Akin to Murder

by Alanna Knight

  ‘What did Her Ladyship want?’ Gosse demanded.

  ‘She was kind enough to offer me a lift back into Edinburgh. What she really wanted,’ he added hastily, seeing Gosse’s scowl, ‘was to press for information on that stolen Leonardo.’

  ‘And what are your thoughts on that?’

  Faro gave him a wry look. ‘The same as yours, sir. I got the impression that they are seriously lacking cash and that the brother is something of a spendthrift.’

  Gosse rubbed his chin. ‘Precisely. I have heard rumours. Certainly no insurance will ever look at it, and we have to regard it as an arranged robbery and in due course the picture will no doubt turn up in some odd corner of the stables, presumably left there by the thief. Case closed.’

  Talking of stables jolted Faro back to McLaw. ‘Are there more reports to look into, sir?’ A long drawn-out sigh and Gosse indicated a sheaf of papers. ‘See what you can do with these.’

  Faro took them, hoping for one that would fit in with his plan. Somehow he had to get access to borrowing a uniform that would fit Charlie for their journey to the railway station and see him boarding a train.

  ‘What about Moray Place meanwhile, sir?’

  ‘I will deal with it, play for time. Say that the police are making a thorough investigation and have a possible suspect in mind, a local thief who has done this sort of thing before.’ He grinned. ‘That should keep the lady silent for a while. Meanwhile we have more important matters than a mock robbery. We have a killer to track down, and the longer he remains free, the more dangerous he will become.’

  Home once more, the day with all its problems temporarily at an end, Faro stepped into what could have fooled him as a happy domestic scene, full of peace and goodwill. If only it were true. There were Lizzie and Vince at the table with his mother holding court, enthralling them with tales of Orkney. They had obviously hit it off very well. The only ghost at the feast was the presence of Charlie or Teàrlach McLaw, although no one would have guessed that this smiling happy man listening to every word was in fact a wanted killer.

  Mary was very taken with him. She insisted on walking Coll that evening with Jeremy. ‘I need the exercise. Mrs Brook’s food and now yours, Lizzie, living alone I’m not used to eating like this. I won’t be able to get into my clothes by the time I get back home.’

  As they walked along the gentler slopes towards Hunter’s Bog, Mary took his arm and said, ‘I am so glad to have met your brother-in-law. What an excellent fellow and aren’t those two alike? They could almost be twins. How did you get on with your day, dear? Any news of capturing that dreadful murderer?’

  Faro gave a thought to the dreadful murderer sitting cosily back there in the cottage as he shook his head. ‘Gracious me,’ said Mary. ‘The police are not doing very well, are they? A man like that roaming about. We could all be murdered in our beds.’

  Faro permitted himself a wry smile at that.

  There was a new moon, a shining crescent above the hill, beaming down on them. Mary sighed. ‘I love being here, dear, it has quite changed my ideas about Edinburgh. Your cottage is lovely. If only the countryside was not to be ruined by those awful buildings,’ she added as he walked her towards Sheridan Place.

  Would there be news at last of Tibbie, he wondered, as Mrs Brook opened the door. A sad shake of the head went unseen by Mary as they exchanged words about the good weather, with Mary eager to tell her what a splendid day she had had, and how it had been so good to meet Lizzie’s handsome brother.

  Mrs Brook said, ‘I have had a postcard from the superintendent. This one is from London and he expects to be with us sometime next week. He hopes Mrs Faro has arrived safely.’ Smiling at her she added, ‘He is very much looking forward to making your acquaintance, Mrs Faro.’

  ‘Is all in readiness for his return?’

  Mrs Brook replied that the furniture was in place, with only a few ornaments and pictures to unpack, so all would look like home for his return.

  Mary immediately offered her assistance in that direction and Faro left them with a sense of relief that Macfie would be home again. Once more he had an overwhelming desire to confide his problems in the superintendent but with his long experience of the law, Faro knew, alas, what the decision would be. Macfie would sternly insist that McLaw be given up, but he was also for justice.

