THE SON OF BOMALLY

 

                                                                      Chapter Ten

                                                               Cottage By The Sea   

 

Becky had not seen David running across the field toward her, nor with all the noise from the wind and the sea had she heard him. She said a few quiet words, and then, pausing only long enough to make the sign of the cross, she jumped; her cry of "God forgive me." lost in the wind that swirled around her.  As she fell there were other cries from the gulls that floated gracefully on the up drafts, unexpectedly disturbed by a falling object. 

          There was another sound too, but one that Becky did not hear.  It was an anguished cry of disbelief and misery. David could hear nothing more above the roar of the crashing waves far below, unseen in the mist and the spray. It was over; the dream was now a nightmare and Becky had gone to her death alone. She had picked her spot well, for there was nothing between her and South America. She would be swept away and it was quite possible that her body might never be found.  At this point of the coast the prevailing winds were ever present, and the surge of the storm driven surf was unbroken for thousands of miles.  A body lost here may turn up at any point, at any time on either side of the Atlantic. More likely however is that it may never turn up at all.

          David had seen Becky jump, but could not see her now. All that was visible was a wet swirling cauldron. He sat and waited unable to move; turned to stone.  For an hour or two - he didn’t know how long.  He sat until he was completely soaked, and very cold.  But still he did move; nor did he care.  Everything was gone; there was nothing left to make life worthwhile.

          Then the thought occurred to him.  If he could not have Becky in life, at least they could be together in death; He would jump too.

          Wearily he got to his feet and went to the edge and looked down on the rocks below, seeing them for the first time and he could make out the waves crashing into them, sending spray high into the air, where the wind took it and spun it and twisted it into spirals of mist until it disappeared, only for it all to begin again with the next surging wave.

          In the time since Becky had jumped the mist had cleared, and in full daylight he could make out the rocks below where now only the spray obscured the frightening scene.

          'Would Becky have jumped had she been able to see the cauldron below, as I can see it now?’ he wondered, as he took the last step to the very edge.

          Just then something caught his eye.  On a ledge near the bottom, just below some bushes and shrubs was what looked like a bundle of rags.

          He looked hard, but still it was not clear enough to be sure. Fine spray from the crashing waves was still  swirling about, and the rain driven by the wind was getting in his eyes. He said a silent prayer; his heart missed a beat, hardly daring to believe but the more he looked the more he was sure.

          It was Becky.

          It was a long climb down, and David, unskilled and uncertain, came near to falling more than once.  But eventually he found a way to the bottom.  He had picked the only route he could see and found himself some forty yards from, and perhaps twenty feet below a ledge on which she lay.  Now he had to find a way back to her, using tiny footholds little better than those which would test a mountain goat he made his way.  From rock to rock, over or round, sometimes jumping; often drenched as the waves crashed against him, tugging at his legs and feet as they sought to dislodge him. More than once but for sheer determination, he hung when they almost succeeded.  Finally he came close to the place where Becky lay, but the ledge was still fifteen feet above him. He could not see her now, but he could see the damaged branches of the bushes above the ledge which might have broken her fall.

          So near and yet so far; and maybe too late.  Even if the bushes had stopped her hitting the rocks, they may themselves have done enough damage to kill her. 

          He had found a way down the bottom of the small but sheer face, which now separated him from Becky. Looking for something he could use; anything to help him climb the testing face, he found nothing except broken rocks.  Rocks whch had been disturbed by the forces of nature, the pounding tide, rain and wind, icy cold winters, and then heat from the summer sun. Constant and incessant, never ending from one century to the next, these forces had loosened ancient stone until they lay where they fell, broken into millions of pieces large and small.

            He noticed some cracks in the rock face, and desperately searched for some driftwood which he might drive into the cracks to create a ladder of pegs, but there was nothing.  He picked up a good sized sliver of rock and pushed it into a crack just above knee height, then with another boulder of manageable size he hammered it in.  It seemed to work and tentatively he put his foot on it, and then his weight.  It held.

          The next suitable crack was about shoulder height, but where the lower crack was a horizontal one, the next was nearly vertical .  He knew that it would it would need a bigger piece of rock,  well driven, to hold his weight.

          He searched until he found a piece of the right size, and then another, much larger, to use as a hammer.  This was more difficult, and far more arduous, but finally it was done.

          Now he could reach about two thirds up to the ledge.  One more good wedge and he might be able to make it. But how?  Building steps was hard enough standing on firm ground, but how could he apply the force he would need when balanced on one foot, and holding on with one hand.  Just the same he had to try.

