Fenwick made a motion to his sergeant, who discreetly removed himself from the grand hall, having never taken a seat. The constable pulled a dining chair over to the fire and stared at the flames, now licking their way up the flue, as a long low rumble shook the darkening room. As the storm passed, so did the day, and each tick of the clock removed a bit of hope from the party gathered at the manor.
"We've arranged for your employees, Mr. Norcroft, to come here for questioning. I'd like to question them in the room where we found Duncan's phone. Can you arrange for some lighting in there?"
"Yes, quite right. I think I've some power extenders, somewhere. Donny, would you help me locate them?"
The innkeeper nodded, prying himself from the armchair and easing into an upright position. Both men left the room, Donald with a visible limp, on the hunt for lamps and wiring. Fenwick took a deep breath and exhaled, matching the gale outside.
"I'd like to hold the staff here, in the hall, until I've finished with them. The rest of you will need to wait elsewhere while we're conducting interviews," he stated.
* * * * * *
Harold pulled himself along the crawl space for two meters, feeling for a loose wooden plate with his fingers. Reggie bent near the wall where he'd removed a piece of paneling, concealing the secret passage.
"You're just about there, Harold," he whispered.
Duncan's brother hesitated, running his fingers over the dusty surface, stirring up decades of particles. Harold sneezed.
"Hush, now. We don't want to be discovered," Reggie said.
"I found it!
Harold gave his head a partial turn back towards the opening where his host watched. Reginald's hunched figure appeared in silhouette against the dim light of the corridor.
"Quite right! I'm going to ease this panel back into place, leaving just a crack open. We don't want a beam of light hitting the inspector and blinding him down there. Just back out when you're done, Harold. I've got to go prepare the rooms."
As Reggie slid the paneling back into place, the shaft darkened and Harold moved the loose piece of wood a smidge, revealing the soft glow of light from the grand hall below. He plastered his face against the opening and saw a bird's eye view of the people he'd come to know while spending time at the manor. Their voices wafted up to him and he heard their words, clear as a bell. If anyone spotted him, he hoped they'd assume he was just another Norcroft ancestor portrait, positioned on the unique ceiling.
"That fool went and drowned in the ocean and now we've got to sit here, at the inspector's whim, awaiting an interrogation. I don't appreciate it is all I'm saying," Davey Peckham snapped, not bothering to even lower his voice.
Anna Dodd jerked her head in Peckham's direction and Harold saw her husband, Henry, place a restraining hand on her forearm. The housekeeper appeared to relax her posture, but held her tongue.
"Now Davey, there's no need to speak ill of the dead. We all knew he was the naïve type, thinking he could fit in here on the island, all the while probably conspiring to steal Mr. Norcroft's pamments. I don't know why the master employed him. He had a soiled reputation already. No doubt he was off to let the British Museum know about what they'd found in there too. Trying to get his name in the papers again," Dottie Peckham poured out her words like honey from a jar, slow and thick.
Harold's stomach turned and he fought off the urge to puke. There, gathered around the fire, were Anna and Henry Dodd, the Peckhams, and Julien Townsend. Dottie and Davey reclined in Reggie's wingback chairs, making themselves at home, while the Dodds sat upright. The handyman perched on a dining chair next to the the housekeeper and her husband.
"I saw him leaving the house yesterday. Who would have guessed this could happen," Julien said in a low tone, shaking his head.
"There, there," Anna said, patting the handyman's shoulder. "We don't know anything yet. He may still turn up, fit as a fiddle," she added, glaring at the Peckhams.
Harold heard footsteps and shifted his gaze to see the sergeant enter the great hall.
"The constable will see you now, Mrs. Peckham."
"What about Davey, here. Don't he want to see my husband as well?" she asked, her tone incredulous.
"If he's so inclined, Mrs. Peckham. Now please come with me," the sergeant said, advancing towards Dottie.
She rose with a huff, giving the policeman a curt nod before glancing back at her husband. Then she followed the officer out of the hall, shoulders back, head held high.
