Scamper's Find

by Terry H. Watson

  “This is what you do,” began the elder brother…

  And so, handcuffed to iron bars in the van that was normally used to store fishing gear, the two unfortunate tourists were thrown onto a grubby mattress and secured tightly as the sneering brothers set about checking the chains.

  “We’re going on a little trip, boys. Hope you’ll be comfy here,” smirked Bobby as he locked the van securely.

  Joe laughed, “You’re making it too snug for our guests with that sedative stuff. They’ll sleep most of the way and miss all the bumps and potholes.”

  They sent off north on a marathon 500-mile journey, sharing the ten-hour drive. They avoided built-up areas by following country roads where possible. As they drove along they sang to the music and stopped occasionally to dispense water and insults to their prisoners.

  ***

  Alex, the elder of the Bryson brothers, had moved from the rat-race existence he lived in London, to an idyllic part of Scotland after he married a local girl whom he met when in the area for a job interview. He loved the relative peace there and the sedate pace of life compared to the life he had known in the fast lane. His wife had encountered her two brothers-in-law on several occasions and loathed their coarse manners and negative influence on her husband, so much so that she discouraged visits from them. She had no inclination to become involved with her husband’s family and had met her mother-in-law on one occasion, that of her wedding to Alex. He had called his brothers to say that Alice had gone for a week to one of her pottery courses. She ran a small pottery business from home, working in a converted garden shed where she could concentrate and indulge her passion for ceramics. Alex arranged to meet his brothers at a secluded spot known to them from previous fishing visits, several miles from his home, thus avoiding the vicinity of his house and village.

  “Some nosey neighbour would be sure to spot you and tell Alice. That’s all we need. For some reason unknown to herself, she can’t quite take to you scruffs,” laughed the jovial elder Bryson.

  “We’ll meet at the loch where we used to fish and where you camped last visit.”

  Arriving in Scotland, Bobby opened the van to introduce Alex to the cargo.

  “My God, Bobby, what a stink! That’s revolting!”

  “Can’t smell a thing, can you boys?” he said addressing the distraught captives.

  Alex stood by the door and laughed.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t our old mate Barry Jones! Hope you had a comfortable ride, cos the next one won’t be so cosy! We’ve been looking forward to this get-together for many years Barry; sorry we won’t have time to hear your adventures since we last met, as we’re a bit pushed for time. And your expensive suit! What a shame, it seems to be a bit of a mess now. Don’t worry about it; you won’t be needing a change of clothes where you’re going.”

  Barry wriggled in fear, mumbled incoherently, his heart racing as he faced his nemesis. His companion, alerted from his coma-like state by the noise and sudden commotion, feared for his life, his worst nightmare not yet over. During the journey, in his semi-conscious state, he mistook a pair of fishing waders which were hanging there, for some kind of apparition, like a ghost determined to attack him and haunt his ever-waking moment. He closed his eyes but his dreams were of ghouls and vampires. His fate was dire, his mind befuddled, he did not know what had happened in B-J’s life to merit such treatment from these bullyboys and was in no fit state to ask. On the journey he attempted to speak to B-J. He had something on his conscience that he wanted to offload but the words appeared stuck in his gravelly throat. He regretted ever having set foot outside his comfort zone of Rio.

  ***

  Over many years there had been an increase in coal production in Scotland. Coal sourced from open-cast mining caused controversy. Apart from a blot on the landscape, the dust created problems for people living nearby, for farm animals and for food production. At best, it created employment in the area and less tonnage of coal was required to be imported. Restoration of the sites after use was mandatory. Companies were required to minimise danger and disruption. Some sites became creative works of art and enhanced the local community, transforming a former eyesore to a pleasant outdoor recreational park. The eldest of the Bryson boys enjoyed this type of restoration work.

  “It’s a million miles away from anything I’ve ever worked at in London,” he told his workmates. “Good, clean fresh air in my lungs, instead of pollution from chemicals and traffic. Yeah, this is the life for me. London is too crowded now; it’s changed so much over the years. Even in the estate I grew up in I used to know everyone. Now there are too many incomers, people hardly know their nearest neighbours.”

  Alex Bryson, employed in this outdoor restoration work, enjoyed hearing about mining practices from previous eras from his work colleagues whose lives and those of their relatives had centered on the coalmining industry for several generations. He was aware of the dangers of old mine shafts and was warned by his workmates to avoid them at all costs.

  “They can cave in at any time,” he was informed. “The ground around the shafts is unsafe for walking on; best to give them a wide berth if you are out and about walking.”

  His manager took him on a tour of the area. He had taken a liking to the new recruit and hoped he would settle in with the rest of the close-knit team. He was a firm believer in getting to know his workers in order to get the best out of them and wanted to help the burly Londoner feel at home.

  “Come with me lad, I’ll show you what we mean by these dangerous shafts. If you know what to look for, then you can avoid them.”

  They drove around the area, the happy-go-lucky boss enjoying showing the sights to the new worker, as they looked for pit shafts to avoid.

  With this store of knowledge, Alex Bryson led his brothers to a disused pit shaft which he had earmarked for their nefarious scheme.