          Searching now for stones to create the last step of his ladder he found what he hoped was a suitable wedge and hammer. Clinging on while standing on the top step, he searched for another crack, and his fingers found one which from below he couldn't see.  Trusting now on hope rather than skills; skills he didn't possess, he placed his foot higher up the crack above his second step, moving it around trying to find something on which it might gain purchase.  By good luck or divine intervention he did not know, but he felt his foot jam enough to support his weight.  Pulling hard now on the little crack into which his fingers were clinging, he heaved himself up to a new 'base' position.  Though pleased with his progress he was now in a quandary for unless there was another foothold within reach, he would be unable to get any higher.  He also doubted his ability to get down without falling. If that was not enough, he knew that his stamina might give our, for just getting this far had all but exhausted him.

          Eventually he found a place for his last peg and hammered it home as best he could. It held and David was able to relax a little while spread eagled on the small but dangerously exposed rock face. It had taken most of an hour of nerve racking and painfully slow movement to reach the ledge, but at last he was there, and now he knew he was right. Becky's body was crumpled and appeared lifeless.  She was cold and at first he could find no signs of life, but then, just when he had reached the conclusion that she was dead he felt a tiny pulse.

          There were many cuts and abrasions on her face, arms and legs, but no obvious signs of broken limbs.  Her cloths were wet, and would not have been doing her any good.  By contrast his cloths were now thoroughly dry following all the exertions of the last hour.  Quickly and carefully he removed her night gown, a garment of silk and lace, which he had seen flying in the wind, floating and billowing, moments before Becky had disappeared. Now it was torn and shredded, dirty and sodden, its former elegance totally lost.  He removed his top coat and jacket, which he wrapped around her as well as he could, and then laid down with her as close as possible, covering them both with his coat.  With his arm around her, pulling her tightly against him, he hoped that some of his own body heat might get through.

          There was nothing more he could do. 

          Later he might be able to go for some help, but not now.  Not now that he had found her still alive.  How long would it take to get help?  He could not say.  How long would it take to get off the ledge?  He did not know.  And how long might she stay alive?  All he knew was that for now at least, he must stay with her.  To leave her now, he feared, would be to leave her forever.

          How long they lay there here could not say, for in his exhaustion, he had drifted off into a kind of sleep.  He thought he must be dreaming, and at first could not make it out, but then he realised he could hear something. 

          What was that noise?  Voices?

          Then the fog in his head started to clear and he could feel Becky against him.  He was stiff and cold, and every part of his body seemed to ache. But Becky?  Her body was warmer than before, and he could hear her breathing.

          There was that noise again.  'What is it'  he thought.

          He lay still, trying to work it out.

          "Hello." there it was again "Hey there."

          'It's someone shouting' his mind starting to make sense of the sound. "It's someone shouting." he called out to Becky, as he leapt to his feet.

          Far above a party of walkers were calling. They had seen them from a point further along the cliff top and had come to investigate.  Certain that they had seen two bodies, one of the party had gone to get help.

          It was not yet the end of the nightmare, but David's relief was indescribable when, an hour later, an assorted group of walkers, firemen, medics and policemen, witnessed the two 'bodies' being lifted to the top, and whisked off to the little hospital in St.Asham’s. 

          Perhaps it seemed like the end of the nightmare, but David instinctively knew that there were more to come.

                                                                              -oOo-

          As soon as he could, he phoned Inspector Bryndle to tell him where they were, and to apologise for running off without letting him know.

          "You know I can have you on at least seventeen charges don't you?"

          But there was something in the voice that suggested that Bryndle was wearing that certain grimace which masqueraded as a smile.

          "I'm sorry, I just had to drop everything."

          "We'll worry about that later, right now I want to ask you some questions; for example, what the hell have you been up to?"

          David spent the next ten minutes bringing the Chief Inspector up to date. "I don’t know the extent of her injuries, but I hope that Miss Carr can be transferred to a hospital much nearer to home very soon.  I expect that you will want to ask her some questions as well."

          After that he went to find Becky, only to discover that she was still being examined. With time to kill, David was reading an old magazine in the waiting room, when a uniformed policeman came in.

          "Mr Bomally?", he said, showing his badge "I'm Sergeant Harris of Pembrokeshire Police. Need to as you a few questions."

          "Of course," David replied, but I've just been on the phone to Chief Inspector Bryndle, to put him in the picture."

          "Bryndle?  Got no Bryndle in our station.  No, never heard of anyone called Bryndle."

          "He's from the Oxfordshire force." David explained.

          "Is he now, well never mind him; we are investigating the suspicious death of a body found on the rocks near to where you were picked up.

          "Richard?  You've found Richard?, where is he?"

          "You're asking a lot of questions for one in your position; don't you think, and I should be doing the questions ... so to star with, who's Richard?"

          "Sorry," said David, uncertain about his visitor, "I came here to find him."

          "And did you find him?"

          "No, I'm afraid I did not, I found Miss Carr instead."

          "Were they together then?"

