He gathered some money, water and chocolates in a backpack and set off. Maintaining a steady but sweat-inducing pace, he scuttled across fields, through packs of sheep, over hedgerows, and across undergrowth. Even the lambs ignored him and he began to think of himself as invisible.
The increase in brambles told him he was close to the path to freedom, and he'd arrived unnoticed. Gloating over his success and the stupidity of those at the manor, he thought nothing when a twig snapped under his boot. The man jumped as a flock of small birds took flight from the scruff of plants at his feet. Startled, he flailed his arms to ward off the hundreds of tiny fowl swirling around him. The winged beasts made quite a racket before they dispersed, seeking a safer refuge.
The man caught his breath, then inhaled sea air deep into his lungs trying to calm his nerves. It didn't matter. Not a soul was about today, out here on the sands. Relaxed once more and sure of his success, he began to work his way down an incline to the pilgrim's path. Ahead, one of the guideposts which would keep him on track emerged from the fog. Reaching the flats, he marched towards the post. The bending of light through the dense mist must be responsible for the wooden column appearing shorter than normal, he told himself. By the time he realized his mistake, it was too late.
"You're not going anywhere," a voice emerged from the marker. It's icy tone sent a shiver down the fugitive's spine.
He attempted to make out who stood a short distance before him, although he didn't recognize the voice. He'd erred in thinking that the man was a path marker. He could see teeth gleaming at him like fangs. He took another step towards the figure that stood between himself and freedom. It was then he recognized the man. The criminal laughed, relieved. This imbecile was no threat.
"That's where you're mistaken, again," the runaway whispered, inching closer to the fool.
He'd distract the chump with his words.
"I am going somewhere, and so are you," he spat. "You're going straight to hell where your brother's waiting for you," the villain hissed before jumping for the figure.
-23-
Awakening
Duncan looked from behind his lashes at a blinding light. Opening his lids further, he saw a group of people surrounding him. Without moving a muscle, he shifted his gaze left and right, noting white walls, clean bed linens and an IV attached to his arm. He spied his mum, red-faced and puffy-eyed. Next to Margaret and holding her hand, stood his dad, smiling ear to ear. His sister, Sophie, sat in a chair on one side of his bed with an intense stare trained on his face, her eyebrows furrowed. Someone dashed from the room as the investigator glanced to his left. Tears streamed down Angela's face as she grasped his hand. Behind his former assistant, Angus towered, grinning.
Harold appeared with a man in tow, clad in a white coat. A stethoscope trailed around his neck and down his shirt. Sophie stood, allowing the doctor to reach Duncan. The little man aimed a pin light at his pupils, listened to his heart, and placed the back of his hand on the investigator's forehead.
"Everyone out while I examine the patient," he ordered.
Duncan's family shuffled from the room, silent. Angus helped Angela from her chair and walked her out, his arm around her shoulders. The Scotsman could hear murmurings from the hall. He tried to speak, but only produced a rasp.
The doctor reached for a plastic pitcher and poured water into a blue cup, then gave Duncan a sip. The Scotsman opened his mouth to receive the liquid. The effort it took was like trying to pry open Tut's sarcophagus. He swished the cool water around his mouth before swallowing. He never knew H2O could produce such delight.
"How am I?" Duncan whispered.
"You're just dandy. Apart from a broken rib and leg, fractured ankle, concussion, swelling of the brain, and a septic infection, you are great!" the physician with the odd bedside manner proclaimed, winking at his patient.
Duncan closed his eyes and wondered if this was just another hallucination. If so, he didn't want to wake up. As conscious thought drained from his mind, he heard the doctor's voice again.
"Oh, Yoo-hoo. Stay with me now."
Duncan forced his eyes open again.
"Didn't mean to scare you into a coma. The good news is modern pharmaceuticals got rid of your swelling, and antibiotics have that nasty infection under control. Your rib and leg are going to take a little longer, but you've slept through the worst of… "
The Scotsman drifted off once more. He was tired of the quirky little man spouting medical facts at him. He wanted to rest and, at some point, find out what had happened to him.
