The Coffin Lane Murders

by Alanna Knight

  'What about the shop? Haven't there been customers enquiring?'

  'He doesn't get many customers this time of year. Folk can do without books in this weather. Need to keep a good fire burning, keep cosy, like I told him. Well, well.

  I'd leave it for a day or two, he'll have taken to his bed. He'll be all right, strong as a horse, he is.' Turning he said, 'It'll be a book you're after, I suppose. If you'd like to leave a message, sir, I'll put it through the back door for him; he usually leaves it open.'

  'I won't trouble you with that,' Faro said vaguely. 'I'll look in again when I'm passing.'

  When he returned to the Central Office, Conan was waiting for him.

  'I just missed you, sir. I walked past the shop - no, no news of Celia. Not a word. The shop was locked,' he said.

  When Faro recounted his interview with the snuff-seller, Conan looked grave. 'If the old man is lying ill, then I think we should make it our business, considering the circumstances to, well, what you would call, force an entry.'

  Faro smiled. 'I don't think that'll be necessary. The snuff-seller says the back door is kept open.'

  Conan seized his bag, looked in and snapped it shut. 'Let's go, shall we? I had better have you with me, just in case.' He sounded anxious.

  As they walked swiftly down the High Street Conan seemed preoccupied. Faro had spoken to him twice before he turned and said, 'Sorry, sir. It's just that I don't like this business. If this is where Celia used to go - and now she's disappeared and the old man hasn't been seen-' He shook his head violently. 'I don't like it - I don't like the implications one bit.'

  'Let's hope there is a perfectly innocent explanation.'

  'You think so?' But Conan wasn't persuaded. 'Since Celia was last heard of visiting him a few days ago - and we know she has attacked three women, and been responsible for the death of all of them, don't you think it's rather sinister?'

  'This man was her friend, Conan. Why should she kill him?'

  Conan shook his head. 'Violence breeds violence. Something inside her head has gone out of control, snapped. I hope the one thought predominant in my mind is not the right one,' he murmured as they approached the shop.

  Across the road the snuff-seller's back was turned, as he talked animatedly to a customer. Unseen, they slipped down the close, then tapped on the back door.

  There was no reply.

  Opening the door they walked through the dark passage that led to the shop. On their left was a narrow stair.

  They exchanged glances. Both recognised that curious unpleasant odour emanating from its direction as the smell of death, even before they found Dr Benjamin lying stiff and cold on the landing above.

  Conan bent over him. 'He's been dead for several days, I'm afraid.'

  Faro nodded. So much was painfully obvious. 'How did he die? What I'm asking is - did he die from the effects of influenza?'

  Conan shook his head. 'We won't know that until we have a post mortem, but it has the appearance at first glance of natural causes. Thank God for that. I'd speculate that he developed pneumonia, aggravated by the neglected influenza.'

  For the moment the missing woman was forgotten, then Faro sighed, remembering the reason for their concern.

  'Now we'll never know whether she visited him or not.'

  Conan straightened up. 'And we are no nearer discovering where she is hiding.' That was his main concern. 'I wouldn't have the foggiest notion where to begin looking for her.'

  'Does she know where you live?'

  Conan frowned. 'I may have mentioned to her that we were living in the city, out at Solomon's Tower. Yes, I think I did. But it's very doubtful if she'd remember or indeed if she knew where that was.'

  'It's less than a quarter mile from Coffin Lane, Conan,' was Faro's grim reminder. 'Dr Benjamin might have told her. He would surely have street directories.'

  It could be coincidence, on the other hand it might well account for the scene of the murders, if Celia was on the way to Solomon's Tower to find Dr Pursley. And each attack had been a few yards nearer.

  So where could she be hiding now? And where would she strike next?

  Both men, lost in their own thoughts, started when the back door opened and a voice shouted, 'Who's there? I saw you come in. What are you doing?'

  Bob the snuff-seller hurried towards them. Suddenly he put his hand to his nose and raising his eyes from the body on the floor regarded them with a horrified expression.

