Celtic Remnants

Celtic Remnants by Deborah O'Toole is a powerful novel of enduring love and betrayal set in the political turbulence of Ireland, glamour of London and wilds of Scotland.

From Chapter Seventeen

December 1992

Daviot, Scotland

 

CLIVE BENDER WAS having a time of it. Not only was he stuck in Daviot for the Christmas holiday, he was failing miserably in his purpose for the visit. Samuel Gisbourne was relatively little help, and in fact seemed to be possessed of some sort of after-guilt for talking to Clive about David Lancaster. Since the first evening they met at Buttons Pub, Gisbourne had made himself scarce. Clive decided not to bother with the man again. He was more interested in finding out if Ava Egan was holed up at Pikestaff Lodge, and in the ensuing fifty thousand dollar reward if he could provide police with information leading to her capture.

Christmas morning was a virtual blizzard of snow, but Clive set out on foot from his room above the Buttons Pub, bundled in an oversized brown down-coat and gloves. The main street of Daviot was deserted. Holiday lights of red and green blinked above closed shop doorways and at the village’s two intersections. The snow continued to swirl around him as Clive buried his chin deeper into his coat. He left the pub and walked out of the village, following the general directions Gisbourne had given him to Pikestaff.

The lodge was only about a mile from the village, but the weather slowed Clive considerably. He became irritated as he kept slipping on the slick snow, almost falling to the ground several times. He hated the circumstances he found himself in, but he had no other recourse. He was convinced Ava Egan was hiding at Pikestaff, and he desperately needed the bounty on her head. All signs pointed to her whereabouts, not only with the presence of David Lancaster at the lodge during the holiday, when he would normally be ensconced at Amber Court with his family, but also with Lancaster’s dismissal of Gisbourne for the duration of his stay. What other reason could Lancaster have for isolating himself at the lodge?

Still, Clive cursed the ill-fortune which forced him to be in Daviot. Ever since he stopped working for Lancaster, his financial situation had been precarious at best. Clive knew it was his own fault, the root of his problems linked to an over fondness for gambling and imbibing one too many pints. He could have spent the holidays with his brother Simon in London, but it would have been fruitless. He needed to act as quickly as possible.

It was through a friend in Belfast that Clive heard of Ava’s situation. He didn’t know many details, but word came Ava was injured in an ambush in Oxfordshire and was taken to a remote location to recover. It was all Clive had to go on, but he put two and two together and did a little investigating. David Lancaster was not at the family seat for the Christmas holidays, and Siobhan Egan was not spending the season at the Blackwater Inn in Monasterboice. It stood to reason Ava would have been unable to travel far with her injuries, so Clive decided to explore the possibility that they all scattered to Pikestaff Lodge. If Gisbourne’s information was accurate, Clive was about to hit pay dirt.

Clive paused in his stride, trying to catch his breath. The snow was coming down so hard he could barely see in front of him. The white images of tree branches caught his eyes to the right and left, the snow having fallen so heavily the branches were leaden and drooping. He began to panic. He wasn’t sure if he was on the road leading outside of Daviot anymore, or if he was headed in the direction of Pikestaff. Even if he turned around and tried to head back to the village, he was uncertain if he would be going back the way he came.

“What a damn pickle I’ve gotten myself into,” he grumbled out loud, rubbing the outside of his arms with his gloved hands. “I was so busy cursing my bad luck that I went ahead and stepped right into more.”

“You most certainly did, mate,” a voice hissed in his ear.

Before he could react, Clive fell to the found with a thud. It would be the last thing he remembered for quite awhile.

 

* * *

 

JEFF MULLEN HATED cold weather, but tolerated the elements because he was on assignment for the Irish Militant Council. After meeting Mike Creed in Inverness a few days ago, Jeff came to the tiny village of Daviot and the estate known as Pikestaff. Not only was Scotland miserably cold, the snow seemed to have no intention of abating. To make matters worse, it was Christmas Day. He had foolishly volunteered for the gig and was sorry he put himself up for it.

Jeff and Mike were holed up in an old tool shed on the Lancaster property. The shack had seen better days. It was freezing, but because of their desire to remain invisible they hadn’t been able to light a campfire. Mike brought large batteries that he and Jeff used for two electric blankets, but it wasn’t quite enough. Tim O’Casey slipped over to see them at least once a day, always bringing a thermos of hot coffee and a small canvas bag filled with sandwiches, crisps, hard-cooked eggs and soft drinks. Jeff and Mike were able to communicate with Tim through a pager he kept with him at all times, although neither man had seen the sense in bringing their laptop computers to Daviot. The hardness and discomfort were facts of life in the IMC. They were protecting their own. Not only Ava Egan, who was an elemental part of the IMC, but Tim O’Casey as well. Not to mention the presence of Ava’s daughter, her sister and aunt.

Nothing out of the ordinary had taken place at Pikestaff since Jeff and Mike arrived, apart from a brief appearance by the caretaker Samuel Gisbourne. No one else had been seen snooping around the lodge. Jeff and Mike took turns roaming the estate, with one man lagging behind at the tool shed. They rotated by the hour, so neither one of them had gotten much sleep.