  Could anyone convince him that there had been a miscarriage of justice and that McLaw should be given a retrial? He pictured Gosse’s fury at such a suggestion, especially as his detective sergeant had gone over his head about the whole thing. It was a forlorn hope, Faro realised, and opening the garden gate, he knew there was only one answer.

  He had to get McLaw away before Macfie’s return. Somehow he must get hold of a uniform tomorrow. While he and Lizzie prepared for bed, he told her of his plan. Lizzie sighed sadly but was aware that this was inevitable. Much as she and Charlie were devoted to one another, by keeping him under their roof she was putting him in terrible danger. She must see that? If she really cared for him she must see that he had to be away from Edinburgh, perhaps on his way back to the Highlands.

  ‘They might pursue him there,’ Faro added. ‘It would be better if he left the country, lost himself in London or took ship from Leith to France.’

  They agreed that going abroad would be safer and Faro said that even with the beard shaved off and the close hair cut, there was still a possibility that someone from the past might recognise him.

  ‘With a constable’s uniform, helmeted, we might get away with it. No one gives policemen a second glance. So that’s what I need to get from the store tomorrow.’

  Lizzie laughed. ‘No, you don’t, Jeremy. Yours is up in the loft stored with lots of other things.’

  Faro stared at her in amazement and she smiled shyly. ‘I know you said I was to get rid of it, but somehow I wanted to keep it. I remember you were wearing it when we first met. And you looked so handsome.’ She sighed. ‘I fell in love with you as a policeman – and I just wanted to keep it.’

  For once, Lizzie’s sentimental attachment to things from their past days together, their two years of marriage, and their lack of space in the cottage, had been a blessing.

  There was one problem. ‘It will be too big for him.’

  ‘Only the trousers will need shortening. He will get away with the jacket – and the helmet.’

  And so it was all arranged. Lizzie would make the alterations and they would leave immediately, go to the railway station at Waverley or to the port at Leith. Faro would consider which was safest.

  Faro put the plan to Charlie. He listened, silent.

  ‘We will go tomorrow morning on the earliest train, before I start work. There should be fewer folk about or in the station. Going back home you should be safe enough back in the Highlands.’

  Charlie looked at him, shook his head and repeated. ‘Going back home. Where is that? Our croft no longer exists, it is gone. The laird cleared the land for sheep.’

  ‘What about England? London, then, or there are good railway connections at York, according to the newspapers.’

  Again Charlie shook his head and said firmly. ‘I am not going anywhere.’

  Faro stared at him indignantly. ‘Well, you certainly can’t stay here,’ he added slowly.

  Charlie nodded. ‘I can do just that. I am not going anywhere until you clear my name.’ He paused. ‘I am going to give myself up.’

  ‘What! Are you mad? Surely you must realise that every minute of your presence here has put us all, particularly your own sister, in peril?’

  ‘I have thought of that. I will never identify her as my sister. No one knows that, I shall say that I held her hostage and that if you gave me away I would not hesitate to kill her and the boy Vince.’

  The complications were beyond Faro, he had only a glimpse of the danger involved in such a plan. ‘You will never get away with it,’ he said weakly.

  Charlie was adamant. ‘Look, if I go now, I am running away. I am adm
itting to the murder and that the verdict was right. And by doing so I will be a fugitive for the rest of my life. Well, I would rather hang than that. I only want to go on living as a man freed from guilt.’ He paused. ‘All you have to do is to prove that I am innocent.’

  ‘How am I to do that? The words are easy but you are putting me in a position of grave responsibility.’

  Charlie laughed. ‘Come along, sir. You are the clever detective, all you have to do is to find Annie’s killer, somewhere in Fisherrow, bring him to justice and get me a retrial. Then we’ll all live happily ever after.’ For Faro, this decision made the nightmare of getting Charlie away worse than ever. He had never expected this. But no guilty man would have ever have made such a decision, a guilty man would have taken every opportunity to escape. All it proved was almost beyond reasonable doubt that the man they had sentenced to death for murder and knew as John McLaw was innocent. Faro was thankful that he was innocent of the bookshop murder, and only guilty – if that could be proved – of lifting Molesby’s suit.

