Deadly Beloved (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.3)

by Alanna Knight

  Her home troubled him deeply. The absence of any mementoes implied that Mrs Shaw was very much on her own. Was this indicative that the marriage had been against the wishes of her husband's family? And had they turned their faces away from their son's young widow and their grandchild?

  Although at present Faro was aware of no motive to connect Mrs Shaw with Mabel Kellar's disappearance, his natural curiosity suggested that her present circumstances might bear further investigation.

  Leaving the house, he had observed several 'For Sale' boards and that they were being negotiated through the firm of Troup and Knowles. Alex Troup was an old friend. Where better to begin a few discreet enquiries about the enigmatic Mrs Shaw?

  Chapter 10

  At the Central Office, he learned that Sergeant Danny McQuinn had been assigned to help him in the Kellar enquiry. McQuinn had fallen foul of a stray bullet in a dramatic chase across the Pentland Hills and an indulgent Superintendent McIntosh had sent him to County Kerry to recuperate among his numerous relatives.

  Once upon a time, Faro would have prayed that the Kellar case would be over before McQuinn returned. But he found his past antipathy dwindling. They had brought to justice several fraud cases recently and although Faro often found McQuinn obnoxious, too eager for admiration from the ladies and for promotion at all costs, he had a grudging respect for McQuinn's efficiency and recognised a detective in the making.

  Nevertheless the sight of the sergeant making himself very much at home in his office during his absence revived feelings of profound irritation. It was as if McQuinn, his junior by nearly twenty years, already saw himself ousting Faro as Senior Detective Inspector. What was worse. Faro suspected that the young officer was eagerly anticipating retired — or dead man's — shoes, whichever came first in the annals of daily crime with the Edinburgh City Police.

  McQuinn looked up cheekily, tapped out his pipe, removed his feet from the desk, while a grunt of disapproval from his superior officer acknowledged the exaggeratedly smart salute.

  "You've recovered, I see."

  "Yes, sir. Just a flesh wound. Nothing that good old Kerry air couldn't cure. I reported for duty this morning. Superintendent told me about our police surgeon's wife and that you might need some help. Gave me all your notes to read. An extraordinarily interesting case, Inspector, not at all what we might have expected from Dr Kellar. What was it — a brainstorm? Seems to have possibilities of an early arrest."

  "Don't know about that," said Faro shortly. "But you can begin with a visit to the railway

  station — "

  "I've already been down to Waverley, talked to the porters," interrupted McQuinn. "No sense in waiting until you got back."

  "Find out anything?" Again Faro felt unnecessary annoyance at having his orders forestalled.

  "One porter thought that a woman answering Mrs Kellar's description took the North Berwick train that morning. Very upset, in tears, he thought."

  "I've already spoken to him. The woman in question was leaving her husband and had a wee lad with her."

  "Might not have been the same woman," said McQuinn defensively.

  "That's what you're expected to find out, McQuinn. The first question you should ask is: was she alone?"

  McQuinn, obviously put out at being thwarted of his first useful contribution to the enquiry, ignored the implied reprimand. He stood up, stretched lazily, flexing his shoulders.

  "I thought I'd take myself off to Longniddry and have a look round there."

  Faro was scribbling a few notes. "You might begin with some routine enquiries here. You know the sort of thing we're after. Check the Surgeons' Club. See if anyone remembers seeing him that night."

  McQuinn scanned the notes and looked across at Faro. "This Mrs Shaw? Is she to be regarded as a suspect?"

  Faro shook his head. "Not at this stage. But I'd like to know more about her husband's family. Also when the house in Regent Crescent was purchased."

  McQuinn grinned. "And who by, eh? Just idle curiosity, sir?"

  "You should know by now that my curiosity is never idle, McQuinn," was the stern reply.

  At the door McQuinn paused. "I don't know about you. Inspector, but something tells me there's a lot of evidence in that report of yours and nothing that really adds up worth a damn. I feel the answer might still be down at Longniddry."

