CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Why now?” Liam Brady rounded angrily on his
mother, “Why wait until now to tell me my father was murdered?”
“You’ve never wanted to talk about your father. The doctors said I
shouldn’t try and make you.”
“So why now?” Liam insisted.
Carol Brady took a deep breath and silently prayed that
she was doing the right thing. “Because Monk’s Tallow is where your father’s
killer died and I’d rather you heard that from me then anyone else.”
“What?” Liam swallowed hard then, “So who was he, the
man who killed my father?”
Carol told him. He sat very still, pale, fists clenched.
She did not tell him that he had witnessed the murder. They had warned her,
years ago, to say nothing unless he chose to speak of it himself. He never had.
Now, she felt she had to say something. How could she let him go there and say
nothing? Why did James Morrissey have to
die in Monk’s Tallow of all places? Most
people had probably never heard of it, for heaven’s sake. Gritting her teeth and careful to keep a whiskey bottle
within easy reach, she spoke about Sean’s friendship with Ralph Cotter and how
Cotter had suddenly turned madman for no apparent reason.
Even as she talked, Carol wasn’t clear about her motives for doing
so. She told herself that it was better Liam should hear it from her, his
mother, rather than by way of some chance remark dropped, casually enough, by a
total stranger. Yet the chances of anyone in Monk’s Tallow giving Ralph Cotter
a second thought after all these years had to be remote. So why now? she found herself asking the
same question. She hadn’t thought twice about it when he mentioned he’d be driving
down to Brighton to collect some things belonging to a friend of Julie’s aunt
who had been killed in some road accident. “A nice place, Brighton,” she had
commented while ironing a favourite top.
“Well, not Brighton exactly,” he had pointed out without looking up from the newspaper
he was reading, “It’s a village called Monk’s Tallow. Apparently there was a
monastery there in the days of William the Conqueror or an abbey, something
like that. Did you read this about...?”
She hadn’t heard another word. For the next hour, she had argued the
case for and against saying anything in her head until it felt as though it
would split in two at any second. Even
after convincing herself that she must speak out, she doubted the wisdom of it.
Hadn’t it stretched like a chasm between them for more twenty years? Until now,
she thought she’d learned to live with it. Hadn’t she told herself it didn’t
bloody matter a thousand times? All that mattered was they should get on with
their lives without the past dragging on their every word, their every move.
Who am I kidding? Hadn’t it done just that anyway? She must be careful, for both their
sakes. But it was high time something
was done about that bloody chasm. Well, wasn’t it…?
“So how come you’ve never said anything before?” he repeated.
“You’ve never asked,” she retorted with a bitterness that surprised
them both.
Liam lapsed into a brooding silence for a while then, “How did they
find out it was Cotter?”
Carol bit her lip. “A neighbour saw him running away from the
house,” she lied. “The next think we knew, Ralph’s car was found at the bottom
of a cliff, or what was left of it.”
“So why Monk’s Tallow…?”
She shrugged. “He had friends in Brighton. The police think he must
have been going there for help.”
“And who helped you?”
The question caught her off guard. “Nobody,” she snapped, “I just
had to get on with it, didn’t I? I had a
toddler to look after, remember? I
couldn’t afford the luxury of falling apart.”
“I used to wonder...”
“Wonder what?”
“Why you never talked about him. I used to think maybe you didn’t
give a toss.”
“Oh, I gave a toss alright, you bet I did. But you can’t bring the
dead back to life. You just have to get on with your own as best you can.”
“Let ’em rest in peace, yeah?” Liam sneered.
“Murder is a very short straw, Liam. Peace doesn’t come into it,
believe you me.”
They glared at each other like adversaries before he turned and left
the room without another word. A few minutes later, she heard the front door
slam. “What have I done?” she moaned and reached for the bottle. “Damn James
Morrissey and damn Julie’s aunt and damn Julie!” She drained the glass,
refilled, drank again and wondered - not for the first time - whether Liam and
Julie Simpson were in a relationship or not. “Shit!” she told a screwed-up
reflection at the bottom of her glass, idly swishing the few meagre drops
before swamping them with more of the same.