Once the pair exited, Davey got up and sauntered to the dining area. He took his time ambling around the table, trailing his forefinger across its wooden surface. He stopped at the brandy decanter and poured himself a tall drink, then returned to the fire.
"A bit dusty, Anna. You're not trying to take advantage of the old man are you? I mean, even with his spectacles he can't tell if you're doing your work or not," Davey accused.
"Now see here!"
Henry Dodd shot from his chair.
"Easy now. No harm done. Only jesting," Davey said, raising an eyebrow and his free hand in a sign of surrender, while taking a slow slurp of his brandy. "Why don't you have a drink, Old Fellow. It will take the edge off your nerves."
"Ignore the old drunk, Henry. Come back and sit with me," Anna said, patting the seat next to her and forcing a weak smile from her lips.
Mr. Dodd took his seat and the four employees remained in silence for well over an hour. Harold shifted his weight, rolling a few centimeters right and left. He grew stiff and uncomfortable in the narrow passage and considered working his way out when he spied Dottie Peckham return to the hall, alone and frazzled. When Davey questioned her, she just shook her head and refused to speak. She took her seat as the others glanced at each other. The tension grew palpable, sensed even from the secret corridor above.
Late afternoon melted into evening before the sergeant reappeared, asking for Henry Dodd. Anna nodded encouragement at her husband, who got up without words and followed the policeman from the room.
"Let's see how your beloved handles that," Dottie said with venom, jutting her chin in Anna's direction.
"I expect he'll do just fine, Mrs. Peckham," the housekeeper replied.
Harold stifled a sneeze and wondered how long he could last in the crawl space. When he and Angus pulled Reggie aside and questioned him about finding a spot to observe his employees, his host hadn't balked but instead sized the brothers up. Angus's large frame might not fit in the secret passage, so Harold drew the lucky straw. The rest of the Dewars retired to the kitchen where they forced themselves to eat some dinner supplied by Marilyn from the chippie. When Harold informed Penny of the situation, she was eager to help, but he'd suggested she stay away from the investigation for now and instead have the restaurant supply food for his family and friends.
Mr. Dodd returned to the hall after a mere forty-five minutes, accompanied by the sergeant who stood in the doorway, requesting Julien follow him next. At first, the handyman didn't respond, but when the policeman called his name a second time, he hastened from the room.
"Well, that was quick, wasn't it?" Dottie sneered at Henry.
Harold saw a black shadow streak across the grand hall and under Mrs. Peckham's chair. A second later the woman screamed and leapt from her seat.
"Aaaaaa! That beast attacked me again!" she shrieked.
Harold watched as the shadow dashed out of the room and back to the corridor that lead to the rest of the house, its path visible only from his perch above the ceiling.
"Get hold of yourself, Woman!" Davey scolded his wife, who scowled and rubbed her calf for the next ten minutes.
The evening wore on and still no sign of the sergeant or Julien. Henry Dodd dozed off while Anna paced the room, checking the dining table for the dust Davey Peckham claimed to have found. The accountant also drifted in and out of sleep, Harold guessed the result of his earlier brandy.
At last, Julien returned and Fenwick's sidekick requested the pleasure of Anna's com
pany. Mr. Dodd stirred and sent his wife off with a smile and nod. Harold waited for the Peckhams' ascorbic comments. He didn't have to wait long.
"Well, what did he ask you?" Dottie demanded.
Julien glanced at the woman as if repulsed, but volunteered the information anyway.
"They asked when I'd last seen Dewar. I told him what I told you. He was driving off as I returned from lunch. I didn't see him again. I left the grounds early myself, due to the storm, and had a few pints at the Sailor before heading home. Poor interfere, he's dead sure as I'm sitting here."
"Is that all?" Mrs. Peckham asked in a shrill tone, sounding like the shrew she was.
"That's about it. They confirmed my story with the barkeep at the Sailor and called my dad to verify I spent the night at home."
"Then why don't you leave?" Davey Peckham asked in a razor-sharp tone.