The next day, Duncan grew more alert. He still drifted in and out of consciousness, but the gaps got shorter. His family fawned over him and he couldn't believe his good fortune when Angela appeared again, this time without the tears. She sat next to his bed and when he inched his hand towards hers, she reached for his and held it during her entire stay. He took pleasure in gazing at her violet eyes and glossy auburn hair.
His parents told him how lucky he was. Salt water from the storm's high tides had kept the infections at bay for a day or more. If he'd landed differently, he would have drowned in the flooded tunnel or broken his neck. They explained how Skye and Mr. Lincoln had saved his life.
The last bit of information only brought confusion, but when Donald and Skye visited him later that day, they explained everything. He managed to follow most of the story, his thinking still a bit cloudy. Now he understood the dream about his mum swiping his face with a wet rag. The cloth represented Mr. Lincoln's tongue, and Margaret the mutt.
The following day, he ventured to ask Harold and Angus what had happened. They glanced at each other before answering.
"We cannot discuss anything until Constable Fenwick questions ye. He's due here this afternoon. He'll want to know what ye remember and we cannot influence yer memories with what we know," Angus explained. "Dinnae fash yersel, Duncan. We'll confess all after he's through with ye," he added.
"Well, tell me this much. Why did you have your arm around my lass the other day?"
"Ach! Ye noticed did ye? Dinnae fash yersel. She's only got eyes for ye, now that ye've pulled this stunt and almost got yersel killed," Angus joked.
The emergence of his brother's heavy brogue told Duncan Angus was not quite comfortable with everything that was happening. The investigator fought to keep his lids open and the brothers decided the patient needed more rest.
"The lass was chasing me pretty good, mind ye, before ye tumbled down that rabbit hole," Angus said over his shoulder as he left the hospital room and Duncan drifted off to his dreams.
* * * * * *
"Wake up, Duncan," Harold said.
Duncan opened his eyes to see his brothers and an unfamiliar man standing at the foot of his bed. The man took a seat close to Duncan's face.
"I'm Constable Fenwick, Duncan. I've been on your case since you turned up missing." The officer paused before continuing, "Do you feel up to some questions?"
The patient nodded.
"Very good. Your brothers have asked to stay and promised not to interfere. Is that all right with you?"
Duncan nodded again.
"Very good. Let's start at the beginning. Can you tell me what you were doing on Lindisfarne, why you came to the island?"
"I came to help a friend of a friend. Reginald Norcroft wanted someone to interpret that mosaic, the labyrinth he had discovered in his home."
Visions of the maze flooded Duncan's mind and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall the days leading up to this day.
"Mr. Dewar, are you all right? Should I call a nurse?"
"No, I mean, yes. I'm fine and I don't need a nurse."
"Are you an expert on labyrinths, then?" the constable asked.
"No. Reggie wanted someone to discover if the labyrinth held directions to a treasure hidden by monks before they abandoned Lindisfarne. My friend, Donald Merriwether, thought I could figure it out for him."
Fenwick shot Duncan a dubious look. Angus stirred,
but one glance from the constable told him to hold his tongue. Harold looked on, complacent.
"And did you, figure it out, I mean?"
"I don't know. We helped uncover the design and it held a certain fascination for me. When everyone left, I spent a morning walking the labyrinth. It's a spiritual discipline some still practice. Have you tried it constable?"
Angus smirked and forced back a laugh. The old Duncan was on his way back.
"No, but I've seen the maze in Norcroft Manor."
"You weren't tempted to take a stroll through its paths?" Duncan asked.
"Hardly. What else do you remember?"
"I remember that my brother, Harold, joined me unexpectedly. He planned to holiday on the island while I worked, but he ended up helping to excavate the labyrinth. He left with the others to attend Reginald's bird lectures. Walking the designs cleared my mind. Oh, yes, I played a hymn while I traversed the maze. Afterwards, I decided to get some air before a storm hit. I toured the castle and thought about the mosaic."
