Chapter 3 - Flies

Layton walked out of the Hunting Lodge feeling a certain disquiet. It seemed to him that he should have been feeling nothing but joy. His theories had all been vindicated. There WAS some mystery in Langside – and not just connected with the deaths of those who lived in Laird’s row.

Flies? What connection could they have with this affair? He didn’t know, but it was an added element he couldn’t ignore. His intuition was leading him to a connection most would not have made.

Flies were involved.

He decided to do some real research. Long before having a team to do all that kind of thing for him he had worked for the BBC as an archivist. Even the most basic local library would have information about insects and their entomology. He tried to think of where the library would be. In his young days it had, incredibly enough, been part of the local health clinic. Surel;y they must have allocated it a building of its own by now?

He retraced his steps and walked down High Street. It wa sbusy enough now and he could see a number of worthies going about their business, one or two of whom looked at him with that frank openness people in the country have for strangers.

After a few minutes he found what he was searching for. The library was set back from the street and was in a building so shorn of excess it looked like a box or rather a set of boxes punctuated by windows. A ramp to one side led up to the green front door while a set of three steps in front provided a more direct route.

Being on its own there was a space down either side of the blocky building. As he checked out the big blue and white sign: ‘Langside Library,’ Layton saw that a very pretty girl was standing down from the ramp on the path at the side, smoking a cigarette. She saw him looking at her, dropped the cigarette and stubbed it out with a vicious heel, then turned on her petite feet, head held high and ignored him completely as she went up the wheelchair ramp and in through the double doors at the front.

Layton gave her a moment’s grace and followed her inside. He was feeling that old familiar tingle and wondered if his old charm was intact.

The library was split into two sections, ‘Adult’ and ‘Junior.’ The latter was filled with videos, cd’s and computers to the extent that it contained hardly any books. A wvast change from his own young days when the most you could expect was the ‘Everyman’ classics such as Robinson Crusoe and Huckleberry Finn or books about a fat public schoolboy called Billy Bunter. Now it was all high tech and shiny and met with his full approval.

The entire library was empty for this was a school day in late spring. A rounded counter sat squarely in the middle of the adult library. Books were brought to then left of the computer, scanned and taken away at the right. A trio of computers with ‘Langside Library’ screensavers sat forlornly to one side, and the rest of the room was filled with bookcases classified by subject, with the subjects covered within each case noted in a neat sign attached to the side of each. The cases were only about four tiers high, except for those against the wall, which were taller still and held mostly outsize books.

The girl stood in the middle of the counter, which was shaped rather like the rounded bar in ‘Cheers,’ but without the beer pumps and optics.

A Library Pub, thought Layton, now that would be far more popular than this.

He came forward and smiled at the girl. He could see at once that she was going to resist any of his blandishments.

“Yes Sir, what do you want?” He voice was colourless.

Well I wouldn’t mind you in my bed, he said to himself. Aloud, he was more polite as he took in her trim figure and her bright blue eyes. Her hair, he noticed was a kind of corn gold that sat very nicely with her fair skin.

“I was just wondering if there was any way I could get some books out of this library.”

“Certainly Sir.” Was it his imagination or not, but had she managed to infuse those two works with a note of sarcasm?

“So how would I do that?”

It was obvious that she had wanted to make him ask the question. He didn’t really mind, it meant he could look at her more than before. As if sensing this she lowered her eyes and picked up a form from a ledge beneath the counter.

“Just fill this in Sir. It’s an Associate form. As long as you are a member of any library in the UK you can use this one during your stay. I will need a deposit of ten pounds and a proof of your identity.”

“Look,” he began filling in the form with all the usual boring details, giving his address C/O Carlton Street, London. That wasn’t much of a lie. During the making and editing process of a programme her lived there anyway, eating meals from the local take away and sleeping in the big brown leather sofa in the production suite. He often slept with all his clothes on, only freshening up for fresh takes on camera.

