Deadly Beloved (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.3) Page 6

  Kellar nodded rapidly, almost eagerly. "Quite right, Superintendent. Quite right. If you will excuse me for a moment." He put his hand to his mouth and gulped. "I think I am about to be sick."

  He left the room hastily, while McIntosh and Faro exchanged uncomfortable glances. They avoided looking towards the revolting and incriminating evidence as each meditated on what the next move should be when Kellar returned.

  "Perhaps you should have gone with him, Faro," whispered McIntosh with a quick glance at the clock, and leaving the Inspector to wonder if at this moment Kellar was making a run for it.

  Pretending to misunderstand, Faro said, "I don't think that would be strictly necessary." Walking over to the fireplace empty of anything capable of ignition, he leaned on the stone mantel and concentrated on some particularly uninspired watercolours. "A gentleman who is being sick prefers to be private."

  McIntosh came and stared curiously over Faro's shoulder as if he had discovered a lost Rembrandt. "Interesting, eh?"

  The door opened at that moment and thankfully they beheld Kellar, somewhat green about the gills, dabbing at his beard with a silk handkerchief. "Please be seated, gentlemen." He looked round the room, and said shakily, "I should like to sit down myself, if you don't mind."

  Faro indicated the chair he had vacated.

  "Thank you, Inspector.Ah, that's better. Now, perhaps we could all do with a dram. The cupboard over there, Faro, if you wouldn't mind doing the honours."

  The cupboard smelt of mould and mice but the glasses and decanter were a welcome sight and the whisky measures were generously bestowed. The three men drank in silence, for no toast applicable to the occasion came to mind that would not have sounded flippant.

  Watching him narrowly, Faro decided that Kellar was showing remarkable self-control and there was little doubt that he had purged his emotions with the physical act of vomiting.

  Kellar nodded in the direction of the fur cloak. "Where was that found?"

  After Superintendent McIntosh had related the details of the discovery, there was a lengthy pause before Kellar said: "I suppose I must have been the last person to see her, except for the passengers and the madman on the train who murdered her. Fancy choosing my poor silly Mabel as a victim.God knows why ..."

  "Tell me, sir, did you see her on to the train?"

  Kellar shook his head. "No, Inspector. I did not. As a matter of fact, it was snowing and I was already late for my midday lecture. I told her to get a porter, but she insisted that as she had so little luggage with her ..."

  "Did anyone see you return to the house?" asked Faro.

  Kellar gave him a mocking look. "What you mean is, have I an alibi?"

  "Something of the sort, sir." Faro heard McIntosh's shocked intake of breath. "The maid or the housekeeper — were they in?"

  "How the devil do I know whether the servants are in or out? It is one of my strict rules that they keep out of my way entirely, except when they are asked to serve food and so forth. My wife and I value our privacy, that is why we employ the absolute minimum of domestics."

  "Surely the housekeeper — "

  "Her most of all. She's only in my house on sufference — and on twice the salary she's worth — until Mabel gets back ..."

  And Kellar stopped suddenly, his eyes widened, as if this was the first time the full horror of the situation had struck him. "My God," he whispered and slumped forward, resting his head in his hands. "My God — Mabel. She's never coming back — dear God. The poor stupid fool, she's dead, isn't she?"

  The Superintendent and Faro exchanged glances and, with McIntosh murmuring platitudes, they withdrew and quietly closed the door behind them.

  "Any theories?" asked the Superintendent.

  Faro looked at the clock. "If I hurry, I should just be in time to catch the North Berwick train, with luck the same one that Mrs Kellar travelled on. Since the murder probably took place between Edinburgh and Longniddry, and she would travel in a closed first-class compartment, it's unlikely that the upholstery escaped the murderous onslaught. There must have been blood spattered everywhere."

  "True. And as the evidence of the cloak suggests a struggle, a lot of it also went on to the murderer."

  "We're presuming, of course, that he left the train at Longniddry so perhaps a porter there might have noticed his bloodstained hands or clothes."

