Quest for a Killer Read online

  After Elma left I thought about Peter and her strange reactions. Perhaps she had not told the exact truth and had elevated a humble role as hospital nurse to that of medical student. Equally admirable for service to the public, but no doubt a profession that did not suit her lifestyle in the Grange.

  So much snobbery about professions: lawyers, doctors, ministers were the acceptable strata but the lower echelons were not considered good company by the dinner party society. A sad truth but I thought, unworthily, to say ‘my brother is a doctor’ sounded grander by far than ‘a hospital nurse’, a profession regarded, despite the efforts of Florence Nightingale, as very low on the social ladder.

  And then suddenly out of the blue, talking of the medical profession, totally unexpected as always, not a bit of warning, a carriage rolled up the road and out jumped a familiar, much loved but all-too-seldom-seen figure.

  Delighted, breathless with excitement, I rushed out screaming, ‘Vince!’

  So wonderful to see him and, as usual, he swept me off my feet as we embraced. Thane also rushed forward to greet one of his favourite humans and we all tumbled into the kitchen where, once Vince was seated by the fire and the kettle on the hob, I asked, as always, the vital question.

  ‘How long can you stay?’

  Usually it was a few hours only, an escape from Balmoral and the royal household while the royal train rested in Waverley Station, waiting for some prince or princess to open a hospital wing or a bridge in Edinburgh.

  Vince laughed. ‘Blame the royal train once again. Has to collect one of the grandchildren from Kensington Palace, bring him back to Her Majesty for a short holiday. A delicate flower, this one, and unfortunately he has developed a slight complication to his recovery from a chill – a troublesome cough, I believe – and won’t be allowed to travel until he is proclaimed fit and well again.’

  Pausing, he grinned impishly. ‘So it was hardly worth sending me on the train back to Balmoral for a couple of days.’

  ‘A couple of days.’ I laughed delightedly. It was wonderful, the prospect of having him for more than a brief hour or two. Fortunately I had a good supply of vegetables from the garden and soup was always on offer, especially Vince’s favourite Scotch broth.

  While I prepared the meal he brought me up to date with the latest news on Olivia and the three children. All were well, the children growing rapidly and all eager to know when I was going to London to visit them at St James.

  The question and the invitation was ongoing, but alas, I never managed to tear myself away from Edinburgh and possibly, or probably, Thane. I had taken him on short train journeys, a couple of cases in the Borders in recent years, but the idea of his reactions to busy distant London had no appeal and I felt was beyond any hope of success.

  ‘And what of you?’ Vince asked. ‘Any exciting news? Stands Edinburgh where it did?’

  So I told him about Jack. He looked solemn, for he had been very sorry when we parted. The two men had become good friends and Vince was bitterly disappointed to learn – I saw it in his eyes – that Jack had got married, although I said it so lightly, making it quite matter of fact.

  Although he shook his head sadly to hear that the brief marriage had ended so tragically, however, that Jack was now a widower caused him to brighten visibly. Never a good actor, he was totally unable to conceal his hopes that Jack’s return to Edinburgh was a clear indication that we were to be together again.

  His question was eager. ‘And how do you feel about Jack now?’

  ‘Sad for him – the wee daughter motherless.’

  ‘Is that all?’ he demanded. It was clearly not what he had in mind.

  I set down the plates. ‘All for the present, I’m afraid.’

  Vince’s face expressed impatience and disappointment.

  ‘I have just heard this news,’ I said. ‘Hardly had time for what you are so anxious to read – as you might call it – between the lines.’

  Vince was silent for a moment, then said slowly, ‘I imagine the fact that he got in touch with you means that he still wants you, Rose. After all, you sent him away—’

  I was glad I had not given him the details of that last interview between us as I interrupted:, ‘Oh, for heavens sake, I think it was fairly mutual.’

  Vince shrugged. ‘Maybe. But by this time you can no longer pretend that Danny is the reason you won’t marry him.’ He shook his head. ‘Missing he might still be, but dead he most certainly is. Surely you can no longer have the slightest doubts?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, I have come to terms with it.’

