False Papers-excerpt from a short story by Austin Mitchell

False Papers

a short story

by Austin Mitchell

    

             Clayton Collins looked at his wife and secretary, Opal. She was a petite woman whom he had married seven years ago. The union had produced two boys and a girl. Both Clayton and Opal  were  in a quandary.

***

            Lascelles Ingram, the Mathematics and Woodwork teacher at the school, had suddenly disappeared. Actually Lascelles had announced that his father had died.  When Clayton as headmaster of the school, suggested that the staff would like to attend his father’s funeral Lascelles  had promptly refused.

***

            “I tell you, Opal. I just don’t understand the man. Why wouldn’t he want us to attend his father’s funeral?” Clayton asked in consternation.

            “Maybe he just likes his privacy and wanted a private funeral for his dad,” Opal replied. She had never liked Lascelles Ingram. Especially after he got fifth former, Nathalie Holmes, pregnant and tried to keep it a secret.

            “His room is locked and has been that way for the past three weeks. I’ve tried to contact his wife, but to no avail,” Clayton stated.

            “Aren’t they divorced, dear and neither of us know her or for that matter anything about her.”

            Lascelles had come to the school as a single man, stating on his resume that he was separated from his wife. They had two children and he had told his interviewers that they still got support from him. Of course, Clayton and the chairman of the school board, Isaiah Mc Pherson, had been his main interviewers. His references had been checked and were found to be outstanding persons in their own fields.

            “I’m going to give him one more week to turn up and then I’m going to call in the police. The students are suffering. It’s a good thing that it’s just two weeks to the end of term.”

            The school was a private high school with some three hundred children on roll. Kempton High was ten years old and had a good reputation for turning out excellent students. Clayton Colins had been with the school for six years now and felt that he was doing a good job. He was fearful that Lascelles Ingram could damage the school’s reputation. His work at previous schools where he had taught was okay. So what could the matter be that Ingram was hiding?

***

            Detective Inspector Fred Reidle sat opposite Clayton in his office.

            “Why would he just disappear like that? It seems strange, after all funerals these days are hardly private affairs. I tell you Mr. Collins, that it would be better for you to get a search warrant and go through his apartment. There must be some clues there about him.”

            Kempton High had built cottages to accommodate all its teachers at a reasonable rent although no boarding was done. The rent was deducted from a teacher’s pay before he or she received their pay so that the school had no late payments for that and other utilities. There were some teachers who complained unceasingly about their utilities, but never Lascelles Ingram.

            “Do you know where he is from? At least you could start there, probably check his high school and college as a background check on him. I’ll assign one of my men to it. You never know what we may come up with,” Reidle said.

            “I’ll appreciate that very much, Inspector. Any help we can get would be most welcome. It’s quite embarrassing not being able to inform the students as to his whereabouts.”

            The two men talked briefly some more before Reidle left.

            Clayton returned to his own work. The holidays were just around the corner. There would be a two week break before summer school would start. Summer school would be for one month and was compulsory for all those students in danger of not moving on to a higher grade in September. Based on the student’s reports and meetings with teachers about seventy five students would have to attend this year. It wasn’t free and many parents had protested against it, but Clayton felt that it was necessary.

            Clayton was going through some copies of some school reports that Saturday when he heard loud noises. He went outside and discerned that they were coming from the guard post. When he went there he found a removal truck parked near the guard post. The driver was remonstrating with the guard.

            “Here is the headmaster. Talk to him, maybe he can help you,” the guard said.

            The man, a slim six footer turned his attention to Clayton. The school gate was still closed. The guard had moved away to his post.

            “Yes sir, what can I do for you?” Clayton asked the man.

            “My name is Aston Duffus. Mr. Ingram, he used to teach at this school and he sent me for his things. This guard doesn’t want to open the gates for me to get the man’s things and he desperately needs them.”

            “Where is Mr. Ingram now, Mr. Duffus? I’d like to know that before I let you into his apartment. I don’t think it would be right for me to let you take his things like that. You tell him that if he wants his things he should come for them,” Clayton told an angry and bewildered Aston Duffus.

            “I can’t tell you where he is. All he did was give me the address of this school and sent me for his things.”

            “Just like that, not even a letter of introduction. How was his father’s funeral?”

            For a moment Duffus seemed confused. Clayton knew he was trying to make up something.

            “It went okay.”

            “I still feel sad that he didn’t see it fit to invite the staff.”

            “I don’t know why he didn’t invite you and your staff to his father’s funeral. Look all he did was send me for his things. Since you’re in charge here and don’t want to give them to me, I think I’d better leave.”