  At the door Faro hesitated. "Might as well check on Dr Kellar's alibi while I'm here."

  "I was just going to suggest that, Faro," said the Superintendent sternly. "Find out, if he was late for his lecture that morning, and so forth. Discreet as possible, mind you. Better coming from you than from one of our lads. Think up some sort of excuse to see a timetable, make it sound feasible, will you? Leave you to it. No need to encourage any more gossip than necessary at this stage. There'll be more than enough when his students get wind of this. God help us all."

  Faro watched the Superintendent walk to the other side of the hall with an intense feeling of irritation at having been told how to do his job as if he was just being sent out on his first murder enquiry.

  He found the registrar's clerk in his office.

  "Morning, Inspector, what can we do for you?"

  "We've lost our timetable of Dr Kellar's lectures," he said casually. It was surprisingly easy. "Have you a spare copy?"

  "Certainly, Sir."

  Faro studied the paper set before him. "I thought Dr Kellar had a Monday morning lecture."

  The clerk shook his head. "Not this term. Inspector. Monday is his day off."

  The Superintendent joined him at the door and as they walked towards the Central Office, Faro repeated the clerk's statement.

  "Why should Dr Kellar lie about being at his lecture?" said the Superintendent.

  "Why indeed, when such matters are so easy to check?"

  Things were beginning to look black indeed for the police surgeon, especially as Faro was inclined to disregard Kellar's hint that Mabel's assassin had been a madman on the train. If so, then where was her body?

  Logically, it would have been expected to come to light as did the cloak when the snow melted, if it had been pushed out of the train. If not already dead, then appallingly injured and with such considerable loss of blood to be rendered incapable of travelling far. In all probability, she had lain undiscovered, hidden by the snow for the past two weeks.

  Faro decided, without a great deal of hope, to examine the railway compartment. A struggle such as the dead woman must have put up would surely have been accompanied by screams for help and even if these had been ignored, it was unlikely that a heavily bloodstained compartment had not yet been reported to the police.

  He was brooding on another theory that seriously incriminated Kellar. His wife had never boarded that train. Faro remembered the housekeeper had overheard Kellar shouting that he would take Mrs Kellar 'to the blasted station, or all the way'.

  He was now giving serious consideration to the fact that Mrs Kellar had been driven in the brougham through East Lothian and in some lonely spot she had been murdered. Her fur cloak and the knife had then been disposed of on the railway embankment to make it look like a train murder.

  As to the whereabouts of her body, no one enjoyed a more advantageous and unique position to commit murder and get away with it than the police surgeon. Dr Kellar was highly skilled at the disposal of corpses by the dissection and distribution of their limbs for anatomical study among his eager medical students.

  Chapter 6

  Faro soon discovered that there was little hope of asking porters if any of them recalled Mrs Kellar boarding the North Berwick train. He arrived on the platform in time to find that the services of all porters were keenly in demand by anxious passengers emerging from the train, wreathed in heavy clouds of steam.

  "All change. All change."

  Seizing the opportunity, Faro sought the guard and introduced himself as investigating a suspected crime in Longniddry.

  The guard, Wilson by name, w
histled. "Don't get many crimes in that area. Oh yes, sir, this is my regular train," he added with a proud and affectionate look at the engine.

  "Have I time to have a glance through the first-class carriages?"

  "If you can do it quickly, Inspector. We move off again in five minutes."

  "That will be adequate. I wonder if you'd be so good as to accompany me."

  "Why, yes sir. Of course."

  Watching the Inspector's careful examination of the upholstery, Wilson said apologetically, "The train's fairly new, only two years old, but the upholstery gets dirty quite quickly, as you can see, with all the smoke from the stack and so forth. These carriages are just about ready for a spring clean."

  Far from being pristine, indeed, but as Faro had already deduced, there was nothing resembling widespread bloodstains.

  In reply to his question Wilson said, "Oh yes, sir, we do this same journey back and forward between Edinburgh and Berwick four times each day."

  "Then you would be able to remember if it has been running as usual during the past two weeks."

