by A. B. King
“Probably.”
“Well, I banged on the door, and a woman opened it, and again, although I'm sure I don't know her, she looked somehow familiar, if you know what I mean? This was Mrs Cannon, the wife of the farmer. His Nibs was out somewhere doing whatever it is that farmer's do when they want to get out from under their wife's feet, so I didn't see him first nor last. Anyway, she looked at me questioningly for a moment, and then I saw that she actually recognised me. Bit of a shock that was. 'Why, I do declare; it’s young Danny Fortescue!' she exclaimed. 'How lovely to see you; come in, come in!' She almost dragged me into a huge kitchen and sat me down at a big table and insisted that I drank a huge mug of tea as she said several times how amazed she was, how well I looked, and how delighted she was that I had taken the trouble to come to look her up. When I could finally get a word in edgeways I told her that I was trying to recover my memory, and thought that coming back to where everything had happened might help. She didn't need very much prompting; she said that that terrible evening was forever indelibly imprinted on her mind. She and her husband had seen the clouds banking up during the evening, and then suddenly the storm had broken with a tremendous crash of thunder followed by a torrential downpour. Some ten or twenty minutes after the storm broke they were alerted by a loud hammering on the door, and when they opened it they were astonished to see Julia there in a state close to collapse. She had run all the way to get help, just as she said. The pair of them wasted no time and followed her back to the campsite where they found me lying on my face quite close to the bank of the river. It seems Mr Cannon had given me the kiss of life even though Julia had told him several times that I was dead. She was almost right; I was by all accounts more dead than alive, and the ambulance men had told Mrs Cannon that without her husband's timely help I really would have been. Like Julia, she had thought that I was dead too, she had seen that the clothing was burnt away from my back, and taken all round I gather I was in a bit of a sorry mess. There was no sign of Dian anywhere, but Mrs Cannon searched as far afield as she could while her husband worked at reviving me. Luckily, they had a mobile phone with them, and an ambulance was quickly called, but because there is no vehicular access to the campsite, a friend of theirs who lives in Willows End and owns a small motor launch was called out. He eventually came down the river with the ambulance crew, I was loaded on board and taken back to the village and loaded onto the ambulance. The rest, as they say, is history.”
“Well, the important question is; did any of this jog a few memories for you?”
“I'm afraid not.”
“Pity, did Mrs Cannon say anything about the state of the camp site?”
“I asked her about that. She said that as far as she could recall, our tent was little more than soggy wet ash and embers, but Julia's seemed intact.”
“Did she say if Julia appeared to be injured in anyway?”
“No, she just seemed badly shocked, exhausted, wet through, and generally at the end of her tether.”
“Quite understandable in the circumstances I would imagine. Did they mention if there was anybody else in sight when they reached you?”
“If there was they didn't mention it, why?”
“Tut-tut,” I said mockingly. “We will never make a detective of you if you don't learn to ask a witness the right questions.”
“Leaving to one side for a moment the fact that if I intended to be a detective I wouldn't need to employ a rank amateur such as yourself, what makes you think there was anyone else there?”
“I just think there might have been, but it would have been nice to have had the fact confirmed or denied.”
“I see,” she said in a tone that implied she didn't see what I was getting at all.
“Did you learn anything else?”
“Nothing of any consequence. She mentioned that part of the side of the bridge was broken; that was what made the police wonder if my sister had fallen into the river and been swept away. Sadly, they were right.”
“Interesting,” I commented.
“I'm glad you think so,” she remarked as I reflected in silence what she had told me, “Not that it gets us much farther forward. So, how did you get on?”
“I'll tell you once we are in the car and on our way,” I answered as we came in sight of the village.
In a matter of a few minutes we were back on the road and heading back to my office.
“Right, I'm all ears,” Danny announced as we settled down to a steady cruising speed.
“Not really,” I said.
“What?”
“Your ears; they are actually quite small and delicately shaped as far as I can see, and certainly not elephantine!”
“Oh, very droll!” she snorted. “Now tell me how you wasted your afternoon.”
“Nothing very exciting, half the time I was fighting of the amorous attentions of a sex starved ex-film actress, and the other half escaping from a raving lunatic with National Security delusions!”
“Huh, sounds just like another typical episode of my favourite T.V. soap.”
“Remind me never to watch that particular programme,” I said, and launched into a succinct account of what I had learnt from the two houses I had visited and what it suggested to me.
