The Augustine Murders - Season 1, Episode 3

I.3.

“I will endeavour in my statement to avoid such terms as would serve to limit the events to any particular place, or give a clue as to the people concerned.”

 Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Sherlock Holmes – “The Three Students”

January 23^rd, 1990 – Tuesday

  Scott was in a good mood. The young journalist couldn’t be more excited, after such a positive interview at the hospital: in less than two hours, he had made a huge step forward with his inquiries. His article would probably write itself, if he could keep interviewing people like this – at their most vulnerable.

  This was no ordinary case, no “natural” death – in spite of the official report some poor sap was obviously forced to write. Scott was no detective, but he had always enjoyed a good mystery, on TV or at the movies. On some occasions, he had goose bumps like a child on a sugar high – and he always loved a good thrill.

  Only that kind of feeling made him hungry like Hell.

  As he was enjoying a sizable lunch at his hotel’s restaurant, Scott appreciated how the case handed to him by his editor was even more interesting than he had expected. At 205lbs, a 5’5” boy had to be more than a bit chubby, and possibly quite a glutton – but how could he get to stuff himself that much?

– “How could anyone stuff his own stomach that much, anyway?”

  Lost in his thoughts, Scott did not notice that he had just spoken that last part out loud in the dining room. A few heads turned and his waiter smiled. Swift and discrete like a cat, he approached Scott’s table.

– “I am pleased that you find this meal to your taste, Sir... Would you care for another helping, perhaps?”

– “Huh?...” Scott looked at the clock. “Sure, why not? I’d love some more.”

  Scott saw the young waiter come back with his plate, piled high with pieces of fried chicken, onion rings, grits and green salad.

“Thank you...” He looked at the boy’s name tag. “Tom.”

“I hope you will enjoy the rest of your meal, Sir.”

  Scott let him go with a grateful smile. He noticed that there was a little wink in the boy’s eyes, like a friendly nod. It was a bit strange, but actually nice. On the other hand, Scott had already forgotten that he had just eaten two helpings of chicken and fries... When Tom came back with a few suggestions for dessert, he suddenly woke up from his daydream and realized how full he was.

“I would recommend our lemon meringue pie. It’s our chef’s pride and joy.”

“Huh... I don’t know... Well, maybe just a thin slice?”

“Sir.”

  The waiter bowed politely and took the empty plates with him. But the amount of pie he brought back from the kitchen was definitely more than a mere slice.

“With the chef’s compliments, Sir.”

“Thank you... Tom.”

  Scott caught his breath for a moment, then he grabbed a bite. It was really tasty, but also incredibly sweet – a bit too much for his own taste... Tom was looking at him, stealing glances from the other end of the room.

“I should hurry up now. I can’t afford to be late.”

  Then, after a few forced mouthfuls, Scott signed the bill – to be added to his expenses with his hotel room, with a generous tip for the boy. He took the lift to his room, changed into a more fashionable suit, and called a taxi to get to Saint Augustine Bells preparatory school.

■ ■ ■

  In the car, Scott remembered the young doctor’s invitation to solve the case. His unofficial but heartfelt support in the process was also to be considered. Scott was no professional detective. He needed all the help he could get.

  Then there was that other invitation – dinner in a restaurant, free food – which was enough for Scott to walk on clouds. Such opportunities had become rather scarce for him, since his friends knew what an appetite he had. But he could finally afford a regular lunch, today – and as he was digesting that delicious piece of pie, Scott was in the appropriate mood to enter the famous prep school...

  Of course, after such a delightful morning and lunch, the security entrance to Saint Augustine Bells felt like suddenly stepping into Eastern Berlin or worse – Third Reich Germany, as far as Scott could remember from the pictures on his history book’s cover – a book he may have opened twice in his High School days.

– “Name?”

– “Scott Girder. I’m here to meet Mr Porkenham.”

– “I.D.?”

