Deadly Beloved (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.3) Read online

  From where he stood the railway line stretched north and south between the snowy slope of winter fields on one side and on the station entrance side, the Edinburgh road.

  Faro lit a pipe thoughtfully and was considering the discovery of the parcel when a uniformed policeman appeared and leaned over the fence.

  "Afternoon, Inspector. I've spoken to the farmer over there," he pointed to the fields. "But he hasn't seen anyone behaving suspiciously on his property, or carrying a large brown paper parcel. He's a forbidding old man, sir, and I don't think he'd miss much. He also showed me a shotgun he keeps to warn off intruders."

  As Faro wandered back to the platform, he was in time to see Station Master Andrews chasing and capturing a youth of about fourteen. Holding him firmly by the coat collar, Andrews demanded, "Travelling without paying your fare, eh? Is that your little game?"

  Grumbling, red-faced, the youth took out a coin and handed it over.

  "All right, I'll accept it this time. But try that again and we'll get the police to you."

  Andrews grinned at Faro. "There's always one of these townies tries it. Manage to hide from the guard on the way down and then they jump off the train, lurking about in the waiting-room or the lavatory until they think they can slip through the barrier without paying." A bell sounded shrilly inside. "That's the Edinburgh train from Newcastle approaching now, sir. You'll have to get across the bridge, sharp as you can."

  As he settled back comfortably in the compartment and was carried to Edinburgh, Faro thought about the youth who had hidden in the waiting-room. If he'd managed to evade Station Master Andrew's sharp eyes, then what was to stop Mabel Kellar's murderer also washing the blood off his hands in the lavatory and then calmly crossing the bridge and boarding the Newcastle train back to Edinburgh as he had done?

  When they reached Waverley, Faro made a mental note to have his constables carry out a routine check at the station. Meanwhile, on the off-chance that a porter might have remembered putting Mrs Kellar on the train or that the ticket collector, like Andrews, had a good memory for faces, he lingered at the barrier.

  When the last passenger had departed, he described Mrs Kellar and asked, "Do you recall any lady like that boarding the 12 o'clock North Berwick train?"

  "A couple of weeks ago, sir? Now that's a poser. Fur cloak, you say, middle-aged? That's what most of the first-class ladies wear in this weather."

  As Faro was walking away, a porter who had been listening curiously and intently to this conversation came forward.

  "Excuse me, sir, couldn't help overhearing. You say two weeks ago? Well, I remember there was a middle-aged lady, in a very fine fur cloak. She called for a porter at the station entrance, asked for the North Berwick train. She was very upset, poor soul, in tears."

  "Did she get out of a carriage?"

  "Oh yes, sir, a brougham."

  If Mabel Kellar had travelled on the train alone then this information threw a completely new light on to the evidence and they were seeking a faceless murderer.

  "The man who was driving the brougham? Can you remember what he was like?"

  The porter shook his head. "Not really, sir. But he was in a terrible temper. Shouting at her."

  "Shouting — like what? Do you remember?"

  "Oh yes. Abuse, that's what. 'Go to him and damn you both. Damn you both to hell." The porter paused. "I suppose that was her husband and she was going off with another man and taking the laddie with her."

  "Laddie? What laddie?"

  "There was a wee chap with her, clinging to her hand. About nine or ten. And he was fair upset too."

  Thanking the porter, Faro walked away. So much for grand theories, advanced and demolished within minutes, he thought, making his way back to the Central Office.

  Chapter 7

  Calling in at Sheridan Place to collect some papers from his study. Faro was delighted to find Vince had returned late that morning. Already well-cosseted and pampered by Mrs Brook, he looked up with a grin from reading the newspaper and greeted his stepfather.

  "I have to rush out again, lad, but did you have a good holiday?"

  "Superb. I'll tell you all about it at dinner. Bought a Times to read on the train. Have you seen this?"

  A small paragraph read: 'Mysterious Discovery on Railway Line near Longniddry. The discovery of a woman's bloodstained fur cloak and a carving knife has led to an immediate investigation by Edinburgh City Police into the possibility of foul play.'

