I step towards her desk, waiting for her to pause her typing. However, when she spins in her chair, her gaze doesn’t lift from the cluttered desk beside her. Mountains of files cover the surface, with abandoned coffee mugs dotted in between. She thumbs through the stack, carelessly tossing aside a paper-filled binder. With a quick lunge, I grab one of the coffee mugs before it goes tumbling off the desk, alerting Dr Radcliffe to my presence.
“Hello Natalie, I didn’t hear you come in.” She looks down at the mug in my hand. “Did Harry send you in with a fresh cup of coffee, by any chance?”
“Erm, not exactly.” I point towards the mugs on her desk. “It looks like you’ve had a few cups already.”
Dr Radcliffe seems oblivious to her disarray. I respect her too much to let her leave the office in her current state, so I give a gentle cough and then point towards the front of my blouse showing my neat row of buttons. Dr Radcliffe looks down, flushing in complete mortification.
“I don’t know what’s come over me, Natalie. Actually, that isn’t true. I know exactly what my issue is. It’s crime. And unfilled vacancies for critical roles. What I don’t know is why this is happening. I’ve tried every solution I can think of, nothing is working.”
After setting the mug in a safe position on the nearby coffee table, I slide into one of Dr Radcliffe’s visitor chairs. “I’m sure it is a temporary blip. These things happen every day and everywhere.”
“Not here, Natalie. We’ve never had so many incidents in such a short window of time. The only saving grace at the moment is that the situation appears to be worse at Iffley College. They’ve had three employees walk out without a word of explanation, and someone has stolen the founder’s portrait from the dining hall. What would they even do with such a thing? I don’t have a clue.”
She quickly re-buttons her blouse and uses her reflection in her computer monitor to tidy her hair. The office is still in shambles, but at least she looks more like her normal powerhouse self. “I spoke with the Chief Inspector this morning, asking for an update on their investigation. He hemmed and hawed, but it was clear they don’t have the first clue who killed Chef Smythe.”
I lean in close, “What did you say to him? Are they still looking into the matter or have they given up?”
Dr Radcliffe flushes, pink rising from her neck to her cheeks. “Our exchange became heated. I made it clear that slowing the investigation was out of the question, promising I’d phone our MP if needed. Unfortunately, he replied in kind, threatening to hold interrogations for all of our students and staff if I didn’t back off and let him do his job.”
“Interrogating everyone here? That would be utter chaos.” I don’t have to fake the shiver that runs down my back.
“The absolute worst, Natalie. If they open up the suspect pool to over a thousand individuals, they might as well take out a front-page advert announcing that they don’t have any idea who committed the crime. We’ll lose more staff, students will stop applying, donations will slow. It will take us years to recover from such a situation.”
I came in here hoping to convince Dr Radcliffe of the urgency of the situation, but it doesn’t look like it will take much effort. Time to see if she will support my plan to seek out the culprit.
“Dr Radcliffe, maybe there is something I can do to help.”
She arches her eyebrow, an invitation for me to continue.
“I bumped into Edward Thomas yesterday, outside our building. He mentioned the laboratory had identified traces of mud from the Cotswolds on the kitchen doormat.”
Dr Radcliffe crosses her arms, “Yes, the Chief Inspector mentioned it on our call. But I don’t see how you can help with that.”
I shift up straighter in my seat, “I was out in the Cotswolds yesterday, where I met our veg vendor. Mrs Johnston? I went to see if they might know another chef we could contact about catering the gala dinner.”
Pausing for a breath, I can see a spark of curiosity in Dr Radcliffe’s eyes. “I was rinsing the mud off my wellies when I ran into Edward. He seemed fairly convinced that Mrs Johnston’s husband would be a good candidate as a suspect in the murder. I pushed him to contact the police, but he didn’t seem to be in any rush to do so.”
Dr Radcliffe huffs, “No one is in a rush. I doubt Edward spoke with the Inspector. He didn’t mention the Johnstons at all. I can’t believe I didn’t think of him myself. It’s a testament to how crazy things have been here that I forgot about Mr Johnston and his complaints about Chef Smythe completely.”
Good, I’ve got her intrigued. Time to move to the next step. “I know it’s unusual, but I managed to bond with Mrs Johnston yesterday. I could go out there, maybe speak with her husband this time…”
“No, Natalie, absolutely not. If Mr Johnston is a suspect, it’s too dangerous for you to go out there on your own. I’ll phone Edward, he can go. He’s probably more qualified than the police, anyway.”
Send Edward? That won’t do. He’s much too lackadaisical about the matter, not to mention his people skills are lacking. I need to act fast; Dr Radcliffe is reaching for the phone. “What if I went along with him?”
“What? Why would you go out there again?” She’s not convinced, but at least she’s stopped dialling.
“The Johnston’s have had rough treatment from St Margaret of late, the only way I got Mrs Johnson to come around was by telling her I’m a new hire. Edward
