Dangerous Pursuits (A Rose McQuinn Mystery) Page 8

  By the time I reached the road to the Tower I had some theories which I was bending into shape. Perhaps PC Smith had not murdered the cabbie. One murder victim is enough for the amateur to deal with. More likely he had hired a driverless carriage, lured the woman to St Anthony's Chapel on some pretext or other, or even killed her first and carried her body in the carriage.

  I dismounted and stared at the scene above me. A stiffish climb to the ruined chapel, but not for a strong young man. A man like the one I had just been talking to. I remembered his muscular frame, his broad strong shoulders.

  And now, for the first time, I realized my own peril that night in discovering his victim before he had quit the scene.

  I had spoken to him but he could have disguised his voice. I might know his face again, despite its being partly concealed by the police helmet of course, and that moustache could have been false.

  But I was a witness, I knew enough to identify him.

  And had it not been for Thane, I would doubtless have met a similar fate that night!

  I remembered Nancy saying that when she had described me to him as someone who could help, she had been amused since his first thought was that I was a spirit medium.

  He had panicked. Why?

  Was it because he knew that Nora was already dead?

  Had I found the killer? Was he Desmond Marks, an accomplished actor, made up as a constable with a false moustache? He could have deceived his victim about the uniform too, by saying he had just left rehearsal and hadn't had time to change.

  I thought of my closed lines of investigation. Of the two missing women on Jack's list, one was very much alive and the other unlikely, described as 'plump' by her sister.

  Unlike the dead woman.

  I had been off on the wrong track.

  Now a new and dangerous path presented itself: the strong possibility that the woman I had found was in fact Desmond's missing wife Nora.

  Chapter Nine

  I did not sleep much that night, going over the details of that very illuminating visit to the Pirates of Penzance rehearsal, the accessibility of constables' uniforms and the significance of Desmond Marks' missing wife. Early next morning I had a visit from Nancy. I was somewhat surprised to see her before breakfast, and she was not alone. She was accompanied by the Carthew children, Tessa and Torquil.

  'I brought them by your short cut, Rose. They were so thrilled at climbing the hill, weren't you, children?'

  Shy nods were the replies as she continued, 'Isn't it marvellous? Now that we know the way, we'll be able to come often.'

  I said, 'Oh yes,' hoping I sounded as if I shared her enthusiasm and that I might not have reason to regret giving her such easy access to the Tower.

  She took me aside and whispered, 'I have to talk to you, Rose. About last night - Desmond, you know,' she added in a sepulchral whisper, as if I might have forgotten that little drama.

  The children were holding hands, standing close together, round-eyed, two delightful curly-haired angels from a storybook picture, staring in amazement at tapestried stone walls as if they had found themselves in a setting for Grimms' Fairy Tales.

  Nancy regarded them fondly. 'Now, children, you sit down at Mrs McQuinn's table and look at your picture books,' she said. 'I brought them especially,' and she removed them from her basket. 'Tessa, you show Torquil how to do letters. You're already so good at that.'

  The children did as they were bid, looking round shyly at me for approval, which turned to polite thanks when I produced a couple of biscuits.

  As soon as they were settled, Nancy motioned me towards the window. 'I do hope we aren't intruding, but I am so concerned about Nora's disappearance. I simply couldn't wait until this evening, not another minute. I felt I'd never get through the day. And then I had the perfect excuse -taking the children out on a new walk they had never done before...'

  Pausing for breath, she looked at me intently. 'Well, did you get all the details from Desmond?'

  When I said yes, he'd been very helpful, she smiled. 'I'm dying to know what you think of him. Isn't he nice?'

  I said yes, hoping I sounded enthusiastic enough. She seemed pleased and the thought occurred to me that she was relieved that I had not fallen madly in love with him.

  'I enjoyed his singing very much. You were right about his voice. The police constables' uniforms look very authentic.' I paused and added, 'Do any of the costumes ever disappear?'

  'I don't think so - why do you ask?'