            “Tell him he can come for his things anytime he wants them and we have two month’s pay for him too,” Clayton shouted after Duffus as the man jumped into his truck and started reversing it towards the main road. Clayton made sure that he took the license number of Duffus’ truck just in case.

            Two weeks later and Clayton was at a seminar in Ocho Rios when he got a call late in the evening. Lascelles Ingram had come for his things. He had brought the police from Kingston and took his belongings out of his apartment. It was a Friday evening and Opal and the kids had come down to spend the weekend in Ocho Rios. Clayton was caught in a quandary.

            He called Inspector Reidle and relayed to him what had happened. The Inspector said he’d try to find out which police station had authorized Ingram to take his things.

            Clayton drove home his family from Ocho Rios that Monday evening. Opal and the kids said that they were tired and went to bed. Clayton was watching television when his telephone rang. He went and picked it up.

            “Is this Mr. Clayton Collins, the headmaster of Kempton High. Listen, boss, Lascelles Ingram came for his things and got them. He doesn’t owe you any money and the two checks you have for him you can keep them. If I were you I would forget about him,” the man at the other end of the phone said before hanging up.

            Clayton stood there staring at the receiver in shock. He knew that it was a threat. He didn’t wake up Opal to tell her about it that night.

            “A man called me last night, telling me to back off the Lascelles Ingram case,” he told Opal as they breakfasted that morning minus the kids.

            “You’ll have to report it to the police, dear,” Opal advised.” Would you be able to identify the voice?”

            “It wasn’t Lascelles and it wasn’t that man, Aston Duffus,” he told her.

            “Well, report it to the police and we have to be careful. Has the police come up with anything yet?”

            “No, they haven’t but they’re still working on it.”

            The summer school was two weeks on and everything was going on quite well. In the third week a Detective Sergeant Patrick Dennis called on Clayton. It was a Tuesday morning.

            “Do you want us to continue the case? After all, you haven’t brought any charges against him. For all we know he could be in another part of the country. Once we find out where he is we’ll get one our men to monitor him,” the young policeman said.

            Clayton knew that the policeman was telling him that they were getting nowhere and that he should leave it as is.

            “Sergeant, I can’t tell the police how to operate. If you feel that there is nothing more to it then that’s it then,” he told the sergeant.

            “There is just one thing I’d like and that is a photocopy of all his certificates and his recommendations. I guess that’s where we should have started,” he said.

            Clayton called one of the clerks and she got busy on the photocopy machine while he filled in the Sergeant about the school. When the clerk was finished, she put the photocopies in an envelope and the policeman took it and left.  Clayton thought that maybe that was the last they were seeing of Sergeant Dennis or Inspector Reidle for that matter.

            Finally summer school was over and Clayton was glad for the break, although he was still at school during the holidays.

            Clayton was in his office one Tuesday afternoon when he got a call. It was Opal, she couldn’t find Carl, their eldest son.

            “Have you called the police, Opal?” he asked and when she replied in the negative he told her to call them and he was on his way. He practically ran from his office, telling Alrick Atland, the school’s dean of discipline to lock up for him. He told him that something was wrong with one of his sons.

            As he turned a corner, he saw a car parked. He saw it coming behind him and realized that something was wrong. He turned on an unpaved road and thought maybe he’d made a mistake. Then he remembered that Stanford Daley lived up here and he was sure to be at home. Stanford was the chemistry teacher at Kempton High. The car was following him. Clayton continued driving until he saw Stanford’s driveway coming up and he saw that the man’s car was parked on the roadside and he pulled into the driveway. The car went past him and went up the road and stopped but nobody came out.

            Then, before Clayton could get out of his car, his cell phone rang.

            “Clayton, if you pull the police off the case we’ll return your son to you,” the man said. The car spun around and shot past him and he saw one of the men in the car pointing a gun in his direction and he ducked but the man didn’t fire and soon the car was gone.

            Stanford and his wife, Selma, were at their gate.

            “What’s the matter, Clayton?” Stanford asked.

            “Opal just told me that they’ve taken away Carl. I was just on my way home when I saw that car following me. I took this road leading to your home, saw your driveway and pulled into it. Before I could get out of the car they called to warn me to pull the police off Lascelles’ case or else I’ll never see Carl again,” Clayton reported.

            “I never trusted that guy, Ingram. I always felt that he was up to something dishonest, especially after he got the Holmes’ girl pregnant,” Stanford said.

            “I have to go and see how Opal and the kids are doing. I told her to call the police. Only hope that she did.”

            “We’ll go with you, Clayton. Wait until we lock up the house,” Stanford told him.

Read the full story in 'Going to the Bush to cut Firewood' or in 'Days up the River'.