Tim Connor Hits Trouble (28 page)

Tim hesitated. ‘I don’t know about malicious. Not malicious. Not intentionally. He might do something pretty damn crazy though, particularly when he’s blind drunk. We’ll have to wait and see. Look, I need to get moving. I’ll see you shortly. Oh, and there’s one more thing.’

‘What’s that then?’

‘Just the sound of your voice on the phone makes me want to fuck you.’

Tim had always been prone to the occasional
non sequitur
, intruding the pleasure principle when the reality principle should hold sway. This instance was spectacularly
ill timed. Yet, such is the way of chance, that his crass remark goaded Erica into a moment of potentially relationship-changing spontaneity, creating a fissure in the defensive wall between them.

‘Tim you’re about as subtle as a landslide. Lust is not enough. Remember: ‘want me a little less and love me a little more.’ Think about it. See you soon.’

The connection went dead before Tim could deliver a riposte. It was just as well. The challenge was to reflect, not to be clever. He drove back to campus feeling even more unsettled than when he left. Henry might be in dire need of his full attention, but he couldn’t get Erica’s parting words out of his head. Did she really want what she said she wanted? Did either of them really know what they wanted?
Feathers in the wind
.

The sound of his mobile interrupted his thoughts, signalling the arrival of a text. He pulled over to the side of the road. The text read as follows:

‘HAVE BUGGERED OFF FOR A BRIEF BREAK. WILL CONTACT YOU WITH MORE INFO. SOON. PLEASE TELL ANNETTE I WILL REPAY HER CARD MONEY IN DUE COURSE… DEFINITELY. BEHAVE YOURSELF, YOUNG MAN - HENRY.’

Tim was momentarily nonplussed by the chirpy triteness of Henry’s message. It seemed to come from the hand of a man innocent of any great crime and untroubled by anything other than a debt loaded onto his wife’s credit card. The debt might be tricky for Henry but was well within the scope of his routine marital warfare. Henry was clearly unaware of the chaos that his absence had generated. But at least he had not topped himself. The absence of any mention of Howard Swankie further eased Tim’s worries. Apparently nothing too terrible had happened yet. In the circumstances, the text was manna from heaven. Tim’s relief was only slightly marred by the thought of the anxious hours he had just spent in pursuit of Henry. It was still possible that Henry might do something stupid or even that
he might be trying to mislead Tim. But on the face of it the situation looked like it might be containable. However he conceded that ‘you could never be sure with Henry.’

At this point Tim’s judgement might have been undermined by the attrition of an emotional and exhausting day. Back in the car, he had only a couple of minutes to think through his strategy for the emergency meeting. He decided he would wait until then to make public Henry’s text, giving him-self some time to work out its implications. The text did not absolutely prove that Henry was innocent of any crime against Howard Swankie but its tone was not that of a guilty man. And the fact that Henry had sent it at all suggested that he had nothing to hide. If Henry did come under suspicion, producing the text at the right moment might tilt things in his favour. His reply to Henry read as follows:

‘HENRY, THANK GOD YOU’RE OK. PANIC HERE ABOUT WHERE YOU ARE. EMERGENCY MEETING IN THE VC’s OFFICE SHORTLY. SWANKIE MISSING TOO. HOPEFULLY I CAN CLEAR YOUR SITUATION UP. DO SEND MORE DETAILS - TIM.’

As he swung the Volvo into the Vice Chancellor’s courtyard he noticed Erica walking away from her Mercedes sports, its sharp, clean lines contrasting with his own battered wreck. He quickly knocked on his windscreen to attract her attention. She turned and gestured to him to join her. He caught up with her as they entered the building. Breaking their ‘don’t flirt at work’ rule he planted a mighty kiss on her lips.

‘Not now,’ she said, looking pleased.

‘Sorry, and apologies for my rude remark on the phone as well. So, any news of Howard?’

