One account was dated November 17, 1956, and was signed with the flourished signature of Melba Mayerson. The writing was big, making its wavy squiggles somewhat legible.
Melba wrote, “I was just there, minding my own business, on the middle of the western shore, and she surfaced. Her head first, and then her long neck, scaled and thick. She looked me straight in the eye, hers had a funny blue glow even during the middle of the clear day. She blinked twice. I remember that more than anything else. Two lazy blinks and then she went back under the water. She was like a lizard maybe, maybe an old dinosaur. I don’t know, but it was all over so quickly that as sure as I am of what I saw, and though I never see things that aren’t there, I still wonder. Did I see her? Did I see what I thought I saw, or am I making it up? I think she was real, but I have no way to prove it.”
Elias and I looked at each other.
“Anyone could have written that,” Elias said.
“At any time,” I added.
“Aye.”
I pulled out the next account. This one was signed by Charles Grayson, and was dated July 17, 2015.
I read, “She’s a crafty one, and a grand dame, if you ask me. The loch is an unforgiving strip of water that is unappealing in every way; dark, murky, and never calm. I didn’t expect it to be so gloomy, but, of course, the dark clouds in the sky didn’t help. I didn’t expect to see the monster. In fact, before that moment, I didn’t believe in her. I was just a tourist, one that wanted to return to Edinburgh, a city with so much more to offer than these dark waters gave me. Or so I thought.
“I figured that since I was there anyway, I might as well take a good, long look. I walked along the shore for a time and then stood still, just me and the water, looking at it, getting it out of my system, so’s I could say I’d done it when I got back home. Not another person nor boat in sight. It’s like she knew I was alone, knew there would be no other witness.
“There was a stir about twenty feet out. Like water circling down a drain. I was baffled, and wondered about that too—was I really seeing a cyclone of water? Then there was no further hesitation. She flew up into the air, looked at me in the eye, and then dove back under. It was all so fleeting. The only remaining strange moment was when the water foamed at my boots. Unconsciously, I’d stepped deeper into the loch.
“She was a beast, to be sure, eel-like, but more like a dinosaur probably. I feel a fool saying such things, and I’ll never tell this story. I’m only writing it down for Mr. Norval Fraser because of his call for eyewitness accounts, and his promises of secrecy. If he shares this with another person, I will sue him for everything he’s got.”
I looked at Elias again.
“Not so secret anymore,” he said. “But we’ll not let Mr. Grayson know.”
“Right,” I said. “But why did Norval want me to read these? They don’t tell me anything about why someone might want to kill Gavin, or why Norval wouldn’t.”
“Tempt ye tae take his papers, I expect.”
I shrugged. “It could work.”
The three photographs were in black and white, and seemed to have been taken consecutively, one after the other, as quickly as an old camera that used film would allow. The numbers 1 through 3 were handwritten in black marker on the pictures’ corners.
“It’s hard to tell,” I said as I held the first picture up. “Black-and-white, copies, and the water is so dark. Here, it does look like the long tail of some creature, but it’s impossible to be sure.”
“Aye,” Elias said doubtfully as I spread out the three pictures on the desk.
Picture 1 was allegedly a tail over the top of the water. Picture 2 was the tip of the tail sticking up to a point. And picture 3 had been snapped when the tail had submerged halfway under the water. But the “tail” could have just been a trick of light and shadows. Or something that had been manufactured or faked. They were copies, after all; who knew what the originals looked like.
“Not a believer, huh?” I said.
“It’s not that. I believe anything could be possible, but I’m a big believer in seeing things with my own eyes. All the public accounts seem sketchy, many later proven tae be lies. I’m hopeful she’s a real thing, Nessie is, but I need real proof first, and I dinnae want tae get my hopes up.”
As I lifted and moved the last picture, we noticed that a key had been taped to the inside back flap of the file folder.
“That’s how you’re tae get into his flat, I suppose,” Elias said.
