Akin to Murder

by Alanna Knight

  Mrs Brook looked scared. ‘There was no note from her. Nothing. She was coming from the house in Liberton. I don’t know what to do.’ She paused. ‘Do you think I should go in search of her – would that help? Perhaps she is ill, alone in the house.’

  Faro shook his head. He could not tell her that a visit to the Simms’s house would be a waste of time and that wherever that note had come from, Tibbie had not written it in Liberton, remembering his reception at the empty house where a neighbour had seen her go off in a fine carriage with a gentleman.

  He decided to keep that information to himself, information that would only terrorise Mrs Brook into the same sinister interpretations as his own.

  He said as consolingly as possible, ‘She may come yet. There is possibly some quite simple explanation for the delay. Try not to worry yourself, Mrs Brook.’ And with relief he changed the subject. ‘My mother is arriving on Friday, earlier than we expected,’ he said apologetically. ‘Of course, I realise that the house is not yet ready for visitors and perhaps it would be inconvenient for you to have her at this time, as the superintendent suggested,’ he added, so that she might not feel guilty turning Mary Faro away.

  ‘Oh, of course, of course, Mrs Faro is most welcome.’ Mrs Brook managed to smile and for the moment push aside her anxiety about the non-appearance of Tibbie. ‘The furniture has indeed arrived and has been installed, although as you no doubt noticed in the hallway, a lot of the effects remain to be unpacked. But I will have a room ready for your mother, Mr Faro, and a very comfortable one. Rest assured of that. A fire will be lit and the bed thoroughly aired.’

  She regarded him, smiling. ‘I shall have everything in readiness and I am so looking forward to having her here. It will be such a privilege to have your mother to look after, quite takes me back to my early days as a lady’s maid,’ she added.

  Feeling considerably relieved that the problem he had imagined did not exist, indeed he took a moment to chide himself on getting rather overanxious these days, a frame of mind that was new to him. Perhaps its origins could be associated with the matrimonial state, one of the drawbacks of being a married man with a wife expecting their first baby.

  That would be enough for most men, he thought grimly, without a wanted murderer living under his roof who also happened to be his brother-in-law. He wished again that he had someone in whom he could confide and that Macfie was home again, to offer advice. With all the superintendent’s years of experience, surely he might see the way out of a situation that was beyond his own powers of finding any solution other than handing McLaw over to justice and thereby devastating the future of Lizzie, Vince and himself. Thanking Mrs Brook, he left, with thoughts of some amusement about how Mary Faro would be taken aback and even a little dismayed at being treated like a great lady, used as she was all these years to taking care of herself, as well as playing lady bountiful to the needy community in Kirkwall. However, kept blissfully unaware of the unseen dangers being concealed from her each day inside the cottage walls, the experience of being waited upon by the efficient Mrs Brook would be a change, and an undeniably pleasant one, in the elegant surroundings of Sheridan Place.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ‘You don’t believe him, do you, Jeremy?’ Lizzie whispered as they prepared for bed that night, now the only time they had alone together since Charlie was always with them, a hovering uneasy presence, trapped in the house and ready to leap up and to stumble into the box bed at the slightest noise or hint of strangers.

  It was not going to get any better, Faro decided, worse when his mother arrived, spending a lot of each day with Lizzie, waiting eagerly for his return from work and Vince home from school, envisaging a jolly family supper together, which she would doubtless help Lizzie prepare, making the most of a chance to boast her own excellent culinary skills.

  Worst of all from Faro’s point of view was the serious damage Charlie’s presence was having on their marriage. In a few days this new and unwanted brother-in-law had managed to destroy their blissful existence, turn his contentment and hopes into suspicion, resentment and deadly fears for the future. Maybe Lizzie was unaware, in the novelty of finding her brother long lost to her, of a dangerous chasm looming in her marriage. For Faro, it might already be too late and too difficult to regain the happiness he felt was crumbling away as he watched her spending so much time with Charlie. It seemed that her brother had suddenly become the centrepiece of her existence as they increasingly retreated into their native Gaelic, regaining those early years lost when Lizzie was fifteen and they were wrenched apart.

