Scamper's Find

by Terry H. Watson

  “I remember the guy. He told me he was an angler and used his van for fishing trips but wanted to sell it on and needed to clear it out. He went to a lot of trouble to spruce it up, even had it spray-painted. I let him use the space around the back here. He bought tyres. I remember that, and some other stuff. He bought some metal bars to fit on the inside where some had come loose and got misplaced. Gave me a good tip for my troubles. He stayed in that hotel over there, told me his brother was with him but had caught a bug or something and was resting.”

  “Don’t suppose you know what kind of metal bars they were?”

  “As a matter of fact I have a piece of it over here. It was left over and I never throw things out as you can see from the state of the place.”

  Collating information about Alex Bryson’s working time proved more difficult. He lived in a small village where a stranger, especially one asking questions, would stand out from the crowd. One of the detectives posing as a reporter for a magazine, and another, a photographer, sought out and were successful in obtaining access to Alex’s place of work and interviewed the site manager.

  “So, you want to find out about open-cast mining then?” said the gruff boss. “For a magazine you say? Well, it would be good to put our work in the public eye. Not everyone agrees with what we do. Some say it’s a blot on the landscape, but we pride ourselves in restoring the ground, as per government regulations. Our site here speaks for itself. I’ve a squad of gardeners who restore the area to a very high standard. I’ll get one of the lads to show you around and you can get your pictures. Be sure to send us a copy. Here’s the very person you need,” he said, as he introduced the photographer to Bill. “Bill here has been with us longer than the others. He will show you around and answer any questions you might have.”

  During their tour of the site with talkative Bill, the covert detectives enquired about the workforce and their work practices.

  “Do you guys work here in all weathers?”

  “We can be flexible as long as we complete the work in time. If the weather is too bad we have our glasshouse where we bring on plants and shrubs. There’s always something needing done. We have a good system going here; flexi-time we call it. And some of the lads job share. We can usually work our hours to suit ourselves as long as we arrange with the boys to be on duty when we need time off. It works well for some of the family men who need time off during the school holidays and for one of our guys whose mother is in care down in the south of England. It allows him to gather time off to visit her. We’re a good team. We look after our mates.”

  While photographing the site, the officer elicited more information about Alex. Bill posed proudly while he was photographed among the various parts of the site.

  “You’ll have to send me copies of these,” he said. “Imagine me being in a magazine; the wife will be pleased as punch.”

  “Sounds a good firm to work with then, especially for the likes of that guy who has to go miles to visit his parent. Does he do that often?”

  “Quite a lot; he’s very good to his mother is Alex. Here, come over to the office and I’ll show you the work sheet, just to give you an idea of the kind of folks we are up here. Have a look at that while I make us a brew.”

  The detective discreetly photographed the work roster showing Alex Bryson’s time off.

  ***

  Gathering reports from undercover cops, Geoff Nolan, delighted with the work of his team, planned the arrest of the Bryson brothers with precision. He carefully studied the evidence he would need; making sure nothing was left to chance. Satisfied that all was in order, two officers were assigned to detain Alex Bryson at his place of work and escort him to HQ, where detectives were waiting to charge the eldest brother with two counts of murder. DI Rab McKenzie from Police Scotland eagerly awaited the arrival of the first prisoner, having worked closely with Geoff Nolan and keen to bring the sorry mess to a conclusion.

  Simultaneous arrests were arranged for Joe Bryson and his brother Bobby.

  “This must be carried out with meticulous timing. It’s essential that these men do not have contact with each other. Remove phones immediately, separate the London brothers. They will be held in different locations.”

  Officers were allocated to arrest Bobby Bryson. Intelligence reported the routine of the younger sibling.

  “He jogs around the park near his home at a set time in the morning before collecting his newspaper. Nab him as he finishes his run. You can set your watch by him. While Bobby is being detained his brother Joe will be picked up at his home. Timing is essential in these arrests. Hopefully the sands of time are running out for the Bryson boys.”

