Literature next week so when I get out ov ‘ere, if I ever do, that is, I’ll be able to get meself a proper job.”

  Looking at Berick sitting there posturing as someone who intended to go straight after a lifetime of crime began to annoy him. He knew it was unreasonable to have those feelings and reminded himself that he had a job to do and he knew that the best way to unsettle a criminal was to go for the frontal attack.

  “I expect that you read in the papers about Jack Royston being killed in Kingston as he and his wife walked home from the theatre?” It was a rhetorical question and the Inspector watched closely for a reaction rather than an answer. There was none. If it meant anything to Berick he certainly wasn’t showing it. Years of prison life had hardened him even more. After a few minutes silence he decided to try another tack.

  “We’ve spoken to your wife, Alice, and she tells us that your lad Ted hasn’t been heard of for 20 years. She seemed to blame you for not sticking up for him when he got involved in that cheating incident at the University. Guess you couldn’t handle it. You were out of your depth with those college Professors. From the sounds of it you think you can catch up with them with these Open University classes the prison has going. A bit of too little too late, if you ask me. You still look like the same old loser to me,” Linham said with a knowing look. He knew that he had gone a bit far, but his comments were aimed at unsettling Berick as well as an outlet for his true feel
ings. Finally Berick reacted.

  “Look you leave my Alice out of this. She’s not well and you’ve got no rights to go worrying ‘er wiv your questions. Okay I did try to get those buggers what cheated our Ted out of his rightful degree and then stitched up our Jack so he had to give up his career. That bigwig Tiverton and that toady Granger and their fancy lawyers and all that. My Alice never did get over losing Ted. And now Jack is gone too, and I just hope Alice dies before she knows about it.”

  The Inspector could see that Berick was getting upset and decided that one last push might work.

  “Arthur Berick is there anyone that you know could have attacked and killed your foster child Jack Royston?”

  “Damn you and your lot,” he shouted. “Jack was more than one of Alice’s foster kids to me, and you bloody well come in ‘ere asking your questions an’ treating me as if I were some sort ov animal. Just leave me alone and clear orf. And leave me family alone or when I get out of ‘ere you lot will ‘ave to watch out.”

  On hearing the outburst the warder walked over and put a restraining hand on Berick’s shoulder.

  “Now now Arthur, let’s not get upset. You don’t want to ruin your chances of gettin’ out next month. Just calm down and let’s get you back to your cell and that class you’ve got to take. The visiting tutor will be along soon and we want to be ready for that, don’t we.”

  Linham was amazed at the way the warder spoke to Berick. It was almost as though they had some form of symbiotic relationship One helping the other. He had read that something similar happened to Solzhenitsyn with the prison guards in the Siberian gulags. It seemed to work here at White Marsh as well. But he had still not got Berick to say anything about Jack’s murder, so he felt that his mission had been less than successful.

  On the way out the warder confided in him that Berick was a model prisoner. He told him that because of his good behavior, Berick had been given compassionate release to go and visit Alice in the hospice. He said that they sent a warder with him who sat at the end of the ward while Berick was in with his dying wife.