“Friday Fiction” Series: The Prodigal Son, Chapters One through Three…
[As a native son of the great state of California, I can empathize with Irwin Pound’s sentiments found in this short novella (or long short story?). The distance from my current home in Montclair to California is farther than his distance from London to the Lake District, but the yearning is probably just as strong. I hope you enjoy this story, another British-style mystery.]
The Prodigal Son
Copyright 2021, Steven M. Moore
Chapter One
Irwin looked up to see the woman who was calling his name. “Irwin? Irwin Pound?”
He put down his bacon roll, smiled when he recognized her, but still had to mimic her. “Devon? Devon Blake? Is that you?”
She held up a finger, turned to the cashier, and paid for her mash-up. She then joined him. She offered him a biscuit, which he accepted
“What brings you back home to the Lake District?” she said.
“A bit of vacation time. Super suggested it. Insisted on it, to be more precise. I decided to take it here to see how things have changed. It’s been a while.”
“I’ll say, donkey’s years. But you found that not much has changed, I wager.”
She was correct, except for her. Two years younger than Irwin, that difference was largely irrelevant now. Devon wasn’t a pimply and gangly teenager anymore. He’d been like her big, protective brother when they were children. Now pigtails and freckles had turned into dark red, lush curls and the freckles had faded, and she’d become a woman. A stunner at that, to his mind’s eye.
He was at a loss for how to begin a conversation. “How’s the family?”
“Papa’s passed on; mum’s ailing a bit. A natural progression, I suppose, but it makes me sad sometimes.”
“Better than losing them in an accident.”
He immediately regretted saying that. Her expression needed no words. A driver had killed Irwin’s parents in a hit-and-run. Irwin had gone to live with his aunt and uncle in London.
“Yes, that was terrible. Tell me about your life since then.”
He was thankful Devon didn’t reinforce those sad memories even more. He thought a moment but then opened up to her as he’d always done before when they were children, even telling her about nearly getting killed during his last case, the event that had led to his unplanned-for vacation.
She’d always been a good listener, and he had always liked doing that for her too. So he learned she was now a nurse and had put all those skills to good use while also caring for her mum.
***
Irwin bid farewell with a promise to keep in touch followed by a hug and kiss to her cheek. He went off to begin his hike. Although “home” was in the Lake District, he’d always preferred hiking in Cumbria’s hills and mountains to fishing. His climb that day was one he’d mastered when he was fourteen. It wasn’t for amateurs, and he was a bit out of practice. His kit contained plenty of rope, pickaxe, hammer, and pylons; his old hiking boots helped to grip rock ledges slippery with mist and moss.
It turned out he only needed the boots. There was still a trail of sorts above the pub’s little village that he’d known well and still could envision in his mind. He headed for his favorite place, an outlook where you could sometimes see from west to east coast if faraway clouds didn’t shroud one or the other. There was another outlook about three hundred feet below him, but his special place offered the better view. He felt he could touch the sky as well. A complete panorama revealing some of Gaia’s magnificence.
He’d been there almost an hour enjoying the nearly forgotten vista when a sound behind him was a surprise at that desolate spot where few hikers ventured. He turned to see Devon scrambling onto the ledge. He offered her a hand up to complete her climb.
“There was a time when I’d have prohibited you from making such a dangerous climb,” he said, mitigating his reproach with a smile because he was happy to see her and have her share his view. “We could have come together, you know.”
She laughed. “I wanted to prove to you I can do it alone now. I’ve been making this climb for a while.”
“Without mum’s approval, I’d wager. She never liked my climbing and discouraged you from doing it too. Maybe the reason I discouraged you?”
“She was only worried that she’ll never have any grandchildren; still is. Always afraid too that I’ll catch some terrible disease at the hospital, even though she benefits from my nursing skills. I come here from time to time to get away from her, truth be told. I can’t afford a nurse for her, so I’m that person, like I said at the pub. A few neighbors help at times with her. And she sometimes visits an aunt and uncle on my father’s side.”
