Days Without Number

by Robert Goddard

  ‘Your brother’s been and gone, Mr Paleologus,’ said Fred. ‘A couple of hours since.’

  ‘I thought he might have come back.’

  ‘That he hasn’t.’

  ‘We’re glad to say,’ put in Margaret. ‘I thought there’d be violence done, the bait he was in.’

  ‘I’m sorry if he caused you any trouble.’

  ‘So Dr Farnsworth said,’ Fred responded. ‘We’ve just had him on the blower, saying as you’d be taking your brother home out of harm’s way.’

  ‘So I will, once I find him.’

  ‘Given you the slip, has he?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘He wants to be careful, carrying on like he did. It’ll get him into bother.’

  ‘I can only apologize on his behalf, Mr Davey.’

  ‘Maybe your father’s going has sent him cranky.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Well ’ Fred pushed out his bottom lip thoughtfully. ‘See him home and we’ll say no more about it.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  Nick reversed out awkwardly on to the main road and headed back towards Tintagel, reckoning Andrew must simply have gone to another pub after leaving the Sword and Stone. There were several to choose from. Perhaps getting roaring drunk was a sensible policy in the circumstances. Sober deliberation had certainly failed to net Nick any reward.

  Then, as he accelerated away, he suddenly saw Andrew on the roadside ahead, blundering towards him, one arm raised to shield his eyes. Nick braked sharply to a halt, earning a horning and a flash of lights from behind. The offended driver sped past, nearly taking off the door as Nick edged it open.

  ‘What the hell are you doing, Andrew?’ Nick shouted, darting out and round to the front of the car. ‘It’s me. Nick.’

  ‘Why should you care what I’m doing?’ Andrew stopped and squinted at his brother through the glare of the headlamps, his face distorted by shadows into a Hallowe’en mask of rage.

  ‘Because we’ve got to stick together.’

  ‘You stole my car keys. Funny bloody way to—’ The rest was lost in the roar of a passing lorry.

  ‘You’re in no state to drive.’

  ‘Maybe not. But I’m in a good state to squeeze the truth out of Davey.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. Get in.’

  ‘Don’t tell me I’m stupid.’ Andrew stumbled forward and prodded Nick in the chest. ‘I’m going there whether you like it or not. Now, get out of my way.’

  ‘Listen to me, Andrew.’ Nick grabbed his brother by the arm. ‘We need to—’

  ‘Let go of me.’ Andrew was the stronger of the two by far. He pulled Nick off him and shoved him towards the car. Nick fell back across the bonnet, while Andrew, carried off balance by his effort, reeled against the offside wing.

  What happened next was compressed into a second, though, to Nick, as he pulled himself upright, it seemed more like a minute or more of slow, unfolding chance. Andrew’s already shaky sense of his own bearings deserted him. He took three staggering, stooping steps out into the middle of the road and was lit for an instant by a clash of headlamps from both directions. A horn blared. There was a squeal of skidding tyre on tarmac. Then the dark, barely glimpsed shape of a van closed on him.

  There was a thump, a blur of tumbling shadows. The tyres squealed on. The horn jammed and the wheels bounced and juddered. Something was crushed, snapped, spattered, in the mangling darkness; something that had been, until that second, Nick’s brother, but was now

  No more.

  INTERLUDE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The video ended. Detective Inspector Penrose rose and removed it from the television, activating a brief flash of Teletubbies on the screen before he pressed the off switch. He slipped the video into a large manilla envelope and handed it to his colleague, Detective Constable Wise.

  They made a contrasting pair. Penrose was fortyish and shambling, with the face and build of a rugby prop forward, his voice gravelly and Cornish-accented. Wise, on the other hand, was slim, smart and sharp, his thinning hair fashionably shaven, his eyes clear and bright. He darted a swift glance at each of the other three occupants of the room as he placed the envelope next to the coffee-cup on the table beside him.

  Sunlight was filtering through the windows of the room, casting a pattern of shrub shadows on the opposite wall, but the sunlight brought no warmth with it. A fire would have been a help, but the grate was empty. Trennor was without a permanent resident and that lack too imparted its own particular chill to the occasion.

