A Deviant Breed (14 page)

‘Fascinating,’ Dunbar offered sarcastically.

‘Isn’t it though?  As is eternal recurrence; a life relived over and over again, hence so many of us experience déjà vu.  Y’know, that strange feeling that we’ve been somewhere before or had a conversation that we know we have not.  I must admit, when I finally established the site of Obag’s Holm, I had that very same feeling.’

‘But you said that you’re not of that Inglis clan.’

‘Ah, but – I have Inglis blood no change of patronymic can alter that.  Just because some of my clan wished to disassociate themselves from that branch of the family does not change the fact at some point in the distant past our family lines conjoined.  We are who we are.’

Dunbar eyed the Humes and Inglis crests on his wall.  ‘But by having both of their coats-of-arms up there you’re honouring the old enemy, the Humes.’

‘I am; as through my grandmother I am of that bloodline also.’

Dunbar eyed Tyler who simply raised her eyebrows.  She felt her theory gaining momentum.

‘Inspector Tyler was telling me about Captain Farish,’ Dunbar said, changing tack.

‘Ah yes, the pious parliamentarian veteran.  Walter Farish, was a gentleman farmer from Wooler and a Captain of the Northumberland Militia; chaste, abstinent and God-fearing.  Pure of heart and yet a radicalised idealist spurred on by religious fervour.  He and his band of bloodthirsty religious zealots were only too happy to ride with Laird Hume. 
This
– is what Cromwell unleashed on his enemies and what the Humes Clan harnessed to rid the Borders of the scourge that was Morag Inglis and her kin.’ He was directly quoting again.  He knew his manuscript word for word.

‘Is Wilson Farish a descendant of the Captain?’ Dunbar asked.

Archie snorted dismissively.  ‘Several relatives removed but, aye of that family. We traced his stock to Arthur Farish of Alnwick.  Wilson grew up in that neighbourhood.  When he moved in and began to hear my grandma’s stories of Morag he got interested.  Lo and behold, when we got around to checking his family tree there was the tentative link.  He was delighted,’ Archie’s tone took a sour turn. ‘Arthur also fought for the Parliamentarians but it seems that he’d had his fill of killing by the time King Charles lost his head. He didn’t share his distant cousin’s piety or zeal, nor did he join the local militia.’

‘Lost his head,’ Dunbar repeated, searching the man’s face for a reaction.

‘There was a lot of it about back then,’ Archie responded matter-of-factly.

‘Still is, it seems.  So who would you have sided with in that war?’

‘I’m not a royalist, Chief Inspector.  Their only interest in the likes of us would be in our suitability as servants.  The current crop aren’t even natives of this island.  We should have stuck with the Stuarts. 
Ach
, it’s all politics – aristocrats just do it in fancier costumes.’

‘Having done all this research, field work and writing, how do you feel about Morag’s fate, Archie?’ Tyler asked.

‘She was entitled to a trial like anyone else.  Instead she got Jedward justice.’

‘Sorry?’ Tyler responded.

‘Nothing to do with hideous children’s TV personalities,’ he tittered. ‘Jedburgh – your home town, Chief Inspector was once known as Jedward.’

‘How did you know I was from Jedburgh?’

Archie smirked. ‘Oh come on.  You’re looking at me, so I felt entitled to look at you.  The internet has revolutionised access to information – I’d still be struggling with the family histories were it not for the internet.’ Dunbar and Tyler exchanged another look. ‘You aren’t without your own murky shadows either,’ he added with a sneer.  Dunbar bristled, Tyler flashed a cautionary look. ‘As I was saying, Jedward – now Jedburgh, was a place renowned for the dispensing of summary justice, Jedward justice as it became known.’

‘Really?’ Tyler asked eyeing her boss.

‘Absolutely,’ Archie confirmed.

Dunbar bobbed his head in agreement, having reined in his temper.  He recalled first hearing of it at primary school but resented receiving a lecture about it from a potential suspect.
Suspect?
  Had he just elevated Archie English to a suspect after his firm rejection of Tyler’s theory?  He sighed, ‘I was convinced it was a tenet of Miss Carmichael’s philosophy.’

‘Who?’ Archie asked.

