Watermark

by E. J. Kay

  Jets of water shooting high into the atmosphere from under the earth and falling back as rain.

  Intense cyclones called hypercanes that developed over warm ocean water (heated by underwater volcanic eruptions).

  Water dumped on the earth by a swarm of comets. The craters on the moon point to an intense solar system bombardment, and some creationists suggest this happened during the Flood.

  A combination of these.

  As you are a scientist and an academic, I give you the reference for the above extract: Walker T, 2008. Creation, 30:2, 55.

  March 4th 10:48

  2. I wait for your reply, Dr Whickham, but none comes. How do you answer the main problem with the fossil record? That it shows no examples of one species turning into another. No one would argue that there is no diversity within species. Clearly we can see different breeds of dogs, cats, and Darwin’s favourite, pigeons. But these are “of a kind”. What makes you think that your fossil specimen is not of a kind with other apes?

  March 9th 09:07

  3. Are you ever going to debate this with me? My motives for saying these things are partly to help you to protect your immortal soul. The intention is the same as the deed. God who knows the heart, accepteth the affect for the effect, and the will for the deed.

  March 15th 08:11

  4. Remember what the Bible tells us. That Balaam desired to die the death of the righteous, but that was impossible, because he lived not the life of the righteous. None can learn the art of dying well, without the life of righteousness. Augustus Caesar wished a good death, but he knew not what it meant: only the righteous are capable of it. If you were to die soon, your soul would not be ready, Dr Whickham.

  “Christ,” whispered Mike. “This turns into really odd stuff at the end. Did Alec tell you they were like this?”

  “No, he didn’t say exactly what had been written, but it did concern him. Reading it now I’m not surprised.”

  “The police have got to see this. Fortunately Alec made notes of the dates and times of the postings so the blog provider could check for accesses to the blog at those times and get the IP addresses of the computers, I guess.”

  “Get the what?” asked Joseph.

  “IP addresses. Unique numbers that identify computers on the web. It might tell us which computers were used to access the blog. Doesn’t necessarily tell you who was using them of course, but it might be a start.”

  “Let’s just print this off and get out of Alec’s files,” said Joseph, as Mike closed the folder and went back to Windows Explorer. Then Joseph spotted a folder with the title ‘Watermark paper - drafts’. “Oh, hey, just before we do, can you open that Watermark folder?”

  Mike double-clicked on the icon. The folder contained several documents, but Joseph’s eye was drawn to “Watermark latest draft”.

  “Can you print that off for me as well?” asked Joseph.

  “Getting a feel for this eh?” joked Mike, and then he saw Joseph’s face. “Oh, hey, sorry, I know he’d been your student and was still your friend. This must be hard for you.”

  “This is a new paper, I’m sure,” said Joseph. “I’d like to see Alec’s last work. He had tremendous talent, you know, for all his social difficulties.”

  Mike nodded, sent the document to the printer and then logged off from Alec’s account.

  “Can’t help feeling a bit naughty, but righteous too,” said Mike.

  Joseph nodded. “But now it raises the question of what to do next. Should I call the police and give them the blog postings, or wait?”

  “You said that they didn’t seem interested, so I think you’ll wait a long time.”

  “Well, I’ve had quite enough excitement for one week. We’re going to the cottage this weekend for a break, so I think I’ll have more stomach for this on Monday. I’ll call the police then. There’s nothing more we can do for now.”

  ----------

  Joseph and Anna owned a cottage on the Lancashire coast at Lytham St Anne’s. Anna’s father had left it to her when he died and as an only child she didn’t have to worry about selling it to split the inheritance, so they had kept it as a weekend retreat. When the kids were younger they had loved their weekends by the seaside, but now it was more often just Joseph and Anna who stayed there to recharge their batteries. This particular weekend was a mild and sunny lull in the otherwise blustery, showery spring weather. The kind of day that gives just a hint that summer is not too far away.