  'Well, the constables, for instance.' I attempted a hearty laugh which went flat. 'As a crime investigator I immediately realized how a bogus policeman could have a jolly time fooling the public.'

  ‘What an idea!' Nancy sounded shocked. 'I'm sure none of our people would ever think of such a thing.'

  'When I mentioned it to Mr Marks-'

  'Desmond, please, Rose.'

  'He told me they weren't kept under lock and key. And I thought, how convenient. Anyone associated with the Opera Society could borrow one - say, for a fancy dress party - and replace it without being noticed.'

  My statement had shocked Nancy. 'But that would be against the law, Rose. Surely you don't approve of such behaviour?'

  I realized I was getting myself into a tight corner where explanations were needed. I had not told her about the body at St Anthony's Chapel and I certainly wasn't going into that now - or ever. If I did, I could be sure that Nancy would produce a simple explanation, possibly the one Jack was so keen on me accepting.

  'So none of the costumes ever disappear?'

  'Stolen, you mean,' she laughed. 'Never. Why should anyone want to steal them?'

  'Do any of the cast ever take them home for cleaning or alterations?'

  'Sometimes wives or sisters are willing to help out. I do myself from time to time. The cast are all shapes and sizes and we can't afford to keep buying new costumes.'

  I thought about that. 'Desmond is very tall and broad. I suppose he has problems getting a costume to fit him.'

  She smiled tenderly. 'He does indeed.'

  'I don't suppose his wife was very accommodating with the sewing machine.'

  And then I had a piece of luck that almost sealed up my case against Desmond, as Nancy said, 'Oh, she often helps out. She's an excellent seamstress, that was her training and the company paid her a small fee, I believe. Before her marriage she worked as mantle maker with one of the big Edinburgh shops - Jenners, I think it was.'

  I had a fleeting memory of the dead woman's hands. Most certainly they would have fitted such a situation.

  'Desmond's rather clumsy, such a big man,' she added tenderly, 'his cape got badly torn on a nail. There were doubts whether it could be repaired, but he said that Nora could work wonders with needle and thread-'

  'When was that?'

  She thought. 'About a week ago.' Nancy seemed surprised at my excitement for what seemed a very humdrum happening. 'Desmond brought it back before she went to Leith.'

  'Before she disappeared?'

  'I haven't any idea.' She laughed. 'Surely she wouldn't have taken it with her.' She sounded puzzled and gave me a hard look. 'I don't see what a costume repair could have to do with Nora's disappearance. Or do you think that was what they quarrelled about and why she packed her bag and left?'

  Without waiting for a reply, which I would have found extremely difficult, she added loyally, 'I mean, isn't it often the little things that spark off rows between husbands and wives? My parents were like that,' she said ruefully. 'Always bickering.'

  'Danny and I didn't bicker,' I said.

  'But you were lucky to be so happy.'

  'We were grateful to be alive to survive every day in the kind of hardships we faced in Arizona,' I said, mentally adding another clue to the case against Desmond Marks, wife murderer elect.

  He had borrowed a uniform cape, easy to carry away, the helmet too, a little powder on his already luxuriant moustache...

  I remembered now the significance of those bo
ots, too soft and elegant to be those of a constable on the beat. Now I tried to bring to mind anything else significant about Desmond's feet when he walked off stage. I wished I'd taken more notice.

  ‘Have you ever met Nora?' I asked. 'What was she like?'

  Nancy shrugged. 'We only met a couple of times when she came to discuss costumes. Desmond normally took them home to her.'

  And with a blush: 'That was before - before Desmond confided in me. I didn't take much notice of her, to be honest. She was - well, mousy. I don't want to sound unkind but she was not the kind of woman any of us could imagine a man like Desmond finding attractive.'

  'I have a theory about that, Nancy. Handsome males take plain mates in the animal world too. And I've observed it is often the same with humans - what I call in men the "Peacock Syndrome". It applies especially to men who are handsome and vain.'

