Brian had lived alone for almost twenty years, ever since he
lost his wife in a tragic paper-clip incident. The photograph of her which
usually sat on the centre of the mantelpiece had gone, telling them that Brian
wasn't looking at returning any time soon.
Derek and Dennis returned with nothing of use from the
neighbours. Agnes had nothing to add either. She had spoken with Brian's sister
but she had no news.
"He has definitely left," concluded Flo. "I found
this in the bathroom, the cold-hearted bastard." He placed an empty fish
bowl on the table. "He must have flushed Emily down the toilet before he
left."
"That settles it," said Cecil, standing. "I think
I know where he may be headed."
"From a dead fish?" asked Flo pulling a confused
expression.
"No Flo, not Emily. She just confirms it. Brian has left,
he has no intention of returning soon. He hasn't spoken to Brianne so..."
"Brian's sister is called Brianne?" questioned Agnes.
"Really?"
"Yes, really. He hasn't spoken to her so..."
"But wouldn't that be confusing?" asked Agnes
interrupting again.
"Probably," said Cecil. "Anyway, she hasn't heard
from him so the likeliest place would be his holiday cottage in Cornwall."
"Wouldn't that be an obvious place to look?" suggested
Dennis. "If I was going into hiding, I don't think that I'd hide in my
holiday cottage."
"Maybe he knows that we would second guess him so he is
hiding there thinking that it is too obvious a place?" suggested Agnes.
"But then he knows that we know that he would think that so
he wouldn't bother," offered Derek.
"Stop!" shouted Cecil holding up his hands. "I
know that he has gone to Lizard Point because that is where he keeps his money.
He mistrusted banks and so pumped all of his earnings into assets which would
appreciate in value rather than leaving it in banks which wouldn't pay
interest. I doubt he'll be there for long but he'll have to find a way to
liquidate it all quickly if he about to disappear." Cecil turned to Agnes
and started giving orders. "Agnes, you have family connections in
Cornwall. See if you can get word to the local side to see if they can detain
him long enough for us to get there. Derek, you have the fastest car, you and I
will go now. We're going to need the Lotus.
*
The journey south took a few hours and was fairly uneventful.
Derek happily motored along with Cecil in the passenger seat trying to stay
awake. The Cornish roads became narrower and more windy the further they
travelled. The final stretch seemed to be the longest part as they left the
dual carriageway behind and snaked along the coast towards the tip of the
county. Cecil had visited Brian's cottage once before when the two of them had
a long weekend away to go fishing so he knew where it was. He hadn't been
driving then either but he still had a fairly good sense of the direction to
go. The landmarks were looking familiar which was a good sign. Derek slowed to
a crawl as the house came into view. It was a small white-washed stone cottage
with lichen covered roof tiles, framed by the ocean behind it. The trees which
lined the driveway all grew at an angle due to the prevailing sea winds.
Although it wasn't windy at all at the moment, the trees suggested that they
were in the middle of a gale.
The car pulled up outside the cottage alongside Brian's Alpha
Romeo. "Did the local side have any luck?" asked Derek as they got
out of the car.
"I don't know, but I guess that we're about to find
out," replied Cecil in an almost whisper. The pair, armed with their
sticks and hankies, edged around the cottage, Cecil to the front door, Derek to
the back. Simultaneously they tried the handles and surprisingly both were
granted access. They found Brian sat in the cosy sitting room which was simply
furnished with a pair of arm chairs, a rug and a bookcase. The fireplace was
throwing out some warmth from the embers. "Gentlemen, please do join
me," said Brian as his ex-team mates entered the room. He had been
expecting them. The two rounded on him but did not sit. Cecil was not in a mood
for beating around the bush.
"We've got to bring you in Brian," he announced calmly
without emotion.
"And what if I don't want to go?" he replied with a
smile. The glass of whisky in his hand suggested that it was not entirely
voluntary. "I've done nothing wrong."
"You took people's lives Brian. It isn't a matter for
debate," Cecil said.
"They deserved it. I was handing out justice, resetting the
balance. We punish the people who break things, not those who fix them. There
was a time when you'd have agreed with me."
"Maybe," admitted Cecil, "but times have changed.
The punishment has to fit the crime. What you did was out of line."
"Why did you do it Brian?" asked Derek. Cecil shot him
a look which told him that Cecil would do the talking.
"Why? You know why. They were all bad people, bad people
who would continue to do bad things if all they got was a slap on the
wrist."
"But why do it in such an underhand way if you think you're
in the right?" Again Cecil gave Derek a look and this time he stared and
raised his eyebrows.
"Because we were weak. Our training was lacklustre. Our
skills had dropped. The killings should have galvanised us back to what we were
in order to fix things, not tore us apart." Brian drained his glass and
stood up without warning. The two morris men stepped back and raised their
sticks into a defencive formation.
"Gentleman, if we're going to do this do you mind if we do
it outside. There's a lot of value in his property and I'd hate to waste it."