  Faro's homeward journey took him close by Solomon's Tower. It stood bleak and ruinous against the skyline, dramatised by the snow-clad Salisbury Crags and Arthur's Seat. Nearly as old as the Palace of Holyroodhouse itself Faro noticed that, as usual, its dark towers were festooned with the ragged black shapes of crows, eternally circling. Corbies, the legendary birds of ill omen; there was an element of the sinister in their hovering. What strange vigil, its reason lost in time, brought them there? What fascination lay in that domain far below, occupied by one old man and his multitude of cats?

  Fighting weariness, for it had been a long day and hard walking underfoot on the packed snow, Faro decided to save a further journey by calling on Sir Hedley.

  At first he thought the door was to remain unopened. When at last he heard the old man's heavy footfalls, he realised that the off-chance of Mabel Kellar's flight having taken her to this inhospitable dwelling was well beyond the bounds of credibility. Mrs Shaw had pointed out the disadvantages of Regent Crescent as a refuge, but her house represented a paradise of luxury compared to Solomon's Tower.

  As within keys were turned and bolts withdrawn, the thought of stepping inside almost defeated Faro. He lingered on the doorstep. Only someone in the most desperate straits, a criminal fleeing from justice, might have run to earth, seeking shelter behind these grim grey walls. The interior smelt worse than ever and he was engulfed in a wave of cats, scampering, jumping, sliding, all in a wild rush for the fresh air, they leaped from all directions as if to escape from the dreadful odours within.

  Sir Hedley's broad smile at discovering his visitor's identity revealed gums long beyond memory of teeth. "Come in, Inspector. Most welcome, most welcome. You'll take a dram."

  Ushered along the corridor and holding his breath, Faro followed the old man into the sitting-room, thinking wryly as he did so that there was, at that moment, nothing fitting the description of 'sitting-room' available. Each seat had a cat or cats already installed, curled up and sleeping. Apart from that peaceful feline scene of somnolence, the room looked as if it had been subjected to the tender mercies of burglars, carried off by an unexpected hurricane sweeping through the house.

  Faro repressed a shudder. He was by nature inclined to tidiness, except in his own study, and now he tried to avert his eyes and his nose from matters which did not concern him. His main concern was for Sir Hedley. The old man seemed far from well. His creaky breathing sounded like the turning of rusty wheels, clearly audible across the room. Occasionally rusty wheels became a deep-seated cough which seemed to emanate from the soles of his ancient boots.

  Handing over a whisky glass of finest crystal but sadly in need of washing, Sir Hedley apologised, patting his chest. "A touch of the old trouble. Lungs bad, y'know."

  Faro decided that he looked very seedy indeed. He was perspiring freely and his face had a leaden appearance.

  "You look as if you're running a fever, sir. You really should see a doctor," he said sternly.

  Sir Hedley frowned. "Thinking the same thing. Have to see someone." Again he patted his breastbone. "Hate doctors, can't abide them. Have to keep going though. My cats, y'know. Rely on me," he added pathetically and giving Faro a speculative stare. "Thinking of calling on your young fella for advice."

  Faro thought at first that this was a joke, but Sir Hedley was in earnest.

  "Took a liking to the lad. Seemed genuine. Clever too. No larking about." He paused. "What do you think. Inspector?"

  Faro could only reply somewhat lamely, "Of course, sir. I'll get him to come by and take a look at you."

  Sir Hedley brightened. "Will you? Extremely good of you. Bo
ttle is all that's needed. Clear it up in no time." Then he laid a hand on Faro's arm. "Be a great favour to me. A great favour." And lifting the glass, "Slàinte!"

  "Slàinte, sir!" They drank in silence.

  "Suppose you're here about my niece," said Sir Hedley.

  When Faro said that was indeed the reason, the old man nodded. "Thought so. Bad business. Bad business," and shaking his head sadly, "Haven't seen her since the party."

  So that was that. Faro didn't doubt for a moment that he spoke the truth. A few minutes' polite talk and then he could decently make his escape and breathe freely once more in the open air. He accepted another dram.

  "When did you hear about Mrs Kellar?"

