The only ones who could supply that evidence were Amos Flett and Thora. As both were in this conspiracy, whatever its nature, that was a possibility remote indeed.
Faro knew there was one other person who might believe him, and that was Inga. Setting out for the walk to Scarthbreck and hoping that he might pick up a carter returning to Spanish Cove, he was fortunate. The farmer and his wife lived there, and driving back in a gig, offered him a lift.
They were polite, friendly but not inquisitive about his reasons for visiting Scarthbreck. They seemed a little in awe of the ‘Big House’ and conversation was restricted to his holiday on the island. They were relative newcomers from Burray and had not heard of his family connections.
Reaching their destination, there was a small crowd of people on the pier. Shouts indicated that a body had been washed up.
Faro raced down the steep steps. A glance at the body confirmed that it was Rob, and a horseman was speedily despatched to inform Sergeant Stavely who, Faro guessed, would not be pleased.
Inga was among those gathered. ‘So he was swept away by the incoming tide, poor lad.’
Faro knew he could no longer be considered a prime suspect.
He was eager to tell Inga about Dave Claydon’s imposture but there was no opportunity. She had a customer coming for a fitting and ran ahead up the steep steps, leaving Faro no option but to remain until Stavely arrived.
Neighbours who had hurried down to the scene suggested that Rob’s body be taken to his house until the police arrived.
As Faro reached the top of the rough steps behind the sad cortège, Mr West emerged from his house. He had seen the crowd gathering from his window and guessed that something was amiss, but touching the region of his chest, he said, ‘Alas, I am no longer able to go up or down to the pier, stairs of any kind are beyond me.’ And regarding the men heading into Rob’s house, observing Faro’s anxious looks and curious to know the reason for his bloodstained appearance a short while ago, he said, ‘A sad business.’
‘Did you know him?’ asked Faro.
West shook his head. ‘Not really. I’m afraid we aren’t very sociable here.’
Faro wasn’t feeling sociable at that moment, either. ‘I have to wait for the police to arrive.’
West nodded. ‘Then perhaps you would care to come in and have a little refreshment.’
West’s house was typical of the man. Glass jars containing small plant specimens fought for space on every surface, between stacks of books and papers. Scooping some aside to make a seat for Faro, West retreated into his little kitchen whose window connected with the pigeon loft.
At his entrance some of them perched expectantly on the sill. Looking over his shoulder, he smiled at Faro, ‘My little darlings …’ and he went on to produce a list of names which Faro made no attempt to remember. There was one bird that fluttered down, identified by the ringed foot as a homing pigeon.
It immediately engaged West’s attention, and his expression anxious, he turned his back on Faro, seized the bird and unfolded a small piece of paper. Whatever it contained obviously concerned him. A sharp intake of breath and ‘Just a word from a loved one’, combined with the grave expression which West could not conceal, failed to satisfy Faro that this was, in fact, the message that the pigeon had delivered.
Over the inevitable pot of tea, while Faro again thought longingly of something much stronger befitting his shattered nerves, he was able to enlighten West’s curiosity regarding the drowned man. How he had, in fact, discovered him while walking Beau yesterday morning.
‘He had fallen down the cliff?’ said West.
‘It looked like that,’ said Faro, but some doubt in his voice prompted West’s next question.
‘He was still alive when you reached him?’
‘He was, but died almost immediately. A severe head injury.’
West regarded Faro intently for a moment and then said, ‘Then he was unable to tell you exactly what had happened.’
Faro thought of the four whispered words the dying man uttered. He shook his head and West tut-tutted, looking thoughtful.
Thanking him again for A Tale of Two Cities, West nodded approvingly.
‘I am delighted that you have enjoyed it. A most valuable addition to one’s reading list.’
Faro smiled wryly with a sudden longing to tell the old man that it had been much more than a valuable addition, that it had in fact led him to solving one of the mysteries that had brought him to Orkney on this visit.
A shadow passed by the window and Faro recognised Amos with Inga at his side. Again, that fleeting shaft of jealousy that he had been her customer expected for a fitting.
