Enter Second Murderer (17 page)

When he tried to comfort her, she clung to him, rained passionate kisses upon him and then again thrust him aside.

"No. No, dear. It can never be. I was foolish to think you could love me."

"But I do. Haven't I said so?"

There were more sobs. "Do not make it more difficult for me, I beg you. I should never have given way, encouraged you to propose. Before you begin to hate me, you must believe that I love you with all my heart. I shall never, never love anyone else. I'll love you and only you until I die. But I can never, never marry you."

"What are you talking about? You love me and yet you say we can't be married. Why on earth not?" And then the thought struck him. "Is it the boy? Is that it? Does your brother dislike me so much? Tell me, don't be afraid. Is that it?"

"If only it was that simple," she whispered.

"It doesn't sound very simple to me. It is the boy, isn't it?"

"It is, Jeremy. But the boy is not what you think."

She clutched his hand so tightly that it hurt. "You see, he isn't my brother." And in a whisper, "He's my son. My bastard son."

Faro stared at her. "But he couldn't be—you couldn't ..."

"Oh yes. He is, and I could—and did. I was fifteen——taken, by force—it was one of the laird's house-guests up for the shooting. You could never want to marry me now. No decent man would want marriage with such a degraded, wicked woman as me," she sobbed.

"You're wrong, Lizzie, you're wrong about that. I could—and will marry you. And I'll be a father to the boy. The past is gone and we can't change that. It is the future that's our concern—our future together. So now we'll never talk about this again—do you hear? Never."

Jeremy Faro was good to his word. A good husband to Lizzie and a good father to Vince, who soon became the very apple of his eye. Lizzie was a good wife, although he had to admit that their marriage didn't exalt his senses, nor could he by any feat of the imagination mistake it for the love that he had read about in books. He was not complaining, he was content with Lizzie, shrewdly guessing that in every relationship no two people love to the same measure. There is one who kisses and one who is kissed, one who gives and one who takes.

Lizzie never wavered in her love for him, and his mother, watching them, remembered that it was like seeing her own love for his dear father relived and advised her son, very sternly, "Never has any woman loved a man as much as that lass loves you, except for the Queen and myself, that is. Treasure it, lad. It's more precious than gold."

Faro had thought that marriage would last until they were both old people sitting by the fireside together. It had not dawned upon him that his strong healthy Lizzie, who had given birth to two daughters with a minimum of trouble, would give her own life in bearing him a son.

Stricken to the heart, after he laid her in the grave, he decided there would be no more loving for him. He would not ask fate for miracles. He would count himself fortunate to have Rose and Emily, who adored him, and Vince whom he was proud to call his son. He was clever, and the private school had a bursary system, and that, added to Faro's own promotion, saw him through university.

Faro considered that he had been amply repaid for those early sacrifices. In two days' time, Vince would celebrate his twenty-second birthday.

"How shall we celebrate?" he asked.

"Dear Mrs. Brook would love to have a tea party," said Vince. "She is longing to put on display a full account of her culinary genius."

"That's a splendid idea."

"I thought we might ask Rob and Walter, of course, and Hugo."

"A bachelor tea party?"

Vince grinned."You look quite disappointed, Stepfather. Actually I thought you might like to invite Mrs.Aird to bring along some young ladies from the theatre. Saturday is a convenient time, before the evening performance, which begins an hour later than normal to allow the cast to recover from the matinee performance. Afterwards, I thought we might go and see Mrs. Aird as Cleopatra and then supper at one of our old student haunts." He laughed. "No, Stepfather, I don't mean 'The Gay Japanee'—somewhere much more in keeping with your respectable image."

Faro smiled wryly. On two occasions he had been present when the police had searched the notorious Leith Walk howff, a hostelry which was a thinly disguised brothel, beloved of the student population, and especially of those sons of respectable houses who of necessity had to sow their wild oats before settling down to honourable Edinburgh professions in church, state and law.

"I'll write the invitations, if you wish. And now, Stepfather, back to the business of our second murderer." Drawing up a sheet of paper he began to write.

"I've made a list already, lad."

"I know, I've seen it. But do bear with me. After all, no two people viewing the same events see them in quite the same fashion. And that is perhaps—that tiny island of discrepancy—where we might indeed find the clue to his identity."

Faro approved of such thoroughness. "Very well. Back to the beginning. First of all, we have Hymes."

"Hymes," wrote Vince, "who we have agreed is unlikely to be the murderer of Lily Goldie, on the evidence of the Mother Superior, of Maureen Hymes, and our own conclusions."

"Which are?"

"That he would have strangled her with his hands, not tied a scarf about her neck afterwards, as I am convinced, from the post-mortem, was what actually happened."

"If she had been the first victim instead of the second, then Hymes might have murdered her, in mistake for his wife."

"Provided that the early morning light was dim enough and he came upon her from behind."

"All fairly thin, rather too many suppositions," said Faro.

"Right. Tim Ferris?" wrote Vince whose reaction had been, "I told you so, didn't I?" when Faro had reported his conversation with Mrs. Aird.

"Highly probable. If he had been alive at the time of Lily Goldie's murder, he would have been the obvious suspect."

"Indeed he would. He would have had to produce some very good evidence as to his whereabouts at the time."

"Very difficult when at six o'clock in the morning, when Lily Goldie took her walk up to Salisbury Crags, he and a large proportion of middle-class Edinburgh were still abed."

"Talking about Ferris, what about the mysterious missing younger brother? Remember it was Lily Goldie who introduced him to Miss Burnleigh as Ferris's brother," said Vince.

"Yet Ferris never mentioned his existence to Alison Aird, who one imagines he would confide in."

"Ferris Minor seems to have been a figment of Lily's imagination. I wonder what her reasons were. Why did she lie about it?"