  'Is he dead then?' he whispered.

  I'm afraid so,' said Faro.

  As Conan explained the circumstances of their finding him, Bob said, 'You should have asked me first, he wouldn't want people coming in here unasked.'

  As if it mattered now.

  'Poor old Dr Ben. Such a fine man, and clever too. A great scholar.'

  Faro had an idea. 'You are familiar with the bookshop, then?'

  'I am that,' was the proud reply. 'Then while you're here perhaps you would like to look around the shop, see that everything is in order. Perhaps you would be so good as to lead the way.'

  Bob stared at him doubtfully. 'What's all this about? What's your business, may I ask?'

  'I'm a policeman,' said Faro, 'and until we know the exact circumstances of your friend's death-' he indicated Conan: 'This gentleman is a doctor.'

  'He's a bit late to be of any use. Dr Ben died of the influenza, we don't need a doctor to tell us what killed him,' was the indignant reply. 'We don't need to ferret about his shop to know that.'

  Faro sighed. 'Believe me, sir, I know what I'm asking.'

  Bob stared at them, horrified. 'You're thinking someone did him in, that's what.'

  When Conan muttered a denial, Bob went on: 'If that's the way with it, they'll have me to deal with. Good kind old gentleman like him.'

  'Please lead the way,' said Faro.

  Bob was still murmuring under his breath about policemen and useless doctors as they followed him downstairs.

  There was no obvious sign of disturbance.

  'Where did he keep his money?'

  'In the drawer on the desk there,' said Bob.

  It was empty.

  'He would carry his takings upstairs with him at the end of each day, I imagine. Like I do myself,' said Bob.

  'Are you familiar with the contents of the shop?'

  'Reasonably,' was the reply as he looked round the shelves apprehensively. 'I like a good book myself. And I know one when I see it. The old gentleman would recommend anything he thought would please me - mostly local history, and there have been some fine valuable ones passing through his hands from time to time.'

  Bob turned to inspect the secretaire bookcase occupying one wall. Faro decided this was a delightful shop, one after his own heart. The smell of old leather and newsprint always fascinated him and he would have been happy to while away many an idle hour in such surroundings given happier circumstances.

  'Over here, sirs,' called Bob from the direction of the glass-fronted bookcase. 'This is where he keeps his most valuable books.'

  'Are you familiar with the contents? Would you know if there was anything missing?' asked Conan as the man inspected the shelves.

  Suddenly Bob pointed to an empty space between two leather-bound books with faded spines. 'There, sirs. Gone from its usual place,' he said dramatically. 'That was his particular treasure. One of the first books ever printed about Edinburgh. I looked at it regularly. I was one of the privileged. He would hardly let anyone else handle it besides himself,' he said proudly.

  Conan smiled. 'And did you know what this important book contained?'

  Bob nodded eagerly. 'I do indeed, sir. It was all about the Templars and all the old legends. About treasure at Fast Castle and that old place at Arthur's Seat no one knows anything about - Solomon's House-'

  'Tower,' Conan corrected him. 'And you're sure it's missing?'

  'I am that, sir. Why, it was my favourite. Some rum old engravings it had in it. As I told you, I'm a bit of a historian mysel
f and just the other week the old gentleman told me someone had been in to buy it. Keen as anything. He laughed about it. Said he'd been made a very substantial offer - two hundred guineas, something like that. And as the business hadn't been too good lately, I told him he was a mug to refuse it.'

  He shook his head. 'But he was like that. He didn't like the look of the man, not one of his regulars, not even from these parts, he said. His books were his friends, precious to him as the children he never had. And he wasn't going to let it go to just anyone, not even for money. It belonged here in Edinburgh and he wasn't going to let it be taken away from its home.'

  Faro called in the constable on the beat and arrangements were made for the police carriage to take Dr Benjamin to the hospital mortuary. The snuff-seller knew of no relatives.

  Outside Conan said, 'At least it has nothing to do with the murders, thank heaven. Appearances suggest that the man died from natural causes - old age and pneumonia.'