“That seems to be the clear message.” I touched the key. “But I’m not going into his flat. He might be home now. I’ll go over tomorrow, knock, and return the folder. He’ll need a friend, but I’m not sure if I’m the right person for that. I’m sympathetic, but I don’t think I should be the person he runs to when he’s worried about a family member. Maybe I’ll try to get in touch with his sister. I don’t know.”
Elias rubbed his chin and studied me. “Aye. Good plan.”
“What?”
“I ken ye, lass. I ken ye’re a curious one.”
“I promise I’ll be smart.”
“Aye.”
I put the pictures and papers back into the file.
The bookshop’s front door opened and Rosie, with Hector in the crook of her arm, came through. “I thought I saw the light on when I turned the corner. Good morning, Delaney. Elias. Is everything all right?”
Elias and I shared a look. Murder always did upset Rosie, but I couldn’t think of a way not to tell her.
“I’ll go get some coffee,” Elias offered.
Rosie blinked. In her experience, Elias had never gone to get the coffee.
“Uh-oh. What’s the bother, lass?” she said.
“Come in, Rosie, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
ELEVEN
Rosie took the news as well as could be expected.
After we shared some scant details, Edwin and Hamlet arrived and Elias left. Rosie rang Regg, her on-again-off-again boyfriend, and took a few minutes for a private conversation at the front of the shop, sitting in her chair and looking out the window at the market as Hector curled on her lap.
“I didn’t think they were together at the moment,” I said quietly to Edwin as we sat around the back table with Hamlet.
“They reunited,” Edwin said. “Rosie missed him and he was more than happy tae take her calls again.”
Rosie and Regg had broken up and made up more than any fickle high-schoolers I’d ever known. I’d told her I was available to talk about it if she wanted to. She never wanted to.
“I hope she invites him to the wedding,” I said absently. I cleared my throat. “I told her he was welcome, but it was up to her.”
Edwin shrugged. “We’ll see, I suppose.”
My limbs felt strangely detached, my head foggy. Clearly, the shock of the murder hadn’t hit me all the way yet, because I was beginning to feel it more and more, sneaky waves of panic that shook me momentarily. I thought I was regaining my composure, but a wave suddenly hit me and made my fingers tremble. I took another deep breath and let it out.
“Lass, I think you should go home. Take the day, take off until the wedding if you want. Your family will be here in a couple of days,” Edwin said.
“No, no thank you. That’s the last thing I want to do, sit around with nothing to do but think about … everything. I’ll stay busy when my family gets here, but I’d like to work until then. Besides, you said we had an appointment.”
“Aye, but … I don’t mind going alone,” Edwin said. But I heard disappointment in his voice. We always did enjoy the auctions together.
“I’m good.” I wasn’t, but I really did prefer to be busy.
Hamlet, who’d reacted to the murder by falling deeply silent, looked like he wanted to say something.
When he didn’t, Edwin prompted, “What is it, lad?”
“I’ve heard of Norval Fraser,” he said. “But I think lots of people have heard of Norval. He’s always seemed so
harmless. I didn’t know his great-nephew at all.”
“He had his own finance company?” I said.
“That might explain it.” Hamlet smiled sadly. “But I wouldn’t have any use for that. I hope Norval will be okay.”
I looked at Edwin. “Do you remember visiting with Norval? Did he ask you for any money for his papers?”
“It was about fifteen years ago, but I remember the meeting, if not all the details. He was a very nice man. I wouldn’t take over his work, and I was honest with him about that. He didn’t ask me for money.”
“Me either,” I said. “Gavin told me to be on guard about Norval asking. Maybe neither you nor I got that far with him. He must have asked someone for money. I can’t think of any other reason Gavin would warn me it might happen.”