He nodded. Both her occupation and her dedication to her mother were evidence of a very caring person. “I suppose—”
***
Irwin was interrupted by a heated exchange of words from below them. Devon and he looked over the edge at the barney going on between a man and a woman. The man was older, a bit jowly and with bushy eyebrows; his face was beet red. They could only see the backside of the woman. She had straight red hair, not curled like Devon’s.
Both of them were dressed in hiking gear that might as well have had the price tags still on. Perhaps amateur twitchers, thought Irwin, spotting the man’s binoculars that swung on the strap around his neck. Around Cumbrian lakes and rivers and in the hills and mountains one could often spot birds not found anywhere else in England.
“I will not do that! No way!” Irwin heard the woman say. She then pushed the man over the edge.
“Oh my God!” Devon said.
The woman below moved quickly back to the trail head, descended, and was soon out of sight.
Devon and Irwin reached the lower overlook where the twitcher pair had stood, doing it the fast way by rappelling down Irwin’s rope. He looked over its edge and saw the victim’s body below draped limply on an outcrop of sharp rocks.
The woman had already passed it to the right on her way down. There was no hope of catching her. In spite of her outfit, she seemed to be an experienced climber, careful and purposeful.
Irwin checked his mobile. As he expected, there were no bars. Devon’s didn’t have any signal either.
“We now have a crime scene,” he said. “I’ll go down and stay with the body. Could you carefully make your way back to the village on the main trail and call the local police as soon as you have a few bars?” She nodded, eyes wide, obviously still a bit in shock about what they’d just seen. “Your best route is to go back that same way we came up, over to the left from where the woman went down. Be careful.”
Irwin moved to his right, cued by the woman’s descent. He’d seen the easier route to where the body lay like an offering to the gods of the mountain. Devon watched him, a bit resentful for a moment. Still acting like my big brother! She then realized how serious the situation was, berated herself, and headed to her left.
Chapter Two
Almost two hours later, a young man rappelled down from a hovering police helicopter, and Irwin helped him out of his safety harness.
“DS Tim Harding, sir,” he said, shaking Irwin’s hand. “Also trained in mountain rescues, or in training, as some of the other lads might say. They’re going to send down a stretcher so we can hoist the body up. Then you and me will go up in a friendly embrace.”
“Let’s not waste time then, sergeant.”
The operation took place without a hitch. Irwin noticed that Tim had covered the body with a blanket. Irwin couldn’t stop staring at it either.
The helicopter landed on a grassy sward in front of a hospital where a large group of people stood waiting.
“DI Robert Mills,” said a large, older man who approached Irwin and Tim.
Another handshake. Irwin thought Mills looked familiar.
“There’s no real hurry,” Irwin said. “The victim’s dead. But I suppose your pathologist must examine him.”
The helicopter took off again with SOCOs aboard; they would do their forensics magic at the scene of the crime, even though Irwin thought that was an unnecessary risk. He was a witness, after all. Should I tell Mills that?
The pathologist’s aides carried the victim to the morgue that Irwin remembered was in the basement of the hospital.
Robert eyed Irwin. “Do I know you, lad?”
Irwin smiled. The old copper had figured it out. “You probably don’t remember me. You were the constable who confused me with a shoplifter many years ago.”
“Irwin Pound?” He nodded. “I’ll be damned. Harding, this lad took to climbing like a duck takes to water.” He slapped Irwin on the shoulder. “The prodigal son returns to his home base to see how those he left behind are faring?”
“Yes, but not exactly. I’m technically on administrative leave. A bit of a barney in a murder investigation gave me some forced down time.”
Robert either didn’t want to belabor that point or was too concerned about his own investigation that was just starting up. “You’re now somehow involved in another murder. How’d you happen to be on that mountain?”
“Hiking. I’m a witness to that murder. We—I saw it and stayed with the body.”
