The loud and energetic anthem sung by the students and professors alike marked the unearthly day that brought down the pillar of the Chetford Institute. The annual function headed off with a zest of hundreds of motivated students, who were on the field to compete on a non-academic platform.
As the event began, six teams represented by different classes and courses took their corners on the open ground that was central to the two tall buildings that housed mediocre facilities of books and IT for the students who paid enormously for the education. To the outside world, the monetary demands of the institute was worth its name and face value in the job market, filling the hearts of the young men and women with hopes of a secured life post the education at Chetford.
As the event progressed, the organization was being handled magnificently. The games started on time; the teams that held the scores and schedule of the event did their job with impressive efficiency. At lunch, the professors returned to their chairs under the shade of a giant tree that stood solitary in the edge of the ground.
“Are the students not doing an excellent job?” The Assistant Head of the Institute Ms. Madson said in a rhetorical tone, clearly impressed by her students.
“They sure are. To me, they are already managers,” replied Bhackin, the head, zestfully, while munching from her plate, the delicious Sunday meal.
“The students from the Class B are clearly dominating the charts in every game. Only wish they did the same in their upcoming examinations,” said Prof. Khades in a lighter tone.
Minutes after that little conversation, they were immersed in the joyful competition of young men in the game of football. The next few minutes changed the fate and the mood of the event as well as of the Institute. As soon as the lunch was devoured, Bhackin felt uneasy, struggling with her breathing, as she threw her empty plate away in the moments of absolute helplessness and fell down on the ground on her face. Before anyone could register the horror that she was going through inside her body, she was dead. In front of hundreds of people, she lay on the ground, dirtied by the soil and insulted by her trust on the ones around, one of who killed her.
“A murder inside a college, you say?” Freemont raised his eyebrows, expressing a mild shock.
“Yes, sir,” replied Willy promptly as he was excited to go on such an interesting case with his boss and the best detective in the town, Svent Freemont.
Svent Freemont arrived at the crime scene, which was gloomy to the skin of it. It was not unusual for him to breathe in this kind of melancholy that was in the air on that Sunday afternoon. Some students cried, some were aloof and apathetic. Some professors sat next to the dead body, while some stood by with a stern expression on their faces. Willy made note of every valuable information that he could gather.
Upon instructions, Willy barred the entry and the exit of the premises. The rest of the police force joined in to keep the crowd in check. Willy went into the crowd and started interviewing several students individually about what they saw, and their relationship with the Head of the Institute, Mrs. Bhackin.
Meanwhile, Freemont requested the professors to avail him a free room, where interrogations could be held. Being assured of this being an inside job, he hoped to nudge the ones closest to the victim—the professors.
Prof. Shieve, an ex-Air Force cadet, had decided to take it upon himself to teach the lessons of morality, righteousness and ethics to the students—the future of the nation. “I am shocked,” said Prof. Shieve with an unnatural air of emotional expression. Freemont expected him to be stern and in control of his emotions as he had served the national Air Force. Svent was disappointed at Prof. Shieve’s dramatic reaction. Professor used a very controlling tone over his defense and the dismay that consumed him upon losing his idol.
The next in the queue was Prof. Khades, a mastermind in the Computer studies, who was a passionate professor with a clear, yet a hyper temperament. “I do not have anything to say except that she had her own ways of dealing with difficult situations, but she was an excellent leader. She has held this Institute together for decades.”
Ms. Madson, took a while to adjust in the chair in front of Svent Freemont. She was medically obese, and to make her balance worse, she was sobbing profusely at the loss of the Head of the Institute, with him she had very close ties. Freemont was not able to learn much from her, besides the fact that she was with Mrs. Bhackin since the morning. Freemont was absolutely clueless at the end of the three interviews.
Willy joined Freemont in the interrogation room, and they both took their time in discussing the matter, trying to reach to an acceptable theory behind it. Freemont looked outside the window and saw the ambulance carefully take out the lifeless body of Mrs. Bhackin, still with her glasses on her face that appeared pale. Her soon-to-be white hair were neatly buckled, giving her a strict appearance, which passed away along with her. Who would poison her, and how?