Derek had been so preoccupied with the task at hand that he hadn't noticed the
art on the walls. Brian had seen it all before. Paintings covered the majority
of wall space like wall paper, the bookcase held what looked like first
editions of classic novels. There was even what looked like a dead animal on a
plate sat on top of it. Derek wasn't sure if it was a piece of art or Brian's
leftovers. The dancers backed ut of the house, keeping their eyes firmly on
Brian as he followed them. His bells clinked with each step. Cecil couldn't
help but feel a pang of regret that it wasn't his bells jingling. Any
bystanders would have assumed that it was Brian who was the good guy, not the
other way around.
Cecil and Derek circled
Brian as he stepped out of the house. "Last chance Brian," threatened
Cecil with a look of steel in his eye. "Put your stick down and come with
us or we will have to take you by force." Brian just smiled as he twirled
his large piece of oak in one hand. "This time!" he shouted as he
suddenly swung out towards Derek who jumped aside. Brian continued his attack
by spinning towards Cecil who was able to jump over the stick as it swept
underneath him. The pair regrouped as Brian nodded with admiration. Another
attack came and again the dancers were able to get out of the way with Brian
striking thin air. The next swing smashed a plant pot but another one connected
with Derek's stick, knocking him off balance. Cecil moved in quick enough to
protect his teammate who rolled to safety. Although the attacks were being made
their was no fluency in them. All three were finding it difficult without the
usual musical accompaniment. This all changed when another car pulled up and
Sylvia jumped out, fiddle in hand. The three combatants looked around at the unexpected
diversion and all three were re-energised by the rhythm. Cecil's hair bounced
as he started single stepping in a circle around Brian along with Derek. It was
their turn to counter attack. They both dropped their sticks and pulled hankies
from their pockets. Brian laughed at the sight but was quickly pegged back by
the unexpected barrage of whips and snaps as the pure white cotton whizzed
through the air.
He hadn't expected them to be so skilled with the handkerchiefs
but once he found his footing he was once again on the attack. Cecil and
Derek's new found foot skills were more than up to the challenge. Brian
couldn't get a look in. He swiped and poked with all his might but the morris
men leapt and span out of the way. Then, in a change of tactic, Brian feinted
towards Cecil but turned and connected with Derek who was wrong-footed. He fell
backwards, a deep redness oozing from behind his left ear. Cecil, incensed,
flung himself forward with more vigour and an impromptu battle cry. Sticks
connected, over and over. Ash on oak. Brian was forced back by the barrage,
holding his stick at either end for protection as Cecil rained down blow after
blow. There was a sound of splitting wood and Cecil's stick splintered and
cracked. With the next hit, the end flew off leaving him with a battered and
useless piece of wood.
He stepped back and took up his hankies. Brian stood and
collected himself. His counter attack was swift but Cecil was swifter. His
Cotswold training had paid off. He frustrated Brian who continued to swipe at
where Cecil had been a moment before. The outside of his cottage was starting
to resemble a landfill site, broken pots, torn turf, trampled flower beds. It
was a real shame as it had been quite lovely before they had started.
Armed with his cotton, Cecil flicked and tormented Brian but his
greater strength held out. Eventually, Brian swiped and caught Cecil's legs. He
fell to the ground with a thud, the pain registering on his face. Brian was
over him in a moment, his stick held above his head. He paused, the past forty
years reflected in Brian's glistening eyes. It was brief though and he pulled
the oak down on his fallen ex-comrade. There was a crack of wood on wood. Brian
looked up confused. Cecil looked up in relief. A broom handle had been thrust
between the two of them, taking the force of the blow. Cecil looked into the
piercing blue eyes of his saviour. The Lord of the Dance said just two words.
"Finish it."
Cecil took the broom, rolled to his feet and swept around to
face his attacker. "Molly? You think you can beat me with molly?"
Brian scoffed.
"I don't want to beat you Brian, I want to stop you,"
Cecil returned. He took the broom in both hands. Sylvia's fiddle was now being
accompanied by the rhythm of the Dancing Queen's cajon. The pair created a kind
of war dance feel which Cecil ceased upon. His footwork fell in with the beat.
Brian's wasn't ready for Cecil's molly dancing. Cecil was fast and effective.
He swiped and poked with accuracy. With an almighty wrench he hooked Brian's
stick and disarmed him, his large piece of wood flying off into the
rhododendron bush.
Brian
looked around. The Lord of the Dance and his Dancing Queen looked on,
accompanied by the rest of the morris dancers who had been arriving in drips
and drabs. Seriously outnumbered and unarmed, Brian's head fell as realisation
set in. He knew that he would be facing the rest of his life incarcerated. It
was not a punishment he was willing to take. He looked Cecil in the eye as if
to say goodbye. Cecil realised Brian's intentions but wasn't quick enough to
stop him. He called out, "Noooo!" as Brian turned and ran straight
towards the cliff edge behind the cottage. He didn't hesitate. He sprang
forwards and disappeared over the edge.
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