  Scott handed his papers to the security guard, who hardly looked at them and waved to indicate that the journalist would have to introduce himself in their office. A secretary was there, who typed a few words at lightning speed on his computer. Then he printed something. That would be Scott’s pass.

– “Stand up straight.”

  Scott did as he was told. The secretary took a picture, cut it with scissors and pasted it on his pass, with the mention “PRESS” written in red, bold letters. That operation took some time. Then Scott was invited to proceed into the main office. Scott was too green as a journalist to know that it was regular procedure. All this started to get on his nerves.

  The office was about the size of the lobby, but it felt smaller as the desk and furniture took a lot of space – and so did the man sitting at that desk, who shook Scott’s hand and invited him to sit down. The chair was a bit shaky, and he was more than a bit comfortable, looking up to that bald man whose face would have won second price to a bulldog in a beauty pageant…

– “Richard Wingrave, head of security. I have received instructions to let you... wander on campus.”

  The man’s voice was low, and slow – and somewhat sluggish. Scott considered him for a moment, not paying much attention to what he kept on saying. There was a large box of cupcakes on the side of his desk, which would explain how bloated and chubby he was. Even his fingers looked like cocktail sausages, as he was fumbling papers absent-mindedly. When he was done with his little speech and instructions regarding personal awareness, Mr Wingrave actually grabbed one of those cupcakes in his short, pudgy hand... Scott guessed that the man weighed no less than 350lbs.

– “Hmmph... Do you want one?” he asked, mouth still full.

  Scott knew a genuine offer when he heard one: this one was merely for the sake of being polite. While the doctor he had met in the morning was sincerely pleased to share, this guy was reluctant at best.

  Besides, so soon after his lunch, Scott could hardly eat another bite.

  There were more papers to read and sign. Scott pretended to read and signed them hastily. The office was warm like a cabin at a skiing resort, with an electric heater by the desk. Sitting in front of it, Scott felt his legs going numb and swollen. He was getting drowsy when the door opened and a strange little man entered in a rush, with a breeze of cold air.

– “Mister Scupper will show you the way to the main hall.”

  Scott was eager to get up and leave. He followed the man – a 5’6” shriveled figure, dressed in a black suit that probably used to belong to another school teacher from the Victorian era. He looked like a character from a book by Charles Dickens, with a bow tie attached to his neck like a butterfly, fluttering its dusty wings up to the snowy clouds that were the man’s thinning hair...

  Mr Scupper looked even smaller as they were now walking through the vast, opened spaces of Saint Augustine Bell’s Campus. There was a light fog around them, making the fields and the brownstone buildings emerge like elements of a dream. Scott was actually quite impressed by this place. The offices he had left were small and modern, although they were part of a gate built with red bricks and covered with ivy. There were tall trees growing over neatly trimmed grass, and a grey brick road leading to various, identical buildings.

  As they approached the door, Scott definitely felt out of place.

– “Ad Augusta per Angusta”, he read on a bronze plate, on the wall next to the door to the school’s main hall. “What does that mean? From Angus to Gus... with love?”

– “It means A narrow path to a greater end”, the scrawny old man answered as Scott was about to laugh at his own bad joke.

  They had not exchanged a word on their way to the hall.

– “Huh... Okay.”

– “Mister Porkenham will see you now.” Mr Scupper told him when they were on the third floor. “First office on your right, after the presidential staircase.”

  That was a large spiral staircase, with cold marble steps and lavish bronze handrails, leading to the top of the building. Scott took a moment to catch his breath, once again, as he was getting a bit nervous.

  The headmaster, Mr Porkenham, was remarkable in his own way. Tall, with a long, flowing beard and a commanding baritone voice, he moved like someone would move a delicate, priceless, old piece of furniture – with great care. From his first invitation for his guest to have a sit in one of the comfortable armchairs by the window, Scott noticed his graceful, slow gestures that put his carefully groomed hands on display.

