Depth of Deception (A Titanic Murder Mystery) (30 page)

"
Where’s his grave?
"

"
I didn’t go to the funeral… but I recall… it was odd. He didn’t want to be buried in Glasgow,
"
the memory struck Callum.
"
He’s buried in the graveyard of
The Church of St.George & St. Michael.
"

"
No room for error there, Dragonslayer,
"
Pamela grinned. His ex-wife left him feeling a bit inadequate as she so casually pointed out the whopper of icebergs.

April 8, 1982

Chapter
XL

Callum peeked in on Dolanna before leaving. She was still sleeping in the infirmary.

"
Don’t worry. She’s safe here,
"
Pamela said reassuringly.

He turned and looked at her for a moment, thought about asking something and then thought the better of it.

"
What do you want now?
"
she asked.

"
What makes you think I want anything?
"
Callum asked defensively.

"
I can see it in your face,
"
Pamela replied.
"
You wanted to ask me something, then you changed your mind. Just ask me.
"

Callum sigh
ed. She knew him too well.
Damn her,
he thought.
"
I was wondering if you had a chance to talk to Dolanna… if…
"

"
‘If’ what?
"

"
Can you find out why she broke off h
er engagement to Edward Hoffman
?
"

"
Isn’t that a little personal?
"

"
That’s why I hesitated in asking…but…
"

"
But what?
"

"
But I think there’s something there. Call it a gut feeling. She left him at the altar, yet she wears his engagement ring around her neck. I tell her there’s a gas leak in the house and she tries to take her engagement photo with her…
"

"
Definitely doesn’t add up,
"
agreed Pamela.
"
Ok, I’ll see what I can find out.
"

"
Thanks,
"
Callum smiled.
"
I really owe you for this.
"

"
Believe me. I'll remember,
"
she smirked.

A few hours later, Callum pulled up to the Church of St. George & St. Michael. High atop the monolithic structure, the statue of the Archangel Michael smiting Lucifer was silhouetted by the moonlight. Beneath it, the white flag with the red cross of St. George was snapping in the wind.
Did Granda take the secret to his grave… literally?
Callum did not relish the thought of a reunion by digging up his body.

Grabbing the electric torch from the passenger seat, Callum ventured toward the churchyard. The rusted gate clanged in the blustery weather. There was no lock on it. He gave it a push.

C-R-E-E-K-!!

The rusty hinges made such a loud grinding noise, they could have woken the proverbial dead. Callum looked about; there was no sign of life. Not a soul. Uncertain of which plot his grandfather lay under, he scampered as carefully as he could from tombstone to tombstone searching for the name: John Toughill.

After a long while, he paused to get his bearings, and realized that he wasn’t even a third of the way done. However, he concluded that if he used the date of death as reference, he could narrow his search. He looked down at the one he was standing over. One name carved in the decaying stone: BLAKNEY. Died 1929.

Nowhere near the right area. Callum started forward and found his foot stuck. He pulled but it was firmly rooted to the grave, as if Blakney’s hand had reached up from his coffin and grabbed his foot. His inner-child panicked and the pulled with all his might. His foot dislodged from the thick, viscous mud with a deep, retching sound.

With a soggy foot he continued hobbling through the graves like a hunchbacked gnome, which didn’t make his sore shoulder very happy. Finally he came upon stones marked in the mid to late 60’s. Now he was getting closer.

He aimed the beam of his torch at the next stone but the one at the other end of the row caught his attention. There was nothing distinctive about the stone itself but the earth had been recently disturbed. He moved closer to it. He glanced down at the stone he was passing: 1967. There shouldn’t be any digging of new graves in this row.

He stood by the mound of fresh earth and illuminated the tombstone. His heart sank into his stomach as he saw the name:
John Toughill
. Callum looked
down at the large hole where his
grandfather should be buried. Either his grandfather had risen from the grave, or someone else had gotten here before him. Callum was enraged that someone had desecrated his grandfather’s final resting place, and stormed about in frustration.

"
You’re trespassing on sacred land!
"
the voice behind him came upon him so suddenly, Callum nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to see a blinding light, and in its beam, the end of shotgun barrel aimed at him.

Callum quickly raised his hands in stunned silence.

"
What are ye doing here?
"
demanded the Scottish voice behind the torchlight.
"
Speak or I’ll pepper your hide and make you truly holy.
"

"
I’m here looking for something…
"

"
What would you be looking for in the dead of night in a graveyard? Did you do that?
"
the man said
,
gesturing at the upturned earth with the end of his gun.

"
No, sir. It was like that when I arrived.
"

The man aimed his torchlight at Callum’s face.
"
Wait, what is your name, lad?
"

"
Toughill. Callum Toughill,
"
squinted Callum towards the light.

