The Case of the Cuddle Chapter 9

A/N: What was planned as a quickie chapter to be knocked off this afternoon in order bridge a narrative gap has morphed into two. What follows may be a bit rough and less polished than my usual, but it needed to come out. Took a bit of a run up, though, so sorry for the delay everyone. Thank again for all your support. Please keep reviewing, as it keeps me writing!

Warning: mention of violent rape and bullying

'Oh, Dr Armstrong, I'm so sorry,' Sylvia wittered, wringing her hands. 'I just couldn't stop him!'

'What are you talking about?'

'He's in there, Headmaster, that man, in your office, he just barged-'

'I'll deal with this, thank you,' he said, patting her on the shoulder. She was a dreadfully inefficient personal assistant, but a very kind person and good with the boys, and since he had inherited her from his predecessor, he didn't feel he could sack her. Besides, things were bad enough at the moment without major staff changes. They all had to stick together until this hideous Lasky business was over.

He tucked his copy of the Telegraph under his arm, strode into his office and shut the door.

'Good morning, I understand you wanted to see me,' he said, and then turned around.

A tall, impeccably dressed man was standing in the corner, deeply engrossed in the contents of the filing cabinets that held the boy's personal records, past and present.

'Hey, you can't do that!'

'Interesting,' the man said, not turning a hair. 'I've found myself but I can't seem to find Peter Lasky. Why is that, do you think?' He turned and held Armstrong's eyes with a stare so preternatural that anything thought of resistance went clean out of the headmaster's head.

'Are you with the police,' he finally managed to stumble.

'Oh, no,' the man smiled, and Dr Armstrong decided the smile was even worse that the stare. 'I'm far worse than that.'

He drew his hands from the filing drawer, long, slender, pale fingers, Armstrong noticed, and a signet ring worn on his little finger. He closed the drawer, stalked across the room and pulled an identification wallet from his pocket to flash at the headmaster. Confused, Armstrong saw little more than a few letters.

'MI5, MI6, Home Offi…'

It was worse than he had ever imagined. He sank into his chair. The visitor seemed to take this as an invitation, and folded his elegant form into the armchair in front of the fireplace, from where he could easily see the desk behind which the headmaster sat.

'What does MI6 want here?' Armstrong's voice had reduced to a dry rasp.

The man gave him what might be called an 'old-fashioned' look. 'Oh, please, Dr Armstrong, you and I both know that places like this are a grooming-ground for people of my profession.' He glanced at the front of the paper that Armstrong had dropped in the desk. 'Ah, yes, the Lasky case, another old boy. No doubt it is giving you some trouble at present?'

Armstrong swallowed.

'Yes, well, I'm sure the parents who have withdrawn their little darlings from your establishment will see the error of their ways extremely quickly.' The man sat back and made himself comfortable.

'What do you want?' Armstrong croaked.

The man steepled his fingers in a way that suggested it was habitual.

'In 1986, Peter Lasky and another boy, James Nicholls, committed a violent rape on a first year here. The boy in question nearly died. Your predecessor saw fit to cover the matter up. In fact, he all but expelled the victim, accusing him of being an unsettling influence on the other boys. All of which means that I am hardly surprised to find no record of it in your files.'

Armstrong nearly choked. 'That's horrific. I hope you realise I would never-'

The man held up his hand to stop the denial. 'I am well aware of your fine record in the school, Dr Armstrong. In fact, I know a lot about you. Pretty much everything, I am happy to say.'

A chilling smile spread across his face. Armstrong's gut turned over and twisted. He instantly knew beyond any doubt that this was so far from being a man who could be crossed that he was practically on a different continent. The spy raised an eyebrow, having apparently detected the realisation in Armstrong's features. He went on:

'You and I both have the same interests at heart: the wellbeing of the boys here. We both want to ensure they get the best and safest of educations available. Do we not?'

Armstrong nodded, gripping onto the arms of his chair so hard his knuckles turned white.

'Your predecessor, Dr McEvitt, cared more about the school's reputation. However, he is long since retired and dead – though quite which came first I was never able to judge, having had the distressing experience of being taught by him myself!'

This attempt at wit did nothing to relax Armstrong.

'I'm sorry to say that the sexual assault by Lasky and Nicholls was not the only occurrence in the school at the time. It transpires that the boy who was attacked had suffered an entire term of vicious sexual assaults every night by other boys – so far I have managed to track down twenty-two of them, but I estimate there may have been as many as thirty involved. I shall, of course, be paying each of them a personal visit in time, just to be sure they are keeping on, shall we say, the straight and narrow in their adult lives.

'Dr McEvitt's failure to punish Lasky resulted in his going on to rape and sexually abuse dozens of other children. As I am sure you have read. It is perfectly possible that similar laxness of punishment may have resulted in the moulding of other, equally depraved individuals. We want to avoid that in future, don't we, Dr Armstrong?'

Armstrong nodded stiffly.

'What I am advocating is that you should establish a zero-tolerance approach to bullying in all forms in your school. So many voices were not heard. This must not happen again. Even the slightest instance must receive the most aggressive response. Do I make myself clear?'

Armstrong nodded again.

'No doubt, your official statement to the press on the subject will make you a cheerleader amongst anti-bullying campaigners, and result in both you and the school being held up as paragons in the field of education. I am sure you will benefit enormously from taking such a stand.'

'Do I have a choice?' he finally managed.

The man frowned. 'On the whole, I think not. Don't you?'

'A culture of turning a blind eye cannot be allowed to stand, I'm sure you agree,' he went on, getting up and brushing a little fluff off his exquisite suit. 'I shall be watching with great interest.'

Armstrong struggled to his feet, desperate for the man to be out of his door as soon as possible. The spy came forward and looked into his eyes again, with that terrifying prescience.

'I have lived a complex life, Headmaster,' he said. 'I have met many people who have done evil and depraved things. On the whole, experience has taught me that people are not born evil, but become so by conditioning. With Peter Lasky I would definitely make an exception. I have never looked into eyes more cold and dead. I have seen to it, personally, that he is receiving just punishment, but I also know that he would not have become what he is today had he not had the effective collusion of those who refused to listen to his victims. I am sure you will hear those boys in your sleep from now on, Dr Armstrong. I am sure their cries will drive you to excel in the care of every child who attends this school in future.'

The man took Armstrong's cold, clammy hand in his, and shook it.

'Goodbye, Headmaster,' he said. 'I've enjoyed our little meeting. I shall look forward to seeing you again.'

And then he was gone.

Sylvia peeped around the door. 'Would you like your morning coffee now, Headmaster?'

'Go away,' Armstrong told her, shaking.

Tomorrow, the reality of Sherlock's flashbacks...