‘My primary head teacher. We called her Scar-Michael – a very scary woman.’

‘When did you first visit Braur Glen, Archie?’ Tyler asked.

He pressed his right index finger to his lip.  ‘Let me see – well, in the course of my life, probably about aged seven or eight with Grandma and a couple of times without grandpa’s knowledge of course.  And once with Wilson when started taking a more active interest in the story, however, during my search for Obag’s Holm, about nine years ago I made at least two more visits.  I have to confess, it didn’t strike me as very promising back then. Never helps when you’re looking in the wrong place.  How was I to know that the farmers had diverted the burn and cut another track to give better access for their livestock?  They’d obscured the old Reivers’ route to and from the glen?  As a result I didn’t revisit for a while. 

‘And what made you go back there having dismissed it?’

‘An intriguing rhyme on my blog.’

‘Rhyme?’

“Heads did roll and flames consumed, till nought but rubble and blood remained.  Her curse returns, by fork’ed burn; the innocents shall be avenged.” Archie smiled and looked at Tyler. ‘Granted it’s hardly in the same league as Robbie Burns but intriguing, wouldn’t you say?’ Tyler looked back at him blankly. ‘You obviously haven’t got to that bit in my manuscript yet.’

‘Err’, no, no I haven’t,’ she answered.

‘How did that lead you to back to Braur Glen?’

‘Fork’ed burn.  It’s what the old local gillies call it, not Spinney but Fork’ed – two burns, like a serpent’s tongue.  Of course it hasn’t been forked for a half a century or more.  I looked in the archive at old maps of the area.  They damned one branch to dry the meadow out and Spinney Burn got bigger, cleaved a more direct course through the glen.’

‘Do you think the poet is referring to the two heads found up there when they speak of vengeance?’ Tyler asked. 

Archie shrugged.  ‘I’m not really interested in them – my interest lies with the skeletal remains the good professor has unearthed.’

‘You don’t care that two people were decapitated?’

‘People die horrible deaths all the time, Chief Inspector.  Two more is neither here nor there.’ Archie studied them in turn, dispassionate but sincere.  Tyler was tempted to slap the handcuffs on him there and then.

‘From what I can gather, there are no innocents in your story,’ Dunbar observed, flicking through Tyler’s copy of the manuscript.

‘Your cynicism does your profession proud, Chief Inspector but your purpose a disservice.  As I said before, it’s not what you believe –
or I
for that matter – it’s what the killer believes, surely.’ Dunbar bristled, the smug little bugger was right.  ‘We all have a tendency to live in the ways that validate our beliefs.’  He continued.  ‘I believe that I am a direct descendant of both the Humes and the Inglis Clans – hence I have dedicated my life to learning about them all to validate that belief.  Morag believed that consuming the blood and flesh of her enemies made her stronger, and that it would see her live longer.  It was more commonly practised than pious people of the day cared to admit; to us, the practice of a degenerate, of a monster – to her, perhaps the difference between premature death and a long life.’

***

They didn’t speak until they were sat in his car and Archie had gone back inside.

‘Well?’ Tyler said.

‘It’s not him.’ Tyler gasped and was about to object. ‘He said it doesn’t matter what I believe or what
he
believes – the killer.’ Dunbar met her irritated gaze. ‘
The killer
,’ he repeated for emphasis.  ‘He used the third person – if he’s referring to himself why would he use the third person?  He hasn’t used the third person regarding any of his other exploits – and let’s face it, he’s no’ shy o’ claiming credit and fair
up
his wee self.’

‘Disassociation.’

‘What?’

‘Of course he’s happy to associate himself with the archaeology but – murder isn’t something many people like to own up to.’

‘And having made this brilliant, historic discovery, he scuppers his moment of glory by burying the heads of his victims in the same place?’ Dunbar countered.

‘Nobody was taking much notice until –’

‘Professor Geary was,’ Dunbar cut in.

‘Well, he remains top of my list, sir, but –’

‘But!’
Dunbar interrupted, ‘I’m starting to think he knows more than he lets on.  Now let’s go have a quick crack with Baccy-mouth,’ he continued. ‘I want to know as much as I can about this obsessive bastard before we put him in an interview room.’ 

