Enter Second Murderer (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.1) Page 13

  "Indeed he would. He would have had to produce some very good evidence as to his whereabouts at the time."

  "Very difficult when at six o'clock in the morning, when Lily Goldie took her walk up to Salisbury Crags, he and a large proportion of middle-class Edinburgh were still abed."

  "Talking about Ferris, what about the mysterious missing younger brother? Remember it was Lily Goldie who introduced him to Miss Burnleigh as Ferris's brother," said Vince.

  "Yet Ferris never mentioned his existence to Alison Aird, who one imagines he would confide in."

  "Ferris Minor seems to have been a figment of Lily's imagination. I wonder what her reasons were. Why did she lie about it?"

  "That is something we will never know, lad. Some woman's wiles."

  Vince nodded. "And we gather she had plenty of them. Liked teasing and goading other females." He thought for a moment. "What about Clara Burnleigh, anyway?"

  "Her reasons for disappearing from the convent and giving a false address seem genuine enough. There certainly was this very nasty scandal in her family, and she's very intent upon climbing up the social ladder—and not very bright, I suspect—besides, what was her motive? Lily Goldie wasn't any threat to her. What about your Miss McDermot?"

  "We know she left before the murder took place." Vince smiled. "I would be prepared to vouch for her. If only you had met her ..." he added with a sigh. "So that leaves us with the Mad Bart. By the process of elimination, Stepfather, I can't help thinking he is most likely to be our man. Consider the condition of his hands. That he might have been incapable of exerting the pressure needed for strangulation and therefore, when he pushed her off, he went down to make sure she was dead. Instead, he found her still alive and tied the scarf about her neck."

  "There's one thing you haven't considered. How did the old man get up Salisbury Crags? It's a stiffish climb for an old man with rheumatism in his knees." Faro shook his head. "I must confess that is the one improbability in your hypothesis."

  "We've never worked out how the murderer lured her up there in the early morning in the first place, Stepfather. There must have been some irresistible reason, since rigor mortis had not set in when she was discovered. When she got to the mortuary she hadn't been dead more than a couple of hours." Vince threw down his pen.

  "Well, it has to be one of them," said Faro. "Or else a complete stranger."

  "A passer-by filled with a mad impulse at the sight of an attractive young woman walking in a lonely place is usually a rapist. And we know she wasn't sexually assaulted."

  "Whoever murdered Lily Goldie had a very good reason, lad."

  "And knew about Hymes murdering his wife and took a chance on him being blamed for both."

  Faro shook his head. "I have a feeling that we've taken a wrong turning somewhere, lad. That the answer is staring us in the face and we're just not seeing it." He paused before adding, "There is one other person who could have murdered Lily Goldie and might have had excellent reasons for doing so."

  "You mean—the Reverend Mother?" Vince sounded doubtful.

  Faro laughed. "Seriously?"

  "Yes, if she is a religious fanatic, felt that the presence of Sarah Hymes and Lily Goldie had besmirched her reputation."

  "Then she would be insane."

  Vince nodded solemnly and Faro said, "A mad baronet and a mad Mother Superior?"

  "It isn't beyond the bounds of possibility. Or it might have been a fanatical nun who worshipped the Mother Superior and hated Lily Goldie."

  Faro filled his pipe and lit it thoughtfully. "In my experience, Vince lad, very few murders are planned and executed by madmen or women ..."

  "... with the exception of the crime passionnel"

  "I grant you that. But the murder we are dealing with has all the indications of having been thought out very carefully by someone of exceptional intelligence." Watching the smoke spiralling, he said, "There is one other person."

  As Vince consulted his list again. Faro said, "McQuinn."

  "Now you can't be serious."

  "Oh yes, I can. Consider him for a moment. He has access to the convent, he is friendly with the teachers, sweet on Lily, according to the maids. Think, lad, there are infinite possibilities."

  "You mean she might have spurned his advances? I thought he had rather a lot of lady-friends and one more or less would have made little difference."

  "But what if Lily was the one he really wanted?"