  Mr Porkenham looked like a sad, black-and-white version of Santa Claus’ long lost brother. That thought made Scott smile half-heartedly – he certainly felt the need for a good laugh in front of this bombastic, pompous man whose smile was less appealing than most people’s frown...

  All that, combined with the heavy scent of leather, cigar smoke and mahogany wood that covered the walls and even the ceiling, were immediately repulsive for Scott, who would be gaping for air at times, like a fish, during their conversation.

  Only he couldn’t afford not to listen to this man.

– “A tragedy, that’s what it is.” the headmaster kept repeating, in an almost senile way. “To lose one of our boys like this... It’s a tragedy.”

– “And to lose him so...”

– “We don’t consider our students as just students”, the headmaster interrupted, more interested in the sound of his own voice than in Scott’s questions about the facts. “Saint Augustine Bells is more like a family, a highly functional family.”

– “So...”

– “Yes, so you can understand how unsettling this poor boy’s departure is for a tight community such as ours.”

  Scott wanted to cut it short. There was only one possible card for him to play.

– “Now that I’ve seen the body...” he started.

  Thankfully, it worked.

– “Oh... Have you?” the headmaster mumbled something in this beard. Then he remained silent for a moment.”

  Scott didn’t attempt to break this uncomfortable silence. He knew that he had just scored another point: his host was visibly shaken – definitely not about the boy’s death, probably not about the way he had been killed, not even about Scott’s presence in his office. He had to be shaken most deeply by the fact that he was still trying to hide something.

  As a journalist, Scott had a hunch that the administrators may be upset about his knowledge about the boy’s... size, in his dying moment – or merely about the fact that it had not been kept a secret to the Press.

  The headmaster regained his countenance quickly. There was a man of action. He had already moved on, thinking only about a way to avoid consequences.

– “In that case... what more can I say?”

– “I would like to see the boy’s bedroom.”

  It was the most natural thing to ask but Scott was not surprised, at this point, that his host showed no intention of opening any more doors than would be absolutely necessary. It was no small victory for him when the grand old man finally woke up, checked his pocket and found the appropriate set of keys.

■ ■ ■

  Mr Porkenham reluctantly led Scott to the dormitories, where each student had his private bedroom and bathroom. Mickey’s room was on the second floor, in the middle of a hallway – a nice, large place with a view over the campus’ private grounds. There were only five rooms on each side of that corridor, but the whole floor felt like a maze for Scott.

  Although the furniture was a bit strict, it looked like a comfortable hotel room, with some modern equipment as well: The bathroom was brand new, there was a large TV set, and video games... Scott looked at the desk and opened a drawer by the bed – school books, “Basic Chess Endings”by Reuben Fine, a few comic books in the original Japanese... On the floor, Scott spotted Shakespeare’s “Much ado about nothing”and Michael Hardwick’s “Complete guide to Sherlock Holmes”– nothing special...

  Scott took a longer look around, trying to get a “feeling” of that room. He didn’t know what to look for, but something had happened in there – something he found truly intriguing, both horrible and fascinating...

  He was immediately disappointed: this room was clean – all too clean. The bed was still the way it was when the boy had been found. Nobody had slept in there. A few shirts, a pair of socks thrown in a corner – that was it...

– “No sign of forced entry. So this door was never locked...”

– “I beg your pardon, but it was locked. Chambermaids have a special key to the rooms in the wing they are responsible for.”

– “So?...”

– “According to security, there was a call for room service in the morning. It was a bit unusual, for a Sunday, but the maid came at once and opened the door with her key. Then she... found the boy on the floor.”

– “So, no one came in before her.”

– “And no one joined young Michael, after he turned in.”

– “I see.”

  Scott looked around. The boy’s room was empty and clean – far too clean not to be suspicious. He smiled. There was something fishy about all this – but he could be patient enough to go fishing, on such an occasion.

– “What was the last time you saw him, on Saturday night?”

– “At dinner, I should say. Students have dinner in the dining hall, from half past seven to nine o’clock. There are three different services.”

