Chapter 12

Secrets of the Cottage

 

David was pleased to get out of the hospital. The last hour been harrowing even though the body on the slab was not that of his brother. It was still the body of a man who had met a violent death, and not recognizing it had been almost as difficult for him as if he had. Perhaps more so, for it seemed that Richard had some part to play in yet another man’s death, though just what was far from  clear. Also, Becky’s account of her ordeal had done little to ease his tension.

   Fortunately for David, the inspector was in ebullient mood, despite the unexpected turn of events.  "I'm very pleased with your Sergeant Harris," Brindell said as they set off, "making himself very useful he is, and he got me this car to use while I'm down here."

   David had learned that denials of kinship with Sergeant Harris always fell on deaf ears, so now he just let them pass, unnoticed, disregarded. Indeed, he was starting to feel a brotherly affection for the man.

   When they reached the cottage David was as keen to look around as Brindell, anxious to see if there were any clues to explain Richard’s odd behaviour. Anything he had not seen during his stay. He had been using the cottage since his arrival in Dalimar. The question of where he might stay had not occurred to him then, and finding himself enmeshed in a mystery of his missing brother, and with Becky in hospital, he just moved in. But as he had found little time to look around he had little advantage over the inspector. Like him he had so many questions, and so few answers.

   "Why, to start with, did Richard buy this cottage in Wales, and why here ... and when ... ?" David was musing, almost, but not quite talking to himself, "and then not to tell anyone."

    Was it merely coincidence that it was only a few miles away from where his Grandparents home used to be; and also his father’s home until he was married?

   Questions, questions, but still no answers.

   And why would he want to kill his father, or even damage his reputation ... and then why did he try to kill Becky? He opened the door to Richards bedroom, surely he first place to look, and stood there bemused. The most surprising thing was to find it so untidy. The bed unmade, none of his cloths put away, and papers lying about all over. It looked for all the world as though the house had been burgled.

   He called the inspector and they quickly checked the other rooms, but there no sign of disturbance anywhere else. The front door was still lying where it had fallen when David had broken it down, so it would have been easy for anyone to walk in. But they didn't think that had happened.

   Brindell was naturally curious about the door, but seemed to accept David's explanation. After completing their search of the bedroom, which produced little that helped, they checked more thoroughly the other rooms. Two more bedrooms, one en-suite; a bathroom and toilet combined for the others; a kitchen; a large lounge with a dining area. An extension at the back the full width of the house, reaching out from the lounge and the kitchen.  To the side of the lounge a further, smaller extension, a conservatory. Between the two was a small central vestibule from which the four doors provided access to the conservatory, a toilet/washroom, lounge, and the garden. There was also fourth bedroom in the roof space, accessed by an narrow added on staircase on the first landing, and lit by a wide ‘dorma’ window. It was a substantial solidly built house, not new, but solid despite its need for some attention.

   "Some cottage," Brindell observed, "about a hundred years old I'd guess."

   "Perhaps Richard thought of it as a cottage compared to the big house." David countered, before they continued their search.

   Apart from Richards room there was little out of place, but the inspector noticed that there was very little food in the kitchen; curious perhaps, but suggesting that Richard’s visit had been unplanned. "What could have made him come all this way on the spur of the moment?" he asked, thinking out loud.

   "Beats me." David responded, likewise mystified.

   There were pictures all over, a couple of dozen in all. Even the bathroom had its walls decorated. Most were modern or abstract, and as far as they could tell, all originals.

   “Anything of value?” Brindell asked.

   “No idea I’m afraid; not my kind of painting. But I don’t think my brother would bother with anything worthless, though he might have bought some paintings by artists who he believed would make it one day.”

   Then he spotted two pictures in the hall. They were different, but in identical frames, clearly a pair. One of them was a map of the south west quarter of Wales, from which he quickly identified the position of the cottage. The other was an odd line drawing of what at first looked like a side view of a pigs head; possibly a wild boar; but curiously painted in flat dull green.  But for a small dab, where an eye might be it was almost featureless, save for some delicate shadings and subtle makings which further hinted at the impression of the boar. Two pictures, side by side, but on the face of it, quite out of place with each other, and the other paintings in the house.

