Murder In The Academy : A chilling murder mystery set in Belfast (Alice Fox Murder Mysteries Book 1)

by Maggie Feeley

  Jackson had now all but petrified in his seat. He was refusing to move forward in his mind with the possible direction this account was taking yet he was not totally successful in this regard. Thompson was explaining that he had immediately cautioned the maintenance staff and Dr Carter to keep any speculation about their discovery to themselves until the PSNI had begun their inquiry. He had no desire to have wild rumours being announced on the airwaves before it became clear what had happened.

  “No,” Jackson heard himself say plaintively, as if in slow motion. He sensed that the attention of everyone present was firmly fixed on him and placed a limp hand over his mouth as if to push his remark back inside, to unsay it.

  “Do you have any idea who the unfortunate occupant of that freezer might be, Professor Bell?” This time it was the older man, the sergeant, who posed the question.

  Jackson noted his slight stressing of the word “you” and struggled to remain calm. His logical mind reviewed the facts from the first day of term and ran ahead with an outrageous and yet plausible conclusion. “I think I may do,” he said very softly before feeling himself overcome with nausea and retching silently into his carefully ironed white linen handkerchief.

  The others around the table observed silently and the Detective Constable wrote continuous notes. This alone was unnerving in the midst of a host of disturbing circumstances. Jackson flashed a look around the group. He saw that Lorna was frozen with her pen in mid-air and a look of abject, open-mouthed horror on her face. He tried to pull himself together.

  “Helen Breen,” he said a little too loudly. “I think it may be my colleague, Dr Helen Breen. She was unaccountably missing from DePRec on Monday and her family hasn’t seen her since before Christmas. We were unable to contact her.”

  He paused and looked at the President who was almost imperceptibly shaking his head from side to side as if to reject the emerging reality.

  “Is it Helen?” Jackson asked with a look of desperation.

  Without any pause, Caroline Paton took over control of the conversation and addressed Jackson directly. “We are not in a position to confirm anything at this stage. There was a DePRec identity badge with the remains that we found and so that is why we wanted to speak to you initially. We have removed the entire freezer to police headquarters for closer inspection and will need to ask you to accompany us there, Professor Bell. We require some background information about DePRec and will possibly ask for your help with identification of the victim.”

  Without further ceremony she stood up and shook hands with Professor Thompson.

  “Detective Constable McVeigh will wait and travel with Professor Bell.” She looked directly at Jackson. “I imagine you will need a few minutes to inform your family and make preparations for speaking to your staff tomorrow.” She turned again to Thompson. “Until we have a definite ID we will need Helen Breen’s office to remain locked for close inspection. I imagine you will want classes to continue as normal so we will work alongside the college staff to ensure that our investigation causes as little disruption as possible. We will hold off on a media announcement until the morning and think about an initial press gathering late tomorrow afternoon or Friday morning. It won’t be possible to stop the news leaking out, but we can delay giving any detail until we have a little more to say.”

  The phrase ‘leaking out’ filled Bell’s mind with revolting garish images and he just managed to control an urge to gag a second time.

  “We will prepare a room for your use in the college,” the President said whilst nodding at Lorna to make sure that this happened. “I imagine it will be the boardroom and some smaller rooms on the fifth floor of the Human Sciences Building.”

  “Perhaps we can start with the maintenance personnel who were on the scene when the remains were discovered and then Dr Carter,” said Detective Paton. “We will be in the reception of the Shipbuilding Offices for eight forty-five tomorrow morning. Can that be arranged?”

  The President nodded. Lorna scribbled on her pad and wondered when they might get home and at what time she would need to come in the next day to make sure all these plans could be implemented. She had planned to do her ironing tonight and God only knew when she would catch up on all that. She felt overwhelmed by time pressures but on the surface her demeanour declared unquestioning compliance and unwavering efficiency.