– “So you didn’t see him after 9PM...” Scott followed his own thoughts for a moment. “Now, where did he get all that food?... And where are the papers?”

– “Papers? They’re on his desk, of course.”

– “I didn’t mean school papers. I meant wraps. Boxes. Buckets. Whatever... I don’t know what Michael had to eat, but he was stuffed to the gills when I saw him! There should be wrappers and boxes scattered all over the place...”

  The headmaster had some trouble following Scott, while he was pacing in the room with renewed excitement, finally holding on to something. This was no clue but the lack of any piece of evidence was just as good, right now.

– “Okay, think...” Scott whispered, encouraging his own brain cells to connect the dots faster. “Nothing in the trash can...”

– “May I ask what you are doing ?” Mr Porkenham mumbled as Scott was crawling on the floor.

– “Crumbs... Nothing but crumbs...” Scott licked his fingertips lightly. “Sugar powder... Spices, but no wrapping paper anywhere... A delivery boy wouldn’t just give you a pizza and take the box away! There’s nothing here...”

– “I am sorry to say that what you have just suggested is not possible. Firstly, we would never allow a... delivery boy on our grounds!”

  Scott had to agree. He had been through the security check only an hour ago. But as he was still looking for signs of food or leftovers, he kept thinking about the boy’s last meal – which had to be grotesquely oversized... The headmaster was also making his point, possibly to convince himself.

– “Secondly, late snacks are prohibited, and our students’ dorms are kept under strict surveillance. Thirdly...”

– “So he got out of campus. He pigged out. He had a night out! Maybe he wasn’t alone at that time.”

  Scott ignored the headmaster’s protests and started checking the boy’s tall windows. Once again, he was disappointed. They couldn’t be opened. There was only a narrow edge outside, no balcony. Layers upon layers of paint had sealed the frames together with the wall inside.

  And it was on the second floor...

– “Maybe...”

– “Now, now, young man!” the headmaster almost shouted, shocked that he had been interrupted again. “You must learn to curb your tongue, and certainly you will not question the security system of our school. What you are implying right now is not only impossible… It is unacceptable!”

– “Why is that?”

  Mr Porkenham was getting red in the face, as he spoke much louder.

– “There is a curfew at ten o’clock, observed by every student in this school... Then our security guards keep a signed report of every person entering or leaving campus at any hour of the day. So we know for a fact that young Michael Stern didn’t leave those grounds. He didn’t even leave this bedroom!”

  Then the headmaster coughed, and bit his tongue. He had got carried away... That was too much information for a stranger such as Scott.

– “Now that’s a bit odd... How can you explain the enormous abundance of food that the boy must have consumed between 9PM and midnight?”

– “I can’t. Unfortunately, I have... no explanation for that.”

– “I am looking for answers here. You just told me that there is no way in. And there is no way out of this room – except for the door into the hallway, naturally. So...”

– “If the mountain doesn’t go to Muhammad, Muhammad would have to go to the mountain”, the headmaster added, cooling down. “I know what you mean...”  

– “Err... Quite!” Scott pretended to understand. “So the question is: How did young Michael get to that mountain of food?”

– “We don’t know... This has caused some trouble today, at the board meeting. What we do know is that Michael has never left this room, not for a moment, and that he was alone when he died...”

  This was truly puzzling, and Scott had a hunch that the headmaster had no particular taste for puzzles... He was also running out of ideas – no way in? – no way out? That was the stuff cheap detective stories and pulp fictions were made of – but Scott was less thrilled by the highly unlikely leaving or entering of some killer or its victim as he was by the even stranger appearance and disappearance of all that food, now in the dead boy’s immensely bloated belly.

  Scott was more fascinated than ever, but he still had no clue. He had to start again from the beginning, and ask the right questions.

– “How can you be so sure that Michael has never left his room?”

  The headmaster heaved out a sigh.

– “Follow me, if you please.”

