Chapter Five - Richard Bellamy
CHAPTER FIVE
Richard Bellamy
DR. RICHARD BELLAMY stepped out of his car into the morning buzz of Summit State University. He clutched his leather briefcase in one hand and a paper cup of coffee in the other. He breathed in the frosty morning air as he took another sip of the unsweetened coffee, making a mental note to buy creamer on his way home. He clicked the fob and his white BMW gave a chirp, one of the few luxuries he allowed himself. He exited the faculty parking lot, his reserved parking spot only a few minutes walk to the Henderson Psychology Building —a perk of being dubbed an Anita Sibley-Palmer Endowed Professor of Psychological Sciences.
The Sibley-Palmer endowed professorship was a highly coveted title awarded to only a few faculty on-campus for major contributions to their fields of study. Anita Sibley-Palmer had been a major donor to Summit State University and her estate had funded many projects on campus. The university’s performing arts center was preparing an unveiling of the S ibley-Palmer Center for the Performing Arts.
To the chagrin of his colleagues, Bellamy was sure to note in faculty meetings he was one of five endowed professors across campus and the only one in the Department of Clinical and Neuropsychology. He enjoyed the surge of superiority when he was able to shoehorn it into a conversation. Alongside a handsome travel budget, the title provided him with a dedicated parking pass to the most exclusive faculty lot on campus with a few other added benefits.
He reached the large promenade of the sprawling campus which was alive with motion. Students crossed pathways in clusters, bikes weaved in between them, and the hum of excited conversations mingled with the occasional bark of a student on a motorized scooter jetting across campus.If Bellamy had to describe the students in a word, it would be, “fine.” Bright enough, but they lacked the ambition he had grown accustomed to during his time at Harvard. He missed the ferocious intellect and near-cutthroat attitude students brought with them to his lab. He had taken it for granted. Mediocrity had become his new normal.
There were many things that he missed about his time in the Ivy League. But his research had taken interesting new directions and the Harvard board of trustees had grown leery of the press he was bringing to the school. Not to mention growing concern about Bellamy’s relationship with his research assistants. There were whispers of “inappropriate boundaries” with students. Bellamy knew what they said in their hushed gossip. They had suspected him of a romantic tryst with an undergraduate. Quietly accused of sexual impropriety with his subordinates.
The thought was laughable. What sexual favor could a feeble psychology undergraduate give to Bellamy that would be worth throwing away decades of his career?
Nothing.
Bellamy held himself above everyone including sniveling, overprivileged Ivy League students. Why would he settle for sex with a student, when women threw themselves at him during his lecture tours? There was no shortage of women ready to take Bellamy to bed.
He resisted them easily, there was only one woman for him.
A magnificent woman.
A perfect woman.
But she was gone now.
Bellamy sighed as he tugged the lapels of his tweed blazer and made his way across the central quad. Rays of golden sunlight glinted off the windows of the Summit Spire, the campus bell tower standing proud and handsomely at the heart of it all.A group of students had gathered at the base of the spire, their laughter rang through the quad. A nearby student in a hoodie handed out flyers for some ridiculous sustainability effort, his voice lost among the throngs of other students.
Summit State University, or SSU as the students called it, was a small but dynamic and growing respectable institution. Located between Boulder and Denver, Colorado, it straddled both urban and suburban landscapes. The campus offered a unique blend of accessibility and retreat.
As Bellamy traversed his walk to the Henderson Building a few students waved at him — a rather half-hearted gesture from those who recognized him as their professor, yet never dared speak to him directly. He didn’t wave back, instead, he focused his mind on the day's tasks ahead.
The Henderson Building sat at the eastern edge of campus, it was a modern structure with large glass walls that seemed perpetually smudged from the students. Bellamy swiped his ID badge at the entrance and stepped into the familiar cool air of the lab wing. A scent of industrial cleaner was detectable in the air, but after 15 years on the faculty at SSU, Bellamy hardly noticed. He walked down a long corridor before reaching the entrance to his lab, the words Bellamy Neurocognition Lab were written on a handsome brass plaque at the eye line of the door. Stepping into the lab, the familiar faint hum of the equipment greeted him. A sound he preferred far more to the chatter of excitable undergraduates. He made his way through the lab towards the back where his office lay.
Pulling his phone from the inner breast pocket of his tweed jacket, his thumb scrolled through his inbox past the usual administrative hoopla. Emails from the faculty senate inviting him to give a talk to early career researchers and new faculty on seeking federal grants, prospective students asking about potential space in his lab next year, and an assortment of other emails. One email caught his eye, Dean Kerrigan: Request for Meeting.
Bellamy's steps slowed as he reached his desk, he clicked open the email. The message was brief, the tone clipped.
Dr. Bellamy,
Please come to my office at your earliest convenience to discuss recent concerns.
Best,
Regina Kerrigan, PhD
Dean of Henderson College of Health & Psychological Sciences
Bellamy dropped his briefcase on his desk. The fluorescent lights above cast a hard shadow across his face. He felt his jaw tighten.
“Concerns,” he uttered to himself, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. He imagined Kerrigan sitting in her overstuffed leather chair, her sharp ugly features twisted into a perpetual sneer. Dean Kerrigan was no fan of Bellamy, but the feeling was mutual.
Bellamy considered ignoring the meeting request. He had lectures to prepare and students to manage. Not to mention the mounting pile of data from his latest experiment to review. A meeting with Kerrigan was the last thing on his mind. But Bellamy couldn’t shake the tone of the email — maybe it was Kerrigan herself that made him hesitate. Usually, it was the Dean’s administrative assistant who contacted the faculty to arrange meetings. This email came directly from Kerrigan herself.
He sighed then tapped out a reply.
Dean Kerrigan,
I will stop by your office after my morning lectures.
Dr. Richard Bellamy, PhD
Anita Sibley-Palmer Endowed Professor of Psychological Sciences
He pressed send and his phone made a whooshing sound as he slipped the phone back into his pocket. His fingers drummed on the suitcase and he considered what the “recent concerns” could pertain to.Was it a recent grant proposal he had submitted?
No.
Kerrigan wouldn’t bother herself with such a triviality. Perhaps it was the department’s budget. Or, no it couldn’t be related to the missing graduate student. The campus police had questioned him and his lab assistants already. They had likely closed that case, right? The thought forced a tight knot into Bellamy’s chest.
He heard the main entrance of the lab open and two graduate students chatting as they entered.
“Morning, Dr. Bellamy,” one of them said. Her voice was bright, nearly painful in its cheer. Bellamy snapped to reality giving a curt nod already dreading the inevitable droll of questions about timelines and data errors that would follow. He heard the students make their way to their workstations.
Rounding his desk, he took a seat. The office smelled of coffee and old books, a scent that usually calmed him. His office walls were lined with certificates and diplomas from his work around the world. Bookshelves were positioned behind his desk and were lined with books, their spines neatly aligned.
He reached for the paper cup and took a last sip. He grimaced. Cold. Typical. He tossed it into the trash and turned his attention to his lecture notes. The email lingered, a nagging reminder of the university’s waning patience with him — his research. Bellamy’s time might be running out.