Mudd came into the kitchen space.
“Here is a handwritten letter for you,” he said. “Very unusual in this day and age. I don’t think I have received a real letter for over ten years! How extraordinary. Of course I receive thousands of the electronic sort but they don’t count. Any fool can type a few words on a keyboard and press send – and they invariably do. But a letter shows time, effort and a modicum of intelligence. When I was practicing, I used to get lovely letters from my patients. My sister used to pin them up on a corkboard by the stairs. Some used to send me pieces of scar tissue wrapped in colored paper. What delightful times! Of course there was some hate mail from time to time. My sister put those on the “naughty board” just in case we needed evidence in court. I think everyone is harassed by mail at some stage in their lives. I had one rather persistent writer who insisted he was going to “fix you like you fixed my wife.” I ignored it of course – probably some prankster.
Jim took the letter. On the back was the official Clundon stamp. He opened it and read.
Botcher, you fool,
How could you blow your education away like that? I cannot begin to fathom how you sank to such depths of sexual depravity. Was it the climate, the mountain air, the altitude perhaps? It would certainly make an excellent study paper. I truly believe you are the victim of some viscous trap laid by one of our capitalist enemies. They know that climate change is having a negative impact on the lichen colonies and wanted to prevent you from revealing the truth to the world. I am convinced of it.
I have been offered a position at the newly created Cyber Criminal Defense Operations SWOT Unit and will start next month. One of my first private projects will be to find the perpetrator of this disgusting crime.
I visited the Osprey sanctuary last Saturday. Old John was looking a little underfed. I put ten pounds in the box and told the keeper to up his rations. You should have been there.
PS. – Are you really working for a software company? I read an excellent article last week titled “The Dark Arts of Coding.” I would love to spend a day in the fish tank with you. I need to get my hands dirty. I have had enough theory; now it is time for the practice.
“Take a look at this,” said Jim, passing Mudd the letter.
“Interesting,” he said after reading it twice. “I don’t think your friend should visit us here. Mr Angus is not keen on visitors, especially if they work for the government.”
“And what about the investigation into my little incident?”
“I think that part is fine. Wouldn’t you like to know who set you up?”
“I´m not sure. It might make things worse.”
The siren went off for the afternoon meeting. In the glass cube, Jim passed the letter to Plunkett.
“What do you think?”
“Let him track them down and bring those bastards to justice! Clear your name! May the trolls of the world unite against this virtual scum and drag them into the stinking pits of Arangoll!”
“Hmmm,” said Jim.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish