Death on the Nyle

Cousin Cedric

All eyes turned to the young man, who remained unmoved.

"T—t—that's cousin Cedric," stuttered Elbert Branston. "He's family all right. Bit of a black sheep, (if you don't mind me saying, Cedric) but definitely family."

A smirk developed on Cedric's face in response to this unflattering introduction. He took a large swig from his whisky tumbler. "See what they think of me, Mr Beckett? A black sheep, he called me." His voice was gravelly and coarse. "Hah! I've never been welcome in this family. It's been the same since I was a child. My mother and I, Richmal's own sister-in-law, were always treated as outsiders. I've never fitted in, but you know what? I'm damn glad of the fact. They're nothing but a bunch of selfish, money-grabbing ..."

Bart Branston responded, his voice cutting the air like a knife. "Shut your mouth, Ced. I've no idea why Father asked you here. You're right; you've never been one of us. You're nothing but a drunken loser. If you hate us so much, why did you come? Büttler, was he even invited?"

Büttler nodded in the affirmative.

Cedric laughed derisorily. "I came here for the same reason as you, my dear cousin. The same reason we all came. For the money. I had no love for your father, but then neither did any of you. Don't deny it, he was a horrid old man. I couldn't pass up this opportunity to finally get a few dollars out of him. I was even prepared to put up with your company, Bart. Looks like you were too selfish, wanted it all yourself, and did your old man in."

Stung by the words, Bart Branston leaped at his cousin, grabbing him by the collar. "Elbert was right to fire you from the company! You've always been trouble!"

Quickly, Beckett placed a hand on the livid man's shoulder in an effort to calm him. "Now, now, Mr Branston. Violence will not bring us closer to the truth. It does not reflect well on your character."

Branston pushed Cedric back down on his chair before wheeling away and forcing a frustrated, "Bah!" through his teeth.

"Definitely the killer, Mr Beckett. Did you see what he did to me? The man cannot control his temper!" Cedric motioned Büttler to refill his glass.

"Please, Mr Cedric, refrain from goading your cousin any further. It is most unhelpful." Beckett spoke with such an authoritative tone that the man acquiesced. "Let us not get caught up in petty grievances and lose sight of the situation in which we presently reside. I appeal to you all to remain calm. Büttler – can you have your staff arrange some more refreshments? Pastries, such as cream puffs, are particularly effective at restoring peace. Now, let me provide a brief recap of the facts: Richmal Branston lies dead in a room upstairs – seemingly murdered. There are no other people present in the house at this time, and we are completely separated from any form of help until this gravitational anomaly corrects itself."

"Can we be certain that there is no one else in the house?" asked Professor Spoon.

"Quite certain. Every inch of the house is fully sensored and monitored. There are no other living things here and the airlocks haven't been disturbed since Beckett arrived last night," replied Bart Branston.

Elbert Branston began to weep once more. "Then that means, Mr Beckett, t—t—that one of us is a murderer!"

"Rest your mind, Mr Elbert. I am no stranger to murder. In many ways, it is like an old friend to me. That is why I cannot shake the feeling that there was some other reason that your father asked me here. It's almost as if he knew something was going to happen." Beckett's voice trailed off.

"Can you help us, Mr Beckett?" asked Melanoma Branston, fluttering her eyelids.

"Yes, I believe I can," replied Beckett, his usual demeanour restored. "If you will all consent, I will endeavour to uncover the mystery of the Mare Nyle. I will need to ask you all some questions, some of which you will not like, and some of which will be of a personal nature." Beckett looked around the room and was greeted by a general response of nods. "Good. Now, if there are no objections I should like to inspect the body."

"No, sir!" The voice rang sharp and clear. All eyes fell on the source of the statement—Büttler. "It's not possible. You can't see the body!"