  When Faro groaned, Vince said, "Fame at last, eh? Is this one of your cases? Has all this happened since I've been away?"

  "I'm just back from Longniddry."

  "Really? Tell me more."

  "Vince, lad," Faro sat down heavily in the chair opposite and took his stepson's hands. "I have to prepare you for a shock. We have reason to believe that the cloak belonged to Mabel Kellar."

  Vince laughed. "How extraordinary. Then what on earth was it doing on the railway line. Stolen, was it?"

  "We don't know. Vince, I warned you the news was bad. Mrs Kellar has been missing since the morning you went on holiday."

  "But she only went to her sister's at North Berwick."

  "She never got there."

  "But — "

  "Vince. We think she's been murdered."

  "Murdered? Mabel? Oh dear God — no."

  And Faro was later to find some significance in the fact that Vince's cry of agony was considerably more heartfelt than Dr Kellar's reaction to the grim discovery that pointed to his wife's brutal murder.

  "I have to go now, but I'll be back shortly." He put his hand on Vince's shoulder. "We'll talk about it then."

  Vince declined supper that evening. "Mrs Brook fed me more than enough when I arrived home. I couldn't eat another bite, especially now — with all this about Mabel. Come on, Stepfather, tell me."

  As carefully as he could and without displaying any more emotion than he would have shown had the missing woman been unknown to either of them, Faro went carefully over the details, from Kellar informing Superintendent McIntosh that Mabel was missing to his own visit to Longniddry Station and the subsequent revelations.

  Vince was silent, trying to take in all these crucial facts and at the same time trying not to link them with that dear woman who had befriended him. At last he spoke, wearily, as if the effort of remembering was too much for him.

  "Did you know I called on her that — that very morning on my way to the station?"

  "The housekeeper told me. Oh, I'm sorry, lad."

  "Don't be sorry for me, Stepfather. Be sorry for her murderer," he said harshly. "Because if the law doesn't get him and hang him, then I'll take the matter of justice into my own hands."

  Appalled at such a prospect, Faro said, "I don't think that'll be necessary."

  "You know who did it then?"

  "We have a good idea."

  "And you haven't arrested him yet? For God's sake, Stepfather, he might escape."

  "Be calm, lad, be calm. As you were almost the last person to see Mabel, anything you can tell us about that visit would be of enormous help."

  Vince stared out of the window at the snow-clad slope of Arthur's Seat. When at last he spoke, his voice was overcome with emotion. "Thinking about it, I realise that she was trying to conceal how desperately upset she was that morning. There'd been that unholy row with Kellar after we left. Just one more but this time serious enough for her to be seeking refuge with her sister. Actually leaving her husband, as he rightly deserves. She should have done so long ago ..."

  "What was this row about? Did she tell you."

  "She spared me the exact details, hinted at a very unpleasant post-mortem on the culinary disasters of the dinner party and that Kellar hadn't spared her. Anyway, I offered to escort her to the railway station as I was catching a train there myself. She refused. Said she wasn't ready to leave. Packing to complete, instructions for the housekeeper and so forth, very nervous and upset."

  Vince's words took on a sini
ster meaning. That had been his own impression of Mrs Kellar during the dinner. Of course, it might not indicate more than a nervous disposition heightened and upset by the new housekeeper's delay in preparing and serving the courses.

  Faro rubbed his chin thoughtful, as he remembered how the guests had stirred uncomfortably in their chairs reluctant witnesses to their host's anger. That scene at least had survived the boredom of the evening.

  "It would have made more sense if she'd taken the carving knife to him. There were moments when I felt like it, I can tell you," said Vince.

  "I distinctly remember you saying so, lad," said Faro drily. "It's a good job we're not dealing with a missing Dr Kellar or you might well be the chief suspect."

  Vince shrugged as if getting rid of Kellar might have been worth it. "You remember, Stepfather, how frightful it all was."