  "Absolutely, sir."

  "There have been no breakdowns or replacement carriages?"

  "Never, sir, without my knowledge. You can rely on that. This is my train," he said proudly, "a most reliable engine, never given us a moment's trouble."

  "Could you say definitely whether this train ran as usual at midday on Monday, January 16th?"

  The guard grinned. "It did, sir and I was on it. It was my daughter's first birthday and starting to snow heavily when we left Edinburgh. We were anxious about possible delays. Folks like to get home for their dinners and we have a lot of passengers joining and leaving the train at the intermittent stations."

  "Bearing in mind the snowfall, there were no blockages on the line, even just for a few minutes?"

  Wilson thought. "No, not that day, I'm certain. Everything went smoothly and we arrived in North Berwick on the dot of 12.45."

  "At the time you were checking the tickets, can you remember seeing anyone behaving in what you might consider an odd way?"

  "Such as, sir?"

  "Well, did you interrupt an argument, for instance?"

  Wilson thought for a moment, pushed back his cap and scratched his head. "No, sir, I can't honestly say that I saw anything at all out of the ordinary. All very normal, the gentlemen hiding behind their newspapers, as always. And the ladies reading or staring out of the window. Very well-behaved travellers, they are. Like their privacy, of course, and that day a lot of them travelled with the blinds drawn."

  "Surely that is unusual in daylight hours?"

  "Not at all, sir. The sun is low at this time of year, and what with the glare of the snow, and the smoke, it can be trying on the passengers' eyes."

  "So you don't see much of what's happening inside the compartments."

  "Not a lot. I mind my own business, Inspector," Wilson added sternly, "leave them severely alone except when I have to examine the tickets."

  And so creating the perfect opportunity for a murderer, thought Faro hopefully.

  "Were the first-class carriages crowded that day?"

  Again the guard thought. "No more than usual."

  "Were any of these compartments empty?"

  "There might have been a couple."

  "Can you remember one being occupied by a lady and gentleman travelling together?"

  Wilson grinned. "Oh yes, that was the young honeymooners, bless them. Got on at Musselburgh."

  "Tell me, do you remember a lady travelling that day in a very handsome fur cloak — sable, it was."

  "I wouldn't know sable from water rat, sir," said Wilson ruefully, "that's for sure. Besides most of our better-off lady passengers travelling first at this time of year wrap up well in their fur cloaks to keep warm. Was your lady young or old?"

  "Middle-aged."

  The guard nodded. "That's mostly the age that can afford the furs, sir." He consulted his watch. "Have to look sharp, sir. Time we were leaving."

  "I think I'll stay on. A ticket to Longniddry, if you please."

  As the train steamed out of Waverley Station, overshadowed by Carlton Hill, Faro considered that the comfort of travelling in a first-class compartment was well worth the extra expense.

  He enjoyed rail travel and regretted that it was a fairly uncommon occurrence in his life. As he studied the passing landscape, reeling down the window to have a good look at the three stations where the train halted before Longniddry, he noted that the journey so far had taken twenty minutes.

  Twenty minutes would be more than enough time to stab Mabel Kellar to death with the carving knife in a compartment with the blinds drawn.

  But if that was so, then there would have been blood spattered everywhere, far more than could be contained in the fur cloak. The murderer's clothing and hands must also have been stained. Once his gruesome job was completed, he would want to make a speedy exit from the scene of the crime. Having disposed of the evidence he presumably got out himself at Longniddry.

  Faro shook his head. The explanation was plausible, he could imagine the scene but one vital question still remained unanswered. What did he do with the body? All he had to do was open the compartment door and push body, cloak and knife out on to the railway line. Otherwise Wilson would have found the body when he was collecting his tickets again after Longniddry and the hue and cry would have been raised immediately.

  The snow lay deep on both sides of the line covering the banks. Here and there a shrub or hedgerow was visible, but most of the landscape was hidden under a heavy blanket of snow.

