Wrongful Dismissal

Chapter 4

A week later Mason drove up to the house of the victim's mother. Mason was alone this time.

"Mrs. Montcliffe, I am Mason Adams." Handing her his business card. "I am helping the police with the investigation of your son's murder."

He could see immediately that she was a strong woman that had had the stuffing knocked out of her. She let him into the house. They sat in the living room.

"It was no murder! It was an assassination!" She said very strongly with great conviction. Almost shouting.

Mason always sat up straighter and believed what people told him when they were strong and calm. It was a sign of the truth. There was no wavering. There was no weakness in this woman. She was strong.

"Why do you feel that way, Mrs. Montcliffe?"

"He just got his doctorate. I recently found out that there is a post opened at the university. Let's just say that there are a few people that are ......" She stopped, swallowed hard, to compose herself, "......were threatened and intimidated by my son. He was very well known.... a famous person. Very capable. When he finished teacher's college the first job he got was at St. Thomas Primary School. They gave him the dunce class believing that he would fail and have to fail all the children too." She stopped again.

Mason had learned something very early in his career and in his life. He had to let people talk. Especially those that are distressed or have had a loss of a loved one, a dear one. He got more information that way than if he asked a plethora of questions.

He waited.

She continued.

"Did you talk to the students at the university?" She asked.

"Yes! They are all distraught over what happened. In shock. To say the least." He exaggerated.

"I am sure that they told you how wonderful he was as a teacher and a friend. Didn't they?"

"Yes! They did at that."

"Well, they lost ten people when they killed him." She was bitter. Rightly so. Mason waited. "He was the technology teacher AND he taught the teachers. But, he helped so many, many people in so many ways. Every time they had a function he was the one that organized it. Did all the decoration of whatever hall they were using. He was involved in the drama class and was a choreographer for the theater arts students. He choreographed the university choir too. He loved music, singing and dance." She smiled at that thought. She shook her head remembering and smiling, "He loved to dance." She started to laugh. "He didn't get paid for anything extra that he did. He did it from the heart for the good of the students and the school. They didn't appreciate him as they should have."

She was jumping all over the place in her story but Mason understood that would happen as the woman was very upset, naturally.

"When he was at the primary school he did so much for the students. He was very strict you know, very strict. But when he got there the walls were all painted grey. He walked into the classroom and it was dreary and ugly. A couple of weeks later, on a Monday morning the students walked into the class to find one wall was bright orange and one bright yellow, the next wall lime green and the next bright blue. It changed the mood and attitude of the students. In one corner of the classroom there was a colourful reading center full of books. In another corner there was an art center where the children could hang up their art work. He had the desks arranged in groups of four. The children had to face each other and work in teams."

Mason was a good listener. Mrs. Montcliffe looked up from her rambling to see if he was still listening to her. She was calmed by the expression on his face. He really had empathy and it showed. She felt that he cared sincerely about this whole thing. She continued.

"They gave him the dunce class you know?" She was repeating herself. Understood. "They thought he would fail. Many wanted him to fail. But he passed and so did the children. They all got honors by the end of the year. Everything that boy touched turned to gold. People above him always hated that. He made them look bad because he was so good at what he did, at everything he did. He outshined them all and they hated him for it. They. Hated. Him. For. It!" She was a very dramatic strong pointing for every one of those words she said at the end to be emphatic.

A light went on in Mason's head!

'Interesting.' He said to himself.

She had been speaking for a while. Then had to pull out photo albums full of pictures of Ceyon. As Mason started looking at the pictures Mrs. Montcliffe started crying. The crying turned into sobs. Mason just sat there quietly and put his hand on her shoulder. That is all that he could do. When that passed he gently asked her a question.

"Do you know a Melissa Calloway?"

Mason was not ready for the explosion and verbal onslaught that came after that question.

"Rotten no good!" Shouted Ceyon's mother.

"How?" Mason asked a huge question with one word.

"She wanted to marry Ceyon. Trying to persuade him to have an affair with her. He wasn't interested. She tried to be with him everywhere he went. She always went to Kingston with him, always. He went to Kingston on Friday. She didn't go. Why?....Why?" Now she looked angry and found her strength again. "Just ask the question, why? Just ask yourself why? You will figure it all out."

Mason was adding this information to what he already had received from the inspector about Melissa. Mrs. Montcliffe was leading to something.

"She wanted to have an affair with him. He told me all the time. She asked him to marry her. He didn't want that. He told her that he was already married. She was angry with him about that. They were only friends but she wanted more.

No one called me on Friday or Saturday or Sunday to say they had not heard from Ceyon. They claim that they are friends with him; they call him their best friend and claimed that he is always at their houses eating and being father to their children but NO ONE called me to ask where he was. They all spoke everyday but why all of a sudden they are not calling him on Friday or Saturday or Sunday and then they were calling me because on Monday they couldn't reach him. They knew that Ceyon and I were very close, very close. They all know me and I know them all. They all have my number. They know just how close Ceyon and I were. We were like best friends. He told me everything. Melissa told the police that she was trying to call him on Monday but didn't reach him and left a message. He always returns his calls if there is a voicemail. Why didn't she call me so I could check on him? Why? Ask people why Mr. Adams."

"When did they sound the alarm?' Mason knew already but wanted to hear it from her.

"Monday morning when he didn't come to class. He was never late. Never missed a day. If there was anything that came up and he was not able to be on time because he was out of town driving back he would call. He always respected his appointments. He respected his job, his students, people in general. He respected time."

"Thank you Mrs. Montcliffe for your help when you didn't need to be helpful. I am very sorry for your loss." He was being sincere and she knew it. "I am going to try my best to find out who did this. The police have called me in for that reason alone."

Mason stood up to leave. Put his hand on her shoulder consolingly and left.

'All these people who claim to be best friends with Ceyon Montcliffe didn't call his mother when they could not reach him on the phone for the whole weekend.' Mason continued to make mental notes. 'Like his mother said, he was the kind of man that never went without his phone or without answering his phone or returning a call.

Mason called Timar.

"Call the university administrator and ask them what their enrollment percentages this year over last? Call me right back."

"Will do." Timar said.

Timar called back thirty minutes later.

"Enrollment is ninety-eight percent this year. Last year it was ninety percent. Why?"

"Nothing......" His 'nothing' sounded faded, weak, absentminded. "Thanks for getting that information for me." Mason disconnected and stared into space for a while thinking about that.