  “There’s an old shaft here that was closed down years ago. It’s abandoned and the roof is shattered. This area is riddled with these old shaft things. Some are linked to tunnels under the River Forth. I’ve checked this one out; it’s going to suit our purpose well,” he laughed.

  “We’ll force open this cover here, should be easy enough to do, and dispose of Barry Jones once and for all. Be careful, cos the ground might be weak around your feet. We have to work quick like if we don’t want to join Barry in the pit.”

  “Get it over with! This will give me creepy nightmares,” stuttered Bobby as he looked in horror as the shaft cover was removed showing a dark pool of deep, stagnant water. He stepped as near as he dared; his whole body trembled at the thought of the terror that lay ahead. They struggled with the weight of the now heavily sedated Barry Jones and succeeded in lowering him into the open space where the iron bar he was handcuffed to, caught on a piece of metal. With their gruesome task complete they sealed the shaft with pieces of concrete block and moved back quickly from the scene.

  “Should we say a prayer for his soul?” stammered the highly-strung younger brother.

  “Don’t waste your breath, Bobby. Barry Jones had no soul.”

  “What about the other guy? Who is he anyway?” asked Alex.

  “We have no idea. He had the misfortune to keep bad company. What’re we gonna do with him?”

  “Same again then bros. I know where there’s another one of these shafts a good few miles away from here, thirty or so. You up for it?”

  Bobby shrugged his shoulders and resigned himself to another gruesome session.

  “Do we have to do that again? He ain’t done anything to us, has he? We could dump him somewhere else, don’t put him in that hole-thing.”

  His brothers laughed at his discomfort.

  “Always the wimp, our baby bro! Time to toughen up and man up! We can’t risk his body being found, it will have our prints all over it. Sorry, bro, but we have no choice.
In the hole he goes.”

  “Get it over with then.”

  After completing the second gruesome task, Alex took his brothers to a site where they burned the contents of the van.

  “Get this cesspit of a van hosed down, inside and out, and get rid of the stink off yourselves too. You need to find somewhere far from here to hole up for a couple of nights before you make the journey south. Do you want to grab a bite to eat first? There’s a place nearby that does food to go; serves good grub.”

  Bobby, emptying the contents of his stomach, interrupted him. Joe laughed.

  “I think the answer to that is no!”

  One look at Bobby told the brothers that their young sibling was not fit to travel the long distance home, nor was he in any state to help with the driving. Alex booked them into a cheap motel for a few nights.

  “That should give him time to recover,” he told Joe. “There’s an outlet shopping place nearby where you can pick up fresh clothes and turn yourselves into human beings. No one at home will notice you’re not around. Your neighbours will presume you’ve gone fishing. We can phone Mum’s care home and let them know you’re on a fishing trip. She will be content with that for a few days.”

  Despite their teasing of Bobby, his brothers were concerned about him. He was always a weakly child who succumbed to every ailment available, causing his mother endless nights of worry about her youngest son. Several bouts of depression dogged him all his life. Bobby was only months old when his father died in a horrific train accident that took the lives of twelve people. Compensation from the rail company was invested for Peggy’s young boys and became available to each as they reached the age of majority.

  As Bobby rested in the motel, his nightmares began; he slept during the day, leaving Joe free to purchase clothes and items necessary for further fishing trips from a second-hand store that he located nearby. He had discarded all vestige of gear that might have been handled when moving the two unfortunate prisoners. He spruced up the vehicle inside and out. No one would suspect it had been used as a makeshift prison. A few days later they were ready for home but Bobby had developed night terrors that were to last him the rest of his life.

  “We’d best get on our way, got to let Mum know Barry Jones won’t be bothering her again. We’ll tell her he met with a bad accident,” said Joe. “We have to keep silent about this trip, Bobby; not a word to anyone, got it? Never mention it to anyone or it will be the finish of us and we’d have Alex to face, so, make sure you keep your mouth shut.”

  Bobby nodded in resignation.

  The two pit shafts lay undisturbed for many months until a curious dog sniffed too near the edge of the weakened ground, and a cyclist bumped against a boulder.

  CHAPTER 25

  Months later, with the mystery of the killing of two American villains still unsolved and with UK police on full alert to help resolve it, appeals to the public for help through media resulted in a hotel owner from London contacting the authorities to report that a male guest had not been seen for some time.

  According to the owner, the guest was a polite and charming man.

  “He kept himself to himself. He paid in advance for his room and only ever ate breakfast here. He seemed to be on a nostalgic trip home and planned to explore the capital and see the changes in the city. He told me he would probably take some time at the coast. When he didn’t appear back, that’s what I thought had happened. He had booked the room for a month and when he didn’t return, well, my hotel is fully booked now, we’re in the middle of the tourist season, and I needed the room. I wasn’t unduly concerned about him until my wife saw the TV appeal. What a shock we got when we found out about his past. He was extremely plausible and to think he was under my roof. We could all have been killed in our beds. We boxed up his personal belongings; everything is here, including his passport and return tickets. Thank goodness my wife Cath spotted that news appeal or I would still be holding the room for him because he seemed such a nice person.