  There was another possible explanation for the still missing body. Heavier than the cloak, had it rolled, gathered momentum as it slid down an embankment? Was it still lying entombed in a huge unmelted snowball somewhere along the line?

  As they approached Longniddry Station, a biting wind and acrid smoke blew into Faro's face as he leaned out of the window in search of places where a falling body might have lodged. There were none immediately visible and when the platform was in sight he beheld a band of uniformed policemen carefully searching the area surrounding the railway line.

  As the train slowed down, they recognised him and shouted, "Nothing so far, sir. Nothing suspicious. No bloodstained corpse, but we keep hoping."

  Faro lingered, watching the station master collecting tickets. He seemed to know most of the passengers well enough to pass the time of day and greet them by name.

  That was hopeful. This was a small station and the people who used it were probably regulars working in Edinburgh or Musselburgh. A stranger, particularly one wearing bloodstained clothes, would surely be remarked upon.

  Station Master Andrews was more than willing to chat about this sensational occurrence which had put Longniddry on the map. But Faro was in for a disappointment to his hopes that he might remember a stranger carrying a large brown paper parcel.

  "Two weeks, sir." The man rubbed his forehead. "That's rather a long time ago. This train's always busy — dinner time and a lot of coming and going between the local stations."

  To Faro's question, he shook his head.

  "I think I would have noticed any stranger among the passengers, sir. I have a good memory for faces and it's mostly locals travelling on that train. Always a lot of our ladies with their maids returning from shopping expeditions in Edinburgh."

  He looked at Faro curiously. "Word certainly does get around fast. Inspector. There was this reporter from the Scotsman wanting to know all the details ..."

  Faro groaned. This was the worst possible news. He must try to stop this sensational piece of information being made public, although at the moment there was nothing the press could do to tie it in with the missing Mabel Kellar. As far as everyone but the few Central Office officials knew, Mrs Kellar was still on holiday with her sister at North Berwick. He just hoped that Ina and Mrs Flynn were not avid newspaper readers.

  Trying to sound more casual than he felt, he said, "He was off his mark
very quickly, seeing that the cloak has just been discovered."

  "Yes, Inspector. It was a lucky day for him. He had been down here covering a society wedding in one of the big houses and was waiting for the Edinburgh train when Brown comes rushing down the track carrying the bundle and shouting. 'Look at this. I reckon there's been a murder done.' Those were his exact words and the reporter was on to it like a shot."

  "Where can I find Brown?"

  "There he is now. Over there, crossing the line, just back from his dinner."

  Brown was young and eager. Yes, he found the parcel and took the liberty of unwrapping it, just in case. "I could see straight away that there'd been foul play." He paused looking at Faro's expressionless face. "Been a murder, hasn't there, sir?"

  When Faro said cautiously, "Not necessarily," Brown continued, "But it's suspicious, wouldn't you say, sir? All that blood — and a carving knife."

  "But there's no body so far, so there might possibly be some other explanation. And that is what we have to find."

  Brown looked quite dejected.

  "Now I'd like you to show me the exact spot where you found the parcel, if you please."

  Leading the way down the line, Brown sounded glum. "But it is definitely foul play, isn't it, sir? I mean, the woman who wore it must have been stabbed to death, must have lost a lot of blood — and that knife too ..." Stopping, he rubbed his foot against the grassy slope. "It was exactly here, sir. I put this mark against the telegraph pole."

  "Well done," said Faro, thanking Brown and fending off his eager and curious questions. The lad seemed most reluctant to leave him and, finally watching him wander rather despondently back towards the station building, Faro thought wryly that Brown with his ghoulish relish for crime might have exactly the right brand of enthusiasm they hoped to find in new recruits for the City Police.

  He carefully examined the place where the parcel had lain, two hundred yards away from the station on the same side of the line. The station side also gave direct access to the platform for first-class passengers. Close to the ticket barrier, the privileged passengers could leave with a minimum of effort, instead of having to walk along a corridor, the length of a carriage. A fact, decided Faro, imagining the hasty descent and hurried exit from the station, of considerable assistance to Mabel Kellar's murderer.