“The students I inquired have a very harsh opinion about this Institute and Mrs. Bhackin.” Willy was walking across the room, with a visible tension in his voice and demeanour. “Gathering all the information I received from various students, this Institute’s public image is a hokum. The promises of job placement and eye-catching number of zeros in the salary promises have attracted students from various corners of the country, but however, not one student is in accord with the Institute’s promises.” Freemont was keenly listening. “The Chetford institute is a giant spider web, luring students with its politically bolstered image of consistency and excellence, and the political influence is so high, that the voice of the students gets suppressed before it reaches the outside world. It has ridiculously high standards that suck the students dry, and to add to it, the penalties that the students are made to pay are monetary, which pressurizes them to follow the harshly set rules, considering the mercilessness of Mrs. Bhackin. Some of the students have not received their degree certificate due to their outstanding monetary dues that was blindly imposed on them, unforgivably.”
Freemont’s head was in a gear now, listening to Willy carefully as Willy continued with his comments. “Clearly, students don’t hold a very nice impression for Mrs. Bhackin. They have an appropriate motive to end her life— the root of their problems that decides their fate. This is was an excellent chance to poison her as they were in charge of everything today in the event. The food, the games and the maintenance.”
“There is a fair chance, Willy that one or some of the students planned this murder. However, this kind of planning and execution requires sensibility and genius, and no genius would want to take such a risk with their lives, when they know that the unfair treatment by the Institute will last for only two years.” Willy was not prepared to hear what came next.
“The ones who have to live under the tyranny of highly political, controlling and manipulative Head of the Institute are her colleagues.” Willy was shaken at the possibility of it. “Willy, let us review the camera recording that captured the moments before her death. I am certain it is one of them. Let us hunt for the proof.”
The recording played from several minutes before the professors got up to get their lunch. They came back to the seat and nothing seemed abnormal to Freemont. While munching down the meal, Prof. Khades got up and resumed back to her seat after a short break. Nothing seemed amiss. And then it happened. Mrs. Bhackin fell down on the ground, throwing her plate away in despair that she went through in her final moments.
Frustration mounted Freemont’s face as he scanned through the entire video for eight times. He closed his eyes and let the pictures play in the back of his eye, letting his mind do all the work. Willy sat there quietly, lost in the baffling puzzle. Svent’s phone rang. It was the department of forensics, who had a report of the poison that killed Mrs. Bhackin. Poison X. Freemont had heard about Poison X from his colleague, who described the classified information regarding the high-tech chemical weapons that the National Military was designing for the Secret Agents of the nation. Prof. Shieve. Freemont had a smile on his face, as the case came closer to completion.
Freemont watched the entire video for the ninth time, and this time he saw it. The answer was right there in front of his eyes all the time. Everything made sense. “Willy, arrest them all.”
Willy did not go immediately. He was very keen on learning why Freemont ordered him to go for all three of them.
Freemont rewound the video and showed Willy a glitch that ran for a little moment. It was easy for an untrained eye to overlook it. Freemont did not miss that tiny error this time that Prof. Khades made in pausing the video for less than half a second, and resuming the recording as it is. This subtle pause was shrewdly planned. She had got up to go to the control room, as she had access and the skill that was necessary to hamper with the recording. That small pause was enough for Ms. Madson to poison her food and get back to her original position, making it appear like she did not move one bit. Even with a use of wireless communication devices, the timeliness of the planning was commendable. The poison that Prof. Shieve had made arrangements of from his Military contacts, was one of an experimental kind that does not show any reaction on the dead body, making it look like a natural death!
“Did they really think that they would get away with this murder?” Willy asked with a hint of disgust in his tone.
“They would have for today, at least, if it were not for the tiny little mistake that Prof. Khades made. Later, their political status and influence could have taken them far from this case in a matter of phone calls, Willy. We just got lucky.”