  Alex Bryson, working outside on a flower patch, was unaware of the approaching officers who had located him after speaking to the site manager, who was slightly bemused when he recognised the photographer and reporter who had visited the site some weeks earlier.

  “Weren’t you here a month or so ago?” he began, but refrained from saying any more on being shown the officers’ identification tags.

  “Alex Bryson,” called one of the arresting detectives, “stop what you are doing.”

  He turned pale and fear overcame him. He had never fully relaxed after the killing of his foe and the unknown man whose fate was sealed simply by being with Barry Jones. The discovery of the two bodies and resulting talk in the area about the horrific finds brought him out in a cold sweat. He was in denial that he and his brothers could ever be traced as the perpetrators of the crime, thinking he had covered their tracks well and had outwitted the authorities. The disclosure of his victims as the killers of Lucy Mears and those on the plane with her, gave him a feeling of exoneration, a feeling that he had exacted revenge, not only for his mother’s suffering, but also for the loss of the victims of the sabotaged plane. He was complacent. Until now.

  Alex’s workmates, thinking at first that the police wanted to speak to him with perhaps news about his frail mother, stopped work ready to commiserate with their colleague and were stunned when they saw him being handcuffed and led away.

  While this was happening, Alice Bryson was being informed by detectives of her husband’s arrest. She was shocked and acutely embarrassed at hearing of his horrific offence.

  “I knew he would never fully leave his past life behind. His family had such a hold over him. I hoped that by living here in this quiet place he would leave old ways behind, but no, it doesn’t seem like it. But murder! Detectives, are you certain about this? Maybe you are mixing him up with his brothers. I wouldn’t put anything past them. If this is true, how can I continue to live here? This is so humiliating for me. What will the neighbours say? I hope this doesn’t reach the newspapers. I have a business to run and a reputation to maintain and I can’t afford scandal. What will become of all this? I’ll have to leave the area for a while until things calm down. I’ll head for my sister’s place until this dies down. How can I go on living in this area, and who will want to do business with the wife of a double murderer? I can’t take it in that he was involved in that dreadful find in the pit shaft. It was the talk of the place when those poor men were found there. What was it all about? I should have listened to my mother who had bad vibes about Alex. This is awful.”

  The detectives noted that she showed little concern for her husband’s plight and thought only of herself.

  Alice Bryson’s rant was not yet over: “If there’s any truth in this, I’ll divorce him and revert to my maiden name. I don’t intend to be associated with him or his family. I met Alex in the local bar when he came up here for a job interview and we just seemed to click. He was a charmer and a gentleman and I truly believed he wanted to change his life for the better. I didn’t warm to his family. I’m no snob, detectives, but they were not in my league, a bit low-life, if you see what I mean.”

  She refused an offer to accompany her husband to the police
station where he would be formally charged.

  “He’s made his bed and he can lie on it. I’m going to pack and get out of here before the gossipmongers start. I don’t want any fingers pointing at me. This is a nightmare for me.”

  The detectives sensed their prisoner would be left to his fate.

  CHAPTER 35

  Unaware of his brother’s plight, Joe Bryson lounged on the sofa at home reading an angling magazine while awaiting the return of Bobby. They intended to go fishing later in the day. Hearing a knock at the door he presumed his brother had forgotten his key and shouted, “Door’s unlocked Bobby, come in.”

  Turning around, his demeanour changed when he saw two police officers standing in his sitting room.

  “What the…? Who? Is it my mother? Is she ill? What’s wrong?”

  “Joseph Bryson, you are under arrest for the murders of Barry Jones and Alfred Wysoki.”

  Before he had time to assimilate what was happening, the detective read him his rights, handcuffed him, and escorted him to a police vehicle. Unknown to them, Bobby had returned early from his run having forgotten to take money for his newspaper and overheard the conversation from the safety of the kitchen.

