Dangerous Pursuits (A Rose McQuinn Mystery) Read online

  Satisfied that they had both had a miraculous escape, I ran upstairs, took off my soaking robe and threw on a dry nightdress and my outdoor cloak.

  Downstairs, Rory shook his head and said solemnly, 'Someone wants rid of me, lass. That was no accident, they gave themselves away with the whisky.'

  That it was deliberate had already occurred to me too. 'Someone who didn't know you were teetotal. They wanted it to look as if you'd got drunk and set yourself alight, was that it?'

  'Aye, that's the way of it. An old trick we used in the army when we wanted to smoke rebel tribesmen out. Straw and kerosene in a bundle and set alight. If there was nowt else we used whisky, rum - spirits of any kind would do.'

  He made a gesture with his arm. 'Throw it over the wall, it explodes and whoosh!'

  I poured out the tea, handed him a cup.

  'Someone tried to kill you, Rory, but why? Who are your enemies here in Edinburgh? This isn't India and rebel tribesmen.'

  'Everyone has enemies, lass.' His shrug didn't convince me as he clutched the mug of hot tea. He wasn't a good liar and I suspected he knew who his enemies were or could have made a pretty good guess.

  'I've brought some blankets down for you,' I said. 'A good night's rest then we can think what to do. We'll all feel better in the morning.'

  He began to cough and he looked terrible. I could see he was shaking with delayed shock.

  As for a good night's rest, there was precious little night left. Through the window the dawn was glowing over Arthur's Seat.

  He looked around the kitchen disapprovingly, shook his head. 'Mony a bonny year since I slept wi' a roof over my head.'

  'It's never too late to start,' I said. ‘Will you be all right on the sofa here? It's very comfortable.'

  He nodded absently, exhausted beyond any words.

  'Thane will keep you company.'

  A tail wagged in agreement and although I had suffered only emotional shock I trailed up the stairs like an old woman. Shivering, with wet hair that would take hours to dry, I dropped into bed and slept, to open my eyes when it was fully daylight and feel surprised that I had slept at all.

  It was almost nine, in the kitchen Rory hadn't moved. He was fast sleep. The fire was going steadily, Thane stretched out in front of it.

  The room was warm and smelt of wet dog.

  Deciding to leave Rory to sleep, I put on the kettle and by the time it was boiling I heard a carriage arrive.

  Next moment, Jack was at the kitchen door, ready for breakfast.

  I was so glad to see him.

  'We got our smugglers,' he explained. 'So I thought I'd look in...' He sniffed the air. 'Set a pan alight, did you?'

  'I have a visitor,' I said loudly, but Rory never moved. Thane bounced to Jack's side. He was glad to see him too, a tail-wagging welcome.

  With a finger to my lips I pointed to Rory and Jack asked, 'What's all this?'

  'He nearly burnt to death in his ditch last night. Thane saved his life.'

  Jack whistled. 'Set himself alight with that clay pipe, did he?'

  'No, but he'll tell you himself. Rory!' I shook his shoulder gently but he never stirred, muttering in his sleep.

  'Let me see him. Rose.' Jack moved me aside, leaned over the old man, taking his pulse. Touching his face, he raised his eyelids. Then turning, he said, 'I think he's had a seizure of some kind. We'd better get him to a hospital - quick. I was on my way to Leith, the police carriage is outside. I'll drop him off. I'll see you later, you can tell me all about it then.'

  Jack's a big strong man. He picked Rory up in his arms as if he had been no heavier than a small, light-boned woman like me.

  With Thane at my side, I watched him place his burden in the police carriage, tuck a blanket round him.

  ‘Try not to worry,' said Jack.

  He might as well have said. Try not to breathe.

  Chapter Twenty

  Thane stayed with me. I took scissors and a brush to his silky coat and managed to remove most of the singed hair from his face. He accepted my ministrations patiently as if this sort of thing was his daily toilette. Occasionally he licked my face gratefully - no difficult task, for at less than five feet I wasn't much taller than he was.

  This was followed by a sigh of long-suffering resignation as much as to ask, what was all the fuss about? His coat would soon grow again. And as I brushed and trimmed, in the absence of anyone else to tell my fears, I talked to him.

