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

by P. J. Thurbin

  The Inspector’s antennae were now on maximum alert. Was it possible that Berick had managed to slip away while at the hospice and commit the crime? And if so, how did he know that Jack Royston or Rupert Granger would be at the Rose Theatre? As a policeman he wanted things to be locked down tight before he took action, and in this case there were a lot of loose ends. He had Berick firmly in the frame for this one, but the picture was still not complete. Arresting someone for murder while they were in the custody of Her Majesty’s Prison Service was no small challenge. He grunted under his breath as the police car threaded its way through the rush hour traffic.

  ***

  Ralph had arranged a meeting with Simon Alford a reporter from the Surrey Comet, the local broadsheet. He wanted to get coverage for the conference and the summer banquet. It would be easy to get the London papers interested, but at a local level he felt that they were primarily interested in ‘man bites dog’ stories. He also wanted to find out how they were treating what was now being headlined as ‘The Rose Theater Murder’. Simon had agreed to come to Gypsy Hill to see the college and meet some of the people who would be involved. It was a sunny day and the site was at its best. After a quick tour they settled down in Ralph’s office. Janice as always had managed to put on one of her afternoon teas.

  “So this is how the other half lives. Not a bad life working in such pleasant surroundings. It sure beats the grind of a reporter’s lot,” said Simon between mouthfuls of Janice’s cake.

  “You’ve caught us on a good day. Believe me it can get pretty hectic around here. But what do you make of all this business at The Rose? The police seem to have drawn a blank and I suspect the local population is getting a bit edgy,” Ralph said. He wanted to see how much the papers had gleaned about Jack and his links to the University.

  “We’re focusing on the local angle, as you can imagine. Unknown killer attacks couple after a night out at The Rose. Police baffled. Do we need more policemen on the streets? “You know, that’s the sort of thing that people want to read about,” Simon said.

  “Is that what you think?” Ralph asked. He reckoned Simon was playing his cards a bit close to the chest, no doubt to see what Ralph had to say about the University’s views before he ventured further.

  “I think that there is more to it than that,” Simon continued. “ Muggers don’t generally attack couples. Too risky. We’ve had a tip off from someone who works at The Rose who says he saw a bloke hanging around in the foyer as the crowd streamed out. Then he ran out into the street. We also heard that your Professor Granger was the hero of the night, and that will make a good story if we could get an interview. ‘University Professor saves wife of murdered man from brutal attack’. He’s becoming famous. We did an article on him the previous week covering his planned visit to the see the Winslow Boy with a bunch of students over here from Grand Valley State University in Michigan. By the way, Ralph, was there any connection between Jack Royston and Professor Granger? Rumour has it that they might have worked together some time back?”

  Ralph realised that his new reporter friend was pumping him for a story. If he let anything out then he might be able to enlist help from the newspaper for the Conference and the coming banquet, but the downside would be disaster for his fragile relationship with Granger. Best to leave the sleuthing to the ace reporter, he decided.

  “I’m not really sure on that one. But let’s get back to the Conference. I can get you a list of the big names that are coming and you might want to run a few articles building up to the event. This business of how much money is wasted in the UK due to workers suffering from ill health is big news. I’ve got a paper written by the Investors in People Organisation. Lots of statistics about UK labour productivity being 20% behind the rest of Europe mainly due to the workforce not being fit.”

  “Thanks, Ralph. That does sound like a good angle, but it might need a bit of spicing up for our readers. Not everyone out there is as keen on these things as you might think. But thanks anyway. We’ll probably focus on the big guns at your conference and any local links that we can work up.”

  “Our key speaker is Sir George Rainton,” said Ralph. “He’s a big shot with the hospital at Kingston. He got them a massive investment from the government for new equipment and his family is enormously wealthy. They own most of the properties around Coombe Lane just up the road from here. Some very influential people live around here as you know.”

  “We’d certainly run an article on him. I remember reading somewhere that he was a student here. Actually I believe he was in your school, so maybe you knew him?”

  “It was a long time ago. I was a fledgling lecturer at the time and hardly knew all of the staff, much less the thousands of students milling about,” Ralph responded as he side-stepped the question.