          "Yes; but not in the sense you mean."

          "Oh yes, and what 'sense' do you think I was meaning, then?"

          It was a bit like the opening moves in a game of chess; each player establishing a position before the real game started. "Well ... she wasn't with him willingly, ... I think she was being abducted."

          "Don't you think its an odd place for an abduction?"

          "Yes of course I do, and I can't make any more sense of it than you at the moment."  David was getting cross now.  He had just come through a traumatic experience, he was very worried and very tired.  It was not a good time to be playing mind games. "I cant tell you anything else.  Until Miss Carr recovers, and I can speak to her, I don't know any more."  and then he stopped, as though he had just remembered what the policeman had said.

           "You say you are investigating a suspicious death. Is it Richard?, Are you telling me that Richard is dead?"

          "Again I ask, who is Richard? You don't seem to be very surprised, or concerned." the policeman observed rather coolly.

          "Richard is my brother, but If you are expecting wailing and weeping, you'll be disappointed ... I am far too emotionally drained already to put on a display for you."

          David was feeling very tired, and almost didn't care, but just in time he managed to shake of this careless mood.  "Nothing can surprise me any more."  a few words spoken without emotion, but with a weariness that was compelling.

          Sergeant Harris had seen it all in his time, and was pretty good at sorting the wheat from the chaff. He generally knew if a man was telling the truth.  But then again, he had been taken in a few times as well, so nothing was taken for granted.

          "Yes, it does sounds as though you've had a few surprises. But look at it my way; how do I know that you didn't kill them all, or at least try too, ... your father, your brother, and your girlfriend?"

          David couldn't think of anything for the moment, but then he jumped up. "So you do know about Richard, and my father"

          "Ok Ok, yes I confess; I have had a word with your inspector Bryndle; he's told me pretty much what's going on."

          "Well you know that Becky is alive, she will tell you."

          "Don't worry, I expect she will, as soon as she recovers, but what I find a bit of a puzzle is why you were down there as well."

          David was feeling very weak, and was not at his best. The policeman on the other hand was fresh and untroubled.  There was no doubt which of the two men was mentally the stronger at this moment, and David felt that it was an unequal contest.

          "It's only a puzzle because you don't seem to want to believe me.  I saw her fall or jump from the top of the cliff and climbed down hoping that I would find her alive. Is that really so hard to believe?"

          David was feeling quite angry now, and had to be careful not to go too far.     "Now please will you tell me about my brother."

          "We think we have found him."

          "You told me he was dead."

          "He is."

          "Oh' for God's sake man, can't you stop playing games?"  He looked across at Harris with a look of weary resignation on his face. "I'm all in and I can't play your silly little game any more.  Either tell me or arrest me or go away."

          With that he sat down, having apparently ended the interview.

          A moment later the policeman sat down next to him. "A body was found in the water at the foot of the cliff not far from where you and Miss Carr were found. It was somehow wedged between the rocks which prevented it being carried out to sea.  It may be your brother's body and we will need you to identify it."

          For the moment at least the confrontation was over, and the sergeant got up to leave.

          "Please come to the station in the morning and we can get that out of the way."

          As he reached the door he stopped and turned. "I think you should get some sleep!"

          Ten minutes later a nurse came into the waiting room to tell him that Miss Carr had opened her eyes, only to find that he had taken the police sergeant's advice.  She thought it might be better to leave him.

          David woke up stiff and cold; and very uncomfortable.  It was very quiet and dark outside.  What time was it?, how long had he slept?, he didn't know.  He looked at his watch, but his mind wasn't switched on.  He couldn't quite get his head round recent events, or even remember where he was; everything seemed to be blurred.  Opening the door, he found himself on a long corridor, and somewhere near he could hear voices.  He walk in their direction until he came to an open office area, beyond which were two darkened wards.

          Three faces turned to him as he approached, the nearest one, a smart young lady smiled.

          "Mr Bomally, how do you feel now, you've been in such a deep sleep."

          It was at least a friendly greeting, and now his head was beginning to clear, and mental pictures of events were returning, he remembered that he had been short of friends.

          "Thank you." he answered   "I feel like death warmed up to be honest; how long have I been here?"

          "About six hours."

          He looked at the clock behind her.  “Four thirty,” he said out loud, still trying to get his brain into gear. "Miss Carr, where is she; is she all right; can I see her?"      

          "Miss Carr is in a private room, and she'll be all right, but I'm sorry you can't see her just yet."

          "But I must see her, I don't know what has happened to her, or how it came about;  why can't I see her?"

          "To start with she is under sedation, and is still in shock.  Secondly, we are instructed by the police that she must have no visitors until they arrive at eight o'clock."

          "But I must ..."

          "Please Mr Bomally, don't make a fuss, go and have a wash and get something to eat; the time will soon go."

