Rope of Sand

by C F Dunn

  I trudged towards my room, head bent but alert for frozen flying objects. I had grown very fond of my little group, whose verve and tenacity for their subject I admired. All, that is, except Leo. He was lazy – he was lazy and late. His indolence nauseated me. He relied on his good looks and what he thought of as charm to wheedle his way through college while the others worked, got it wrong at times, listened to advice, put it right, and carried on.

  I didn’t wait for him today. Today he wouldn’t be late. Today he wouldn’t use a feeble excuse in which he didn’t bother to believe. Today he wouldn’t tell me why he hadn’t produced the minimum amount of work he needed to keep his degree alive and viable.

  I had seen them all individually of course, working longer than timetabled to get to the heart of their chosen subjects, chewing the data over, making it work for them, pulling them back when their theories led the evidence rather than being framed by it. I loved it and it made the hours between seeing Matthew easier and relevant and worthwhile. But I had given up on Leo.

  Leo had gone a step too far after I told him that I was failing his latest piece of work, which all too closely resembled that of a well-known academic recently published on the internet. He had slipped his hand up my knee with a lascivious sneer that showed he had succeeded with the same tactic in the past. I had been so outraged that I’d grabbed the closest object on my desk and slammed it into the back of his hand. Matthew told me afterwards that the pen had missed vital nerves and tendons and that the tissue damage was minimal, but I still lay awake worrying that the boy’s father would make a formal complaint to the college.

  Matthew appeared more pragmatic about the whole thing. “He had no right to touch you, and you had every right to defend yourself.”

  “I thought there was something in law about justifiable force. I’m not sure if what I did equates to that.”

  “What you did was to take reasonable measures to prevent him going any further. You didn’t know what he was going to do next. Perhaps he’ll think twice before he tries that trick on anyone else in future.”

  It offered some small comfort, but I hadn’t mentioned that it bothered me that Leo thought he had a fair chance of getting away with it. Or that I was fair game. Or that my reputation preceded me.

  On a brighter note, Holly told me that she’d broken up with Leo shortly afterwards. I would have felt a twinge of guilt except she didn’t seem too upset by it and I reflected that he had brought out the worst in her. By the time I saw my reduced group again, she and Josh had started dating and they both looked happy.

  I thrummed my fingers on my desk to the theme from Gladiator, blocking out the random noise from the corridor outside my room and so deep in thought that I didn’t hear my students come in until Josh’s face appeared upside down in front of mine. He had gelled his hair into spikes as usual, but this time he had dyed it a vivid shade of apple green. “Hey, what’s up, Doc?” He grinned cheesily and flung himself into a chair, pulling Holly into the one next to him.

  I tugged my ear phones out and switched off the music. “Very fetching, Josh. What’s your real colour, by the way?”

  His grin broadened. “I’m a natural blond, why yes I am,” he drawled in imitation of a Southern Belle. “And what’s yours, might I ask?”

  I laughed. “Cheeky monkey, I haven’t graded your paper yet.”

  Holly fidgeted nervously. “He didn’t mean to be rude, Dr D’Eresby – did you, Josh?”

  “I know that, Holly, don’t worry, we were just…”

  “Joshing?” Hannah suggested with a rare show of humour. Josh cracked up.

  I smiled. “I was going to say, ‘joking’, but yours is much better, thank you, Hannah. Right everyone, let’s…”

  A quick knock at the door interrupted me, and Elena poked her head around the edge of it, her face flushed. “I’ve just heard the news from David: keynote lecture – you must be thrilled,” she rolled her eyes dramatically.

  “Thrilled,” I grimaced.

  “What is keynote lecture, please?” asked Aydin in his thick accent.

  Elena bobbed into the room. “It means that Emma will give the introductory lecture at the conference. It is the one that sets the… what is the word?”

  “Theme?” I proposed.

  “Da, that will do. Sets the theme for the whole conference so it is very important that she gets it right.”

