Blood Line: An Inspector Faro Mystery Read online

  Faro smiled. 'That is one of the first valuable lessons in life, Miss Haston. Never expect too much, in fact, expect little and then one can never be disappointed, only pleasantly surprised.'

  Lucille sighed. 'You are so wise and I am such an idiot.'

  Faro shook his head. 'No, not an idiot, just young.'

  'Young.'

  'Yes, young. And that is the one trouble time will cure.'

  'You make it sound like an unpleasant illness.'

  'And so it can seem sometimes. Growing up is not a condition of my own life that I would care to repeat.'

  Lucille laughed. 'Oh Jeremy, you are so solemn. Why, I have been grown up for years and years.'

  'Hardly.'

  'It's true. I can scarcely remember what it was to be a child. Anyone living where I did, and with Cousin Haston, would not long be allowed the luxury of childhood, I can assure you.'

  The carriage turned into the gates of Sheridan Place and Mrs Brook came to the door.

  'I saw you from the upstairs window.' Seeing his startled expression, Mrs Brook beamed. 'No, nothing's wrong, Inspector sir. All is right as rain. When you didn't arrive back, we thought you had been delayed and seeing it's such a nice day and this is their last Sunday. Doctor Vince hired a gig and has taken them all to - where was it, now - Cramond, I think he talked about.'

  A sublime day, Arthur's Seat shimmered, already crowded with small figures on its summit. Poor Vince would be furious when he learned that he has missed the opportunity of another visit from the delectable Miss Haston.

  'You could probably catch up with them.'

  'What a good idea.'

  'Will you wait a moment, Inspector sir?' said Mrs Brook, darting back into the house.

  Feeling benign, Faro turned to Lucille, 'Shall we got to Cramond? Would you like that?'

  'I should like to go anywhere with you.'

  Faro smiled, pretending not to notice the amorous glance, the gentle sigh that accompanied her whisper. He was giving directions to the driver, when Mrs Brook re-appeared breathlessly with a covered basket and a cloak over her arm.

  'Those girls forgot the extra food I made for their picnic and Doctor Vince's bottle of wine. Oh, and here is Mrs Faro's cloak in case the sun goes in. If you don't mind . . . '

  As the carriage trotted briskly towards Cramond, Faro told Lucille that this was their favourite place, how he had spent a considerable time canoeing with Vince during his student days. The tide was out and the island glittered across the causeway.

  Lucille shaded her eyes. 'I wonder where they are?'

  'Probably on the sheltered side. Shall we walk across?'

  Leaving Lucille to give instructions to the driver to wait along the promenade among the other carriages lined up while their owners took the popular Sunday afternoon stroll across to the island, he took up his stick and led the way. Lucille insisting on carrying the picnic basket and wearing Mrs Faro's light cape thrown over her shoulders.

  When they reached the other side, she exclaimed with delight at the sight of the canoes on the smooth water. 'What a divine place. But I don't see Vince and the others.'

  'They are probably in the Dell. It's a rather secret place Lizzie and I discovered with Vince long ago. Sheltered and quiet, superb for a picnic. Yes, that's no doubt where they are.'

  The Dell was empty. 'We must have missed them,' said Faro.

  'Never mind,' said Lucille. 'We have the picnic, we might as well enjoy it. I'm hungry and I suspect you missed luncheon.'

  That was true and Faro realised that he was indeed hungry. There were three boulders which he pointed out made a natural table and chairs. Spreading the contents of the basket, she said, 'What a divine spot. I can understand how you must have loved it here. And Vince must have been a great comfort to you after your wife died.'

  'He adored his mother,' Faro replied, opening the wine.

  'Tell me about her. I realised that you couldn't be his real father, you were too young. Does he always call you Stepfather?'

  'Yes.'

  'I would have thought Jeremy more appropriate.'

  Faro shook his head. 'No, I like being Stepfather. It's like Father, I am the only one to be called that name by Vince.'

  'Tell be about his mother.'

  'There isn't much to tell.'

  'Isn't there? She must have been considerably older than you.'

  'Not really. She had Vince when she was sixteen. They were so close - more like brother and sister really.'