“Good lad. How’d Devon know?”
“I’d just left her at the pub. Didn’t have enough signal to reach the station.” A little white lie!
Robert left that alone too…for the moment. What had Devon told the police?
***
Irwin had already decided not to involve Devon if he could help it. So, once in the valley’s substation, as he faced Robert across the table, he wondered where she’d gone. She must have called the police. If she’d gone to the station, would he be caught in a lie if what he told Robert contradicted what she’d told the desk sergeant? He felt no qualms about not involving her. He should be all the witnesses the police needed.
“Want a mash, lad?”
“A bottle of water if you don’t mind, inspector, instead of tea. I just want to give my statement and be done with it.”
“About that: I have a few forms for you to fill out while I grab that water and a mash for myself.” He pushed the papers towards Irwin. “Fill them out the best you can. The Crown Court might eventually need them if we can find the murderer, you being a witness. A woman did it, you say?”
“Indeed. But let’s sort that later. I’ll give you a blow-by-blow account, sir.”
“Good lad. I’ll be right back.”
Irwin watched Robert leave the interrogation room and then sighed. It seemed strange to see a murder investigation from the witness’s perspective. For all he knew, the old inspector considered him a suspect. And he’d been cleared of that shoplifting charge years ago!
When Robert returned with water and tea, he reviewed the filled-out forms. At one point, he paused and stared at Irwin with bushy eyebrows raised.
“You’re currently employed by the Metropolitan Police in London? That’s Scotland Yard, lad. What do you do there?”
“A bit of this and that. I’m a Detective Inspector, just like you.”
“You’re kidding! I didn’t make DI until I was forty.”
“A victim of my own success, I dare say. And not dying from wounds received in action, which helped my promotions a bit. Attrition and vacancies helped too, I suppose. It’s a big city.”
“That it is, Irwin, that it is, a busy, dangerous one. A lot more homicides per capita there too, I bet. Good for business, some would say.” He laughed. ” Well, congratulations, I think. Didn’t need you to export a murder to here, lad. But let’s get to it. Just tell me your story. Do you mind if I record? Harding’s nowhere to be found, and he can’t take notes worth a damn anyway.”
“Go ahead, sir.”
Robert waved a hand, making a circular motion. Apparently a tech aide was assisting behind the one-way mirror.
***
After Irwin made his statement, Robert walked Irwin to a large room where the lower-ranked personnel’s desks filled most of the available space.
“I’ll get Harding to drive you if I can find the prat. Where are you staying?”
“Bradley’s Inn on the route into town.”
“Ouch. Lots of pub noise below those rooms. Probably a few amorous trysts going on in them as well. Mostly tourists, I imagine. Can’t stand’em.”
But what would inns and hotels do without them in this otherwise agrarian region? Irwin thought.
“I don’t mind the local color. And the noise also reminds me of my little London flat.”
“Would you consider some collaboration on this case?”
“I’m on forced leave, remember? I wish you good luck, but I came for some R and R. They call it treating my psychological stress.”
“I understand. We have the same policy. But keep in touch. And I’ll let you know how things are going too.”
Chapter Three
Early that evening, Irwin sat on the back porch of the inn, surrounded by cases of ale but enjoying the excellent view of the brooding hills and mountains, the higher elevations now shrouded by clouds as they often were. They offered better vistas than some ladies offering to give him a good time.
A police car pulled up and Robert Mills leaned out.
“My wife wanted me to find you and invite you to dinner Sunday night. Gave me hell for being inhospitable, she did.”
Irwin smiled. “Sounds good, sir. I’m already tired of pub food.”
“And Bradley’s is one of the best, even if it’s a tip inside. I’ll pick you up at six.”
Irwin watched the car drive off, wondering what that was about. He couldn’t remember Robert’s wife. If he’d never met her, why would she be so insistent? He didn’t want to get involved in anything, just enjoy his peace and quiet hiking among his mountains.
