Quest for a Killer

by Alanna Knight

  ‘Who was the gentleman who spoke to you back there, Rose?’ Obviously curiosity had got the better of her normal diffidence.

  ‘A policeman and a very dashing one.’ She laughed her teasing sidelong glance asking for more information.

  When I said an old friend, she laughed again. ‘The way he greeted you hinted that he would like to be more than that. Am I right?’

  I hardly felt this was an appropriate moment to say, yes, we were lovers once, engaged to be married, in fact. And then the humiliating part. That I had delayed too long in naming the day and Jack, wearied, while in Glasgow on police business had met a new love.

  Sidestepping the question with a polite smile I thanked her for the evening.

  ‘A great pleasure, Rose. I enjoyed it very much, very exciting.’

  ‘Indeed. Such a variety of acts.’

  She seemed reluctant to bring the evening to a close so I asked, ‘Which did you like best?’

  ‘Miss Adela and those darling little dogs.’

  ‘The clowns?’

  She frowned. ‘They were quite splendid, but all that absurd behaviour is really for the children.’

  And a question that had been niggling me. ‘What did you think of Joey?’

  ‘Joey? Which one was he? Was he especially funny? I didn’t notice him in particular.’

  In which case, I must conclude that Jack standing right behind me had been the object of Joey’s intense gaze.

  Elma continued, ‘We must do something of the same again, a concert perhaps, or the theatre.’

  She left me with a promise to meet for lunch. ‘That is, if you are not too busy.’

  I had not told her that I was a lady investigator. Was I ashamed to admit it or did I think such a bizarre occupation might decide her against furthering our friendship?

  Especially if she discussed it with her eminent husband: I could not imagine his approval. And how did she imagine a widow could afford Solomon’s Tower? Unless, of course, she had wrongfully decided that Vince gave me financial support.

  Again I noticed in these small discrepancies that Elma seemed sorely lacking in observation. Or perhaps the truth was that it was a quality of which I had a superior abundance; the result of my early education where, to while away tedious train journeys, I had been taught by Pappa to observe my fellow passengers and deduce from their clothes and luggage what had brought them on to this particular railway. Although it had seemed like a game then, I had to admit that it had contributed strongly to my desire to be a lady investigator and, indeed, had even helped in solving cases.

  Alone in the Tower, that night I thought about Jack, what he was doing back in Edinburgh and what had become of the young woman who had replaced me in his life. I shook my head; he was probably on a fleeting visit seeing old friends. He would be gone tomorrow, and after a two-year silence I was unlikely to ever know the truth.

  Did I really care? And the answer was, strangely, yes. Although I had never wanted to be married again I greatly treasured Jack, not only as a lover but as a friend and confidant.

  Never mind, the past was past. On with the future and, any day now, I would be receiving a call to take on a new case.

  And that, as fate would have it, was closer than I ever expected.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next morning, I opened the door to Jack Macmerry.

  I was taken aback by this visitor whom Thane rushed forward to greet. A delighted, tail-wagging welcome for an old friend.

  Responding warmly to this overture, Jack looked up from patting his head and said, ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in, Rose?’

  I blinked, apologised and stood aside. In his uniform Jack looked quite splendid, and although never handsome in the Irish way of Danny McQuinn with his black hair and blue eyes, Jack had a pleasing countenance: a strong face with the sandy colouring, the broad cheekbones and the sturdy build of the Lowland Scots.

  Following me into the kitchen, he laid aside his uniform cap and, rubbing his hands together in a familiar gesture, he grinned, ‘Well, aren’t you even going to offer me a cup of tea, after all this time?’ And amused at the discomfort I was unable to hide, he laughed. ‘Don’t just stand there with your mouth open, Rose, looking as if a ghost had walked in. After our brief meeting again last night, didn’t you expect me to come and see you?’

  ‘No, Jack. To be honest, I didn’t.’

  He regarded me slowly. ‘That’s scarcely flattering, is it?’

