Quest for a Killer Page 14

  The circus was blessed by Edinburgh’s very best weather for its last performance: a mild cloudless evening with a glowing sky.

  As I walked the short distance down the road to where artificial lights gleamed a welcome, crowds were already headed towards the arena. For those who could afford such luxuries, carriages rolled in from the city, whilst poorer families with young children arrived on foot, those from more distant parts of the city in horse-drawn omnibuses or trains.

  Over all there was a feeling of excitement, of anticipation, the brass band playing sentimental ballads, the smell of sawdust and the faint jungle-like whiff of the still-invisible animals. Arriving early had the advantage of front seats in the blocks of wooden benches stretching up to the back of the tent.

  My reason for arriving early was the hope that I could have a word with Sara Hengel but I was out of luck. The beaded curtain of the tiny ornamental caravan used for her consultations was closed and faint voices within indicated that she had a client.

  From my reserved seat, I enjoyed the interval by people-watching.

  At last the scene was set: the overture played, the ringmaster welcomed us, the entrance of the jugglers, the trapeze artists and wire-walkers was led by Miss Adela on her magnificent white horse. All were as I remembered from my first visit, as I eagerly awaited the entrance of the clowns.

  I was in for another disappointment. Tonight there were only four. Jimmy I recognised, and his three colleagues from Sheridan Place, but I waited in vain for the King of Clowns.

  The tallest and most impressive, Joey, was missing and what followed was a shortened and somewhat diluted version of the clowns’ ‘thrilling death-defying’ ride with Miss Adela and her horses.

  I suspected that this was only obvious to anyone like myself who had seen their original performance. To newcomers witnessing their daring exploits, getting in each others’ way, leaping up beside Miss Adela, shouting and screaming at one another, apparently in constant danger of being trampled under the hooves of the fast-moving horses, their equestrienne act was still breathtaking and the applause that followed showed that the audience, at least, were not disappointed.

  Joey’s absence, however, worried me so much I could hardly concentrate on the rest of the acts. Even Fernando and his animals: Leo going through his paces, with the climax of the ringmaster’s command warning the audience to absolute silence as Fernando thrust his head between Leo’s jaws.

  A moment later it was over; Fernando, unscathed, bowed, all smiles and Leo actually yawned, to everyone’s amusement. I applauded too, the fierce lion obviously bearing little resentment for his discovery, perhaps realising that escape was pointless, particularly considering the advantage of having all meals delivered to his cage without the necessity of hunting down his prey.

  Leo’s escape had been a boon to the popular press. Newsboys at city corners shouted, ‘Lion escapes from local circus.’ Sensational newspaper headlines also bestowed unexpected benefits of publicity on Hengel’s circus, undoubtedly accounting for the sell-out of the farewell performance. Although the press had embellished the ferocity of the lion and the bravery of the circus men who had recaptured him, they had omitted any mention of Jimmy’s peril or Thane’s rescue.

  Now the audience refused to let the performers go. Wild applause. They rose, stamped their feet, demanded encores. At last the ringmaster came forward, and promising a return in the spring, thanked the audience and his performers, each coming forward and giving a bow of appreciation.

  It was indeed over, and while everyone stood to attention as ‘God Save the Queen’ was played, any hope of an early exit was impossible. I was hemmed in on all sides by an audience reluctant, even now, to let the performers leave as the clowns, running among the rows of seats, distributed balloons and sweets among the children.

  At last I was free and made my way swiftly across to Seraphina’s caravan. Perhaps she might know the reason why Joey hadn’t appeared on this, the most important of nights.

  She wasn’t there. The caravan was closed, locked. I looked round in despair, in search of someone who might have information about the clowns. At last I returned to the tent in the hope of seeing Jimmy. Any excuse – to thank him for the ticket, say how much I had enjoyed the performance.

  Luck was with me. Clowns, performers and nonparticipants were already engaged in busily dismantling the trapeze and other effects for the first stages of their departure.

