by Alan Cook
"I don't believe Ned would do that," Arrow said, heatedly.
"He had a temper, that Ned," Michael said. "You didn't want to cross him."
***
"Do you believe Michael's story?" Arrow asked as we headed south on A99.
"Before you make a judgment," I replied, "let me tell you something else I found out. After Michael let me into his email system he left me alone for several minutes. I just happened to check his email address book. One of the addresses is for a James B.
"James Buchanan! Or it could be someone else—like James Baker."
"The actual address is [email protected]. Is that enough to convince you?"
"If Michael is trying to hide the fact that he knows James from us, it was careless of him to let you into his email system."
"Especially since I can access my own email from any computer," I said, smugly. "I didn't need to use his email. In fact, I checked my email messages yesterday and even sent some replies."
"Okay, Mr. Super-techie, tell me why Michael doesn't want us to know that he knows James."
I shook my head. "Damned if I know. But it does make his story about Ned suspicious."
"You mean because he might be bad-mouthing Ned to cover up for something James did?"
"Precisely. And if it is true, what would we tell Elma?"
"I wonder if Michael and James traded emails yesterday."
"I didn't have time to check his inbox."
"Maybe we can extract the truth from this guy in London—what’s his name? Seamus Zebra?"
"Something like that."
***
"We'll stop at Spean Bridge," I said, looking at the map while Arrow drove. "Or we could go on to Fort William."
"I remember Fort William from the drive up," Arrow said. "It's rather large. I prefer the smaller places."
"Large being a relative term. It's not Glasgow large—to say nothing of Los Angeles large. All the people in northern Scotland wouldn't fill a Los Angeles suburb."
"You know what I mean. The smaller towns are more picturesque."
Speaking of picturesque, we were driving along the southern shore of Loch Lochy. The smooth surface of the water displayed a mirror image of the cliff rising from the north shore of the loch. The sun had decided to put in an appearance, making the picture clean and sparkling.
"About getting rooms...," Arrow started, then stopped.
"The guidebook talks about several B & B's in Spean Bridge," I said. I was becoming an expert at this travel business.
"What I'm trying to say is, maybe we should get only one room."
That was a surprise. I didn't have a suitable answer prepared. "You mean with twin beds?" Since we were on an expense account we weren't exactly pressed for money. "What will my father and John say if we put in an expense report for only one room?"
"They won't say anything because they both think you're gay. But no, not twin beds. After all, we slept in the same bed last night."
"There were extenuating circumstances. If we did it again I would expect to be more than just a comfort to you. My male animal lust..."
"Karl, don't you like me?"
This was getting very confusing. Was she implying what it sounded like she was implying? If so, was it because she felt obligated to me? "Of course I like you." Too glib, too pat. "You are smart, and beautiful, and sexy. Of course I like you," I ended, lamely.
"But you don't want to sleep with me. I mean, you don't want to have sex with me."
I was stuck for an answer. Along with her other traits, Arrow was dangerous. Meaning that she would be easy to fall for. How did I explain that?
"Am I damaged goods? Is that the problem?"
"Of course not."
"I mean from last night. I know that getting pawed isn't in the same class as getting raped. But still..."
"It had no effect on my feelings about you." That was only a little lie. How could something like that not have some effect? "Arrow, I like you very much. But I have a girlfriend."
We were entering the village of Spean Bridge. Almost immediately, I spotted several B & B's off to the left, and Arrow turned at my suggestion.
"There's Larry," Arrow said, as we approached the first one.
"Larry?"
"The walker."
There he was, sitting in front of a B & B. Arrow stopped the car and said, "He must be staying there. So it has to be a good one."
I couldn't argue with that logic. We crossed the narrow street and greeted Larry, who was sitting in the sun in shorts and a T-shirt. I noticed he was barefoot.
He was surprised to see us. "I took the day off today," he said, somewhat sheepishly. "It wasn't on my schedule. You would think, after all the walking I've done, I'd know how to prevent blisters."