  They left the boy’s bedroom. There was no one in the hallway.

– “Look at the painting. What do you see?”

– “What am I supposed to look at?”

– “President McKinley”, Mr Porkenham sighed again, rolling his eyes with an air of exasperation. He inaugurated our school in 1898... Look at the upper part of the frame.”

– “Is that a hidden camera?”

– “Hush...” the headmaster urged him to lower his voice. “That’s right. I suspect that a few students know that we keep these halls under video surveillance.”

– “For their own safety, naturally...”

– “Naturally. Mister Wingrave can show you the recorded tapes. We have already seen them, over and over. Mickey turned in at a quarter past nine. No one else came into that room... and he didn’t come out of it alive.”

– “All right... Yes, I would like to see those tapes.”

■ ■ ■

  With the headmaster’s weary but official authorization, Scott was allowed to go back to the central security office on his way out. He could catch a glimpse of the boy’s final appearance among the living.

  There he was, sitting with Mr Wingrave – and a new box of fresh cupcakes.

– “There... You see... 9:16PM. Mickey walks down the hall, gets to his bedroom, and locks the door...” the head of security commented.

  Michael was a rather good-looking boy, a bit chubby, as Scott expected him to be – but nowhere near the size he had seen his body at the morgue! He looked like he had just eaten a good meal, walking with no hurry, looking a bit flushed maybe, as far as one could tell on a black-and-white screen.

– “Then other boys go to sleep as well...” Mr Wingrave went fast-forward. “So, there’s curfew. And we’re on for hours and hours, staring into an empty hall... See... Nothing, nothing.”

  The camera feed froze at 11:59PM.

– “Where’s the rest of it?”

– “It’s on the next tape... But it’s only four more empty hours in the dark...”

– “What about the next tape, then?”

– “Let me see... Where is it?”

  Mr Wingrave couldn’t find the tape. His assistant had to go and look through a mess of tapes with various times written on them, while he sat back and grabbed another cupcake. Scott accepted to have one this time.

– “Hmmph! Good stuff...” Scott complimented. These pastries tasted a bit like the doughnuts he had been munching on at the hospital. There had to be a local bakery somewhere around town – quite successful too, if all their pastries were so tasty. Scott had not eaten such deliciously fluffy, jelly-filled, chocolate-frosted doughnuts until that morning. And he knew a thing or two about doughnuts!

  While the recorder was still on rewind, the young journalist stole a few sideways glances at the head of security – and another cupcake, while he was looking into another box of tapes and documents.

  Mr Wingrave had to be in his early forties at most – well-built, strong, naturally bulky – almost out of breath at the moment. His shirt and T-shirt looked two sizes too small, and he was still eating. It was pretty clear that these buttons had been sewn back a few times. They were still threatening to pop… The man had obviously put on a good amount of weight in the last few years. Maybe that was part of the job, sitting behind a desk, with a full box of cupcakes always within his reach...

– “It must be somewhere in the other room.”

  There was a moment of silence. Scott couldn’t go on peaking at the man’s hefty paunch – although it was just impossible to ignore... There were only a few cupcakes left in the box. Scott had already eaten two. While his companion went on, stuffing his face like a champion at a pie-eating contest, Scott turned to look at the walls, the furniture – anything else.

  Clearly, Mr Wingrave had a military background. He was probably one of those instructors. Scott didn’t know much about that. There were pictures of the man in a tight uniform, but he was also tight and wearing it proudly.

– “Yes, that’s me. Hard to believe, right ?”

– “Well... I guess...”

– “You should look at this.”

  Mr Wingrave turned and opened a drawer. He handed a picture to Scott: there stood a magnificent, shirtless young stud with chestnut hair and sparkling eyes – V-shaped and massive like a pyramid upside down, he wore shorts like a runner, which put his thighs and calves on display. Dripping with sweat and smiling with the confidence of a natural-born winner, Scott guessed that he had been running a marathon or something.

– “Impressive.”