"
So, are ye looking for answers, my lad?
"
the man said, lowering the torchlight.

"
Yes, but none that you can help with,
"
replied Callum. It was then that he noticed the white collar around the man’s neck.
"
Are you a priest?
"

The priest smiled,
"
Aye. Father Landon. And what business do you have with this grave?
"

"
It’s my grandfather, but I may be too late. I believe he took what I’m looking for to his grave.
"

"
What is the key?
"
Father Landon asked.

"
What?
"
Callum looked at him with confusion. Then it occurred to him.
"
Uh... Dragonslayer?
"

Father Landon lowered his weapon and extended his hand,
"
Welcome Callum, your grandfather told me you’d come and pick up the trail where he left off. That one day you would be investigating a murder… from long ago. Let justice be done.
"

"
You’ve got to be fooling me!
"

"
I’m a man of God. I never fool… well except perhaps with this gun,
"
said Father Landon as he held up the shotgun. Callum could now see that the trigger was missing.

"
You were bluffing?
"
exclaimed Callum.
"
What if someone pulled a real loaded gun on you?
"

"
The Lord watches over me,
"
replied Father Landon.

"
I have a
real loaded gun
with me!
"

"
Did you draw your
real loaded gun
, my son?
"
replied Father Landon calmly.

"
No….
"

"
The Lord watches over me.
"

. . .

De Kirkhaugh hadn’t heard from Callum Toughill and a part of him was glad. Deep down, he regretted that man’s intrusion into his life. However, de Kirkhaugh hated unfinished business, and this case had been unfinished for almost a century.

Unable to sleep, de Kirkhaugh arrived early at the yellow-bricked Maryhill office of the Strathclyde Police. There were a few vagrants being processed at the front desk but it had been a relatively quiet night in comparison to yesterday when the press kept hounding him with calls. At least in the wee hours of the morning he was going to be able to get some work done.

He entered his office and hung his coat and scarf on the rack. He sat in his chair and was about to roll up to the desk, when something blocked the wheels from going further. He craned his neck to look under his desk and saw a stack of dusty, old file folders, with well-aged paper bursting between.

There was one of those new yellow ‘Post-it’ square papers with a handwritten note:
Here are the files from the SCRO you requested. L.

It was odd that she put the old files from the ‘Scottish Criminal Record Office’ under the desk. But then again, perhaps paranoia was a virtue in this case. After closing the door and turning the blinds shut, he sat down and reached for the first folder.
Robert McLewlend – unsolved murder.

_ _ _

In the rectory of the church, Callum sat at the old
, early-
70’s chrome and laminex kitchen table with a shaded lamp on a chain overhead, while he waited for Father Landon to return to the modest room. The rectory was tastefully decorated with mismatched furniture; likely from the Salvation Army, but it all went together eclectically. Suddenly, Callum could hear the sound of wood cracking and splintering.

"
Are you alright?
"
he called out to the priest.

"
I’m fine,
"
Father Landon’s voice hollered from the other room. Within a few moments Callum heard him shuffling his feet along the plush green wall-to-wall carpet, and he reentered carrying a large iron box. Callum rose from his seat to help carry the weight to the table.

"
What the Hhh… heck is it?
"
asked Callum.

"
This is what your grandfather was to take to the grave with him,
"
replied Father Landon.
"
In the end I convinced him it was better for me to keep it safe than to have someone desecrate his final resting place for it. Judging from the mess out there, I was right!
"

"
What would have happened if you had died before I came looking?
"
Callum asked.

"
Are you always this optimistic?
"
Father Landon asked as he began to wipe the dust off the iron box.

"
Only when I’m in a good mood,
"
replied Callum.

"
I had taken some necessary steps for someone else to inherit this duty should I become unable. But it would seem that responsibility will no longer be mine.
"

"
How do I open it?
"

"
Use the key.
"

"
What key?
"
Callum asked confused,
"
I don’t have a key!
"

Father Landon calmly said,
"
I asked you when we met by your grandfather’s grave, what is the key?
"

"
I thought that was just a password.
"

"
It is and more. What is the key?
"

"
Dragonsl-,
"
replied Callum, then his mind wrapped itself around a possibility.

Father Landon said nothing as he watched Callum stand back up, and reach into his pocket to pull out the pendant. Callum looked at the iron box. It was dark and rusted, but images of St. George’s cross and the knight slaying the dragon were carved elegantly into it. He then noticed the unusual, ornate indent. The shape and size matched the pendant. Taking it off the chain, Callum inserted the ‘key’ into the box, it turned, and he could hear mechanisms within grinding and snapping open.