‘No, not that I’m aware of, I thought you might be more concerned about Henry.’

‘I am, but he’s…’

By now they had reached a small lecture theatre that was part of the Vice Chancellor’s suite of rooms and Tim dropped the conversation. The room was already almost full and there was a buzz of concern mixed with suppressed excitement. They threaded their way towards a couple of
empty seats towards the back. As they did so Rachel waved energetically from the other side of the room at Erica. Jammed between Brad Purfect and a tense looking Heather Brakespeare, there was no way she could politely ask Erica to join her. Despite their recent mini-entente she barely acknowledged Tim.

Once seated, Tim looked around the room. All of the department were there and most of the rest of the faculty. Picking out Aisha, he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring look but avoided making eye contact with other colleagues. Most were more or less aware of his friendship with Henry and he wanted to avoid any curiosity. He would wait until he saw what line Geoffrey Broome took and play his own hand accordingly.

Normally punctual the Vice Chancellor was late on this occasion. As the minutes passed, expressions of impatience began to punctuate the low hum of intense conversation. One raised voice questioned whether Henry Jones was ‘worth missing dinner for’ and another complained that ‘as usual’ the pressures on those with dependents had been overlooked. It was almost seven when Geoffrey Broome entered the room, closely followed by his deputy James Flowers and Professor Richard Froggart, Head of the Department of Legal Studies. Flowers was an nondescript individual who saw it as his professional duty to support the Vice Chancellor, whatever the circumstances. Earnest and intense, if he wasn’t born middle-aged, assisted by premature baldness, he had eagerly embraced that state as early as possible. Froggart was a pinched and precise looking man who appeared to see almost every aspect of life in formal procedural terms. Tim assumed that Froggart was in attendance to provide Broome with legal advice in respect to this complicated one-off situation. Tim settled down to listen to Broome.

From the moment Broome began his address, his anxiety was apparent. After briefly reviewing the situation he began to stress its potential gravity. Reluctantly he was forced to consider the possibility, perhaps the probability, that the
two disappearances were connected. To believe they could be entirely coincidental stretched credulity. He then began to pick his words very carefully although their implication was clear. He still maintained the hope there was some benign explanation for what had happened. But he doubted it. What worried him most was that it was entirely out of character for Howard Swankie to go absent without explanation. He knew less about the habits of Henry Jones. What he had established was that the two men had a long history of conflict; on one occasion even involving violence. He would not speculate but the situation did not look good.

He went on to explain that he had called the meeting in the hope that someone amongst the two men’s colleagues could throw light on where, separate or together, they might be. He paused for a moment to allow a response. None came. Tim remained silent waiting for him to finish. Despite stating that the welfare of the two men was his absolute priority, Broome stressed several times that it would be better for all concerned, especially the university community and the institution’s reputation, if the matter could be solved at this early stage without involving the police. After again getting no response to an appeal for information, he opened the meeting to suggestions and questions.

Tim was quick with his hand up but was passed over in favour of a young man sat close to the front who had been vigorously trying to attract the Vice Chancellor’s attention, even before he had concluded his address. In a state of some agitation he made an obvious and urgent point.

‘Vice Chancellor, surely the police should have been called by now? It’s possible that one or both our colleagues are in some kind of trouble, perhaps in danger.’

Broome looked uncomfortable. He turned towards Richard Froggart. ‘Perhaps you could take this one, Richard?’

Froggart looked reluctant but offered a reply. ‘It’s a question of us doing what we reasonably can to resolve the matter, which may yet have an innocent explanation, before handing it over to the police. That will be the next
step if nothing decisive is forthcoming from this meeting. If that is the case then, yes, the matter becomes urgent.’

He leaned towards Broome. ‘Vice Chancellor, I think it would be very helpful if we try to establish when Professor Swankie and Jones were last seen, whether separately or together. It would be particularly useful to know if anyone has seen either of them in the last twenty four hours.’