"At least you've got a scenic place to rest," Arrow said.
"Yes." Larry pointed to some peaks in the distance, with snow on them. "The tallest one is Ben Nevis, the highest peak in the UK. The legend says that when the snow on Ben Nevis melts, Scotland will become independent from England."
After chatting with him for a minute I went inside and booked two rooms.
***
Larry lifted his beer mug and proposed a toast. "May you be in heaven an hour before the devil knows you're dead. Or is that Irish? I can never remember."
Whatever it was, we drank to it. And to other toasts. It was a relief to be with someone who wasn't after something or trying to hide something. As we ate dinner, Larry told us about himself.
"I'm going to hit the road again tomorrow," he said. "It gets lonely being in one place, especially since I don't have a car. I don't notice the loneliness so much when I'm moving. I ended up walking around town today, even though I was trying to rest my feet."
"Are you married?" Arrow asked.
Her cheeks were flushed and she appeared to be having fun. She hadn't mentioned our earlier discussion again. She had changed into a very flattering short skirt and blouse. Larry had complimented her appearance, something I should have done.
A shadow crossed Larry's face. "My wife died a year and a half ago. She used to provide support for me when I walked, even though it was boring for her. She told people I was hard to explain. I still am. But now I don't have anybody trying to explain me. And her complaint was that after walking 25 or 30 miles I couldn't have sex."
"But now you've had a day to rest," Arrow said.
"Yes, a day of rest works wonders for my old body."
"You're not old. Anybody who can walk 900 miles is young."
We told him why we were there—it wasn't classified information—and he said he owned some Dionysus stock and was in favor of any action that would make the price go up.
"I own other stocks too. As long as the stock market holds up I can do this instead of working."
We weren't feeling any pain by the time we left the restaurant. We walked through the streets of Spean Bridge singing "My Bonnie Lassie," as well as we could remember the words, and then "The Heather on the Hill," from Brigadoon.
We climbed the stairs to the second floor of the B & B. The doors to our rooms were on the same hallway. Arrow stopped at her door and said to Larry, "Would you like to come in for a minute? You can show me on the map what route you're taking."
Larry hesitated, and looked at me.
"Go ahead," I said, faking a yawn. "I'm beat. I'm going to bed." I went into my room and shut the door.
Beer sometimes gives me insomnia and the noises I thought I heard through the wall didn't help, either.
Chapter 24 LONDON
Sussex Gardens has a line of small and narrow hotels on either side of the street, crowded together like vertical dominoes. These are not the London hotels where the rich and famous stay, but they were very suitable for our purpose, interviewing Seamus Zeebarth, because we had agreed to meet him in nearby Hyde Park.
I had called him from the Glasgow Airport the day before while Arrow and I waited for our plane to London, half-expecting him not to be home b
ecause it was Monday. However, he answered the phone after two rings and when I briefly introduced myself, said he would be happy to talk to us.
We flew into Heathrow and were whisked via the Heathrow Express train to Paddington Station in only fifteen minutes, which was amazing considering the length of time this trip took by bus or the Underground. From there it was a short walk to our hotel, pulling our wheeled suitcases behind us.
We had Tuesday morning free because Mr. Zeebarth worked evenings and slept late. Arrow wanted to see everything at once. We settled on a tour of the Tower of London, led by a Beefeater in his fancy costume, topped by a beaver hat.
We saw prison cells with graffiti from hundreds of years of prisoners, the crown jewels and the place where Anne Boleyn lost her head. I remembered a song I learned in college with lyrics that went, "With her head tucked underneath her arm, she walks the bloody tower..."
By 1:45 we had eaten lunch and were at the entrance to the park. Our meeting with Mr. Zeebarth was scheduled for two.
"Let's walk around for a while," Arrow said. "It's such a pretty day and pretty place."
Indeed, we were blessed with nice weather. We strolled along one of the walkways. Arrow and I were being cordial to each other. We hadn't spoken about what if anything had happened between her and Larry. I didn't want to know.
