The next day, Duncan waited anxiously for the chip to be removed. He was told it was such a simple procedure that the doctor would perform the operation in the study in Dulce Cor. In solidarity, Mr Petrie and Duncan’s grandfather decided not to have breakfast until afterwards. A sharp rap on the door signalled the arrival of Dr Kirriereoch, a startling-looking albino with white blond hair.
Once in the study, he asked Duncan to remove his shirt as his grandfather sat and looked on anxiously, firing several questions of concern, all of which Kirriereoch found irritating. He reached into his doctor’s bag and pulled out a laser-style pen which he fired at both Duncan and his grandfather.
“Was it really necessary to freeze them?” asked Mr Petrie.
Kirriereoch responded: “I really don’t have time for all this nonsense. It’s a simple operation,” he said as he took a scalpel to the boy’s neck. “There!” he said, holding up a minute chip. "Now let’s get this off to Merrick to download and analyse.
"Yesterday was a closer call than the 4-2 vote reveals, you know. Salar was dithering and keeping us all on the edge of our seats; of course the right decision was reached in my view. Until the wretched planet become civilised, wars end and famines become a thing of the past, your society will never advance.
“Still, it keeps us all in a job,” he said, wiping the back of Duncan’s neck with antiseptic. “There, no bleeding, a tiny little scar instead of a raise pimple. All gone. Is this the boy you want as an apprentice, then?”
Mr Petrie replied: “I’m not certain yet, not even sure if I could work with anyone else.”
Kirriereoch nodded sympathetically: “We had great faith in your instincts and integrity when we appointed you guardian all those centuries ago and you were, by today’s standards, still a child. You are valued but we also recognise you cannot do this job alone as the challenges of this world are becoming more difficult, not easier.”
Kirriereoch put his equipment away and slipped the tiny chip into a small silver casket with a pair of surgical tweezers. “There, my work is done. Until the next time, eh, Mr Petrie?”
As Kirriereoch turned to walk away, Mr Petrie said: “I think you’ve forgotten something,” pointing at the motionless grandfather and patient.
“Here, you can take the glory. I really can’t be bothered with any more tedious questions. Catch!” said Kirriereoch on throwing the pen to the schoolmaster before leaving the study. Mr Petrie shook his head in dismay at such a cavalier attitude but was equally delighted to be the holder of an ‘immobiliser pen’.
He pointed the device at the two human statues and watched them unfreeze. “There it’s all done. Now let’s get to the village for a slap-up breakfast at the hotel. I’ll drive.” Duncan rubbed the back of his neck and felt a plaster. Gordon Buie was baffled and thought he must have nodded off in the chair, blaming the excesses of the night before.
“Well, that’s a relief, we can all breathe more easily now,” he said. However, he couldn’t be more wrong and as they left the cottage they were still being watched.
After breakfast, the three walked to the car park and discovered Mr Petrie’s distinctive black Austin Cambridge had a flat tyre. What would have once been regarded as a case of bad luck today instilled a sense of foreboding and anxiety as all three looked around for any other signs of unusual behaviour.
Mr Petrie called Douglas Sinclair and asked for help. He arrived shortly with his tool kit and said he would change the tyre. Giving the school bus keys to the master, he said he would return the car as soon as it was repaired.
Dr Collins was walking across the staff car park as the bus pulled in with Mr Petrie at the wheel. “Where is Sinclair and what’s happened to the bus? It’s in a shocking state.”
Mr Petrie disembarked and said: “It’s all my fault. When he picked us up from the airport, I insisted on the scenic route and we got caught in a blizzard at Wanlochead.”
“Well, welcome back from St Petersburg and I gather that wasn’t all smooth running either. I’ve just got some admin to do but I think it would be worth a catch up Mr Petrie in, say about half an hour,” said the headmaster.
Back at Dulce Cor cottage, Gordon Buie asked if the old Lantern wall clock he’d repaired was still keeping good time. “Yes, it is running like, erm, clockwork but you’ve just reminded me of something else. I found another old brass lantern clock in the attic which I’d forgotten all about. If you’ve a mind to, would you like a look at it? It’s quite an interesting piece but in a poor state,” said Mr Petrie.
Ten minutes later, he produced a brass lantern clock made in 1623 by William Bowyer. Rather spookily, it had a carved skeleton on one side of the face and Chronus, the Greek god of time on the other. Both figures carried a scythe illustrating the preoccupation with the afterlife during the reign of James VI of Scotland.
With a single hand, the square-shaped brass clock sat on urn-shaped feet and finials with a top mounted bell. It was barely forty centimetres high and while it didn’t look too impressive, the clockmaker and his grandson were clearly excited. Mr Buie went to his car and pulled out his trusty Gladstone bag containing all the essential kit a horologist would need.
Satisfied they’d be kept occupied for some time, Mr Petrie went off to the headmaster’s study, bracing himself for the barrage of awkward questions. As he walked in, Dr Collins’ PA offered to make him some tea, which he gladly accepted. “Strong, no sugar?” said Jennifer Hunter.
