[Inspector Faro 14] - Faro and the Royals

by Alanna Knight

  That failed to make any sense at all.

  In the Central Office, he found Superintendent Mcintosh pacing the floor anxiously.

  'Where do you think you've been, Faro? I've been waiting for you here since eight o'clock.'

  Faro did not feel up to explaining that his arrival had been delayed by Miss Fortescue's departure on the nine o'clock train for North Berwick. Superintendent McIntosh would doubtless have asked the question he was most anxious to avoid: What was she doing at his house and where had she spent the night?

  There's a couple of lads downstairs. Claim that the man you found in St Anthony's Chapel is their father. They're with Dr Cranley now. He wants you to talk to them.'

  The downstairs room was stark and bare with whitewashed brick walls and a disagreeable smell. Used for the questioning of criminals, its intimidating atmosphere offered little by way of consolation in breaking bad news to bereaved relatives.

  Constable Reid was in attendance and Dr Cranley indicated a seat at the table. As he sat down opposite the pair, the doctor said: This is Inspector Faro.'

  Introductions were unnecessary, the Hogan brothers knew him well already. Their paths had crossed many times before, and as far as Faro could see the only thing they had in common with the dead man was ginger hair.

  '... They have identified the body as that of their father, Joshua Hogan, aged fifty-five, who went missing from home two weeks ago. I have explained the circumstances of his discovery to them and they have made a statement...'

  As Cranley spoke, Faro studied the two men. The elder, Joe, was a petty criminal, a fence for stolen goods, the younger, Willy, a pimp for their sister, a notorious prostitute. All three had at some time been involved in fraud cases.

  'Have you any idea what caused your father's death?' Faro asked.

  'Bad lungs, he had,' said Joe, who had appointed himself spokesman. 'He was fooling around, drunk as usual. Fell into the horse trough outside the World's End Tavern. Lads he was with were all larking about, didn't realise he was dead, took him home, put him to bed. Will and me wasn't home - we was at the horse sales in Glasgow, so he lay for a week. When we got back, the lads was scared they'd be blamed, and so to cut a long story out, they carted him up to St Anthony's, dumped him there.'

  'Have you names and addresses of these lads?'

  'They're on the paper there,' Hogan said smoothly. 'Constable wrote them down along with our statement. Gave my word no harm would come to them. Gave my hand on it.'

  And I dare say you had a lot of money pressed into it, thought Faro grimly. He looked at Dr Cranley, whose expression said he didn't believe a word of it either.

  'And here's Da's birth certificate, if you want it,' said Willy carelessly.

  'What next?' Faro asked Mcintosh after the pair of highly improbable grieving relatives had left.

  'Not a great deal,' the Superintendent replied, glancing through their statements.

  'Dammit, the man was murdered.'

  'We can't prove it. You know that and so do I.'

  'The Hogans are criminals -'

  'And so are their friends. They'll all swear blind that the brothers are speaking the truth.'

  'I want to look further into it, sir. I'm not prepared to let it go at that.'

  'You're wasting your time, Faro.'

  'I've done that before and I'm prepared to do it again in the cause of justice.'

  'Then try not to bring down a hornet's nest on our heads.'

  'If it means bringing a murderer to justice, I'll even do that, sir.'

  When Mcintosh looked doubtful, Faro asked angrily: 'Look, you don't believe that story, do you, sir?'

  'It's just daft enough to be true. The whole family is wild -'

  'Extortionists, fraudsters -' Faro began heatedly.

  'But always clever enough to evade arrest. There's money behind them.' The Superintendent shook his head. 'We all know that.'

  'Stolen goods, smugglers, too. And no lack of alibis -'

  'We haven't a hope in hell of finding who's backing them,-Faro,' Mcintosh interrupted impatiently.

  'Why not?'

  'He's not in our "Secret and Confidential" files, that's why. He could be a foreigner. Or a stranger - we have Highlanders, Irishmen, God knows all, passing through the warrens of the High Street, every day and lurking in the sewers of Wormwoodhall.'

  Then we should be looking for whoever is behind them, the man who pays them.'

  'Indeed we should. He should be the subject of your most scrupulous investigations,' said Mcintosh primly.