“Oh, I can,” Edwin said. He frowned. “It’s impolite to speak of the dead this way, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if Gavin wanted Norval’s papers for himself someday. Who knows what’s there—could be nothing, but could be something too, something valuable. But that’s just a guess. He was warning you away, making you think that if you stuck it out and befriended Norval by telling him you’d do the work, you would eventually be asked for money. Perhaps if you were warned, you wouldn’t bother.”
“That makes sense,” I said. “It didn’t work, not yet at least. I still wanted to visit with Norval, but I can’t say I would have wanted more than the rest of his story. After that, I don’t think I would have been rude, but Gavin’s warning might have made a difference.”
“Do you think Norval could have killed him?” Hamlet continued. “Maybe Norval found out Gavin was trying to manipulate his friendships.”
“I have a hard time believing Norval could kill anyone. And he’s probably not strong enough to have … I don’t know, manhandled, if that was needed, his nephew,” I said.
“He was stabbed?” Hamlet asked.
“Yes. Elias saw … more than either Norval or I did.”
Edwin said, “Well, I agree with you, Delaney, I don’t think Norval could kill.”
“I guess we don’t know the whole story either. I mean the way-back whole story,” I said. “What really happened to Norval’s father all those years ago? What did Norval actually see? I’m sure that time in his life shaped who he is today. How could it not?”
A vision of Norval looking out the back window of the police car formed in my mind. The file. The key. His request for me to help. I shook my head. The police would handle this. Might they truly jump to the easy conclusion that the odd man obsessed with a fantastical creature had killed his meddling great-nephew?
I remembered that moment between Norval and me in the rain outside the church, that connection I’d felt. I liked him. I hoped he wasn’t a killer and I didn’t think he was. I did wonder, however, what he’d actually done this morning. Elias had thought that maybe Norval already knew what happened to Gavin by the time we found him in front of the bookshop. That made more and more sense.
“I might try to track down his sister,” I said. “Talk to her.”
“I will try tae help,” Edwin said.
“Let me know if I can do anything,” Hamlet added.
“All right. I’m sorry, but I must go. Delaney, I would like for you tae take some time off, but you’re welcome tae come with me,” Edwin said.
“I’m going with you.”
Without further ado, I gathered my bag and joined Edwin in his Citroën. Once inside the car, I asked another question.
“What did you think of Norval when you first met him?”
“I didn’t think he was mentally unstable, though I admit, I did think he wasn’t quite right. It was as if he saw the world a slightly different way than the rest of us, but he was harmless, both tae himself and tae others. I was … well, for a moment I was envious of him. It seemed the world’s events didn’t touch him the way they do the rest of us. The envy was fleeting, but for a moment I thought it might be wonderful tae be in Norval’s world.”
“Did you hesitate at all when you said you wouldn’t take over his work?”
“No, not even for a moment,” Edwin said as he turned onto a road I wasn’t familiar with. The auctions were held at a few familiar locations, but there were surprises sometimes too. It looked like I was in for a surprise today.
The secret auctions had been taking place for years. The Fleshmarket Batch was made up of rich people who wanted to buy and sell expensive things—with each other. It had turned into a social club, a way for friends to come together and share, look at, talk about items that were more valuable than anything that my bank account would ever be able to afford. Originally, the members hadn’t meant to be secretive, but when they realized their motivations might be interpreted as more arrogant and snobbish than a sharing of mutual interests, they decided to keep their activities to themselves.
I still wasn’t privy to receiving early notice about the meetings and their locations. Maybe in another year.
“I would have loved to look through his papers, his pictures, and can you imagine what’s on those films? I told him that if he ever just wanted someone to take care of his research, I was his man, but I didn’t have time tae venture up to Loch Ness every weekend,” Edwin said.
“That’s how often he would go up?”
“Back then at least. I don’t know if he was still going as often.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t just live there.”
“Aye, I wondered too. He said his family moved to Edinburgh when he was young and he had tae stay close tae them.”
I nodded. And now the one who seemed to take the most care of Norval was gone, even if he might have been a manipulator as well as a caregiver. Who would watch over Norval, help him now?