    David looked at these two pictures for a long time wondering if they might be saying something. There was little about them that looked suspicious, and yet their incongruity forced him to look deeper. Side by side, in matching frames they hung, but what was the connection to each other; if indeed, there was one!

   "My word," David spoke out loud "This is very odd." for suddenly the penny had dropped and he saw it.

   "What have you found?" the inspector had heard David’s exclamation, and was curious to know what he had discovered, as he joined David in the hall.

   "I'm not sure, but there is something very odd about these pictures; I don't know if it means anything, but it is very curious."

   "Can't see anything myself," muttered Brindell "what do you see?"

   "Look at the outline of the two pictures they're exactly the same; the shape of the boar's head is exactly the same as the area outline on the map. And look at that tiny dot for its eye.” David waited for the inspector to see what he could see.

    “Well?” was all he could manage.

   “Don’t you see? It’s here. The very place where we are standing right now."

   David could not say why he thought his find was important, but somehow he felt that it was telling him something. He just wished he knew what. He had noticed that the map was simply inscribed Pembrokeshire, but occupying the same position on the painting of the wild boar’s head was just one word. Arduinna.

   What did it mean? Another question.

   The Inspector, on the other hand was not impressed, and continued to look for more positive evidence. The cottage was not over furnished, and his feeling was that it didn't get used very much. But there were a few things, apart from the pictures, which would make the place slightly more welcoming for an impromptu visit. Curtains at all the windows, and though none of the stained wood floors had carpets, there were plenty of rugs. Quite a lot of ornaments were scattered about, and ... he was a little surprised to notice, some plants.

   Brindell lifted one of the plants in its smallish pot, and was even more surprised to find that the soil was moist.  “I’m beginning to think he comes here more than I thought after all.”

   “Or maybe someone else does.” David observed, having overheard Brindell’s remark.

   “Good point.” the inspector nodded, “I wonder who that might be?”

   Then he went into the kitchen to see what, if anything, it had to say. Again not over furnished, but there were enough pans and crockery to keep a body going. Cutlery in the drawers, tea towels, and food containers. These however proved only to further compound his uncertainties, for like the food cupboards, they were mostly empty.

   “First it’s one thing then another,” Brindell observed “it’s hard to tell if your brother is an occasional or a regular visitor.”

   The bathroom told the same story. There were some towels, a few bottles of 'smellies', a couple of bars of soap, and in the airing cupboard, a couple of toilet rolls.

   Everywhere seemed to be equipped for immediate use, but only just, and there was no sign at all of it being used as a holiday rental cottage.

   "You say you didn't know about this place?" he called out to David, who was now sifting through some magazines in the conservatory.

   "Not a thing; can't think why he would want a place like this knowing his lifestyle."

   "Do you think it might have been a love nest?" the inspector raised an eye as he waited for an answer.

   "I doubt it. As far as I can tell Richard never had any qualms about his need for an active love life, and he didn't try to hide it. And I don't think it ever bothered him if his current lover was committed to someone else; he wouldn't try to hide that either, certainly not from the husband; or a boyfriend.” he added, remembering how his brother had ‘stolen’ his Maxine. “He would enjoy the thought of his anguish."

   "Nice fellow, you brother." Brindell could not help saying.

   David was slow to respond to that remark for he was at a loss to understand Richard himself. They had always been so different, and he had never seen any of Richard's characteristics in his parents.

   "Don't know where it comes from." was all he could manage.

   "Any idea why he should come here?"

   David told the inspector of the family connection with Pembrokeshire, of his fathers youthful business enterprise hereabouts, and of his marriage in the little chapel at Dalimar. "But Richard was a baby when they left, and I wasn't even born then."

   "What about the family; what happened to them?"

   "Don't know really, we seemed to lose touch. Grandad died quite young; I think I was about eight at the time. Then Gramma went to live with her daughter - fathers sister. She'd got married and gone to live in Liverpool, and Gran had a sister there so she was glad to go. Fathers young brother Frederick had gone too,” David added, “so she would have been on her own"

   "What happened to him?"

   "That's a bit of a mystery. Father didn't like to talk about it, so I never really knew, but I think there was a bit of a bust up."

   David tried to remember, but he was only a young lad at the time, and he never knew if the stories he had heard were true.