  ‘You are indeed a widow, my dear,’ he insisted, ‘and you are sensible enough to realise that you have been so since the day you left Arizona more than four years ago. It merely became a convenient excuse to delay your marriage to Jack Macmerry,’ he added sternly.

  Vince knew me too well to bother to deny that and a short silence followed while he finished his soup and tackled the bread and cheese. Declining tea he took out a handsome silver flask which I guessed contained a very expensive whisky from the royal cellars.

  ‘What other news? How are you progressing with the typewriting machine?’

  I noticed him giving it a hard look as we walked through the hall, where it sat at one end of the refectory table in isolated splendour under its leather cover, rarely removed.

  I said, ‘Not very well. It’s a slow business learning when I can write much quicker by hand.’

  He grinned, and then said solemnly, ‘You’ll be very glad of it someday – it’s been a great boon to people who do clerical work. Such progress. I thought you would take to it immediately, the way you took to riding a bicycle.’

  He had handed on the machine to me on his last brief visit. Brought it all the way from London, a present from one of his wealthy ex-patients who was leaving the country. ‘Quite honestly, I was grateful but couldn’t see myself ever having time or opportunity to learn to use it. But I immediately thought of how useful it would be to you.’

  I hadn’t wanted to sound ungrateful either but couldn’t see myself sitting behind it tapping out letters, which I could do much quicker and more efficiently with a pen and notebook.

  However, I had decided to try it out. Large and unwieldy as I removed it into the hall, I staggered and bashed it against the stone wall. Thankfully it suffered no damage – or so I thought – until I discovered that one of the letter keys had jammed and required considerable effort to print. Yet another reason why I hadn’t continued to practise, which I hardly felt like confessing to Vince considering it was a gift that he had set so much store by.

  ‘Keep persevering,’ he said, ‘it’s not like you to let anything defeat you.’ I smiled wryly and, changing the subject, he asked, ‘Anything exciting on Edinburgh’s crime scene?’

  As Vince’s logic and reasoning were always reliable and, in some of my past cases, he prided himself on touching some factor I might have overlooked, I brought him up to date on the two girls’ suicides.

  He whistled. ‘Same place, same method. Unless it was a suicide pact and that seems unlikely, particularly with the absence of notes – unusual given the circumstances. For one, an imminent marriage, for the other, a disabled grandfather.’ He paused. ‘Surely the police have murder in mind? Isn’t your lady investigator’s mind intrigued?’

  When I told him of Jack’s suggestion that I carry on an unofficial investigation, he almost applauded, and not only for the detection idea either, I was sure. His imagination was bounding ahead to the closeness this would bring and a happy partnership on quite a different level.

  I switched off his enthusiastic comments and told him about my new friend Elma and her husband’s unfortunate accident.

  ‘I believe you met them at Balmoral.’

  ‘Felix Miles Rice. Of course, I remember him very well. A great wit and a reputation as a philanthropist. Got along splendidly with HM. Bags of charm, don’t you think?’

  ‘I haven’t had the pleasure. But Elma obv
iously adores him. I gather this is a very happy second marriage.’

  Vince gave me a wry look. ‘I hate to disappoint you, but I think you gather wrong, my dear. About the adoration, I mean. From personal experience this was not the impression we got at Balmoral. She seemed to be anxious to avoid him and it was, I suspected, mutual. A good front for the natives, but behind the scenes…’ He paused and shook his head.

  ‘Rubbish!’ I said shortly. ‘What you witnessed might have been just a domestic tiff, everyone has them. Even you and Olivia.’

  He grinned. ‘Don’t I just know that! All married couples have rows,’ and shaking his head, ‘but not this. This gave an impression that it was somehow rooted, long-standing.’ He shrugged. ‘The frequent dark look, the sharp word, the scornful rejoinder – the indifference.’

  ‘What nonsense,’ I said, ‘all based on a few hours acquaintance. I’m sure you’re wrong, and anyway, I prefer to take Elma’s word.’

