Dying Fall

of the cafe next to the derelict amusement park, of Clayton boasting, ‘I’m a real gadget boy.’ Could Gadget Boy have stolen the computer and fixed it so that it would leave a trail, like a thread running through a labyrinth?
    *
    Nelson lies back in his chair and heaves a sigh of contentment. He is in the garden of Michelle’s mother’s housein Newton. The sun is out and he has a cold beer within reach. In the distance he can hear Michelle and her mum laughing as they prepare food in the kitchen. Best of all, he can’t hear, anywhere, Maureen’s loud Irish voice asking him what on earth he thinks he’s doing lying round when there’s work to be done, his father never lazed around like that, God rest his soul, honestly how Michelle puts up with such a husband … A bird sings in the tree and Michelle’s mum’s cat stretches out in a patch of sunlight. Nelson closes his eyes.
    Michelle’s mother, Louise, is sixty, but she could be a generation younger than Maureen. She’s an attractive woman with ash-blonde hair and a teenager’s figure. She works in the local building society and drives a pink Fiat 500. Like Maureen, she’s a widow, but there the resemblance ends. Louise seems to live the life of a happy singleton, going on cruises with friends and belonging to several choirs and bridge clubs. Her home is always immaculate, and when she knows her son-in-law is coming to stay she fills her fridge with his favourite food and drink. Nelson wonders if he’s unique in thinking that his mother-in-law is perfect.
    He knows that Michelle, too, is happy to have embarked on the second half of their holiday, traditionally the more relaxing week. She gets on well with Maureen but the atmosphere in her house is not exactly soothing. Now Michelle can have a real break at last, and he can look forward to some quiet evenings when Michelle and Louise go to the cinema or out to meet friends. He’ll even enjoytaking the two of them out; he likes being seen with two such attractive, well-dressed women. Louise helped a lot when the girls were young and Nelson knows Michelle missed her when they moved to Norfolk. Nice for them to catch up now.
    ‘Harry,’ Michelle is standing in front of him. Nelson wonders if lunch is ready. Enticing smells are wafting from the open window.
    But Michelle does not look like a woman announcing a delicious light lunch. She is holding his phone at arm’s length.
    ‘Call for you,’ she says. ‘It’s Ruth.’
    As Michelle walks back inside, a cloud moves slowly across the sun.
    *
    Clayton Henry, cornered in his office at the university, denies everything.
    ‘It was just a laugh. We were dressing up for Halloween.’
    ‘There are crocuses on the grass,’ says Tim.
    ‘What?’
    ‘In the picture.’ Tim points at the photo which lies on Clayton’s desk. ‘There are crocuses on the grass so it’s not October.’
    ‘Another of those pagan feast days then. Pendragon knew them all. There’s one in February. Imbolc, I think it’s called.’
    ‘How well did you know Norman Smith?’ asks Sandy, stretching back in his chair. He looks like a man who is making himself at home.
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Pendragon,’ says Tim. ‘When did you meet him?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ says Clayton, twisting his hands together. ‘He was always around. He came to lots of history department events, always in his robes and everything. Everyone knew him. He was a character. An eccentric.’
    ‘Do you know he’s dead?’ asks Sandy chattily.
    ‘I had heard.’
    ‘Who from?’ asks Tim. ‘It only happened two days ago.’
    ‘One of my students told me. I can’t remember who.’
    ‘It’s the holidays. How come you’re in touch with your students?’
    Clayton laughs. ‘These days you can’t get away from them. They’ve got my email address, my mobile phone number. They’re on at me all the time.’
    ‘So Professor Henry,’ says Sandy, ‘are you a member of the White Hand?’
    ‘No!’ Clayton stands up and attempts to look masterful. Unfortunately, he’s only the same height as Sandy is sitting down.
    ‘We’ve got Norman Smith’s computer,’ says Tim. ‘There’s a lot of interesting stuff on it.’
    There is a silence. Clayton fiddles with a silver paper-knife. One of Sandy’s first rules – never trust a man with executive toys or archaic stationery on his desk. Clayton has an inkwell too.
    Clayton sits down again. ‘All right. I may have dressedup in white robes a few times but