Look, if this is anything to do with the fact I caught you smoking –“

She looked at him with a glint of amusement in her eyes and he saw how pretty she would be without the severe attitude she was adopting towards him.

“Excuse me, Sir, we don’t live in the 19^th century. I can smoke if I want to, and that path is the most convenient place since smoking is banned within all Council property.”

“I see.” He finished filling in the form and took out his wallet. He gave her a crisp new ten pound note – he had gone to a hole in the wall before leaving London because he wasn’t sure how well his credit card would travel in these rural parts. The he took out his drivers license which was just bigger than his credit card and gave it to her with the money.

She handed it back to him and he was surprised to see the high spots of red anger just below her eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I don’t know why you ask.”

Suddenly his patience was at an end. He was on a mission to find information, not placate every young woman who took a dislike to him for no apparent reason.

“Look, forget it. Just show me some books about…”

“Oh so now it surfaces, the REAL Mr Muir,” said the girl.

“What is your problem?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything, I was just going to let you go about your stupid business Mr psychic detective man, but then I just couldn’t let it pass. Does the name Sarah Byrne mean anything to you?”

At first he was tempted to snap back at her and tell her the name didn’t mean anything to him from a hole in the ground, but her use of the phrase ‘psychic detective’ halted him and he went back into his capacious mind.

Sarah Byrne, a good old-fashioned name, but why should it mean ab=nything to him? From the dungeon where he kept such facts a message came to the forefront of his mind.

“You applied for a job on the show, right?” She said nothing. “An assistant researcher. I remember picking you out because you came from my home town.”

“Bullshit!” She exclaimed so forcibly that if he had not trained himself to expect surprises he would have jumped. “You couldn’t have picked me for anything. I didn’t even get an interview.”

He looked at her steadily, waiting for her to calm down.

“You can’t even lie very well. I don’t know how you fool so many people.”

“You weren’t interviewed for the job because the job was retaken.”

“I should have known that. One of your little cronies I suppose, some stacked untalented bimbo.”

“Actually a 48 year old mother of two. Tammy Jones in fact. We had advertised the job because she was away getting treatment for her health.”

“I know you tv people are all alcoholics.”

“If you must know she had cancer of the bowel and they had to operate. We thought she would take longer to recover so we advertised the post – but she recovered much more quickly – her work was the aim – than we thought and so letters of apology were sent out and no-one was even interviewed. Didn’t you get your ‘Thank you, but’ letter?”

The girl looked at him with unwavering features. “How can I help you SIR?”

“I need books about insects, specifically one that talk about flies. Do you have any?”

“We…did.”

“What do you mean ‘did?’”

“That’s what I mean.”

“Fair enough, suit yourself.” He turned away from the counter and began to scan the subjects on the side of the bookcases and found one very quickly about zoology and living things in general.

He was surprised to find there was nothing about insects. He searched the whole bookcase. Nothing, plenty about lions and tigers but nothing at all about creepy crawlies.

“I was just going to tell you when you walked away,” Layton stood upright to find the girl had padded over the sickly green carpet (why did you always find such bad carpets in public spaces?” She was standing beside him. He had been kneeling to see the lowest books and his head, as he looked up, was just level with her perky breasts. He couldn’t help thinking how nice it would be just to touch them. It had been a little while since his last…

“I don’t understand,” he said. He stood up and faced her. “These things are common enough.”

“Did you really give the job back to the former researcher?”

“Hones injun, we did it for her sakes and she needed the money.”

“And if I was on the shortlist – I suppose I’ve gone and spoiled my chances now.”

“Not at all. Now I’ve met you, you’re honest, forthright and you look for answers. All good qualities in a research assistant I would have said.”

“The new people,” she said, changing the subject, but favouring him with a smile that lit up her whole face,

“What new people?”

“Mr Frobisher and Miss Gleason.”

“Sounds like a music hall act.”

“They came in a few days ago and spoke to my superior, then they took away all the books about insects.”

“Really?”