  The burglary had been the work of the man mistakenly sighted as McLaw and held by the Glasgow police. Gosse would be incensed that that this was not the work of McLaw but of another criminal who had confessed to it when arrested for the attack and robbery of Mr Price in Fleshmarket Close.

  At least Vince was free from Gosse’s further interrogations, one problem to be crossed off the list looming ahead, the worst of which, by far, was going to be proving Lizzie’s brother innocent.

  Where to begin?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  He had to begin somewhere and as a starting point, in which he had little faith, was the poorhouse; armed with the pretext of an allegedly frail mother, he might meet Annie’s sister Nora, conveniently a nurse there.

  Although he gathered from Charlie that the sisters were never on good terms, she might inadvertently provide information that would lead him in the direction of Annie’s killer and also to Tibbie’s connection with the poorhouse.

  Aware of the need for a better excuse, he got it sadly that morning when he went into the police office to learn from the desk constable that the body of a woman had been found in the railway tunnel near the Pleasance.

  ‘Nasty accident, sir. Lying there a couple of days, they think. Reckon she must have fallen off the train from Fisherrow. Inspector has gone to the scene of the accident but the body is in the mortuary. No idea who she is at this stage.’

  As he made his way down the corridor Faro had an ominous feeling that he knew the woman’s identity and wished that he did not.

  The doctor looked up from examining the corpse. ‘An accident, I should say, no evidence beyond injuries, cuts and bruises, accountable with falling off a moving train. Between thirty-five and forty.’ He glanced up at Faro’s solemn face. Replacing the sheet he said, ‘Probably not as agile as she might have been. As you see, a club foot.’

  Faro nodded sadly. This was undoubtedly the missing Tibbie.

  Gosse had returned to the office and was bustling about with the papers on his desk. He glared at Faro. ‘You will have heard by now, another body. Woman in the tunnel. Accident this time, thank God. The railwaymen said that two days ago – which would confirm the time of death – the train arriving from Fisherrow had a door open and a window pulled down.’ He shrugged. ‘It gets very stuffy in the tunnel, time they made a rule about folks conveniently using it to dump their rubbish. She must have tried to close the window, accidently opened the door and fallen out.’ He looked at the papers again. ‘No identity, nothing beyond a reticule containing a handkerchief and a few coins. Not even a key.’ He paused. ‘From what she was wearing, I would speculate without doubt that she was a servant, unless you have a better idea,’ he added mockingly.

  ‘She was a servant, sir.’

  ‘Indeed, and how do you know that? We have your usual intuition to thank, is that it?’

  Faro ignored the barb. ‘I believe her to be the servant the housekeeper at Sheridan Place expected to arrive a few days ago. Mrs Brook was very concerned and about to notify us that she might be a missing person. However, as she knew little about her, she felt cautious about making such a statement.’

  ‘Very wise, and a lot of use that would be. We get plenty of those. Mostly husbands who walk out on wives or vice versa, as you well know.’ He sighed. ‘Another waste of police time. I expect this housekeeper realised that servants often change their minds, get a better offer.’ He paused again. ‘Wait a moment. Sheridan Place, isn’t that where Macfie has moved to?’

  ‘Correct, sir. Mrs Brook is the housekeeper.’

  Gosse sighed. The less he had to do with Macfie, the better and the happier his life.

  ‘You get on to it, Faro,’ he said briskly. ‘The usual details for our report. Find out where she came from, family and so on.’

  Faro nodded and as he headed for the terminus at the Pleasance, he remembered Mrs Brook mentioning that she might help Tibbie by offering her some employment. The railway guard stepping off the train recognised him and said: ‘Sad business about that accident. We’ve been on about better lighting and getting rid of the rubbish. There have been complaints about a rotten smell, thought it was the rubbish, now we know what it really was. Dead body in that confined, airless state—’ He was prepared to go on in some more detail when Faro interrupted. ‘Did you know about the jammed window and the door?’

