Mr Petrie’s tablet began flashing and Merrick appeared on screen to inform him that a possible three suspects had been gleaned from those who knew about Duncan Dewar’s implant but all possibilities were quite remote.
The most obvious candidates, she said, were the head of Plato House, Dr Liam Wallace and Sweetheart’s choirmaster Dr Geraint Jones. Both were present when doctors informed Duncan’s grandfather of the mystery object they’d located in the nape of the schoolboy’s neck after his cross-country accident.
“But by that time the boy ended up in hospital, the choir’s trip to Russia was already being planned and the only dramatic increase in mobile phone activity was between Dr Geraint Jones and Svetlana Volkov. She automatically called her husband after every call with Dr Jones but, again, it’s not hard evidence of anything sinister,” observed Merrick.
“Perhaps you need to look more closely at your Sweetheart colleagues. You will receive background checks on Wallace and Jones in the next few minutes but there’s nothing that signals alarm bells. However, there might be something in there more obvious to you,” she added.
Mr Petrie was becoming anxious. “Our time is limited. Whoever is targeting the boy will make another attempt soon and it might be easier just to get him out by other means,” he told Merrick.
He then faltered, adding: “You said there were three suspects but you’ve only given me two so far.”
Merrick nodded: "Yes. The third is only a remote possibility. The police officer Jane Rooke also knew about the hospital discovery, didn’t she? Well, while she seems innocuous, we have found an interesting past belonging to her elder brother.
“He’s a convicted eco warrior; works for some environmental groups and has been arrested several times including once by Russia. His data will also be posted to you but, again, be warned the links are very tenuous. We’re still looking for other leads and we will not give up just yet.”
Mr Petrie sighed as Merrick exited from the screen. ‘There must be a link with the school,’ he mused, before his thoughts were interrupted by the electronic signal of an inbox deposit. Checking his electronic portal, he found a sheaf of papers outlining the history and details of all three suspects.
To the annoyance of Merrick and other members of the Council of Anam Cara, Mr Petrie preferred to receive intelligence files as hard copies rather than electronically, reading from a tablet or computer screen. “Yes, I am a dinosaur, an old fossil if you will, but I think better when I have paper in my hands,” he once said in an argument with Salar in a debate over a paperless society.
The first file was on Dylan Rooke who was a bachelor in his late thirties and had devoted his life to environmental issues resulting in arrests in South America, the Arctic, the Great Barrier Reef and in Dounreay. The last entry caught Mr Petrie’s beady eye, for this was the site chosen where Moira and Douglas Dewar were going to unveil their Infinity Chip prototype.
A group of international eco warriors had gathered around the same time to highlight UK Government plans to move radioactive waste from the old test reactor which had been closed down in 1969. Four decades later, the problematic group of so-called ‘exotic fuels’ had not been resolved and the uranium comprising of radioactive powders, pellets and compounds were still being stored at the site in Dounreay.
Could his arrival at the protest be a coincidence or had the group heard about the unveiling of an invention which, in the right hands, could deliver free energy to the planet making fossil fuels virtually redundant overnight? ‘The Infinity Chip would certainly rock Dylan Rooke’s world and catch his group’s attention,’ thought Mr Petrie.
However, as he scanned Rooke’s charge sheet which listed piracy, terrorism, espionage and the more mundane breaches of the peace, anti-social behaviour orders and resisting arrest, he felt the arrests and convictions revealed nothing more sinister than passive resistance and, whoever Petrie was looking for did not fall in to this category. While the contract killer Pascal Bernard appeared to hold no conscience and would sell his soul to the highest bidder, Dylan Rooke was quite different, a man with a conscience for whom money meant little or nothing. Nor did violence appear to be in his DNA.
Dr Liam Wallace, at five feet three inches tall, balding with a desperate looking comb-over and suffering from clinical obesity, hardly cut the figure of an international man of mystery. Graduating from Edinburgh University with a First-Class Honours in Geography, he joined Sweetheart Abbey the same year as Duncan Dewar was enrolled in the prep school. He became head of Plato House a year later in addition to being promoted to the head of the geography department.
Mr Petrie’s bushy eyebrows visibly heightened as he continued reading. It seems his penchant for female sex workers and several police cautions for kerb crawling brought about two divorces and while his cell phone activity was extremely high in the week leading to Duncan’s accident, the flurry of numbers he called were to chat lines offering live calls with Russian and Ukrainian ladies.
“The man is clearly a sex pest. Who did his criminal background record check? He shouldn’t be working with children, at all,” said Mr Petrie out loud, adding to himself, ‘No wonder the geography master volunteered to offer his services to escort the school choir to St Petersburg.’ However, he reasoned, while Dr Wallace’s unsavoury lifestyle choices did not make him a killer, if his sordid past and chat line activities became known, it could expose him to blackmail.