“You have an excellent memory, Miss Hunter. That would be most pleasing.”
She asked him to wait in her office. “Dr Collins won’t be too long. I’ve just given him some additional paperwork which needs his attention. I hear there was some excitement for the choir in St Petersburg. Are all the boys back now?”
Mr Petrie replied: "Only Duncan Dewar. He’s at my cottage with his grandfather. The pair of them is staying for a few days but the rest of the choir arrives tomorrow.
“How was your festive break, Miss Hunter? Did you go anywhere nice?”
She smiled and replied: “I just had a quiet Christmas, me and my cat at home in Dumfries. Incidentally Mr Petrie, did you ever find the original paper contract when you joined the school? I still need a copy for my personnel files.”
He shook his head saying: "I keep forgetting but it’s good to know you keep on top of everyone’s files.
“Of course there wasn’t a human resources department when I first joined Sweetheart and after the flood destroyed most of the archives in the seventies, I imagine you’ve got a much more rigorous procedure in order now,” he mused.
Miss Hunter nodded enthusiastically: “Oh yes, very little escapes our attention these days with checks, cross checks. We can’t afford to get sued. Accountability is the key.”
He was half tempted to ask about Dr Liam Wallace and his record as a kerb crawler, but thought better of it. Just then, Dr Collins buzzed through on his intercom, saying: “Please let Mr Petrie in. I’m ready for him now. Oh, and the rest of the papers are ready to collect. I’ve gone through them. They’re all signed, but frankly I’m not sure what the urgency was, Miss Hunter.”
He walked in to the study and sat down on a comfortable, leather armchair and proceeded to brief the headmaster about the trip to Russia. “Incredible as it seems, the boy’s parents had inserted a chip containing their work into the nape of his neck, and then of course they were killed in a terrible car accident. All an unfortunate coincidence.”
Dr Collins sat for a while and then said: “My God! His parents must have been desperate. I wonder what is on this chip. Can it be removed?”
Mr Petrie said: "That’s the irony. In all these years, it has slowly worked its way to the surface of the skin and must have popped out while he was drying himself after a shower in the hotel.
“It was only something the size of a grain of rice or a pea, either way it’s gone, probably down a Russian plughole, so we will probably never know,” he added, having agreed with Dr Geraint Jones not to mention the ‘Willy Carmichael’ episode. There was also no way he was going to mention the three assassination attempts and his role in dispensing with all three killers or the events in Wanlochead.
“What I can tell you though, headmaster, is that the choir performed magnificently at St Petersburg and the boys with Dr Jones were a real credit to the school.”
The headmaster smiled and said: “You know I am particularly pleased for Dr Jones. He’s suddenly come in to his own and is making a worthy contribution. I am contemplating making him head of music as the current head retires next year. What do you think?”
Mr Petrie looked over his half-moon spectacles at the headmaster and said: “I think that would be a fine idea and extremely well-deserved.”
The headmaster rose to his feet and said he had to leave for the day and picked up a couple of files and his car keys. As he walked into his PA’s room, he looked puzzled. “Hmm, not sure where Miss Hunter has gone. She made such a fuss about coming in today, insisting I had documents to sign but I’m sure another day wouldn’t have mattered. Still, I’m sure you know your way out by now.”
Mr Petrie smiled and said: “I just need to leave her a note headmaster and I’ll see myself out.” He waited until Dr Collins had left the building and then he quickly returned to Miss Hunter’s office and began searching through the staff files, removing confidential folders on the gardener and the head of Plato House, Dr Liam Wallace.
As he walked through the door at Dulce Cor, the kitchen table was covered in newspapers and the dismantled clock’s parts. “I can see you’re full of busy. I’m just going to my study for an hour and then we can work out where to go for lunch. Would you mind not disturbing me?”
Gordon Buie smiled and said: “You go ahead, Mr Petrie. This is so cathartic for the pair of us. We’re having a right royal old time. And don’t worry about lunch. We’ve had two doorstep cheese and pickle sandwiches which will tide us over for a few hours.”
Mr Petrie smiled and went in to his study. As he looked through Dr Wallace’s confidential file, he was unable to find any references to criminal records, English police cautions or details of his kerb crawling activities. He had two glowing character references from his previous employer. It was as though Dr Wallace had reinvented his past, or those who wrote the references wanted to forget his misdemeanours.
He then picked up the gardener’s folder and was surprised to see he had a criminal record for insider trading and had spent several years in an open prison and was out on licence. He found a handwritten note from the headmaster to Miss Hunter informing her to offer the gardener’s position and cottage to Douglas Sinclair. "Everyone deserves a second chance and I am confident, having interviewed Mr Douglas, he is a rehabilitated offender with a genuine remorse for his actions. Furthermore, I do not see his presence around children as posing a threat or conflict of interest.
“Please offer him the post with the usual ‘subject to contract and references’ etc. etc.” Mr Petrie sat back and wondered if he did pose a threat to Duncan Dewar and pondered if he had any shady business connections. Certainly, news of an invention like the Infinity Chip could cause a global stock market tumble, he reflected.
