“Share it with us all?” Rosie said.
“Aye.”
Food and drinks were removed from the table as the scrapbook and folder were situated. Hamlet opened the folder as Hector, on Rosie’s lap, put his front paws on the table to better observe. I thought my mom’s heart would melt right out of her chest.
“I know. He’s something, isn’t he?” I said to her.
She nodded and reached to scratch behind his ears. I didn’t have the time at that moment to think about it deeply, but I suspected that Hector was another link in the chain of things that might be binding my family to Scotland. Everyone has to retire someday, right?
Hamlet continued. “We’re studying legends and folklore in a class I’m taking. It’s interesting, and more difficult than you might think. I wish I had a better imagination, but, anyway, we hadn’t studied Nessie when the murder occurred, but the professor brought her up yesterday. I paid extra attention. The professor has collected things over the years and it only makes sense that here, in Scotland, there are many things tae collect. I could have brought you a box of information, but much of it was repetition. I did bring you something, one item in particular I thought was interesting, and something you might like tae know. In fact, I think it’s something the police might like tae know. Maybe. Here,” he turned over a page from the folder, “take a look.”
It was a copy of something from a university yearbook page. In the early 2000s, it looked like the University of Edinburgh had hosted a symposium all about Nessie. The page was one half a picture, one half information on the subjects of the picture; younger versions of Norval Fraser and Albert Winsom were pictured, with a woman in between them, holding them back as the two men came at each other. This was not taken at the same time the earlier feud had occurred. The men were older here. I read the copy beneath the picture.
“Self-proclaimed Nessie authorities were the highlights of the symposium, particularly when they battled. Mr. Winsom claimed that Mr. Fraser was a ‘phony to the cause’ and had, in fact, never seen the monster. When the battle of words escalated toward a physical fight, Mr. Fraser’s sister Millie jumped onto the stage to stop it. Side note: The yearbook staff heard that it was rumored that Millie was also involved in a personal relationship with Mr. Winsom. Oooh, fun symposium.”
“Obviously, not hard journalism,” Hamlet added.
“Rosie, where in the scrapbook was the article about their feud?” I asked.
“I’ll get there,” she said. She’d already started to search.
It was that last sentence of the yearbook copy, so casually placed there, that made me think I—or maybe all of us—had missed something very important? Were Millie and Albert involved, now or at one time? Did the police know? Did it matter in the least?
“Here, right here,” Rosie said as she pointed. “Not the same time at all. The scrapbook article is twenty years earlier than Hamlet’s article.”
“Do these two men fight whenever they’re together?” Wyatt said.
“I don’t know. Maybe,” I said.
“That last line got your attention, huh?” Hamlet said.
“Yes. Millie. And I think she’s still alive.”
“She is,” Hamlet said with a smile. “I found her address, if you’re interested.”
“Good work, Hamlet,” I said.
“Thanks. I researched and didn’t find anything about Mr. Winsom and Millie being together. No marriage, and no other sign of them knowing each other. I did discover that Millie has, in fact, never married. Mr. Winsom’s one and only wife passed about ten years ago.”
“Weel, if we’ve seen anything over the last year or so, old love can cause a whole boytach of trouble,” Rosie said.
My parents, brother, and I all knew to look at Hamlet for translation.
“Lots. Maybe ‘bundle,’” he said.
“Maybe,” I said, still wondering if the police knew about this connection and if it was solid anyway.
How sad and bad and mad it was—but then, how it was sweet!
I jumped at the bookish voice. It was a well-known quote about the past from the poet Robert Browning. Was he telling me the past was important to the present? I couldn’t focus and didn’t hear any other words. If nothing else, at least my intuition was telling me to pay attention; the voices were talking again.
“Delaney,” Dad said gently, nudging me back to the moment. Everyone, including Hector, was looking at me.
“May I get a copy of this?” I asked Hamlet.
