Cut Off

by Gill Mather

  Roz sighed. She knew very well that they’d get nothing concrete out of this Henry. It might help to subject him to a severe beating but it might not. The police didn't do that any more but even a few decades ago when they sometimes had, it often didn't bear any fruit or the result was totally misleading. This man, as William had said, was cold, though Roz found it significant that he hadn't been prepared to lie outright about his father. Some facts were often so fundamental to a suspect that they wouldn't lie. They’d just refuse to answer or be evasive as Henry just had. And lying didn't come at all naturally to most people. She thought she’d try another straight question.

  “Did you kill Guy tonight?” A chill ran through her but she had to try to find out something.

  “No I did not.” Henry’s tone was vehement. The reply was clear and unequivocal and therefore probably the truth.

  “Did Guy ask you anything about your mother or your father tonight?”

  “I don't know. We were playing chess.”

  “What was he doing when you last saw him?”

  Henry hesitated. His expression changed, became closed. Roz recognised this as the veil people drew over and around themselves when they wanted to or needed to lie.

  “He was, I think, going to find something to eat. Yes that’s right, he looked in the bower where food had been laid out earlier. The marshals had gone. I think he went off to the kitchen to try to find something. That’s the last I saw of him.”

  “What were the conditions like down by the river?”

  “Well….I….er….what exactly do you mean?”

  “You said you went there when you couldn't sleep. Was it cold, was the river flowing fast, was there ice on the river, was the moon up or was it dark, were you in the boathouse or outside? Something must have struck you. Just tell us what happened, what you did when you were down there.”

  “Nothing. Just mooched about. I like it down there.”

  The lack of detail spoke volumes to Roz.

  “Were there any boats about?”

  “There are some in the boathouse. Not proper boats. They’re coracles.”

  “Do you ever take any out onto the river at night?”

  “Well no. We haven't used them for years.”

  “So they’re old. And worn. Are they?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Would they sink if put in the river?”

  There was a pause. “Er. Maybe.”

  “Did you go to your room first? Before you went down to the river?”

  “No. Why would I?”

  “Well you said you went to the river when you couldn't sleep. Did you try to go to sleep?”

  “I knew I wouldn't be able to. After playing chess all evening.”

  Roz nodded as though in understanding.

  “So you were there with Guy. The marshals had left. You say he went off somewhere and you went off somewhere. And now he’s disappeared. Henry. I know without any doubt that you did something to Guy tonight. I don't know what it was. But I’m an ex-detective inspector and I can tell you for certain that if he turns up dead, there’s almost no chance you won't have left some evidence behind of your involvement. You may not have inflicted a mortal blow, you may not have stabbed him to death for instance. But there’ll be forensic evidence of you and him being together tonight. The fibres of his clothes and yours will have rubbed off on the brick walls of the passage. There’ll be footprints of your own and his specific footwear. If you drugged him, there’s little doubt that the drug found in his body later will be matched to a substance found about your person, your clothing, perhaps your accommodation. Forensic analysis and investigation these days is minute. Inescapable. And you haven't had time to cover your tracks. It’ll be there.

  “If you tell us what you did with Guy, it’s possible he may be able to be saved, then you won't get charged with murder. Of course you’ll go to prison, but your sentence will be a lot lighter if Guy survives. Tell us what you did with Guy.”

  Roz paused. Henry sat apparently thinking for a time.

  “Henry I don't know why you’d want to hurt Guy. Perhaps you thought he somehow knew you or your mother or both of you were responsible for the corpse up the chimney. Perhaps you were trying to protect your mother, but you haven't protected her. What you’ve done has just made it worse for her. Your mother wouldn't have wanted you to murder an innocent man, would she? If you help us to find Guy before it’s too late, any upset for her would be at least minimised. I’m sure you, an intelligent man, would understand that.”

  There was no reply. After a time, Henry scoffed, folded his arms and said nothing.

  “You’ve bullied him enough,” said Leonora.

  Roz looked round at her.