  Nonplussed by the untimely presence of a stranger, heads were raised from hammering and lifting. Then I heard a voice.

  ‘Missus – it’s you. Thought I saw you right in the front. Did you enjoy the show?’

  It was Jimmy. I gave a sigh of relief, turned gratefully, said it was so kind of him to get me a ticket for such a great occasion.

  A boyish blush. ‘We all enjoyed ourselves no end.’ He grinned and said impishly, ‘Leo was in good shape, didn’t you think? And I wouldn’t have been here tonight if it hadn’t been for that dog of yours – I’ve been telling everyone about him. He ought to be with the circus, that’s what.’

  I made appropriate noises and then said, ‘I noticed you were one short – your leader Joey – what happened to him?’

  Jimmy frowned, put down the hammer. ‘Don’t know…exactly, that is. Heard that he had an accident, twisted his ankle. Came limping along to collect his money before we move on. Boss wasn’t at all pleased, you can bet, but there was no way he could leap about on horses – all that timing on cue, dangerous work like it is – and we had to rehearse again at short notice.’

  ‘What a pity,’ I said. ‘Sad for him to miss the last night and all the praise every one of you deserved.’

  He grinned. ‘Aye, that’s the way of it, missus. That’s circus life for you. Never know from day to day what might happen. Just have to keep hoping the next accident won’t have your name on it.’

  I smiled sympathetically. ‘I expect he will be going back to Glasgow with you, though.’

  Jimmy shrugged. ‘Haven’t heard, missus. Nothing definite.’ He was obviously finding my tendency to chatter rather curious at such a time when all hands were urgently needed. He gave a polite grin, which could only be taken as dismissal, and he looked towards his colleagues, all frantically busy and darting impatient glances in his direction.

  ‘Have to get on with it, missus, plenty to do. Maybe we’ll see you when we come back next spring.’

  I could hardly detain him with further questions about Joey, so thanking him again and wishing him well, I walked away and at the entrance to the tent spotted the one person who could perhaps help.

  Mr Hengel had just arrived on the scene. Changed out of costume and sans top hat (revealing his bald head) and luxuriant moustache he was barely recognisable as the imposing ringmaster of half an hour ago, now in earnest conversation with the men labouring over the dismantling process.

  Feeling self-conscious and even a bit brazen I walked towards them and said, ‘Mr Hengel.’

  Turning, he looked surprised to see me and I quickly went into my routine of delight at the show, the well-deserved applause, etc. etc.

  He looked a mite confused and not a little impatient at such adulation from a member of the audience. Fortunately, as I spoke, he recognised me again as Dr Laurie’s stepsister. Protocol demanded that he bowed and escorted me back towards the tent’s exit, where I thanked him for my free ticket and said how marvellous the clowns were.

  That got his attention. ‘Indeed, and we are all grateful for that remarkable dog of yours. Young Jimmy would have been a goner. What an astonishing story.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘I noticed that the clowns’ leader was missing. Jimmy said he’s twisted his ankle, poor man. Tonight of all nights…’

  One of the workers was making a determined approach.

  Mr Hengel eyed him and said, ‘Good to see you again, Mrs McQuinn. My regards to Dr Laurie.’

  ‘And mine to Mrs Hengel.’

  He smiled. ‘If you’d like
to see her, I think she’ll be in the dressing-room at this moment – at the back over there…’ he indicated.

  ‘She’s helping pack up the costumes.’

  It was now almost dark outside but the circus lights guided me to the caravan. I climbed the steps and there was Sara and some of the women carefully negotiating costumes towards giant hampers.

  She looked up, smiled and straightened her back. ‘You enjoyed the show?’

  ‘I did – now, do let me give you a hand.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ she said gratefully.

  As we carefully folded away all the spangles of the trapeze artists’ sequin-encrusted costumes, the masks and wigs of the clowns, I brought the conversation round to the missing Joey.

  ‘Too bad, he was such a showman.’

  She sighed. ‘Poor fellow. An accident – not much but enough to put him out of the act.’