  “Huh, no pressure then, hey, Doc?” Josh had slumped low in his chair, his legs stretched out halfway across the floor. He reminded me of Joel in the way he appeared so laid back, but underneath was as astute as the rest put together.

  “Ah, well, now that’s where you come in, boys and girls.” They all sat up. Elena hovered but I waved her away. “Skedaddle, sprite, we have work to do here. I’ll tell you later,” I added, in case she thought she was being summarily dismissed. She waved her fingers around the door frame in acknowledgment as she left.

  I stood up and walked over to the big window, where the radiator pushed out heat.

  “You know how much you reprobates and ingrates love and adore me…” A united groan issued from Josh and Hannah. “Well, now you have the chance to prove it. And it might prove to be good experience as well.”

  “Righ-t,” Josh burred, “I get it, this is something we’re not gonna like. Cool move, dude.” I cringed and he smirked.

  Aydin scratched his head through his thinning dark hair. “I don’t understand – in English, please.”

  “Sorry, Aydin,” I apologized. “It’s like this. I have to give an important lecture in the summer at the conference. You all know about the conference, right?” They nodded. “Good, well, since the theme is faith and heresy in Reformation Europe and I’m the only one here who specializes in that period and this particular topic, I have to lead with the opening presentation. But I’ve been working sooo hard on all your behalf…”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Josh intoned.

  “… that I have very little time to pull this together, which is where you lot come in.”

  “You want our help?” Hannah asked.

  I dropped the act. “I need your help, Hannah – all of you, if you’ll give it.”

  “But what about our own studies?” Holly queried, wide-eyed as she mentally calculated the months she had left in which to complete her thesis.

  I came and sat back down in front of them. “Look, I wouldn’t ask for your help if it was going to detract from your studies, but I think this will work to your advantage if we can get through the prep it’s going to take in the meantime.”

  “So, what do you propose?” Hannah said slowly, evidently curious but noncommittal.

  I took a deep breath. “Right, here goes. Each of you is well on your way to completing research into your chosen area. Each area was well considered beforehand and your work is original and interesting. The keynote lecture can be pretty long. What I propose is that it is used between you to present your own studies to an international audience made up of some of the best minds in our field.” I waited as it sank in.

  Aydin peered at me curiously. “You would do that for us?”

  “Yes.”

  Hannah plonked her bag on the floor next to her. “But what about your own work? You can’t give us the keynote spot – we’re nobodies. Who’d want to listen to us?”

  “Well, I would for one. Look, you’d be helping me out here. I can’t get my own research completed in time, and anyway, you are my work. Just think, I can get the credit four times over off your backs.” There was a doubtful silence. “It’ll take the pressure off me,” I supplemented, trying another tack.

  Josh finally shrugged acceptance. “That’s really cool, thanks, but you’ll have to go on first – introduce us and everything, right?” he said, looking at the others.

  “Right,” Aydin and Hannah murmured in agreement.

  I stood up and rubbed my hands together. “Good, well, that’s agreed. Let’s get started.”

  “There’s one thing, Doc.�
� Josh looked up at me. “I don’t think the Dean’ll like us taking your place, you being English and from Cambridge and all.”

  “What, and miss the opportunity of showcasing four of his best students? He’ll love the idea.” Uncertain, Josh ran his hands through his green hair. “And don’t change your hair, Josh – don’t change it for anyone.”

  I turned away and pretended to get a book from my shelf: A Mind Worth Knowing: A Medieval Dictionary of Deceit, by Johnson. My sister had given it to me as a joke years ago; how apt it seemed now. I didn’t know how Shotter would react to my change of his plans, but I could guess. Behind me, my four students gabbled excitedly in close conclave. I would have felt the same at their age – have given anything to have an opportunity like this. If truth be told, six months ago I might have seen it as a highlight of my career: the key speaker at an international conference where I would present my lifetime’s work to date, where I could present the journal.

  A rapid set of heavy knocks on the door broke through my reflection and cut the purl of voices dead. I reached for the handle, but it pushed open, forcing me back.