Edwin continued. “I wonder if he could have moved past his obsessions if he was left tae his own devices, had tae take care of himself. I certainly don’t know enough about psychological or mental illness tae be able tae offer an educated opinion, but he’s able tae engage. We were able tae converse. He could make eye contact. He’s an intelligent man, who might have kept a job if he’d been forced tae have one tae pay his bills.”
“Has his family enabled him more than helped him?”
“Impossible tae know.”
We’d traveled about twenty minutes from The Cracked Spine. The metallic-tinged clouds were currently thin, with a promise that darker ones would roll in soon. I hadn’t visited Loch Ness yet, but some imaginary sea air from there sent a chill down my arms. Or maybe that was still shock from the murder.
“We’re here,” Edwin said as he turned into a narrow driveway.
“A pub?” I said.
“A restaurant. We’ve got the whole place tae ourselves for a couple hours.”
“It’s more public than usual.”
“Aye. The owner is a new member of Fleshmarket,” Edwin said, his voice oddly high-pitched.
“What’s going on?” I asked as we pulled into a large carpark behind the building. It was empty save for a few cars I recognized as being owned by members of Fleshmarket, along with one vehicle I didn’t recognize. An old Volkswagen Beetle, refurbished with bright yellow paint.
Edwin parked his car. “Delaney, the newest member of Fleshmarket is a woman named Vanessa Morgan. She and I have been dating for some time.”
I opened my mouth, but all the questions I wanted to ask got jammed up somewhere on the way out. It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d asked them, coherently or not; Edwin had hopped out of the car and was moving around to open my door.
“I have questions,” I managed to finally say as I swung my legs around and looked up at him.
“I have no doubt, but perhaps you could save them until after you’ve met Ms. Morgan. I think that would be best.”
“I’m not sure I agree that it would be best, but I’ll abide,” I said as I unfolded myself from the car.
“Excellent,” he said as he led the way inside, a nervous stiffness to his shoulders.
> TWELVE
Bruno, a former Edinburgh police officer, was at the door to greet us. As he always did when on Batch duty, he wore his dress kilt and kept his muscled arms crossed in front of his barrel chest, even as he winked a private hello at me. Bruno and I were friendly outside of Fleshmarket. He enjoyed Tom’s pub, and though the auction group was a secret, members could still socialize together, as long as no mention of the group was made in a public setting. You just never knew who was listening. Bruno and I had shared a few secret winks and conversations that purposefully didn’t mention anything that had anything to do with an auction.
I’d come to learn that the word “secret” took on a slightly different meaning when it came to those of us at The Cracked Spine. Both Rosie and Hamlet knew about the auctions, though they didn’t like to talk about them for fear they’d let loose the secret at the wrong time. The warehouse was my office and still the place where Edwin kept things he’d collected over the years. The police were now well aware of the warehouse and, in fact, Edwin had invited them in anytime they would like. However, we still didn’t discuss it with just anyone. In fact, we still denied its existence to many who inquired. It was a tricky tightrope sometimes, and it seemed the rules were changing all the time.
Secrets. They’d caused some big problems over the last year.
Once inside the restaurant I asked Edwin the first question that formed clearly in my mind. “Do Rosie and Hamlet know?”
“Not yet, lass. You’re the first. I wanted tae make sure there was something there. I’ve courted her for three months, and I’m sure now. As sure as one can be. Rather than just drop her by the shop, I thought we’d begin here, with you.” He paused and looked at me with tight eyebrows. “I’ve enjoyed the company of women every now and then over the years and it hasn’t always … well, it hasn’t always gone well. I think I would like for you tae meet her first and … maybe ease the introduction with Rosie and Hamlet.”
I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by “enjoyed the company of” but whatever it was I was happy to hear he’d had companionship. I’d been under the impression that he hadn’t dated much. Perhaps that was the impression he wanted me to have.
The Loch Ness Papers Page 7