Murder on the Cathedral Express (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 9) Read online

  Ralph thought that your first duty was to fulfil your contractual and moral obligations to the University. He figured that if you fulfilled all your obligations there, than what you did in your own time was, well your own business, provided there was no conflict of interest. But he was well aware that if the media got wind of this practice, it would mean that a lot of snouts would be yanked from the proverbial trough.

  “I can see your point Rupert, but what do you expect me to do?” Ralph had no intentions of acting as some sort of keeper of the University’s conscience.

  “I’m only suggesting that you follow procedure, Ralph. I just felt that there might be opportunities where your wisdom and experience about how the system works might prevail over any knee jerk reaction from some of those newcomers at the meeting. From what I hear from his Dean, this Barnes can be a bit of a troublemaker. They’ve tried to get him to take early retirement for a couple of years now, but he refuses.”

  Ralph started to get the plot.

  “Are the Union involved?” He asked.

  “My contacts tell me that they just want it to go away. Union members being seen to have two jobs is not good for the image that they like to promote of downtrodden teachers slaving away for low pay.”

  “You know that I’m always happy to help out, Rupert.”

  “Good man. There’s a lot at stake here. That’s why I want you on board. A safe pair of hands.”

  ‘Supping with the devil’ was phrase that sprang to Ralph’s mind. He hoped that he could find a long spoon.

  ***

  Ralph had to admit that the HR people handled the enquiry much more equitably than he would have expected. The Dean of Art and Design was fair. He tabled the complaint against Professor Barnes in a straightforward and neutral manner. Barnes struck Ralph as an excitable character. In an emotional outpouring, he explained that a German company, Webber GmbH, were developing a Moving Image System based on James Riggs’ ideas. He said that Webber had a contract with the University to write the computer programmes that would drive the system but that Webber would produce all of the photographic equipment and manage the project. He merely worked on the project.

  Ralph had been doodling with his pen but suddenly took notice when he heard Barnes say that the system had reached the final four in the recent Turner Prize competition with the entry made by James Riggs. That was the man who Inspector Linham said had been hit by a cab and was now in a coma. Ralph’s theory that the two judges had been killed by a company or interest group that wanted to get their hands on Riggs’ system came flooding back. It was not his turn to speak, but he urgently wanted to ask the question that leapt to his mind.

  “Professor Barnes, did this firm, Webber, pay you direct or were you paid by the University as part of your work on the project?” Ralph interjected without waiting to be acknowledged by the Chair.

  “Professor Chalmers, we must follow the procedure, if you please.” A thin slightly techy looking man who had been introduced as the representative from HR looked at him. Typical little administrative bureaucrat, Ralph thought, He had that slightly officious smile that Ralph associated with someone who hid behind that word ‘procedure’.

  Barnes ignored the admonition that had been aimed at Ralph.

  “No, not by Webber. That’s my point. I didn’t have a private contract with Webber. It was the University that had contracted with them for the Project. I had been asked by the University to work on it and got paid in the normal way by the University. I was paid by Leon Riggs to do some private work related to the Project that involved helping his son James devise a way of interpreting the emotion in the design of some of the paintings that he wanted to animate with his Moving Image System. I’ve known Leon for years and James had been my student some years ago. Then, when James decided to animate famous paintings and Michelangelo’s Taddei Tondo for his exhibition at the Tate, I was his advisor.”

  “This has nothing to do with the Disciplinary procedure, Professor Barnes,” said the HR man as he looked to the Dean for support.

  “I think it has everything to do with it,” Ralph interjected. “Professor Barnes says that he was paid as a special favour over and beyond the University’s contract with Webber. His sponsor, and long-time friend Leon Riggs, had obviously not wanted this to be part of the Project for commercial or other reasons. If Professor Barnes did this work for a friend and in his own time, then it is unreasonable that he should in any way be disciplined by the University over it.”

  Barnes was so overcome by emotion that he nearly wept. He had not expected to find an ally at the meeting. He stood up and addressed the rest of the panel.

  “James Riggs is a genius. Both his father and I recognised it. The judges for the Turner Prize were uneducated and uniformed.”

  “Professor Barnes. This is not necessary. Please sit down and let me conclude this meeting,” the Dean protested. But Barnes was now in full flow.

  “People need to know. Those jurors for the Turner never even saw James’ exhibitions in the months leading up to the award. They simply looked at catalogues that were sent to them. How on earth could they judge the beauty of his moving images when it was a photo in a damned catalogue?” He was now shaking with emotion. “They deserve everything they got.”

  The Dean raised his voice above that of Professor Barnes. He thanked everyone for attending and announced that the meeting was now closed.

  “My secretary will write up the minutes and distribute them to all the relevant parties within 48 hours, according to procedure.” He tried to make it sound formal and as though things had gone as he had wished, but everyone there knew that Barnes’ protestations of innocence had been vindicated.

  As Ralph walked down the corridor he thought about poor Barnes. If only people had listened to him in the first place, none of this would have become an issue.

  Pour encourage les autres. That was the comment they made about Admiral Byng after he was falsely condemned for cowardice and shot. Nothing changes, he concluded.