  "There's only one flaw, I can see. If he had wanted it to look like Hymes's work, then being a policeman, he would have made a more convincing job of her murder. He would have strangled her, exactly as Hymes did Sarah, left bruising marks on her throat. He would never have thrown her down and tied that scarf around her neck afterwards."

  When Faro was silent, he added, "I know you don't like the pompous McQuinn, but you must not let your personal prejudice influence you. After all, this is a murder case."

  Vince succeeded in sounding so like Superintendent McIntosh that Faro laughed out loud at the apparent absurdity of his hypothesis. But not for long.

  Chapter 13

  The next two days at the Central Office were very trying indeed, thanks to McQuinn, whose recent performance seemed to have impressed his superiors so greatly that the Constable had now been allocated as special assistant to Detective Inspector Faro.

  Remembering his own early days, Faro knew what that meant. Promotion was on the way. McQuinn had but to prove himself and if he, Faro, didn't watch out, they would be saying he was too old for the job.

  McQuinn was clearly bursting with pride and new importance, thought Faro with disgust, watching his over-eager smile charm old ladies, as did his offer of a helping hand. Faro had observed all too often in the Princes Street Gardens evidence of McQuinn's pouter pigeon breadth of chest charming their daughters, especially when accompanied by some outrageous piece of gallantry.

  Normally a fair-minded man who scorned prejudices in others. Faro had to admit that the constable showed the makings of a good detective. If only his presence and his patronising manner were less obnoxious, especially when he seized every opportunity of demolishing Faro's long-standing theories with a sneer.

  The fact that McQuinn had found a speedy solution to a recent case of embezzlement and a daring jewel theft was even more galling. He could also move with amazing rapidity and, taking off after the thief, vaulted fences and low walls like a race-horse, leaving Faro winded, staring bleakly after him.

  Returning triumphant with Black Tam's nephew, railing down curses and promises of his uncle's vengeance, McQuinn found a grim-faced Faro ready with the cuffs. "Allow me, Inspector, this is my man." And later, adding insult to his superior officer's injury, "I'm filling in my report, Inspector, and I'm saying that 'we' apprehended him. I hope you approve." When Faro growled that it wasn't strictly true, McQuinn continued amiably, "I'm prepared to concede the point. After all, this kind of work, it's really a young man's job. You have to be fit."

  "Damn your impudence," said Faro, and, snatching the pen, he crossed out "we" and substituted "PC McQuinn". "I'll have you know I'm not decrepit yet—not by a long way."

  "To be sure you're not, Inspector. Just a wee bit out of condition. Let's face it, this happens, so I'm told, to every man with advancing age."

  Such remarks succeeded in making him feel like a doddering ancient, and it was as well for McQuinn that the Superintendent entered the office at that moment, or the Constable might have received severe chastisement from Faro in the form of a punch on the nose.

  On his way home, Faro called in at the Pleasance Theatre to leave the invitations for Vince's party. In the corridor he met a black-clad figure almost unrecognisable as Alison, hurrying into her dressing-room to change out of her Portia costume. Peering round the door at him, she snatched the envelope.

  "Forgive me, Jeremy. I cannot talk to you just now. I have an important dinner engagement in the New Town and I'm late already. Do forgive me," she repeated, and closed th
e door firmly.

  Hugo Rich, however, was disposed to conversation, displaying an almost school-boyish relish in criminal investigation, the disposal of corpses and other ghoulish matters. Faro finally made his escape, and neither his opinion of McQuinn nor his temper was improved when he discovered the Constable handing Alison into a brougham waiting outside. As the Constable leaned in her direction, with his jaunty confidential manner, that mobile handsome face staring down into hers, peals of laughter reached Faro. Light-hearted as she never is with me, he thought disgustedly. Too much in a hurry to exchange half a dozen words with me, but with all the time in the world for McQuinn.

  The sight stirred him to unexpected fury, especially as, at his approach, they both turned, their faces wiped clean of expression, leaving him to wonder suspiciously whether he had been the object of their merriment. And the thought that he had been made to appear ridiculous in Alison's eyes smote him to the heart.

