Murdering Americans

by Ruth Edwards

  ‘Wow!’ She laughed merrily. ‘Or should I say “Bow-wow”?’

  ‘She just jammed him into my face and he panicked. However, to take a Betsy approach, it could be argued that this was good news because Traci became contrite when she saw the blood and I was able to make my excuses and leave without further sexual or canine assault.’

  ‘I hope you got something out of her apart from the wounds.’

  ‘And more champagne than I wanted and a forced overdose of lobster and a very late night. Yes, enough to make me sure we’re proceeding on the right lines. When she got absolutely pie-eyed it became clear that the real wealth is very very nouveau. She spoke piteously about how in the first year of her marriage she had to buy off-the-rack, and was peevish because—in order to have real money—it was necessary to live in a hole like New Paddington. Though Dickinson has promised that they’ll be domiciled in luxury in California within a year or so.’

  ‘Doesn’t the bloody man realise her lack of discretion makes her a time-bomb?’

  ‘Yes, but….’

  ‘I know. Sex. I suppose she’s good in bed.’

  ‘So she told me. Indeed it was all I could do to stop her giving me a demo of her prowess at erotic stripping and a performance on the retractable pole in the master bedroom.’

  ‘What a goody-goody you are, Robert.’

  ‘If you feel like that, give her a call now and I’m sure she’ll perform for you. She told me that though you were a rough diamond, there was something rather attractive about you.’

  ‘Can’t imagine what she means by rough. If I were a diamond, I would be superbly cut—in addition to being flawless, polished, and at least fifteen carats.’ She paused and considered. ‘And possibly yellow. Literally, not metaphorically, you understand. Right, now it’s time to get down to work.’

  ***

  ‘I fetched Plutarch from St. Martha’s yesterday,’ said Rachel. ‘I don’t think she was pleased, but the new Bursar was. Extremely.’

  ‘Is she behaving?’ asked Amiss nervously.

  ‘If you mean Plutarch, by her standards, she’s so far behaving impeccably—if you don’t count our difference of opinion about her getting into the car. At least life is less dangerous since we got that cat guard. Nothing would have induced me to try stuffing her in a basket.

  ‘If you mean the Bursar, she was well-mannered, but seemed rather strained. There had been an incident with the gardener yesterday morning, when he inadvertently stood on Plutarch’s tail and had his trousers torn. However, no one was making much fuss because Plutarch is under Jack’s protection and St. Martha’s in turn is protective of Jack and too nervous about her welfare to be cross even about Plutarch and the gardener’s trousers.’

  ‘How much do they know about what’s going on?’

  ‘Just what’s in the press, since, of course, from what I gather, Jack hasn’t told anyone at the college anything.’

  ‘Has she been in touch at all?’

  ‘The Bursar said they have a business call every day or so, but that all Jack would say was that the papers were making a fuss about nothing.’

  ‘Two—probably four—murders is hardly nothing.’

  ‘That’s what the Bursar thought, especially after Rawlings said all those rude things at that press conference when he got back about how she was responsible for inciting hate crimes.’

  ‘Did the papers report Jack’s response?’

  ‘You mean the bit about how Rawlings should be ashamed to make political capital out of other people’s tragic deaths? That was referred to. The Bursar was not the only person to think it rather uncharacteristically po-faced.’

  ‘That’s because I wrote it. Jack’s first reaction was to say “He ain’t seen nuttin’ yet,” which I thought rather impolitic—as well as, I hope, inaccurate—but I did let her add that bit about how she, at least, unlike Rawlings, hadn’t fled America for fear of Islamists. Did the media run with that?’

  ‘Not any papers I saw, but an interviewer put it to Rawlings on television and he seemed as mad as hell.’

  ‘Good. What’s the news of your mother?’

  ‘Excellent. She’s definitely going back to work tomorrow and I’m definitely the best daughter in the universe about whom she will never ever again utter a word of criticism. It was not wanting to lose the moral high ground that made me decide to stay here rather than join you in Indiana, which would be inviting her to have a relapse and even again start uttering the odd word of criticism. Dad indicated that she had privately got very worked up about the best daughter in the universe being put in mortal danger from anti-Semites in a foreign country, so I decided to choose the easy option even if it does mean being without you for another couple of weeks. Now tell me what’s happening.’