  ‘You don’t believe that he is innocent,’ Lizzie’s voice was sad as she climbed into bed. A sigh from Jeremy, whose expression she could not see in the darkness, and she added reproachfully, ‘I hoped once you had met that you of all people would realise a terrible mistake had been made. That my Teàrlach – Charles – could not possibly be a murderer.’

  ‘I have only the summary of the trial,’ was the cold reply. ‘That was the evidence against him and what the jury and the law decided.’

  ‘The law! It is not always right, it can make mistakes too. You have said so yourself on many occasions.’ She sat up. ‘You have seen him, talked to him. You have seen many evil men in your time. Does he remotely resemble one of them? Answer me truthfully now.’

  That was a difficult question, especially from a woman. No girl was willing to accept that her lover was a killer. No mother could ever believe she had produced a monster, or sister that she shared the blood of a killer.

  As he could not bear to put that into words for Lizzie, he said gently, ‘My dear, such men look like everyone else, folk we pass by in the street and wouldn’t give a second glance. They don’t wear the brand of Cain—’

  ‘You have looked into his eyes, tell me honestly, are they the eyes of a killer?’ she interrupted shortly. That was true. His eyes were like hers. Hazel eyes, wide-spaced and appealing, almost too much so for a male countenance, he thought. His hair, which appeared as a rough, dark, unkempt mass on the wanted poster had revealed fair curls once identical to her own before they were carefully shaven off.

  ‘Do I look like a killer, or does Vince?’ she went on.

  He took her hand, kissed it and drew her into his arms. Stifling a sob, she lay against his chest. ‘Oh, my darling girl,’ he sighed, ‘what am I to do – what are we to do? My mother will soon be here. Don’t you see the danger that puts us in? How are we going to explain his presence?’

  She laughed. ‘Dear Jeremy, that is easy. We have thought it out. An answer so simple I am surprised it hasn’t occurred to you, especially as in a way it is true. My brother is visiting me from the Highlands, of course. On a short visit. Surely that is enough?’

  ‘That he never goes out of doors—’

  ‘He has an injured ankle.’

  ‘He is young and strong, many men overcome such minor injuries by walking with a stick.’

  She ignored that and he added, ‘I am warning you, my mother has a very curious nature. She will soon be asking what is wrong with him. Is he ill? Why is he always watching from the windows and rushing to hide when strangers approach the cottage?’

  Lizzie was silent, thinking. Then she whispered: ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘There is only one answer. And I have thought of that. I have got to get him away from here – somehow – and as soon as possible.’

  ‘Jeremy, this is my brother,’ she wailed. ‘I don’t want to lose him.’

  ‘You have to lose him. Surely you realise he can’t stay here indefinitely? Every moment of his presence puts us all in danger, even you, his beloved sister, who he would never want to cause any harm to.’ He paused. ‘Surely you have thought of the dreadful consequences? If Gosse found out, you would go to prison, Lizzie,’ he reminded her again, and he added slowly, ‘and I would lose my job, probably join you there. What about Vince? What future would there be for him? And this wee baby we’re bringing into the world. What about him?�
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  ‘Her,’ she said firmly, touching her stomach. ‘I’m sure she’s a girl.’

  He shook his head in the darkness. He wished that was all their concern – whether it was a boy or a girl she carried.

  In the silence that followed, he thought she slept, then a whisper.

  ‘Jeremy. Are you awake?’ He moved and she said, ‘Teàrlach is innocent. I am certain of that, and you are the only one who can help to clear his name.’

  The idea was ridiculous. Although Faro had read all those notes of the trial, he could not expect Lizzie to ever believe that her beloved brother was guilty.

  ‘Please at least talk to him,’ she whispered. ‘At least let him tell you what really happened, then I think you will change your mind.’

  He sighed. It was a forlorn hope indeed, but he said: ‘If you wish.’

  ‘I do wish, with all my heart.’ A short silence, then a whisper: ‘Do you still love me, Jeremy?’