“So, as I see it,” I concluded, “you were obviously facing away from the tent towards the footbridge as we have already surmised, when the lightning struck, and that is consistent with where you were found and the sort of injuries you suffered. However, it would seem that your sister was not standing close to you as you have been led to believe, but by the footbridge, and it would also seem that Julia was there, or certainly close to it if what I've learned is correct. As to what happened to your sister, well, so far that is anyone's guess; it is not impossible that the shock of the lightning strike did throw her into the river, but personally I doubt it. Lightning is extremely powerful, each stroke can run to many thousands of volts, but in itself it is not a bomb. It generates tremendous heat in a limited space of course, so if it had hit, for example, a can of paraffin or something similar in your tent, maybe even a large bottle of water, that in itself could have detonated like a bomb, and maybe that would have done it?”
“As far as I know we had nothing like that in there.”
“Nor would the effects have reached that far,” I observed, “and even if you did have something with that explosive potential in the tent, how come it didn't knock Julia into the water as well if she was standing where we now suppose?”
“That's a good question.” she agreed thoughtfully.
“Well, if your sister didn't fall in as a result of the lightning strike,” I mused, “I suppose the inevitable question is did Julia push her in?”
“Yes, theoretically she could have done,” Danny agreed doubtfully, “but why on earth would she want to do something like that, it doesn't make any sort of sense? Maybe the unknown man you mentioned could have done it?”
“Yes, it is equally possible, yet there is no proof that either of them did any such thing. What bothers me is trying to figure out a plausible reason why either of them would want to do such a crazy thing?”
“Well, you're the detective, you're supposed to come up with a brilliant answer.”
“All in good time. The only point we can establish from what we have learned so far is that if this unknown man had pushed your sister into the water at the time the lightning struck, Julia must have known about it, yet she never mentioned a man, much less that he had pushed your sister into the river.”
“Maybe she didn't actually see what happened, and just assumed that it was the lightning that did it, and everybody has believed her?”
“Well, I agree that is one possible explanation, but if it was a genuine accident, why didn't the man immediately start a search for her? Equally importantly; why did he vanish and never come forward?”
“Perhaps he had reasons we cannot even guess at?”
“Did Julia have a boyfriend at that time?” I asked
as a new line of thought crossed my mind.
“Now how the hell would I know that?”
“Ah, yes, the amnesia, I forgot. Very well, did she ever mention anything about a boyfriend after the event?”
“Not that I can recall. Knowing Julia, I would think it pretty unlikely; her parents were incredibly strict about things like that. As far as I can recall from what she said to me in the hospital, she was trying to talk her father into buying her a car, and if she had gone against his wishes on something he had expressly forbidden she knew she could whistle for it.”
“So even though she was three or four years older than you, he still kept her on a tight rein?”
“I never saw much of him myself, but he always looked pretty stern, and she told me how she had to live a completely blameless life, which included a complete ban on boyfriends if she hoped to get the car. She eventually succeeded by the way. Still, I think she made up for it later once her parent's had died.”
“I see, so there's no way of knowing if she had a secret admirer at the time?”
“I suppose not. You think it was someone she was involved with that was seen on the footbridge; someone driving one of those weird three-wheeled contraptions, what did you say it was, oh, a Reagan, that was it. But even supposing she did have a secret lover, why on earth would he push my sister into the river?”
“Look Danny, either he did it, or Julia did it, or she fell in by accident or as a result of a freak of nature; I cannot think of any other alternatives.”
“I suppose you're right, I guess that means I'd better see what I can screw out of Julia.”
“Wrong.”
She looked at me in surprise.
“Think of bulls and china shops?” I suggested.
“What makes you think you would do any better than I would?” she demanded.
“If I go along in my guise as a writer, she might perhaps be a little less defensive than she would be if she sets eyes on you, and divines what you are up to?”
“Oh, then I suppose we will just have to go together?”
“Wrong again,” I sighed. “You just don't get it do you? If Julia has suppressed what really happened on that fateful evening, she is scarcely likely to admit anything if she sees you, now is she?”
“No, I suppose not,” she admitted reluctantly. “So, what do you expect me to do?”
“Go home?”
“I hope that that is not a serious suggestion?”
“Well, if you won't go home, how about returning to Willows End to see what you dig up about the lads that were supposed to be in the Venture Scout camp? There's always a chance that one or more of the shopkeepers in the village was there at the time, and you have the names. A few judicious enquiries should establish if the names are genuine or not. You needn't tell them who you are, and I shouldn't think you'd be recognised by any of them except perhaps the chap who came for you in his launch, and it is pretty unlikely you will just stumble over him. Maybe it is true that you, your sister and Julia did meet up with the scouts, maybe there was some sort of assignation made. Assuming the whole thing isn’t a complete mare’s nest, if we can track down any of those 'scouts' they might be able to throw a different light on the whole business.”