  Certain Rory was going to die, if he wasn't dead already, I had not the slightest doubt that this was another murder attempt. The opportunity provided by Bonfire Night, an accidental firework! A very natural accident in the circumstances, except that the killer had given himself away by including the whisky.

  Which meant he was a hired killer, someone unaware that Rory was a life-long abstainer.

  Who then was this enemy? And most worrying of all, was there a link with the dead woman at St Anthony's Chapel?

  And suddenly a very valid reason flashed into my mind. Had Rory been a witness to the events of that night without realizing the significance of what he had seen? Had his curiosity sealed his fate? I remembered how eagerly he stood on the road intently scanning passing carriages.

  The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that I had hit on the truth. But how on earth to prove it?

  I had just given Thane a final brush when Jack arrived.

  Anxiously I searched his face. 'Any news?'

  He was smiling. 'I'm in a rush - but I thought you'd want to know that he's still alive and they think he'll recover. He's a hardy specimen - all that living out of doors.'

  'What about his burns?'

  'Just superficial...'

  I was remembering the sight of the two figures aflame, a picture I would never forget, as Jack went on, 'Amazingly enough, nothing desperate.'

  Thane had leaped to his side as usual, his tail-wagging welcome demanding acknowledgement.

  Jack patted his head. 'You should have a medal for life-saving, do you know that? Let's have a look at you,' he said, looking at his coat and carefully examining his head.

  When Jack warmed to Thane, I warmed to him.

  Turning to me, he laughed. 'This dog really looks as if he's smiling sometimes.' And pointing to the scissors and brush: 'Seems pretty well back to normal too. It's a miracle they both survived.'

  'A miracle indeed - a torrential shower of hail and rain that soused the fire...'

  Jack shrugged. 'A blessing all right, we usually get rain here when it's least wanted.'

  'Where is Rory now?' I asked.

  'I took him into the hospital at Leith. It's run by the Church Council and I know some of the doctors there. They give their services free and they're sympathetic towards vagrants. I think they aim to save their souls as well as their bodies. Very impressed that Rory had his bible with him.'

  'When can I visit him?'

  'Any time. I imagine he'll be glad of a visitor. I must go.'

  I kissed him. 'Thanks - and for all you've done for Rory.'

  At the door I said, 'Before you go - you think it was deliberate?'

  Jack looked thoughtful. 'My first inclination was to think it had been an accident - a stray firework, a rocket lying about smouldering near the roadside in the dark, that sort of thing.'

  He looked at me and shook his head. 'But the whisky - that changed my mind. I guess it was the work of mindless hooligans, up at the Bonfire Night on Arthur's Seat - carried away with too much to drink, full of devilment, somebody decided to set fire to a real-life guy. A harmless old tramp.'

  He clenched his fists and swore softly. 'I'd like to lay hands on them - I hope I get the chance...'

  I looked at him. 'You realize, of course, that is what we were meant to think.'

  'What d'you mean, "meant to think"?' He sounded exasperated.

  'There could be a deeper reason - I'm sure about that.'

  He scratched his head. 'A deeper reason for frightening the life out o
f an old tramp and nearly killing him in the process?' He was trying not to sound cynical.

  'Perhaps there was something Rory knew - or saw - that was dangerous information. Don't ask me what, for I haven't the slightest idea - yet.'

  I waited for the accusation that I was imagining things, but for once Jack didn't argue.

  'Let's hope you're right and he'll tell us,' he said grimly, 'then we can put the bastards behind bars.'

  He wrote down the hospital address and accompanied our goodbye kiss with an affectionate hug for Thane and final instructions that he was to take good care of me.

  I found that rather touching. I was interested to see that the attack on Rory might have changed Jack's mind and set him thinking about a bogus constable and a dead woman whose body had disappeared: events that he had happily scoffed at as imagination.

  I fed Thane and was about to set off for the hospital when his deep bark announced a visitor.

  I opened the front door to Desmond Marks.

  I could not keep him standing there so, somewhat reluctantly, I invited him in.

  He hesitated. 'Is that dog about?' he demanded suspiciously. 'I heard him barking.'