Liam walked for miles. At first he was angry with his
mother. Then he became even angrier with himself. Why hadn’t he asked about his
father? He had wondered often enough so
why hadn’t he simply asked? He
broke into a cold sweat, lost all sense of direction but kept on walking. He tried to remember his father but all his
mind would conjure up was a blank space. There was nothing, nothing. He could not even picture the face of the man
with an arm around his mother in the photograph that had always sat on the
living room sideboard but might as well not have existed for all anyone took
any notice. No one had ever mentioned
his father to him, not ever. Now he knew why. Murder was a dirty word.
He thought he could faintly recollect the man he had
called Uncle Ralph but no clear image came to mind, only a pair of staring blue
eyes that made his flesh crawl. Yet, he seemed to recall being fond of the
man. It was weird. Worse though, was that he couldn’t even
begin to recall the colour of his own father’s eyes. A sharp pain stabbed him in the heart as he
dived into a nearby pub.
Later, his feet found their way to Julie’s flat and it was good to
talk. He stayed over, sleeping on her sofa bed. The next morning he felt better
able to face the world, if not yet his mother. He felt guilty about that but it
couldn’t be helped. She should have told him. He felt let down, betrayed. His
head told him it must have been incredibly hard for her while his heart loved
her to bits. But his stomach told a very different story. He felt sick,
confused, frightened even.
In spite of everything, it never entered his head not to go to Monk’s
Tallow. He had promised Julie’s aunt, after all. Besides, he was curious. He
could not have explained why. His father had been cremated. So there was no
grave. Even in his shocked state, however, it struck Liam as absurd, if not a
trifle obscene, that the prospect of visiting the site of his killer’s death
should seem the next best thing.
After calling the office where he worked as a graphic designer to
arrange a few days annual leave, Liam took the train from Victoria to Brighton
then a bus to Monk’s Tallow. He hadn’t felt up to driving and enjoyed the
journey. The plan was to spend a few hours in the village then be sure to catch
the last train back to London.
They were pleased to see him at the inn.
“To be honest, I expected someone to collect
this long before now,” Simon Pearsall, landlord of The Fox and Hounds
confided. He was a tall, hawk-nosed man
with a queer but genuine smile and seemed relieved to be handing Liam a black
holdall across the bar. “I’m sorry about your friend though,” he added kindly.
“You’ll have a drink on the house while you’re here?”
“Thanks,” Liam nodded and was soon enjoying
a pint of the best Sussex bitter.
“My pleasure,” the older man assured him.
“Well, you know what I mean,” he added hastily with an apologetic grin. “That
bend’s a sure killer if you take it too fast. Always has been, always will be.
Your friend’s not the first to be caught off guard and you can be sure he won’t
be the last. It’s a long, smooth run, you see. Then suddenly...zap!” He made a cutting motion with one hand that
made the hairs on the back of Liam Brady’s neck stand on end. “They don’t call
it the Devil’s Elbow for nothing...”
“So where is it exactly?” Liam asked.
Simon Pearsall gave him a long, old
fashioned look but also precise directions. “You’ll want to see where your
friend died, I dare say.” Liam nodded.
“That’s understandable. But be sure and take care, my friend. It’s not just a
nasty black spot. There’s something
about that place that grabs you and turns you upside down and inside out. Some
say the Devil himself has a hand in it. Not that I go along with such
superstitions myself, no way! Even so...it makes you wonder, it does that.”
Liam laughed uneasily. “A man called Ralph
Cotter was killed there about twenty years ago, I believe.”
“I wouldn’t know. That’s long before I came
here. Got a special interest in this Cotter bloke, have you?” Liam nodded. “Then try the library. Ask for
Sarah Manners, the librarian. She’s a funny woman but knows her stuff. I believe she keeps some local archives in a
room at the back. A relative, was he, this Cotter bloke?” But a customer called
out to be served while Liam wrestled with a temptation to test the landlord’s
reaction to the truth. Instead, he drank
up and went in search of Sarah Manners.
