The unnamed woman stared incredulously.
“What? “
She yelled,
“Last night, we were coming back from the club where we met. We were very nearly here and had to stop for a flat tyre. You were changing the wheel and I was holding the torch when I saw something coming towards us in the reflection of the side window. I turned around and there was a man, dressed like a monk but in white, holding a sickle, about to take my head off. You pushed me out of the way and he ran passed and disappeared into the woods.”
Carl was still rubbing his sore shoulder as he paused before giving a reply;
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, you must have had a nightmare or something, I never saw a hooded man, must be a bad trip.”
“Ha, I never said a hooded man, just a man; you did see something didn’t you?”
“You said dressed like a monk I assumed he had a hood that’s all.”
“Rubbish, how do you account for you loosing the tyre iron when you threw it after him as he ran away? It seemed to pass right through him.”
‘I haven’t lost it, it’s right here.”
Carl reached over and picked up the tyre iron that he dropped onto the floor when he was hit.
Quick as a flash the woman hit him with her coup de grace.
“How come you’re holding it now?”
She did not wait for a reply when she noticed his hair, she carried on.
“And what’s this then Scotch Mist?”
She reached out and pulled a small twig from Carl’s hair.
“You’ve just been out to find it haven’t you, look at your hands they're filthy.”
Carl knew he was beaten.
“Okay, okay you win, yes there was a man last night and everything you said did happen but we can’t go the police, let’s have some breakfast and I’ll tell you why, oh and put the kettle on I’m parched.”
Carl washed his hands then they both prepared breakfast. Ten minutes later, they sat opposite each other at the small galley table, each with scrambled eggs and a cup of instant coffee. Between mouthfuls Carl explained why.
“I used to be a student here about four years ago and I had a run in with Dean Sutherland. I thought he would expel me for drug dealing but here is the rub, he didn’t want to go to the police, instead he allows me to keep my job and stay almost rent-free on my boat to keep my silence. Now I’m sure he isn’t doing this out of the goodness of his heart, If you met him you would know why. He says he does not want the bad press for the university but I think he’s up to something and I’m going to do my best to find out. Anyway, if you go to the cops with tales of hooded men carrying sickles in the middle of the night the first thing they are going to think of is drink and or drugs. The police have come very close to catching me out and this is all the excuse they need when you tell them who you were with, and lastly a police investigation on the university campus I can kiss bye-bye to my job and low rent existence. So now you know why we have to let this go”
The young woman remained silent for a while, mulling over all the information given then looked up and said,
“I understand and will abide by your reasons but this still doesn’t explain the hooded man last night.”
Carl was ready for this and he thought she deserved an explanation.
“I have an idea but I can’t explain it yet, be patient, spend the day with me while I run a few errands and when the rest of the gang join us at ‘Romeo’s’ Restaurant tonight all will be revealed.”
CHAPTER SIX
Nine o’clock Monday morning, Huntingdon University, the campus is alive with activity, students and professors, assistants and maintenance staff, all milling about. The order seemed random but everyone had somewhere to be or a job to do like a beehive or an ants nest, order in the chaos.
Looking down from the window of his second floor office Dean Sutherland observed the frosty surface of the quadrangle, mulling over the fact that he lived only a few miles away and it was so mild when he got up for work he actually stood on his back garden while he finished his coffee. Jolted back into the present by a timid knock at his office door he turned around to see Mrs Marge Simkins his secretary of some fifteen years bringing in his second cup of the day. Under her arm were assorted files he requested including one on a Mr Henry Jackson, a second year student of the university much to some annoyance of the dean who if he had is way would never have set foot inside the grounds.
Mr Jackson now sat waiting outside the dean’s office, ordered to attend at this exact time by Gillian Taylor-Smith a third year student and lackey of the dean. She knew full well an important lecture on molecular Biology was just getting underway at which Henry needed to attend and this would add more grief to his day. As Mrs Simpkins placed the cup of coffee along with the files on the dean’s desk she informed him that Henry Jackson was waiting outside. The dean just grunted in response as she left the office, carefully closing the door behind her. He stood with his hands behind his back, eager in anticipation at the meeting but holding back, making Henry wait outside wondering why he had been summoned and for what purpose. In the outer office Henry sat on the only available chair at the side of Mrs Simpkins desk who sat merrily tapping away at the keys of her typewriter. As luck would have it, Henry owned a pocket sound recorder that he was going to use to record the lecture for his friend Tyler Morgan who was taking the same course; he was inherently lazy and almost always missed lectures during the a.m. Now it would be needed by both of them. Before he left his flat, Henry fumbled for the recorder in his coat pockets and passed it to a third party, Jim his roommate who was persuaded into attending the same lecture with the promise of a free meal to seal the deal.
Five minutes later and Henry was still waiting, he asked Mrs Simpkins to buzz through and see if the dean was ready but faced instant rebuttal,
“The dean will call when he’s ready and not before young man, please be patient.”
Henry suitably chastised, sat quietly for a few more minutes, closing his eyes and listening to the rhythmic clickety-clack as she hit the keys on the typewriter. He jumped when the intercom buzzed and Henry was ordered to come in.
