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A Cold Mountain

Chapter 7

by Daniel Pears, published on September 7, 2000

August 31 2000, the early evening, Cambridge, England

I dozed lightly in a window seat near the back of the train, my senses purposefully concentrated on the soft repetitive hum of the train as it moved along the railway toward Cambridge. I had my bag on the overhead rack above and identification papers tucked into the inside pocket of the light coat I wore over jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. In front of me, the thirty or so other passengers of my compartment chatted or read or rested as I did. Outside heat shimmered in waves across the rural landscape, ripening crops, and little by little decaying the few ancient walls and fortresses that still existed here and there and were visible in the distance as the train passed. Letting myself drift, my thoughts went to Grace and to the call I had left on our answering machine in the hours just before dawn. I wondered if she even picked up the message. At that moment, all I wanted was to hear Grace's voice, to somehow touch her.

A movement down the aisle in front of me shook me from my muse. A man was walking toward me. He was in his early thirties, clean shaven, tall, dressed in a light sport coat and khaki trousers. The man had gotten on the train at the last moment, just as it was pulling out of the terminal in London. For a moment I thought he might pass and go into the lavatory behind me. Instead, he stopped at my side.

-"You're American, aren't you?" He said with a slight American accent.

I glanced past him. The other passengers were riding as they had been, looking out, talking, relaxing. "Yes."

-"I thought so." The man grinned broadly. He was pleased, even jovial. "My name is Martin Willis. I'm American if you can't tell. Do you mind if I seat down?" Without waiting for reply, he slid into the seat next to me. "I work at Cambridge. Married to an Englishwoman. Have been living in England for over 26 years." He paused. "It's so nice to be talking with an American. Each time I meet my fellow Yanks, I chat with them. Sharing memories of good old Uncle Sam." He winked at me. He was talky, even pushy, but pleasant enough, and that seemed to be his manner. "Mind if I ask you what part of the country you're from?"

-"New Orleans." Something was wrong, but I wasn't sure what it was.

-"A charming city. Have been there on several occasions." Again I looked toward the front of the train. Passengers the same as before. Busy with what they were doing. None looking back. My eyes back to Willis in time to see him glance at my bag on the overhead rack above our seat.

-"You live in Cambridge?" Willis smiled amiably. Why had he looked at my bag? What was that for? "You asked if I was American. Why would you think I lived in Cambridge?"

-"You look familiar, that's all." His right hand was in his lap, but his left was out of sight. "What do you do?"

The conversation was innocent, but it wasn't. "I'm a writer."

-"What do you write?"

-"Mysteries. Adventures."

-"Is that right?" His eyes hardened a little, and he leaned in, pressing against me. "I love mysteries. Perhaps I've read some of your books. What is your name?"

At that moment the loudspeaker was humming. The passengers stared expectantly at it. "Ladies and gentlemen," came a voice, "we are about to enter to Cambridge. Please accept our sincere apologies for the short delay. Good day."

-"Excuse me, sir," I said. "I have to go." I stood and grabbed my bag.

-"Maybe I shall see you around sometime?"

-"Maybe. Good day to you."

I walked toward the exit door of the compartment where other passengers were gathering around. I glanced discretely at Willis. His eyes were on me all the time. He lit a cigarette, took a deep breath and puffed away. When the train finally halted, I got off the compartment without even looking back.

I arrived to Cambridge by half past four. Situated in the heart of the city, the Regent Hotel offered easy access to various business amenities and cultural attractions, and provided superb view over the famous Parker's Piece. I stepped into a stylish lobby and approached the counter. A young man, in his early twenties, was standing behind it, gazing around in boredom.

-"Hello," I greeted him. "My name is Gabriel Knight. I called you yesterday and booked one single room."

-"Welcome to Cambridge, Mr. Knight," he smiled, typing on his computer. "Yes. Here it is," he pointed to the screen. "May I have some identification, please?"

A few minutes later I was led to my room by nattily dressed bellhops. When he departed, I kicked off my shoes, opened the drapes and looked out over Cambridge. What a splendid city, I thought.