  He could hear alarm bells ringing. If the paper searched around for a story that linked Sir George Rainton to the University and could then tie that back to Granger and Royston, it wouldn’t be long before the whole story came out. If they stumbled on Alice Berick and her tales of University mismanagement, then the publicity would be very bad indeed. What troubled Ralph the most was that he was now starting to think like a politician rather than someone who wanted to find the truth. Jack’s killer was still on the loose and here he was trying to steer Simon away from the true story. A horrific thought crossed his mind. He was starting to talk and think like Rupert Granger.

  They had a few exchanges about the banquet in the summer, but he got the feeling that Simon had really come to probe him about the incident at The Rose. When Janice came in to remind Ralph that he had a tutorial in a few minutes and that some of the students had already arrived, it gave him a chance to bring the meeting to a polite close. They exchanged promises to meet up again if there were any new developments.

  Later that week Ralph had arranged to meet with a new member of staff, Doctor Lance Bains. He had been involved in Baines’ appointment at the end of the previous summer semester. He had heard good things of the new tutor, but as happens, had not had time for a longer exchange other than a casual greeting in the corridor. Ralph and Lance had arranged to meet after lectures for a beer in the Duke of Cambridge pub at the foot of Kingston Hill.

  Ralph had been waiting for only a few minutes when a larger than life character pushed his way through the regulars who were crowded round the bar. He remembered that what had first struck him about Lance was his relative youth and engaging manner. Lance was from New Zealand, and as with many Kiwi’s, he had no trouble gaining the bar keeper’s attention and was soon coming over to Ralph with two large pints.

  “Good to see you Professor Chalmers. Is it okay to call you Ralph?” He said, following his remarks with a loud roar that startled some of the regulars who themselves were already creating quite a din.

  “Good to see you too, Lance. Thanks for the beer. The staff are all on a first name basis at Kingston. Most of the students address us by our first names as well, as no doubt you have already learned for yourself. I hear you’re settling in well and the students like your approach, which always helps. Got to get the buggers on your side if you want to survive.”

  “I’ve been a bit lucky and have a good bunch,” Lance said good naturedly. “Besides, I like getting stuck in. It’s no different than the way we play rugby. Go in fast and hard and they never know what hit them.” He punctuated his remarks with another loud roar of laughter. Ralph got the distinct impression that the locals were loving this one.

  “So how come you decided to come to England to teach? I know we heard your spiel at the interview panel, but what’s the real story?”

  “Nothing too exciting,” Lance replied. “I’m not a native Kiwi, you know. I went down to New Zealand when I was about 20. A wild lad. I’d made a mess of school and managed to get a job in sales with a firm in London. Then I got a transfer to Wellington. The company were good to me and paid for me to study at Victoria University part time. I got a taste for academia, as you would call it
and went on to get my Doctorate and then did a lot of consulting in Marketing. I made a bit of money and decided it was time to come home. So here I am. But enough about me. What about you? I hear that some of the staff call you the hero of Gypsy Hill. Something about tackling an armed man bare handed over some stolen jewels? Sounds quite a story.”

  “All that’s yesterday’s news,” Ralph said. He gave a brief account of what had happened at Gypsy Hill a couple of years earlier but tried to play it down.

  “If you say so,” Lance said. “Do you reckon it has any links to that murder down in Kingston recently? Maybe someone has it in for us University types.”

  Ralph found that Lance’s open approach to life was becoming contagious and he could see how the students found him easy to talk to. Before long, and no doubt helped on by the strong ale, he found himself explaining the cheating incident and his theories about mistaken identity, and that he saw it as a question of someone trying to exact revenge.

  “It all sounds complicated to me, Ralph. Sure, people do hold a grudge, but it was a long time ago. Still, look at the way the Maoris never forgave us for taking away their lands even though their leader signed the Treaty of Waitangi and everything was done above board. That must be one of the longest grudges ever. The way I see it, a couple of students were just having a bit of fun at the expense of the establishment. I know what I was like at that age, and believe you me we knew how to mess the system up. They probably just wanted to see if they could screw the system up, and you lot took it all too seriously. Should have just given them a wigging off and swapped the marks back. Then everyone would have been happy and none of this would have happened.”