West looked startled as he leapt up and excused himself, ‘A friend I have to see.’
Outside, Inga was entering her house and Amos heading down the street. Faro caught up with him at the entrance.
‘I am so sorry.’ Amos turned towards him. His face a mask of anguish, and anger too, he nodded bleakly and through clenched teeth muttered, ‘Someone will pay for this.’ And brushing him aside, he went into Rob’s house.
Faro considered following him but felt it more urgent to talk to Inga who emerged with a basket over her arm.
‘A bad business,’ she said. ‘Couldn’t have come at a worse time.’
He looked at her questioningly and she said, ‘This will make it particularly hard for Amos at tonight’s Lammastide celebrations.’
Seeing his blank expression, ‘Didn’t Amos tell you?’
He shook his head. ‘He said I was to give you a message. His boat will be at the pier down there, picking up passengers for his tour of the islands at eight o’clock. He’ll collect you at the landing for Scarthbreck.’
‘Are you coming?’ he asked eagerly.
She shrugged. ‘Maybe – I’m not sure. I have other things to do.’
‘Maybe I have too, then.’
She gave an impatient shrug, obviously not making the same sentimental connection of a last evening together. ‘Amos said you were leaving, that it was important for you. Anyway, make your own mind up. I’m off.’
Faro was baffled. West’s door was still open and he decided he should go back and apologise for his hasty exit.
West smiled as he appeared but he had hardly got the words out when Stavely appeared in the street, breathless, on horseback.
As he stood with West at the door, Faro was aware that the two men exchanged a curious glance. What was their connection? he wondered as Stavely said impatiently, ‘Accompany me, if you please, Faro. I’ll need you to identify the drowned man as the one you found yesterday.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Rob Powers identified, Faro was free to go and was no longer detained by Stavely. With his departure date imminent, all that remained was to bring his logbook up to date. All things considered, apart from one or two loose ends, he was relatively satisfied with the results, although what he was going to tell Macfie, he had not decided. Telling him the truth that Dave Claydon was still alive and involved in criminal activities was going to be tricky.
As for Thora and the couple’s plans for the future, he remembered the packing cases behind her front door when he first called on her. That they were in preparation for a forthcoming journey was evident by her arrival at Spanish Cove. Did that signify that they were about to take flight, escape to a new life when money changed hands for the stolen artefacts? Especially as Stavely had refused to take seriously Dave’s imposture as Josh Flett.
The sinister implications suggested that he should reconsider the wisdom of that boat tour with Amos as foolhardy as well as dangerous. But ignoring danger, taking chances, he told himself, were what being a detective was all about. The irresistible temptation to unravel the final threads of Amos’s involvement, his safety ensured by the presence of other passengers, was too strong for him to ignore.
Such were his thoughts as he approached the private landing pier, an indulgence by former owners of Scarthbreck. Rough
seas, treacherous undercurrents and submerged rocks, however, made it extremely dangerous, and their ladies did so hate getting their feet or the hems of their gowns wet and considered it most undignified, if not indecent, having to be carried ashore by one of the male servants.
On the overgrown steep track which edged its way down the cliff face, he walked carefully, keeping a lookout for Amos and his boatload of visitors, wondering if anyone ever used the landing stage now. The archaeologists carrying their equipment and gear would have found it unwieldy and hazardous, as Gerald Binsley had been informed by Sir Arnold when he mentioned that on a longer visit it might serve for a bit of fishing.
Faro’s view of the sea was shielded and it was not until he managed the last stretch of rock pools and reached the shore that he saw a boat.
It was a much smaller boat than he had imagined, with Amos sitting in it alone, crouched over the oars.
Faro hailed him and he responded, raising a hand but obviously unwilling to come any closer, no doubt with experience of those dangerous currents, so there was nothing for it but to gain access by scrambling across the rocks with their covering of seaweed.