  'And I'm starting right now, sir,' said Faro, picking up the statement that Dr Cranley had given him.

  He spent the rest of the morning in the area of the High Street that the Hogans called home, known to the constables on the beat as the Thieves' Kitchen.

  Much to his surprise he found the first two men on the list readily enough. They were sitting smoking their clay pipes on their front doorstep. For once they were not in the least troubled by the arrival of a senior detective. They greeted him genially, ready and agreeably available to answer his questions.

  Too readily available, even anxious to corroborate in exact detail the statement that the Hogan brothers had made, thought Faro grimly.

  'Aye, we kent the auld fella well, a demon for the drink he was, right enough. Ever since he left the sea, two months ago and arrived back in Edinburgh, nothing but trouble -'

  Faro left with a warning that they could be charged with criminal activity. Concealing a dead man. They were not easily frightened by this threat of the law and Faro realised that it would be a waste of time talking to the other two youths on the list.

  He walked down the street, conscious of their sniggers behind his back, knowing that for a couple of golden guineas they would have sworn that their grandmother was the Archbishop of Canterbury and their grandfather the Pope in Rome.

  His way back to the Central Office took him past the head of Bowheads Wynd. He stopped and regarded it thoughtfully.

  His cousin's observations had confirmed his own suspicions that the lad Sandy had been withholding vital information. A word with the lad might be all the use he was going to get out of an otherwise wasted morning.

  He would take Leslie's sound advice, persuade Sandy Dunnock by gentle means and a lubrication of silver, or if that failed, something more forceful like a threat or two, to disclose in full the events of that fatal night.

  It was not to be.

  There was a small crowd gathered around the tall land where Sandy lived. With a sense of foreboding, Faro pushed his way through.

  Two constables were already there bending over Sandy Dunnock, who lay with his arms outstretched to the sky. Unmarked except for the back of his head, mercifully hidden, and the angle of his neck.

  He was dead.

  'Capering about on the roof. Lost his footing,' Constable Boyd told Faro, as they prepared to carry Sandy's broken body up to the top floor.

  Faro followed them inside, suddenly feeling old and sick. As they climbed the stairs, he asked Constable Boyd what had happened.

  'I've already talked to his mother. She was sleeping. Heard nothing. In a bit of a state, as you can imagine. Neighbours are with her.'

  Faro stopped, leaned against the cold stone wall.

  'What was he doing on the roof?'

  'Someone was chasing him. Escaping the police, so the folk down there say.' Listening to Boyd's account, Faro had already substituted 'murderer' for 'police'. He had come too late and someone had effectively silenced for ever any dangerous answers Sandy might have given to his questions.

  The accident or murder of Sandy made Faro angrier than he had been so far, and with anger came determination to solve the case. He would no longer tread gently or discreetly, either, for fear of distressing any royalty involved. Death was the same in the end whether you were a duchess or an Edinburgh pickpocket.

  Boyd's account ended: 'Folk below saw it all. One of Sandy's cronies said he was running a
way from a tall man, looked like an old soldier. He had a scarred face. They'd seen him about -'

  Even as Faro retuned to the street below, aware that the description fitted Sergeant Batey, Leslie Godwin was hurrying to meet him.

  The few of the small crowd who had not discreetly vanished at the sight of the police, shouted curses at the tall sergeant walking at his master's side. A few of the bolder ones threw stones.

  And that was all the confirmation Faro needed before Leslie said a word.

  'I know why you're here, Jeremy. And I'm desperately sorry about the accident. Should never have happened. I saw the lad Sandy. He recognised me and Batey here. When I called that I wanted a word with him -1 just wanted to tell him that you had money to give him, dammit, but I never got a chance. He wouldn't listen, thought we had it in for him because of the pickpocket business. He took to his heels. Batey in pursuit -you know the rest. God, I can't tell you how awful I feel. I blame myself -'

  'You weren't to blame for his bad conscience,' said Faro in a poor attempt at consolation.

  'Has the lad any family?' his cousin asked.

  'A mother and siblings.'