  Ralph could see that Lance had a point, but the difference was that he seemed to have no idea of the way the University system in this country worked. It relied on the public valuing the qualifications that were handed out. If for one second that belief was shaken then the whole system would crumble. No more graduation ceremonies with robes and gowns. No more reverence for Professorial appointments and opinions. The myth had to be maintained at all costs.

  “My view is that this place needs to lighten up a bit,” said Lance. Some of my colleagues find my approach a bit unnerving, I’ll admit. They seem to want to make the students like themselves, whereas I want the little buggers to stand on their own feet and be who they really are. It’s not about writing research papers, it’s about helping students to get the skills they need to work and live in a tough world.”

  Ralph admired Lance’s forthright approach. But Ralph could see that he would be quite a challenge to the establishment and wondered how long he would survive unless he kept his head below the parapets when the big guns were around. They continued swapping yarns until the publican called ‘drinking up time’. For Ralph the evening was reminiscent of his younger days at Cambridge. But driving home he reflected on how a different approach to an incident that took place 20 years ago could have avoided so much trouble. Hindsight vision was always 20/20.

  Once home Ralph settled back in his comfortable leather chair and listened to one of his favourite pieces, The Lark Ascending, by Vaughan Williams. As he relaxed, it suddenly became obvious to him how Arthur Berick had been able to commit the perfect murder. He must have seen the article about Granger taking the American students to The Rose. It would have been easy to find out that the performance finished at 9 pm on the Saturday. He then arranged to get leave to see his wife in the hospice to coincide with the programme schedule, and then planned to slip out to the nearby theater and kill Granger while the warder waited him down for him down the hall. The only flaw was, how did he manage to avoid being missed by the warder? Could it have been that the warder was so familiar with Berick that he too had used the time to slip home to see own his wife for the evening? Maybe even someone else’s wife? Or perhaps Berick still had access to the remains of the bullion and had bribed the warder to look the other way while he slipped out?

  It was almost dawn when Ralph dragged himself off to bed after nodding off in his easy chair. He was eager to share his thoughts with Inspector Linham, but he knew that Linham would want proof, not wild conjectures. The dawn light was just beginning to filter through the curtains as he drifted back to sleep. When Ralph’s alarm went off at seven he remembered that he had a full days teaching ahead of him. Any meeting with Inspector Linham would have to wait.

  Chapter 6

  Following his midnight revelations Ralph had decided that he needed to share his findings with Inspector Linham. This was one phone call that the Inspector was pleased to take.

  “I have to admit it, Wilson. That Chalmers is finally starting to make sense. He called me this morning and gave me his latest theory on the Royston case,” said Inspector Linham. “He has a point about Berick. He could have seen that newspaper article about Granger and those students going to The Rose. Is it possible that he gave the warder the slip? Perhaps a decent bribe helped the warder turn a blind eye instead of watching Berick when he was at the hospice seeing his wife. The trouble is we have a lot of ‘ifs’ and not a lot of proof. And that’s what bothers me.”

  Wilson knew that when his boss wanted to think he often posed rhetorical questions.

  “Well the search at the murder scene came up with a knife. We could match any DNA found with Berick’s,” interjected Wilson. “It would tie up a few loose ends”.

  “It’s a long shot, but if it turned out to be a match then we could take a closer look at the warders at White Marsh. Berick might have found himself a bent one. Wouldn’t be the first time ,or the last, for that matter,” said Linham.

  “I know that White Marsh uses that private company, Transit Pro Secure, to move prisoners around. They handle some of the Government deportation orders. So it’s possible that someone managed to get on their books who was prepared to go along with Berick’s plan if the price was right,” said Wilson.

  “We could be on to something that might get a result quicker than expected. That would make the Commissioner and the top brass around here very happy. The local papers are starting to smell blood, and this time, unfortunately it’s ours if we don’t get a break on this one. We need a result Wilson, and we need it now.”