  Nancy frowned impatiently at this suggestion applied to her nice kind Desmond. 'You asked-'

  We were interrupted by the children. Bored with inactivity, they had begun leaping up and down off the chairs, playing horses. Torquil had climbed on to the sideboard and was stranded there.

  'Children, children. Behave - at once.' And as silence reigned once more: 'You asked me what Nora looked like. Thin, straight straggly hair, sallow complexion - and spectacles.'

  She thought about that. 'She did not even have a marvellous personality to make up for her lack of looks. Nothing about her memorable or striking...'

  All of which fitted ominously with the appearance of the murdered woman.

  Nancy left soon after to return to Carthew House, gathering up her small charges, who seemed eager to stay, by promising them - and me - that they would come back again very soon.

  I walked as far as the lane with her and Thane appeared over the hill as they disappeared and joined me on the way back. He liked Nancy but apparently had cautious canine reservations about small children.

  He trotted into the kitchen and stretched out in front of the fire. I talked to him as I always did, trying out my theories, not that I expected answers but encouraged since he managed to look intelligent and interested, as if he understood every word.

  I had made soup from a ham bone which he received delightedly and I settled down, logbook in hand, to record the latest events in my investigation.

  This excellent habit, never to rely solely on memory, had been instilled in me by observing Pappa who noted down all his cases day by day. Now, as a professional investigator, I realized it would be invaluable especially as Pappa had also maintained that keeping a logbook was often a means of helping him solve clues. He was a great believer in the action of writing bringing significant facts to the surface of his mind.

  Absorbed in my task, I reluctantly went to answer a tap on the front door.

  Desmond Marks was on the doorstep, hat in hand.

  Chapter Ten

  Surprised at this mid-morning visitor, when I presumed insurance men like Desmond Marks would be going about their business, I invited him into the kitchen.

  Thane immediately lumbered up from his place by the fire to inspect this stranger in his realm, whereupon Desmond staggered back in alarm as the huge deerhound lurched in his direction.

  'Thane! Come here! He really is quite harmless,' I said apologetically.

  Desmond had gone quite white. He was trembling, and a darker recollection of a bogus constable similarly affected on the road to St Anthony's Chapel sprang to the front of my mind.

  Aware of my concern as I seized Thane, he said, 'Sorry, I'm sure you're right but I dislike large dogs. I had some nasty childhood experiences when we lived in the country.'

  At this poor excuse Thane give me a despairing look and subsided once more beside my chair. Desmond continued to stare at him suspiciously and I said. 'I'll put him outside if you wish-'

  'No, please don't. I'll take your word for his good nature,' he added with a smile.

  I invited him to take a seat at the table, which he did as far away from Thane as possible. Trying to ignore the deerhound's presence he said, 'You were so kind at rehearsal, offering to try to find Nora for me.' He sighed deeply. 'I really am exceedingly worried. I hardly sleep at nights any more, thinking about where she might be, what might have happened to her. My work is suffering and that is why I am here.'

  He waited politely. When I didn't offer sympathy, he continued, 'I told my employer I was out on a claim - he doesn't know about Nora. I am keeping that to myself at present. I hate telling lies, you know.' He paused to give me an engaging smile. 'But I felt this was so important, the sooner you could get started to look for her, the better.'

  I listened politely, rather coldly deciding that his eagerness to have my assistance, to get me on his side, was also calculated to be proof of his innocence. I wasn't taken in, fully aware that it is not unknown for murderers to behave in such a way to throw the police off the scent. In many cases they even return ghoulishly to the scene of the crime.

  From his pocket Desmond took out a photograph and handed it across the table.

  'You will need this. Taken at our wedding, ten years ago,' he said with a sad smile. 'I hope most earnestly it helps in your investigation. But I would like it back. It is rather precious.'

  Promising to give it my best possible care and responsibility, I studied the piece of card carefully, politely taking the interest that was expected of me.