  "Oh, Melville came by. Week ago. Demanding to know if I was hiding her." His laugh changed into a deep cough. "Used to look in sometimes. Brought me things. Food. Saw that I was all right. Kind gal."

  He stopped and gave Faro a long look. "Can't imagine her coming here, can you? Can you?"

  "Not really, sir," said Faro uncomfortably.

  "Of course not. Doesn't like cats," added Sir Hedley in tones of righteous surprise and indignation.

  "May I ask you something rather personal, sir? Did Mrs Kellar ever give you any hint that she wasn't happy?"

  Sir Hedley thought about that. "Sometimes had a feeling that all wasn't well with Melville. Bit of a rascal, if you ask me."

  "In what way?"

  "The way men are. Inspector. Women and so forth."

  "Did she confide something of the sort?"

  Sir Hedley rubbed the end of his nose. "No, never. Loyal as they come. As I said, just a feeling I had. Y'know, something wrong."

  When Faro reached home Vince was waiting for him. His first question: "Well, any news of Mabel?"

  "Nothing, lad."

  "She hasn't been to Eveline Shaw's?"

  Vince listened anxiously as Faro outlined briefly his visit to Regent Crescent and his own reactions to the young widow.

  "Now you understand why I found the relationship between Mabel and Eveline so extraordinary," said Vince triumphantly. "Your matchmaking idea was absolute nonsense." Then, regarding his stepfather quizzically, "Wait a minute — unless you were the lucky man?"

  "You're not trying to say that Mabel was matchmaking Mrs Shaw with me. Come along, lad. Now who's talking nonsense."

  "I'm not, Stepfather. It's quite true. Now I realise how distant she was with me, how very uninterested. It's all coming back. You were the one she talked to most."

  "If that was most, it was very little. And only because I praised the Beethoven. Good Lord, Vince, I'm old enough to be her father. She's more your age than mine."

  Vince nodded and regarded Faro approvingly. "And I hope I look as good as you do when I'm approaching forty." When his stepfather snorted in disbelief, Vince continued sagely, "It's true, and you know it. Be modest if you like, but you know and I know that a man who is attractive to the opposite sex is like a good wine — he only improves with the years. Besides when did age make any difference?"

  "If I'm not mistaken, we seem to have had this conversation before and quite recently," said Faro coldly.

  Vince paused and grinned impishly. "Oh yes, indeed. About a certain young miss from Canada."

  "And we all know how that ended."

  "Well, it should have proved to you that some young ladies prefer older men." A moment later, he asked, "What was Eveline Shaw's late husband like, I wonder?"

  "I have no idea."

  "No regimental photograph? Really, you surprise me. There's a great vogue these days for officers having a group photograph. And what about his lovely wife? Surely he would want to take her likeness on active service with him."

  "He may well have done so, but there were no mementoes of any kind. Nothing personal about the room at all, in fact. It was as if Mrs Shaw and her baby were living in a rather expensive but not very comfortable hotel."

  "How very curious. Nothing to remind her of the gallant Captain. I wonder if they had any contact or were even happy together in what must have been quite a brief marriage."

  "Considering the baby, who is a fine wee chap, they must have had contact at some time."

  "Yes, but I wonder if their communication existed outside the bedroom." Vince thought for a moment and then asked, "How did the stunning Mrs Shaw strike you on second meeting, Stepfather?"

  "Not very much different from the first time, I'm afraid."

  "I suppose there are lots of females exactly like Eveline Shaw and perhaps some men are quite content with a beautiful package."

  "I'm sure that is the rule rather than the exception, lad."

  "I'm given to understand that we are now in danger of a new breed of womankind, who are no longer content to be treated as domestic slaves."

  "Aye, but most men, particularly of my generation, disapprove very strongly of such a preposterous idea. They consider that their hereditary rights, inherited from Adam, are being threatened."

  "I like the idea of this new woman, Stepfather, outrageous as it may seem. If I ever took a wife then I'd want more than a beautiful doll to undress and take to bed every night. I'd want more than begetting and procreation and stern reminders about conjugal rights."

