Scarweather by Anthony Rolls

This book is an extremely uncomfortable character study and all of the characters are hiding something to the point that no one really understands or is even certain they like one another at all. What's also unusual about the novel is that it does not feature any official police officer, not even an amateur sleuth like Sherlock Holmes. Instead, there are two pairs of characters whose interactions drive the story: one pair,  John and Frederick, are university friends who drift apart after they gets sucked into two very different directions while serving in different branches of the military during WWI (and both of whom show very obvious signs of PTSD). They keep in contact sporatically, but are both preoccupied with trying to assemble some sort of life post-war. Then there is another pair, John and his cousin Eric, who are not exactly friends since as adults they have nothing in common, but they did grow up together, share happy childhood memories, and are genuinely fond of one another.  Eric has become infatuated with a senior (in both senses of the word) world famous archeologist, Tolgen Reisby, who has invited him (Eric) to work with him (Reisby) on an important "dig" just near his (Reisby's) seaside property "Scarweather." Eric hears of John's release from a military hospital ("just a scratch") and to cheer him up invites him to go out with him to Scarweather.  John isn't remotely interested in archeology, but he's certainly happy to see the seaside and continue to recover from whatever mysterious ailments WWI inflicted on him while he tries to figure out what the hell to do with his life.

So off they go and during the whole train journey Eric goes on and on and ON about how AMAZING Reisby is, to the point that even obtuse John picks up that there is something more going on than simply a guy excited to be working with a famous archeologist. But what is it? 

They arrive and this is where the creepiness kicks in: Reisby is larger than life in all senses, a huge, booming person who has an explosive laugh for a nervous tic after he says something that is just not quite...socially acceptable. His wife, who is 1/3 his age (it is implied that she is a former student who got caught up in his whirlwind personality--she claims to adore him but she's hardly ever around unless he tells her to be), is young and beautiful...and CLEARLY has a thing for Eric. Has Reisby figured it out? Does Eric even know?  John isn't sure. Indeed, he isn't sure of much other than the fact that the place is damned weird and full of strange "artefacts" all over the place--more of a museum storage room than a home, with all the wrapped up packages laying about... And every once in a while Reisby disappears for an hour or two any time a large German boat can be seen just off the shore...Is that relevant?  And if so, to what?

Lovely warm sunshine plus amazing meals and freely flowing wine (no thanks to Reisby who insists that he be waited on hand and foot but also demands the VERY BEST of everything) and amusing (albeit occasionally strange) conversations make an awkward weekend tolerable. Yet, John is glad when he's finally free to leave and a train ride later, our cousins part ways.

Back in London John gets a decent (but inconsequential) job and occasionally runs into his friend Frederick (whom he calls by his last name, "Ellingham"--very English). [So when is the damned mystery going to begin?  You may well wonder....] A few weeks later John hears that Eric is heading back to Scarweather--more "digging"--and then he...completely disappears! The story, which he gets from Eric's mother who got it from Reisby's wife, is that Eric got up early one morning--something he NEVER does--and went for a swim along the shoreline in an area that is famous for dangerous riptides and a misleadingly swift tide change. There is absolutely no trace of his body and nothing is certain but that a towel was found along the shoreline where he is believed to have gotten into the water. John is crushed and immediately wonders if Reisby, in a jealous fit, killed Eric and then did away with the body.  He's mulling this over, paralyzed with indecision as to what he should do, when he happens to run into Ellingham. John tells Ellingham his story and Ellingham is sympathetic, even though he doesn't know Eric. Ellingham convinces John that they two of them should head out to Scarweather to collect Eric's piffling belongings to give to Eric's mother and also to give John a chance to see that his thoughts of murder are baseless fancies.

So they go. And if the first visit was awkward, well, this one is ten times worse. John's clumsy questioning clearly causes Reisby discomfort and he cycles through rage, defensiveness, tears and sullenness. Reisby has all the character traits of a narcissistic (yes, I know that word is overused but this guy really ticks all the boxes) on the verge of completely losing it.  Yet...there is absolutely no evidence of murder or anthing other than a terrible swimming accident.  After two days, John and Ellingham leave, with Ellingham urging John to forget all about it.

This ends part 1 of the book.  [When the hell is a murder mystery going to start?]  Next thing we know, 10 odd years go by! All this time John and Frederick have been doing their own thing, never hearing from each other outside of occasional holiday cards. Then, again, they run into each other.  And, of course, the issue of Eric comes up.  Does John still wonder if he was murdered? Yes, but...So Frederick suggests they go out to Scarweather again as a sort of an "exposure therapy" experience: if John can again see Scarweather and see that there really is nothing suspicious about the place or people, the sooner he can free himself from his preoccupation with Eric's death--and his guilt for not having intervened somehow. But how?  He doesn't know....But that isn't all that Ellingham is planning.  It turns out that he hasn't spent these past 10 odd years simply futzing with chemistry (his major at university), but boning up (so to speak) on archeology.  He's finally at the point in his studies that he can REALLY see what is behind Reisby's arrogant bluster and alarmingly explosive moods. And here, finally, the "who dunnit" really begins: Will Ellingham, who we now find out is the self appointed amateur sleuth of the novel, outwit Reisby and finally settle not "WAS Eric murdered?" but "HOW was he murdered?"  And more importantly, can Ellinham prove it so that justice can be done?

And, as a nice coda, we find out at the very end that the narrator is John who had urged Ellingham to write and publish the experience but Ellingham tells him, "If you want the world to know, you'll have to write it down"--which is exactly what Sherlock Holmes says to Watson after their first adventure together. Cute!

A very strange yet utterly gripping story. There really is no "mystery" since we all know--have good reason to suspect--exactly what happened and why.  The mystery is how to get through the layers and layers and LAYERS of lies and weirdness of Scarweather. I'm kind of surprised that Alfred Hitchcock didn't turn this into a movie--it has exactly the sort of sinster, sexual, and nasty mood that he seemed to be drawn to.

Also, an aside: I have so far read 15 of these British Classic Murder Mysteries, and about 2/3 of them feature dope fiends/dope dealing. This is one of them. Those evening conversations at Scarweather were weird for a reason. If these books have taught me anything, England was awash with heroin and cocaine between the Great Wars. 

Anthony Rolls is the pseudonym of Colwyn Edward Vulliamy (1886-1971) who wrote many academic books under his own name (translations of Voltaire, archeology books on Middlesex, books on Rousseau, Boswell, William Penn and George III to name just a few).  He also wrote murder mysteries or, more properly, psychological thrillers under the name Anthony Rolls.