  “You’ve got no evidence against him at all. Not a shred. We should abandon this kangaroo court and let Henry go. You’re subjecting him to illegal imprisonment. If you don't want a lawsuit on your hands, you should let him go off to bed and the rest of us go too.”

  “You’ve been watching too many American crime dramas,” said Roz. “We don't call them law suits in this country. Oh, and the correct term for the tort is false imprisonment.”

  “Whatever.”

  Roz was suddenly exhausted. In all likelihood, Henry had tipped Guy into an old leaky coracle and set him afloat on the river. Or perhaps just thrown Guy, drugged and helpless, straight into the water. They couldn't get out of the place to alert the emergency services. They had no means of summoning any help. For any of the residents to try to trawl the river would be dangerous. Others couldn't be put at risk and in any case no-one had volunteered. An expedition down the river was a non-starter without a proper boat.

  Despite her exhaustion, every sinew in her strained to leave the house and hunt for Guy herself. If she did nothing and he turned up dead, or was never found, she would forever regret having left him to die, forever torture herself turning over what might have been if she’d made the attempt. But it was now three or four hours since Guy’s disappearance and all reason dictated that rescue was impossible and that she could only hope for some miracle.

  It must be getting on for five in the morning. She’d hardly slept. In her despair she noticed Jack and some others yawning widely. Leonora looked sharp enough, probably buoyed up by obsessional zeal. Luckily William and his mates seemed to be brimming with energy.

  “I think,” Jack said, “we ought to turn in. I don't know if William and Co are able to stay up a little longer and look after Henry?”

  “With pleasure,” answered William.

  “OK, let’s retire then.”

  “Just one or two other things,” said Roz. “Henry. I want you to take all your clothes off, all of them, and William would you put them in a clean fresh bin bag and keep it somewhere safe.”

  “I’ll do no such thing,” said Henry.

  “This is outrageous,” Leonora stood up. “I demand that you let him go.” She took a few paces towards Henry and the heavies surrounding him. “Pull your thugs off,” she said but one of the men took her by the arms and held her back without difficulty as she struggled and swore.

  William reached in his pocket and brought out some lengths of twine.

  “Here Simon.” He handed over one of the lengths and Simon tied Leonora’s hand behind her back. At a nod from William, Simon marched her out of the room.

  “Where’s he gone?” asked Roz.

  “He’ll know where,” replied William.

  “William could you try to handle the clothes as little as possible but at the same time could you or one of you go through the pockets etc for any signs of any drugs. Try to use plastic gloves if there are any or else plastic bags over your hands. Also could you put the goblets on the table in plastic bags and stow them somewhere safe as well. You never know. It might render some useful information when we’re able to turn him in properly.”

  Mark was suddenly at the door. Roz hadn't noticed him leave. He held a roll of new black plastic sacks and he put them on t
he table.

  “We’ll leave it to you then,” he said to William and Co.

  As they walked down the hall, Jack whispered to Roz that she could have a spare bedroom in his flat. She probably shouldn't be alone. Her brain wasn't functioning well but she decided and told him she’d prefer the familiarity of her and Guy’s room to a strange bedroom. He said he understood.

  She lay, eyes open, for what seemed like ages, but was probably only a few minutes. When she awoke hours later, weak winter sunlight was putting its feelers under and around the curtains of her bedroom and, remembering, she sat up with a start.

  “TOILET,” SAID A voice. The dogs got up and sidled over to Guy, tails wagging, wet noses thrusting themselves at Guy’s face.

  Stuart, in the middle of a dream about Moses in the bulrushes didn't wake up. Oddly, the rushes were at the edge of the fountain in Trafalgar Square and Stuart was trying to shoo away the pigeons flapping around near the baby’s wicker basket.

  “Go to the toilet,” said the voice more urgently. The dogs turned their attention to their master and his virtual arms ceased to flail at the imaginary pigeons. The real ones pushed at the flesh and blood dogs instead.