  Faro nodded. "If only we had paid more attention to the subtle undercurrents, for undercurrents there should have been that night. Some hint of the monstrous events to come, some plan in the mind of the murderer."

  "You mean the murderer was with us that evening? Surely not?"

  "It has been my experience that when a murder is committed, one need look no further than the family circle to find the guilty party.

  "Not in this case," said Vince firmly. "And if you're hinting at Kellar himself I think you're miles out. Never Kellar. Think again, Stepfather and you'll see I'm right. With so much to lose. I assure you his pride is far greater than his passion and he would never do anything to prejudice that knighthood in the offing.

  "No," — again Vince shook his head emphatically — "you must be wrong this time, Stepfather. Kellar is much too emotionless to go for his wife with the carving knife. You have to love deeply to hate deeply and, quite frankly, I'd be prepared to bet that he hardly notices that Mabel exists. As for loving her, well, I imagine that part of their life was very brief and very long ago."

  He shuddered. "I feel it is much more likely that she succumbed to the frenzy of some madman who boarded the train, found her alone and — and — " his voice broke into a sob.

  "I know, lad. I know." Faro patted his arm sympathetically. "That is the answer one always hopes to find, the stranger on whom the bereaved family can vent their own grief and anger. Rarely, alas, is this the case. Besides," he added in tones of consolation that he was far from feeling, "the cloak and knife might appear to be damning evidence, but until the body is recovered we have no definite proof that murder has been committed."

  Even as he said the words., Faro had reached his own grim conclusions. If Kellar was indeed her murderer, then Mabel would never be found. Faro was not in the least doubt of that, with a horrific certainty of how her body had been disposed of. He must spare Vince from that knowledge as long as he could.

  "The motive could have been robbery, Stepfather. She had a lot of very valuable jewellery. Inherited. Not from Kellar. He was too mean to spend money on frivolities. She was locking up her jewel case while I talked to her."

  "Can you describe it?"

  "Yes. Red leather, with brass fastenings."

  And she hadn't taken it with her. Faro remembered it lying on the dressing table along with the silver brushes and toilette set.

  "That's it, Stepfather. I've just remembered something. 'People to see.'"

  "People to see?"

  "Yes. Those were her exact words. 'I have instructions to give to Mrs Flynn and people to see before I go.' I wonder who they were."

  Faro sighed. "Have you any theories about how her cloak came to be found on the railway line then?"

  Vince formed the picture in his mind and closed his eyes against it. "You say Kellar identified it as Mabel's. Surely if he were guilty ..."

  "Guilty or innocent, lad, what else could he have done? Since the housekeeper and the maid would no doubt also recognise the cloak, all he would have done was to have proved himself a liar. He even read the label inside and told us that was indeed Mrs Kellar's furrier and that it would be easy enough to check."

  "That doesn't sound like a guilty man to me," said Vince.

  "Unless he's also a very clever one," Faro replied drily.

  "Kellar is a beast but I still can't believe it was him," Vince protested obstinately. "Now if you were to suspect the Mad Bart ..."

  "Unfortunately we can't fix murders to suit our own prejudices," said Faro sternly. "I hope you're right about Kellar being innocent for quite a different reason. Can you imagine the furore of public reaction when they learn that the Edinburgh City Police have a surgeon in their midst who has murdered his wife? McIntosh is afraid that, used by the wrong people, this could be the stepping stone for riot, for the breakdown of law and order. A bit drastic, but I see his point."

  "God help Kellar, guilty or innocent, Stepfather. Once the story gets abroad his reputation will be finished. You know how muck clings to a man. I can't see him surviving such a scandal, either."

  "At this stage, all I am doing is piecing together, with some difficulty, the few facts we have to go on. Long experience has taught me to suspect anyone and everyone however remotely connected. And always to be ready for the unexpected."

  Faro paused before adding, "It's no use you trying to be fair-minded and putting in a good word for him. I'm perfectly aware that you didn't care for him at all. And he's not the most popular with his students either."

  He put a hand on Vince's shoulder.