The real question Mr Petrie needed to know was exactly how far would Dr Wallace be prepared to go to keep his sleazy, double life a secret?
Before joining Sweetheart, he worked at several other schools in Scotland but started out in the oil industry during the oil-boom years as a geologist for a multi-national corporation. Mr Petrie called Merrick and said: "I need more information on Dr Wallace like who provided his last job references, who carried out criminal background checks and if these Russian women he likes to telephone have any links, no matter how remote, with any other persons of interest. In addition, is he still in touch with the oil company he used to work for and if so, can we check into the backgrounds of his colleagues?
“I’d drop Dylan Rooke for now. He just doesn’t have the right sort of profile,” said Mr Petrie.
“And what about Dr Geraint Jones, then?” asked Merrick.
“Oh, I’m going to see him after we’re finished. I may come back to you, although I’m still inclined to get the boy out of here quickly and back to Sweetheart where we can protect him.”
Mr Petrie ran through the contents of Dr Jones’ folder and while there was no criminal record, he noted he had been investigated and charged with murder, although there was no indication of a trial or media coverage. The investigation coincided with his mid-term departure from a boarding school in Wales where he was head of music.
It was all very mysterious but if Dr Jones was capable of murder, then he was capable of anything. ‘Who did he murder and, if guilty, how did he wriggle out of it?’ wondered Mr Petrie. Serving as Sweetheart’s choirmaster and music teacher for more than ten years, he was also curious as to how he’d managed to gloss over his departure from the previous school, since it was so obviously linked to the police investigation.
Rather predictably the volume of calls between him and Svetlana Volkov spiked in the run up to the carol concert and the St Petersburg trip but there were no overseas calls prior or even many calls on his private line and mobile phone in the ten years he’d been at Sweetheart. This absence of interest beyond the school served only to fuel Mr Petrie’s curiosity about Dr Jones even more.
Several minutes later, Mr Petrie made his way to the hotel lift and went to the ninth floor where Dr Jones and the rest of the choir were having breakfast. The chatter across the tables almost ceased as he walked in and looked around. “Mr Petrie! What on earth are you doing here? What a wonderful surprise!” bellowed Dr Jones.
He looked around at the rows of curious faces and declared: “Do you really think I would miss out on such a historic occasion? I went along to the concert last night and I have to tell you all, it was an amazing, powerful performance and I have never felt so proud of our school.”
The choir cheered and Dr Jones looked delighted. He stood up and invited Mr Petrie to join him over breakfast, pulling an empty chair alongside. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you, Mr Petrie. These have probably been the most rewarding few weeks of my life, and wait till I tell you about the dramas behind the scenes.”
Mr Petrie looked around and caught Gordon Buie’s eye. He nodded over to the old man and Duncan sitting by his side before turning back to Dr Jones who was regaling him about all the work that had gone in to the previous night’s performance. He then went to the buffet table to help himself to some fruit and, on the way, put a hand on Gordon Buie’s shoulder, whispering in his ear: “We will talk later. Do not leave the hotel and keep Duncan close. Use your health as an excuse.”
Sitting down again, Dr Jones continued with his excited chatter and then said: “The boys are going on a private tour around the former home of Catherine the Great. Apparently it has ornately decorated ballrooms and was also home to many other Russian tsars who used the palace as their summer retreat. You know there is one room called ‘The Amber Room’, created in 1701 using six tons of amber, imagine that!”
Mr Petrie began laughing: “I can see Geraint you’ve digested the local guide book. Before you head off, can I have a few minutes of your time?”
After breakfast, the boys returned to their rooms and began to prepare for the tour at 10 am while back in Dr Jones’ suite the choirmaster was making coffee for himself and Mr Petrie. “I don’t think, in the time I’ve known you Geraint, seeing you so happy before. It’s as though a great weight has been lifted from your shoulders.”
The choirmaster laughed and said: “I know I’m not the most gregarious soul and some folk might think I’m anti-social but if life has taught me one thing, Mr Petrie, it is to keep my own counsel. However the rebuilding of the choir, the endowment from Mrs Volkova and all of this,” he said, waving his arm around the room. “Well, it has restored my faith in life.”
Mr Petrie hunched his shoulders and began rubbing his hands as he moved forward in his chair, saying: “I feel that there’s something you’re not telling me. I know we’ve never really had a sit-down talk like this before. Perhaps we’ve both been too busy or maybe we both guard our private lives carefully.”