  ‘I should have thought we were well past the stage of flattering each other,’ I said sharply. ‘What are you doing here in Edinburgh, anyway? Visiting friends?’

  ‘Among other things,’ was the vague reply. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m here on business.’

  ‘Business?’

  ‘Yes, police business. I’m investigating a fraud which has Edinburgh connections.’ Again he hesitated, an uneasy glance, as if wishing to say more.

  ‘How long are you staying?’

  ‘As long as it takes to find some answers.’

  ‘So this is just a visit.’

  He grinned. ‘Try not to sound so relieved.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…’ As I poured him a cup of tea my thoughts were racing. ‘Tell me about yourself; what has been happening since we last met?’

  He sighed. ‘Quite a lot, Rose. Quite a lot.’ And looking around, ‘But I see things are still the same with you and with Thane here,’ he said, as the deerhound settled happily by his feet once more, as if two years had not passed by and Jack was home again, settled in the most comfortable armchair, his long legs stretched out before the fire.

  I shuddered slightly as, patting Thane’s head, he murmured, ‘At least you are still pleased to see me, old chap.’

  Thane wagged his tail and looked pleased in that almost human way as Jack glanced across at me. ‘I take it that you are still a grieving widow, that the missing husband has failed to return?’ he said mockingly.

  Although his belittling words made me angry, I told myself that he had every reason to feel bitter. Danny’s ghost had always been between us right from our first meeting, when I still believed Danny would return from Arizona and would walk in one day. To be honest, later, I learnt to accept with almost certainty that Danny was dead. It still remained the perfect excuse for not putting our relationship on a permanent basis, a refuge to evade marrying Jack.

  ‘And what about you? Did you marry the young lady you fancied so much, the one you left me for?’ I said as lightly as I could.

  ‘I did indeed.’

  ‘And so you are a happily married man at last.’

  He held up his hand as if not wishing to hear more. ‘I had no intention when I left you of marrying anyone: I was still in love with you. You surely never doubted that, Rose. It wasn’t my fault we ever parted. You drove me away.’

  He paused as if giving me the opportunity to deny it. When I said nothing he shrugged.

  ‘But circumstances overcame my plan that you would miss me. To cut a long story short, the young lady took pity on me, desolate as I was, and we formed a… er…relationship. Before I could recover my senses which told me this union was going to be a disaster, Meg announced that she was having my child.’ He sighed. ‘And so I did the honourable thing. We got married.’

  That was a relief, I thought. At least I was in no danger of an unrequited lover’s return.

  ‘And so you are living happily ever after. I am glad to hear it.’

  Jack shook his head solemnly.

  ‘Not quite, Rose, not quite. Meg died. Scarlet fever.’

  ‘And the child?’

  ‘She is being cared for by her grandmother.’ His face expressionless, he sounded troubled, resigned.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jack. Indeed I am.’

  He regarded me without speaking and, somewhat at a loss for words myself at these unexpected revelations, I said, ‘Such a tragic situation. Especially for the wee girl.’

  He nodded and said slowly, ‘Indeed it i
s. But it could have been worse. I knew from the beginning, even in those first months together, that I had made a mistake.’

  Shaking his head he regarded me solemnly. ‘I knew we would never be happy – the thought of long years ahead was intolerable; through no fault of her own, poor girl, she could never take your place. A sweet lass in many ways, but – oh, I don’t know, I suppose I was looking for another Rose McQuinn. A woman who stirred my senses, an impossibly strong-willed woman who drove me mad, but one who I never needed to explain everything to—’

  I held up my hand. ‘Stop – stop at that, Jack Macmerry. Not another word.’

  He jumped to his feet and seized my hands. ‘I will not – I cannot stop, Rose, I will always love you. The years we had together. You can’t change that. You loved another man, a dead man, more than me. Pitiful, wasn’t it, living with his ghostly presence?’

  I wrenched myself free. ‘Please, Jack, no more. Let’s have no more of this. You always knew the score. You wanted a sweet submissive wife and I wanted my career…’

  I watched his mouth curl as his lips echoed the words.