  "The first step in putting together the story of her last hours lies within the Kellar house and you, I'm afraid, are witness to that last hour. Her state of mind and so forth could be valuable evidence. We'll need a statement from you, of course." Seeing Vince's still stricken face, he added, "I wish it was otherwise, lad, and that we could avoid having you dragged into this sorry business."

  "Don't worry about me Stepfather. I'll be glad to say anything that will put a rope around her murderer's vile neck."

  Vince went to the sideboard and poured himself a whisky. After as moment he said, "All I know is what I've told you. That she seemed extremely agitated and upset by the row with Kellar."

  "Yes, I know. But I keep going further back than that. To the beginning of it all. The dinner party."

  "The last straw, do you think?"

  "I'm considering her distress that night. Are we being too hasty blaming it all on the burnt roast. Was there another cause? Could she have been afraid?"

  "Of course she was afraid, Stepfather. Of her husband's brutal ill-humour."

  Faro shook his head. "A storm in a teacup, lad. Hardly an uncommon occurrence., even in the most civilised of families. Situations regarding ruined food and the feeling that the wife is totally to blame for the servants' shortcomings. Happens all the time, lad. The only difference was that Kellar didn't bother to restrain his wrath until the guests were gone."

  "They quarrelled, Stepfather. In front of all of us."

  "Not they — he quarrelled. The high words all came from Kellar. His wife uttered a few tearful protests. No, lad, quarrel is definitely a misnomer. Besides, all married couples bicker over domestic details."

  Vince regarded him steadily. "Do they indeed? Then that makes me all the more eager to embrace permanent bachelordom."

  Faro laughed. "If you do, then you will be throwing away an extremely valuable parcel unopened simply because the wrapping is slightly torn. You will never know the good things inside."

  "From what Mabel Kellar told me ... " Vince began darkly.

  "My dear lad, I beg you not to read too much into the revelations of an aggrieved wife. They do tend to exaggerate."

  How to tactfully point out to his young stepson his invidious position — that women, especially childless women of a certain age and social standing, were too often bored with a busy husband's neglect and discreetly sought male attention elsewhere. And what better opportunity for a gentle romance than a husband's handsome young assistant brought into their orbit? He looked at his stepson with compassion. This young and vulnerable lad still
walking the cloudy dreams of chivalry, more than ready to be flattered by an older woman's interest, eager to lend a sympathetic ear and — perhaps a little too obviously — wear his heart on his sleeve.

  Vince looked uncomfortable and growled. "You know me too well, don't you."

  "Almost as well as I know married couples." Faro laughed. "An unholy row which sounds like pistols at fifteen paces to the embarrassed onlookers would be dismissed by the couple themselves as a harmless tiff, an almost everyday event which ends in a tearful reconciliation on the wife's part, with both firmly believing they have the victory. Such matters as a housekeeper's incompetence, lad, don't usually lead to murder."

  "If the shoe had been on the other foot, however ..."

  "Mrs Kellar didn't strike me as a woman of such pride that she would want to commit murder because she had been made to look an idiot before their guests."

  "You forget one thing, Stepfather. She adores — adored him." Vince closed his eyes tightly as if to shut off the realisation that he would never see her again. "Incredible as it may seem and despite his abominable treatment, she would always go back for more. God alone knows why. And she would never look at another man." Vince sighed heavily and added dramatically. "I would have taken her away, you know, Stepfather. Protected her, worshipped her."

  "Then you would have been the world's greatest idiot," said Faro furiously, thumping the table. "Marriage with a woman more than twice your age."

  "I wasn't talking of marriage," said Vince softly. "Besides, age doesn't matter."

  "Not at twenty and forty, but what about in ten years', twenty years' time. When you are my age, and she is sixty. A mistress of sixty." Faro laughed harshly. "Chivalry is all very well. Be a knight in shining armour in theory but, I beg you, don't make me angry by talking absolute nonsense, lad."

  There was a moment's silence then Vince said contemptuously, "Kellar is just the kind of man to marry for money, knowing she was the Mad Bart's heiress."