  Ignoring that, I indicated my cape. 'I am about to go out,' I said in tones which to a person of any sensitivity would have indicated that he was the last one I wished to see.

  He didn't take the hint, lingering on the doorstep, peering over my shoulder into the hall. 'I wanted a word with you - urgently.'

  'All right. I'll put Thane in the garden. He won't touch you, you know. But wait there.'

  I felt cross. He arrives uninvited, sees that I'm ready to leave and complains about my dog.

  I said goodbye to Thane, who gave me a despairing look as he trotted off across the garden.

  Desmond came in and looked around suspiciously as if the deerhound might be lurking behind the chair I offered him, ready to snap at his ankles. He sat down cautiously, knees close together, and asked, 'Well, Mrs McQuinn, what news have you for me?'

  'None, I'm afraid. It's early days. You must be patient, Mr Marks.'

  He gave me a sarcastic glance. 'You haven't abandoned my missing wife, I hope. I haven't forgotten our financial arrangement - if that is a problem.'

  So saying, he made a move towards his pocket and I said sharply, 'If you please, Mr Marks, I do not accept payment until I see the evidence of some promising results.'

  I felt even angrier than before. This unexpected interview was not going at all well.

  'I am relieved to hear that you are an honest business woman, Mrs McQuinn, and that this is not just some fanciful little spare-time hobby.' And before I could frame an indignant reply he went on, 'Did you perhaps manage to visit my sister-in-law Mrs Edgley?'

  'I called on her immediately after our last interview and your instructions. She had no further information to add to what she had already told you concerning Mrs Marks' whereabouts. And she certainly was not concealing her in the house, or would have had any inclination to do so.'

  He looked disappointed. 'Where do you go from there?'

  I hadn't the slightest idea unless he was not telling the truth concerning recognition of the woman's body washed up at Granton.

  'Perhaps you can give me some other ideas where to pursue my enquiries? Such as other contacts, however trivial and unimportant they might seem to you, so that I can search further afield.'

  He cocked an eyebrow at me. 'I was given to understand that searching was your speciality, Mrs McQuinn.'

  Under my breath, I cursed Nancy for her part in all this, for giving Desmond Marks a false interpretation of my powers as an investigator. I didn't like the man any better than I had at first meeting - less so, in fact.

  I was out of sympathy with him, obviously a disadvantage for sustaining a cordial and hopeful working relationship between investigator and client.

  'If you wish me to continue then I must warn you that this is a very different case from the ones I usually encounter. The flimsy piece of information you gave had a completely negative result.' Pausing, I added, 'You are telling me everything you know, Mr Marks?'

  'Of course I am,' he said indignantly. 'Why do you ask that?'

  I shrugged. 'It is essential for my investigation to succeed that I have all the facts, as I have said already, and I must emphasize again - no matter how unimportant they may seem to you.'

  A gesture of despair, an expression so glum and crestfallen almost convinced me that he was the distraught husband he pretended to be. Almost but not quite, as I added, 'As you suspect that your wife is no longer in Edinburgh, my best advice would be for you to leave the matter in the hands of the police. They have other resources than those at my disposal.'

  'I have already listed Nora as missing,' he said stiffly.

  But I observed how at the mention of police he looked, just for an instant, hunted. With good reason, if my suspicions were right and Nora Marks was dead. And he knew it, having arranged for her murder. Now that her killer Peter McHully was also dead, had Marks been feeling safe and secure?

  I looked at the clock. 'I am going to Leith. I could look in and see Mrs Edgley again if you think that would help, see if she has had any word from Mrs Marks.'

  He brightened at that. 'If you would. I'd be grateful.' And with a curious look: 'What takes you to Leith again?'

  It was no business of his, but I told him I was visiting a friend in hospital.

  He looked politely concerned. 'Nothing serious, I hope.'

  'An old gentleman who lives nearby - he got rather badly burned last night.'

  'Too bad. It happens every year, these Bonfire Nights - fireworks too. Very dangerous, they ought to be forbidden by law. I hope your friend recovers soon.'

  As he rose to leave, I said, 'I was sorry to hear about your friend from the Opera Society.'