  It was Sunday morning and they had gone down to one of their favourite haunts on this underrated coastline, to stroll along the beach at Formby. They hadn’t yet managed to spot one of the rare red squirrels that lived in the woodland that backed onto the sand dunes, but they lived in hope. Socks and shoes off, they waded for an hour along the shoreline. The beach was speckled with residents and visitors, making the most of the mild sunshine that sparkled across the water.

  “Whatever the rights and wrongs of human evolution theories, we sure do love the water,” said Joseph, watching children playing dare with the small waves and collecting water in buckets to fill their sandcastle moats. It was low tide, and in the mud flats they could see a gazebo covering one of the archaeological sites that only becomes visible for a short time every day. Footprints that are around five thousand years old appear here, capturing points in time when human hunter-gatherers walked through the sand and mud; fishing, scavenging and hunting deer and giant aurochs, which also left their hoof prints in the Mesolithic mud. The environment then was rather different; marshier, with lagoons and rivers running down towards a more distant shoreline. Most Mesolithic peoples lived predominantly near rivers, coasts and waterways, echoing the routes of their ancestors when they left Africa some seventy thousand years earlier.

  “Well, the seaside always make me hungry,” said Anna. “And I really fancy fish and chips.”

  “What a surprise! Don’t tell me – the Crispy Cod in Formby.”

  Anna chuckled as they pulled their socks and shoes back on, ignoring the wet sand between their toes. “Race you back to the car. Last one there’s driving!” She sprinted off, her shoulder-length blonde hair bobbing in the breeze, while Joseph hopped after her, trying to get his remaining shoe back on.

  “Hey, not fair! No warning!” He started to chase her, unknowingly following a line of ancient footprints captured in the mud beneath the fine, golden sand.

  ----------

  An empty red wine bottle stood on the coffee table. Anna snoozed on the sofa with her feet across Joseph’s lap, whilst he read Alec’s paper. Twenty minutes later he put the paper down on the table, yawned and stretched. Anna stirred. “How was it?” she asked sleepily.

  “Very interesting.”

  “What’s wrong? You’ve got that look you get when you’re not sure about something.” She swung her legs off his lap and sat up.

  “It’s a pretty big departure from fundamental AHH. And it doesn’t read like Alec’s style really. It looks to me like he was collaborating with someone. But there’s no other attribution. Either someone finally got through to him about weighing evidence, or it was at least partly written by someone else.”

  “Who?” she asked, standing up and pulling him off the sofa.

  He stretched again. “Good question.”

  She took his hand and led him towards the stairs. “Well, it’s one for tomorrow. Time for bed.”

  Chapter 10

  Joseph came into the office on Monday morning just as his telephone began to ring. He picked it up.

  “Hello, Joseph Connor.”

  “Hi, Doctor Connor.” It was Kelly’s voice. “I was wondering if you would be around this morning. If I could come over to see you?”

  “Yes, of course. Is it about anything in particular?”

  “Something you said on Friday that perhaps I dismissed too quickly. About threatening emails or something?” Kelly’s voice sounded less sure today than previously; softer somehow.

  “Oh, the blog postings
. Yes, well, coincidentally I was going to call you today to have another go at getting you to listen to me. I’ve got a copy of them and I really do think you should see them.”

  “I’ll be over at about eleven thirty, if that suits you?” Her voice softened further. “I have to attend Dr Whickham’s post mortem in about ten minutes.”

  He swallowed. “Oh, yes, of course. I’ll see you here then? Or shall we meet somewhere?”

  “I’ll be ready for a strong coffee I think. PMs aren’t my favourite part of the job, I’m afraid. I’ll see you in the coffee shop just down the road from your building?”

  “That’s fine,” he replied, “I’ll be there at eleven thirty.”

  “I may be a little delayed, but I’ll call you on your mobile if it looks like I won’t make it. If something comes up at the PM.”

  “Sure, of course. See you later.”

