Jonathan Creek- The Problems at Gallows Gate

Chapter 8

“So you say the tape was stolen? Again?” Asked Madeline, as the trio stood beside the empty answering machine.

  “If someone was trying to get hold of a message, but didn’t know which tape it was on…” muttered Jonathan, examining the area.

  As was his habit when deeply involved in a mystery, be it a murder case like this one or even a simple game of crosswords, Jonathan completely zoned out and became oblivious to all that was happening around him.

  He thought back on the strange, twisted events of the past few days. A dead girl with her stockings removed, apparently killed by a dead man. Two witnesses saw him jump. All his party guests saw him falling onto the ground… hang on a second, thought Jonathan. Saw him fall?

  Saw him fall… he mused on these three words, the shadow of an idea forming in his mind. He cudgeled his brains, coming up with hypothesis after hypothesis, but eventually discarding each one. Saw him fall…

  Madeline’s ringing tones broke into his thoughts. “…yes, we fully agree. In fact, we were just saying so before you called, weren’t we, Jonathan?”

  “What?” He said, startled by the reference to himself. “What were we saying?”

  “That’s settled then!” grinned Madeline cheerfully. Clare was wrapped in a warm afghan and looked more nervous than ever at this most recent incident. However, the corners of  her pale, trembling lips lifted up to form a slight smile when she heard Madeline’s enthusiastic declaration.

  “Right then,” she said, taking up her car keys and creaking open the door, “let’s head off.” 

  “Head off?” asked Jonathan in bewilderment, looking at Madeline. She paid him no heed and continued to put on her shoes. “Head off?” Repeated Jonathan, with more agitation. Like before, Madeline completely ignored him. Jonathan followed the women out of the door.

  “Head off?” He said stupidly one last time as the door closed behind him. “Head off where?”

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  “Northumberland?” He squawked, as they drove along the busy highway. “Are you completely insane? Have you even a inkling of how long this’ll take?”

  “I’ve got the route sorted,” replied Madeline, keeping her eyes on the road. “Five hours tops.”

  “That,” muttered Jonathan, “is how long it’ll take with normal people driving. For someone with your navigational skills, though…”

  Five hours later, they were trundling through a quiet gravel road. In the back seat, Clare closed her eyes, attempting to shut out the memories that came rushing back to her at the sight of the area they were in. To be completely honest, she thought, the sunlight makes a lot of difference to this road than when it was cloaked in darkness that night- she shuddered as she recalled the last night she’d seen Duncan alive.

  A mere shadow of his former self, he’s been avoiding Neville and Felicity, drinking heavily behind closed doors with his two army pals. He was normally the life and soul of the party, and his boisterous presence was missed by everyone. That final night, though, he’d emerged amongst his guests for the last time. All shrank back at the sight of the usually immaculateDuncan’s dishevelled clothing, undone tie and tousled, unwashed hair. What really shocked everyone, though, was the crazed look gleaming in his bloodshot eyes as he made his way to Felicity and planted a loud kiss on her lips. When she tried to push him away, he’d only chuckled and cried, “just wait, and you’ll get what you deserve!”

  Clare was shaken awake by an excited Madeline. “We’re here!”

  Clare couldn’t help but smile at the woman’s infectious good mood. She emerged from the car.    

  Madeline was staring in awe at the huge stone lions flanking the elephantine front doors, on which were carved beautiful pictures that rivalled the works of the Old Masters themselves. Its three stories only served to heighten the imposing effect of the tall, straight and majestic, albeit rather unempt, overall structure. Moss climbed up the stone walls and onto the roofs.

  They strolled to the front “garden”, if a large, unkempt mass of soil and rubble can be given that picturesque name, and Jonathan’s eagle eyes soon spotted a gravestone. They walked over, and Clare instantly recognised the names of Duncan Proctor’s late parents.

  Madeline, her hands in her jacket pockets, inspected the inscriptions. “His name’s not been added yet,” she remarked to Jonathan. “Want to get a shovel and see?”

  “No, thank you, Dr. Van Helsing,” said Jonathan in disgust. He started moving off. “Perhaps if we look ‘round first…”

  Two hours later, Jonathan was on his belly on the grass directly below the balcony from whichDuncanfell. He groaned as he hoisted himself up. Turning to Clare, he asked, “when you came out that night, and saw him on the ground… how was he lying?”

  Clare indicated the area. “So… he was lying half on the grass here, and his head was on the cement path here… look, you can see the bloodstain!” She pointed out a dark, sticky patch on the ground. Jonathan knelt down to inspect the stain, and rose again, making an ominous comment:

  "Well, there’s something very wrong with that for a start.”

A/N: Well, this chapter is dedicated to ElvenFolk because... not only did she actually dedicate a chapter to me (thank you so much, on the slight chance that you read this!) she is the authour of my current favourite Wattpad book, and the only one whose updates I read the moment I see them :3 (it's called Liquid Lightning. It's really very good. The cover's nice too. Go read it!)

Also, I know not many people read and actually follow this (and I can't help owning I feel slightly sad), so if you do read this, thank you very much. I appreciate it a lot. :D

Remember! Go read Liquid Lightning by ElvenFolk!