Jeff was making his last round on the outer edges of the lodge when he saw a man on the road, almost stumbling upon him. The heavy snow made visibility less than ideal. Jeff sensed the man was lost, but then wondered what the hell he was doing at Pikestaff in a blizzard on Christmas Day. Because of the man’s winter attire, Jeff could not make out his features but he knew it was not Tim O’Casey, and he assumed it was not David Lancaster or Bart Quantrill. The man in front of Jeff was walking from the direction of Daviot Village. Jeff knew no one had left the lodge in several hours.

Because of the suddenness in which Jeff found himself behind the stranger, he acted swiftly but carefully. He conked him over the head with his pistol with just enough force to knock him cold. Tucking the pistol back in his belt, he leaned over to remove the man’s hat. He was shocked when he recognized the face.

Clive Bender? The useless blighter investigator? The alcoholic gambler who couldn’t find his way out of a sack of potatoes? Jeff almost laughed out loud, but he held himself in check. There would be time for levity later. Right now he had to get Bender back to the shed and decide what to do with him.

 

* * *

 

“ARE YOU SHAGGIN’ nuts, bringing a body here?” Mike Creed exploded when he saw Jeff drag the lifeless form of Clive Bender into the tool shed. “Who in bloody hell is that?”

Jeff dropped Bender’s body just inside the door of the shack. “I came upon him in the road,” he defended himself, shutting the door. “I didn’t exactly have time to pussy-foot around.” He glanced down at the man on the floor. “This is the one and only Clive Bender, at your service. His fame precedes him, thanks to his bumbling search for Ava a few months ago. ”

Mike rolled his eyes and shook his head, rubbing his hands together. He regarded Bender first, and then his eyes traveled to Jeff. The man was soaked to the skin and out of breath. He must have carried Bender for quite a distance. Jeff’s short blond hair was plastered to his head and his week-long growth of beard was dusty coal in color, almost a match to the deep shadows under his eyes.

The shed was small, but Mike and Jeff managed to arrange two thin bedrolls on the creaking wooden floor. Slats missing in the walls had been covered with old newspaper and rags, which barely kept out the cold. A solitary candle burned on a small wire crate in the middle of the sparse room.

Mike Creed had been a member of the IMC for more than twenty years, and he was also a personal friend to Ava and Tim. Well into his forties, Mike had a shock of white hair on his head. There were creases in the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. He liked Jeff Mullen well enough, although he was a bit leery as the lad had only been with the IMC for two years.

Mike walked over and knelt down in front of Clive, looking him over. “Did you talk to him?”

Jeff shook his head. “No. I knocked him out as soon as I came up behind him. I think he was walking from Daviot, and became lost.”

Mike glanced up at Jeff. “Bender being here is no coincidence, I’m thinking. Who might have sent him?”

Jeff shrugged. “Not Locksley, that’s for sure. Bender went off his payroll awhile back.”

“What about the Earl himself?” Mike wondered aloud.

Jeff whistled slowly, his eyes widening. “I hadn’t thought of that. But why?”

Mike stood up, facing Jeff squarely. “O’Casey told me the Earl was a tad upset when Locksley didn’t make it home for the holidays, but it’s not just cause to send out a private dick. Besides, the Earl knows Locksley and his doctor friend are at Pikestaff. No, I think Bender has some wild hair about doing something on his own. He’s aware of the price on Ava’s head, and perhaps he was miffed when Locksley let him go. Bender had just enough information to put some things together, and maybe he checked out Locksley’s current whereabouts more thoroughly.” Mike grinned. “That’s just a possibility, mind you.”

“But a good one,” Jeff admitted. “You utterly amaze me, Creed. Your powers of deduction sometimes border on the bizarre, but in this particular case you make sense.” Jeff had known Mike to be quick on the draw when evaluating circumstances, and nine times out of ten he hit the mark. It seemed to be a particular talent for men who had been in the IMC for many years.

Clive began to moan on the floor, his body moving slightly. Wordlessly, both Jeff and Mike pulled their black ski masks over their faces, adjusting the fabric so the eye holes fit into place. Jeff knelt down next to Bender, muttering. “Now, how do we get rid of him? Scare him and let him go?”

Mike pursed his lips. “No. Bender knows too much. Maybe not about the particular situation at Pikestaff, but he knows enough about Ava and Locksley to be a liability. I don’t trust him. If we let him go, he’ll either find some way to come back or he’ll alert the coppers.”

“We can’t keep him here,” Jeff said, aghast at the thought.

Mike rested his eyes on Bender’s form. “I know. Let me think for just a minute.” Bender was a royal pain, Mike thought grimly. Clive’s brother Simon was a physician of some note in London, while Clive made his own reputation in private investigation. When the IMC had gotten wind Clive was snooping around Belfast and Kylemore Abbey some months ago, asking questions about Ava, most of those loyal to the IMC went on alert. Clive was known to be rather talented at finding lost family members and locating people who skipped on their bills, but he was in over his head when he started looking for Ava. Bender simply didn’t have the wherewithal or the stamina - much less the intelligence - to wade around unscathed in the world of the IMC. He was pegged from the beginning and watched carefully, but as he seemed harmless and not likely to unearth anything of much import the IMC let him roam at will.