  When the senior detectives had left and the constable had withdrawn with Lorna to wait for Jackson outside, Professor Thompson put his hand kindly on his colleague’s shoulder. “You will need to talk to staff tomorrow, Jackson. I would suggest at the mid-morning break so as not to disrupt the daily routine.” He began to move towards his desk with a sense of purpose. “I will need to prepare some statements, I expect, so that when your identification is definite, I am ready to respond on behalf of the college. You can text me any update on my mobile number, irrespective of the time tonight.”

  He was demonstrating his usual calm and Jackson wondered what would really ruffle his superior’s seemingly imperturbable exterior.

  “We are in for an interesting few weeks, I predict,” Thompson added.

  Jackson had a sense that he had somehow come out of this drama with the most unpleasant role to play, but it was clear there was no way of escaping what lay ahead.

  “Hopefully you will get a little sleep, Jackson, before you need to come back tomorrow morning and manage all this.” With that, Thompson opened the lid of his MacBook Pro and set to work on his PR preparations.

  For his part, Jackson used Lorna’s phone to tell Hanna that he would be later than expected due to unforeseen circumstances at work. Then he turned reluctantly to Detective Constable Ian McVeigh and said, “My car is in the underground car park.”

  As they headed off in silence towards the lift, Jackson Bell began slowly to absorb the dreadful reality of this situation in which he now found himself.

  11

  Earlier that evening, Jackson Bell had sat sedately across the table from his wife and, as if by premonition, had felt his spirits descend into the gathering gloom. Normally the theatrics of work filled his days with meaning, and often his nights too. Being Director of DePRec was what preoccupied him in a way that his marriage had never done. He and Hanna had struggled to produce one child, a daughter they had named Esther. He was neither an enthusiastic father nor an ardent husband and covertly sought his bodily satisfactions in furtive visits to saunas and anonymous encounters with strangers when away at conferences. If those in work had any idea of his fractured identity, it had never become a focus of discussion. Only Helen Breen had shrewdly spotted something in his demeanour early in their acquaintance and, when she had audaciously confronted him, there had been no point in denying it. There had been some relief in that. They had reached an unspoken understanding that he would look after her academic interests in exchange for her silence. This collusion had evolved, on her initiative, into allowing vague insinuations of a liaison between them to provide a cloak for his true leanings. They had slipped easily into a mutually rewarding situation that neither had any interest in bringing to an end. Her unexplained disappearance led him now to consider the complicated deception that framed his whole way of being in the world.

  Home was a lonely, quiet place for all three members of the Bell family. They did not have television or radio or any form of media intrusion that might bring corrupting messages with it. Hanna, his wife of some eighteen years, was from a Brethren family. She had never once cut her hair and her father did not believe that women should attend higher education. Hanna had become accustomed to spending her days at home and socialising only with family and other Brethren. They were not from the ‘exclusive’ branch of that religious grouping and so, aged twenty-five, she was permitted to marry Jackson who was a Quaker and so seen as religiously compatible. Brethren belonged to the group of Christian peace churches, along with Quakers and others of a similar pacifist faith. Both Brethren and Quakers were against war and violence of all kinds and H
anna’s and Jackson’s male ancestors had all been conscientious objectors in their time. Their belief was focused solely on the bible, in non-hierarchical but gendered gatherings where male believers shared responsibility for direction and discipline of their group. Homosexuality had traditionally been a particularly heinous aberration for Brethren and a cause of exclusion from the family group. A wave of change was slowly creeping in from the US Brethren, but Northern Ireland would be slow to countenance such modernism.

  As a young scholar in his early thirties, Jackson had met Hanna’s family when researching the experience of members of a cultural group that rejected all forms of iconography and visual imagery. Thereby he hoped to better understand the diversity of visual expression in political murals in the North, which was then becoming his specialist area of research. The family had liked his seemingly serious demeanour, his prospects and his commitment to an academic study of peace in DePRec. He, forever struggling with his own demons, had seen a safe haven with this unworldly, undemanding young woman whose manner did not unnerve him, as did other female peers.

