Depth of Deception (A Titanic Murder Mystery) (35 page)

Stepping out, he realized that day had already turned into night. Callum took a deep breath of cool air and started to walk. A respectable stone’s-throw from The Church of St. George & St. Michael was the Black Dragon Pub.
Ironic,
Callum thought.

Callum ordered a pint of ale from the attractive
,
young
,
green-eyed lady behind the bar. Then he pointed to the ‘Specials Menu’ and continued,
"
I’ll also have the ‘steak and ale pie with chips and peas.’
"

The smell of food was driving him crazy. He was hungry now. Though he could have downed that pint in a single go, he thought it best not to drink on an empty stomach. He then added,
"
Could I also get an order of pickled eggs to start?
"

"
Right, luv,
"
she smiled and nodded.

After he’d paid for his meal, he took his pickled eggs and ale and sat down at a table near the front where he could still see anyone that entered or left the pub. Callum savored the pickled egg, which went well with the nice pint of brown ale and a dusting of white pepper. He was also grateful that the pub had gone to the extra expense of obtaining padded seats. After s
itting all day on a stark wooden
chair in the rectory, he could feel every bone in his backside.

As he waited for his meal, Callum’s eyes drifted up to the telly. A desk reporter was addressing the camera, and in a serious tone commented,
"
In response to the Hama uprising that began in February, Syria has closed its border with Iraq, shutting off the pipeline carrying Iraqi oil to the Mediterranean.
"

The door opened and a man in a dark coat entered. Callum set his ale down as he observed the man. The man’s eyes darted about the pub, searching. Callum resisted the instinct to slink down or look away. The man’s eyes lit up as he saw someone at the back of pub. With an energetic step he rushed towards an exotic looking young lady at a table in the corner. Callum watched as they kissed, and then as if aware of him, they glanced around warily. Callum’s gaze moved quickly into his glass of ale.
Obvious,
he thought with a smirk.
A couple meeting clandestinely.

"
In local news,
"
the reporter’s voice droned on,
"
An officer with the Strathclyde Police was killed in the line of duty, today.
"

Callum’s attention flew back to the telly.

"
Detective Chief Inspector Donald de Kirkhaugh, a ten-year veteran and a familiar face here in Glasgow was gunned down during an on-going investigation. Unconfirmed reports state that he might have been killed by the assassin operating under the name of Jack Frost.
"

Callum dropped his glass, completely unaware of the river of ale cascading off the edge of his table. He had only taken a sip or two but could feel the room spin as the magnitude of the tragedy sunk in.

De Kirkhaugh was dead because of him. How many were now dead because of him?

Father Landon!
Suddenly, his appetite was gone, and fear started to grip his mind and wouldn’t let go. He needed to get back to the church, get the iron box of evidence and get Father Landon out of there. He stood up and grabbed his coat.

"
I’ll have to go,
"
he said the barmaid behind the bar.

"
But what about…
"

"
Here is a photo of the suspect believed to have killed DCI de Kirkhaugh in cold blood,
"
the reporter’s voice continued.
"
This photo was taken while being interrogated on another ‘Jack Frost’ murder.
"

Callum looked up to see a blurry black & white image of himself in the Strathclyde Police interrogation room.

"
Bollocks!
"
he muttered under his breath. Then he turned to the inquisitive-looking barmaid and said quickly,
"
I think I know him!
"

Then he dashed out the door.

Callum raced awkwardly from the Black Dragon Pub to the Church of St. George & St. Michael. He half expected to find Father Landon with his throat cut, his grandfather’s iron box missing, and the church in flames.

When he arrived at the Rectory, he discovered Father Landon making sandwiches in his kitchen.

"
I have to get you out of here,
"
Callum said with urgency, peeking out the window through the orange curtains as a car drove by.

"
I’m not going anywhere,
"
Father Landon said as he sliced some cheddar cheese.
"
The Lord watches over me. Besides, tomorrow’s Good Friday. I have a sermon to prepare. You need to sit for a moment and gather your wits.
"

"
You don’t understand,
"
Callum interrupted.
"
Something terrible has happened… You’re not going to believe what happened…
"

"
Belief
is part of my job description,
"
Father Landon said as he cut the sandwich.

"
I don’t even know where to begin!
"

"
Your ally in the police force was murdered and you’ve now been wrongfully accused of committing that crime.
"

"
No… worse…
"
Callum began.
"
The Detective Chief Inspector who… what? How did you know?
"

"
I have a television in the other room.
"

"
You watch the telly?
"

"
This is a Rectory, not a medieval monastery,
"
smiled the priest.