  While agreeing that Conan probably knew best, Faro would have liked to know more about the missing book. Had it been stolen by the man who wanted it so badly and refused to accept that it was not for sale? And if so, what was so important in the book that it necessitated a break-in? Was the burglary mere coincidence, occurring while the old man lay ill in bed upstairs, or had he disturbed the intruder who had then been responsible for his death?

  Considering Faro's doubtful expression, Conan said, 'Alas, none of this brings us any nearer to finding Celia, does it?'

  His voice urgent, he added, 'Time is of the essence now, sir. As long as she remains free - I am sure I don't have to tell you this - in her present mood of destruction no one is safe. We don't know where she is or when she might kill again.'

  Chapter 12

  The dramatic developments regarding the Lady Killer and the dead bookseller were the main topics of discussion at Faro's supper table that evening.

  'We won't know for sure until after the post mortem whether the old man died as the result of some injuries that were not apparent or of pneumonia,' he told Vince. 'But it seems very unlikely that Conan's patient is involved.'

  Vince nodded sympathetically. 'It's a terrible blow for him. His faith in his patients is touching, you know. He was so sure that she had been a victim of gross injustice all these years, that he was about to take on the full responsibility for her release.'

  He paused, looking at Faro. 'Maybe he has told you this already? No?'

  'Oh, then you don't know that he was trying to persuade Kate that they should have her to live with them at Solomon's Tower,' Olivia interrupted. 'She was not in the least keen about that - one eccentric person in the household was more than enough to contend with.'

  'And she wasn't at all sure how the Mad Bart would react to having a woman living with them who had been declared mentally unstable, I am sure,' said Vince.

  Olivia smiled. 'I can't see even our very sane Mrs Brook taking kindly to such an arrangement, can you? Nannies and maids who have all their faculties are considered unreliable in this house.'

  Faro was surprised at Conan having made such a decision and he realised it explained a great deal about the doctor's reaction to recent events, his reluctance to admit that Celia knew where he lived, for instance.

  Olivia, however, knew all about it. She was particularly concerned for Kate's possible involvement and she had some theories of her own.

  'I think it is fairly obvious to Kate that Celia is in love with her doctor, absolutely obsessed by him.'

  'My dear, she is old enough to be his mother,' Faro put in.

  'And when has that made any difference to a sad and lonely woman falling in love with her doctor or her minister?' said Vince. 'It happens all the time.' Olivia looked quickly at him and he smiled. 'I haven't been in any danger personally but I could quote you chapter and verse on several cases, if I wasn't bound to secrecy.'

  He paused. 'Of course Conan is far too modest to imagine such a situation. He thinks she regards him only as her saviour and protector.'

  'You are inferring that such situations are fairly commonplace with susceptible women patients, even the well-balanced ones,' said Faro.

  'Indeed. But for someone mentally disturbed-' Vince shrugged eloquently.

  'You're right, of course, and I should have thought of it,' said Faro. 'It explains some of the odd coincidences.'

  'Such as?' queried Vince.

  'Why all these attacks took place in Coffin Lane, on the road, one would say, to Solomon's Tower.'

  'Wait a moment,' said Vince. 'You're suggesting that she was trying to get to Conan - and regarded these unfortunate women she met as rivals literally standing in her way-'

  'I think we can get closer than that, lad. Let's suppose that, confused and lost, she asked them for directions. And when they did not know, or didn't reply, she imagined they were deliberately concealing Conan from her.'

  'Yes, that's it. She was prepared to kill anyone who tried to keep her from her beloved doctor,' said Olivia triumphantly.

  'If you are right and she had reached the Tower - and found Kate alone-' whispered Vince in horrified tones.

  'Now I know why Conan insists that Kate keeps the outer doors locked when she's alone there. I did think it odd at first seeing they are so isolated. But now - how awful!' said Olivia.

  'You realise what this means,' said Vince. 'As long as this madwoman is loose, poor Kate is in terrible danger. Poor Conan. What a dilemma; not only must he feel a measure of guilt for those three women's horrific deaths but fear for Kate too.'