Monk’s Tallow’s public library was a homely,
prefabricated building that had seen a good half-century. Inside, it was
pleasantly decorated and the fluorescent lighting not as harsh as in many
modern buildings. A young woman at the
counter beamed and said “Good afternoon,” in a cheery way that helped lift his
spirits and ease his nerves, although it struck him as quite ridiculous that he
should be feeling nervous in the first place.
Liam swallowed and gave here his best smile.
“I’m looking for Sarah Manners.”
At that moment another, older woman came out
of a door at the back of the counter. “I’m Sarah Manners. How can I help you?”
“I understand you keep some local archives
here?”
“Some, yes.
But we only keep records directly related to Monk’s Tallow and Monk’s
Porter, the rest are at the main library in Brighton. How far did you want to
go back?”
“A good twenty years.” The woman seemed to
stiffen, the friendly smile falter a fraction. “I’m particularly interested in
an accident on the Devil’s Elbow. A man called Ralph Cotter was killed there in
June 1985.”
Cotter froze.
“I’m sure we’ll have something, won’t we
Sarah?” the bubbly young assistant assured him.
“Of course,” Sarah Manners confirmed
briskly. “Would you like to come through and I’ll show you the files?” The
woman opened a small gate at the counter and Liam entered, let her show him
into a surprisingly spacious but dingy back room. “May I ask what your interest
is in this Cotter person? Not that it’s
any of my business of course.” She gave an apologetic little laugh. “One can’t
help being curious, Mr, err?”
“Brady. Liam Brady,” he told her and held out
his hand. The woman seemed to hesitate before accepting it, smiling.
Cotter’s mind was racing. Liam Brady,
here in Monk’s Tallow. Why? What does he want? More to the point, what
does he know? Commonsense told him that the answer to the last
question had to be nothing, nothing at all. Or the young man would not
be so calm and matter-of-fact. Yet, commonsense had already taken a back seat
to rising panic.
It had to be a horrible coincidence, nothing
more than that, Cotter kept telling himself as he showed Brady the various
newspaper cuttings and other items of local interest for the year 1985. “I’ll
leave you to browse at your leisure. Feel free to come through and ask any
questions you may have. In fact, I insist you join me in the staff room for a
cup of tea later. Being custodian of the archives means I take a great personal
interest in all things related to our little community.”
Sarah Manners checked herself. “Oh dear, I
hope you don’t think I’m being nosy?” she tittered.
“Not at all,” Liam assured the woman who,
true to her word, promptly left him to it. He found more than he bargained for. The local
newspaper had gone to town on Cotter. Several issues contained details about
the shooting of Sean Brady. Several referred to the murder as witnessed by his
young son.
Liam read and re-read every word. How could this be? How, how, how? Noises boomed like cannon fire in his head. All
at once he found himself fighting for breath and ran out of the room. He was
only vaguely aware of Sarah Manners taking his arm and guiding him through
another door marked ‘Staff’. It led to a small, clinical looking room where she
sat him down in an armchair, plugged in an electric kettle and planted herself
beside him, patted his knee and talked continuously in a slow, irritating
manner that he knew was meant kindly enough but made him feel like a small boy
who’d had a nasty fright. “Well, hadn’t he?” he conceded ruefully to the
picture of a soap star on the cover of a glossy magazine left on one arm of the
chair.
“Are you feeling better now?” The woman’s words began to filter through to
him more clearly. He nodded. She got up and made some tea. “Do you take sugar?”
“Two please,” he mumbled and made a supreme
effort to pull himself together.
“You’re still shaking,” murmured the Manners
woman, her voice edgy with concern. “Look, I’ll put the cup on the table until
you can hold it. But Liam took the cup in both hands and sipped gratefully. The
hot tea had an immediate calming effect and he began to feel better after just
a few sips. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Cotter waited and tried to conceal his
disappointment when Brady shook his head and merely continued drinking his tea.