  But he was also intrigued by the notion that his theory that a third party might try to get hold of Riggs’ system at a knock down price, might have some mileage. He wondered if it were possible that the excitable Professor Barnes could have been sufficiently angry that his protégé had been unfairly judged and was now in a life threatening coma that it had tipped the balance of his mind. Could he have killed the two judges? ‘You’re letting your emotions run away with you old lad,’ he could hear his friend Peter’s admonishments. He decided that what he needed was a caffeine fix. He decided to stop in at the Knights Park campus staff refectory.

  “Hello Ralph. what are you doing over on this side of the campus? Defecting from that musty old Business School?”.

  He turned when he heard his name. It was Sarah Winton, Professor and Head of Art History. The last time he had seen her was when he had been involved in an art fraud incident at Dorich House. She had not changed. Brilliant white starched blouse, collar turned up slightly, small diamond earrings, perfectly coiffed hair, and it was impossible to avoid the short skirt that showed a pair of bronzed knees, even now during winter.

  “Oh, Sarah. Hello. No, afraid not. I was just over doing some interdepartmental work for Dean Granger. Sorry, can I get you something?”

  “No thanks, Ralph. I have a coffee on the table. But I wouldn’t say no to some male company and a bit of interesting conversation for a change.” She smiled up at him.

  He heard the alarm bells ring loud and clear. Sarah was up to her old tricks, he mused. He took his coffee and sat down opposite her at the plastic and chrome table.

  “So what’s new with you, Ralph? Up to any more daring does, or have you resigned yourself to the usual grind of teaching hundreds of bored students.”

  “Oh it’s not so bad. Actually I enjoy teaching. Keeps me on my toes. How about you?”

  “Not too bad. No doubt you’ve heard that I’m going through the final stages of my divorce. I’ll be a free women ag
ain within the month. To tell you the truth, I can’t wait.” She hesitated as she sipped her coffee. “Actually it’s pretty dire. Off the record, that damn soon to be ex-husband has left me a bit short. He had the business tied up tighter than a drum so all I’ll get out of it is the house.”

  “Sorry about that. But at least you’re still working.” It sounded even on Ralph’s scale of social banter a bit lame and he knew it. She breezed straight on.

  “So what is this interdepartmental business that brings you to the world of art, Ralph?”

  He told her that he had been at an HR meeting.

  “Oh, old Barnes. Everyone knows about that. The Dean is out to get him.”

  Ralph remembered that he had heard that Sarah had been at a staff party where she had told her Dean to ‘bugger off,’ or words to that effect. He couldn’t remember the details, but evidently she had accused her husband of having an affair and the Dean had tried to get her to keep her voice down. No wonder she didn’t like him. From what he heard later, that little incident had nearly got her the sack. She continued.

  “Barnes is a bit of a whinger. He has a habit of championing some student or other then keeps going on about them. His wife’s in the Chemistry department and between them they are a pair of old drudges. She’s from the Czech Republic. Professor Velma Barnes. He’d be better off taking the retirement package they offered him and getting out of this bloody place.”

  Ralph was starting to see why Sarah found it difficult to find companionship, male or female. She was a lot more bitter than when he had last met her. But he couldn’t stop wondering if Velma had got the cyanide for her husband from the chemistry labs. He could imagine Katie collapsing in hysterics if she could hear what he was thinking right now. She would also be amused by his inability to extricate himself from the Sarah Winton’s vulture-like talons.

  “What was all that business about some German company sponsoring a project here? Were you involved in it?” Asked Ralph.

  “No chance. Barnes had that one sown up, although there were two people involved from the Computing and Information Systems Department. A strange pair. A woman called Molly Riley and a Bob Wilkes.”

  “Why strange?”

  “Well you know. Those people don’t say much at the best of times. They’re in a world of their own. Speak of the devil. They’re sitting over there in the corner now.”

  Ralph turned. He wanted to go across and ask them about the Project they were working on and that German firm that Barnes had said were the sponsors, but Sarah was still going on, so he had to wait.

  “Gregg Barnes was pretty cut up when we heard about young James Riggs. We all knew that James was destined to make it in the modern art world. Not my scene but give him credit, he made the right move in going to Norwich. Professor Barry Jones there took him under his wing for his Master’s studies. He’s one of the best in the country, maybe in the world, in his field. A friend who works there told me that Jones had helped Riggs over the past year and was now trying to get an enquiry mounted into the judging process used for the Turner Prize. But he won’t succeed. Too many people have a vested interest in keeping it just the way it is. But you understand that better than most of us, Ralph. You’re always championing the underdogs of this world.” She put her hand on his arm. “Well look, I’ve got another bunch of kids waiting to find out what art history is all about, so I’m going to have to shift, sweetie.” She leant forward. “Look Ralph if you get an evening when you’re on your own and in need of a bit of female company, why not give me a bell? Or I could give you a ring? I’ve kept your number.”

  He froze. What now?

  “Thanks for the offer, Sarah, but I’m a bit tied up right now. Katie and I have just got back from Devon. Lots to do.”

  “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, Ralph. That’s the mistake I made. Plenty of fish in the sea.” She smiled as she stood up. “I know you’re dying to get over and talk to those two. Give me a call. I’m in alone most nights.”