  'You must miss her very much.'

  When Faro didn't reply, she continued, 'Did she love you very much?'

  'I expect she did.' He looked at her sombre face. 'What an odd question.'

  'Why odd?'

  'Because most people take it for granted that husbands and wives love each other.'

  'I don't think it's always true, do you? And you are a strange man. You give so little away of your emotions.'

  'That is because in my job emotions are best kept hidden.'

  'Have you ever loved anyone since your wife died?'

  Faro looked at her. To be honest or diplomatic. 'Well, yes, I have.'

  'Then you would marry again?'

  'I have no strong feelings on the subject.'

  'Didn't you want to marry this other woman...'

  'Do you mind if we don't talk about it, Lucille? It was all very recent and very painful.'

  'She didn't want you? She didn't love you? How could she fail to love you?'

  Faro shook his head violently, as if to shake away those terrible bitter memories of agony and guilt. Bad enough that they should still haunt his dreams and would, he suspected, for the rest of his life. He was certainly not prepared for - he did not even think he was capable of - a solemn discussion with this extraordinarily frank young woman about his past loves.

  'Please - I've told you - I'm not going to discuss it.'

  Seeing his expression, she put her hand on his arm. 'Forgive me, I've hurt you. I didn't mean to. Only I think things are best talked over.'

  'Not for me. Not for me. And I don't think it's a very good idea for us to be on such personal terms.'

  'Why not - what on earth is wrong in that . . . '

  'Nothing's wrong, Lucille. Now let's talk about something else. There's a good girl,' he added, managing to sound to his own ears amazingly like Sir Eric. As the conversation slid, at his instigation, on to more impersonal topics, he began to relax. Although he kept a token lookout for his family, he was secretly pleased to have this unconventional and quite delightful companion all to himself for the afternoon.

  Mrs Brook's box of candies was soon demolished, mostly by Lucille since Faro lacked a taste for 'sweeties'. However, the wine was heady on an empty stomach and he realised that he was suddenly tired, suffering from the effects of last night's terrifying ordeal.

  As Lucille prattled on, back to her usual form, full of engaging trivialities and speculations, he found his attention wandering, hypnotised by the bright glare of the River Forth with its occasional canoes passing by, its white-sailed ships.

  He blinked furiously, trying to stop his heavy eyelids closing. It was that delicious wine.He must have had several glasses more than Lucille and he was not a wine drinker, a good, solid, ale man. He thought yearningly of sleep. He might just close his eyes, Lucille would never notice.

  Just for a few moments.

  He dreamed that he was being kissed. The feeling was so real. Then he opened his eyes to find Lucille's face inches from his own.

  He put his hand to his mouth and she smiled. 'I'm so glad you are clean shaven, I hate the fashion for beards. You have such nice lips, a firm strong mouth.'

  Faro sat upright. This wasn't in the plan at all. He had no intention of making a fool of himself over Lucille Haston or encouraging her ardent but dangerous flirtation. 'What time is it?'

  'It's early yet.'

  'Is it?' And taking out his pocket watch, he struggled to his feet.

  'What's the mat
ter? We aren't going yet, surely?'

  'Time and tide wait for no man, Lucille. And in this case, if we don't move sharpish the tide will be in and we'll have to stay here until tomorrow morning.'

  'How wonderful - oh how romantic,' sighed Lucille, fluttering her eyelids.

  Faro seized the basket, the glasses. 'Come along,' he said, offering his hand.

  'No.' Reclining against the rock, Lucille shook her head obstinately and stared out across the Forth, a rebellious child again.

  'What do you mean, no, Lucille?'

  'I want to stay here.'

  'We can't stay here. Don't you understand, once the causeway is covered the tide will cut us off until tomorrow morning.'

  'Of course I understand. And I want to stay here - until tomorrow morning - with you, Jeremy. Just the two of us,' was the whispered reply.

  Trying to misunderstand the implications of her remark, he said lightly, 'Surely you don't want to stay here all night? I warn you, it gets very cold and uncomfortable.'