“I didn’t know...” Liam stammered. The woman
said nothing and he was grateful for that. “I didn’t know...” he began again,
“that...I...saw it.” Another fit of shaking took hold of him and he was
relieved when she extricated the mug from his trembling hands and replaced it
on the table. He felt an overwhelming
desire, need to talk. But no words came, only uneven, rasping
breaths. Even after he had sufficiently calmed
down to finish the mug of tea, words continued to stick in his throat.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, “You’re very kind.
I feel such a fool.”
“Nonsense, you’ve had a shock,” said the
woman and patted his knee again. “As it happens, I remember the incident. It
happened shortly after I first came to Monk’s Tallow. If you like, you can call
round at my cottage later and we can have a chat about it? Only if you want to and are feeling up to it
of course,” she added hastily, her kindness endearing her to him even further.
Liam thought he detected a certain
forcedness in her voice but put it down to his own state of mind. Besides, she
probably didn’t come across this kind of thing among the everyday run of
library users. He apologized again.
“Think nothing of it. Now, I really must go
and do some work. Take your time and help yourself to tea and biscuits. Come
and see me before you go and I’ll give you my address and phone number just in
case you want to talk about ...things ...sometime.”
“Later perhaps,” he gulped.
“Whenever,” she said and left the room,
whereupon Cotter almost ran to the toilet and locked himself in.
An hour later, Liam Brady stood at the
Devil’s Elbow peering down the cliff face at the swirling tide below. He kept thinking he should feel
something but nothing came; no surge of emotion, no image of a car plunging to
the pebbles below; no memory of Uncle Ralph; no sign of his father - or mother -
in the baggy clouds overhead…nothing.
After a while, he walked back to the bus
stop and waited for the yellow single-decker to make its return trip and take
him back to the village. He glanced at his watch and retrieved the mobile phone
from his coat pocket. There was plenty of time to call on Sarah Manners and
still catch the last train from Brighton.
At the cottage, Cotter paced to and fro the
sitting room clutching his third large brandy.
Daz Horton watched, no less anxious but
content enough with a cup of strong coffee. “Now, calm down, flower. For crying
out loud, calm down. He’s hardly going to recognize you now, is he? Not that you had to invite him round in the
first place. It was just the same with that Morrissey geezer. Beats me why you
can’t let well alone. Mark my words, you’ll push us into a corner one of these
days and there’ll be no getting out of it. Let’s just hope, for all our sakes,
the Brady lad doesn’t have to go the same way as Morrissey. I can’t do with
another ‘accident’ Ralph. I’m telling you straight, I can’t do with it.”
“It won’t come to that.”
“Oh, says who?”
“It won’t come to that,” Cotter repeated.
“But it’s like my old mum used to say. Better to know what someone’s up to than
have to worry because you don’t.”
“It doesn’t sound like he’s up to much if
you ask me. You said it all seemed to
come as a bit of a shock to him, right?”
Cotter nodded. “He was in a terrible state.
Odd, don’t you think? I mean, he must have known. He was there. He saw
everything, poor kid.”
“Not a kid any more,” Horton commented dryly
and both men started violently at the sound of a doorbell. “Answer it then,”
said Horton gruffly. “This was your damn fool idea. The least you can do is see
it through. But don’t expect any help from me. I’m not in the mood.”
“You won’t leave me alone with him?” Cotter
began to panic all over again.
Horton shrugged. “Just answer the bloody
door!” he said quietly, allowing a smug, self-satisfied smile to cross the
bulldog face as Cotter finally jumped to it.
By the time Liam Brady was being ushered into the room, he was already
on his feet. Cotter introduced them. Brady seemed somewhat detached and ill at
ease. “I’ll leave you in Sarah’s capable hands. There’s not much she can’t tell
you about Monk’s Tallow’s little happenings over the years. A veritable mine of
information, aren’t you, my turtle dove?”
“You’re not leaving?” Cotter kept his voice
even, his eyes wide and pleading.
“You don’t need me,” said Horton, smiled
pleasantly at Brady and left the room, shutting the door gently but firmly behind
him.
“Do sit down. Can I offer you a drink? What
will it be? We have everyone’s poison here,” Sarah Manners tittered.
To be continued