Callum slumped down on the chair. Slowly it was beginning to sink in that he was out of options.
"
How did this get so insane? I have to get out of here. They’re going to be looking for me.
"

"
I know,
"
replied Father Landon as he handed him a lunch bag with the sandwiches.
"
You’ll need to eat while you drive.
"

"
I wish there were more people like you,
"
Callum smiled meekly at the generosity.
"
I don’t even know where to go now. I’m ready to give up.
"

"
Then they win,
"
Father Landon replied.

"
Who are
‘They’
?
"

"
Whoever murdered Agatha Gilcrest, blamed an innocent man for that crime, ruined your grandfather’s name and started the same cycle of blood all over again. History is repeating itself. It’s time for you to stop it.
"

"
How? This person seems to have unlimited resources and operates above the law. All of my allies are being killed off one by one. I’m alone now.
"

"
You are never alone. And whoever this evil person is, they are not above all law.
"

Callum sigh
ed. He knew this priest would
dish out some sort of fortune cookie philosophy, but Callum was a realist. There wa
s no room in his life or line of
work for blind faith.

"
Whoever this evil is,
"
Father Landon began,
"
t
hey’re afraid of you.
"

"
Afraid of me? I don’t think so. Right now I’m scared shi…silly.
"

"
Somewhere along the way, you have uncovered something —
some dark secret that has made them come out of hiding after seventy years. Something that they’re willing to kill for, to keep it in the dark. You must bring them into the light,
"
said
Father Landon, resting his hand on the old iron box.
"
The alternative is to spend the rest of your life running from this evil and the law, branded a murderer.
"

"
I’m not a crusader. I’m a
n
insurance investigator,
"
Callum said dejectedly.
"
What you’re asking is impossible.
"

"
You are the grandson of Inspector John Toughill,
"
Father Landon said with authority.
"
It’s time to bring the justice he sacrificed for. Your job is to take care of what is possible, and trust God with the impossible…
"

"
I’m sorry, Father,
"
Callum replied sheepishly.
"
I don’t believe in miracles… certainly not after what has happened over the last few days.
"

"
Because you’ve lost your faith.
"

"
I don’t think I ever had it,
"
Callum mumbled.
"
What is faith, anyway?
"

"
For one who has no faith no explanation is possible. But if you have faith, no explanation is needed.
"

. . .

As Edward waited for the kettle to boil for some hot chocolate, he found his mind was in turmoil. His logical, analytical, common sense kept nagging at him, telling him this was all impossible. This young woman, who could pass for his granddaughter, could not possibly be his mother. It defied the laws of physics, time and sanity. Yet, she knew things that no one else could have known. And when he looked into her eyes, he felt like a lost little boy and found co
mfort knowing that she was now
here.
Could he accept her on blind faith?

He looked over at Myra, nestled on the sofa with one of his old photo albums sitting open on her lap. Her face bathed in a warm glow, she seemed mesmerized by the flickering flames in the fireplace that danced to the haunting melody from the stereo. This small section of the 25 minute opus
Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini
, by Sergei Rachmaninoff was used in an inexplicable time travel movie two years ago:
Somewhere in Time
. Though not a commercial success, Edward loved the 1912 setting that the hero traveled back in time to visit. How ironic. In so many ways.

"
A penny for your thoughts,
"
Edward said, breaking the silence.

Myra looked up with a start and then smiled,
"
Is that expression still around?
"

"
Well it’s been in our vocabulary for over four hundred years. Everything else has gone up with inflation but I suppose thoughts and opinions are still only worth a penny.
"

"
I was still thinking about the world that has long gone,
"
said Myra as she then looked down at the photo album and pointed to a picture of an elderly bespectacled woman standing next to Edward at a garden party.
"
Who is this other woman pretending to be me?
"

Edward didn’t know how to respond. The kettle whistled, drawing him away for a moment as he took it off the heat and pou
red it into two mugs with cocoa
.

She continued,
"
Maybe you’re right about Archie… or perhaps he was blackmailed… but what of my mother? How could she accept an imposter?
"
Edward paused from his task.
How could he tell her?
She had the right to know. He cleared his throat,
"
We never saw her again after
Titanic
.
"

"
What do you mean? Why not? She lived here in New York with my sister, Maggie!
"

Edward nodded, he remembered that detail,
"
They died in a fire.
"

"
Fire?
"
Myra exclaimed. The photo album dropped to the floor.
"
Oh my god… that’s horrible! When?
"

"
In 1912, the same year
Titanic
sank,
"
Edward recounted,
"
Seventy years ago.
"

Myra seemed unaware as she spoke,
"
It was just as Mother feared.
"