  Danny McQuinn and Alison Aird so occupied his thoughts on the way to Sheridan Place that he realised his interest in the case of Lily Goldie was dwindling rapidly. There were too many paths that led nowhere and he realised that if he was to be absolutely honest with himself it was not Hymes, nor his sister, nor even Lily Goldie, that had made him take on this private investigation.

  As he opened the front gate, he realised he was never going to solve this mystery, or the identity of the second murderer—if such existed—if he let himself be diverted by destructive emotions of jealousy. Indeed, when he examined his own motives, he saw that personal pride and vindication were both involved. That he might prove to Central Office that they had bungled and that he was indispensable. There was even a small unworthy hope that he might find something to discredit Constable McQuinn and dash that supercilious smile from his face for ever.

  Even Vince's original enthusiasm was daunted, and he must give up soon. In a few weeks, he would have served his locum tenens with Dr. Kellar. Then he would be setting up his own surgery in the house. For his future as a fully fledged medical practitioner. Faro had installed on the front door an elegant brass plate.

  Faro waited by the drawing-room window for Vince's return from Dr. Kellar's and dashed downstairs in time to witness his surprise and delight at this unexpected present.

  "Doctor Vincent Beaumarcher Laurie," he exclaimed proudly, and, eyeing it critically, "Do you think the letters are large enough, Stepfather?" He breathed on an imaginary speck of dust, which he polished with his sleeve.

  "Big enough, I hope, to bring a small army of Newington and Grange folk trooping up to your door as patients," said Faro, standing back for a last look before following him inside.

  "But only for a while, Stepfather. You know I intend to become Queen's Surgeon, once I have enough money—nothing less will satisfy," said Vince solemnly.

  "Not even being a good doctor and saving lives?"

  "There's nothing very distinguished in attending to broken heads and bones, to coughs and sneezes and bringing babies into the world."

  "A lot of doctors spend their whole lives doing it, lad, and consider that reward enough."

  Vince banged his fist on the table. "Oh no, Stepfather, not for me. These doctors you speak of with their fine surgeries in the New Town, they have mostly come from respectable middle-class homes. They're not like me—I'm different—you're not forgetting that, are you? I'm only the bastard son of a servant girl," he added bitterly.

  Faro winced at the words and Vince smiled. "Oh, that still hurts, doesn't it? That you weren't the first, that my mother had a child before she married you."

  "I never gave it a thought. I loved you, little devil that you were, from almost the first moment we met..."

  "And I hated you," said Vince slowly, "for stealing my mother, the only person in the world who belonged to me absolutely, the only person I would ever have who was flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone. And now she's gone too."

  This tirade was no new experience for Faro. He knew that Vince thought of Lizzie acutely each time his birthday came round, remembering the pain and shame in which she had brought him into the world. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder.

  "You still have me, lad, and you've been more to me than many a son to his father. I've been so proud of you."

  As they waited for the first guests to arrive, Mrs. Brook having set a table that was a masterpiece of culinary art, Vince looked out of the window at the afternoon sun gleaming on the Pentland Hills and sighed.

  "If only mother could be with us today," and, turning to Faro, he asked bitterly, "why did she have to die, anyway? So unnecessary."

  "That's one of the things you might discover in your life as a family doctor—just why so many women bear children and then both die within days ..."

  They were both silent, in attitudes of grief, as if Lizzie had died just days ago. She seemed to be there in the room with them, with her sweet voice and gentle laughter.

  They both started as the door opened to admit the party guests, led by Alison Aird, holding a cake with candles already lit, and followed by Hugo, Rob, Walter and a trio of young gentlemen from medieval Venice.

  "Happy birthday to you—happy birthday, dear Vince," they sang, and everyone applauded. Then, bowing, they swept off their caps, to be revealed as the young actresses still in their Merchant costumes.

  "Vince, you awful creature, Hugo assured us that it was to be fancy dress."

  Vince laughed, rolling his eyes wickedly. "Fellow couldn't miss the chance to glimpse such fine limbs."