  ‘An extraordinary amount of work is mostly what’s happening. Jack is focusing on three things mainly. Firstly, to augment the work being done by expensive private investigators, with the help of one lot of spies she’s trying to find out exactly how President Dickinson has acquired his money. Secondly, with the help of other spies and a vast amount of material smuggled to her by Marjorie, she’s trying to discover what Provost Prichardson and Dr. Gonzales were up to on a day-by-day basis. And thirdly, she is—as she put it—expertly playing her fishing-rod to land the big fish, Martin Freeman, Chairman of the Board of Trustees, and get him fully on the side of the revolution.’

  ‘And how is the revolution going?’

  ‘Not badly, if I say so myself. Considering the limitations of my army, I’m quite pleased so far. The website is almost ready to roll and between the coverage we’ve been promised from the local newspaper and the emails that will go out on Website-Day to every student in Freeman, I’m expecting a big response. You should be able to follow quite a lot of events vicariously.’

  ‘And what happens then?’

  ‘No decisions until Jack comes up with some results and we see what the website provokes.’

  ‘Robert.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Doesn’t it bother you that the murderer is still out there?’

  ‘Well, yes, of course I’d like him locked up. But if it was mistaken identity and Jack is the target, I’m not too worried because she really is being well guarded. If the targets were Pritchardson and Gonzales, I haven’t a clue and I haven’t got time to think about it. I’m fantastically busy.’

  ‘Any sign of life from the police?’

  ‘The D.A. is having talks with the local imam, we’re told. Oh, and negotiations between Jack’s lawyer and the cops look set to have the charges against her dropped in exchange for her agreeing not to sue.’

  ‘And her gun?’

  ‘Still a subject for negotiation. But she doesn’t seem too exercised about it at the moment and I’d be just as pleased if they held on to it. I haven’t yet developed an American insouciance about guns. I may be trying to bring about a revolution, but it’s unarmed, and call me a wimp—as, come to think of it, you frequently do—I’d rather it stayed that way. Having Jack modelling herself on Annie Oakley is one complicating factor I can do without.’

  ***

  ‘Lady Troutbeck.’

  ‘Yes, Betsy.’

  ‘Why does everyone hate us?’

  ‘This is really rather good,’ said the baroness, finishing her espresso. ‘Hot enough, if not quite strong enough, but I think I’ve cracked it.’ She looked over at Betsy, who was still sipping her Diet Coke. ‘Who is everyone? And who is us?’

  ‘Everyone is the world. And us is Americans.’

  ‘And what makes you think the world hates you? Not just Rowley Cunningham and Jimmy Rawlings?’

  ‘Oh, no, but they kinda started me thinking about it. And then since I got to know you I’ve given myself a programme of reading stuff on the internet about abroad. And it’s not just all those Muslim countries but places like Europe and France.’

  ‘Pay no attention to the French, Betsy. When there was some little unpleasantness about Iraq
some of your countrymen rightly described them as pansy-ass, limp-wristed, knock-kneed, cheese-eating surrender monkeys. You couldn’t expect them to like Americans.’

  ‘But even the English don’t like us, Lady Troutbeck. Some of your famous people say totally horrible things about us, like that we’re the biggest danger to peace in the whole world.’ She smiled wanly. ‘And that we’re the fattest and greediest too.’

  ‘So what do you think is the explanation?’

  ‘Is it cos we’re bigger and richer and fatter than anywhere else?’

  ‘That’s a part of it. You were much more popular when there were two big boys in the playground—you and the Soviet Union. Compared to the big communist bully you seemed very attractive. Well, that is, attractive to anyone half-way sane. And then the Soviet Union fell and you were the only big boy standing.’

  ‘And little boys think big boys are bullies.’

  ‘Exactly. And like cheeking them.’

  ‘Are we bullies?’

  ‘Of course you are sometimes. You’re open-hearted and well-meaning, but you can be dangerously self-centred and selfish and prone to throw your weight about. It comes of being an only child.’ The baroness laughed. ‘I should know.’