  He nodded. ‘Your choice, as always. What about Felix?’

  When I gave a few brief details of the accident, I could see the medical side of him take immediate possession.

  ‘Poor chap. I’ve heard of cases like this. A coma for a few days, then…’ He shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t hold out too much hope. Poor chap,’ he repeated. ‘And what of Elma? I gather there were no children.’

  ‘She has a twin brother, studying medicine. He’s been working at the front in South Africa.’

  Vince’s head shot up. ‘She’ll be glad to have him at her side, have his support through this difficult time.’

  As I valued Vince’s opinion, I went into further details about the accident, the discovery by his valet and so on.

  ‘What did the doctors say about the heart attack?’

  So I told him about the excellent health record.

  He frowned and seemed to come to a sudden decision. ‘Do you know, I’d very much like to go in and take a look at him,’ he said eagerly.

  ‘I very much doubt that you would be allowed to visit him, Vince. He is under twenty-four-hour surveillance, a policeman sitting constantly at his bedside. All adding to poor Elma’s despair; naturally she wants some privacy.’

  ‘Naturally,’ Vince echoed dryly.

  I gave him a hard look.

  He smiled. ‘Obviously the police suspect that there might be more than a serious fall, especially where there is no evidence of heart disease.’

  He shrugged. ‘This could be a bad business, a very bad business for everyone concerned.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Our conversation was interrupted by a dog barking. Rufus was heralding Elma’s arrival. As I opened the door, Thane slid past me, ignoring the terrier’s threatening growls. Once more it was as if Rufus did not exist.

  Elma was surprised to see Vince and delighted too. And Vince was at his most charming. Before his marriage, he had a succession of unrequited loves, bemoaning his lack of success with girls – blaming his boyish appearance, his mop of fair curls, both of which had long since vanished into a balding high forehead, and a rather corpulent but still imposing figure.

  A happily married man, now with an elevated position as physician to the royal household, I was witnessing a new side to my stepbrother’s personality. I realised that sex is not something we recognise in our siblings and this was a very different Vince, a man who was undoubtedly attractive and very successful with the ladies, and without question most appealing to his female patients.

  The Balmoral visit, where he and Elma had first met, was casually mentioned. Then, as her face clouded, Vince offered sympathy for her husband’s appalling accident at which she switched to her usual angry comments. Not regarding his treatment in hospital, but her own reception and the extraordinary behaviour of those in charge of Felix, to say nothing of the grim presence of a policeman at his bedside.

  Vince listened, an occasional shake of his head indicating silent condemnation of such outrageous behaviour.

  ‘I am so sorry, Mrs Rice. Is there something I can do for you? Would you like me to go in and have a look at him?’

  She considered this for a moment, and then said slowly, ‘Oh, would you do that, Dr Laurie?’ And clasping her hands, ‘Yes, indeed. I would be so grateful. Obviously, with all your influence, they could not refuse to admit a royal physician.’

  And as Vince shrugged modestly, she added, ‘I am sure they would never deny you the right to see someone you had met in Her Majesty’s presence at Balmoral Castle.’

  The talk turned to how long Vince was staying and so it was arranged that Vince would visit Felix the next day.

  I was certain, and so I imagine was Elma, that she would accompany him, but as if anticipating this suggestion, he said, ‘In the first instance I believe it would be more effective if I saw him in private, in my professional capacity, being acquainted with their patient and so forth.’

  Elma agreed a little reluctantly and it was arranged that she should wait in the reception area and, when the moment was appropriate after Vince’s consultation with the doctors, once again pay her usual melancholy visit to her husband’s bedside.

  She left us soon afterwards.

  We watched her cross the garden and head towards the hill, with Rufus bounding ahead, barking fiercely.

  Turning to Vince, I asked, ‘Any second thoughts?’

  He gave me a quizzical glance. ‘What do you mean, “second thoughts”?’

  ‘I gather at first meeting you were not particularly impressed, and I am wondering whether, on closer acquaintance, your opinion has now improved?’