  He hid until the trio had departed, quickly changed his clothes, and ran. Inquisitive neighbours watching the activity at the front of the house were unaware of Bobby leaving by the back. He took off, boarded the first bus that came along and sat sweating and panting while he recovered from the bombshell of seeing his brother taken into custody. He put his head in his hands and thought. He was unused to making major decisions and panicked as he attempted to understand what his next move should be. His breathing became laboured; his head hurt and his heart raced. He felt as if it would explode.

  His only solution was to turn to his mother, his lifelong emotional crutch. He had no idea how to reach her by public transport and spent time studying destination information, not wanting to draw attention to himself by making enquiries.

  He arrived unannounced several hours later at the care home. He was hungry, exhausted, and fearful and was reminded of arrangements for visiting.

  “I was in the area on business,” he lied, “and thought I’d pop in for five minutes.”

  His dishevelled appearance did not go unnoticed.

  If he thought he would find solace or comfort from his mother, he was soon facing the reality of the deterioration in Peggy’s illness as she sat rocking in a chair and showing no sign of recognition of her youngest son. He held her hand and sobbed as he begged her, “Come back Mum, come back to how you were, I need you.”

  Perhaps his plaintive voice triggered a memory for her, for she sat upright for a few seconds and made eye contact with her tearful son and smiled.

  “Bobby,” she whispered.

  The distraught man hugged her, held onto her as if he wanted to hold onto that lucid moment forever.

  “Oh Mum! Yes, it’s Bobby! You’ve come back to us; you’re cured! Oh Mum, I don’t know what to do. Joe’s been arrested and I don’t know where Alex is. Help me Mum; I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do.”

  But Peggy had once more retreated into a private world, a world where no one could enter and few understood. She had a vacant look once more. Bobby, totally unable to cope with the trauma he was involved in, held her hand, lifted her chin gently until their eyes met. Peggy smiled and whispered, “Hello, Barry.”

  Bobby stood up and screamed at her: “No Mum. I’m Bobby, your own son. Forget bloody Barry. Barry Jones is dead. We fucking killed him,” and ran out of the care home almost bumping into an elderly gentleman who was walking slowly along the corridor. He ran towards the seashore; past the beach house where he and his brothers had attempted to conceal their mother. Across the sand and fully clothed he ran into the sea. Bemused holidaymakers soaking up the last of the summer’s sun, watched as the drama unfolded in front of them. He felt the sea close in on him. He stopped struggling against the force of the water and let himself go… down, down deeper into the warmth and contentment that his troubled soul had long searched for and had eluded him. He felt at peace.

  Some quick-thinking swimmers dragged him from the sea. He struggled and tried to fend them off, but was overpowered by the lifeguards who had run to assist the holidaymakers. Someone had called for the coastguards. Soon an ambulance, escorted by a police vehicle, removed Bobby Bryson to hospital where he was placed under guard in a secure area while being checked over by medical staff.

  Officers who had been searching for him around his home had alerted other forces to be on the lookout for the wanted man. The staff nurse, who had overheard his rant at Peggy, quickly called the authorities and reported what Bobby Bryson had said.

  “You heard him say that?” enquired a detective. “He actually said they had killed Barry Jones?”

  “Yes Detective, that’s what he said. He was actually screaming at his mother, that’s why I heard it.”

  ***

  Alex Bryson sat with his head in his hands, pondering his fate. How did it come to this? I thought we’d outwitted the cops .The police vehicle he was travelling in was most uncomfortable. He was a tall man. Leg room was tight and the seats hard. Before long he felt cramp and it took all his willpower not to shout out. He had been told he was to be transported to police headquarters to face charges. Hours in this van will be hell, he thought. He now understood something of the discomfort he had put his victims through on their arduous journey north. Other prisoners were picked up from various police stations, the detours making the journey even longer and more difficult to bear. The noise from some of the prisoners became unbearable as the journey progressed. Arguments started and voices were raised in protest about the vehicle’s lack of comfort. One of the escort guards mocked his passengers: “So sorry, gentlemen, about the discomfort; our other vehicle was unavailable. Had we known how refined you gentlemen were we would have provided a top-of-the-range Mercedes for you. As it is, put up and shut up. We have a long drive ahead of us to pick up a few more innocent bad guys. Sit back, enjoy the scenery, and on-board entertainment.”