The dean sat behind his desk reading his file as Henry entered the office. Without looking up he pointed to the vacant chair in front of his large mahogany desk and Henry sat quietly down. Looking around the now familiar surroundings, he noticed how the antique furniture clashed with the paraphernalia of the modern office, most notably the latest ‘Omnicron 5000’ computer sitting on a smaller desk in the corner.
“Mr Jackson,”
The dean barked and Henry, startled, snapped his head back to the front, to see the dean scowling back at him.
“Now I have your full attention Mr Jackson I’m sure you are aware why I have called you in this morning,”
Henry shook his head; the dean narrowed his eyes and gave a faint smile, then continued.
“ It has come to my attention Mr Jackson that several items of laboratory equipment have gone missing, stolen from the science block sometime on Friday evening, I would like to know what you know about it Mr Jackson.”
Henry remained silent, he knew all about the missing equipment and was sure it was due to be returned this morning but something must have gone wrong and now he hoped to bluff his way out. The dean did not wait for an answer and carried on.
“I have a witness that puts you in the vicinity on Friday night, how do explain that?”
In the excitement of the chase the dean leaned forwards and his heart rate began to increase bringing a flush to his cheeks. Henry noted how it exaggerated the thread veins on the dean’s face caused by his excessive drinking.
“Shortcut.”
Came the one word reply. Stunned, the dean raised his eyebrows and shouted a single word question to the single word answer.
“WHAT?”
Henry was now back on the front foot and he expanded on the alibi.
“Shortcut, I had been helping out in the science block
late that night and when finished I took a shortcut back to my dorm in the east wing.”
It was a lie and the dean knew it but he had no evidence to the contrary. He also knew that Henry had been helping Professor Earnest Appleyard the oldest, longest serving and most popular member of the teaching faculty. Should he get Earnest involved and be proven wrong he could alienate the rest of the teaching staff.
“I don’t believe you boy, this afternoon a full inventory will be made and if one test tube is missing the finger will be pointing at you. Do I make myself clear Mr Jackson?”
Henry nodded, deciding not to say a word. If the dean had any concrete evidence he would have used it by now so he allowed the dean carry on.
“This fine establishment was founded in 1299 and is the third oldest and one of the most respected universities in the country. I will not let its name be dragged through the mud by the likes of you.”
On that statement the dean stood up and walked around the desk, Henry knew exactly what was implied and remained seated facing the desk; he knew exactly where the dean was standing as he could see his form silhouetted against the office window reflected in the glass of the computer monitor. A now familiar speech continued about the university’s glorious history and tales of captains of industry who once graced these hallowed halls and Henry’s attention drifted away.
Did he see something move on the screen or was it a trick of the light?
The glass front of the monitor was moving, only slightly but moving none the less. In and out, slow and steady like it was breathing.
“I hope you are paying attention Mr Jackson?”
Henry nearly leaped out of his seat. The dean seeing he was not being listened to had leaned over and placed his mouth right next to Henry’s ear; He could feel hot breath down his neck and the odour of stale coffee assaulted his nostrils.
“Every word Dean Sutherland “
Henry’s voice faltered slightly as he tried to regain his composure.
There was a knock at the door and before the dean could give an order Gillian Taylor-Smith walked straight in. She was very eager to see Henry get a dressing down as it was herself that had reported Henry leaving the science block last night and could not wait to see the result of her actions.
“Did I say to come in?” barked the dean. Gillian stopped dead in her tracks and blushed profusely in embarrassment.
“I, I just,”
She stammered, Henry thought she was going to burst into tears. The dean sensed this also and lowered his voice,
“Could you please wait outside Gilly err Miss Taylor-Smith, and I will be within you in a moment.”
Gillian turned around and quickly left the office. The dean turned back to Henry with his anger and enthusiasm now extinguished. Henry stifled his laughter at the dean’s slip of the tongue, it was known to quite a few members of staff and students of the old lecher’s reputation.
“Don’t think this is over Mr Jackson, now get out I can’t bear being near your kind any longer.”
Henry did not need to be asked twice and without a second thought about the computer monitor he stood up and left, pausing to hold the door open for Gillian, who was still very eager to come back in. As she brushed passed, reaching for the door handle a smirk and a wink from Henry raised a second flush of blood to her face.
Closing the door with a push of her backside, Gillian ran over to the dean and threw her arms around his neck.
“Gilly-willy very sorry, what can a girl do to apologise?”
Gently pushing her away, he was very aware that they were standing by the window, in full view of all, he lowered the venetian blind and tilted the slats just enough for privacy, while still letting in sufficient daylight.
“You must be more careful Gillian.”
Gillian giggled, turned around, tiptoed back to the office door and very carefully turned the key in the lock with hardly a sound.
“What are you doing?”
He whispered, but Gillian did not care, she was already swiping papers off his desk and sliding a very expensive reading lamp to one end in preparation.
“I want you now!”
She purred while undoing the buttons on her blouse, kicking off her shoes and sitting on the end of the desk, her knees open in invitation. Far from being upset by being chastised she was extremely turned on.