Larry was already eating breakfast the next morning when we went down. He and Arrow spoke casually to each other, but there were certain inflections in their voices. Or was it my imagination?
Young women, perhaps the famous British nannies, pushed babies in prams; older children gamboled on the grass; young adults did things on the grass that Americans generally reserve for a more private place; pensioners walked slowly or sat on the benches. Ducks paddled on the snake-like pond, called the Serpentine.
"If I'm interpreting his directions correctly, we're supposed to meet Mr. Zeebarth over there," I said, pointing to some benches. "He'll be wearing a tam and carrying a walking stick."
"There's a gentleman there already who meets that description," Arrow said.
I saw him too, sitting on a bench, and wondered if our man had arrived early. We were still some distance from him. As we watched, another man sat down beside him, a younger man, dressed much more casually, with his hair shaved off. The two started talking.
"That must not be him," Arrow said. "Those two seem to know each other."
It looked that way. The conversation grew more heated as we approached and suddenly the younger man shoved the older man, almost knocking him off the bench. Arrow did a sharp intake of breath. I looked around quickly but nobody else seemed to notice.
I ran toward them and called, "Mr. Zeebarth." The older man, who was trying to recover his balance, looked at me. I said, "May I help?"
"Who the bloody hell are you?" asked the younger man, although his "who" sounded more like "ooh."
"I'm a friend of Mr. Zeebarth," I said, coming up to them.
The younger man stood up. He was shorter than I was, but his body was thicker and more muscular.
He stepped toward me until we were nose to nose and said, "This is none of your bloody business."
I stood my ground, despite a strong compulsion to step back. I said, "We've come to talk to Mr. Zeebarth."
"Mr. Zeebarth can't see you today," he said. "Get along now."
I was partially prepared when he shoved me, but it happened so fast that I staggered backward. Then he charged me, driving his head into my chest. I fell over onto my back, with him on top. He knelt over me and pummeled me with his fists. I tried to ward off his blows with my arms, mostly unsuccessfully.
Before I had a chance to try anything else, Arrow jumped on his back. They struggled briefly and then he suddenly screeched so loudly that my ears rang. His head jerked sharply to one side. He shook off Arrow, stumbled to his feet and ran away through the park, not looking back.
Arrow watched him for a few seconds and then bent over me and said, "I don't think he's coming back. Are you all right?"
"I don't know," I said. I took inventory. "The back of my head hurts and my cheek hurts."
"You've got a bruise on your cheek," Arrow said, inspecting it. "And your head hit the ground."
"At least the ground is soft," I said, and since it had, apparently rained during the night this was true. I sat up and Arrow brushed some dirt off my back.
"Tell me," I said, "what did you do to our friend to make him scream like that?"
Arrow grinned. "I took a course in self defense. The instructor told us about vulnerable parts of the human body; one of them is the ear. First I pulled his ear, but that didn't faze him so then I really yanked it; I think I almost tore it off."
"Thanks. That makes us even," I said, taking her offered hand to help me up.
"That was an amazing exhibition," Mr. Zeebarth said.
That brought me back to the reality of the moment. Not only he but also others must have witnessed the altercation. I looked around; we were getting some curious glances, but since one of the combatants had exited the scene, apparently they thought everything was all right now. At least no Bobbies were approaching.
Mr. Zeebarth had stood up. Arrow said, "I'm Arrow and this is Karl."
"Seamus Zeebarth." He formally shook both our hands. Under his tam his hair was all white and his face was rugged and ruddy. His neat attire included a pressed pair of pants and an ironed shirt.
"Your chin is bleeding," he said to Arrow.
"He butted me with his head when he tried to get away," Arrow said, feeling her chin. When she pulled her fingers away they had blood on them. She opened and closed her mouth a few times to see if her jaws worked.
"His head should be registered as a lethal weapon," I said, ruefully. "My ribs hurt." I hadn't noticed them before.