  “Professor D’Eresby? Professor Emma D’Eresby?” The man in the dark uniform with matching eyebrows and a gold shield said as he stepped into the room.

  “Yes?”

  “We’re from the Sheriff’s Department. Come with us, please.”

  CHAPTER

  16

  Between the Horns

  My first thought was that the journal’s absence had been discovered. My second, following on so rapidly from the first that it almost knocked me senseless, was that somehow, and despite all the precautions taken, Matthew’s true identity had been exposed.

  “Ma’am?”

  I dithered, uncertain. Could I refuse to go with them?

  The second man, taller and thick set, looked at his watch. I became aware of my students: Aydin, round-eyed and fearful, and Josh, his stance belligerent. I cleared my throat and forced blithe confidence.

  “Of course. Lay on, Macduff.”

  The two men flanked me like the criminal I felt, my heart thumping noisily as we walked down the corridor towards the staircase. Somehow, I had to get a message to Matthew. He would be at work now, but whether in the lab or the medical centre, I didn’t know. Why couldn’t I have thought fast enough to give some cryptic message to Elena that would have given him time to escape, unless… unless they already had him in custody – alone, caged? Isn’t that how it worked? I was being rounded up as evidence. My mind fumbled for answers. I had to warn him.

  The men seemed at ease with the role they played. This is what the Gestapo used to do – lull you into a false sense of security, and then, when you thought you were free, haul you back into the interrogation cell and start all over again. However, this was the United States in the twenty-first century and things worked differently here. Normal citizens couldn’t just disappear – they had rights, privileges, protection against the excesses of authority. But then I wasn’t a citizen and Matthew wasn’t normal.

  The men stopped in the communal seating area. Checking we were alone, the stocky man lowered his voice. “We thought you wouldn’t want your students to witness this, ma’am.” He reached inside his long overcoat and, for a fraction of a second, I thought he went for a gun, but instead he withdrew an envelope. “It’s not the sort of thing you’d want them to overhear.” And he held it out to me.

  “What is it?”

  “Ma’am, I’d be obliged if you’d take it.”

  I don’t know what I thought I would see. I’m not sure whether, in my startled state, I could think rationally at all. The document bore all the hallmarks of officialdom. I scanned it for Matthew’s name, but found none other than my own. I read it again, this time more slowly. Then I laughed, a short, stabbing laugh as relief washed through me, and became aware of the men looking at me oddly. I swallowed, feeling a mixture of release and idiocy as my pulse stuttered back to a more normal pace.

  “It’s all right,” I whispered. “It’s for me.”

  “Yes, ma’am. You are duly served with a complaint and a summons.”

  “Summons?” I asked, blankly.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pointed to the word printed bold and black on the form. “This is a court summons. You have twenty days to respond to the complaint against you.” He prodded the paper again, but he didn’t need to, because next to the word “plaintiff” lay others more sinister and laden with malice: Kort Staahl.

  My initial elation that Matthew was not the focus of investigation had been replaced with horror as I realized that I was. The slow, sapping dread of the unknown deepened as I was shown through the doors of the redbrick courthouse days later. The oak-haired attorney appointed for my defence – a woman in her late thirties – summed me up with quick, dark eyes.

  “My name’s Louise-Antoinette Duffy,” she said, holding out a slender hand in greeting, and surprising me with the strength of the grasp. “I know, I know, it’s a mouthful; my mammy’s family is French and my daddy’s granddaddy was Irish. People just call me Duffy and I like that. Call me Duffy.” She waved towards a chair. In her other hand she held a copy of the letter by which I had been served notice of my prosecution. “Take a seat. I expect you know why you’re here?”

  Apprehension was rapidly replaced by indignation. “How can Staahl prosecute me? I haven’t done anything.”

  Perching on the edge of her desk, Duffy drew her pencilled eyebrows together in a show of sympathy. She finished the dregs of a takeaway coffee and crushed the cardboard cup in her hand. “Can I fetch you a coffee?”

  “No, thanks, I don’t drink it.”