“These are all copies for you. The whole folder, though I doubt there’s anything else interesting in there.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The bell above the front door jingled. Most of us, including me, were so caught up in the discoveries that we ignored the sound. But Rosie didn’t. She stood and walked around the wall to greet the visitor.
Her enthusiastic greeting pulled me out of my thoughts and the chair, and I joined her.
“Delaney, is that Brodie Watson?” my mom asked in the worst stage whisper I’d ever heard. I didn’t know she’d come with me.
“I believe it is,” I said.
Edwin was with the writer, who was holding onto Rosie’s hands and smiling affectionately at her.
“It’s been too long, sweet Rosie,” he said.
“Aye,” she cooed.
Edwin sent me a look that said he’d roll his eyes if he could get away with it. I’d never thought of Brodie Watson as dashing, but he was that, and more.
My mom gushed a bit when they were introduced, all the while using the author’s book titles and story lines in her sentences. He gushed back at her and praised her knowledge of his themes and characters. I had no idea my mom had read so many of his books. I needed to pay better attention to my parents’ hobbies.
Edwin pulled me aside.
“Do you want tae talk tae Brodie with me?”
“You haven’t asked him anything?” I said.
“No. I thought it best tae have someone else with me. We’ll talk tae him here, in my office, probably safe from any murderous intentions, but someone other than just me needs tae be there. I’m fairly confident in my assessment that the police wouldn’t trust me, but they would you.”
I smiled and remembered the cameras around my neck. I really shouldn’t abandon my family again. I looked at my mom and dad as they watched Brodie Watson pull Hamlet into a genuine hug. My parents would love the real story behind that hug.
I’d tell them later, after I went with Edwin and Brodie. So much for needing the comfortable shoes, I thought as I took off the cap and sunglasses and the cameras from around my neck. I signaled my brother over.
“I’m going with Edwin. I’ll catch up with you later,” I said.
“Sure,” Wyatt said as he took the cameras. “Work comes first. I’d join you, but I think I’d like to see more sights today. That okay?”
“Sure,” I said with a smile.
In fact, it didn’t matter much that I wasn’t going with them. Elias showed up with his cab and they would be more comfortable inside it without me anyway. I was happy they had plenty to do.
Edwin, Brodie, and I made our way to the dark side, not to the warehouse, but to Edwin’s sparse office instead. I doubted Edwin would ever want to advertise the warehouse to any author, even one who was a good friend.
I caught Brodie’s curious glance down the stairway, but Edwin only said, “This way.”
There wasn’t time for me to gush over the famous author, which was a shame, but maybe my mom had gushed enough.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“The police did talk to me,” Brodie said with a shrug. “I was home alone at the time the murder occurred. I have no way to prove that. They have told me they want to question me further. I will make myself available to them.”
“So they know you were one of Gavin’s clients?” Edwin asked.
The back of Brodie’s jaw twitched, but I couldn’t tell if he
was anxious about the murder or bothered by Edwin asking him about it. The two men struck me as genuine friends; they had a history I couldn’t possibly understand but I could sense their closeness in the way they listened to each other and their apparent comfort in speaking freely, even with me in the room. Before Edwin started asking about Gavin MacLeod, they’d talked about Brodie’s next book, the author sharing the plot but not the twist he hoped he’d skillfully added in the last few pages. Both Edwin and I said we were excited to read it.
When Gavin’s name came up, Brodie tensed, but he didn’t make a move to leave or behave as if he wanted to stop the conversation.
“Yes, they know I was a client, though I wasn’t mentioned in the newspaper article. I was pleased about that,” Brodie said.
“Did you know about the article beforehand?”
“No.”
Edwin leaned forward, placing his arms on his desk. “Brodie, Birk said you mentioned to him that you were very upset with Gavin MacLeod, that you wanted tae ‘kill him.’ Now, I’m not holding you to that because we’ve all said that sort of thing in the heat of the moment, but I wanted you tae know what Birk said.”