  Murmuring sympathy I asked if he would be going on to Glasgow.

  ‘Don’t think so. Fancy that’s the last we’ll see of him. He hasn’t renewed his contract with Ed. As often happens, the way of things in the circus: performers have other plans, get better offers.’

  ‘So will he be staying in Edinburgh?’

  She shrugged. ‘No idea about that. Bit of a mystery, Mr Sam Wild, that’s what he calls himself. Not the usual kind for circus life, mind you. He’s an educated man, so whatever his reason for being briefly with us, something better will no doubt turn up.’

  So Joey now had a name. That brought a moment of triumph – that this enquiry was leading in the right direction. ‘Where does he live in Edinburgh?’

  She looked up sharply, obviously surprised by the question, and I guessed she had sensed my strange interest, so I said hastily, ‘I mean, has he relatives, a wife?’

  She shook her head. ‘No idea. No wife as far as we know and he told Ed he bides in some lodging near the park. Well, that’s that. Thanks for your help.’

  And as we closed the final hamper she said, ‘It was good meeting you. I hope I didn’t scare you that day.’ And looking at me solemnly, she added, ‘You are surrounded by danger: it hangs like an unseen menace around you.’

  She took my hand, held it firmly, and said earnestly, ‘You are beset by things which are not what they seem, dear, false paths and decisions which you must avoid. That is all I can tell you. I wish I could see definite things, but your future is confused. Remember, my dear, take great care how you go and trust no one.’

  Next day it was as if the circus had never been in Queen’s Park at all, except for the bruised grass, the mud and wheel marks of the cages and caravans, the acrid smell of burning rubbish, ashes of fires lit to destroy the debris of their stay.

  They were gone. But not all of them. One of the most dangerous who now had a name, Sam Wild, remained in Edinburgh on the lookout for his next victim.

  I was resolved to track him down unaided and alone – somehow – with Jack away, and Inspector Gray out of the question.

  I would not have been so sanguine had I known that hunter was now hunted – that the trap was set and about to close.

  With myself marked down as the next victim.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Dave the postman rarely delivered letters of any importance to Solomon’s Tower. At best a birthday card from Vince or Emily and a picture postcard from Pappa and Imogen, dutifully sent from some exotic city I could never hope to visit.

  Other communications were business requests from prospective clients, or letters concerning a current investigation. Not many of those lately. I didn’t know whether to be anxious at this lull in my professional activities, or relieved when I had matters of such importance to occupy my investigative powers, but I eagerly awaited a letter from Jack that might inform me of when he was returning to Edinburgh or sending his Glasgow address. I felt diffident about writing ‘care of the Glasgow City Police’.

  On this particular day I had been replenishing my larder from the grocer at St Leonard’s. A few doors away was the tenement where Belle’s grandfather, Will Sanders, lived. I thought of the lonely old man and decided to put him on my visiting list.

  Armed with provisions, I waited and heard him stumping towards the door. With profuse thanks he asked me in but, taking the seat opposite, he seemed preoccupied, a little put out by this unexpected caller.

  Then, taking a deep breath, he pointed to the newspaper lying on the table. ‘I might as well come to the point, Mrs McQuinn, I’m right upset by all this – they’re hinting that my granddaughter and her friend Amy were murdered.’

  These were my own feelings, although I was surprised when he added, ‘Sounds as if they’re hoping to make an arrest soon.’

  That was news indeed, and I wasn’t sure how to respond as, shaking his head, the old man said in a voice of desperation, ‘It wasn’t like that at all – but you know what the police are like when they get an idea and fix their claws into anyone.’

  He shook his head and added slowly, ‘I could tell them the truth if I wanted to – I know exactly how it was and I don’t want some innocent fellow to be taken and hung for something he didn’t do.’

  I took a deep breath and asked, ‘Would it help if you were to talk to someone?’

  He looked at me intently, as if considering for a moment, then shook his head and said almost apologetically, ‘I am not sure that you would understand, lass. I don’t really know myself.’