  He grinned. ‘I think she plays her part as the adoring wife very well indeed.’

  ‘You think that’s an act,’ I said indignantly. ‘What a horrid thing to say, Vince. Quite unworthy of you.’

  He made a modifying gesture, shook his head. ‘Perhaps she is as sincere as she appears in her affection. After all, it is not until we lose someone close to us that we realise their true worth. And in Mrs Rice’s case that worth is considerable – a vast fortune is involved.’

  I felt disappointed. ‘That is extremely cynical, Vince. Not much evidence of your usual kindness of heart.’

  He smiled. ‘And you, my dearest Rose, are once more a victim of your excess of that particular quality.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ I demanded.

  He shook his head. ‘Only that you have known Mrs Rice a very short while. What is it – weeks, rather than months and years?’

  I felt angry and misjudged, wanting very much for him to like my new friend, but Vince carefully forestalled me. Observing my expression and guessing as of old that I was going to argue, he stood up and said, ‘It’s a lovely day, and do you know what I would like?’

  I shook my head, still annoyed with him.

  ‘I would love to visit the funfair down the road,’ he said. ‘We had the circus, of course, at Balmoral, but I haven’t been at a funfair for ages. Shall we?’

  ‘A splendid idea.’

  But before we left there were domestic matters to consider. I hadn’t any guest accommodation in the Tower. I thought of all those empty, damp and cold, dusty rooms upstairs and decided we could get by if Vince had my bedroom and I slept downstairs. So I asked, ‘Will you be staying here?’

  Perhaps he recognised the anxiety in my voice, for he smiled. ‘Dear Rose, much as I would love to stay with you, I am bound to stay at the Station Hotel. There is a suite always prepared and ready for emergencies so that passengers on the royal train can literally be on call. Do you mind terribly?’

  I didn’t. Although it was great to have Vince in Edinburgh for a day or two, it was also a relief that I was not to provide him with bed and board since I might make an accurate guess that Balmoral provided luxuries which were no part of my spartan existence.

  As we strode down the road arm in arm I realised that Vince had never been able to accept the Tower as a place to live – the circumstances of its inheritance from the previous owner perhaps still a
roused uneasy memories.

  I resolved to enjoy every moment of Vince’s visit, whatever its length, short or long, and I was not going to let the subject of Elma sully our precious time together.

  I would lay that firmly aside but it was not until I was alone that I felt sad. For as well as acquiring a new personality I did not immediately recognise, my dear stepbrother had added a cynicism, which could only be the result of his new lifestyle and the circles he moved in.

  There were, however, vestiges evident of the boy I was pleased to see still existed. When we entered the funfair he threw away all dignity to the four winds, relishing the merry-go-round usually the province of small children. I was persuaded to join him a second time round, and he would have had a third.

  We marched through the sideshows with their enticing lurid posters – Arab belly dancers very daringly underclad – and barkers enticing male audiences.

  ‘Do you remember Wordsworth’s great poem you learnt by heart and used to recite when you were a little girl?’

  ‘I still remember it.’

  ‘Do you really? Those were such fun days when our dear Mrs Brook inevitably had to take you and Emily to the circus in Stepfather’s absence. Some of the lines stick in my memory:

  “The Wax-work, Clock-work, all the marvellous craft

  Of modern Merlins, Wild Beasts, Puppet-shows,

  All out-o’-the-way, far-fetched, perverted things,

  All freaks of nature…

  All jumbled up together, to compose

  A Parliament of Monsters.”’

  He paused and shook his head. ‘They’re all the bits I still remember.’

  ‘Bravo!’ I said.

  He laughed. ‘Ah, and here are the freak shows. The very thing.’

  ‘No, please!’ I hoped to avoid them but Vince insisted, sternly reminding me that from a medical point of view this was a challenge.

  The fat lady and the smallest man he pronounced were all done with mirrors. He was restrained from a closer examination of a calf with two heads and a pony with five legs and came away shaking his head, sure that these miracles could be achieved by a piece of clever grafting.