I unpacked, and was in the process of hanging my clothes in the closet when the phone rang. I picked it up. "Gabriel Knight," I said.

-"Dr. Knight. Welcome to Cambridge. Charles Lomas here."

-"Excuse me? Do I know you?"

-"Actually, you don't", he laughed. "I spoke with Professor Barclay of Yell University earlier today. He told me that you would stop by Cambridge, Dr. Knight, and asked me if I could show you the place around. I couldn't possibly decline his request. After all, it's not that often that an imminent history writer, such as yourself, honours us with his visit. I work as Research Assistant at the McDonal Institute for Archaeological Research, by the way."

Good old Gracie, I smiled to myself. She contacted her teacher, Professor Barclay, and asked him to cover me up. What a great idea! A history writer? Me? "Thank you so much for calling me, Mr. Lomas." I cleared my throat. "Sorry I did not fully understand at first. It's my fault. You see, I'm still a little dizzy from the long flight."

-"Poor thing. Must be the notorious jet-lack." He paused. "Now that you've arrived, I realise how negligent I'd been in not arranging transportation for you from the train station."

-"I'm glad you didn't."

-"Anyway, Doctor, is it all right with you if I pick you up at, let's say, quarter to eight?"

I glanced at my watch. I still had enough time to take a shower. "Of course, I'll be ready."

-"Very well. See you later, then, Dr. Knight."

Charles Lomas was obese, tending to perspire in even the coolest of settings. His suit looked terribly cheap on him because of his corpulent frame, and he had a penchant for what the British often call 'dickey bows', large, floppy bow ties. His fingernails were highly lacquered, something that I find weird in men, and he attempted to cover a broad expanse of bald head by bringing up long, wet strands of hair from just above his left ear. He picked me up in a V40. After preliminary and perfunctory greetings, we drove along Regent Street and entered St. Andrews Street, near Emmanuel College.

-"Is it your first time to Cambridge, Dr. Knight?" Lomas asked.

-"I'm afraid so," I said, apologising. "Too much work, not enough time to travel."

-"I understand. As you've probably noticed, Cambridge is a charming city. It stands on the east bank of the River Cam and was originally a place at which the river was crossed. Ballet, opera, drama, music and film are presented in the city. The river is used extensively for pleasure boating, including leisurely punting." He glanced at me. "Do you know what a punt is, Doctor?"

-"Is it not some kind of flat-bottomed boat moved by pushing on a pole thrust repeatedly to the bottom?"

-"That's right," he smiled and I thanked my good star for all the movies I saw that were shot in either Cambridge or Oxford. "Cambridge was a prosperous centre for trade from its strategic position on the river as an outlet to the sea, you know. An annual trade fair was held on Stroubridge Common and brought in traders from the rest of England and continental Europe. The fair was especially famous during the 16th century." We turned into Downing Street along Lion Yard. "The city preoccupies an area of about 16 square miles. University buildings dating from medieval times provide most of the city's outstanding architectural features. The colleges that make up the university are generally fortresslike, built around central courtyards. The many commons and other open areas throughout the university setting include the Backs. I suppose you don't know what Bracks are, do you?"

-"I couldn't agree more with you, sir."

-"That's perfectly comprehensible. Only we Brits mind ourselves with such minor details. The Bracks are landscaped gardens through which the River Cam winds behind the Old Schools, which are the main line of colleges, including Queens', Kings', Clare, Trinity, St. John's and Magdalene. There is a series of magnificent bridges here. One of them, the wooden Mathematical Bridge, was built by mathematical calculations and without nails in 1749." We turned right into Tennis Court Road and Lomas parked near the entrance of a modern brick building. "Here we are," he pointed to the building, "The McDonal Institute for Archaeological Research." We got out of the car. "The main entrance is from the courtyard of the department of Archaeology. You might be able to see it when you visit the Faculty of Archaeology tomorrow." As we were walking toward the entrance of the building I asked. "Are we going to meet someone?"

-"I thought Professor Barclay had told you about it," Lomas seemed puzzled.