  They were interrupted by Mrs Brook coming in to clear the supper dishes.

  'Is there anything special you would like prepared for Miss Rose, Inspector?'

  And Faro realised he had almost forgotten entirely that Rose was arriving the following day.

  Faro awoke that morning feeling unusually happy.

  Rose was coming for Christmas. He knew he shouldn't be glad that this was for her yet another Christmas apart from McQuinn, that she was still waiting for him to return from America.

  As for Faro, he couldn't help being selfishly grateful for this extra time, the bonus of fate and McQuinn's determination that he must have a settled life to offer Rose before they married.

  Rose would have resigned from her teaching situation and set off the next day on the first ship from Glasgow to New York if Danny had weakened, but he was utterly unshakeable in his purpose. He had not the least intention of letting her suffer the privations of a pioneering wife, especially as he was firmly resolved to move westwards, into that wild unknown territory where the law was only a figment of honourable men's imagination.

  Lawless men and savage Indians. That was the picture he painted, but brave Rose, very much her father's child, was undaunted. She was very young still, not yet twenty and much younger than Danny, as he reminded her constantly. Telling her sternly that if she found someone else with a settled life, then she should forget all about him.

  How she cried when she received his letter, but she kept her tears to herself, knowing that in his heart of hearts Pa would heartily agree with Danny for once.

  It had taken him some considerable time to consider ex-Detective Sergeant Danny McQuinn, late of Edinburgh City Police, as good enough to be his daughter's husband and his son-in-law.

  Faro had never been good at concealing the truth even from himself and Rose guessed that he would be relieved if she found a suitable husband and settled in Edinburgh or Glasgow for the rest of her life.

  Such easy decisions were not for her. She knew and had known since she was a child when Danny McQuinn had saved her life in a kidnapping attempt, that he was her own, to be her one and only love. In that she never wavered, again showing that she was Faro's child, the daughter of his heart.

  She often wondered if he worried as much about his other daughter, her younger sister Emily, happily married to an Orkney widower with good connections and an ancient lineage which had so gratified their grandmother, Mary Faro.
/>   Emily had always been more conventional in her outlook than Rose, one reason why she and her father never had differences of opinion. Emily could be moulded to suit a parent's or a grandparent's will, but not so Rose, who was a natural rebel. A natural rebel and therefore closer to Faro, who had always been prepared to bravely follow the road to where his heart's desire lay.

  It was dark early that afternoon. Faro was uneasy about having Rose travel from the railway station to Newington alone, aware that she would scorn a hiring carriage and walk home, revelling in the newly fallen snow.

  In view of the recent horrendous events in Coffin Lane, an area she would pass by on her way to Sheridan Place, he decided to meet the Glasgow train at Waverley Station, a few minutes' walk from the Central Office along Canongate and Jeffrey Street.

  Yes, he had to see her safely home and after thinking up a plausible excuse since he didn't normally cut short his working day when there was a murder inquiry afoot, he waited eagerly for her to emerge from the crowded train.

  It seemed that all of Glasgow had descended on Edinburgh and was coming to stay for Christmas with relatives or friends.

  As he waited he watched the passengers hurry along the platform with the keen eye for detail that never wavered. Rose teased him that he could not even sit in a cafe without taking note of the other customers, what they were wearing and how that gave away so many details of their lives to the keen observer.

  The unusual intrigued him. Anything out of the ordinary commanded his attention. As he told Rose, who he had trained to use her eyes and all her senses from an early age, 'There are really no ordinary people, everyone on earth is quite unique and has characteristics not shared by anyone else.'

  The first woman through the barrier was lame. She wore a built-up boot and was limping along but in an obvious hurry. She was middle-aged and not very fashionably dressed, her strained anxious face suggesting that she was late for her destination; she didn't look around or expect to be met. As she seemed familiar with the area, her agitation suggested that she was late arriving or had been unable to get a seat on the earlier train, since all of them were very crowded in the few days before Christmas.