“You're quite sure there is nothing else you want me to do while I'm there?” she asked a trace sarcastically.
“Well, there is, as it happens; see if anyone recalls someone owning a Reagan!” I said happily, “and while you are doing that, I shall be chatting up the fair Julia.”
“I hope I'm not to take that remark too literally?”
“Ah, do I detect just a hint of the Little Green God there?” I asked hopefully.
“No, just that any amorous attentions you might feel necessary to indulge in should be conducted in your own time, and not mine.” she retorted, but I noted that there was no rancour in her voice as she spoke.
We reached the office at about five, and found 'spotty face' fast asleep in my chair. After she had collected her scattered wits she informed us that she had had a good tidy round and would attend to the matter of sorting out the filing in the morning. There had been no visitors other than the carpenter who hadn't said anything of note, and no phone calls. I found her a spare key and sent her on her way after asking her to come in and open up shop at nine in the morning. Once she had vanished, I turned to look at Danny who was standing by the window looking out at the street.
“Enough for one day, I think,” I said. “I'll run you home, and then I am going to call it quits.”
She looked at me in some surprise. “Run me home?”
“Danny, if you think I'm going to spend another night on that couch, you've another think coming!”
“You really don't want me there?”
“Wrong, I want you there like hell, but the couch is out, and that's for both of us.”
There were a couple of moments silence as she just stood there looking at me. I couldn't read anything from her expression, and as usual I bitterly regretted opening my king-sized mouth without thinking first. Yes, the couch was damned uncomfortable, but if I hadn't made an issue out of it, who knows what might have transpired during the night? Oh well, it was too late now, and her next words confirmed it.
“I see, well, in that case, thank you for your offer,” she said as if it was nothing of any consequence. “Do you mind if I drive?”
“Just as long as we don't go anywhere near any fords.”
“Very funny.”
I won't say I was not extremely disappointed. The prospect of returning to an empty flat was not in the least appealing. However, as there was a very strong possibility I would have been tempted to vacate the couch and sneak into the bed with her during the small hours, the decision was probably for the best! Danny was the most fascinating female I had ever come across, but I had just about sufficient wit to realise that just trying to creep into her bed wasn't really the way to get to know her better. In any case, being, as I said at the outset a bit of a square, I didn't want to creep in; I wanted to be invited!
We returned to the car, and I passed over the keys without further comment. She got the feel of the vehicle very quickly, and I was relieved to discover that she wasn't quite as erratic a driver as I had feared. She drove fast, but with confidence, and seemed possessed of good road sense. I surmised that her trip into the ford was just one of those things that can happen following a momentary lapse of concentration even for the very best of drivers. I thought that she might have wished to stop off at the flat to pick up her things, but she headed straight out of town, and turned off in the direction of Dorminchester which was situated about thirty odd miles away. Throughout the journey we had kept up a running conversation, turning over various aspects of the 'case', and what we would need to do about it. Danny was still firmly of the opinion that somebody had deliberately pushed her sister into the waters of the river, but couldn't think of any acceptable reason why, whereas I felt that there was still a possibility that if the lightning had hit something in the tent that could have exploded, then the shock wave that knocked Danny over might have been equally capable of throwing her sister into the river. The only snag with that theory was that it failed to explain the complete lack of any evidence of human feeling in the man on the bridge.
The traffic wasn't too heavy, and we made good time, hitting the outskirts at about six in the evening. She eventually left the main road to turn down a rather up-market residential avenue which sported several quite imposing buildings. Eventually she pulled into the car park of a most expensive looking apartment building at the far end.
Switching off the engine, she pulled out the ignition key and handed it to me. “Will you come in for a drink?” she asked.
“Well, only a small one,” I replied virtuously, “don't want to risk my license.”
“-of coffee,” she finished smugly. “I don't want to risk your license either, or at least, not until this business is cleared up.”
We got out of the ca
r, and I locked it with the key she had returned to me before stepping out. At just that moment a man appeared from somewhere behind me and walked over to confront Danny.
“Just what the hell do you think you're playing at, Danny,” the man snarled aggressively. He appeared to be about the same age and build as myself, but black haired and a bit overweight.
“Hello Benny,” she responded sweetly, not in the least alarmed by his unpleasant manner, “nice to see you again.”
Judging by his expression a 'sweet' response wasn't going to improve his evident ill-temper to any marked degree