  ‘Oh, gee, Lady Troutbeck. Are you an only child? So am I.’

  ‘In that case, you’re what is known as the exception that proves the rule, Betsy. Only children are usually much more like me. And America. As a young nation America has had a vast expanse of territority to itself without powerful neighbours to have to get along with, so it had things its own way and expects everyone to see things from its perspective. It’s not surprising in what, in terms of development, is an adolescent nation. Europe is full of old nations who’ve had to fight with each other every inch of the way just to survive. At the very least, that meant we’ve had to take account of the neighbours.’

  ‘So you mean we’re spoiled?’

  ‘In many ways yes. You’re blessed with ample resources and your homeland has been a haven. Until 9/11, that is, which countries who were devastated in the world wars sometimes think you make too much fuss about. Though personally, I don’t. But then I’m in favour of waging war on terror. I think we’re seriously up against it vis-à-vis Islamist global anti-Western fanaticism.’

  Betsy’s forehead went into its familiar furrow. ‘And being fat and greedy? Is that part of being adolescent?’

  ‘Whoo! Whoo! Praise the Lord. Whoo! Whoo!’

  ‘Damn! He’s finished his fig. Hang on, I’ll shut him up with a grape.’ The baroness shook her head as she returned from bribing Horace. ‘That bird is going to end up as fat as an American, the way things are going. And with less excuse.

  ‘Oh, by the way, Betsy, I quite like adolescents, so I’ve been trying to look at things from America’s point of view, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the main reason why Americans eat too much and are obsessed with material goods and choice and so on—not to speak of a preoccupation with being safe and living for ever—is because they’re almost all descended from tired, poor, and huddled masses who fled pogroms and famines so terrible they were prepared to risk their lives crossing a dangerous ocean.’

  ‘Like it says on the Statue of Liberty.’

  ‘Exactly. When they got to America they thought they and their children would be safe and free and fed and housed for ever. All this over-consumption is a reaction to that history. As is the preoccupation with quantity rather than quality.’ She laughed. ‘Anyway, I like America so I’m putting the best gloss on it.’

  ‘Why do you like us?’

  ‘You are courteous and kind, Betsy, and unlike many people in Europe, I remember our history. I remember that Nazism would have triumphed and we would have lost the Second World War without America’s help, that it provided the money to rebuild Europe and that without America standing up to the Soviet Union, freedom would be a distant memory for all of us.’

  ‘Oh, Lady Troutbeck. You make me proud to be an American.’

  ‘Someone has to do it, Betsy. But I have to enter a caveat. That’s another word for caution. It’s because of that history that you overestimate how much freedom matters to people in other parts of the world. Some people actually like servitude. Look at all the people who vote for Islamist parties.

  ‘Now, how are you getting on with Middlemarch? Tell me when you’re finished, and I’ll give you an interesting story called Animal Farm.’

  ***

  ‘The Sentinel’s certainly done us proud,’ said Amiss, dangling the paper in front of the baroness’s nose. ‘Look.’

  ‘“SAVE FREEMAN U” WEBSITE LAUNCHED: PROVOST CONDEMNS TROUBLEMAKERS.

  ‘Good. Good. I can’t read it until I’ve finished tending to Horace. What’s the story?’

  ‘What they were given. It’s enormously long and rehashes quite a lot of the stuff they produced before from the VRC, but the gist is that idealistic students with a thirst for education and backed by a generous mystery donor….’

  The baroness smirked. ‘I like being a mystery.’

  ‘…have launched a website—www.savefreemanu.com—calling on fellow students and friends of Freeman U to help their campaign to abolish corruption, intellectual decadence, and censorship on campus. They say that while they deplore the murders of the Provost and her personal assistant, both were implicated in an assault on the integrity and inspiration for which Freeman U used to be a by-word. The website explains how to set up anonymous email addresses, so concerned students can safely send in their stories and get blogging.’

  ‘What’s blogging?’