"That is something we will never know, lad. Some woman's wiles."

Vince nodded. "And we gather she had plenty of them. Liked teasing and goading other females." He thought for a moment. "What about Clara Burnleigh, anyway?"

"Her reasons for disappearing from the convent and giving a false address seem genuine enough. There certainly was this very nasty scandal in her family, and she's very intent upon climbing up the social ladder—and not very bright, I suspect—besides, what was her motive? Lily Goldie wasn't any threat to her. What about your Miss McDermot?"

"We know she left before the murder took place." Vince smiled. "I would be prepared to vouch for her. If only you had met her ..." he added with a sigh. "So that leaves us with the Mad Bart. By the process of elimination, Stepfather, I can't help thinking he is most likely to be our man. Consider the condition of his hands. That he might have been incapable of exerting the pressure needed for strangulation and therefore, when he pushed her off, he went down to make sure she was dead. Instead, he found her still alive and tied the scarf about her neck."

"There's one thing you haven't considered. How did the old man get up Salisbury Crags? It's a stiffish climb for an old man with rheumatism in his knees." Faro shook his head. "I must confess that is the one improbability in your hypothesis."

"We've never worked out how the murderer lured her up there in the early morning in the first place, Stepfather. There must have been some irresistible reason, since
rigor mortis
had not set in when she was discovered. When she got to the mortuary she hadn't been dead more than a couple of hours." Vince threw down his pen.

"Well, it has to be one of them," said Faro. "Or else a complete stranger."

"A passer-by filled with a mad impulse at the sight of an attractive young woman walking in a lonely place is usually a rapist. And we know she wasn't sexually assaulted."

"Whoever murdered Lily Goldie had a very good reason, lad."

"And knew about Hymes murdering his wife and took a chance on him being blamed for both."

Faro shook his head. "I have a feeling that we've taken a wrong turning somewhere, lad. That the answer is staring us in the face and we're just not seeing it." He paused before adding, "There is one other person who could have murdered Lily Goldie and might have had excellent reasons for doing so."

"You mean—the Reverend Mother?" Vince sounded doubtful.

Faro laughed. "Seriously?"

"Yes, if she is a religious fanatic, felt that the presence of Sarah Hymes and Lily Goldie had besmirched her reputation."

"Then she would be insane."

Vince nodded solemnly and Faro said, "A mad baronet and a mad Mother Superior?"

"It isn't beyond the bounds of possibility. Or it might have been a fanatical nun who worshipped the Mother Superior and hated Lily Goldie."

Faro filled his pipe and lit it thoughtfully. "In my experience, Vince lad, very few murders are planned and executed by madmen or women ..."

"... with the exception of the
crime passionnel
"

"I grant you that. But the murder we are dealing with has all the indications of having been thought out very carefully by someone of exceptional intelligence." Watching the smoke spiralling, he said, "There is one other person."

As Vince consulted his list again. Faro said, "McQuinn."

"Now you can't be serious."

"Oh yes, I can. Consider him for a moment. He has access to the convent, he is friendly with the teachers, sweet on Lily, according to the maids. Think, lad, there are infinite possibilities."

"You mean she might have spurned his advances? I thought he had rather a lot of lady-friends and one more or less would have made little difference."

"But what if Lily was the one he really wanted?"

"There's only one flaw, I can see. If he had wanted it to look like Hymes's work, then being a policeman, he would have made a more convincing job of her murder. He would have strangled her, exactly as Hymes did Sarah, left bruising marks on her throat. He would never have thrown her down and tied that scarf around her neck afterwards."

When Faro was silent, he added, "I know you don't like the pompous McQuinn, but you must not let your personal prejudice influence you. After all, this is a murder case."

Vince succeeded in sounding so like Superintendent McIntosh that Faro laughed out loud at the apparent absurdity of his hypothesis. But not for long.

Chapter 13

The next two days at the Central Office were very trying indeed, thanks to McQuinn, whose recent performance seemed to have impressed his superiors so greatly that the Constable had now been allocated as special assistant to Detective Inspector Faro.

Remembering his own early days, Faro knew what that meant. Promotion was on the way. McQuinn had but to prove himself and if he, Faro, didn't watch out, they would be saying he was too old for the job.

McQuinn was clearly bursting with pride and new importance, thought Faro with disgust, watching his over-eager smile charm old ladies, as did his offer of a helping hand. Faro had observed all too often in the Princes Street Gardens evidence of McQuinn's pouter pigeon breadth of chest charming their daughters, especially when accompanied by some outrageous piece of gallantry.

Normally a fair-minded man who scorned prejudices in others. Faro had to admit that the constable showed the makings of a good detective. If only his presence and his patronising manner were less obnoxious, especially when he seized every opportunity of demolishing Faro's long-standing theories with a sneer.

The fact that McQuinn had found a speedy solution to a recent case of embezzlement and a daring jewel theft was even more galling. He could also move with amazing rapidity and, taking off after the thief, vaulted fences and low walls like a race-horse, leaving Faro winded, staring bleakly after him.

Returning triumphant with Black Tam's nephew, railing down curses and promises of his uncle's vengeance, McQuinn found a grim-faced Faro ready with the cuffs. "Allow me, Inspector, this is my man." And later, adding insult to his superior officer's injury, "I'm filling in my report, Inspector, and I'm saying that 'we' apprehended him. I hope you approve." When Faro growled that it wasn't strictly true, McQuinn continued amiably, "I'm prepared to concede the point. After all, this kind of work, it's really a young man's job. You have to be fit."

"Damn your impudence," said Faro, and, snatching the pen, he crossed out "we" and substituted "PC McQuinn". "I'll have you know I'm not decrepit yet—not by a long way."