  "Not all men are so demanding, Vince. Many just want that pretty doll who in time fulfils the functions of providing bed and board and a litter of sons and daughters."

  "Not for me, Stepfather. I believe that wives should be regarded as rather higher than breeding cattle. And if I ever find the right woman, I'd like to feel that we shared everything, the better and the worse. Especially on the intellectual plane, a sense of minds being united as well as bodies."

  "'Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments'," quoted Faro.

  "The Bard knew all about love, didn't he?"

  "Yes, but I think the Moor of Venice probably tells us more about poor Mabel and Dr Kellar than the Sonnets."

  "True, Stepfather, sadly true. Mabel adored him and he treated her like the ground under his feet." Vince looked thoughtful. "Although I can't yet take in the idea of him murdering her. To me, it is still quite fantastic, beyond the bounds of belief, although I have a sneaking hope that he might be made to suffer a little bit. Teach the arrogant bastard a well-needed lesson."

  There was no way Faro could avoid telling Vince about the visit to the Kellar house and the implications of the bloodstained upholstery in the carriage.

  "Oh my God," whispered Vince, his face paling.

  "It sounds bad, I know, lad. But let's not spring to conclusions. It could have been from game he'd shot, or a rabbit, just like the maid said. If he was guilty in the way you are imagining, then don't you think he would have tried to remove the stains himself and not made a great fuss about the condition of the carriage."

  "True enough, except that he thinks of domestics as a sub-human species, incapable of the same feelings and presumably the same imagination as the rest of mortals." Vince was silent before continuing: "If only we could discover where those stains came from."

  "This German doctor you were telling me about? The one who is experimenting on blood types."

  "Doctor Landois. He was visiting Walter when I was in Vienna and we had a long chat. Of course, his experiments are still in the early stages, but he's quite convinced that he has made an important scientific discovery."

  Vince leaned across the table. "When he heard that my stepfather was concerned with murder, he grew tremendously excited. Kept telling me how invaluable it would be some day in the detection of crimes. Insisted I should know what the procedure entailed. I have it written down somewhere."

  "That might come in very useful, lad, if you'd like to try it out. Not on the carriage upholstery. Too late for that but on the fur cloak."

  "I know it sounds very far-fetched, but if Landois's experiments are successful, he reckons that human blood also falls into several different groups and that it is completely different from the composition of animal blood."
>
  "If your doctor is right and blood differs from one human being to another, then this could open a new phase for the police," said Faro excitedly.

  "I've been thinking along life-giving lines rather than the hangman's rope," said Vince drily. "The transfusion of blood from one human to another could save a patient's life. Someone who has lost a lot of blood in an accident, or a woman in childbirth. We encounter this every day and we just have to stand back and helplessly watch them just bleed to death."

  "It's a fascinating theory, Vince. Let's hope there's something in it."

  "Perhaps I could have a look at poor Mabel's cloak?"

  "And the knife too. Although I'd better warn you, what we might call the evidence has been diluted by lying under the snow for a couple of weeks."

  "If they were wrapped up, as you say, then I think there'll be enough remaining to give some interesting results."

  "I hope you're right."

  "Do you realise. Stepfather, that in the normal way, this would become the province of the police surgeon."

  "In these circumstances," said Faro hastily, "I think it would be advisable to bypass the good doctor."

  "How did he react to the bloodstained brougham?"

  "Too late to tackle him on that, but I dare say he'd have some glib explanation."

  "I've just remembered something, Stepfather. On two occasions when I had luncheon with Mabel, Kellar had been out shooting for the pot. She was very proud of his marksmanship. Didn't seem to regard it as a curious choice of leisure pursuit for a man who spends his time up to the elbows in blood almost every day."

  He gave a shudder of distaste. "Frankly, though, I can't see Dr Kellar coming home in his carriage from Surgeons Hall dripping blood anyway. He always leaves well-scrubbed. Although some doctors are careless about such things and don't bother, Kellar is most meticulous. You wouldn't find him wearing his butcher's apron, as they call it, outside the dissecting room."