  Joseph put the phone down and sat behind his desk, but immediately got up again and walked over to the window. He just couldn’t concentrate on anything other than Alec’s death at the moment. The sadness and shock were paralysing, but they were also tinged with curiosity. Who could possibly have wanted to do this to Alec, and have the capability to do it too? Also, as the initial shock had worn off, many people in the university were beginning to feel vulnerable and threatened. What if this was some madman who would strike again? Was it a one off, just Alec, or did they have a maniac on the loose in the university?

  He worked fitfully until eleven fifteen, mainly thinking through the draft of Alec’s paper he had read the previous evening. Then, taking the blog postings and a copy of Alec’s paper with him, he left his office and walked down the street to the coffee bar at the bottom of the hill. Kelly wasn’t there when he arrived, so he got himself a large latte and sat in an easy chair by the window.

  Alec’s paper fascinated him. But it also concerned him for a reason he couldn’t quite pin down. Although it read like his writing in places, and Joseph had plenty of experience of reading Alec’s work, the content was more of a mixture. Either he had suddenly developed the ability to read and assimilate more widely, or someone else had been involved in this paper. But who? And why would Alec not recognise that contribution in the author attribution? Joseph was roused from these thoughts by Kelly’s arrival.

  “Hi,” he said. “Can I get you something?”

  She sat down heavily, looking pale and drawn. “I’ll have a double shot espresso please.”

  Joseph went over to order and came and sat down again whilst the barista ground the coffee.

  “Was it rough?” he asked.

  She nodded and sighed deeply. “Brains. I’m not too bad with most bits of the human body, but brains really get to me. It would be a head injury, wouldn’t it?”

  “No doubt that’s what killed him, then?”

  “Well, it’s looking most likely. The toxicology reports will take a few days, but cause of death appears to be a blow to the back of his head, just at the base of the skull, with a pointed object. Well, more like a pointed wedge, apparently. Like a very wide, thick arrow head. The pathologist was a bit stumped as to what could make that kind of wound.”

  Joseph went cold. “Might be a hand axe.”

  “A what?”

  “A stone hand axe. Nimue probably died around one and a half million years ago. At that time human ancestors were beginning to make tools in what’s called the Acheulean Tradition. It’s also known as the great hand axe tradition. I could draw one for you if you have something I could draw on. ”

  “Nimue,” said Kelly. “Very apt. The lady of the lake”.

  Joseph smiled as a call of “double espresso!!” came from the barista.

  Kelly went to retrieve her coffee and came back with a handful of napkins. “I left my notebook in the office. How about drawing on one of these?” She put them down on the table between them. Joseph took out his pen and drew a large tear drop shape with a pointed end, swearing under his breath as the fragile paper tore a little. “OK, so, they’re generally this sort of shape. They’re usually heavily worked so they have a large number of percussive facets all over them, like this. But, I have to say, I’m a biologist and no expert in tool traditions.”

  “Who is?” asked Kelly, sipping her coffee and grimacing slightly as the dark, bitter liquid hit her tongue. Joseph looked at the floor.

  “Ah,” she said. “Professor Bailey?”

  He nodded. “But I’m sure she doesn’t carry them around in her handbag, just in case she feels like murdering someone!”

  “No, but she has stone tools in the display case in her office, doesn’t she? Does she have a hand axe?”

  Joseph nodded again. “Perhaps someone broke in and took it to kill Alec.”

  “Or perhaps the spectre of his dead specimen rose up and killed him with a ghostly hand axe!” said Kelly sarcastically, but Joseph didn’t laugh. She leaned forward and her face softened a little. “There was no sign of her office being broken into on the night Dr Whickham was killed. Sorry, I know you’re Professor Bailey’s friend and colleague, but I have to follow the evidence. My job is to stay as impartial as possible. As a scientist, I’m sure you understand the principle of objective investigation.”

  Joseph looked at her quizzically. “Spoken like a scientist.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “A first degree in chemistry and a Masters in forensics. Your next question is why am I a copper then?” He nodded as she sipped more of her coffee. “I like solving puzzles, I guess.”

