by Alexie Aaron
Luke’s betrayal and exit from our marriage hurt, but I was healing. God had a good track record of keeping me alive, from falling off a ladder with a ten-foot hard landing into a marble bathtub, to my near death in the bog. My guardian angel must be worn out. This last swim in the bog probably caused the angel to give God notice. I still thanked God and hoped he would add some perks to keep that magician happy and back on the job.
I didn’t hear Father Michael approach, but I knew he was there before he spoke.
“Thank you for holding on to my Uncle. Little Paisley told me how you held him in your lap so he wouldn’t be alone anymore,” Father Michael said as sat down beside me. “Noelle said you thought it was he all along who guided you.”
“I don’t know how far your faith will let you understand what I feel happened in the last few days.”
“Let’s not put God on a narrow path shall we?”
“Now you’re in my religion.” I shaded my eyes as I took off my sunglasses. Looking up at him I asked. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“I want to know everything.”
“Very well. The first evening I was here...” I retold the events of the night as best I could. I could see he had questions but was holding back until I finished. When I got to the part about the mysterious light he started to fidget. “Problem?”
“You’re telling me fairy lights led you to the Comstocks?”
“Lord...”
His face bristled.
“Excuse me, I mean...well...when you say it that way in the cold light of day it does sound absurd, but on my way home I also heard the music...”
“So it’s music now...”
“Do you want to hear what happened?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop interrupting.”
“So was it fairy music to go with the fairy lights?”
“How would I know what fairy this and that was, and isn’t it pixies here and fairies...oh never mind. The music...it made me more comfortable. Even in my whisky haze I felt a presence.”
“Now you’re making it up.”
I ignored him and continued, “The presence stayed with me nudging me here and there. Last night when I was unconscious in the bog, a light guided the girls to me. Noelle thinks it was the moonlight reflecting off the crystal in this necklace, but somehow I think the light was the same one that aided me in finding help for Angie.”
“The same light,” he leaned over as if to say something further, but all that came out was, “humph.” He was silent for a while and sat back up. “How did you end up in the bog? Fairies...oh how about trolls, we haven’t heard from the troll faction yet.”
I got off the ground and dusted off my behind. “That’s it! If you want to know what happened, read Cayne’s report.” I turned around and headed for the stream. I was so mad that I wouldn’t be surprised if when my feet hit the water, steam would rise up. I thought, “Where did he get off. He was a priest, and, hey, there are a lot of things one has to take on faith.” Then my little voice inside me reasoned, “It’s because he’s a priest that he can’t believe in things thought pagan.”
“Come on, Cin. I’m sorry,” he said as he walked over to me. “It’s a lot to take in.”
“Trolls...”
“Sorry about that. Please continue. I want to hear.”
“I think, no proof mind you, it was this man who was on the plane with us...dressed all in tan. I was hit on the head, drugged and left to die in the bog. When I regained consciousness I thought I was dreaming because it was just like the dream I had on the first night here. But this time it was real.”
“Must have been pretty scary.”
“I don’t know if I was scared or just worried about how I was going to explain this one to my family. Anyway, Noelle was with me. And now this is the part you’re going have to try to understand. I wasn’t alone.”
“Cin, we are never alone. God...”
“Hold on preacher boy, my story. Your uncle was with me...I know his body was entwined with mine, but it was more than that.” I struggled to explain but ended up just giving him the facts.
“So you stayed with him till they could pull him out.”
“I didn’t want him to be alone. He had too much time alone already.”
“That was very courageous of you.”
“There’s that word ‘courageous’ again. I swear it will be my undoing.” I looked at Michael. My gaze took in his cassock and his strong jaw line before it settled on his eyes. “Have you seen him yet?”
“The coroner and the FSS want to send him to London to be properly processed. The dog tags are a strong clue to his identity, but they want the dental records and or DNA to give my uncle his name. Why?”
“Noelle and I noticed something about Donald’s remains last night.”
“I can imagine the putrefaction of his flesh was pretty nasty to be around.”
“No, Donald’s remains smelled like well, peat but it was the anguish left on his features. I think he was alive when he hit the bog. Another thing is, I don’t think it was an accident that he ended up there.”
I saw his body go rigid. I walked over to him and tried to lay a comforting hand on his arm. He flinched. I backed away and found some dry ground to sit on. I didn’t understand why I was upset by Father Michael’s small rejection. What was I to him? Just the barer of bad news. I wanted to make it all better, but dealing with grief was way out of my league. It was like trying to play an impossible piece of music. I was frustrated, but my inner child insisted I wait a while before leaving. I gazed back over to the water and willed it to do something magical. Something wonderful, something to back up my story, it just burbled.
“Murder?”
“All I have is conjecture, but I know he was murdered. I just don’t know why.”
He took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Cin. I just don’t know. I was prepared for an accident of some kind but murder. No one disliked my uncle.”
“Wrong place, wrong time?” I suggested.
He drew in a long breath and his eyes welled a bit. There must have been a hundred thoughts going through his head, but he remained composed.