Nodding assent, Broome put the issue to the meeting.

Determined to say his piece this time, Tim got to his feet and moved towards the front of the room.

‘Listen, I’ve received a text from…’

He was interrupted by the thump of footsteps in the corridor leading to the room. The door swung open. In marched Henry and Fred Cohen. Among sounds of relief and astonishment among the gathering were some shouts of support for Henry.

Henry strode towards Broome.

‘I believe this meeting concerns me. That’s why I’m here, to clear things up.’

Broome was visibly shaken. His imagined scenario did not include Henry’s dramatic arrival. There was an expectant hush as people waited on Broome’s response. Instead it was James Flowers who spoke.

‘Vice Chancellor, I suggest that we carry out a citizen’s arrest of Henry Jones. Howard Swankie is still missing and the most likely person responsible for his disappearance is Jones.’

As Broome hesitated, Tim moved up to the front of the room and stood behind Henry and Fred. He intended his presence to act as a deterrent against any attempt to manhandle his friend. But as the two sets of men faced each other he offered some calming words.

‘Look, Vice Chancellor, I was just about to say, before Henry and Fred arrived, that I received a text from Henry shortly before the meeting. It was obvious that he had no idea of the panic that has been going on. And if he had kidnapped Professor Swankie, as some seem to think, I doubt
if he would be here now. Have a look at the message Henry sent me.’ He pulled out his mobile, brought the text up and handed it to Broome.

Broome’s expression was grimly sceptical as he read the text. He shook his head, manifestly less convinced than Tim that the text clinched Henry’s innocence. Angry at Broome’s reaction, Henry moved a couple of steps towards him. But the fleeting prospect of a physical confrontation disappeared as Richard Froggart intervened, his tone emollient and precise.

‘Geoffrey, we can’t make what James refers to as a citizen’s arrest. Only a person actually witnessing a crime is legally entitled to do that. We are not in that situation. In fact if we incorrectly attempted to arrest Jones, we would be technically assaulting him and he could correctly arrest us. A quite ludicrous situation as I’m sure you agree.’

The ripple of laughter that this observation provoked was interrupted by the strident sound of a mobile. It was Heather Brakespeare’s. She eagerly grabbed the phone from her handbag. The meeting’s attention abruptly turned to her. As she listened to the call she flushed with emotion, seemingly relieved but also embarrassed. Conscious that all eyes were on her, she kept the call brief. She switched off her phone and stood up. As she composed herself it was impossible to tell whether the news was good or bad. After a few moments she broke into a smile.

‘I’m delighted and relieved to say that Howard has been found. I mean he wasn’t really lost. He was… I’ll explain later. He’s now back home. I’m sure you’ll all understand that I want to join him immediately. Thank you all so much for your concern.’ She turned towards Rachel. ‘Perhaps you’d be kind enough to come with me Rachel, I don’t quite feel up to driving at the moment.’

Her news was greeted with applause and a buzz of pleasure and relief. Most of the gathering spontaneously got to their feet, several surrounding Heather. Rachel, her arm around Heather’s shoulders, steered her towards the
exit, firmly batting aside efforts to elicit more information about Howard’s reappearance. At the front of the room, the two sets of men, the point of their confrontation suddenly resolved, didn’t immediately join in the general good feeling. For a moment they stood solid regarding each other awkwardly. The whole affair had taken on a surreal aspect. Suddenly they were eyeballing each other for no good reason other than mutual collective dislike. Just a hint of disappointment hung in the air, a sense that they had been deprived of a set-to,
bellum interruptum
. The thought of an all-round handshake to defuse matters briefly occurred to Tim, but he was unsure of Henry. Instead he reached across and offered his hand to Broome.

‘That seems to be it, then, Vice Chancellor. No victims and no villains.’