-"What are you talking about?"

-"The annual opening gala of the McDonald Institute." He glanced at my green polo shirt and jeans. "From your outfit I gather that he completely forgot to tell you about it. Well, never mind," he put his hand on my shoulder. "You are our guest. People won't even notice that you are not wearing a suit." He was wrong!

The McDonald Institute was packed with important dignitaries, the cream of academics, everyone from doctors to professors. The party was in full swing, everyone in good spirits. The press had been invited, and a trestle table had been erected in the foyer. Two security guards were standing guard over some valuable artifacts: gem necklaces, scarabs, gold amulets and stone cartouches.

-"The Institute was established in 1990 through a generous benefaction from the late Dr. D M McDonald, a well known and successful industrialist," Lomas explained. "The institute provides support for Cambridge-based researches in many branches of archaeology, but has a particular interest in the archaeology of early human cognition. The Institute also places emphasis on archaeological science, and contains laboratories for geoarchaeology, archaeozoology, archaeobotany and artifact analysis. The extensive faunal remains collection of the Department of Archaeology is now based within the McDonald Institute." We made our way through the throng, crossed to a French window and stepped out to a balcony. It was cool outside, lotus and bougainvillaea scenting the night air, the window boxes full of flowers. The Institute gardens were magnificent, a wooden pavilion in the grounds was lit up with coloured lights. Some people were standing inside the pavilion. Men were in black tuxedoes and the women in elegant dresses that hugged their figures. Lomas approached one of the men and shook his hand. He whispered something to his ear and the man nodded. Both of them stepped toward me.

-"Dr. Knight, may I introduce you to the director of the McDonald Institute, Lord Renfrew of Kaimsthorn. Lord Renfrew, this is Dr. Gabriel Knight of Yell University." We shook hands. Lord Renfrew was a big man with a white beard and a firm, autocratic disposition. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Knight. I'm most pleased you could join us this evening. Our humble party is in desperate need of someone with your qualities and knowledge. You've written many books and carried out numerous studies for a man of such a young age. My first work, which was on 'graveyards in the 13th century', was published when I was 32 years old." He laughed. "It is quite difficult for the old gentleman that I am to follow the, how should I put it, the 'eagerness' of your generation." Lord Renfrew offered me a cigar but I declined. He stood quietly as he lit his cigar.

-"How does he know about all my books?" I murmured to Lomas's ear.

-"Professor Barclay faxed us a thorough list of all your books and studies," Lomas whispered beneath his teeth. Good old Professor Barclay, I smiled to myself.

A blue cloud of smoke encircled Lord Renfrew's head as he puffed away. He took a deep breath and savoured the aroma before asking his question. "What do you think about our Institute, Doctor?"

-"It's quite impressive," I replied, trying to sound as sophisticated as possible. "Mr. Lomas told me that it provided support for researches in many branches."

Lord Renfrew casually stroked his beard with his left hand. "Yes, indeed. The Institute is primarily a centre for post-doctoral research though it does provide facilities for a number of PhD students whose research fits within existing McDonald Institute themes." He puffed away. "In addition to providing space for projects and researches, our Institute also has an annual programming of grants for Cambridge-based projects and an active publications division which produces the McDonald Institute Monograph series and the twice-yearly Cambridge Archaeological Journal." His eyes were on me. "Have you got something similar at Yell University, Dr. Knight?"

I'm trapped, I thought. "Of course we do," I managed to sound very confident, "the Wolfgang Institute for Paranormal Research." Well, that was a tricky one.

-"The Wolfgang Institute?" Lord Renfrew raised his eyebrows in astonishment. He took several quick puffs from his cigar and the cloud of blue smoke once again encircled his head. "I have never heard of it."

-"It's a quite new and secretive organisation, Lord Renfrew. Its members try to keep a low profile, if you see what I mean."

-"Quite comprehensible when one is dealing with paranormal phenomenon. I had no idea that Yell University was interested in this unusual field of activities."