  ‘Of course I do, my dear. What a question.’

  ‘Then, please, do this for me, for us all. For Teàrlach and Vince and our wee girl, waiting to come into the world. Find who killed poor Annie. I know she cheated on him, but she didn’t deserve that.’

  In the Central Office, Faro had another day dealing with a new set of people from the environs of Edinburgh, all prepared to swear that, yes, it was definitely McLaw they had seen and could they have that fifty pounds please. There were none as yet from further afield with plausible reports that he could give Gosse as a reason for going out to interview them and putting into action his own plan of setting Gosse’s most wanted man on a train to freedom and, God willing, out of their lives for ever.

  He returned weary at the end of the day and could only shake his head at their anxious looks and frantic queries about what was to be done. Lizzie reported one scary moment that day when the beat constable had called. At the sight of the helmeted uniform, Charlie had been terrified and leapt into the box bed.

  PC Oldfield had known Faro a long while and he thoroughly approved of his pretty young wife, who was calling the dog, Coll, inside as it was raining heavily. Water was dripping off his helmet and after a friendly greeting she realised she could hardly rush in and close the door without offering him shelter and a cup of tea. In anguish, she sat at the table feeding him scones and trying to keep up a cheerful conversation about the building activities while keeping an anxious eye on the box bed. What if Charlie coughed or sneezed and Oldfield heard?

  Would the rain never cease? It did at last and no one had ever been as thankful as Lizzie, whose prayer had been answered as she watched him head off towards the Pleasance.

  She had Faro’s sympathy for that anxious half-hour and he fully understood the terror she had endured. Safe today, but for how much longer would their luck hold? Mary Faro would be with them tomorrow.

  There was a moon that night and Charlie was desperate to breathe some fresh air and exercise his ankle. He had to go out. He said he would take his stick and stay close to the cottage.

  Faro followed him and they walked together in silence.

  ‘I am not ungrateful for your company,’ Charlie said. ‘I realise this is not for pleasure but just that you do not wish to let me out of your sight, although it seems unlikely that I could run away. I am still rather lame, as you can see, and you would most certainly catch up with me if I even attempted to do so.’

  Faro ignored that and as they returned he indicated the garden wall. They sat down together with Arthur’s Seat gleaming ghost-like before them.

  Charlie was nervous and ill at ease in this formidable brother-in-law’s presence, surprised and suspicious about this desire for his company.

  Faro lit a pipe and offered him a smoke, which he declined. ‘Never got that habit, I’m afraid. Tried it once and couldn’t see the point of it.’

  After some preliminaries regarding the state of his ankle, Faro asked:

  ‘About your trial. Why did you never make an effort to establish the identity of your wife’s lover?’

  Charlie shrugged and Faro went on: ‘You know that was one of the main factors that went against you with the jury. The question was asked repeatedly but you had no answers beyond “not guilty” and they concluded the reason was that you struck the fatal blow yourself.’

  Charlie said slowly, ‘I was innocent. What was more important than finding the guilty man was proving my innocence.’

  ‘You hardly went about it in an efficient way; the jury found it easy to read what seemed like indifference as guilt.’

  ‘I am innocent, ‘ Charlie said firmly, adding ‘sir’, having not yet the inclination or the feeling that it was right and proper to establish the relationship of kinship with the policeman whose job it was to hunt him down and see him hang.

  ‘Very well, first of all prove it to me.’

  ‘And how, pray, am I to do that?’

  Faro sighed. ‘I was away from Edinburgh and missed most of the trial but I have read the records of it, all the evidence. I want you to go through what happened on that fatal evening, step by step.’

  Charlie sighed and thought for a moment. ‘I had been out, drinking, I’m afraid – and rather too much, as usual. If I could avoid it, until I ran out of money, I rarely came home sober.’

  ‘Where did you do your drinking?’