That would do her for now. Tyler smiled with relief as much as anything and nodded her agreement.

‘And I think we’ll pay Wilson Farish another visit to that end as well.’

‘I’d rather clap cuffs on the dirty old cripple and charge him,’ she hissed.

‘You and me both, Briony.  By the way – what list? How many other suspects have you got? – Holding out on me, Inspector?’ He smirked.  She sneered.

***

The door cracked open and the occupant weighed them warily from under a crud-encrusted bunnet that had the look of a permanent fixture.  He’d certainly not taken it off in the bar of the pub where Tyler had first met him.  Redolent of a rodent peeking from under a dry cow pat as his beady eyes shifted to and fro from one to the other of his visitors. 

He flashed his warrant card. ‘Got a minute, Mr Liddle?’

‘Time’s all I’ve got an’ nae much more o’ that according te the quacks,’ Tam Liddle responded, through a hacking cough. He looked ancient but wasn’t.  His decrepitude was almost certainly down to an excess of alcohol and tobacco.

‘Allo, bonny lass – didnae recognise ye’ there behind the big yin.  ‘Awa’ in,’ he invited, leading the way.  As he did, a stench only the man who had created it could stand wafted out.  Tyler gagged but followed Dunbar over the threshold.  Liddle took a final drag before dumping his stub and grinding it into the filthy carpet with the toe of his slipper.

‘Went back to the smokes when you stopped stalking I see.’

‘Ne’er off ‘em but ye cannae buy jawin’ bacca here aboot any mare.  Awa’ in – awa’ in.  I was aboot to have a dram, will ye’ join me?’

‘I won’t, thanks,’ Dunbar replied.

‘Can I tempt you, lass?’

‘I don’t.’ Tyler said, looking around his reeking hovel.

He studied them both curiously and shook his head. ‘Never have I known polis refuse a drink – on or off duty.’

‘We live in changed times,’ Dunbar explained.

‘Right enough then.’ Liddle poured a generous measure into a grime-stained tumbler and sat, gesturing for them to do the same.  They took one look at the furniture and remained standing.
‘Slainte mhath,’
he said, raising his glass to them before taking a gulp at it.

‘Aye, your good health, Mr Liddle’ Dunbar responded.

‘
Ach!
  Long gone.’  Liddle hissed after swallowing.

Whisky was a vice Dunbar had sworn off after Maggie’s death and he missed it like an old friend and it was an acquaintance he dare not renew, for fear they would not be so easily parted the second time around.

‘You told Inspector Tyler that you’ve known Archie English most of his life.’

‘Aye, grew up doon tha’ way, so I did.’

‘What sort of childhood did he have?’ Dunbar asked.

‘Much like his mammy’s – weren’t easy, raised wi’ a Bible and willow twitch by his Bible-bashin’ granda’ an’ she wasnae much better.  Well suited them two.  A bless’d union all reet!  Why spoil a good couple?’  Liddle chortled as Tyler stifled a giggle.  At that the former gillies face lit up.  ‘Will yer’ lok at her. 
Ach!
  But yer’ as canny a lookin’ lass as I’ve seen in a long while.’

Tyler stopped and blushed.

‘You were saying,’ Dunbar pressed.

‘Aye, well.  Granny English made up for old Thunder Guts.  No’ an easy woman te like but – she fair spoiled wee Archie, so she did.  Aye, an’ what with him bein’ a bit y’know! – An’ what with his mammy takin’ off an’ all.  D’ye ken folk aboot here?’

‘I’m a Jedburgh lad,’ Dunbar offered.

‘Aye, well you’ll know the crack then.  Tittle-tattle’s their stock-in-trade, they’re nae different aboot here.  Sweetie wives the lot o’ them.’

Tyler looked bemused.

‘
Gossips
,’ Dunbar explained quietly.

‘Dinnie’ be fooled by the sheen o’ civility, they’re a dull an’ bitter breed doon here. Spite an’ bile’s what most o’em are made of.  Be it Bentock, Spinney Burn an’ Lowford – all aboot think they know, an’ if they dinnae, want to know everyone else’s business.  Aye an’ what they don’t know they’ll make up. 
Ach!
  Y’only had to listen to Lorna at the pub to know that, lass, hey?’