  “What the…?” Stuart said, sitting up. Then he remembered. He rubbed his eyes and struggled off his makeshift bed. A wave of delight overcame him, as he went over to the sofa, that the man was alive. He had saved someone’s life!

  “How are you feeling?” he asked Guy, who was sitting up by now, frowning down at his bare genitals.

  “Sorry about this. But I have to go to the toilet.”

  “Of course.”

  Stuart helped the man up and out to the cloakroom. He sat him on the toilet seat and steadied him while he took a pee. There were bathrobes on the hook behind the door and he draped one of them around Guy when he stood up.

  “You hungry?” Stuart asked Guy back in the kitchen as he was feeding his dogs.

  “Well actually yes. Famished. How did I get here?”

  Stuart told him.

  “Blimey! I’m so grateful. You saved my life.”

  “I think probably yes. So how did you come to be floating down the Brett in a leaky coracle in the middle of the night? I’m Stuart by the way.”

  “Guy. I’m Guy Attwood. I’m not entirely sure. My partner and I were on holiday at Burning Souls Hall. Oh no! Roz. She’ll be frantic. I have to get back there.”

  Burning Souls Hall. Rum lot. That kind of explained it to Stuart. Say no more.

  Guy cast about and walked carefully over to the where his clothes were hanging on the Aga rail.

  “I think they’re still wet unfortunately,” said Stuart. “Look. I’ll lend you some of mine. But you must have some breakfast. It won't take long. And then perhaps we can think about taking my little motor boat upriver to get you back there. But how you’d get from the river to the Hall I don't know. It’ll presumably be cut off by snow like this place.”

  Guy sighed. “There’s some sort of underground passage from the Hall to the boathouse.” He shook his head. “I think someone tried to kill me. It’s coming back to me now. This man, I think he must have drugged me. He said he was taking me to his flat in the Hall after the chess tournament finished, but he led me to a boathouse and it’s a complete blank after that.”

  Chess tournament? Attempted murder. Weirder and weirder, thought Stuart.

  “Anyway, have some breakfast,” said Stuart, cracking the eggs into the frying pan already. He leaned out of the back door and, bringing in a coolbox from the back porch, he fished about in it and dug out several items.

  “No fridge at the moment.”

  “Hmm. Smells like heaven,” said Guy as the bacon sizzled in a separate pan with sliced potatoes.

  “It’s nice to have someone to cook for,” said Stuart. “I haven't been bothered much since my wife left me last year.”

  “I know. When I was living alone cooked breakfasts weren't a priority for me either. But now I’ve got Roz. Oh Roz. She’ll be worried to death. And I’m supposed to be in a play tonight.”

  “A play. Right. Of course.” Curiouser and curiouser.

  “Because we were snowed in,” said Guy by way of explanation, “we were organising various activities to keep ourselves occupied. It’s been great fun actually. Apart, of course, from nearly getting killed.” He pulled a face.

  “Come and sit down.” Stuart dished up the food.

  “Wow, this is just….divine. I haven't had bacon or any meat since…. Heavens, we’ve only been there since Saturday and it’s, what, Thursday today? I can't believe it’s such a short time. There’s the play tonight and a dance tomorrow. And then we leave on Saturday, weather permitting. I’m supposed to be back at work on Monday.”

  “Sounds like a hoot. I’m envious.”

  “Well come in and meet everyone when we get there. I have to introduce you to Roz. The man who saved my life.”

  “OK. But no fanfares please.”

  “Perhaps we could get going soon. I don't want anyone taking any risks trying to find me.”

  “Fine. I’ll get you some clothes.”

  Guy dressed. Stuart changed and shovelled Guy’s wet stuff into a bin bag. He packed a rucksack, including, at Guy’s suggestion, a couple of powerful torches, called the dogs and they went out into the snow.

  “They’re coming with us are they?” asked Guy as they fought their way through a new fall of snow.

  “I have to take Bruno and Bill. In case I get stuck anywhere and can't get back. I’ll take a few tins of food for them as well. B&B are fine in the boat.”