"Do you know how you ended up in that tunnel? How you fell down the well?"
"No. I remember driving from the castle back to the manor house, but nothing else until waking up in that God forsaken pit."
"Are you aware that someone has confessed to hitting you over the head and shoving you down that well?"
"Who?" Duncan asked, shocked.
"An employee of Mr. Norcroft was found badly beaten at the island's entrance to the pilgrim's path the day after we discovered you in the well. Do you know anything about that?"
"No," Duncan answered, shaking his head.
The resulting throb near the back of his skull made him wish he hadn't.
"Who was it?"
"The fellow almost drowned in addition to receiving quite the thrashing. Before being taken to hospital, he prattled everything to my sergeant, although now he's recanted and refuses to name his assailant. Seems he fears worse repercussions than the law can administer."
Duncan glanced at Angus. He knew his brother's temper could erupt like a solar flare if he thought a loved one in danger. Angus responded with a flinch of his shoulder, signifying to Duncan that he had no idea who beat the scum. Now it became clear why Fenwick allowed his brothers to witness his questioning. The constable hoped someone would incriminate themselves regarding the thrashing.
"Constable, I'd like to know who did this to me and why. Would you mind sharing?" Duncan asked, impatience in his voice.
"We'll get to that. First, tell me what you know about the disappearance of David Norcroft."
"Ach! I'd forgotten all about that. Reggie gave me his grandfather's sketchbook and access to the family accounts. David was obsessed with finding the labyrinth and the monks' treasure. I came across some old newspaper clippings that made it clear the elder Norcroft would never have risked the causeway with the tide coming in. I told Reginald that his grandfather was murdered, probably because he'd discovered something about the hidden hoard."
"I see. Did you learn anything else from the books?"
The investigator thought for a moment, furrowing his brow. Memories of his time on Holy Island began to flood his thoughts.
"Yes! The accounts and a name David scribbled in his notebook led me to a storm in the early nineteenth century that damaged the well. Reggie's grandfather must have believed the well was the key to finding the treasure."
"Anything else, Mr. Dewar?"
"Yes. I think the Peckhams have been stealing from Reginald. The accounts should be examined for embezzlement. I'm also sure I saw Mrs. Peckham pinching some valuable floor tiles dug from the old chapel. Julien Townsend is involved, too. Was Davey Peckham the man found by the pilgrim's path?"
"No, Julien Townsend was the one almost beaten to death," Fenwick stated.
The constable glanced at Harold and Angus and then drew in a deep breath. He fidgeted in his chair before getting up and pacing the room.
"You appear tired, Mr. Dewar. I think I've got enough for today. By the looks of you, I don't need to say don't leave the county, the country, or the continent." Constable Fenwick left without another word.
"What a bugger. Imagine him, trying to arrest someone fir beating that animal, Julien. Now he's recanted, I don't know how they'll pin it on him, since ye dinnae remember, Duncan," Angus said.
"That copper didn't mention it, but Reggie brought in some archaeologists and they did find the treasure in the well, Duncan. So you were right! They found two hidden compartments carved from the wall of the shaft. You couldn't see them from above, which is why no one discovered them before. Also, they think they found the remains of David Norcroft," Harold poured out his words like champagne leaving the bottle after the cork's been removed.
Angus shook his head at Harold, but their younger brother took no notice. He didn't want Duncan to worry over the details of the case, which still seemed murky.
"The entire time I sat in that pit I heard chanting. The voices always seemed to be coming closer, then would withdraw before they reached me. Do either of you know what that could have been? Music from the manor, perhaps? It's been troubling me."
Harold and Angus looked askance at each other. After a moment, Angus shrugged. He'd heard no sacred music while on the island.
"The tide. You must have been hearing the waves beat against the shore and funneling into and out of the tunnel," Harold blurted.
Duncan thought for a minute, recalling the sound that nearly drove him mad.