Still slightly fazed Broome responded on auto, shaking Tim’s hand. Tim’s firm grip on Broome’s slack hand seemed to reawaken the Vice Chancellor to his sense of authority and status. He attempted to regain control of the meeting that was already beginning to break up. The occasion, which he now decided he had managed with characteristic sensitivity and skill, required a conclusion of some import and panache.

‘A moment everybody please.’ There was a slight dip in the happy hubbub and a trickle of people already leaving turned to listen. ‘A moment please,’ Broome repeated. ‘I’m delighted that our local problems have been resolved. I think our softly, softly approach has been justified.’ Henry was not alone in registering a raspberry to this sentiment. Recognising that interest in his comments was fast dwindling, Broome abandoned his attempt at a rhetorical finale. ‘I won’t delay you any further. I know many of you have pressing commitments. Thank you all for coming.’

At this point Erica and Aisha moved up the room to join Tim, Henry and Fred. Broome perfunctorily acknowledged them without appearing to recognise them. Ignoring Henry and Fred he granted Tim a more engaged and
thoughtful look before turning to his senior colleagues. The two groups moved away from each other.

The intensity of the last few hours quickly evaporated. Tim suddenly became aware of his own needs. He was tired and dehydrated. It was time to replace the fluid. ‘Right, guys, we’re… Henry and myself that is, we’re still not sure what all this was about but it feels like it’s time to celebrate. You all ok to have a drink or two in
Doctor Syn
? I’ll buy the first round.’

In the pub they managed to piece together the story of a strange day. Tim was right in his interpretation of Henry’s email. Far from kidnapping and making off with Swankie, and thoroughly fed up with Annette, he had decided to take a break with Fred. He saw this as part of his new assertive and up-beat lifestyle. After spending the night in London the next day, the two of them went to Reading, Fred’s home city, to watch the eponymous football team which Fred still supported despite years of frustration when the team played yoyo between the leagues. The arrival of Tim’s text put a swift end to that plan. Henry realised he would be chief suspect in the mystery of Swankie’s disappearance and he and Fred immediately headed for Wash. Hurtling down the M4 at roughly the speed of light, they were just in time to make their dramatic and decisive entrance.

As they were celebrating, a call to Erica from Rachel added the last piece to the puzzle: the explanation of where Howard had disappeared to. The tale was an unlikely combination of coincidence, ill luck and a moment of dozy abstraction on the part of the main protagonist. Howard Swankie was an enthusiastic member of a local drama society of which he was Chairperson. On this occasion he had gone to the local church hall where the group usually performed, to close it down after it had been used by a visiting drama troupe from Kazakhstan for a rehearsal of
A Day in the Life of Joe Egg
. Expecting the chore to take no more than a few minutes Swankie did not even mention his absence to his wife who in any case had repaired early to bed after a hard day at work.
Having closed the hall he decided to check out some scenery stored in the attic of a small adjacent building too rundown and sub-modern to be used for much else. Entering the attic he put on the light and absent mindedly shifted the attic trapdoor back into place. He had locked himself in. The metal ring handle on the inside of the trapdoor was embedded in rust and resisted all his attempts to prise it loose. It was not until the following evening when the local vicar heard his cries for help that his ordeal ended. Fortunately Swankie was little the worse for his experience although according to Rachel once released he spent a considerable period restoring himself to pristine elegance. In time, Swankie was able to embroider the tale to present himself as something of a cool, unfazed hero, coping seamlessly with the dirty tricks of fate. Few were convinced.

Once they were reassured that Swankie had been safely returned to the mainstream, the group in the pub launched into a long night of conviviality. The mood escalated further when Henry announced that he intended to leave Wash and go to live with Fred in London. He laid great emphasis on the fact that since his divorce Fred’s place had a spare bedroom. Apparently he was keen to quash any notion that they had taken a late queer turn. Fred added that everyone would continue to see plenty of Henry and probably also more of himself, offering an open invitation to visit them in London. Tim reciprocated, only making the proviso that he might sometimes have to work while they were enjoying themselves.