Amos was well clad against the weather, huddled in a huge rain cape, a bonnet pulled down well over his eyes. His face looked pale and strained as Faro observed that there were seats for no more than six, including the oarsman.
Jumping down into the boat, he asked, ‘Where are the rest?’
Amos raised his head, looked towards the Neolithic settlement. ‘Waiting round the corner there.’
He began to row, as if it were an effort, and considering that he had brought the tiny craft all the way from Stromness, the original pickup spot for the passengers, Faro, who was beginning to have doubts about the successful outcome of this pleasure cruise, gallantly offered to take an oar.
Amos nodded in agreement, and as they set off again, regarding that pale, sad face, sympathy for the loss of his friend replaced any of Faro’s growing premonitions of danger.
Staying well away from the rocks, they rowed in the direction of the settlement, a melancholy, deserted place. The sea was smooth as glass but the boat was entering the area notorious for submerged caves, and without a landing stage there were considerable hazards for any intending passengers, to say nothing of a soaking should they wade out to the boat.
Surely Amos had realised this was not a good meeting place, and Faro could see no evidence of a landing stage or anyone waiting for them.
‘No one there,’ he said.
Amos ignored him. Having difficulty with his oar, he seemed short of breath. ‘Mistaken directions,’ he gasped. ‘Pick them up, next stop.’
Faro’s question as to where that was went unheeded. There was one, however, that he was determined Amos should answer.
‘Where is Dave?’
Amos’s head jerked upwards. ‘Dave is dead.’
‘No, Amos. Josh is dead.’
Amos’s head turned towards him, ‘How … what makes you think that?’ he asked slowly.
Sitting side by side like comrades, as Faro told him what he knew, Amos shipped the oars, and as the boat drifted gently on the sea, he made no attempt to interrupt or comment.
Faro ended with the whispered words Rob had uttered before he died. ‘What he was saying was not “gosh … gave” but that Josh was Dave.’
‘Rob died for that.’ Amos’s voice was a whisper. ‘That’s why they killed him. He got in too deep and his religious principles made him want out.’
Faro found himself remembering Rob praying in the cathedral, and the Christian symbols in his house. ‘It was all he had in a way. He believed in right and wrong, good and evil. At first it was just a lark, everyone accepted smuggled goods; then some minister or other made him see the evil of his ways. He wanted us all to believe too, and threatened to tell the truth for the good of our souls. Dave and Thora were in serious trouble. They had to lie low for a while. Me too.’
No longer rowing, the boat was drifting lazily seaward. It had shipped a little water too, lapping in the base at Faro’s feet.
He asked cautiously, ‘Why are you telling me all this?’
‘I thought you should know. Inga said you were intrigued about Thora and the seal king, about that missing year. And her sister Elsa.’ Pausing, he looked at him. ‘You really wanted to know about Elsa, so I decided I would take you to meet her.’
This was news indeed. So Elsa was still alive. ‘Where is she?’
‘You will have to wait and see, Faro. Wait and see. I promise you won’t be disappointed.’
Faro had already decided, perhaps he had known right from the start when Amos was waiting for him in the boat, that there were to be no other passengers. He had planned it all carefully and the thought made Faro conscious of his own danger as Amos said, ‘Everyone wondered why Elsa didn’t come to Dave’s funeral.’
Looking towards the area of the caves, Faro had a sudden vision of Mrs Traill, her mind wandering, her guilt about Elsa, that she and Thora had a secret. He asked, ‘Is Elsa still alive?’
‘Didn’t I tell you? I’m taking you to meet her.’
‘Is it far?’
‘Not very far now.’
Amos began to cough and Faro noticed the flecks of blood on his mouth. His first thought, a surge of pity. Was Amos dying like his brother, the same consumption?
It was at that moment he noticed the stain on Amos’s cape, which he thought was seawater, had grown larger. Amos touched it, dragging the cape closer, and his hand came away red. It was blood.
‘What happened to you?’
Amos looked at him. ‘I’ve been shot. After they killed Rob, I was finished with them. I’d had enough of murders. Someone took a potshot at me from Spanish Cove. Not as serious as what it did to the boat.’