Mr. Zeebarth took a clean white handkerchief out of his pocket.
"I'll get it all bloody," Arrow said, seeing that he meant to use it on her chin.
"It's the least I can do. Hold still." He pressed it to the cut and said, "Hold it there until the bleeding stops."
Arrow obediently placed one hand on the handkerchief and held it in place.
"I'm sorry about what happened," Mr. Zeebarth said, "but I must confess that I never saw that man before in my life. He came up to me and told me he knew I was meeting some people. He said they—you—were dangerous and not to talk to you. Since he was not exactly what I would call a savory character I was skeptical and I started asking him questions. He became belligerent and shoved me. That's when you came up." He indicated me. "I thank you for that but I'm sorry you had to suffer for it. And you," he said, turning to Arrow, "are about the bravest lass I've ever seen."
Arrow acknowledged the compliment with a smile and a curtsy.
"We may be able to shed some light on what happened," I said. "Do you want to talk here or should we go somewhere else?"
"As much as I like the park, I would be just as happy to leave it for the moment. I know a nice pub not far from here where we can drink a pint to calm our nerves."
***
"We don't get into fights on a daily basis," Arrow said, holding the handle of a beer mug. Her chin had clotted, leaving a black scab.
The pub we were in was almost deserted, except for a few darts players. Nobody was close enough to hear us talk. Mr. Zeebarth had just expressed admiration for our fighting ability—or at least Arrow's fighting ability.
"Lately, I'm afraid we've had more than our share of fights," I said. And then to change the subject, "We were just in northern Scotland." Mr. Zeebarth's eyes showed interest. "Do you remember a Michael McTavish from your youth?"
"Aye, that I do. He was one of me mates, but I didn't like him much. Sneaky bloke."
"He knew we were coming here to see you. It's a complicated story, but I think he may have been involved in recruiting the hooligan who attacked us." In fact, I was sure of it. I had called McTavish from Glasgow after I had talked to Zeebarth—at McTavish’s request.
His pretence was that he was trying to locate another of Buchanan’s mates for us to talk to. When I told him on the phone that I had reached Zeebarth, he wormed the information as to the time and place of our meeting out of me. I was going to have to learn to be more discreet.
"It would not surprise me. We never did see eye to eye."
"We'll tell you as much as we know." He had an honest face and I was inclined to tell him everything. "But first, how did somebody from Scotland get a name like Zeebarth."
His laugh was engaging. "My ancestry is all mixed up, but at least there is enough Scottish in it for me to get along there."
"I know how you feel," Arrow said. "I have a mixed-up ancestry too."
"But in your case you got the best of all the pieces. I have never seen a more becoming lass. I always thought red hair and freckles were over-rated."
Arrow basked in Mr. Zeebarth’s words. I told him the major points, including what Michael had said about Ned and Dickie and the cliff. He listened, intently, without interrupting.
When I finished he said, "Michael has it all wrong. That must be why he didn't want me to speak to you. James always kept him in his hip pocket. It sounds as if he is still there.
"I remember that particular incident very well because it led to Dickie's death. Dickie was not a great scholar; in fact, he was failing some of his courses at school. His da beat him when he received a bad report. Dickie came to James for help because James had the brains in our group. He received top grades without much effort.
"The arrangement was that James would write some papers for Dickie and otherwise help him with his studies. Of course, Dickie had to play The Game first. He lost, but it was James who insisted he go through with his penalty on a stormy day, not Ned. In defense of James, he always kept his promises and he expected others to do the same."
Mr. Zeebarth paused, took a long drink of beer and said, almost as an afterthought, "It amused James to play games with other peoples' lives."
We chatted some more about James and Ned and the others, but Mr. Zeebarth didn't say anything else that was earthshaking.
When I suggested another round of drinks, he looked at his watch and said, "Not for me. I have to be at work in something over an hour, in a reasonably sober state since I work in a hospital. But we have time for a game of darts."