  The audience for the video show comprised Irene Viner and Basil and Anna Paleologus, bunched somewhat awkwardly on the sofa so that all could have a good view of the television. A momentary silence elapsed, then Basil cleared his throat and a look passed between the two sisters.

  ‘What should we make of this, Inspector?’ asked Irene.

  ‘I’d hoped you might be able to tell us that, madam,’ Penrose replied, sitting down heavily. ‘The registration number visible on the video corresponds with the registration number of your late brother’s Land Rover.’

  ‘It’s the same vehicle,’ said Wise.

  ‘Indeed,’ Penrose resumed. ‘Now, a positive identification of the two figures is difficult, I know, but—”

  ‘They could be anyone,’ said Anna.

  ‘We’re assuming one of them is Andrew.’

  ‘Just because it’s his Land Rover.’

  ‘It’s a good reason,’ said Wise.

  ‘Granted,’ said Irene. ‘But where does that get us? How exactly did this video reach you?’

  ‘It was mailed to me,’ Wise replied. ‘Posted in Plymouth on the thirty-first of January—the day after your brother’s death.’

  ‘You see a connection?’

  ‘We see a coincidence. Sometimes they can be meaningful.’

  ‘It might help if we knew what took Andrew to Tintagel that day,’ said Penrose.

  Irene frowned. ‘I thought we’d established that.’

  ‘To see this old fellow Davey, yes. But it seems odd, it has to be said. The way Mr Davey tells it, Andrew wanted to ask him what he remembered of your father. But they’d met only the day before. Why couldn’t he have asked him then? It’s not as if Mr Davey knew your father well.’

  ‘Grief can be discombobulating,’ remarked Basil.

  ‘Indeed, sir.’ Penrose sighed and shifted in his seat. ‘Naturally, we’ve shown the video to your brother Nicholas and questioned him about all this, but, as you know, his memory of the period leading up to the accident is still very patchy.’

  ‘Shock, according to the specialist,’ said Irene. ‘Seeing Andrew killed in front of him like that ’ She shook her head.

  ‘And I understand he does have a history of psychiatric problems.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Irene briskly. ‘But isn’t that beside the point? Surely the sequence of events is clear enough. Dr Farnsworth telephoned Nick because he was concerned that Andrew was overwrought. Nick drove up to Tintagel and found Andrew in a pub, drinking heavily. He took his car keys away, to stop him driving while under the influence. He visited Mr Davey and met Andrew on the road as he was driving back to Tintagel. Then the accident happened.’

  ‘But why was Andrew overwrought, madam? That’s the question. Because of his father’s death or because of what we’ve seen on the video?’

  ‘Nick’s told us Andrew was too drunk to make any sense.’

  ‘As he’s told us. But it’s possible, given his memory lapse, that there’s something he’s forgotten.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll tell you if he remembers anything significant.’

  ‘Until and unless he does,’ said Wise, ‘all we have to go on is this video, sent to us anonymously, apparently to alert us to the disposal of a body.’

  ‘You don’t know the object is a body,’ said Irene, with a moue of distaste.

  ‘Right size and shape. And a couple of people going to some lengths to get rid of it. We
were bound to take it seriously.’

  ‘Yet you found no body in the shaft,’ remarked Basil.

  ‘That’s true, sir,’ said Penrose. ‘Which in one way makes it all the more puzzling.’

  ‘Maybe it was just a hoax,’ said Anna. ‘You know, some mischief-maker giving you the run around.’

  ‘Using your brother’s Land Rover,’ Wise pointed out. ‘With—or without—his permission.’

  ‘Why do you say the fact that you found nothing in the shaft makes it more puzzling?’ asked Irene. ‘Surely it solves your problem. There seems—literally—to be nothing for you to investigate.’

  ‘My Chief Super will probably see it that way,’ said Penrose. ‘But the video shows a heavy cylindrical object being dumped in the shaft. The position relative to Caradon Hill pinpoints it as Hamilton’s Shaft, north of Minions, one of the few round there not capped for safety reasons. We searched the shaft and found no body, as you say. In fact, no heavy cylindrical object at all. Why not, I wonder?’