  ***

  Ralph settled back as the commuter train whisked him smoothly into the city of London. A letter to Sir George Rainton’s office inviting him to speak at the upcoming conference had resulted in an invitation for lunch at the Travellers Club. It was only a 20 minute journey and passengers had a bird’s eye view from the carriage windows into the cabbage patch sized gardens of the suburban city dwellers. Ramshackle sheds, broken fences, overgrown flower beds and washing fluttering on the lines. He always imagined that the people who lived in these small row-houses led uncomplicated lives. Couples with growing families, dad at work, kids at school, mum working part time and hurrying home to cook supper, occasionally a howling pet locked up and annoying the neighbours.

  Maybe he was the odd one out? An unsolved murder and lives wrecked over a poor decision made 20 years earlier. Well right now his life was certainly far from ordinary.

  Ralph caught a black cab outside Waterloo station that soon took him over the Thames at Westminster Bridge and on to 106 Pall Mall. The Travellers Club was near the Oxford and Cambridge Club where he had spent many a happy evening, but he had always seen the Travellers as a more exclusive establishment. Completed in 1837 with earlier members that included two British Prime Ministers, the Duke of Wellington and Lord Palmerston, now it was the meeting place for foreign diplomats, ambassadors and High Commissioners. To become a member required some pretty good connections. He wondered what Rainton would be like and if he was anything approaching the ogre that Alice Berick had painted.

  A bowing doorman soon took his coat and led him into the member’s bar where Rainton was waiting to welcome him.

  “Good to see you, Professor Chalmers. I’m George Rainton. I must say, I’m very flattered to be invited to speak at your conference. I never thought
I’d be going back to my old Alma Mater after all these years,” he said with a loud but friendly laugh. “But hey, I’m forgetting my manners. What can I get you before we go in to lunch? I’m having tomato juice, but don’t let that stop you having a snorter.” He bowled straight on as Ralph ordered a glass of cranberry juice from the barman.

  “I hear that you’ve been lucky enough to get Jean Maitland to join the University. She’s quite a stunner, but smart as a fox, or should I say vixen?” he said with a broad smile. Ralph had expected a stuffy CEO of a major global empire. But here was a fresh faced, apparently open hearted host welcoming him as though they had been friends for years. Ralph was beginning to enjoy himself, but wondered if the bon homie might be an indication of someone who ran high on adrenaline and was constantly under stress.

  After a quick drink they were ushered into the dining room, quaintly signposted as ‘The Coffee Room’. They were seated by a large bay window overlooking a small well-kept garden at the rear of the premises. Rainton was obviously not one to waste too much time on small talk. A superb lunch of Dover Sole, washed down with a glass of chilled Sauterne, followed by the standard dessert of treacle pudding and hot custard put them both in a relaxed frame of mind. They soon found themselves discussing the Conference. Rainton said that he was happy to make the keynote speech and they soon satisfied each other on the details. Over coffee Ralph decided to ask Rainton about his part in the incident surrounding Jack Royston’s resignation. To his surprise his host recalled the incident in some detail.

  “You know Ted Berick and I got on well at college. We used to drink in the student bar, try to date all the new girls, and of course we didn’t do much studying. From what I can recall, we missed a hell of a lot of lectures. When it came to finals exams, I was more worried than Ted. I had a lot of pressure from home. My Dad had been at Eton and Oxford and now he’s Minister for Higher Education in the Government. He’s still competitive at nearly 75. He wanted me to go on from Kingston to do an MBA at Harvard. He had the money and the connections to get me in. But I needed to get a top mark in all subjects or I would have to settle for going to Army Officer Training College at Sandhurst or the Naval College at Dartmouth. Neither of those seemed to me like a great future. Harvard and America sounded like fun. Well we joked about swopping places as Ted was pretty bright. Then we came up with a way to foil the system. Ted was dyslexic so he had someone scribing for him in the exams. I lied and told them that I had an arm injury from skiing in Switzerland that had not healed. That got me a scribe as well. I told Ted that I would clear his bar bills if he put my name on his papers. I of course put his name on mine. It worked and I got the top mark for that year. Unfortunately Ted did pretty badly as my work was probably rubbish. Plus, my scribe was pretty and I was distracted most of the time,” he said laughing at the memory of those youthful days. Ralph felt obliged to challenge Rainton’s view of history.