"Because the constable politely asked me to stay," Julien stated, rising from his chair to stand closer to the fire and giving his back to the Peckhams.
It was after midnight before the sergeant called for the accountant. By that time, Harold's legs had gone from pin pricked to numb. He could no longer move. He imagined Reggie might have to pull him from the secret passage. He looked on as the housekeeper collapsed next to her husband while Dottie tried to cozy up to Julien, who wanted no part of the woman.
Harold attempted to wiggle his toes and after much effort, regained feeling in his extremities. He crept by centimeters backwards, replacing the wood panel to its original position and thus severing his earpiece to the hall below. By the time he exited into the hallway, his body ached with pain. He raised himself by grabbing a nearby side table, almost pulling it over in the process, then inched himself down the corridor, moving like an unwell nonagenarian.
His parents, Donald and Reggie had retired much earlier, but Angus waited for him in the darkened kitchen, as planned.
"Are you here?" Harold whispered.
"Wheesht!" Angus hissed.
Harold felt his way to the small table where his brother sat. It had taken him more than a half hour to work his way there from his hiding place in the secret passage. He pulled out a chair and sat, nearly knocking over a cup of coffee, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
"They're still listening to that accountant blether. I dinnae trust him, Harold. Both he and the wife are jakey. That Anna is downright dowie over Duncan. I think she's all right. I've sent word to Hamish and the other lads to make their way down here tomorrow. They can swatch the island and the coast, dae ye ken?" Angus said, his Scottish burr flaring.
"I agree that the Peckhams can't be trusted and I know Anna has a good heart. She stood up for Duncan in there. Your lads will be a big help, checking out the area." Harold paused before continuing, "Angus, I think you should call Angela Smith. You know, Duncan's old assistant?"
"I know who Angela is, ye bampot. Why should I worry her before we know anything for certain?"
"Well, I know for a fact, she and Duncan have been speaking every day since I came down here. I think they're sweet on… "
Harold's whispers were interrupted by the two policemen escorting Peckham out of the old chapel. Light from that room streamed down the hall and into the kitchen when they opened its door. The brothers remained hidden in shadows. Harold watched as a small dark form sauntered behind the three men, but continued into the kitchen instead of following them into the great hall. Voices could be heard and the front door slammed moments later. The sound of engines starting signaled the constable had released Reggie's employees. Harold's watch reflected one-thirty a.m.
The younger Dewar watched as Angus crept towards the hall, stopping just shy of its entrance. His brother listened as the two policemen discussed the interrogations, then left the premises. After their cars had driven down the lane, Angus flipped on the kitchen lights.
"What did they say?" Harold asked.
"Just that Julien had the only real alibi. I guess Reggie convinced them of foul play."
-21-
Hope Wanes and Waxes
"I'm afraid things aren't looking very hopeful, Skye," Donald said.
He heard his daughter gasp into the phone and braced himself for their conversation. She'd rang him, wanting an update. It had been four days since he'd raced to Edinburgh and still no sign of Duncan and no clues as to how the Vauxhall ended up submerged in the causeway. The police had examined the house and waterlogged vehicle, but found no sign of nefarious dealings. Skye found her voice.
"This is horrible, Dad. How could this have happened? I keep thinking he's going to show up and be shocked at all the commotion. Every time the phone rings, I'm sure it's ye, calling to tell me it was all a mistake."
"I know, Skye. We thought that ourselves at first. The fact that the lad left his mobile behind and hasn't been seen since he visited Lindisfarne Castle troubles me."
"Have the police made any headway?" she asked, climbing in the old Range Rover she used to get around Taye.
"Nae. I get the feeling they don't believe it was an accident, either. They keep questioning folks and Reggie pesters them night and day for answers. We both feel responsible."
"Now, Dad, why would ye think any of this was yer fault?"
Skye sighed as she drove out of the Blue Bell's parking lot and headed for the cottage she shared with her father. It had been a long day at the inn, and she was certain it would be a long night worrying about her vanished friend.
"I think I distracted the lad with all that talk of takin' o'er the inn. I gae him the boak. Next thing, he's missin'," Donald confessed.