   “It was a long time ago don’t forget, but as far as I can recall they had fallen out when his uncle Fred asked David's father to bail him out financially. Fred had seen his elder brother Gerald go from strength to strength in those youthful years, and as he grew up he tried to emulate him. But it was always a struggle for he did not have Gerald's flair, the magic touch."

    “Not like his brother then?”

    “I once heard my father saying that his brother Fred wanted all the benefits without having to do anything for it. And when he moved away to start his new life in Oxfordshire he left all his business contacts to him, and his good name, so it should have been easy, but it didn’t work out.”

    “What happened?”

    “What I heard was that he kept the business going for a few years, but he didn’t seem to be interested. Liked the good life Dad said, and when Fred accepted that he‘d had enough he had acquired considerable debts, and his brother; my father; was starting to do well, he expected him to bail him out.

   "Told him to shove off, did he?" Brindell asked, more from politeness really, for he did not believe that these family revelations were relevant to his present enquiry.

   "I gather so. To tell the truth I don't think they ever understood each other. They were apparently as different from each other as I am from Richard. I even heard it said that they hated each other ... curious, don't you think."

   "If you say so." Brindell said stifling a yawn, betraying perhaps a little boredom with family intrigue.

   "Well anyway; Frederick seemed determined not to live the way his older brother lived. And my father couldn't understand why his younger brother seemed to be set against what he found to be a natural lifestyle."

   David looked up to see Brindell furiously emptying the contents of a chest of drawers.

   "Are you still with me?" he asked

   Brindell, apparently deep in concentration, nodded.

   "Well at least that's the story, and it does seem that my uncle was a bit too fond of the good life; probably couldn’t be bothered with the demands of running a business, so when my father turned him down, they never spoke to each other again. He did a bunk they say; ran away and abandoned his debts. In the end my father had to cover them all because, although officially it no longer his business, he didn't want anything to tarnish his good name."

   David stopped at that point, trying to remember. “All this happened years ago, and I’m not sure which is fact and which is fiction; you know how it is with family secrets; or if it was just a cover to hide something else; maybe something less savoury.”

   "So you never saw your uncle again?"

   "Well I didn't, but Richard told me that he met him a number of times."

   Brindell stood up and turned to face David. At last a little piece of information that might be of some value; the smallest crust on an otherwise empty table.

   "Well now, that’s a turn-up, how did that come about?"

   David told Brindell of the way Richard had returned to the fold during the last couple of years, and how, to his surprise they had become friends. How Richard had helped his father come to terms with the loss of his wife, and how he had gently lead him out of his mourning and pushed him to start living his life again. Then he explained that his elder brother he had introduced his father to some young ladies, and finally to Becky. At this David had some difficulty, explaining how he had encouraged them in their growing

romance, and how his presence had created the feeling of a united family once again.

   "I don't have to tell you how false it was." he looked at Brindell "We know now how he fooled us all so completely; but we didn't know then; how could we?"

   "Yes, yes;” Brindell was slightly exasperated at even more family anecdotes, “but what about your uncle?"

   "It seems he went to see one of Richards plays in the West End, and after the show he went back stage. According to Richard they hit it off right from the beginning, and kept in touch ever since."

   "But you never met him?"

   "Well not since I was a child, and I can't really remember him." He paused, "Richard said he didn't want to meet my father, and not to mention that they had been in touch. He asked me not to mention it either so I never did. I used to wonder why Richard told me, but now I think it was all part of the plot. I'm sure that if it hadn't all collapsed the way it did, uncle Fred would have come into it somehow."

   "Do you think he was behind Richard then?"

   " I didn't think so at first, but now I’m beginning to wonder. Richard had an unearthly nature long before he met up with Uncle Fred, but from all the things he told me, the more I think of it the more I am sure, Uncle Fred and Richard are just like each other, two of a kind; kindred spirits.”

   He glanced across at Brindell, and for the first time he felt able to say what had long been in his mind.

     “I think they are both touched with something evil."

   They continued their search amongst the various bundles of papers and boxes, and it was the inspector who made the first significant find. In a large brown envelope he found some papers of a legal nature, referring in several ways to the cottage.

   “Here it is.” he called to David, and somehow managing a little whistle at the same time. “This should tell us something.”

   “What is it?” David called.

   “It looks like the deeds to this house, and as far as I can make out, it belongs to your uncle Fred.”