  ‘I never wanted, could never promise to be, that kind of a wife and you always knew that. You persisted in believing that you could change me.’

  He looked so hurt, I said, ‘Jack, I am sorry – sorry that I hurt you – and that all this has happened—’

  The doorbell rang. Jack looked at the clock and sprang to his feet. ‘That’s my carriage. Damn it, have to go, have an appointment with the assistant chief constable – just like old times, Rose.’

  That was true. And we both laughed. There was always an important meeting interrupting the flow of our life together.

  Jack shook his head wryly and then said, ‘May I come again and see you? We need to talk.’

  I looked doubtful for he added quickly, ‘Not about us this time, I promise you. But I need advice, so let’s forget about the past and be friends, Rose.’

  ‘Yes, Jack, I’d like that.’ And at that moment, I meant it.

  ‘Tomorrow, perhaps?’

  ‘Yes, tomorrow then.’

  At the door he paused. ‘Your companion at the circus – Mrs Miles Rice?’ He threw back his head and with a deep laugh said, ‘Well done. Well done.’ A pause, a shrewd look. ‘Not a client, surely?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  He grinned, a mocking bow. ‘You have moved up in Edinburgh society.’

  Thane stood at my side and we watched him get into the carriage.

  Closing the door, I sat down at the table and tried to sort out my confused feelings. Perhaps I had been harsh, always too harsh. To be honest, it was good to see Jack again, and if we could be friends, and stay that way, which I doubted, all would be well.

  As for that advice he wanted, was it personal, professional, or just an excuse for a further visit?

  That evening Elma had seats at the Theatre Royal for Mrs Warren’s Profession, a daring and witty play by Mr George Bernard Shaw, whose dislike of the capitalist society (which I encountered regularly in Edinburgh) was akin to my own. As a passionate feminist and suffragette, I was an avid reader of his Fabian Essays and his socialist tracts.

  As I expected, we were in the best seats and directly behind us was one of my former clients. We had been friends for a short while but when our eyes met there was no flicker of recognition. Sad, but no doubt, as I was becoming well known, she had her own excellent reasons for ignoring a private detective in public.

  Elma was anxious to hear my comments on the play, and when I remarked upon the theme, she laughed.

  ‘London theatregoers accept this sort of thing without question. Mr Shaw is well known for his outrageous opinions, but I fear it may be a little strong, still a little too modern, for Edinburgh audiences.

  She was very knowledgeable about the theatre and as we were approaching her carriage she was hailed by a man standing near the entrance of the theatre.

  ‘Excuse me, Rose.’

  She hurried towards him, and although it was too dark to see him clearly, I could make out a top-hatted rather flashily dressed young man who greeted her warmly; he placed an arm about her shoulders. She was obviously not pleased. She left him standing and seemed anxious to escape as soon as possible.

  As she stepped smartly into the carriage, he made a move and dashed across to her window. From my side of the carriage I was unable to see his face clearly, and the noise of the horses setting off made it impossible for me to distinguish the words he was shouting.

  Something about their next meeting; he sounded angry and, as she leant back in her seat, I was aware that she was very upset by this encounter.

  It was none of my business, but obviously aware that politeness demanded some explanation, she summoned a smile and said, ‘So embarrassing, Rose. I don’t even remember his name. An actor I met in London, no one of any importance.’

  But her voice rather shrill and her laugh a little false spoke a different line and left me with the certainty that, at some time, they had known each other extremely well.

  Indeed, her knowledge of the theatre, and of the circus come to that (how expertly she had told me about the equestrian jockey acts and she seemed to know a great deal of what went on behind the scenes in the world of entertainment), suggested that she might well have been an actress herself at some stage of her life, before she met Felix Miles Rice.

  If that was so, one could not blame her for keeping it quiet. Many actresses who married rich or titled men were very keen to keep their humbler origins secret.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jack was as good as his word. He arrived so early next morning I wondered if he was expecting breakfast to be offered: that had been the pattern of our early days together when he would look in on his way to the central office; this was before we became seriously involved, when he frequently stayed the night.