Before dinner, he returned to his room and popped a few painkillers. The doctor had said that his knife wound would be tender for a long time. Did I stress it today during my climb? That night he’d be having tea with his meal, not a pint. Ale and painkillers didn’t mix well.
He knew the Met’s policy was a good one. Officers who survived altercations suffered like soldiers on a battlefield. PTSD was an occupational hazard for them as well. He didn’t think he had it, but the policy made no distinctions and allowed no exceptions: A few weeks off and then a psych evaluation were standard protocol before going back to active duty. And his super was a stickler for following policy.
He’d taken that superiors’ criticism about the errors he’d made well enough because he’d realized he was right. Obsessed with nicking the scrote, he’d ignored logic and reason a bit. Even though he admitted to that, he still felt satisfaction that the Crown Court would put the violent fellow away for many years. That would at least give the victim’s family some closure.
He tucked into his pub food, using football on the telly to distract him from the same food he’d had the previous evening…and from the pain. The pub didn’t have much of a selection, although their food was as good as Mills had claimed.
***
“Any ID on the victim?” Irwin said, sliding into the passenger’s seat besides Robert.
“I’ve got Toby doing a facial recognition search for him. Prat’s not from around here, that’s clear.”
“No surprise. They looked like—well, like tourists, twitchers maybe. Khakis as new as if they’d just bought them off the rack. Of course, technically I’m also a tourist. Who’s Toby?”
“IT intern. Real computer whiz. He’s been a useful addition to our IT department.”
“Understood.” He wasn’t going to tell Robert how many IT specialists the Yard had just to go over video footage taken by cameras around London in an effort to be proactive, not reactive.
Irwin received a surprise when they arrived at Robert’s rambling white two-story house, complete with front English garden. Devon and her mum had also been invited. The mother was a bit cranky and didn’t seem to remember Irwin, but Devon gave him a peck on the cheek.
“My wife’s brother was Devon’s father,” Robert said, “so that makes her my niece by marriage.”
“We come over every once and a while,” Devon said with a smile. “It’s good for mother to get out.”
“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” snapped her mum.
Despite Devon’s cantankerous mum—Irwin wished his mum were still around, cranky or not—he had a good time. Devon’s being there helped, but everyone made an effort to fill him in on what had happened to old school chums and their parents and relatives. Bobby Richardson, for example, a boy Irwin had a fight with once after he insulted Devon—broke his nose, in fact—was now in prison. He’d gotten drunk and tried to rob a bank. Robert said his defense amounted to stating his girlfriend got him drunk on purpose. The Crown Court hadn’t bought it, but he’d be out in a year or so. Irwin was happy he would be long gone when that hothead and nasty drunk was released.
Their after-dinner banter was interrupted when Robert had to take a phone call. He stepped into another room to talk.
When he returned, he said to Irwin, “I’d like you to give me some company. Toby has some results, but we’ve got a skeleton crew on Sunday nights. I need some help, inspector, maybe even in your witness capacity.”
Irwin glanced at Devon, who nodded, even though they’d just started chatting a bit more personally about their own old times and possible futures.
“I’ll expect overtime pay,” he said.
“We’ll work it out with the Yard.”
***
Comments are always welcome.
Sleuthing, British-Style. My binge-reading of British-style mysteries during the Covid pandemic has influenced the later novels in the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series, in particular Death on the Danube, Palettes, Patriots, and Prats, and Leonardo and the Quantum Code. I’ve also written short fiction like the novella above to honor and celebrate Dame Agatha’s seminal work in this subgenre. Some other examples are found in the little collection indicated here, which also contains a glossary of words and phrases from the UK’s rich lexicon of dialects as well a list of British-style novels that I read and enjoyed. The collection is available wherever quality ebooks are sold (but not on Smashwords). A second volume is available as a free download (see the “Free Stuff & Contests” web page at this website).
Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!