  "You would not have said that if you had seen us wandering along the Pleasance," said Beth.

  "Nonsense," said Hugo. "Passers-by were quite unmoved by the sight, as if medieval players were a regular occurrence in Newington."

  "Not even ones with such unmanly curves?" said Vince. "And why aren't you in fancy dress, Mrs. Aird? Having seen your Portia, I'd say you make an admirable Venetian gentleman."

  "We tried to persuade her. She has the perfect figure," said Marie with an envious sigh. "Beautiful long slender legs."

  "Ladies, ladies, please," said Alison, "spare my blushes." She looked round, appealing. "They do exaggerate, you know. Only the very young actresses like themselves can play convincing boys."

  "And the other way round," said Hugo. "Boys will be girls, since Shakespeare did not have the original commodity to choose from."

  "No doubt that is why his more mature ladies, like Lady Macbeth and Cleopatra, must have been extremely trying for a youth to play with conviction," said Vince.

  "'Antony shall be brought drunken forth,'" quoted Hugo in profound tones. Everyone cheered as he added in sepulchral aside to an imaginary audience, "As he is regularly at the end of each performance." He pointed dramatically at Alison to complete the quotation. When she declined, he continued, "'And I shall see some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness, I' the posture of a whore.'"

  The actresses groaned. "Do give over, Hugo dear, we're not working now," said Beth. "There's a good fellow," she added with an affectionate peck at his cheek, which received an appreciative embrace and some applause. The two, in Vince's parlance, were "very smitten".

  There were cheers as Mrs. Brook brought in the tea tray, and everyone sat down at the table to enjoy her hot buttered scones.

  "We were very impressed with your brass plate," said Marie shyly. "Beaumarcher—that's an unusual name. Are you related to the famous earls?"

  Vince had arrived home a little drunk from a celebratory drink with his medical friends, otherwise he would not have abandoned his normal discretion and waxed eloquent upon his bastardy and upon the identity of the rich man who had fathered him.

  "The gratification of a few minutes of lust. A few minutes . . . that's all it takes, to father a child. Did you know that, Mrs. Aird?" he asked Alison who sat on his other side.

  Across the table. Faro was aware that her happy smile had been replaced by a haunted look.

  "Vince, lad—really," he said. "Ladies present."

&nb
sp; Alison recovered and gave him a bright smile. Faro realised that if Vince had hoped to shock her, he was in for a disappointment.

  She laughed. "My dear Vince, I have always considered the father's role in procreation somewhat minor, and that it didn't seem quite fair, despite what the Bible says on the subject, that women should bear all the shame but are not supposed to have any of the pleasure." She added, with surprising frankness, "And I doubt whether even the cleverest of doctors will be able to change the laws of biology."

  But Vince didn't hear. He had extracted a rosebud from Mrs. Brook's arrangement and was endeavouring to attach it to Marie's tunic, an effort requiring considerable assistance from that young lady, who was enjoying every moment.

  Alison watched with amusement and swept aside Faro's whispered apologies. "The young like to feel outrageous on occasions, and what better time than on a birthday, the beginning of a new year?"

  "I assure you, he doesn't usually behave so abominably."

  "Perhaps something else upset him," she said anxiously. "Whatever it was, I freely forgive him."

  The lad has everything, thought Faro, looks, brains and yet he cannot forget, will never forget, that his birth puts him beyond the pale of polite society. And sometimes Faro took a good hard look at that same Edinburgh society and the seething hypocrisy of its professional and middle classes, that Vince wished to emulate. The respectability that was paper thin and, once scratched, revealed horrors of child abuse, incest, sodomy-a whole world of crawling nastiness that erupted into occasional scandals, quickly suppressed by a handshake containing a large sum of money. Scandals which not even the most forthright editor would allow to be exposed in his newspaper.

  "Yes, do let's go there ..."

  "Everyone—listen ..."

  "A picnic tomorrow—over on the Fife coast."

  "We take the ferry, it's only half a mile from the landing stage."

  "What a splendid idea."

  "You must come too, Stepfather."