Brodie smiled sadly. He looked down and then back up at Edwin. “I did say that, Edwin, but I didn’t mean it, not literally. I can’t deny that I said the words, though. The police haven’t asked me specifically if I vocalized such an idea, but I won’t lie to them if they do.” His smile transformed to a sarcastic tilt. “I am a master manipulator of words, but Birk knows when I’m just blowing off steam.”
“I think he thinks you were just talking, influenced by the whisky,” Edwin said. “Frankly, I think he’s more concerned about you than Gavin MacLeod. I suspect Birk wants you to cover your tracks if there are any tracks that need covering.”
“Ah, well, it’s a rare moment that the whisky influences me in any way, but I have no tracks that need to be covered. As I said, though, I have no way to prove that. The police won’t find any evidence that I killed Gavin MacLeod because I didn’t.”
I liked Brodie Watson, even if he did describe himself as a “master manipulator of words.”
“However,” Brodie continued with a sigh, “I was by Gavin’s flat early the evening he was killed. Yes, I did tell the police I was there, if you’re wondering. A bookshop over there had several of my books that required my signature. I stopped at the door that leads into Gavin’s building, debating whether I should ring him or not. I decided not to, because I was too angry. I didn’t think I would handle it well, so I went on my way.”
“How did you know where he lived?” I asked.
“I know where everyone in my life lives, lass. But particularly ones I’ve entrusted with my vast wealth.”
“Had you visited him there before?” I continued.
“Aye. When I first suspected what was going on some six months or so ago. I stopped by to give him a chance to make it right, or tell me the truth, or pay me back my money. He lied then. As far as I can tell, he never told the truth, but … well, unless his plan was something he was going to follow through with, and maybe it would have worked. I simply don’t know.”
“Plan?” Edwin said as he and I looked at each other.
Brodie’s eyebrows came together. “Has it not been in the articles? No, probably not. The police know, though.”
“Know what?” Edwin said.
“Gavin MacLeod wouldn’t admit to stealing money, but he did tell me that he would never have to steal, that he would never, ever have a problem coming up with whatever funds he might need, even if someone rich like me needed their money back. He was convincing.”
“Aye?” Edwin said, much more patiently than I thought he wanted to.
“Aye. He said his great-uncle had items that would prove to be worth millions of dollars. That he would someday be the owner of those items. He even mentioned Norval’s name. Of course, I knew who Norval was, but that was the first I heard they were related.”
“His uncle’s papers about Nessie?” I said. “But, Brodie, even if his uncle had papers or proof or whatever worth millions of dollars, the amount of money that had been invested in his company was probably even more. I mean,” I cleared my throat, “I would imagine there are more than a few investors like you, who have millions and millions of dollars. Even a fortune in Loch Ness proof wouldn’t be enough to cover it. Would it?”
“I doubt it, but who really knows?”
“Brodie, did you visit Norval last week, maybe give him one of your books?” I asked.
Brodie looked momentarily surprised. “No, lass.”
I looked at Edwin, but Brodie continued.
“I visited Norval Fraser six months ago, right after that conversation with Gavin. I gave him a book then, but I haven’t seen him since.”
“You’re sure?” I asked.
He sent me an impatient glare, but I tried not to look intimidated. “I’m sure.”
“I think he thought it was a recent visit. He seemed to say as much to his reverend.”
“Aye? No, it was a while ago. Perhaps he’s confused about the timing?”
It didn’t seem unlikely that Norval took a book to Nisa he’d had for six months. Nisa might have only thought Norval had recently seen Brodie. It takes time to get through a to-be-read pile. Still, I was curious about the seeming confusion, even if I might be the only one confused.
“Was it a bothersome meeting, between you and Norval? Was he upset?” I asked.
“Not at all.” Brodie held back a smile. “He was thrilled to meet me.”
“Did you talk about Gavin?”
“No, I was going to, but I didn’t. Mr. Fraser didn’t seem in his full right mind and he was very sweet. I do remember him looking at me like he couldn’t quite understand why I’d stopped by. He told me the story about Nessie and his father. It was a brief visit and only friendly.”