-"It's very popular nowadays in America," I smiled. "You'd be surprised to hear how many times a day Americans all over the States pretend they had launch or played Golf with Abraham Lincoln and Elvis Presley."

Both Lomas and Lord Renfrew laughed. "You Americans are quite unique in a conservative kind of way." As we stood there, enjoying ourselves, a middle-aged man and an elegantly dressed woman approached our small group. Lord Renfrew turned to the two new arrivals. "May I introduce you to our American guest, Dr. Gabriel Knight of Yell University. Dr. Knight, I'd like you to meet Dr. Katie Boyle, our Conference Organiser, and Dr. Christopher Scarre, the Deputy Director of the McDonald Institute." Hands were shaken all around.

-"Mr. Lomas told us that you would be here this evening, Dr. Knight," Scarre said. "I'm pretty sure we've got most of your books at the University library." Sure, Chris boy.

-"I think I read your last study, Dr. Knight." Katie Boyle had an agreeable voice. "Wasn't it about.", she glanced at me expectantly.

-"Reconstructing the Union: Theory and Policy During the American Civil War." Let's see what she would say now, I laughed to myself.

-"Yes," she mumbled. "That must be it. An outstanding work, may I add." If you say so, Katie.

A waiter, holding a silver tray with glasses of Champagne, approached our jovial group. "Would you like some champagne?" He asked.

-"Why not." I took a glass of Champagne and when Lord Renfrew was handed his he placed it on the balcony, untouched, a sudden exhaustion in his face.

-"Tired?" Dr. Katie Boyle asked.

He smiled. "I'm afraid the latest events have worn me off my feet. The funeral will take place next week. As soon as the autopsy is done, they promised to send us his body."

-"Such a dreadful business," Lomas remarked.

Lord Renfrew glanced at me. "Forgive us, Dr. Knight. We are pretty shaken by the sudden death of one of our colleagues."

-"I'm sorry to hear that," I said, suddenly on alert.

-"Dr. Frey was an excellent archaeologist and a dear friend. We will regret him immensely."

-"Dr Frey?" I exclaimed, trying to sound as surprised as possible. "Dr. Russel Frey?"

-"You knew him?" Scarre seemed uncertain.

-"I'd met him on several occasions. He was a charming man, indeed. I had no idea that he passed away."

-"I'm afraid it is rather unusual, Dr. Knight," Lord Renfrew sipped his champagne and looked out over the balcony. "Dr. Frey was murdered two days ago in Munich."

-"Murdered? You must be kidding!"

-"Unfortunately not. A German inspector brought us the sad news yesterday morning. We were completely taken by surprise, as you can imagine." He sipped his champagne.

-"Did they catch his murderer?" Lomas asked.

-"Not yet," Katie replied. "However, the inspector assured us that they were doing all they could to apprehend him as soon as possible."

-"One can never trust the Germans," Lord Renfrew remarked. "I did not trust them in the thirties and I right I was!" He put his empty glass of Champagne on the balcony and pulled out another cigar.

-"By the way, before I forget," Scarre said. "The visiting professor from the Louvre Museum, a fellow named Jerome Hardeley, wants to pay his respects." Scarre pinched his nose in a mock gesture, and imitated a perfect upper-class French accent. "Shall I fetch him?"

Lord Renfrew giggled. "No, take me to him, would you?" He turned to me. "Dr. Knight, it has been a real pleasure. I hope to see you tomorrow if you come by the Institute."

-"Thank you, Lord Renfrew." Hands were shaken again and the director and Dr. Scarre went out. I wanted to bring the conversation back to the Dr. Frey. "I still can't realise that Dr. Frey was murdered."

Katie looked at me, and said honestly. "I couldn't agree more, Dr. Knight. We often read about murders and other crimes on the newspaper, but when it happens to someone you actually know, it simply sounds unbelievable or unfair."

-"What was he doing in Munich?" I asked.

-"We don't really know," Lomas replied. "He said that he wanted to meet a long time friend he hadn't see for many years."

-"Do you know who this man was?"