  'Right,' said Leslie, taking out a purse from his pocket and weighing it in his hand. 'I shall go and see them. I know it won't replace the lad, but it's the best I can do.'

  As they turned towards the house, Faro said to Constable Boyd: 'You'd better accompany Mr Godwin. Might be trouble.'

  'Thank you, Jeremy. Oh God, what an infernally sad business. If there's one thing I never get used to it's talking to bereaved relatives.' He sighed. 'You stay here, Batey,' he shouted over his shoulder to the sergeant.

  And looking very unhappy indeed, Leslie started up the stone stairs with Constable Boyd.

  Faro, left alone with Batey, said: 'Tell me exactly what happened, if you please.'

  Batey shrugged. For a moment Faro thought he was going to ignore the question. 'Come on, man, I need to know. You're a witness to a fatal accident.'

  'Told the constable. Ask the people who saw it,' Batey said sullenly. 'They'll tell you what you want to know.' And unrepentant, he grinned, turned on his heel and walked away with such an insolent swagger that Faro had a sudden desire for violence.

  Staring after him, clenching his fists, he was still shaking with impotent rage, when Constable Boyd reappeared.

  'Mr Godwin is with the lad's mother now. She wouldn't let me in, started screaming abuse at the sight of this -' he added, pointing to his uniform.

  And Faro knew he could no longer avoid playing his part in this sad drama by visiting Mrs Dunnock, although God only knew what kind of comfort and consolation he could offer for the loss of her eldest bairn, doubtless the breadwinner in the household.

  The words he rehearsed as he climbed the stairs sounded like cold sympathy, sentiments that always stuck in his throat.

  The door was slightly ajar, and although the dreadful smell he had first encountered had moderated somewhat, the sound of weeping deterred him.

  Leslie emerged and shook his head, and taking Faro's arm he led him away. 'Don't advise it, Jeremy. Not just now. Leave it for a while. I've done all I can.'

  As they walked down the stairs, Mrs Dunnock appeared on the landing above them, her tear-stained face pale and strained, staring over the iron railing.

  'Don't you bring your polis back here. Not ever,' she shouted to Faro. 'We don't want your sort here. Bastards,' she screamed, and shook a fist so violently that the bangle she wore fell off and rolled down the stairs, landing at Leslie's feet.

  Snatching it up, he threw it back to her. With a final curse, she ran inside and banged the door shut.

  'Poor woman,' said Leslie. 'At least she has a crowd of bairns and relations to help her through it all -'

  'That bracelet,' said Faro. 'It looked quite valuable.'

  'Quite a contrast to the rest of her.' Leslie nodded. 'I was thinking the very same thing. Doubtless booty from one of young Sandy's forays into crime.' And halting, he asked: 'What am I going to do about Batey?'

  'I can't answer that question, Leslie.'

  His cousin sighed. 'I don't know what to do, really I don't. You see, he believed he was helping me. When that happens, all other thoughts go to the wind. I suppose you've realised the poor creature is quite devoted to me. And a bit simple.'

  Simple wasn't the word Faro had in mind for the unpleasant sergeant. Evil would have fitted his image much better.

  'Head wounded. Tortured too. I feel responsible for him. I really do. And he would lay down his life for me. Did once. You can't repay those debts of loyalty.' He paused. *I gather your enquiries are still in the doldrums.'

  'And likely to remain there,' Faro answered shortly. Declining his cousin's sympathy and cheerful suggestion that they sink their sorrows over a dram together, he excused himself.

  He didn't feel sociable. He needed to think, and as he walked towards the High Street through the market booths, he found himself again considering the significance of recent events.

  All around him stall-holders bawled their wares. Food and rags were the main sales. He hardly glanced at them.

  And then he saw it hanging at the front of a rag stall, in the place of honour. A handsome travelling cloak, violet wool with a velvet collar.

  Could it be - ?

  To his question 'How much?', he was told one guinea.

  Such a high price was unusual, pennies were the usual currency on rag stalls, and this price was doubtless the reason why it had remained unsold.

  'Have you had it long?'

  The stall-keeper, suspecting this well-dressed customer was a gentleman and a prospective buyer, eyed him keenly as he examined the garment. And when Faro repeated the question: 'A wee while, ye ken. Too guid for the folk round here. They're only wantin' rags.'