  ‘Oh aye, that’s the other thing. Needs fixing. I complained about it.’

  ‘So you were on the train when the accident happened?’

  ‘Oh yes, but I didn’t see anything at the time. It was one of our busy days, the afternoon train that collects market produce every few days from the poorhouse gardens.’

  Faro felt triumphant. Was this the connection with Tibbie he was looking for? Had she been trying to escape again, he wondered, remembering vividly the scene he had witnessed of her struggling with a man who was restraining her from boarding the train at the halt. ‘Do you recall seeing anyone of the deceased’s description boarding the train there?’

  The man shook his head. ‘I’m always too busy seeing the goods are being stored properly. Can’t be expected to remember every passenger who gets on board.’

  ‘You might remember this woman. She was lame, had a club foot.’

  The man frowned. ‘There were some women, one of them might have been her, but I couldn’t say exactly,’ he added reluctantly. ‘Folk from the poorhouse often take the chance of a free ride into Edinburgh. We don’t ask for a fare if they are travelling with the market produce van, gives them a rare chance of a change of scenery and a bit of novelty in their dull lives. Even them from the big house aren’t too proud to take a free ride with us,’ he added importantly.

  There had been no mention of a rail ticket being found in her reticule, so that fitted.

  ‘Were there other passengers from the poorhouse that day?’

  The guard stared ahead thoughtfully. ‘Couldn’t say, really. The passenger coaches take six, three to a side. Just like the old-time stagecoaches, so there could have been others with her.’

  ‘Was she accompanied by a man?’ Faro persisted.

  ‘I have no idea, sir.’ The guard laughed uneasily. ‘What makes you think that?’ Faro had a suspicion that all these questions were making him uncomfortable.

  ‘The open window that troubled you all?’

  ‘Aye. It was closed when the train arrived at the station, although we thought it had been jammed open previously,’ the guard said somewhat reluctantly. ‘Can’t say I took much notice. Too busy,’ he added with a faint smile.

  ‘We thought she must have been alone in the carriage, though, when the accident happened. She would never have fallen off the train had there been someone with her.’

  ‘Possibly. That’s it!’ A quick response but not before Faro had seen not only eagerness but something more, fear in the guard’s eyes.

  At the sight of the driver walking down the platform, he looked relie
ved and, saluting Faro, he said: ‘Have to get on with it, sir.’ And climbed aboard, leaving Faro with the distinct impression that he knew a lot more than he was willing to admit.

  Was Tibbie’s possible companion the same man he had seen her struggling with before? If he was also from the poorhouse then he was probably well known to the guards.

  This train was scheduled to leave for Fisherrow in an hour, but first of all he had to go to Sheridan Place and break the sad news to Mrs Brook.

  Opening the door, she was smiling and held up a card. ‘It’s from London, sir, the superintendent will be home in a few days.’

  Suddenly aware from his grave expression that was not the reason for his visit, she put a hand to her mouth as he said: ‘They’ve found Tibbie. She fell off the train a couple of days ago, in the Pleasance tunnel.’

  ‘Poor soul, oh poor soul,’ she sobbed and putting an arm around her Faro led her into the kitchen. Wiping her eyes, she said: ‘What a dreadful thing, a terrible, terrible thing to happen. I knew all along when she didn’t turn up. Lying hurt in that awful dark tunnel,’ she wept.

  Faro didn’t want to make it worse for her by going over the details again, but he listened patiently as she began to blame herself.

  ‘There was nothing you could do, Mrs Brook. She had no identification on her, nothing. I don’t know what she was doing at the poorhouse but we’ll need her Liberton address and arrangements for interment.’

  Mrs Brook straightened her shoulders, dried her eyes. ‘I’ll take care of that, sir.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He paused. ‘I hate asking you this, Mrs Brook, it is a most gruesome task. We will also need someone who knew her to identify her. Can you bear to do this?’

  Mrs Brook shivered. ‘Of course, sir, it is the least I can do for her.’ As he was leaving, she said: ‘Was it really an accident, sir?’

  ‘As far as we know from the details.’