  A puzzled look. 'What friend would that be?'

  'Peter McHully.'

  A gesture. 'Oh - Peter.' A slight apologetic laugh. 'He wasn't a friend, Mrs McQuinn. Hardly knew him. The company's handyman and a good singer. Like so many of the Irish, a gift they seem to be born with.'

  He paused. 'I don't think any of us realized his real mission in life. He didn't bring his politics into Gilbert and Sullivan, fortunately.'

  'A sad business,' I said.

  'Indeed yes. I understand his funeral is today.'

  I followed him to the door. 'Will you be going?'

  His face registered genuine astonishment. 'In my business we are only allowed time off for family funerals.'

  He poked his head out, looked into the garden nervously as if expecting Thane to bear down on him. Turning, he said the conventional thing about a future meeting and hopes for more news.

  I watched him walk down the road past Rory's burnt-out ditch. He stopped and stared into it, and I wondered if that was just idle curiosity or if there was a more sinister interpretation.

  Closing the door, I went round to the barn and collected my bicycle. I had another reason for visiting Leith.

  I was curious to see Peter McHully's lady friend, Yvonne, lately Lady Carthew's personal maid.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It wasn't a bad day for a funeral, if mild winter sunshine could make bereavement easier to bear.

  And it would have been difficult to miss this funeral as the dock workers - the rioters, as the police called them - were out in force with banners and wreaths, with McHully's body in a fine hearse with black horses and plumes.

  I followed them at a discreet distance towards the church with its kirkyard where I parked my bicycle and stood aside to let them pass.

  'Hello - back again? What are you doing here?'

  I turned and there was Nellie Edgley, surprised to see me, so I said I was on my way to the hospital to visit a friend.

  'It's just down the road there,' she said helpfully. And looking towards the crowd in the kirkyard she sighed. ‘Peter got a good send-off. The lad's heart was in the right place. My Ben's one of the pall-b
earers.'

  'Sad day for all of you.'

  'Aye, and for his wife and a couple of bairns.'

  That didn't fit Mrs Laing's theory. 'I thought he was unmarried.'

  She gave me a puzzled look. 'What gave you that idea?'

  'I must have read it in the papers.’

  'They got it wrong then. I can't read, never learned. Ben tells me all I need to know. He says the papers are all lies anyway.'

  'Did you know the McHullys?'

  She shrugged. 'Just moved here - from over East Lothian way.'

  I looked through the kirkyard railings. All I could see were men, and the occasional shawled woman, an onlooker who wasn't part of the cortège.

  'Is Mrs McHully there?' I asked.

  Nellie gave me an astonished look. 'Wives don't go to funerals, hen,' she said as if I'd come from another planet.

  I'd forgotten. Widows don't in Scotland. That's men's work, strong and stiff-upper-lipped. The widow is expected to stay at home, cry and make the ham sandwiches.

  Nellie adjusted the pin on her shawl. 'Ah well, I suppose helping hands'll be needed,' she said significantly.

  'Any word of your sister?' I asked.

  'Not a word.' She stared at me and laughed. 'Desmond's real worried, is he? Serve him bloody right.'

  There wasn't much point in remaining unless I could inveigle an invitation to the McHullys' house, which wasn't very likely. And gate-crashing a funeral wake with some questions for the widow about her late husband and his fancy woman were beyond the pale of delicacy and decorum.

  There are some tricky situations that not even murder can change, and heading to the hospital Nellie had indicated, I realized that it would take more than bright sunshine and a few birds singing in a kirkyard to cheer up my flagging spirits.

  I was confused by Peter McHully's matrimonial status. Mrs Laing's suppositions about Miss Binns were all wrong. As for keeping her in Leith where he already had a wife and two bairns - that sounded like begging for disaster. If it was true, at that moment I would have opted for Mrs McHully's hand on the pistol that killed him.

  As I wheeled my bicycle up the hospital drive I saw that it was one of the 'cottage' variety, much less forbidding and institutional than those in Edinburgh. This good impression only lasted as far as the entrance hall, which had the usual hospital smell of disinfectant fighting for supremacy over urine.