There was rising water in the base of the boat. Seeing the sudden alarm on his face, Amos managed a mocking smile.
‘Good job it’s a smooth sea, or we would have gone down by now. Fortunately I’m a good swimmer, I’ll make it even with a bloodied shoulder. But I hear you can’t swim. Boat sinks and you drown. However, you are so keen to know the truth and I can’t deny you that before we part, especially seeing that we are almost kin – almost cousins. Shame really.’
Faro struggled towards an oar, got hold of it, but single-handedly he knew he could do nothing. Amos watched him, smiling gently, making no effort to help.
‘It’s useless, Faro. You’d be better off listening to what I have to say. At least you’ll go to eternity happy that you guessed right and smuggling artefacts is the name of the game. In this case thousands of doubloons from the El Rosario, with an eager buyer waiting on the Continent.
‘As for Elsa …’ Amos paused.
‘Elsa is dead,’ Faro said.
‘That’s right. Another good guess. And dear, devoted Thora killed her, killed her only sister. She claimed it was an accident, but they hated each other because of Dave. Both wanted him. Dave was there and so was I. A lad of sixteen, and I helped them dispose of her body in the caves over there. Weighed it down with rocks.
‘And they have held that incident over my head ever since, made me do as I was told. Waiting for money from abroad for those artefacts Dave had appropriated, they had a bit of unbelievable good luck. My poor, brave brother died and they decided this was what they needed. Dave would take his place, become Josh, till the deal was settled. They thought it was a brilliant idea, couldn’t have been better timed. As for my indignation, my disgust at what they intended, they laughed that aside. Told me not to forget that I was an accessory to Elsa’s murder and if this plan failed, I’d go to jail too, probably hang.’
He pointed towards the submerged caves growing distant. ‘Behold, Elsa’s last resting place.’ Then, with the water steadily rising around their feet, he added genially, ‘And most probably yours, Faro. I was going to take you here personally, but not with a sinking boat. Anyway, you’ll meet in the great beyond but I’m sure you’ve worked out all
the answers.’
‘I have now,’ Faro said. ‘Someone told me the sisters were as alike as two peas. They were, apart from the colour of their hair.’
Amos smiled. ‘Useful, wasn’t it? Thora panicked. It was Lammastide, and Dave convinced her that she would get away with Elsa’s accidental death at her hands by becoming the seal king’s bride. Disappear, put on a dark wig, take Elsa’s place and no one would know the difference.’
‘She couldn’t carry on the deception for ever, so when she came back a year later, Elsa conveniently disappeared. Went off to the mainland, broken-hearted that Dave had chosen to wait for the seal king’s bride. It all seemed simple, the perfect murder.’
Faro wanted to hear more, but the boat was no longer controllable. Swaying in the hidden undercurrent, the water had risen swirling round their knees. All of a sudden Faro was swept overboard.
Amos was smiling again. ‘Won’t be long now, old friend. I’ll swim back, say the boat sank, you were lost, I tried to save you, just like I tried to save Dave when he fell boarding the ship that night.’
Faro tried to grip the side of the boat but his wet hands kept slipping.
‘I’ll make it easier for you. Take a grip of this.’ And Amos tried to lift an oar. He managed to swing it over towards Faro.
As the boat veered and the sea took them both, he yelled, ‘There’s a rock over yonder – until the tide turns. Fare thee well.’ A hand raised in grave salute, Amos shrugged off the cape and began swimming for the distant shore.
Faro hung on to the oar. If only he could drift towards that rock, still unsubmerged by the rising tide.
Then suddenly he was no longer alone.
Had Amos come back for him, taken pity?
Something was underneath him. Something solid, holding him above water, pushing his body towards the rock, still several feet away. Perhaps he could reach it.
Desperately, he stretched out an arm, but the movement lost him the oar. It drifted away and as he slithered back into the sea, a face appeared.
Amos, he thought again. No, not a man.
The Seal King Murders Page 22