  “`Course. The kids at the Hall’ll love them. Funny, I haven't noticed that anyone has any pets there. They’re completely vegan therefore they haven't even got any chickens. I just hope I can find the route back to the hall through the secret passages.”

  “Don't worry. I expect Bruno and Bill’ll sniff it out.”

  “Splendid.”

  THE HALL WAS IN pandemonium. Roz, remaining listlessly in her bedroom, could hear running around and shouting, doors banging, other more obscure noises she couldn't place. Unusual as it was normally so quiet. The activity had spread to the outside as well, but she couldn't be bothered to get up off the bed and look out of the window.

  She hadn’t opened her curtains today. What was the point? A few months of consummate bliss and then it was gone forever. Something was bound to go wrong of course. She just wouldn't have imagined it could be quite so tragic as this.

  Sarah first and then Mark knocked on her door and when she only called to them and didn't go to the door, they urged her to come quick but didn't say why.

  Eventually Jack turned up and this time he opened the door without being invited to do so.

  “Roz,” he said coming in. “Something’s happened. I think you should know. Somehow or other, Henry got out of the bower room. There must be another of those secret doors although Amelia wasn't aware of it. But he’s gone. How far he’ll get is questionable.”

  “Well that’s that then,” said Roz. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “There’s something else though. The outbuilding where we put the body has been set on fire. They’ve been trying to put it out but it’s just about burned to the ground. We must assume Henry did it. I’m afraid there won't be anything much left of the corpse.”

  “That’s a shame,” said Roz with no conviction at all.

  “On the positive side though, the sack of Henry’s clothes you made us keep is still safe.”

  “Much good it’ll do with no Henry to be brought to justice. But who care’s anyway. It’s all too late.”

  “Don’t give up hope Roz. Now it’s light we’d send a search party out but there was yet another fall of snow around dawn. I don't think we could risk it.”

  “No. I know.”

  “Roz,” Jack sat down beside her and took her hand. “Guy’s strong and resilient. And he’s clever. He may be safe somewhere, just unable to get back here. At least come downstairs a
nd be with other people. The company’ll do you good. Come on.”

  He gave her arm a little tug.

  “Come and have a cup of tea anyway. I’ve got some real English Breakfast hidden away in my flat. None of your herbal muck.”

  Roz managed a weak smile and agreed.

  Jack stood up. “Can we just go to the tournament room first and see if they’ve had any luck finding out how Henry got out?”

  “OK.”

  They found William looking crestfallen, insisting apparently for the thousandth time that they hadn't relaxed their guard on the bower for a moment. In the bower, Amelia and Sinistra were feeling about in any crevice, clearly to no effect.

  “Do you want to stay here with them and I’ll go and get that tea?” Jack asked her.

  “Fine,” she said and started to feel about herself.

  “Roz dear.” Amelia came over. “I can see your heart’s not in it. Don’t give up yet.”

  Roz, her head hung low, the picture of misery, told Amelia:

  “D’you know. Of all things, I suspected Jack of being the murderer. How wrong can one be. Although it’s still odd that he’s fathered so many children around here.”

  “Yes. Poor Jack. I expect he wouldn't mind my telling you. Before he moved to the Hall, his wife was having an affair. He moved out with their children and bought a place here to give her space. He was quite broken up about it. We helped him. The fact there’s so much work to do suited him. And the children flourished.”

  “But even so.”

  Amelia shrugged. “Fairymead and Hestia wanted to have children and Jack in his position saw no reason not to oblige. Then a few years after he moved here, his wife asked for a reconciliation and she came to live with him and the children. Their children are in their late teens and early twenties now.”

  “Oh. So no mystery there then.”

  “No. Not really. But don't give up about Guy. I do feel that he hasn’t left us yet. In fact the feeling’s been getting stronger. I….”

  “Don’t Amelia.”

  “No. I’m sorry. I just thought….”

  William’s head appeared round the door.

  “There’s something going on in the library and they’re asking for you Amelia.”