– “That was less than five years ago...” The man heaved out a sigh. “This job has really done a number on me.”

– “How so ?”

  Scott found it hard to believe that he had been head of security for a prep school in the middle of nowhere for the last five years.

– “I weighed a solid 205lbs when I started here, in Saint Augustine Balls.”

  The guy had not mispronounced “Bells”: for some reason, he was in a grumpy mood right now, but also ready to share some insight about that place. Scott was all ears for a moment.

– “Three years ago, I could run sixty miles on a good day, and come back home with my heart beating just fine. Only I got discharged by the Army, and I came to work here...”

  Scott didn’t stop him, but he couldn’t help wondering. In only three years, this tall guy had gone from swarthy, cocky athlete to... well... this? Maybe there was a lesson for him in there: after all, he had once been quite a strong, successful jock in his own way.

– “Mickey’s murder is probably the only thing that’s happened since I started this job. Not the only interesting thing: the only thing.”

– “Is it so boring to be head of security? You have to look after the students.”

  Then something really strange happened: Mr Wingrave burst in laughter... Scott was startled. He would have been less surprised if the man had simply burst like a water balloon. And there was something strange about the way he laughed – ironic, in a way, and almost cruel.

– “The students? Puh-lease!” he finally concluded, catching his breath.

– “So... What else is there for you to do?”

– “In a nutshell? Nothing... Absolutely nuh-thing... I’m here. I watch. I know who comes in and who comes out. I see everyone coming and going during the day. Then I look at it again on video during the night...”

  Okay, so that man had no life. Scott welcomed the distraction when the other security guy made a tall pile of cassettes fall on the floor. He was still looking.

– “And you’ve been doing this for three years already?”

– “That’s right... And I’ve put on fifty pounds every year. I asked the board for my replacement, but they wouldn’t hear of it.”

  Once again, Scott was amazed. This guy was even fatter than he had guessed – but there was something about it that he didn’t understand. It couldn’t just be those long hours on duty, the imposed laziness of it, or the quality of the food. He wasn’t forced to eat all those cupcakes. Or was he?

  Scott was surprised by his own guess – it didn’t make sense, but there were signs around him that he couldn’t miss: he was on to something.

  Then, as he looked at the window to clear his mind, it hit him. Night was slowly falling over those grounds. Lights went on, showing lampposts along the white brick alleys, next to benches and bushes. The main buildings also looked alive with bright light at most windows. But it was all silent, and Scott felt the hostility of that place – like a black panther staring at him with mesmerizing green eyes and playful, razorblades sharp claws... still crouching, but ready to pounce.

  From the moment he had entered Saint Augustine Bells, Scott had felt those highly educated, gentle, careless and dangerous moves over his head. He didn’t belong in here, obviously. This school wanted him out – the sooner, the better.

  And it was a lot more serious than dropping out. Scott was familiar with that – and he felt goosebumps for a reason: what he was feeling right now was danger. Whatever it was that weighed so heavily on everyone in school, it was dark and mysterious. Scott wouldn’t hesitate to call it evil...

– “There it is. Found it!”

  Scott almost jumped at the security officer’s outburst. He had been lost in his thoughts. Mr Wingrave was done with his box of cupcakes, while he felt his shirt sticking to his back and chest in a cold sweat…

  The empty hall was on display again, at 8:04AM.

– “Then we can fast-forward again until... see? 8:32AM. The chambermaid comes in. She uses her own pass key... There’s no sound, but I guess that’s when she calls for help. See? Doors open. Everyone is gathering at the boy’s door already. And here I am, trying to bring some order.”

– “Right…” Scott mumbled, not quite convinced.

– “Now every student in the dorm is there, in my way... I made them go back to their rooms...” Mr Wingrave was a bit short of breath again. Then he let out a loud belch. “Ooof... Anyway. It was tougher than I expected...”

– “Of course...” Scott waited for a second. “You didn’t expect a murder.”

(To be continued...)