  Then jabbing his finger at the newspaper again, ‘All I can say is that they’ve got it all wrong. I could tell them if I wanted to.’ And then, as if he had said too much already, he closed his lips firmly, sighed and with an abrupt change of subject began talking about the new casualties list from South Africa.

  I thought about his words as I went home. Very commendable and public-spirited, but the doubt remained. Did the police have new evidence that I knew nothing about?

  At the Tower, to my surprise Elma opened the door, Rufus in her arms, Thane absent as usual.

  ‘What a relief! I wondered where you were, hoped you weren’t away for the day or something.’ I followed her in. ‘You don’t mind me making myself at home, do you?’

  I smiled. ‘Of course not, you are always welcome, you know that,’ I assured her, as I picked up the letters on the kitchen table.

  One was from my sister Emily in Orkney. The other with an Edinburgh postmark with my address printed…

  ‘Anything exciting?’ Elma asked.

  ‘I’ll read them later.’

  ‘Oh, do read them. The kettle’s boiling – I took the liberty – I’ll just make the tea, shall I?’

  ‘Yes, if you please.’ I scanned Emily’s letter first. Short and sweet: trials with weather and delight at my wee nephew’s progress. Laying it aside, I tore open the other envelope and drew out a sheet of paper. It contained seven words in capital letters:

  ‘BE WARNED, YOU BUSYBODY, YOUR TURN NEXT.’

  ‘NEXT’ was underlined. That was all. No signature. Nothing. I turned it over, looked at it closely, feeling suddenly chilled.

  Elma came over with the tea. ‘Something wrong?’

  I handed her the note. She read it and giggled.

  ‘What on earth does it mean – busybody? Is it a joke of some kind?’

  I took it from her. ‘I don’t think so…’

  She put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, Rose. You don’t think…?’ A look of horror.

  ‘A note from the killer.’ I tried to sound calm.

  She gulped. ‘Surely not, Rose. You’re imagining things.’

  ‘Think about it, Elma. What if he killed those two girls and the bank clerk?’ I paused and added slowly, ‘And what if he was the man who attacked Felix?’

  At that she gave a slight scream. ‘Felix? What on earth gives you that extraordinary idea – that it was the same man?’

  So I told her about Joey the Clown having disappeared from the circus. That as far as anyone knew he was now at large, in Edinburgh, address unknown.

  ‘But
how can you connect him with Felix?’ she demanded sharply. She looked frightened now.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s just a theory.’ I shook my head. ‘I can’t shake off the feeling that all these events are connected. They have some common factor I haven’t yet discovered, the missing piece of the puzzle.’ I waved the note at her. ‘But one thing is certain. Do you realise what this means?’

  She shook her head. And I continued, ‘It means, Elma, that I am on the right track and Mr Sam Wild—’

  ‘Sam Wild?’ she interrupted.

  ‘Yes, that’s his name – or the name he’s using. And Mr Sam Wild is scared because he knows that I’m on to him.’

  Elma sat down at the table. ‘Rose, why don’t you come and stay with me for a while? Just until all this is sorted out, I mean.’ She whispered, staring over her shoulder as if the letter writer might be about to enter the kitchen and murder us both.

  ‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘I am staying right here.’

  ‘Aren’t you afraid – alone in this isolated place?’ She looked horrified.

  ‘Of course not,’ I said. But that wasn’t true. ‘Thane will take care of me.’

  She looked doubtful. ‘You have more faith than me, Rose. He’s only a dog, after all. How can he know what’s going on in a killer’s mind?’

  I smiled. I had never told Elma my reasons for putting my trust in Thane. It all sounded so incredible, and although she and Peter were now aware of my alter ego as a private detective, they never referred to it. I guessed that, privately, they didn’t take it any more seriously than Inspector Gray.

  We were interrupted when Peter appeared at the door. He was full of enthusiasm for the local train, the Innocent Railway, which ran from St Leonard’s to Musselburgh where he had been meeting a friend from his army hospital days in South Africa. An officer who had been invalided and sent home recently.