  He laughed as he turned up the radio in an attempt to drown the racket from the men.

  Alex was miserable. His body ached from the tossing of the vehicle; there was no room to stretch. He attempted to sleep but the blare from the radio and the rowdiness from his fellow travellers became unbearable. I have to get out of this, he thought to himself.

  A stop was made at a police station to pick up two more prisoners.

  “We’ll make this a comfort stop gentlemen. The plan is that you will be escorted to the bathroom, one at a time. Make the most of the fresh air,” he again mocked the prisoners as they moved from the confines of the van to the nearby building.

  As Alex stepped from the vehicle, a prisoner let out an ear-piercing scream; he was having a seizure. The guard rushed to assist him and was unaware that he had dropped a set of keys. Alex saw his chance and scarpered. He ran onto the road and into a nearby park. He ran to put as much distance between himself and the police. His absence had not as yet been noticed. Exiting the park at the opposite end, he flagged down a lorry and begged a lift: “I have to get to my mother as soon as I can, she’s been taken ill. Can I hitch with you? I’m heading north.”

  The friendly, unsuspecting driver, bored from hours of driving was delighted to have company for part of his journey.

  “I’m not supposed to pick up hitch-hikers, but this sounds like a real emergency to me. I can only take you to the other end of town. Drop you near the station, son?”

  “Thanks. That’s great. In the rush, I’ve dropped my phone somewhere. I really appreciate your kindness.”

  Alex, always the courteous gentleman when he wanted to be, gave nothing away of his flight to freedom and chatted amicably to his companion.

  After being dropped off, Alex headed back
to his home. While his mobile phone had been taken from him he still had his wallet with him and was able to purchase a train ticket. He slept for most of the journey. Once home, he hid nearby and waited until dark before going to his house. He shivered as the night grew colder, pulled his flimsy jacket closer to his shaking body as if attempting to generate some heat. The night was silent; a sliver of moon kept him company in the otherwise dark world he now inhabited. When he was sure that no one was about, he crept quietly towards his house and removed his shoes. He was aware that the crunching of his shoes could be heard on the gravel path which Alice had insisted they must have to alert them to anyone who might be lurking there. The irony was not lost to him. He did not want to be seen by anyone. Alice, he suspected, would not be at home and he knew she would probably never return to the village to face the gossipmongers. What a mess I’ve made, he pondered as he hid behind some bushes, awaiting the right moment to locate the spare key that was hidden in the garden to be used in emergencies.

  His hunch had been right. Alice’s wardrobes and cupboards were completely empty and nothing remained of her possessions. She didn’t hang around for long. He settled himself at home, carefully avoiding using lights, or making noise which might alert neighbours of his presence. He was totally exhausted, emotionally and physically. He kept a low profile while planning his future strategy. As far as anyone was concerned, Alex Bryson was in prison and well away from the area. At least she’s left food in the fridge, he mumbled to himself as he quietly settled himself for his last night at home.

  CHAPTER 36

  Detectives searching for Alex Bryson visited his place of work to interview his workmates who were shocked to hear of their colleague’s involvement in the double murder of two Americans. Bill, the site foreman who had shown the undercover cops around the site, spoke up: “I feel bad about this, Detective. When Alex came here to work I was his mentor and showed him around the area. He was a pleasant man, quiet and unassuming, a keen worker who wanted to learn everything about the job. I talked nineteen to the dozen at him, told him about the old mine workings here, and warned him not to go too close to the old pit shafts in case of cave-in. I even showed him where some of them were. I feel so guilty now.”