He picked up his tablet and pressed a button putting him directly through to Merrick. She appeared within twenty seconds on the screen and said: "I suppose you’re wondering if I’ve found that needle in the haystack, for you?
“Well, I double-checked the eco warrior Dylan Rooke and you were right to discount him. I’ve pulled the phone records on Dr Wallace and scrutinised them even further and the Russian ladies he’s been talking to on these chat lines all have one thing in common… The multiple telephone number leads to two landlines at the same address.”
Mr Petrie sat forward and urged: “Go on.”
Merrick, seemingly enjoying the dramatic pause, continued and said: "Tatyana, Eva, Anka, Katerina, Anastasia, Ivana, Reza and Florentina are names used by Mabel Butterfield and her niece Nancy Potts of Scotswood Road, Newcastle. There’s also been a flurry of activity on a Dumfries number to Tina Kirkpatrick of Dalbeattie Avenue who has several pseudonyms including Rookie Blue.
“Amusing as this has been, I’m afraid your three leads have led us to the bottom of the haystack. The only other item of interest is Jennifer Hunter for no other reason than I can’t seem to find any record of her at all, not even a National Insurance number or tax reference. Everyone else seems to have a past, unsavoury or otherwise.”
The conversation over Mr Petrie rattled the fingers of both his hands across his desk before clasping them together and pushing outwards resulting in a sickening crack of knuckles. He went back in to the kitchen just in time to see Gordon Buie carefully place his magnifying glass back on the table.
“I’ve just found a note for you from your wife, Clara. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry but it was wedged under the mounted bell. Mr Petrie, it’s, it’s…” Gordon Buie faltered and then said: “It’s dated May 1665.” Suddenly, the redoubtable Mr Petrie looked frail and began to tremble as he reached out for the note. He almost fell into his armchair as he read its contents.
It began: "My dearest love, by the time you have read this, I will no longer be here but I do not want you to mourn or grieve. Know that the last thirty years of my life have been blessed and I could not have wished for a better husband, so strong, so handsome and so kind and gentle.
"I think you should take up the appointment offered at Sweetheart for the teaching profession is a noble one and it will mean you can remain here, at Dulce Cor. I do not want you to spend a lifetime grieving or mourning, nor do I want you to spend your life alone and so, consider taking another wife. I am not afraid to meet our Creator and I am sure God will protect me and judge me kindly, for I have tried to lead a good and productive life.
"We will be reunited together one day, my love, and so we still have much to look forward to. Until I see you in the next life, please take care of yourself in this one. Your loving wife, Clara.
There was an uneasy silence, until Mr Petrie looked around and said: “Where is the boy?”
The old man, glad of the change of subject, said: “Oh, the school secretary came to collect him. She said Dr Collins needed to see him. It all sounded quite urgent and she was keen we didn’t disturb you and I know you asked not to be disturbed.”
Still clutching the heavily creased vellum paper in his hand, he said: “No, no! Dr Collins has left already. I watched him drive off in his Rover. Please look after this and I’ll explain later,” said Mr Petrie as he put down his wife’s letter. He grabbed his overcoat and left behind the bewildered clockmaker.
He walked towards the school and on looking skywards, he saw Duncan Dewar standing on the rooftop peering over the edge. It was only after quickening his pace he realised that someone had hold of him by his jacket collar. He ran inside the building and went up three floors to the matron’s room above Plato House.
There were drops of blood on the floor and in a kidney-shaped basin. Clumps of chloroform-soaked cotton wool also lay on the day bed and floor as though there’d been a struggle. By now Mr Petrie was working on pure adrenalin as he opened the fire exit in the school clinic and climbed up the fire escape and onto the roof.
“Tell me where it is or I will let go and you will drop like a brick. I’m getting tired, Duncan, and I could easily let you slip…just like this.” Miss Hunter then pushed Duncan while grabbing his shirt collar and yanking him back to safety from the roof’s edge. The violence of the movement and the boy’s own weight as he kicked back sent a gargoyle plunging, smashing into pieces on the ground below.
“Next time I will let you go,” raged Miss Hunter in the terrified boy’s ear. Mr Petrie wasn’t sure what to do or say. If he shouted at the raging woman, she might let go of Duncan in shock or even deliberately push him over the edge. He couldn’t risk it.
And then he remembered how Kirriereoch had given him the immobiliser pen, but would it work over a ten-yard distance? There was only one way to find out. Still unseen, he reached slowly inside his jacket pocket and grasped the immobiliser.
“Please, please, Miss Hunter. You’re scaring me. Whatever was in my neck has now gone and I don’t know where it is. Please, I’m begging you.” They were the last words Duncan uttered before Mr Petrie took aim and pressed the plunger which depressed the pen’s back spring, activating the mechanism inside.
The movement was just loud enough to alert Miss Hunter who turned her head swiftly around to catch the gaze of the history master while maintaining her right hand’s grip on the boy’s bloodied collar. He could see from her murderous gaze she was more than capable of pushing the boy over the roof ledge…and she did.