-"No. As you've probably noticed, Dr. Frey was a very shy and reclusive man. He didn't like talking about his private life. If his daughter weren't working at Cambridge, we wouldn't even know that he had one."

-"He had a daughter?" I asked, a little taken by surprise.

-"You see!" Lomas winked at me. "Dr. Frey was most of the time silent like a tomb. He liked talking about his work and research though."

-"Oriental studies."

-"Yes. He wouldn't answer an every-day question, but if you offered him some kind of 'historical challenge', he could lecture about it for hours."

-"Poor Sarah," Katie intervened. "Russel's daughter, I mean. She wouldn't talk with any of us since her father's death. She refused to come to the party, of course. She only leaves her room when she goes to church."

-"To church?"

-"To St. Andrew's Chapel in the north east corner of Great St. Mary's. Ever since she heard about her father's death she prays there every morning. It has been two days now. Probably will continue doing so until the funeral next week."

Just then Dr. Scarre stepped back to the wooden pavilion. "Katie, Lord Renfrew would like you to meet Professor Jerome Hardeley. Apparently, the French guy looks forward to seeing you." He winked at me. "I wonder why?"

-"Thank you, Christopher." She turned to Lomas and me. "If you'd excuse me, gentlemen. It seems my presence is requested elsewhere." She shook my hand. "I hope to see you again, Dr. Knight." I thanked her.

As I was looking at Dr. Scarre and Dr. Boyle walking through the open veranda door, I noticed a tall man, wearing a pale linen suit, smoking a cigarette and leaning against a marble column. He looked faintly familiar and he directed a darting glance towards me. When he noticed me staring, he disappeared into the crowd.

-"Is something wrong, Dr. Knight?" Lomas asked.

-"Would you excuse me for a moment, Mr. Lomas? I think I've seen someone I'm well acquainted with."

-"By all means. Pray go on."

I made my way through the crowd toward the marble column. I was walking fast. To run would draw attention. Damn! When I reached the marble column, the man was nowhere to be seen. I looked around and noticed a door. I gripped the handle. A mechanism turned with a weighty clank. The door swung open. I looked back. No one seemed to pay any attention to me. Seized with relief, I pushed my way inside. I paused a minute, adjusting my eyes to the darkness within. I was standing in a corridor. My shoes rang on the marble as I walked along the corridor and took a staircase up to the first floor. Turning left, I entered an elegantly vaulted marble corridor with unlocked doors all along. One of them was slightly open. I stepped toward the door and pushed it a little. There was no noise from within. When I entered the room I was hit by a gust of cool air from a wide-opened window. I silently crossed the carpet and reached the window. It overlooked the courtyard of the Faculty of Archaeology. Less than 5 feet separated the window from the ground. Someone could have jumped down and vanished into the darkness. There was nothing more I could do.

When I returned to the ballroom, a band was playing a waltz. I picked up another glass of Champagne. The main body of the ballroom was so packed that dancing was impossible. People stood shoulder to shoulder.

-"Here you are, Dr. Knight!" Someone touched my shoulder. I turned around it was Lomas. "Where have you been?" He asked.

-"Simply chatting with someone I met at Yell University several years ago," I replied, sipping my Champagne. I glanced at my watch discretely. Five to eleven. I should probably have some rest if I wanted to pay an early visit to Great St. Mary's. I put down my empty glass and smiled. "Mr. Lomas, I'm a little tired. I think I'll go back to my hotel. You stay here. Enjoy yourself. I can manage perfectly with a cab."

-"Nonsense," Lomas's eyes twinkled. "I do insist on bringing you back to your hotel. Besides, I'm tired as well." He motioned to a waiter and grabbed two glasses of Champagne. He handed me one glass and raised the other one. "A final toast. To a wonderful evening. May we have many others as successful as this one."

I lifted my glass. "Amen to that!" As I was sipping my Champagne, I suddenly came to realise that the mysterious man near the marble column was no other than the one I had met on the train to Cambridge. Someone had followed me all the way down to England and I had the feeling I would soon discover why.

 

Last update: October 24, 2007


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