  ‘At the local, of course. The Coach and Horses. The landlord is – was – Annie’s stepfather. When it closed I was thrown out, as usual. Always last to leave and reluctant to stagger home – our croft was on the edge of the Belmuirs’ estate, the old woodcutter’s cottage, and I did a bit of gardening for them and at the poorhouse.’

  ‘What was your main employment at that time?’

  The moon had disappeared behind a cloud and in the darkness Charlie shrugged. ‘Odds and ends, I had no proper job. Got what I could find, labouring on the railway line, gardening, like I said – that was about it.’

  ‘How did you manage to survive?’

  ‘Annie helped. She did her bit, as a kitchen maid and from other sources that I did not go into.’ He paused, his voice bitter.

  ‘You mean she was living as a prostitute.’

  Faro felt rather than saw him wince. ‘If you call it by that fancy name. She had one or two rich men, or so I gathered, willing to pay well for her favours.’

  ‘So this lover could have been any one of them.’

  Charlie shrugged. ‘And for obvious reasons, he wasn’t going to come forward with his name. If Annie even knew it. They came for an hour or so, paid her for her service and away again. This was a one-woman business,’ he added grimly, ‘and she was good at it. Besides, it saved them the trip into Edinburgh. I doubt if she even knew their names – friends of friends, that sort of thing.’

  This was bad news. Small wonder Charlie had realised the hopeless task of trying to identify the man who was her client that night.

  ‘Then if he was one of many, and her activities were presumably well known locally, why kill her?’

  Charlie did not answer and Faro went on: ‘Let me put to you possible reasons. Was this someone you both knew? Perhaps he hadn’t visited before, this was the first time, a new experience. What if he was a popular local man, highly thought of in the community, with a reputation of respectability, like a doctor or a minister?’ Pausing for a moment, he continued thoughtfully: ‘Timid and scared that you would recognise him and give him the good hiding he deserved – or worse, tell his wife. So in a panic that all would come out and be revealed, he lost his nerve, got in first, and according to your story knocked you out.’ He let that sink in. ‘Tell me, what can you recall? Anything about him.’

  At his side Charlie rubbed his head, as if he still remembered the blow. ‘He wasn’t anyone I recognised but then it was dark and I was very drunk. There was no candlelight either. I doubt he was a timid man. He was taller, stronger than me, your height, and he just leapt at me. I knew he was naked – you know the feeling of someone naked – the smell of sex. W
hen he hit me, I heard Annie yell at him but he never said a word, just a big fist coming at my face, knocking me down. I heard Annie scream again as I hit the ground.’

  He paused. ‘I don’t know how long I lay there unconscious. It had been quite some blow, and when I opened my eyes I felt a bump on my head that was going to turn into a mighty bruise. Some time must have passed, I had come in after midnight and now it was getting light, dawn was breaking. I felt chilled to the bone. I got to my feet and I smelt blood.’ Again he paused, said slowly: ‘And there was Annie, lying on the floor beside me. I was confused. I thought she must be asleep but why was she not in bed?’ He took a deep breath.

  ‘Then I saw the knife, sticking in her chest. I dragged it out, perhaps she was only hurt. But no, she was dead and already cold. I didn’t know what to do. I ran into the kitchen. There was a trail of blood from the bedroom, I slipped once or twice and almost fell. I poured water over my head, tried to think straight about this man who had killed her.’

  He shook his head. ‘But I was sober now and I knew even as I rushed out to find someone to help, which was too late, and to tell the local constable, that I would get the blame. Everyone who knew Annie’s reputation would put together the obvious story. I had come home very drunk, found her with a man, discovered I was living with a whore and had enough of it, lost my temper and killed her. In everyone’s opinion it was as simple as that.’

  He sighed again, closing his eyes, shutting out that terrible scene. ‘I went to Annie’s stepdad. He said nothing, handed me a drink, and told me to stay where I was. I thought he had some plan to help me, but he came back grim-faced with the local constable who took one look at me covered in blood. Next thing I knew I was in handcuffs in the local lock-up waiting for the first train to be taken into Edinburgh.’

  Faro waited until he regained his breath and then asked.

  ‘The knife?’