  She waltzed out waving to her colleagues at a nearby table who half-heartedly waved back. Sarah keeps up a brave front, thought Ralph. He went across to talk to Molly and Bob. He was determined to find out about Webber GmbH.

  “Sorry to interrupt your lunch break but I was just talking to Professor Winton and she said that you worked with her colleague, Professor Barnes?”

  He was struck by how young Molly Riley looked. He put her in her late 20’s and Bob wasn’t much older. Bob smiled and pulled a seat up for Ralph.

  “We’ve just finished. Would you like some tea? I’m just going to get some.”

  Ralph was for some reason always surprised when younger people showed manners. Perhaps he was more cynical than was good for him.

  “I’ve just finished a coffee. But thanks.”

  Bob nodded and went to the counter.

  “I’m Molly Riley and that’s my colleague Bob Wilkes. We work in IT Systems. You are?”

  “Sorry. I’m Ralph Chalmers. I’m over at Gypsy Hill in the Business School. Just here earlier this morning for a meeting.”

  “Gregg Barnes?”

  “Yes. Seems that everyone knows about it.”

  “We worked with him on the Moving Images Project. Did he tell you?”

  “Well sort of. He mentioned that some German company, Webber, were the sponsors.”

  He had an awful feeling that he was being duplicitous. These were nice open and honest young people. Why was he beating around the bush?

  Bob sat down and handed Molly her tea. “I put one sugar but didn’t stir it.”

  Ralph could see that these two were more than colleagues. It was the sort of thing that he would have said to Katie.

  “This is Ralph. He’s with the Business School and has been at that hearing thing this morning. He was asking about Webber. That’s more your area, Bob.”

  Bob explained that Webber had sponsored the Project and supplied all the technical know-how and hardware for the photographic side of the system. He told Ralph that he and Molly had designed and developed the software that created and then manipulated the database. From what limited knowledge Ralph had of those things, it sounded pretty advanced.

  “We were devastated when we heard about James’ accident,” Bob said, lowering his already quiet voice.

  Ralph noticed that Molly looked down and seemed on the verge of tears. Bob glanced over at her and tried to move the conversation on.

  “A lot of people put a great deal of effort and expertise into that Project. Then when we heard that James had not been awarded the prize, we were flabbergasted.”

  “Were you at the ceremony in London?”

  “Yes, of course. Leon, James’ dad invited us and Professor Barnes as well as a Professor Jones from Norwich.”

  “And Herman Muller,” said Molly. “He’s the CEO from Webber, you know, the German company you were asking about.”

  “But what happens to the Project now?” Asked Ralph.

  “It’s all a bit of a mess. We’ve been trying, with Leon, James’s father, to get the software patented. But as you probably know, that’s pretty difficult unless you can show that the software is part of an industrial system. You know part of a process that produces some tangible output or service like a gas or chemical refinery system or something along those lines. And there were some problems getting past the copyright protection on some of the images we used, but I think that’s been cleared up.”

  “You’re boring Professor Chalmers, Bob,” Molly said putting her hand on his arm. But she said it in a kindly way. As though he was an over enthusiastic kid, which Ralph thought he probably was. Ralph admired his enthusiasm, though. To him it indicated honesty and a belief in something bigger than the small world that most people lived in.

  “Not at all. I’m the one that came over here asking all these questions. And I’m taking up your lunch break with all this,” said Ralph.

  Bob went on in spite of Molly’s intervention.

  “There’s
millions of pounds at stake, you know. If we could get a patent for the process and refine some of the software, or perhaps just the interface to the database, then people would be hammering on Riggers door for the rights or the licence. Sorry I meant James. It’s just that we call him Riggers. He should have got that prize, you know. It was a damned travesty.”

  Ralph was tempted to add a comment, but decided to keep quiet. Two judges had died as a consequence of all this, and the killer was still out there somewhere. Could Barnes possibly be responsible? Or – and it was an impossible thought – could these two young quietly spoken people be the killers? ‘Not a chance’, he could hear Katie say.

  “Look, sorry about this, Professor Chalmers, but we have to go,” said Bob as he started to collect the plates and cups. “I have an appointment.”

  They made their way out towards reception. Bob had to dash off to see one of his colleagues and Molly offered to walk with Ralph to the car park. He had sensed that she wanted to speak with him privately.

  It was sunny outside and the warmth made a pleasant change to the biting wind that had bedevilled the past few days.

  “We visit James every evening when we finish here, you know. He does seem to be getting a bit better. We take some of his DVDs along. He can’t see, of course, but we put the earphones on him and hope that at least he can hear the music. I think he particularly likes the music that he used to animate the Tondo, you know Michelangelo’s sculpture that he used at the Tate exhibition.”

  “I don’t know it, but a friend told me that it was at the Royal Academy over at Burlington House in London. He said that it was their most prized piece.”

  “It’s beautiful. You really must go and see it.” She hesitated before continuing. “James and I were getting engaged on New Year’s Day. We were worried that his father would be annoyed if we announced it before the award ceremony. He would have seen it as a distraction for James. He’s a very possessive father.”