  ‘Because it was never there?’ suggested Anna.

  ‘Perhaps, madam.’

  ‘Or perhaps because it was removed before the search,’ added Wise.

  ‘That seems an extraordinary notion,’ said Irene.

  ‘Indeed, madam,’ said Penrose. ‘It does, doesn’t it?’ He looked from one to the other of them. ‘Can any of you recall anything your late brother said or did in the weeks before his death that suggested he might be mixed up in something like this?’

  ‘Something like what exactly?’ countered Irene.

  ‘He was worried about the farm,’ Anna put in. ‘And about Dad.’

  ‘We all were,’ said Irene, with a fleeting frown at her sister. ‘I doubt that’s what the Inspector means, though.’

  ‘It isn’t, madam.’

  ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing else.’ A glance from Irene induced nods of confirmation from Anna and Basil. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘What about your nephew, Tom? Do you think he might know something?’

  ‘Tom’s had very little contact with his father these past few years. It was something Andrew regretted, I know. His divorce from Tom’s mother didn’t help, but there you are.’

  ‘Was Andrew seeing anyone?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Did he have a girlfriend?’

  ‘Not that I know of. In fact, no. Definitely not.’

  ‘Once bitten, twice shy,’ murmured Anna.

  ‘Can you be certain?’ asked Wise. ‘I get the impression you didn’t see that much of him yourselves.’

  ‘I’d put a lot of money on it,’ said Anna. ‘And I don’t have much to spare.’

  ‘The sale of this house will be quite a windfall for you in that case.’

  ‘Is that relevant?’ Irene asked sharply.

  ‘No, madam,’ said Penrose with a forbearing smile. ‘It isn’t.’

  ‘Do you have some particular reason for asking about girlfriends, Inspector?’ Basil enquired. ‘For the record, I don’t have one myself.’

  Penrose smiled, as if in sympathy. Tell them about the phone call, Dave.’

  ‘Right.’ Wise nodded to his superior. ‘We searched the shaft four days after receiving the video, on Monday the fifth of February. As you know, we found nothing, aside from rocks and general rubbish. A local farmer said he’d seen some activity around the shaft at the end of the previous week. He couldn’t be specific, but we think what he saw may have been someone else searching the shaft—and removing what the video shows being dumped into it. The day after our search had drawn a blank, a woman telephoned me at the station. She wouldn’t give her name. Part of the conversation was taped. I’ll play it for you.’

  Wise took out a pocket recorder and pressed a button. A crackly female voice cut in. ‘ at the shaft yesterday. What did you find?’

  ‘Did you send me a video last week?’ came Wise’s recorded reply.

  ‘What did you find?’

  ‘Can I have your name please?’

  ‘What have you done with it?’

  ‘Done with what?’

  ‘What you found in the shaft.’

  ‘We found nothing.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘It can’t be. ‘

  ‘Did you send me the video?’

  ‘Nothing? ‘

  ‘At least give me your first name. Then we can—’

  ‘You’re lying. It was there.’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘It wasn’t? It truly wasn’t?’

  ‘Like I say, we found nothing.’

  ‘Then they must have—Oh God.’

  ‘Who—’

  The recording cut out. Wise switched off the machine.

  ‘Do you recognize her voice?’ Penrose prompted.

  ‘No,’ said Irene.

  Anna shrugged.‘Nor me.’

  ‘Sir?’ Penrose looked at Basil.

  Basil’s eyes rolled. Then he grimaced and said,‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Do you want to hear it again?’

  ‘I, er—’

  ‘You may as well, Dave.’

  Wise played the recording again. When it had finished, Irene said, ‘I definitely don’t know her.’

  ‘Same here,’ said Anna.

  There was a moment’s pause before Basil added, That goes for me too.’

  ‘Sure?’

  Basil nodded.‘Absolutely.’

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t help you, Inspector,’ said Irene.‘Much as we’d like to.’

  ‘No. Well—’ Penrose smiled ruefully.‘Thanks for trying.’