"Nae, Dad. I don't think Duncan's the kind of man to run off all willy-nilly at a business proposition. And I'm sure the idea of being my partner didn't make him nauseous either. Ye're not to blame, dae ye ken?"
"Aye, I'll take yer word fir it fir now, Love."
Skye parked the old Range Rover in front of her house. A foul, sour odor had been circulating from the heating vent all the way home. She glanced in the back seat, but saw nothing unusual. She climbed out of the car and strode to the boot area, releasing the hatch with her free hand and holding her mobile phone in the other. She glanced around the cargo area, looking for what might be the cause of the unpleasant aroma. It was dark in the car and difficult to see since the hatch light had burned out years before. As her eyes adjusted, Skye spotted the source of the smell. Then, it dawned on her.
"Hey, Dad! I've got an idea," she said, her voice trembling with excitement.
* * * * * *
Early on the morning of the fifth day after Duncan's disappearance, Harold slipped from the house unnoticed. Fog buried the island in a thick gray coat, allowing people to scuttle about with impunity and no fear of detection. He watched as islanders continued their lives, going about their business. Harold wanted to test a theory he had and this was the perfect time to do it, the heavy mist providing obscurity.
Later that morning, the air search was called off. Too much time had passed for Duncan to have survived in the ocean and resources were needed elsewhere, was the reasoning. Hamish, John, and the other Dewar mates met at Norcroft Manor to discuss their next move. No one wanted to give up, but things did look bleak. Their friends had descended on the island several days ago and searched from dawn until nightfall, every day, often screaming Duncan's name. They'd combed the area to no avail, and hired locals to pilot boats with the same results. Even some islanders joined the search in the initial days. It seemed as though the North Atlantic had swallowed the Scotsman whole.
Anna hovered around the house, ensuring everyone remained fed and cared for. She worked like a dog, helping to keep the home fires burning. Julien stopped by each day offering to take care of any odd jobs needed with a house full of unexpected guests. The Peckhams stayed clear.
Margaret and James never left the manor in case Duncan should try to return there. Sophie, who arrived late the first night, kept close to her parents, while Harold moved about the island, observing the locals, vi
siting Penny, and keeping everything close to his vest. Angus organized his chums each day for the search and touched base with Rescue Services and law enforcement. After speaking with his parents that morning, he delivered the news that their friends should return to Edinburgh. They reluctantly agreed, extracting a promise from Angus that he would summon them at once if needed.
It was a pitiful group that met for lunch in Reggie's kitchen at noon. Donald listed to the right in his chair, looking like a stroke victim. Margaret didn't touch Anna's stew, in spite of its wonderful aroma. Instead, she stared with lifeless eyes at the sink. James slumped in his chair, intermittently lifting a spoonful of the hot liquid and blowing on it, but never placing any in his mouth. Sophie busied herself pouring water, washing dishes, adjusting the flame on the stove… anything to keep her mind occupied and off her missing brother. Even Viking seemed subdued, making his regular appearance at meal time.
Reggie encouraged everyone to eat in order to keep their strength up and apologized that a crew from Newcastle University would be joining them soon. News of the labyrinth leaked out and in an effort to sidestep the British Museum, Reginald had invited his constituents from Newcastle to take a look at the mosaic. His hope remained that the labyrinth could stay unmolested on Holy Island and escape the fate of the Lindisfarne Gospels. The new additions would, of course, stay on the mainland, but might come and go throughout the day at the manor.
Angus forced himself to finish his bowl of soup while Harold accepted seconds. He believed Reggie that it was important to keep up one's strength. As Sophie cleared the final dishes from the table, the sound of an approaching vehicle drew the group's attention from the kitchen to the car park.
"It's me daughter," Donald proclaimed, listless.
Even the arrival of Skye could not lift the innkeeper from the gloom that had descended on Norcroft Manor. The sad party proceeded outside to greet their newest addition, one member trailing after another.
Mystery: The Laird's Labyrinth: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder & Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 4) Page 17