No further invitation was needed; he clasped his hands around the back of her neck and kissed her roughly on the mouth, savouring the taste of cherry lipstick and toothpaste.
When released she lay flat on her back, her blouse fell open to reveal a black lacy bra decorated with a small red bow between the bra cups. She waited, eyes closed in eager anticipation but nothing happened, looking down between her raised knees, the dean instead of attending to her needs was staring at the computer screen, he had just unfastened his trousers but he seemed totally unaware as they slid down his bony white legs. Gillian turned her head so see what he was looking at and screamed. The glass screen of the monitor was bulging out towards her; its shape like an outstretched hand pushing against a sheet of dark green latex. Claw like fingers opened and closed as if trying to grab an invisible object. Suddenly the hand drew back and the screen returned to normal, a single flat line cursor blinking in the top left hand corner. Regaining his composure the dean pulled up his trousers and walked over to examine the monitor while still fastening his belt. Gillian whipped her head round in the opposite direction, hearing the office door’s brass handle move up and down, the door rattling against the lock.
‘Is everything alright in there? I thought I heard a scream.”
Mrs Simpkins knocked loudly, asking again from the outer office if everything was alright and why was the door locked.
‘Everything is fine Mrs Simpkins,”
The dean replied, as he fumbled with his trouser zip.
“I’ll be with you in a minute.”
The knocking stopped and all was quiet. Gillian, now back on her feet and trying to re-fasten her blouse, screamed again when the printer in the corner came to life and began to spew reams of papers up into the air. The computer screen morphed again, this time in the distinct shape of a woman’s face, its mouth opened and closed like a fish, gasping for air.
Mrs Simpkins knocked again, louder this time, anxious from the sound of Gillian screaming yet again.
“Dean Sutherland, is Miss Taylor-Smith alright? Can I help?”
Back inside the office, all hell seemed to break loose, a window flew open, followed by a gust of wind billowing the blinds like a galleon in full sail, the paper continued to fly from the printer, floating, swirling around the office. Swiftly coming to her senses, Gillian traced the power lead to the wall socket and pulled it free. The printer stopped instantly and the computer screen died as the protruding head sedately sank back until everything appeared normal.
The dean closed the window and with his trousers up and Gillian’s blouse fastened, the two lovers faced Mrs Simpkins when the dean unlocked the door and the distraught woman almost fell through into the office.
Mouth agape she surveyed the situation, the paper was strewn everywhere, all over the floor, atop of cupboards and protruding from behind the ancient green cast iron radiator. Before raising the blind she watched Gillian being ushered quickly from the office, not quick enough to stop her noticing that Gillian’s blouse had been wrongly buttoned up leaving it askew.
“That will be all Miss Taylor-Smith, give my regards to your father won’t you!”
Gillian fled without looking back, her hand covering her mouth, as she ran to the nearest toilet.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Henry left the dean’s office and headed straight for the library. He could have joined the lecture halfway through but decided to rely on Jim remembering to press the record button.
Unable to concentrate he could not resist the temptation to visit the science lab storeroom to check if the ‘missing’ equipment had found its way home.
“Damn it Carl
, where is it?”
He cursed under his breath as he scanned the shelves, spotting all the gaps where all the ‘borrowed’ equipment should now be residing. He tried not to panic as negativity flooded his mind, the embarrassment of returning home to Uganda, expelled from the university, accused of theft and his visa revoked. He shuddered with the thought of facing his family, and the shame in the eyes of his proud father Ukaru, a fifth descendant of the great Zulu warrior ‘Chaka’. He could not do it, he would have to go on the run as an illegal immigrant. Perhaps he could get a job waiting tables or become a merchant seaman.
His paranoia seemed to be boundless but it quickly disappeared when he heard footsteps coming down the corridor. Quickly he crouched behind a filing cabinet and held his breath as the storeroom door slowly opened and a security guard peered into the room. He was sure the sound of his heart thumping heavily in his chest would give him away as he tried to shrink back into the brick wall. The guard scanned the room then turned around flicked off the light switch and left, closing the door behind him. Henry stayed for nearly an hour, checking his wristwatch and waiting until he knew the security guard would go for his lunch. He pressed his ear to the back of the storeroom door waiting for the sound of silence before daring to venture out and avoid being seen. All was still; he opened the door a crack and seeing his way was clear he wasted no time in getting out.
Around the time Henry hid in the storeroom the dean was trying to explain to Mrs Simpkins. She was already gathering up the loose papers and stacking them up next to the printer.
“Mrs Simpkins,”
The Dean began, but she ignored him and carried on,
“Margret!”
Mrs Simpkins stopped and stared at the dean, never before in fifteen years had he ever used her first name and the shock of it stopped her in her tracks.
“Mrs Simpkins.”
The dean quickly changed back to the usual address.
“I’m sure you are wondering what on earth has just happened and you deserve an explanation, why don’t you make us both a nice cup of tea and I will finish off in here; we can then sit down and have a little chat. The instruction allowed the dean some time to think up a plausible explanation.
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