"Yes, that must have been it," he said. "What about the sulfur odor that filled my nostrils and lungs every time I took a breath?" Duncan added.
"That's an easy one. They burnt the stuff in the nearby lime kilns," Harold, now an expert on Lindisfarne, answered.
They seemed plausible explanations. Duncan didn't share how he'd wondered if he was in Hell while trapped in the cave. That infection had really done a number on him.
"Angus, would you give me a minute with Harold? I want to ask him something personal."
"Ach! The lad spends a few days with ye and now ye're thick as thieves and I'm on the outside lookin' in, is it?"
Before Duncan could protest, Angus had marched from the room. He waited a few moments and then waved Harold towards the chair next to the head of his bed. Harold sat down, smiling.
"How are things with Penny?" Duncan began.
"Just wonderful. She's been brilliant. Did you know her aunt supplied food for our family and rescue volunteers? Oh, I bet you didn't know that Hamish, John, and some of your other mates came down and searched for days. You've got a lot of people who love you, Duncan."
"That's good to know, Harold. I want to ask you something else. When you told me weeks ago about Big Mo and how you'd gained more than just money from him and his gang, did you mean that you learned how to threaten people and to give someone a real thrashing?"
"Now, whatever would make you think that?" Harold said and strolled from the room, one of his lips twitching his mouth into a lopsided grin.
-24-
The Sins of the Father
Harold jogged out of the hospital feeling swell. On the way down the front steps, he passed a familiar face. It was the man who shared the mead with he and Penny on the beach. What a coincidence that the friendly guy would be here at the hospital. Harold drew himself up. He didn't believe in coincidences.
Duncan's brother spun on his heels and re-entered the hospital. He saw the man enter an elevator. When the doors closed, he rushed over and took note of the floor where the contraption stopped. Then, he waited for the box to return and entered the elevator, punching 3.
When Harold exited on the third floor, the man was nowhere to be seen. He ambled about the hallways hoping to spot him. What he found was a hospital room guarded by a policeman. Harold smiled at the copper, then positioned himself in a nearby chair, grabbing a magazine to pretend to read. After about thirty minutes, the chap from the boat appeared, exiting from the guarded room. Harold waited ten more minutes, then sa
untered past the guard, glancing in the room. An almost unrecognizable black and blue Julien lay on the bed, eyes closed.
He left the hospital and found Angus, waiting for him in the car park. Before his brother could question him, Harold held up his hand, whipping out his mobile phone with the other. He tapped a number on the screen and waited.
"Hello, Constable Fenwick. Harold Dewar here. I want you to know, that fellow I told you delivered the mead to me on the beach, it's Julien Townsend's father. I just saw him enter the hospital and I recognized him and the family resemblance. I think Julien had him staking things out. Another thing you should know, Julien could easily peddle from Norcroft Manor to the Sailor for an alibi, and then return to the manor to assault my brother without being noticed. It only takes few minutes. I've tested it out myself. And if Julien's going to have a guard on his door, I demand one for Duncan as well!" Harold screamed the last sentence, then hung up on the constable with a tap of his finger.
Angus stood speechless, his jaw dropped to his chest, staring at Harold. He'd never seen his brother put that many sentences together at one time. He couldn't be sure he'd witnessed him raise his voice before, either.
"I feel like a chippie. Do you think the tide's out?" Harold asked, as if the last few moments hadn't happened at all.
* * * * * *
Two days hence, Reggie and Donald sat on each side of Duncan's hospital bed. In a few days, the Scotsman would be transferred to a rehabilitation facility in Edinburgh, where physical therapists would put him through his paces.
"Where's Skye today? Was she needed at the inn?" the investigator asked.
"Nae. She's still in Berwick, but that brother of yers has taken her to dinner. I'm not sure I approve. Dae ye ken?"
"Oh, Harold's harmless, Donald, you've nothing to worry about," Duncan joked.
Mystery: The Laird's Labyrinth: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder & Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 4) Page 19