  But Cath was adamant; ‘We have to get rid of this stuff now that we know our guest won’t be coming back,’ she told me as she went about her usual methodical way of packing.”

  The passport picture was that of Barclay Jones, but all other details were false. “This is an excellent forgery!” exclaimed Brody Cameron, taking a satisfactory draw on his trusted pipe and blowing enough smoke in the direction of the others who were hoping to view the document before him. He had been invited to travel to London to assist in forensic matters.“Whoever did this was damn good!”

  London crime scene detectives working with colleagues from Police Scotland continued to probe the atrocities, checking and rechecking the area where Barclay Jones had stayed. At a nearby hotel it had been discovered that Alfred Wysoki too had been booked in for a month but had not been seen for some time. There too, the hotel owner spoke of a quiet, polite American.

  “He seemed to me to be nervous about something, never really relaxed and didn’t want to engage in conversation, so I left him alone. His room was booked and paid for and when he didn’t return after that time had expired I left his things alone until I needed the room. All his stuff is here boxed up and untouched. I run a respectable establishment and don’t want any fuss over this guest. I read about him in the newspapers and want his things out of my hotel. I hope guests aren’t put off by this revelation. I’ve had his room thoroughly cleaned and refurbished. I don’t want any trace left of him,” said the hotel owner.

  His housekeeper, annoyed at the extra work added, “Imagine us having a murderer under our roof; it makes me cringe at the thought, and he seemed such a nice man.”

  “Well, he obviously planned to return here. He wouldn’t have gone off without his passport,” said a cop.

  “Or his shaving kit! A man likes to use the same kit for a good shave; well, I do,” concluded a detective as he recorded and repacked the possessions of the deceased, before removing them for forensic analysis.

  “Or his favourite pipe!” mumbled Brody Cameron to no one in particular as he used match after match to light up, puffing rings of smoke into the air.

  Among the possessions were travel documents and an excellently forged passport.

  Detectives examined the documents of both deceased men and put together what appeared to be their travel routes from Rio to UK.

  “That was a clever plan,” commented a senior officer as he gathered the team to assess the latest findings. “Whoever came up with this idea was no dummy. From those travel papers we should be able to find out how they arrived on our shores.”

  He continued, “These guys travelled separately, via different routes. We’ll get our European colleagues to check out CCTV cameras; that is if they are still available after all this time although I doubt it. It would confirm our suspicions regarding their entry to Europe. These return tickets have no cut-off date, so our guys could have travelled home at any time. They must have had plenty of money to pay for their trip; it certainly wasn’t cheap.”

  Enquiries showed a clear picture of Barclay Jones arriving at Charles de Gaulle airport and several days later, boarding a Eurostar train to London. Of his companion there appeared to be only a grainy picture of him exiting a cross-channel ferry.

  “That could be anyone,” commented a detective looking over the shoulder of the young technician whose task it was to perform miracles from hours of grainy films. “Can’t we get it any clearer?”

  “Not possible; we were lucky to be able to retrieve these shots at all. They are not usually kept for long before the films are re-used.”

  They concluded that they had enough proof from the torn boarding ticket found crumbled in the victim’s passport pocket.

  “A visual shot would have corroborated things, but we have enough to go on. Those nerds have given us a monumental task, but, that’s what we guys do best: detect things.”
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br />   Rab McKenzie spoke with Tony Harvey and updated him on events.

  “My squad will continue with enquiries for another month or so, and then we’ll slow down the investigation. We are concentrating on clubs and pubs near where your guys’ hotels were located. They had to eat and drink somewhere. It’s hard to break the distrust that people around here have of the police. No one will talk. Someone must have seen them; someone must remember serving food to them. They appeared to be well dressed and came across as polite Americans. They must have stood out from the crowd in these parts.”

  Police visiting clubs and bars in the area of London’s East End in an attempt to find out more about the deceased men met with a wall of silence as few people were willing to be seen talking to the cops. Suspicion and dislike of the establishment were rife. Seeing the police enter the premises caused some customers to be unsettled. One man quickly drained his glass and headed for the gents’ room, another ran for the back door, while others put their heads down as if deep in conversation while listening closely to questions being asked of the bar staff.

  “What does it take to get people to trust us? Is no one prepared to help?” questioned one frustrated detective of his colleagues after hours of enquiries.

  “We know when and how these guys came to the UK, but not how they ended up in Scotland,” commented the senior officer to the team he had gathered to collate information. He chewed on the end of a pencil as if hoping for inspiration from the contents of the stump. “It’s essential we get that information.”

  “Maybe they took a sightseeing trip there. We’d better investigate travel shops, airports, railways and bus depots,” replied another, hastily scribbling notes of various possible venues. “This will be a marathon task as there’s a limit to the time that details are kept. If these guys paid by card, we might have a chance of finding them somewhere on the system. If they paid cash, then we have a problem. Remember too, these guys have been dead for over a year now so it could be an almost impossible task to find the evidence we need.”