“Have you been there yet?”
“The bog? No, I was hoping you would take me.”
“Well, help me up, old man, and I will do better than that. I will give you an account of what I think happened to your uncle. At least what I know now with the present information.”
Father Michael helped me up. We walked back to the house. I stopped and let Angie know what we were up to. She had left the buildings open after her tour with Father Michael so I wouldn’t need the keys. She gave me her Wellingtons, and I jammed my bare feet into the too small boots. I asked Michael if he wanted to change into something more rugged, but he declined. I picked up a walking stick, and we headed off to the school.
“I understand after Angie received news that Michael, your namesake, was dead, she was so ill with her grief that they had institutionalized her in a mental hospital. The farm was empty when Donald arrived with whoever had come with him. I don’t think he came alone. Bobby was in New York making a name for himself in the jazz circuit, and his father was at the university. Angie’s mother would have been the only one here if she were not away visiting her ill daughter.”
“I think he traveled here and was in the company of someone who still had a set of keys to the music school, maybe someone who had been a student or even an advisor. Donald either angered the person he was with or made some kind of discovery that made his existence a danger to his companion. I think there was a fight in the music storage room. In the scuffle the contents of Donald’s pockets went flying. Maybe he was hit that hard. His body had to be disposed of. Maybe the killer knew about the quicksand effect of the bog out back.”
“Couldn’t he have just gotten turned around and was succumbed by the bog?”
“Then why did I find his wallet and coach pass in here?”
Father Michael wa
lked around the room slowly, examining the shelves. He stopped and thought for a moment and said, “Show me the bog.”
I led him down the hill and walked the new path that the emergency people and the tractor had cut into the overgrowth. As we neared the bog, the peat smell started to tickle my nostrils. I used the stick to probe the ground before we went any closer. We stood just to the side of the bog where I had been found.
“I was thrown in. In my brief flight my necklace had twisted around and caught on the branches of that dead tree limb. My unconscious body sunk, but my head was held out of the water by the strong chain around my neck.” I pointed out the bruising under my chin.
“You see there was no way Donald could have just walked off and landed below me. There is no current to move him. He stood with his hand outstretched swallowing the peat and bog water that drug his body to the bottom. He was alive and conscious when he died. He fought Michael. He suffered.”
Michael sunk to his knees. I know I had been harsh, and I don’t know why my compassion didn’t edit my words. I turned to give Michael privacy, but he grabbed my leg. “Stay. Please stay.”
I sat down and let the quiet envelop us. After a little while Father Michael started praying. I caught some of the Latin words and the rhythm of his cadence evoked memories of mine from the Lutheran church of my youth. I started crying. My tears were silent drops that drained from my eyes, tracked their way downward until they had dropped to the ground before me. I started to hum the music that filled my head.
“What is that tune?” Michael’s hoarse voice asked.
“I don’t know, but I heard it in my head right now.”
“Maybe you’re composing?”
“Nah, this is far too ethereal to have come from me. I’m more the Irish drinking song type of composer.” I smiled and wiped an errant tear off the end of my nose. “What are you feeling right now?”
“That’s an unusual question. A normal one would be: how are you feeling right now?”
“But I didn’t ask that did I? Again, what are you feeling right now?”
“Sadness and anger. I’m trying to be separate from the grief, but I want to cry and beat the ground.”
“Is there anything wrong with that? Isn’t that normal grieving?”
“After all this time. We knew he was dead. I was born knowing he was dead.”
“But you didn’t know how or where. So this is all fresh. I can’t stop crying, and I didn’t know him. I keep thinking about something Paz said to us the first night she was here. If all the music in Donald never had a chance to be played or sung, is it decomposing down there?”
“Maybe it lives on but through another source,” Michael said thoughtfully.
“That would fall under faith.”
“I would like to find out who killed him.”
“So would I. I think Donald is a vital clue to what has been happening out here.” I got up and held out my hand. “Angie, the girls and I are heading into town in search of more information and,” I pointed to the worn Wellies, “to buy me some shoes.”
“Would a male escort be unwelcome?”
“No, besides you’ll get to meet my son Alex via the wonderful world of the Internet. Alex is setting up a powwow and a camera at Bobby Bathgate’s home. I have to pick his brain over who was in the last class of students here. I know Donald, Maurice and Michael Sherborn were in the same class. There’s no other physical evidence to tell me who else resided here. Or what happened to the manuscripts that they had worked on. I have a suspicion, but I need further information to support it.”
“You’re fully involved in this Bathgate mystery now, aren’t you?”
“Before it was just a mystery, but after my swim last night it has become very personal.” I raced him back to the house. I even managed not to cuss when he breezed past me and sent a branch flying back into my face.
~
The Internet café was quiet except for our group that had assembled at the door. Paz, Noelle and Billy drove over in Paz’s little car. The Father and I braced ourselves on each narrow lane and turn that Angie’s old lorry sped through on our way to Penzance. Penzance like many other towns in England had a High Street where most of the stores did business. In Penzance’s case, High Street was indeed high up on the rise of land that circles the harbor.