  She looked at him directly. 'We have each other. Besides I noticed that there are cottages - someone will give us a room for the night.'

  Faro looked at her. 'My dear girl, what are you suggesting?'

  'Isn't it obvious? That we stay the night here.' And before Faro could do anything but continue to stare, she threw her arms around him, clinging, kissing his face. 'Uncle is sending me back to Orkney next week,' she sobbed. 'This is our last chance.'

  'Our last chance for what?'

  'Oh Jeremy darling, I love you. I love you so.'

  'Nonsense, Lucille, you hardly know me at all. We have only met a couple of times.'

  'What has that to do with it? I've loved you from when I first saw you. I know you love me and nothing else matters.'

  'Lucille, dear child - even if I did love you as you imagine, lots of other things matter.'

  'They don't, they don't - I love you and I will make you happy, I promise. And if we stay out all night . . . ' she stopped, looked at him.

  'And if we stay out all night,' he finished slowly, 'what then, Lucille?'

  'Then you will have to marry me, I suppose,' she said.

  It sounded so absurd, so pathetically absurd and Faro knew that, even compromised, he would take the consequences. He could never share his exacting, dangerous life with this wordly-wise butterfly.

  'Lucille, I don't love you.'

  'I'll make you love me.'

  'I'm far too old for you. You want a young man, full of hope in life, not a middle-aged widower with a growing family.'

  'I love Rose and Emily - and Vince too. I'd make a good stepmother.'

  Faro chuckled in spite of himself. He could just see the kind of complications that might arise for Vince with a stepmother as attractive as this, and only a couple of years between them.

  'What is so amusing about that? Besides many of my friends have married men a lot older than you. And I don't care for boys. Besides, I know about love.'

  'I hope we all know about love, Lucille.'

  'I don't mean in theory. I mean - I mean, well, I am not inexperienced where men are concerned. I have had a lover- one of the rebel leaders. That was why they made me come across to Orkney.' Seeing Faro's solemn expression, she laid her head against his shoulder. 'Oh, I shouldn't have told you that. It was very indiscreet of me.'

  'And very honest too.'

  'But it's made a difference. It's made you hate me now.'

  'My dear girl. It hasn't made the slightest difference to my feelings for you. If I loved you and wanted to marry you, I assure you the fact that you've had a lover wouldn't matter a damn to me - or to any other decent man, I hope, who loved you.'

  'Then why . . . '

  'Look, Lucille, Sir Eric is one of my dearest friends. How would he feel if I stayed out all night with his niece, the girl he trusts me to look after?'

  'We could make up a story. He would believe it. No one but us need ever know that we slept together. He likes you.'

  'He would cease to like or respect me if I compromised you. He is a very honest, honourable man. And his greatest hope is that you will make a good marriage.'

  'I don't want a good marriage. I only want you.'

  'I doubt whether Sir Eric would be all that delighted to have a policeman in his family.'

  'Even though he loves the policeman's mother?' Lucille giggled. 'I thought that would surprise you. And he has loved her for years and years. Oh Jeremy, we would be such a happy family.'

  'No, Lucille. We wouldn't. I wouldn't be happy and neither would you after the honeymoon was over. Detectives make very bad husbands. If you doubt that, ask Mrs Brook how often she makes meals and I don't appear, ask Vince how often arrangements are cancelled.'

  As they left the Dell and began to walk towards the causeway, Faro heard the magic words, 'Papa, Papa.'

  Rose and Emily were racing across the sands towards him, led by Vince and followed by his mother, a little breathless.

  Explanations, exclamations of mutual surprise and delight followed. Vince had noticed Sir Eric's carriage and had come in search of them.

  Faro hoped that Lucille's disappointment would not be obvious. But she rose to the occasion. As they hurried across the causeway, with the water creeping ever closer to their feet, Mrs Faro taking her son's arm with Vince and Lucille and the two girls racing ahead, Lucille's trilling laughter floated back to them.

  'I'm so glad we found you in time, Jeremy. I don't know what would have happened if you'd missed the tide.'

  'Nor do I, Mother dear.'

  'That was a narrow escape you had.'