“You didn’t tell Norval what Gavin’s plans were?” Edwin asked.
“No, I got a quick sense of the man and his papers. The place was a mess. If there was anything of value in there, it wasn’t obvious. I left disappointed in Gavin’s ‘plan’ and sad for Mr. Fraser. I was sure he had no idea his nephew was saying the things he was saying.” Brodie paused. “I’ve thought about this, though. If Norval learned what Gavin was up to, could he have killed his nephew? I simply don’t know. But if Norval learned of Gavin’s plans, it wasn’t from me and it wasn’t a week ago. Any number of Gavin’s clients might have told on him.”
Perhaps Norval did kill his nephew. The man was adamant that money not exchange hands for his items, but only that someone continue his work. Maybe Gavin threatened to steal Norval’s things from him and sell them, and that was just too much for the older man to bear. I still couldn’t see Norval as murderous, but those papers were his life’s work. His obsession.
“There’s a little more,” Brodie said. “It seemed harmless then, but now I wonder.”
“We’re listening,” Edwin said.
Brodie squinted toward the office’s open doorway.
“No one can hear us,” I said.
“Aye, I’d still like for you to close the door, lass. Would you mind?”
He could have stood and closed it, but I was closer to it by about a foot. I did the honors.
“What?” I sat back down.
“I … after Norval told me the story of his father and Nessie, he said that he was afraid that Nessie would somehow kill more of his family, specifically his nephew, Gavin. It was a curse upon his family, he said. By the way, I didn’t tell the police that part.”
“Why not?” Edwin said.
Brodie’s eyebrows came together again. “I just … it was like me telling Birk I wanted to ‘kill’ Gavin MacLeod, but with Norval, it seemed odd and made of fantasy. I didn’t think he should be held to those words.”
I nodded, but wasn’t sure I agreed.
“I see,” Edwin said.
“I don’t believe in her, the monster,” Brodie said. “Sh
e can’t be real. There would be more evidence than, say, some obscure papers in an old man’s flat. Over time, I decided that Gavin was lying about everything. He was a skilled liar.”
“Did you offer to buy Norval’s papers from him?” I asked.
“No, lass, I didn’t. I don’t think he ever understood that I was there for anything more than to meet him and give him a book. I don’t know, though. I didn’t hurt Gavin, though he made me angry enough to be violent. That’s why I didn’t ring him the night he was killed. I didn’t trust myself. And, I’m sure I wasn’t the only one angry with him. I’ll never get my money back now, and I’ll never forgive the man.”
If Gavin had, in fact, stolen all that money, he’d probably ruined more than his fair share of lives.
“I’m sorry, Brodie. I really hope you get your money back,” I said.
“I do too, lass. I do too.”
Rosie grabbed Brodie as we escorted him to the door, and asked him to sign a few of the shop’s copies of his books. He signed the books and then spent a few moments in quiet, private conversation with Hamlet. He didn’t wear a cape, but my mind conjured an imaginary cape rolling nobly as he left through the door with the tiny bell jingling above.
TWENTY-EIGHT
The place didn’t look any more ransacked than it had the first time I’d been there. I couldn’t determine that the police had done anything at all inside Norval’s flat. Other than the fact that someone (maybe Norval) had placed the projector and some of the developed films on the coffee table, making me think whoever put them there wanted someone (probably me) to pay attention to those items. Would something on the films help clear Norval of murder? That was my best guess, but with the projectors placed where they were, it seemed a more ham-fisted clue than something he’d have to put in a cryptic note.
“Should we watch the films?” Edwin asked.
“Not here. I don’t want to take the time. Let’s take everything back to the bookshop. I know it’s okay that we’re here, but I’d like to get through all of this quickly.”
Shortly after we said goodbye to Brodie, Inspector Winters called me to say it was again okay for me to go to Norval’s flat. He didn’t seem as anxious that I go, but he said the police were again done. I didn’t want to miss another opportunity, so I asked Edwin to come with me immediately.
The Loch Ness Papers Page 18