  Their relationship had evolved falteringly, kept distant by his long working days and her continued preoccupation with daily religious and family activities. It was not thought unusual in that strictly patriarchal grouping that he was immersed in his scholarly life on which she could make no meaningful comment. For his part, he had little involvement in the day-to-day Brethren business of scripture readings and kept his attendance at prayers to an acceptable minimum. A companionable distance characterised their union save for the infrequent and unfulfilling silent intercourse that was dutifully endured by both of them under cover of darkness.

  When Esther was conceived, Jackson experienced a degree of recognition from family and peers that brought with it a certain release. He felt that he had finally become the character he had been playing for some five long years and the role, like in all successful long-running soaps, was now unquestioningly his for life. Both he and Hanna had relaxed a little and, although the void between them did not diminish in any real way, Esther became both a mutual interest and a way of remaining even further apart. Now aged thirteen, she shared her mother’s unadorned beauty and her maternal family’s resolute religious extremism. Although he had encouraged her attendance at mainstream secondary school, years of Brethren childcare, home-schooling and all-consuming community immersion meant that, for now, she remained an uncompromising zealot.

  Tonight, as ever, they had eaten their evening meal in relative silence before Jackson was called to attend the meeting in the President’s office. Now all that comfortable fiction was being shaken by a wholly unexpected turn of events. As he headed for the college car park with the young detective constable, he shuddered inwardly at the possible tumultuous consequences that might result from this evening’s events, in every part of his life.

  12

  The police station was just ten minutes’ drive across the city and Bell and DC McVeigh took the M2, then the West Link and came off at the Grosvenor Road exit. Police stations in Belfast had been a major target for attacks during the Troubles and still remained heavily fortified. When they arrived at Grosvenor Road barracks, McVeigh got them through the outer security barrier and then through the inner reinforced metal fence and gates that were at least as high as the two-story building inside. A slanting, fine-mesh grille filled the gap between the inner fencing and the building. This too was a legacy of former days and meant that any missile thrown over the fencing would roll back immediately onto the ground outside.

  McVeigh told Bell where to park and led the way into the building. He signed them both in at the desk and the duty officer told him to go to Interview Room 6.

  They went down a flight of stairs and found DI Paton and Burrows sitting at a table waiting for them.

  Caroline Paton thanked Bell for coming and said they would remain conscious of the demands on him tomorrow and try not to keep him longer than necessary. “You will realise, Professor Bell, that we are at the beginning of a murder inquiry and time is important for us. We realise that it may be that over the holiday period we have already lost valuable momentum.” She tapped her pen impatiently as she spoke. “If we can positively ID the remains this evening and gather some background data from you about your department, that will give us something to be getting on with. We will, of course, study your website and all the college information already provided by Professor Thompson.”

  Bell nodded and muttered that he would help in whatever way he could. He was still struggling to grasp how he had moved so rapidly from the relative gloom of an evening at home to the unthinkable horror he now confronted.

  “This is new territory for me, Detective Inspector. I am ill at ease but I understand my responsibilities and will do the best I can to help in whatever way possible.” He had a strong sense of duty and it helped him to find a role he could understand and act upon.

  “Murder is not an easy situation, Professor Bell. The deceased has undergone a particularly brutal attack but our forensic pathologist has done her best with what we’ve got. I think that identification should be fairly straightforward. From the photos in your college prospectus, we have a fairly good idea of things but your input will be most useful. Let’s get that part done first.”

  She stood up and motioned to her colleagues to wait where they were. She walked ahead of Jackson to the end of the corridor, pushed through some double doors and entered a brightly lit area where the air was thick with the smell of bleach and other chemicals. Jackson held his breath. Several trolleys loaded with gleaming steel instruments were set against the far wall, ready to be mobilised whenever necessary. Overhead tracks of lighting indicated the location of a number of potential work areas but for the moment they were all vacant.