          David returned to the little room he had been using, and found a toilet and wash facility next door.

          Suitably refreshed he sat down again in the little easy chair to sit it out.  How he had managed to sleep in it he could not imagine, as it was far from 'easy'.  He heard a knock and the door opened to reveal the nurse carrying a tray with a cup of tea and two slices of toast.

          "Hear you are Mr Bomally, this might help."

          The time ticked on slowly, but gradually he noticed that it was getting lighter outside. Increasing almost imperceptibly a new day was dragging itself out of the night. At five to eight there was a single sharp rap on the door, and in walked Inspector Bryndle.

          "Why, inspector, I never expected to be pleased to see you."

          "Yes ... well let's say that you meant that as a compliment, and leave it there, shall we."

          "Oh' I'm sorry, it didn't sound too good, did it?"

          "Never mind about that now. I've been driving all night because of you, and we've a full day ahead, so shall we?" The inspector gestured as he spoke, indicating that they should make a start.

          "Where too?" David asked, as he tried to match the inspectors long strides.

          "The mortuary first.  I've had another long chat on the phone to your Sgt Harris, and he tells me that you are going to identify your brothers body. OK?"

          "Yes, OK, but he's not 'my' Sgt. Harris, and I want to see Becky."

          "You will soon enough, and until you do she's in good hands."

          The inspector was very positive, which pleased David, and unlike at their previous meetings, he did not feel threatened by him.  But he did wish that he would walk a little slower!

          Everything had prepared him to be confronted by the dead body of his brother, catalogued and filed away in a mortuary drawer, but despite having had a day to get used to the idea, he was still not ready mentally, and didn't know how he was going to react.

          The drawer was pulled open by an attendant, and the face uncovered. David was stunned.  Something was turning him upside down; a feeling he had never experienced before. Worse than nausea, more disturbing than dizziness.  A feeling of unease so acute that it was hard to bear. He was looking at the body before him, and yet he felt as though he was not there. Not a word was spoken for a minute or more as David stared at the dead man. Two things were evident at once. 

          First; that this man’s death had not been without pain and anguish, for his injuries were substantial.

          "Well?" asked the detective, when he felt that there had been sufficient time for some kind of response.

          David did not quite know what to say, or how he was supposed to feel, sadness or joy; but it was neither.

          "Well?" Bryndle asked again, a touch of impatience only just concealed.

          But it was the second ‘evident’ factor that almost threw him, for the body lying before him was not that of his brother.

          David started to speak, but he had no voice. He coughed, and tried again.

          "I do not know this man inspector." he managed at last, the words spluttering as though he had forced them out.

          "How do you mean, you don’t know him, he's you're brother isn't he?" this time Bryndle made no attempt to hide his irritation.

          "I'm sorry to disappoint you inspector; that's not my brother, and I don't know who he is." David turned and took a few steps away, leaving the inspector staring alone at the cold and inanimate stranger.

          "Well who the bloody hell is he then?" Bryndle asked the soulless room as he turned to face David, who was now moving toward the door. As they left they heard the sound of the drawer as it was pushed back, consigning it's unmourned occupant once more to the dark and cold mortuary.

          Conversation was difficult for a time as both men considered this new turn of events. David was very confused. He had expected the worse, but now he was in a quandary. How was he supposed to feel? During the last few months he had discovered the depth of depravity to which his brother had sunk, and had learnt how much he hated his father.

          "Enough to kill him: and probably me as well."  he said to the inspector as though he had asked the question. For a while he had seen Richards death as a sort of solution, but he wasn't dead after all, at least as far as he knew; and he just didn't know if he was pleased or sorry.

          "I wonder who he is?" asked the inspector, as they moved between unfamiliar hospital buildings, trying to find their way back to the ward. " I'll have to get in touch with your Sgt. Harris, see if he can find out."

          David didn't respond again to the question of Sgt. Harris's lineage, or to the identity of the body, but went straight to the point that was uppermost in his mind.

          "Why would Becky ... Miss Carr... why would she tell me she had killed Richard when it was someone else? We must go to her as soon as we can. There must be a reason."

          After a couple of wrong turns they reached the ward, only to be greeted by new faces behind the counter, and a hive of activity in the ward. A discreet display of his inspectors badge, and a quietly spoken request soon brought the ward sister to him, and she took them to a single bed side ward, guarded by a uniformed police constable. They found Becky laying on her back, slightly elevated by the tilting bed. She turned her head a little as the two men came in, but there was no change of expression.

          "Miss Carr," started the inspector, "we have to ask ...", but he was stopped in his tracks when David walked to the bed side and kissed her tenderly. It was not a passionate kiss, but it contained his love, and his assurance that he would be there for her, come what may.