  'Where did you come by such a handsome garment, may I ask?'

  The stall-keeper didn't like the question. He avoided Faro's eyes, murmured cautiously, 'Came from somewhere, big house over Glasgow way.' Then afraid that he might be losing his best sale of the day, he added anxiously: 'Your lady wife would look grand in it, so she would -'

  A piercing whistle interrupted him. He froze and stared at Faro, who knew the signal had been given. The booth-holders had recognised the presence of a detective in their midst. That spelt trouble and his identity had been speedily declared.

  ‘I’ll take it,' said Faro, and thrusting the money into the man's hand, he grabbed the cloak even as the stall-holder attempted to snatch it back again.

  'You're right,' he said. 'My wife will be delighted.' As he walked away with it over his arm, he wondered how Miss Fortescue would react to seeing what he was certain had been the cloak her mistress was wearing on the night she disappeared.

  Chapter 16

  Faro abandoned his first inclination to go straight out to Aberlethie. For one thing, he felt self-conscious about travelling on the North Berwick train with a woman's cloak over his arm. Doubtless there would be some suitable receptacle in Mrs Brook's capacious cupboard.

  And thoughts of Mrs Brook reminded him of a more urgent reason for a return to Sheridan Place. In his hurry to leave that morning he had omitted to clear up the broken glass from outside the window.

  There was a glazier in the Pleasance and he hoped that the repair could be carried out before the housekeeper returned.

  The glazier was reassuring, but when Faro opened his front door he discovered that the conscientious Mrs Brook had been unable to stay away. He found her with Vince outside the kitchen door, staring in consternation at the damaged window.

  'I was just saying to Dr Vince here that this sort of thing never happened before when I was in the house,' said Mrs Brook in outraged tones. 'Looks like someone trying to break in, sir -'

  'I know about it, Mrs Brook,' Faro interrupted. 'No harm done. It was an accident.'

  She regarded him curiously. 'Oh, was it, sir?' she asked, obviously expecting some explanation - but that he wasn't prepared to supply
. 'I was just about to clear it up when Dr Vince said you had better see it first.'

  'You may clear it up now, Mrs Brook, if you please. The glazier will come later today.'

  'Very well, sir. We wouldn't want to attract burglars, would we now?'

  Faro smiled. 'I should think the size of the window panes would deter any but a very tiny criminal. You might have more success with your admirable floor polish,' he added pointedly.

  Mrs Brook didn't find that amusing. 'First thing I did was get Dr Vince to go through the house with me, make sure all was in order.'

  'And was it?'

  She exchanged a look with Vince. 'Oh yes, sir.'

  Vince had remained silent throughout this conversation. He followed Faro upstairs. Pausing, he looked at the violet cloak on the hallstand.

  'That's new, Stepfather,' he said lightly. 'Hardly your colour, is it?' he added.

  'I have quite a lot to tell you,' said Faro.

  'I thought you might have,' said Vince, and his mocking tone as he led the way into his consulting rooms made Faro distinctly uneasy.

  Faro quickly outlined the events of the previous day, the finding of the body at St Anthony's Chapel, and his subsequent interview with the Hogan family, ending with the death of the lad Sandy.

  Vince listened carefully. 'So you think this man they claimed to be the Hogan parent could be the missing coachman?'

  'The timing of his disappearance certainly fits. He could have been hired on that particular occasion. And provided that the pounds Scots offered were tempting enough, he would refrain from asking too many questions.'

  'In his case, that was a pity, since once his job was completed, he was then disposed of.'

  'True. And I suspect that all they had in common was the colour of their hair,' said Faro. 'But I expect they were paid handsomely to tell the story about him being their drunken old father, drowned in a horse trough.'

  'But why keep the body? Why didn't they dump both of them?'

  'Don't you see, lad? One murder could be passed off as a heart attack, but it would have been exceedingly difficult with a drowned man to make it look as if both had died of natural causes after taking shelter in the West Bow. Even the Wizard's House couldn't be guaranteed to rise to those dizzy heights of imagination.'