  A young woman in a brightly patterned sweater and jeans greeted Caroline Paton cheerily. “I’ve done what I could for you, DI Paton. We are out the back on the right here.” She pointed to a small room off the larger space where glass panels revealed dimmed lighting behind a partially closed blind. “Go ahead in your own time – I’ll be lurking in my lair if you need me.” She withdrew to her office, which was to the left across from the room to which Caroline Paton now led the way.

  The detective turned to Jackson before they crossed the threshold and spoke quietly and in a not unkindly matter-of-fact tone. “Take your time, Professor. I expect this will be shocking for you but my concern is to do justice by this victim. The first step is to know her identity so that we can begin our investigation in earnest. I will pull back the cover when you tell me you are ready and I will stay beside you throughout.” She moved to the top of the trolley where it was clear that a body rested beneath a thick green hospital cover.

  Jackson became strangely lost in the study of the visual. He examined the mound and saw no hint that he knew the person. Nothing in the outline reminded him of anyone in particular and yet he spent some time observing the shape of the body and the rise and fall of the material that covered it. After what may have been only moments, he became aware of Caroline Paton’s observation of him and felt the need to proceed. He nodded slightly to say he was ready.

  She carefully folded back the cloth and stepped back a little to give him more room.

  Jackson had seen the corpses of several of his family members in the past. As a young teenager he had seen the dead body of his sole remaining grandparent, his father’s mother. At the time, her peacefulness was what had been stressed to him and he had viewed her with curiosity. She had been laid out in a coffin and her skin had been surprisingly cold and waxen. Decades later, he held the memory of that coldness in his fingers. When his father had died suddenly of a heart attack his mother had called him at work to come home immediately. He had not been long married and Hanna had met him at his parents’ house and they had sat silently beside the body until the undertaker had come to take it away for embalming. He had not been close to his father and the undemanding nature of the Quaker funeral rite ha
d been a refuge for him from an expectation of outward displays of grief.

  In this small room now with DI Caroline Paton, Jackson felt the shock of a life ended in a more intimate way than he had with his own family members. As the cloth was folded back he recognised the black hair and high cheekbones that he associated with his most trusted colleague. Her skin was unlike his memory of her perfect complexion and he could see the trauma wrought by the weeks that might have elapsed since her death. He had to stop looking as the efforts to disguise the harm to the back of her head began to become obvious and he turned away as he spoke.

  “These are indeed the remains of Helen Breen. I am certain of it.”

  The cloth was replaced and Jackson preceded DI Paton from the room. Outside he paused to convey the identity of the cadaver to the College President in the promised text message.

  He could see the pathologist sitting behind a cluttered desk and she called through the open door as they emerged. “I am off home now but I’ll get to the autopsy first thing in the morning. I’ll get my report to you before close of play tomorrow, Caroline.”

  Jackson walked silently alongside the Inspector until they reached the interview room where they had left Burrows and McVeigh. They took their places around the table and Paton confirmed that they had a positive ID for Dr Helen Breen, Senior Lecturer in Legal Studies in DePRec.

  “Until we have notified the family, we’ll be keeping the details of this case private. We will make that a priority first thing tomorrow morning and for that reason also your meeting with staff, Professor Bell, would best be delayed until mid-morning.”

  The background detail that the team of detectives wanted was superficial and mainly administrative. He talked them through the staff list and answered queries about the departmental structure. They asked for minutes of meetings and he said they would be provided the following day. He had a momentary flash of thankfulness for his own attention to sanitising the detail of minutes, aware now that conflictual discussions might be viewed in an entirely different light. At the same time he was aware that the PSNI interviews with staff were beyond his control. His mind was rushing ahead now to organisational detail. Mairéad Walsh would need to be briefed first thing so that staff could be informed about the morning meeting and so that she would be able to guide the team of detectives in navigating the DePRec and wider college system. Jackson confirmed to the detectives that Mairéad was experienced and trustworthy. He would speak to her before the day’s business began.