          "Becky," he said to her as he held her hand, "this is Inspector Bryndle, and he has to ask some questions; things he needs to know." There was a flicker of understanding but David felt that she was not fully with him. "Please tell him whatever you can, and don't be afraid ... nothing that has happened is your fault."

          Becky talked slowly and deliberately, as if she were having to remember each word before she said it.  It was a painful process, but gradually, helped by gentle prompting, a picture emerged. 

          “What made you go up there on your own?" David asked.

          “Richard said he had to meet someone in the village, and then he would go to the cove, and he asked me to meet him there.”

          “But why?”

          “I don't know, he said that there was something important up there, something to do with his ancestors, near the old fort.”

          "I agreed to go, but told him I would walk."

          “But why Becky? Why couldn't he take you in the car?” David was calm, but firm.  Bryndle stood back listening carefully; wanting to hear, but not interfering.

          "He told me that he would be using it, and I had already decided I was going for a walk.  It was a pleasant morning, after constant rain since we arrived, and I needed to get out, so it seemed like a good idea. It was too except for the rain; I was half way to the cove when it started again, so I just carried on. Of course I never got see what it was he wanted to show me, and now I realise that there was nothing there to see.  It was just a ruse to lure me to my death, and now I have no idea that I was playing into his hands ... I wouldn't be surprised if you were to find a suicide note somewhere, implicating you and your father, and of course signed by me."

          Becky told them that he wasn't there when she arrived, "But not long after I arrived I heard something behind me, and when I turned round I saw him running quite fast toward me."

          Becky stopped a moment. What was it she was trying to remember?  Something not quite clear?, or was she trying to forget something that was all too clear?

          "He was coming straight at me, wearing an old duffle coat he liked with its big floppy hood.  I could see tufts of his red hair sticking out from his hood, even in the gloomy light.  The rain was making it difficult for us both, and then, as he got close to me he suddenly seemed to stumble."

          Becky was starting to show signs of distress, and David asked the inspector if they might pause a while, but it was she who wanted to continue; to get it over with. "I was very frightened because I didn't know why he was running, and then when he stumbled I thought he might fall over the edge.  I reached out and grabbed his arm and tried to pull him round, but instead I ..." she stopped again, and almost screamed. 

          David sensed some crisis, aware that this was perhaps the crux of the matter. "Go on Becky," he urged, "just say it as it was and be done with it."

          She looked at him, as though she was trying to gather strength, forcing herself to say the words. "I tried to swing him round, but he was too heavy.  Instead of saving him, I threw him over the edge."

          Then she closed her eyes and her head moved from side to side. “I heard him scream ...” Her voice broke into a moan. “Such a scream.”

          A few minutes elapsed as she tried to recover her composure, and when she seemed to be settled again, Bryndle moved forward. "That was the day before David found you. What about the next day, very early in the morning, before it was light - you went back again. Why did you go back Becky?" Given his usual brusqueness he was surprisingly gentle.

          "I can't tell you much about that, it was like a dream. It felt as though someone was whispering to me." she muttered the words, almost too quiet to be heard.  But then, in a stronger voice she continued. "After Richard had gone over the edge I stood for ages wondering what to do, but my mind was a blank.  There was no sign of him, and I couldn’t get down to see for myself. Eventually I left to go back to the cottage, and I was going to ring the police, but by the time I reached it, all I could think of was sleep, and I just collapsed on to the bed. When I woke up I thought of you David and phoned you. I can’t remember a word of what I said to you, I was in such a daze, and then I fell asleep again; forgetting I had not rung the police.”

          She gave The Inspector a glance before continuing, “Maybe it was some kind of a nightmare, but I woke up in the dark knowing that I must go back.  Someone was telling me to go back. Perhaps to try to find Richard; maybe to save him; I don't know, I can hardly remember any of it.”

          “Was it Richard do you think, speaking to you in your dream?”

          “No, it wasn’t Richard ... it was a woman, a woman’s voice.”

          "Can’t you tell me anything, why didn't you take the car?" David asked

          "I think I must have been in some kind of a trance, but somehow I felt I could hear that voice. I don't remember seeing the car or leaving the cottage, or walking along the country lanes. I only vaguely remember standing on the top of the cliff, but... " Becky stopped briefly, "Yes, I'm sure I remember, that same voice telling me to jump.”

          She went quiet again, and spoke not another word for a full five minutes, and David was content to let her come to it in her own time.

          Eventually she able to finish. "There’s nothing more after that," she said, after reliving her ordeal, "until I woke up in the hospital."

          It was all she could manage; she had told her story and now she was exhausted.

          Bryndle called for the nurse and asked for her to be watched closely in case of reactions, and then he and David left. There didn't seem to be any more they could do. 

          They had at least cleared up the matter of how the man came to be on the rocks. But some questions remained. Who was he?. Why was he there? And most of all, Where was Richard?