  “Professor Staahl is pressing charges against you on the grounds of defamation per se. Do you know what that is?” I shook my head. “Simply put, it means that Staahl is saying that you maliciously reported that he attacked you and that this has resulted in him losing his job and damage to his reputation. He also says that you have caused him mental injury.”

  My mouth dropped open. “But he attacked me!”

  “That’s not what he’s saying.”

  “I haven’t said anything malicious, only the truth. And I haven’t told the press, or anything, only the police and my family – and my friends. How can I be responsible for him losing his job, for goodness’ sake?”

  “Hun, that’s just the thing; it’s been reported in the press and it is known in the town. The college has terminated his position both because of the alleged attack…” I scowled. “… I know, but it remains alleged until proven – and because he’s been unfit to work. You will have to prove that your allegations are true, but he doesn’t have to prove that his career has been damaged by your accusations; it is taken for granted that by making the accusation in the first place, you have done enough to ruin his reputation. That’s the per se bit, by the way.”

  My heart bulged uncomfortably as I tried to get my head around it.

  “And that’s not all. In Maine we have a provision in law called the Restatement of Torts, and it states that, and I quote, ‘One who gives publicity to a matter concerning the private life of another is subject to liability to the other for invasion of his privacy, if the matter publicized is of a kind that would be highly offensive to a reasonable person, and is not of legitimate concern to the public.’ End quote.”

  Swallowing the snake of fear sliding up my throat, I protested, “He’s insane. How can he be allowed to bring a case against me at all?”

  “It’s not as simple as that. The case against Professor Staahl hadn’t been closed, just put on hold until such time as he’s found fit to stand trial or he’s seen to be criminally insane and committed to a psychiatric institution.” She threw the mangled cup into the wastepaper bin. “You’ll be seeing him in court, don’t you worry. Till then, he has rights like any other citizen, and he’s exercising them against you.”

  I didn’t want to see him in court, not now, not ever, but this turn of events added insult to injury. “But
hasn’t he been in a psychiatric unit since he attacked me?”

  She swung one leg as she regarded me earnestly, the edge of her light grey jacket lifting and falling with the motion. “How much do you know about our judicial system, Professor D’Eresby…?” She pronounced it Deers-bye. “Can I call you Emma? I just can’t quite get the hang of your name.” She had a lovely, slow drawl from somewhere in the South that reminded me of films with verandas and mangroves and freshly squeezed lemon juice.

  “Emma’s fine. Nothing – I don’t know anything about American law.”

  “It’s not so very different from your own.” I didn’t like to admit my ignorance in that sphere either. She placed her hands together at the fingertips. “It’s like this. After Staahl’s arrest he was sent to a secure psychiatric unit for a period of thirty days for observation.”

  “Who sent him there?”

  “It’s the responsibility of the Commissioner of Health and Human Services – hell, I just love the titles they give themselves – and the commissioner asks for reports on the defendant from a clinical psychiatrist.”

  That must have been Maggie’s role. Talk about the mad leading the insane. What would her report be worth in court in light of what she had said to me?

  “But it’s already been much longer than thirty days.”

  “Yes, it has. In this case, there was some doubt over Staahl’s ability to answer for his crime, so he was recommitted for a further period of sixty days and another report commissioned, this time from the State Forensic Service.”

  “Does that mean that the psychiatrist’s report is invalid?” I asked hopefully.

  “Hell, no, it’s taken into account and they’re asked to do more observations. It’s a case of double-checking to make sure they’ve made the correct diagnosis. Anyway, a hearing was held just the other day and Kort Staahl has been found competent to stand trial, as we say. That means he faces a charge of Elevated Aggravated Assault, a Class A crime, to be tried in a Superior Court like this one and, hopefully, you get to nail the son-of-a-bitch. But in the meantime, he’s managed to get his charge against you in first. Must’ve been a light schedule, or else the judge believes she can make a quick job of it and squeeze it in. Either way, you’re up first.” She quirked her head to one side. “Odd, though…”