  After seeing the two policemen out, the Paleologus siblings walked silently back into the drawing room. Irene lit a cigarette and Basil enquired mildly if they wanted more coffee. Anna expressed a marked preference for a very large gin and tonic. Irene concurred. And Basil went along with the majority.

  ‘What a pair,’ said Anna after her first sip of gin.‘Let’s hope we’ve seen the last of them.’

  ‘They’ve no reason to take this any further,’ said Irene.

  ‘Assuming they believed us,’ Basil observed.

  ‘Why shouldn’t they? We answered their questions truthfully enough.’

  ‘The woman on the tape was Elspeth Hartley. You know that.’

  ‘I know no such thing,’

  Basil shrugged.‘Have it your way.’

  ‘What good would it have done to mention her anyway?’

  ‘Oh, none, I admit. It’s too late for honesty, even though it may well have been the best policy at the outset. What a tangled web we’ve woven for ourselves.’

  ‘There’s nothing tangled about it. If they really had found a body in the shaft, it might have been different. As it is—’

  ‘Who did you think the two people on the video were, Irene?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Idon’t know.’ Irene clunked her glass down on the mantelpiece.‘Whatever this is really all about has harmed us enough. Telling tales to the police now can only make matters worse. We need to draw a line under the whole dreadful business. You’re not to discuss this with Nick. Is that understood? Let him recover in his own time. I don’t know what he and Andrew did or didn’t do. And I don’t want to know.’

  ‘Amnesia can be a very convenient thing. There seems to be a lot of it about.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘I mean we may not be allowed to draw a line under this. And that we should be prepared for such a contingency.’

  ‘How, exactly?’

  Basil made a face.‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘I want you to promise you’ll say nothing to Nick.’ Irene stared meaningfully at her brother.

  ‘Won’t he assume they’ll have shown us the video?’

  ‘Maybe. But let him raise the subject—if he wants to.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t?’

  ‘Then let it lie. It’s only for a
few days. He’s going up to Edinburgh to see Tom. You know he was in no state to explain what happened when Tom was down for Andrew’s funeral. Well, he reckons he’s equal to it now and God knows they do need to talk. Maybe they can help each other come to terms with the situation.’

  ‘Tom seemed totally withdrawn to me,’ said Anna.

  ‘Exactly. So, the visit could be good for both of them. But Nick’s still very fragile. I don’t want anything to upset him before he goes.’

  ‘Message received and understood,’ murmured Basil.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘But remember what the Inspector said. Finding nothing in the shaft is in a sense the most puzzling aspect of the whole affair.’

  ‘You think too much, Basil,’ said Anna.‘You really do.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right.’

  ‘I am, believe me. Where you’re concerned, I’m an expert.’

  ‘Maybe I need a holiday.’

  ‘Don’t we all?’

  ‘A complete break.’ Basil nodded, as if in contemplation of a sun-soaked beach somewhere.‘A change of scene.’

  ‘Not planning to don the habit again, I hope,’ said Irene.

  ‘No, no. Not that.’ Basil clinked the ice thoughtfully in his glass.‘Something else altogether.’

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Nicholas Paleologus stepped out of the door of the Old Ferry Inn into a chill, grey, salt-tanged morning. He heaved his bag on to his shoulder and gazed up at the twin spans of the Tamar Bridges. The road bridge was busy with workmen and traffic, headlamps and floodlights blurring in the murk, but the rail bridge was empty and silent. He breathed deeply, wondering if the palpitations would start again. But they stayed away. He was calm and in control.

  Three weeks had passed since Andrew’s death. For the first of those weeks Nick had no coherent memory to draw on at all. His recollections—of people and places and incidents were a jumble, as detached from sequential reality as the weirdest of dreams. He knew it all now: what had happened and when in the cavalcade of consequences. He could even have given a reasonable account of his own collapse and slow recovery in the wake of that sickening, disabling moment when he had seen and heard his brother die. Yet still it lacked for him the actuality of first-hand experience. It was all at one remove from him and he from it, as if he had witnessed it from inside someone else’s head.