          And who was the woman who came to Becky in her nightmare?

          That had been an unexpected twist. The first time another woman had come into the picture; even if only in a dream.

          David thought of his mother seeking retribution for all that had happened to her husband.  But that thought was soon dismissed.  Even from the grave he did not think she had it in her to extract such terrible revenge

          “Becky doesn’t know that it wasn’t Richard who went over the cliff; shouldn’t we have told her?” David asked, as he hurried after Bryndle, trying, somewhat awkwardly to match his stride.

          “Do you think it would have helped her; would she have believed you?”

          David conceded ‘probably not’ on both points, “but she will have to know fairly soon.” he insisted.

          "There's something else." Bryndle said, moving away from that subject. "If Richard took the car on the first morning, and Becky could not remember seeing it later, how come it was there when you arrived?"

          "Good question," David replied "sorry I don't have a good answer."

          As to the identity of the body in the morgue; at least they did get a 'good answer' to that question later in the day. 

          Bryndle had been allowed to use a desk at the back of the station in St.Isham’s, and Sargent Harris phoned him from the mortuary, where he had gone to look at the body.

          "Wilton, John Wilton!, That's who your dead man is. Recognised him right off." he said in a jaunty kind of way. "A right villain if ever there was one; but don't ask me what he was doing up at the cove."

          "What's his form?" Bryndle asked.

          "Oh' anything that's going really, small time drugs, general thieving; he'll pinch your car if you let him, or a purse from a woman's shopping basket; an opportunist more than anything else I suppose you might say."

          "Any violence?"

          "Oh yes," said Harris, "if there's a fight going on he'll be in it, and if you're in it as well, you'd better make sure you're on his side."

          "Murder, any previous in that department?"

          "Well, not that I'm aware of, but you never know with characters like him."

          "What if he was paid, might that make a difference?"

          "Dare say it would, but we've nothing on him there, so I can't say for positive."

          It was something to work on but not much. He was dead anyway, so there wasn't much point wasting time on him. What was more important was finding out why he was on the cliff top, and who sent him. It seemed most likely that it would be Richard, but until he turns up it looked as though they had gone as far as they could go.

          Bryndle returned to the front desk where David was waiting, and told him of this latest discovery. He had been in a sombre mood, but this positive news seemed to cheer him up.

          "What next?"  David asked the Inspector.

          "The cottage I think." he replied, "It's about time we turned the place over to see what secrets it is hiding."

                                                                       -oOo-

​

David was pleased to get out of the hospital.  The last hour been harrowing even though the body on the slab was not that of his brother. It was still the body of a man who had met a violent death, and not recognising the body had been almost as difficult for him as if it had been Richard.  And Becky’s account of her ordeal had done little to ease his tension.

          Fortunately for David, the inspector was in ebullient mood, in spite of the set back. I'm very pleased with your Sargent Harris,"  Bryndle said as they set off, "making himself very useful he is, and he got me this car to use while I'm down here." 

          David had learned that denials of kinship with Sergeant Harris always fell on deaf ears, so now he just let them pass, unnoticed, disregarded.

          When they reached the cottage David was as keen to look around as Bryndle, anxious to see if there were any clues to explain Richards odd behaviour.  Anything he had not seen during his stay. He had been using the cottage since his arrival in Dalimar. The question of where he might stay had not occurred to him then, and finding himself enmeshed in a mystery of his missing brother, and Becky in hospital, he just moved in. But because of all the crazy things that had occurred since his arrival he had found little time to look around. To that extent he was no better informed than the inspector. Like him he had so many questions, and so few answers.

          "Why, to start with, did Richard buy this cottage in Wales, and why here ...?"  David was musing, almost, but not quite talking to himself, "and then not to tell anyone."

          Was it merely coincidence that it was only a few miles away from where our Grandparents home used to be; and indeed our parents home until soon after they were married? Questions, questions, but still no answers. And why would he want to kill his father, or even damage his reputation ... and then why did he try to kill Becky? More questions!

          He climbed the stairs and opened the door to Richards bedroom, surely he first place to look, and stood there bemused, surprised to find it so untidy, the bed unmade, none of his cloths put away, and papers lying about all over. It looked for all the world as though the house had been burgled.

          He called the inspector and they quickly checked the other rooms, but there no sign of disturbance anywhere else. The front door was still lying where it had fallen when David had broken it down, so it would have been easy for anyone to walk in. But they didn't think that had happened. 