“I thought it was a bit odd at the time. Miss McDonald – my boss I mean – looked as if she was going to make a fuss – she’s not that easily swayed but then they asked her to make a phone call and she handed th books over.”

“No problem. I would have preferred something to scan back at my lodgings but you do have the internet and a shared connection don’t you? I can printoff material, might be expensive, but –“

The girl had the grace to look embarresed. It really was impressive how much her face reflected her moods he though. Even the colour of her eyes seemed to darken or lighten with her feelings.

“I’m afraid you can’t do that. There’s some kind of fault on the line. We’ve been cut off for a few days. It didn’t really seem to matter, there’s not much call for that kind of thing around here.”

“Hmm. Looks as if I might need to have a word with this mysterious couple and get a peek at their data.”

“Why is it so important?”

“I don’t know.” For a second he saw her eyes widen and knew that she could easily flash into anger again. He gazed at her steadily and she calmed down, as if seeing that he was telling the simple truth.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I don’t know the answer to that one either. That’s why I’m here. I received a very strange letter.”

“I know about the letter.”

“News travels fast in these country parts.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I wrote the letter for Helena. She’s been like a mother to me since my own…” the girl trailed off. “Anyway I was the first person she asked for and she got me to write to you in her name. I knew you would be intrigued.”

“Shades of Freud, you were right. Four interrelated deaths in a country setting I had known in childhood – who would have thought otherwise?”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know that one either, yet. Keep an audio scrapbook for one thing and just look for some information, which is where you come in.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well you have a lot of local knowledge and there must be something you can find out about the circumstances of those deaths. At the very least we can work together and make some kind of progress. That’s what us researchers do.”

“You think I’m a researcher?”

“Listen, you’re talking to a man who has an excellent degree in media studies from a prestigious Scottish University. You’re only doing this local library work for a reason – you came back home from university yourself while you considered your options. Am I right?”

“Why yes, but how did you know?”

“I can’t say. Just call it personal experience.”

“Well it was purely from a sense of duty. I had to come back and look after my dad for a little while. He knows I’m actually seeking other options but it’s been a tough couple of years.”

Layton straightened up and once more towered over the young woman.

“Look, I know we got off to a bad start, but now we’re talking, what are you doing tonight?”

“The same as usual. Going home, making the tea and reading a good book.”

“Fine, I’ll come along about eight and we’ll go for a meal in the local restaurant – I spotted it on my way in from the station.”

“The Spinning Wheel?”

“That’s the one.”

The girl was smiling at him now. “I’d better give you my address.”

“Sure.”

“Brooklea Cottage, on the road to the old Clarke manor.”

“I know it – the place where the Johnstons used to live.”

“Dad bought the cottage for his retirement when he reached his middle fifities, we moved there six years ago.”

“Great, so I’ll meet him tonight.”

“Do you mind if we go further than the Spinning Wheel?”

“If you want. I just don want to hire a car yet – I don’t know how long I’ll be here. A taxi will be fine.”

“You don’t need to do that. They charge the earth around here. I have my own car – a Clio – you might have seen it parked at the entrance.”

“I wasn’t really in small car spotting mode.”

“Stop it. All I’m saying is I’m not so set on a drink or two that I don’t mind running us to our destination.”

“Fine. That’s fine. We-ell I have to go now.”

“Sorry I couldn’t help you.”

“You helped a lot more that you think Sarah.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Let’s just say the lack of information is sometimes as useful as the information itself, okay?

“Okay.” But she spoke doubtfully. As he reached the entrance she gave a discreet cough.

“Yes?” he tunred expecting a last minute revelation.

“Do me a favour and don’t mention the cigarette to anyone. You’re right – I’m not allowed to smoke even outside the library. Local givernment have a public ban on all that too. So could you keep quiet? I’d appreciate that.”

“Sure, I’m the sould of discretion.” He smiled at her easily and she smiled eliciously back.” He left this time with the curious sensation that his knees were turning to rubber.