  Fortunately I was an early riser and uncharitably wondered if he expected to see me at my worst, as if I had just tumbled out of bed. Rather triumphantly, I offered him a cup of tea and a piece of bread.

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve eaten already. Thank you.’ But taking a seat at the table he seemed very relaxed and, irritatingly, Thane drifted immediately to his side, the master welcomed home again.

  Stroking his head, Jack looked round the kitchen and smiled. ‘Just like old times, Rose. Nothing has changed, not even you,’ he added with an admiring glance which I avoided.

  ‘One of us has certainly changed,’ I said sharply. ‘You, Jack, remember? You got married.’

  As he winced at the reminder, he leant forward and said, ‘And as I said, seeing you in the royal box with Mrs Rice, you have certainly moved up the social ladder.’

  ‘You know Mrs Rice?’

  ‘Only by sight.’ He hesitated. ‘Quite a coincidence you knowing her too. Everyone knows Felix Miles Rice and his beautiful wife, even in Glasgow. Not merely ornamental but full of good works, rapidly qualifying her as one of the city’s eminent lady bountifuls.’

  A dismissive shrug and he continued, ‘But I’m not here to talk about Edinburgh society. I’ve come to ask you a favour, Rose.’

  ‘A favour?’ I said cautiously.

  ‘The officer in charge of this fraud case has been taken seriously ill, and the assistant chief constable (who I knew in his lowlier early days) wants me to take it on. My Edinburgh connection, you know.’ He paused and laughed gently. ‘Wheels within wheels. He would love to have me back on the force.’

  Looking intently at me, he was suddenly silent. ‘So I’m here to ask for your help and advice – in your professional capacity.’

  His words amazed me. In the past he had always been ready to pour scorn on lady detectives and had hooted with laughter at my business card: ‘Lady Investigator, Discretion Guaranteed, indeed!’

  Had he forgotten that my ‘profession’, as he called it, was the main reason why he had abandoned me? This was a new Jack indeed.

  ‘Will you help me, Rose?’


  I hesitated. ‘Depends on what is involved.’

  He nodded. ‘Speed is involved and this is an instance where a woman investigator might make considerably more headway than the police, and I hardly need tell you that your much vaunted discretion guaranteed can be of great service to the community in this case. I am asking your help to track down a murderer.’

  He paused. ‘Well, what say you? Are you willing?’

  I might not be willing but I was intrigued and, yes, a little flattered too. ‘Tell me more. Is this to do with the fraud case?’

  He ignored that and said, ‘You will have read, of course, of the two girls who committed suicide within hours of one another in the slum tenements of St Leonard’s, less than a mile from where we are sitting now.’

  That had my immediate attention. I said I had read about it and he continued, ‘There are some baffling circumstances about this case, and in all truth, it seems more like two murders than suicides.’

  ‘The newspapers have hinted at doubts, of course. But that’s how they increase their sales. One does not have to take such things seriously,’ I said.

  He sighed. ‘Precisely so. But the police have only circumstantial evidence that the girls were strangled. A neighbour coming home from the public house reported that a man cannoned into him, who had rushed down the tenement stair. Questioned further, however, he admitted that he had had a lot to drink and, as he was unsteady on his feet, “pushed aside” might have been a more correct description of the encounter with the running man. Also, he had been carried away by the drama of the two girls’ deaths, and cronies in the tenement had urged him to report to the police as he might possibly be a witness to identifying a murderer and – who knew? – there might also be a reward on offer.’

  ‘What do the police know of the girls’ families, background and so forth?’

  ‘Both respectable, employed at a laundry. And this is where the doubts about suicides come in.’

  ‘Did either leave notes?’

  ‘No, and that seems significant to me, if not to my colleagues. Especially as Amy was engaged to be married; the banns had been called at the local church and her fiancé’s ship was due in port any day. According to the neighbours Amy was very much in love, full of excited preparations, looking forward to her future life as a married woman. There was absolutely no reason why she should have taken her life…’