  'It was indeed. The narrowest. And I was never so glad to see anyone,' he said, pecking her cheek gratefully.

  Before boarding Sir Eric's carriage, Faro drew Vince aside. 'I must speak to you, then I will see Lucille home.'

  Vince gave him a disagreeable look. 'Indeed. I rather hoped you were going to offer me that privilege.'

  Faro felt compassion for the sullen, disappointed boy's face before him, conscious that he was helpless to avert the misery in store. Vince must go on with his hopeless infatuation for Lucille.

  He must never know the truth. The truth that could only blight their happy bachelor existence. That it was the father Lucille Haston wanted, not the stepson.

  With a sigh, Faro produced Mace's note. 'I would most willingly let you escort Miss Haston, but it so happens that I have to see Mace.'

  As Vince read the note, Faro explained that Mace had failed to contact him. 'Incidentally, I have made some progress with the identity of our dead man - at last.'

  Vince had dined with the Penfolds. He was immediately interested in Faro's abbreviated version of his visit, although Faro left out the flirtation.

  'Come along, you two. Do stop gossiping.'

  'What a dreadful woman. You must tell me more,' said Vince as the two parties made their farewells.

  Faro, with a silent and subdued Lucille at his side, was driven back to the Castle, where Sir Eric was waiting for him, sitting at his desk, pen in hand. 'Been a bit of an accident, lad. Young Mace. Body's just been found. Cleaning an antique pistol, didn't realise it was loaded. Tragic business. I'm just writing to his parents.'

  Faro realised that he was not surprised, that he had been expecting something like this. 'Have the police been notified? May I see the body.'

  'If you wish, lad.' And looking round to see that Lucille was not in earshot, 'Half his face blown away. We had him moved to the barrack infirmary. And had the room cleaned up a bit.'

  Faro groaned. And all the clues cleaned up too.

  'Hell of a mess. You would wonder where all the blood came from.'

  'You are quite sure that it was an accident?'

  'Of course, lad. Forster heard the shot and rushed in, but it was too late. Called out medical man right away, but of course nothing could be done but sign the death certificate.'

  'May I talk to Forster?'

  'Of course.'

  Faro
could hardly reproach Sir Eric, but he did not enjoy the next half hour. This was the sickening side of detective work that he could well do without. He often thought his stomach was too delicate for viewing bodies that had died by violence, their own or someone else's. He found himself looking at the mutilated face, remembering that interview with Mace and wondering again why the young officer had failed to meet him at the Castle.

  He found the silent, swarthy Forster waiting for him in the infirmary corridor.

  'Sir Eric told me you were here.'

  'I wish to see the museum room.' Forster led the way and opened the door.

  Faro looked round quickly. Bloodstains had been washed away, a chair straightened. But there was nothing left in the way of evidence. And there was no place anyone could have hidden. 'Tell me exactly what happened.'

  'Sitting in my study. Heard a shot from in here.'

  'How did you know it was a shot?'

  A faint smile touched Forster's face. 'People who live in military establishments do not make mistakes about guns and explosions.'

  'You went immediately?'

  'Yes. At first I thought the room empty. Then saw Mace's feet sticking out.' He shrugged. 'Quite dead.'

  'There was no one else here. You are quite sure of that.'

  Only one door. They would have had to meet me on the way out.'

  'Could anyone have hidden anywhere?'

  Forster gave him a penetrating glance. 'Before I went for the doctor and to tell Sir Eric, I locked the door behind me. I thought that was the proper thing to do.'

  'It was indeed.'

  'Thank you, Inspector.'

  Faro looked at him quickly. Was he being sarcastic? There was no sign of anything but patience on the man's face.

  'Will that be all you are wanting?'

  'For the moment. Yes. You will need to sign a statement.'

  'I have already done so. For Sir Eric and the police.'

  As the man turned to leave, Faro said: 'One thing more, if you please. Are you quite satisfied that Mace's death was an accident?'

  Forster thought for a moment before replying. 'Lieutenant Mace was an agreeable man. He did not make friends easily, or enemies either.'

  'Can you think of anyone who might bear him a grudge?'