  “Well, here’s another one.” He smiled, putting a paper down on the table between them. “These are the blog postings I was talking about.”

  She read them with growing disquiet. “Hmm. I see. Well, Dr Whickham must have been concerned to keep a copy, and to give you one.”

  Joseph blushed and looked sheepish. Kelly saw it.

  “Where did you get this document from?” she asked.

  “From his network drive on Friday. Sorry, I really thought it might be important. It’s a disciplinary offence to do that, so if you could keep that particular bit of information under your hat I’d be grateful.”

  She gave him a disapproving look. “If you promise not to play detective again, Dr Connor.”

  He nodded.

  Retrieving her mobile phone from her bag, she made a speed dial call. “Hi Jack. Listen, these blog postings do turn rather threatening. Could you take a look at Dr Whickham’s blog and see which provider he was with, and then contact them and ask if they have IP address records for these accesses? You ready?” She read out the four dates and their corresponding times. “Thanks. Call me as soon as you get anything. Yep, I am. Bye.”

  She turned back to Joseph. “OK, so, let’s suppose for a moment that all the evidence against Professor Bailey has been planted, someone else killed Dr Whickham and they’re attempting to frame the good professor. This is just hypothetical, you understand. Purely a mind exercise that you might help me with. You know how the university works and I don’t.”

  “Now you’re talking!” said Joseph with enthusiasm. “Hypothetically, of course.”

  Kelly leant over the table. “So, I’m an old-fashioned girl. Means, motive and opportunity. Let’s think about means first.”

  “Well,” said Joseph, “I guess the first stumbling block is Juliet’s card being used to enter the labs at the time Alec was killed. There were no other accesses at that time?”

  “No, the security guards had done their previous round at eight thirty and weren’t due back until midnight,” Kelly confirmed.

  “So how do we get past that one?”

  “Well, actually,” she replied, “it is possible to clone the type of swipe card that you use at the university. It would be similar to the way stolen credit card details are cloned onto fake cards. The professor did lose sight of her card for the best part of twenty-four hours a few weeks ago, as you confirmed.”

  “Christ! Cloned? Well, that makes the missing card really compelling evidence
, doesn’t it?”

  “Not necessarily. It would be easy for Professor Bailey to claim that her card had gone missing and set up the whole stunt of asking you to let her in. Although, that makes the whole thing look more premeditated, and the rest of the evidence against her points more to something done on the spur of the moment and poorly covered up. Except the mussels around Whickham’s head. That looks premeditated too. That’s why I’m struggling a bit with this whole thing. It doesn’t smell right. Hmm, perhaps you should ignore that last sentence.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the weight of evidence against the professor is very strong. I can’t go on hunches and feelings. I have to find good, solid, empirical facts.”

  “So,” said Joseph thoughtfully, “we might be looking for someone who was able to steal Juliet’s ID card from her bag without her knowledge.”

  “How likely do you think that is, knowing the professor’s habits and the general level of security in the faculty?” asked Kelly.

  “Well she does leave her office door open on occasions, sometimes when she’s nipped out to chat in the faculty.”

  “So it would be possible for someone to dash in, steal the card and dash out again. Or, steal the card when in her office for a meeting if she were called out for some reason. Who does that narrow it down to?”

  Joseph smiled. “Well, the first scenario narrows it down to more than a hundred academic, professional and support staff, a couple of thousand students and anyone any of those people brought in with them. Rather a large potential field. If you’re thinking about it being taken by someone she was meeting in her office, I guess her diary will show who came to see her that day, but only if it was a previous appointment. But anyway, surely it’s just too risky. The thief could so easily get caught.”

  “True, but it’s only a minute of a job if they know where to look. Even if they didn’t know, they could take an educated guess and look in her bag. If it’s not there then they watch her and try again another day.” Kelly pondered. “Then once they’ve got the card, they need access to cloning systems. Or to other people who can do it for them. You have a computing department at the university?”