Dr Jones’ smile seemed to freeze on his face and he said: “You know, don’t you?”
Mr Petrie tilted his head to one side and also became serious. “Was it Dr Collins who told you? Nobody else could have… I always knew my past would come back to haunt me.” The choirmaster gave a huge gulp and then just seemed to explode into a heaving mass of sobs which produced uncontrollable tears.
His whole demeanour took Mr Petrie by surprise as this was not what he had expected. He got up and put both his hands on his shoulders and bent down to his eye level. “Geraint, I am not a gossip and Dr Collins has said nothing to me but, some information has come my way about your previous place of teaching and rapid departure. Is it something you feel you can share?”
The choirmaster shook his head in denial and then gave a big sigh and said: "Oh, you might as well know. I was investigated for the murder of my beloved wife, Caitlin. She died, you see, from an overdose of sleeping pills which I administered. Yes, I hold up my hands I killed my wife, my childhood sweetheart, my Caitlin.
“There is not one day that goes by I don’t think of her and there is not one day that goes by that I regret my role in her death.” Taking a deep breath and gathering his composure again, he told Mr Petrie about how their lives were turned upside down when his wife, Caitlin, was diagnosed with a brain tumour aged twenty-three.
“We hadn’t even been married two years when it was discovered, inoperable of course and the most aggressive form of tumour. Caitlin was a nurse and she knew what to expect and she was so brave and courageous and beautiful, but…she wanted to die before the tumour robbed her of her dignity.”
The tragedy of the case almost took away Mr Petrie’s breath. He had not expected such a confession and as he continued with his story he reflected on how cruel fate can be. "There’s a group in Switzerland called ‘Dignitas’ which offers euthanasia but by the time we’d made a decision, she was too sick to travel.
"In the end, she decided on a date when she was still sound of mind and, with my help, she took an overdose of sleeping pills and drifted off peacefully in my arms. Of course her doctor called the police and, while I expected it, I had no idea of what would unfold. Local gossips pointed fingers, and while the story didn’t hit the media, the hate mail began to arrive.
“The police handled it the best way they could because the 1961 Suicide Act makes it an offence to encourage or assist the suicide of another. You know it carries upto fourteen years in prison, but this vile disease has given me a life sentence, Mr Petrie, a life sentence indeed.”
While police in Wales dropped charges against him on the advice of prosecutors who said justice would not be served by putting Dr Jones on trial, the school where he taught persuaded him to hand in his notice. “Because of their flaming Christian values, they said it was incompatible for me to remain as a teacher and so, I jumped before I was pushed,” he said.
There was an uneasy silence and then Mr Petrie added: “You thought Dr Collins had told me…”
The tearful choirmaster nodded and said: "People think he’s a cold fish, but I thought honesty is the best policy and so, when I applied for the position, I told him the truth. I asked for his confidence and he agreed.
“You know for the first time since my Caitlin’s death I’ve tasted happiness again through the boys’ choir. Their singing has inspired me and I almost felt as though my wife was by my side as young Dewar sang his solo last night. But, now that my secret is out, I suppose the finger pointing will start again…”
Mr Petrie stood up and said: “Nonsense, Geraint! What you have told me today will remain between us. I, too, lost my beloved wife and I can tell you the pain will ease, but hang on to the memories and treasure them forever. We have both been blessed by experiencing a love that some will never taste.”
Rubbing his hands over his tearstained face, he looked quizzically at Mr Petrie. “I’m sorry, I never knew. I always assumed you were a bachelor, not sure why. I suppose we both keep our own counsel but perhaps now we can be friends and allies.”
Just then, there was a knock on the door and both men composed themselves as Duncan Dewar walked in. “Please sirs, my grandfather is feeling unwell, so if you don’t mind I think we will remain in the hotel for today and skip the tour of the royal palace.”
Dr Jones smiled and said: “Yes, of course. Does he need a doctor?”
Mr Petrie intervened and said: “I’ll pop in and see him, Geraint. You have a wonderful day.”
As he reached the door to follow Dewar down the corridor, he turned back to the choirmaster and said: "Enjoy your triumphs and successes; they are well-deserved. You can stop hiding now and start living again.
“Your story today has reminded me of the pain of losing someone dear, but it has also told me that you are a man of great courage and moral fibre and for that, I will always hold you in great respect. Your secret is safe with me.”
As he walked towards Gordon Buie’s room, he realised he was no further to solving the immediate dilemma of who wanted to harm Duncan. However, he was confident that the finger of suspicion no longer pointed at Dr Jones, and since he’d also eliminated Dylan Rooke, the eco warrior, that just left the head of Plato, Dr Liam Wallace.
***