  A conventional studio sepia photograph beloved by bride and groom and their relatives, dedicated to a lifetime on the sideboard. A handsome plush armchair and potted plant were the inevitable furnishings. Nora was seated with her skirts elegantly spread, richly corseted and wearing a tiny flower-bedecked hat and veil. Her head was coyly inclined towards Desmond who stood alongside, one hand on her shoulder denoting present hopes and future ownership, proud but unsmiling.

  Quite frankly the photograph told me nothing, except that with the passing of a decade, a plain woman like Nora could have also been the dead woman.

  Handing it back I asked, 'Have you any ideas how I should proceed, Mr Marks?'

  'Please call me Desmond.' The smile again, followed by a forlorn shrug. 'Anything you can think of that will help you find her,' he added desperately.

  I waited for suggestions. 'Where would you like me to start?'

  He frowned, biting at the moustache. 'I thought, by visiting her sister Nellie - in Leith, if that isn't too much trouble.'

  I gestured trouble aside and he went on, 'As I told you, she was about to leave that day as I called to see Nora. Our meeting was very brief. She did not encourage me to talk to her or invite me in. Her excuse was that she had a train to catch. For all I knew she might have been lying and Nora sitting by her fireside.'

  He paused to let that sink in. 'Quite frankly, as you will find out immediately you speak to her, Mrs McQuinn, she doesn't hold me in any high regard. I'm afraid if Nora confided secret plans in her sister, as I strongly suspect, then she would be the last one to tell me.'

  He regarded me hopefully. 'But if she knew you were investigating - officially - then she would feel under an obligation to tell you anything she knew. Especially if she felt there was a possibility that I might be shown up as the guilty party,' he added ruefully.

  'In what way guilty?' I asked carefully.

  He shrugged. 'Oh, you know, the usual thing, a cruel unfaithful husband. And that would please Nellie. She'd like that very much, having me exposed as a bounder,' he added heatedly. 'All her warnings to Nora not to marry me, brought home to roost.'

  He laughed bitterly and I decided not only was he a good singer but a good actor too.

  I thought for a moment. 'Mr Marks,' I said, ignoring the invitation to first names, 'I have to ask you this, it might be painful but I must have a truthful answer. You realize that I must be in complete possession of all the facts before I begin the case. It will also save a lot of time - and money,' I added, the latter not having been yet discussed.

  'Money is no object, Mrs McQuin
n. I don't care how much it costs, I have to know. All my plans for the future depend on it.'

  I presumed those plans to include Nancy as he added, 'Please go ahead. I am in your hands, Mrs McQuinn. I am sure you must realize I am absolutely desperate, so ask what you will and I will do my best to give you a proper answer.'

  Choosing my words I said, 'Can you think of any possible reason, of any occurrence during the last few days or weeks, one significant conversation or action, which might suggest a reason why your wife has left you?'

  He sighed, shook his head and was silent, apparently thinking deeply before replying. 'She has often hinted in the past when we had sharp words, not to expect to find her when I returned from work. That she intended to pack a bag and leave me.' He shrugged. 'I didn't take it all that seriously, angry wives say such things in the heat of the moment. And there were plenty of those, I assure you. Nora had a very sharp temper and would flare up at the least opposition to any of her wishes.

  'But to be practical, where would she go, Mrs McQuinn?' He spread his hands wide. 'She has no family apart from her sister, no income of her own, nothing to support her except a husband -myself.'

  'What did she do before you were married?' I asked although Nancy had already answered that question.

  'She worked as dressmaker, poorly paid, long hours. When we married she had no more than fifty pounds which she had saved over the years. She was so proud of what seemed like a vast fortune. But it disappeared long ago on furnishing our first house.'

  'You think she might have had some situation in mind that she wished to conceal from you? Some means of making a living and regaining her independence.'

  He looked at me in bewilderment. Then he laughed. 'I'm sure that idea never occurred to her, Mrs McQuinn. Whatever our disagreements I have provided her with a very nice home. She would hardly sacrifice our standard of living to return to the dreary existence she had before marriage. I can assure you, she lacks nothing in our home in the way of comfort.'