The current situation was different. Bender was too close for comfort now, and something had to be done about it.

Jeff watched Mike closely, and then exclaimed: “You’re not thinking of elimination, are you?”

Elimination was the term used by the IMC to remove a person permanently. It was a tactic rarely used and only with great forethought, never to be taken lightly. Violence for the sake of violence was not how the organization operated, although they would be hard put to convince the world of their ethos.

“What else can we do?” Mike finally asked.

“We talk to him, reason with him, threaten him,” Jeff said, almost pleadingly. “But for God’s sake, we don’t eliminate him for snooping around.”

“And then trust he’ll take our threats seriously?” Mike’s response was another question.

“We have to,” Jeff replied. “If he flaps his gums, we can get Ava out of here quickly.”

“Is it worth the alert, and the consequences?” Mike pressed him. “If Bender gets the coppers into this, not only will Pikestaff be pegged as a ‘safe-house’ for the IMC, but Locksley will be under watch as well. You know I’m not one to condone violence just for the sake of it, there has to be a god-damned good reason first, but I can’t think of another alternative for this bloody bastard.”

Jeff hesitated. Mike was his superior, but he was having doubts about eliminating Bender. It just didn’t seem necessary. “I say we badger him,” Jeff finally said weakly. “If we can sense he’s not going to abide, then we’ll undertake your suggestion.”

“One of us has to be keeping watch,” Mike pointed out. “We don’t have a lot of time to sit here and mollycoddle this baboon.”

“It’s your turn to do the watch,” Jeff said. “I’ll stay here with Bender and talk to him.”

Mike nodded. “Fine. I’ll be back within the hour to see what you’ve come up with.”

After Mike left, Jeff stared down at Bender. His eyes were starting to open slowly. He clutched his head with both hands, moaning anew.

The sight which greeted Clive when his eyes focused scared the living daylights out of him. The figure of a man was bent over him, wearing a black ski-mask with holes in the eyes and mouth. The eyes behind the mask were intent upon him, and devoid of emotion. Clive knew he had stepped right into the IMC, and he was frightened beyond words. The ski mask was a dead giveaway. He didn’t even bother trying to take stock of his surroundings. He knew he had to give the right answers in order to preserve his life.

“Where am I?” Clive asked, his voice cracking.

“Where you shouldn’t be,” the man behind the mask spoke coldly. “What are you doing in Daviot, Bender? Taking the highland air for your health, are you?”

Clive swallowed and noticed his throat was dry. He did not respond.

“You’d best be answering me,” the man spoke again. “Tell me the truth, and there might be some hope for your future.”

Clive knew he had to think fast, but also realized giving a glib response could prove fatal. Clive had heard about IMC “inquisitions.” It was rumored they could sense when a person was merely trying to save their own skin and not telling the truth.

“Keep in mind no one knows where you are, including you,” the man spoke again. “And no one can hear you.” The man chuckled, but it was an impersonal sound. “Your fate is entirely in your own hands.”

Clive tried to sit up, but Jeff pushed him back down. “Stay as you are,” he warned. “Start talking, Bender.”

Clive raised himself slightly on his elbows. His head was throbbing, but he forced himself to speak. “I was trying to find out if Ava Egan was in Daviot,” he croaked, deciding in a split second to be completely honest with the man staring at him. “I’ve been down on my luck since Locksley discontinued my services. I still have various connections in Ireland, and I was told Ava was hurt in an ambush. Locksley left Amberwood before Christmas, and Siobhan Egan was not in residence at the Blackwater Inn. I sort of put two and two together.”

“And you figured you’d do a bit of follow-up, and maybe collect a big reward, aye?” Jeff finished for him, the tone of his voice scathing.

Clive flushed. “Yes, to be honest. I told you, I was down on my luck.”

“More like down on hooch and dice,” Jeff snapped. He inched his face closer to Bender. Clive could see cold, steel-blue eyes through the ski mask. They were unflinching. “In all your time as a so-called investigator, haven’t you ever come to the conclusion that it’s not wise to cross over and snoop where you don’t belong?”

Clive nodded. “Yes, I realize that. But I was desperate.”

“Desperate enough to trade your life for your foolishness?”

“No,” Clive answered, his voice shaking with the real fear he was feeling.

Jeff regarded Bender for a long moment. “And you still think your prize money is to be had by snooping around here?”

Clive nodded. “Yes. It simply stands to reason.”

“Your reasoning is wrong,” Jeff stated flatly. “And typically English. I’m thinking something needs to be done about you, but what is the big question.”

Clive was silent. He dared not speak.

Jeff stared at Bender, his gaze steady and unblinking. The seconds stretched into minutes, and still Jeff did not move or talk. Bender felt his nerves stretch as far as they would go, until he thought he would snap.

                The silence spoke volumes, and sealed Clive Bender’s fate.