          Bryndle was naturally curious about the door, but seemed to accept David's explanation. After completing their search of the bedroom, which produced little that helped, they checked more thoroughly the other rooms.  Two more bedrooms, one en-suite; a combined bathroom and toilet for the others. A kitchen; a large lounge with a dining area. An extension at the back extended the full width of the house, across the back of the lounge and the kitchen; and a further, smaller conservatory extension, at the side  At the end of the conservatory was a small central vestibule from which there were four doors providing  access to the conservatory, a toilet and washroom, the kitchen, and the garden. There was also fourth bedroom in the roof space, accessed by a narrow staircase from the first landing, and lit by a wide ‘dorma’ window.  It was a substantial solidly built house, not new, but needed some attention. 

          "Some cottage," Bryndle observed, "at least a hundred years old I'd guess."

          "Perhaps Richard thought of it as a cottage compared to the big house." David countered, before they continued their search.

          Apart from Richards room there was little out of place, but the inspector noticed that there was very little food in the kitchen; curious perhaps, but suggesting that Richard’s visit had been unplanned. "What could have made him come all this way on the spur of the moment?" he asked, thinking out loud.

          "Beats me."  David responded, likewise mystified.

          There were pictures all over, a couple of dozen in all.  Even the bathroom had its walls decorated. Most were modern or abstract, and as far as they could tell, all originals. 

          “Anything of value?” Bryndle asked.

          “No idea I’m afraid; none of it is my kind of painting. But I don’t think my brother would bother with anything worthless. He might have bought some  paintings by artists who he believed would make it one day.”

          Then he spotted two pictures in the hall. They were different, but in identical frames, clearly a pair. One of them was a map of the south west quarter of Wales, from which he quickly identified the position of the cottage.  The other was a side view painting of a pigs head; possibly a wild boar; but curiously painted in flat dull green, and, but for one eye, and some very lightly marked outlines, it was almost featureless. Two pictures, side by side, but on the face of it, quite out of place with each other, and the other paintings in the house.

          David looked at these two pictures for a long time wondering if they might be saying something. There was little about them that looked suspicious, and yet their incongruity forced him to look deeper. Side by side, in matching frames they hung, but what was the connection. If indeed there was one! 

          "My word," David spoke out loud, "This is very odd." for suddenly a penny had dropped and he saw it. 

          "What have you found?" the inspector had heard David’s exclamation, and was curious to know what he had discovered, as he joined David in the hall.

          "I'm not sure, but there is something very odd about these pictures; I don't know if it means anything, but it is very curious."

          "Can't see anything myself," muttered Bryndle "what do you see?"

          "Look at the outline of the two pictures they're exactly the same; the shape of the pig's head is exactly the same as the area outlined on the map. And look,  the tiny dot on its snout; in just the same place as in the map picture, and,” David continued, “they’re in the very place where we are standing right now."

          David could not say why he thought his find was important, but somehow he felt that it was telling him something. He just wished he knew what. He had noticed that the map was simply inscribed Pembrokeshire, but occupying the same position on the painting of the wild boar’s head was just one word.  Arduinna.

          What did it mean?  Another unanswered question.

          The Inspector, on the other hand was not impressed, and continued to look for more positive evidence. The cottage was not over furnished, and his feeling was that it didn't get used very much.  But there were a few things, apart from the pictures, which would make the place slightly more welcoming for an impromptu visit. Curtains at all the windows, and though none of the polished wood floors had carpets, there were plenty of rugs.  Quite a lot of ornaments were scattered about, and ... he was a little surprised to notice, some plants. Bryndle lifted one of the plants in its smallish pot, and was even more surprised to find that the soil was moist. 

          “I’m beginning to think he comes here more than I thought after all.”

          “Or maybe someone else does.”  David observed, having overheard Bryndle’s remark.

          “Good point.” the inspector nodded, “I wonder who that might be?”

          Then he went into the kitchen to see what, if anything, it had to say.  Again not over furnished, but there were enough pans and crockery to keep a body going. Cutlery in the drawers, tea towels, food containers, but curiously most of them were empty.

          “First it’s one thing then another,” he said to David. “It’s hard to tell if your brother is an occasional or a regular visitor.”

          The bathrooms told the same story.  There were some towels, quite a few bottles of 'smellies', a few of bars of soap, and in the airing cupboard, a couple of toilet rolls.

          Everywhere seemed to be equipped for immediate use, but only just, and there was no sign at all of it being used as a holiday rental cottage.

          "You say you didn't know about this place?" Bryndle called out to David, who was now sifting through some magazines in the conservatory.

          "Not a thing; can't think why he would want a place like this knowing his lifestyle."

          "Do you think it might have been a love nest?" The inspector raised an eye as he waited for an answer.

          "I doubt it. As far as I can tell Richard never had any qualms about his need for an active love life, and he didn't try to hide it. And I don't think it ever bothered him if his current lover was committed to someone else.  He wouldn't try to hide it either, certainly not from the husband; or a boyfriend.” he added, remembering how his brother had ‘stolen’ his Maxine. “He would enjoy the thought of another man’s anguish."