It took a while for Noelle to connect with Alex. Paz in the meantime had received an email from her friend at the Royal Conservatory of Music. I walked over to her and with her help was able to gather my email. There were several messages from Alex. He confirmed he would be online at the appointed hour at Bobby’s house.
“Everyone, I have Alex,” Noelle called to us as she waved us over to her. She adjusted the web camera so it would take in two or three of us if we stood close together. I looked at the screen and was amazed to see my son. He was mugging for the camera.
“Hello, Mom, you haven’t said how handsome I am yet? Huh huh?” His voice sounded a bit odd and the picture was jerky, but this still was amazing to me.
“You are so very handsome, Alex. You’re lucky you came from a good gene pool. Is everything set up?”
“I am going to adjust the camera so you can see Mr. Bathgate. Can you see him yet?” The focus wavered and there was Bobby Bathgate sitting with his cast up on a couch next to his wife Elizabeth. She was patting her hair.
“I can see. Can you see me?”
“I can see you, my over-the-hill sister, and is that a priest? Did Noelle finally decide to give up on dating and join a convent?”
I groaned and didn’t stop Noelle in time. Yes, she flicked off her brother in front of a Jesuit priest. I stepped back and pushed Angie into my place.
“Angie, is that you?” Bobby leaned forward. “You have gotten so old!”
“That would make you much older.” Angie shook her head.
I guess some things never change. Some brothers and sisters will antagonize each other all their lives.
“You better stop drinking that whisky. I thought that the picture was blurring, but I see it’s just you!”
A couple of more loud exchanges of sibling sniping went on until Noelle put her hand up. “Listen, you guys don’t have to shout! Honestly. Okay, let’s get the business out of the way.”
Alex walked back into the picture and handed something to Bobby.
“Angie, I looked at the copy of the manuscript that you sent to this young man. It’s Michael’s work, but Maurice published it around 1948 under the title, ‘Sunlight on Water Music.’ I remember the tune. It was very big in Europe. I think parts of it are still being used by some BBC news show. I didn’t remember it was Michael's until I saw the manuscript with all your kissy kissy on it.”
“Stop it. You’re embarrassing me in front of the Father here.”
“We meet again, Father. Did you find any trace of Donald?”
I stepped into the camera range. “Father Michael’s Uncle Donald was found in the bog behind the music school last night.”
Bobby’s hand went to his chest. He shook his head in disbelief. “But how? When?”
“We’re working on that, but we have hit a snag and could use your help. Here’s Angie.”
“Bobby, do you remember who was in Daddy’s last class, the one that Donald, Maurice and Michael were in? I can see their faces in the fog but no names.”
“It’s cuz you’re an old bat. I remember Donald Williams. He wrote hymns and dirges. Michael was working on a symphony. Maurice was, lord, I don’t know if he ever produced anything. Then that lad from Canada...Horace Beaufort. Remember we used to call him Heebeegeebee? He was into big band music. Lots of brass. You would think he hated strings and woodwinds the way he never wrote any in.”
I looked around and saw that Michael was writing the list of names down in his notebook. I smiled at him. Always prepared just like a boy scout.
“What about that morose tall guy with the big nose?” Angie prodded Bobby.
“The Russian. What the de
vil...oh, Ivan been down the road a bit.”
“He means, Ivan Bendonovich, or something near that,” Angie explained.
“Old Ivan thought he could write a Russian opera. Can you imagine? His tunes were great, but the language is tough. Heard he rose up in ranks during the war.”
“Bobby, that’s only five. Father always had six students.”
“Who are we forgetting?” Bobby counted on his fingers. “Donald, Maurice, Michael, Horace, Ivan and Bentley, Bentley Hughes. He was a string guy, better at arranging then original work. Helped all the lads on their manuscripts, real nice guy. His family was peers of the realm, big money, lots of class. Well, that’s the six.”
“How’s Elizabeth?” Angie asked her brother about his wife.
“She’s here. ask ‘er yerself.”
Angie and Elizabeth started talking. I walked away from the camera. Noelle was still muttering. I left her in peace. Father Michael handed me the notebook, and I read off the names.
“Whatcha got there, Cin?” Paz called over from the computer she was using.
“The names of the men in the last class. I guess the next step is to find out where they are now.”
“I have a bloke that could run those names for ya.”
I handed the notebook to Paz, and she started typing them into the computer. She handed it back to me.
“I am going to give him Angie’s number to call us with the results. Anything else?”
“Can’t think of anything right now.”
I thanked her and walked back over to the web conference.
“Mom, oh mom!” Alex’s face dominated the screen.
“I’m here Alex.”
“I talked to a police sergeant friend of Slater’s dad, who said the few people who witnessed Bobby’s fall saw a man in a tan raincoat standing behind him. Hang on, it gets better. One of the witnesses was from the School of the Arts and he drew a picture of him.”
He held up a copy of the sketch. It was the same man that was at the airport and tried to kill me. I had to force myself to breathe, and I put my hand on my chest to slow my heart.