  ‘You know perfectly well, not least because you’ve been told several times. It’s the technological equivalent of a phone-in. Considering you’re now the major benefactor of a website, it’s time you stopped affecting complete ignorance of anything since the abacus.’

  ‘I like abacuses.’

  ‘The Acting Provost is unhappy,’ reported Amiss, raising his voice slightly. ‘“‘The students behind this are racist, sexist, homophobic subversives,’ she said when contacted by this newspaper. ‘They will be expelled when we find them. Freeman U does not tolerate any kind of intolerance and we will be taking action to have the site closed down immediately.’ A spokesman for SFU said, ‘We are grateful to Acting Provost Dr. Diane Pappas-Lott for so succinctly demonstrating how American values have been under attack for the past four years by the stifling of free speech on the FU campus. I couldn’t resist calling it “FU.” Just once.’”’

  ‘Otherwise a most restrained comment.’

  ‘Restraint is what I’m counselling.’ Amiss’s phone rang. ‘Yes, Mark….Excellent…OK, I’ll get going. ’Bye.’ He ended the call. ‘I’m going over to HQ to monitor what’s going on with the website, Jack. Apparently the response is fantastic. Two thousand hits within the first hour.’

  ‘I hope they’re palpable hits.’

  ‘Are you coming?’

  ‘No, I’m staying here for now. All of you will become over-excited by this electronic gibberish. Someone has to think.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  The baroness gazed with distaste at the screen of Amiss’s laptop. ‘I can’t read this stuff. It’s all impenetrable, illiterate crap.’

  ‘It’s a goldmine, Jack.’

  ‘It may well be, but I’m not going to be the one to put on a tin hat with an in-built lantern and go down in the lift carrying a canary. Or even a parrot. Horace and I would instantly expire from the effects of the noxious gases of ignorance.’ She paused and jabbed her finger at the screen. ‘Look at that.’

  ‘Hey, baggyshorts,’ read Amiss, ‘I just wanna say I know your really sad but don’t loose all your hopes and dreams your luck might get enlightened. I know im goofy dude but ive worn that asshole’s t-shirt and I got thru and he didnt go find someone to hug and chill out with.’ He sighed. ‘Trust you to select an example like this, though even this has value.’

  ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘Give m
e a minute.’ Amiss rapidly scrolled up a few times and then returned to the orginal place. ‘It’s following a thread about our late friend Dr. Gonzales. This particular blogger—who goes under the pseudonym of “coolchick” and who, I grant you, is grammatically and syntactically challenged—is sympathising with a male using the pseudonym “baggyshorts”….’

  ‘How do you know baggyshorts is male?’

  ‘Apart from the evidence of his own earlier blog, coolchick—who has clearly been reading all his contributions—calls him “dude,” which to the best of my knowledge is used only of males. Or, of course, female-to-male transsexuals.’

  She snorted. ‘She should know better than to trust anyone wearing baggy shorts.’

  ‘In any case, if you will permit me to continue this exegesis, which you did after all request, baggyshorts had testified that Gonzales had had his—baggyshorts’—scholarship taken away from him for complaining publicly that someone who never turned up had improperly passed one of the courses baggyshorts was taking, and thus he—baggyshorts that is—had had to drop out of college. Coolchick—who in confiding that she had worn the same T-shirt is using a metaphor to indicate having had a similar unfortunate experience with Gonzales, aka asshole—hopes baggyshorts will overcome this setback….’

  ‘It’s beginning to sound like the plot of an Italian opera.’

  ‘…by finding someone to hug and relax with.’

  The baroness scrutinised the screen. ‘Coolchick didn’t say that. She said asshole didn’t go and find someone to hug and chill with. Not that I quite follow her reasoning. I should have thought being murdered was a bigger problem for asshole than a lack of affection and the opportunity to unwind. There’s a certain finality to it.’

  ‘She omitted the full stop after “didn’t.”’

  The baroness reread the paragraph. ‘You may well be right,’ she said grudgingly. ‘Now how many of these entries are there?’

  ‘Last time I checked there were in the region of eight thousand. Probably twice as many by now.’

  ‘I certainly don’t want to read any more of this bilge. How big is your army of trained interpreters?’