          "Nice fellow, you brother."  Bryndle observed.

          David was slow to respond to that remark. He was at a loss to understand Richard himself. They had always been so different, and he had never seen any of Richard's characteristics in his parents. "Don't know where it comes from." was all he could manage.

          "So you’ve no idea why he should come here?"

          David told the inspector of the family connection with Pembrokeshire, and of his fathers youthful business enterprise hereabouts, and of his marriage in the little chapel at Dalimar. "But Richard was a baby when they left, and I wasn't even born then." he concluded.

          "What about the family; what happened to them?"

          "Don't know really, we seemed to lose touch.  Grandad died quite young; I think I was about eight at the time. Then Gramma went to live with her sisters  daughter somewhere near Liverpool.  She'd got married and gone to live up north, and Gran had a sister there so she was glad to go.  Fathers young brother Frederick had left home by then, so she would have been on her own"

          "What happened to him?"

          "That's a mystery to me.  Father didn't like to talk about it, so I never really knew, but I think there was a bit of a bust up."

          David tried to remember, “But I was only a young lad at the time, and I never knew if the stories I heard were true or false.”

          “Don’t you remember anything?”

          “It was a long time ago don’t forget, but as far as I can recall they had fallen out when my uncle Fred asked my father to bail him out financially.”

          Fred had seen his elder brother Gerald go from strength to strength in those youthful years, and as he grew up he tried to emulate him.  But it was always a struggle for he did not appear to have Father's flair - the magic touch."

            When Gerald Bomally left to start his new life in Oxfordshire he left all his business contacts to Fred, and with it his good name, so it should have been easy, but it was not. He tried, and kept the business going for a few years, but  it was only a matter of time.  So when, finally, Fred accepted that he was beaten and had acquired considerable debts, he went cap in hand to his brother Gerald.

          "Told him to shove off, did he?" Bryndle asked, more from politeness than interest.

          "I gather so. To tell the truth I don't think they ever understood each other. They were apparently as different from each other as me and Richard. I even heard it said that they hated each other ... curious, don't you think."

          "If you say so." Bryndle was not very interested in family intrigues.

          "Well anyway; Frederick couldn't understand why he couldn't do what his younger brother could. And my father couldn't understand why his younger brother couldn't do what he found so easy to do."

          David looked up to see Bryndle furiously emptying the contents of a chest of drawers.

          "Are you still with me?" he asked

          Bryndle, apparently deep in concentration, nodded.

          "Well at least that's the story, but I've heard it said that my uncle was a bit too fond of the good life; probably couldn’t be bothered with the demands of running a business, so when my father turned him down, they never spoke to each other again.  He did a bunk they say; ran away and abandoned his debts.  In the end my father had to cover them all because although officially it was no longer his business, he didn't want anything to tarnish his good name."

          David stopped at that point, trying to remember. “All this happened years ago, and I’m not sure which is fact and which is fiction; you know how it is with family secrets; or if it was just a cover to hide something else; maybe  something less savoury.”

          "So you never saw your uncle again?"

          "No I didn't, but Richard told me that he met him a quite number of times."

          Bryndle stood up and turned to face David. At last a little piece of information that might be of some value; the smallest crust on an otherwise empty table.

          "Well now, that’s a turnup, how did that come about?"

           David told Bryndle of the way Richard had returned to the fold during the last couple of years, and how, to his surprise they had become friends. How Richard had helped his father come to terms with the loss of his wife, and how he had gently lead him out of his mourning and pushed him to start living his life again. Then he explained that his elder brother had introduced his father to some young ladies, and finally to Becky. At this David had some difficultly, explaining how he had encouraged them in their growing romance, and how his presence had created the feeling of a united family once again.

          "I don't have to tell you how false it was."  he looked at Bryndle. "We know now how he fooled us all so completely; but we didn't know then. How could we?"

          "And your uncle?"

          "It seems he went to see one of Richards plays in the West End, and after the show he went back stage.  According to Richard they hit it off right from the beginning, and kept in touch ever since."

          "But you never met him?"

          "Well not since I was a child, and I can't really remember him." He paused, "Richard said he didn't want to meet my father, and not to mention that they had been in touch, so I never did.  I used to wonder why Richard told me, but now I think it was all part of the plot.  I'm sure that if it hadn't all collapsed the way it did, uncle Fred would have come into it somehow."

          "Do you think he was behind Richard then?"

          " I didn't think so at first, but now I’m beginning to wonder.  Richard had an unearthly nature long before he met up with Uncle Fred, but from all the things he told me, the more I think of it the more I am sure; Uncle Fred and Richard are just like each other, two of a kind; kindred spirits.” 

          He looked up at Bryndle, for the first time he felt able to say what had long been in his mind. “I think they are both touched with something evil."