Death at Carasheen (Inspector Faro Mystery No.13)

by Alanna Knight

  Drying his face, Faro went over and sat on the bed beside her, took her hands and kissed them. ‘I hope you are pleased by my virtuous response to Aaron McBeigh’s intentions. I can tell you during that very uncomfortable ride on the farm cart, there were times with visions of a soft bed.’

  She laughed and Faro said, ‘Which you did have - eventually.’

  ‘As a reward for virtue?’

  Faro shook his head. ‘No, because you love me and I love you and nothing outside - only ourselves - can change that.’

  Imogen nodded. ‘I did a lot of thinking on that journey last night. Looking at those young people, not one of them more than seventeen or eighteen, so happy and carefree. What was time to them? And I thought of myself at their age. At seventeen I was in prison and my whole life since has been devoted to lost causes - aye, Faro, believe me, they are lost indeed. And, with them, went my youth, twenty years when I should have married and had children - when I should, had God been willing, have met you. By the time we did meet five - six - years ago it was already too late for me.’

  ‘It was never too late, Imogen - and it isn’t too late now. We can marry...’

  ‘But I cannot bear you a child so what’s the point? We are both too old for that and too restless and ambitious to settle down into carpet slippers and muffins by the fire.’ Imogen swung her legs out of the bed and said, ‘Talking of restless ambition and explanations, I had best think of something that sounds convincing for Maeve - although,’ she paused, smiling at him as she dressed, ‘I have a feeling that she knows perfectly well. And I must pack.’

  ‘I’ll pick up your luggage, leave it here and we’ll get it on the way to the railway station.’

  ‘Splendid - what about you?’

  ‘Things to do. Lines to draw under inconclusive evidence,’ Faro sighed. ‘I’ve been through it all, looked at all the suspects...’

  ‘Like who?’ she said, attempting to comb the tangles from her hair.

  Faro drew a deep breath. ‘Your uncle Desmond is the only one who seems to have a credible motive.’

  ‘I cannot believe that of him,’ she said angrily. ‘You will never convince me.’

  ‘My other suspect, your friend Aaron, has no motive for murder.’ Imogen looked up, seemed about to say something and then shook her head.

  As he was buttoning up his shirt, she wandered across to the table and picked up the small white packet Dr Neill had given him. ‘And what is this for? Are you ill? Is there something you haven’t told me?’ she added in alarm.

  About to put on his boots, Faro laughed. ‘Of course not. Merely an excuse to talk to the good doctor. Told him I had problems sleeping when we travelled.’

  Imogen held the packet in her hand, with a distasteful expression. ‘A sleeping draught. Sure now, let’s hope it isn’t as effective as the last one he gave you. I don’t want a Rip Van Winkle...’

  Faro threw down the shoehorn and sprang to his feet.

  ‘Say that again!’ he exploded.

  ‘Wh...what? I only called you a Rip Van Winkle!’

  He rushed across to her. ‘That’s it! That’s it!’

  ‘Faro! What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘You, my darling girl, have solved it.’

  Chapter 27

  Brandishing his notes, he said to Imogen, ‘Last night, I couldn’t sleep - for obvious reasons - and I was just seeing, at last, the probable answer to two of those three accidents - murders - yes, that’s what they were - when Cara House went on fire.’

  ‘Then perhaps you will let me into the secret,’ said Imogen.

  Faro sat down on the bed beside her. ‘Yes, I think I can do exactly that. It was all so easy. I had it all the time and kept coming back to it. Yet I still didn’t see it. The thing that kept troubling me was the fact that it couldn’t be your uncle Des or Aaron or the doctor because, when Conn came to tell them about Matthew, they had been together all evening playing poker.’

  ‘So...’

  ‘Don’t you see it now? The answer is that Matthew didn’t have one killer. He had three. The doctor, Aaron and Uncle Des all provided each other with alibis in the form of Aaron’s extended poker game.’ Imogen didn’t look convinced and he went on. ‘Let us say that Luke’s death was an accident. He was drunk and the horse took fright and threw him. But I think that accident planted the idea. Desmond knew...’

  ‘Oh, so you’re trying to blame Uncle Desmond again, are you?’ Imogen cut in shortly.

  Faro raised a hand. ‘Hear me out, if you please. Molly told Desmond that the three young hooligans were all courting her. They were determined to wear her down, intimidate her or blackmail her into signing a marriage bond with one of them and so turn over all her property, and they travelled back on the narrow road by the lough. There was only one small problem. Your uncle was an ex-policeman and, once a detective always a detective, he had already sought my help to solve the Donnellys’ murders.’

  Pausing, he thought for a moment. ‘So I had to be got out of the way, put off the scent and while they were thinking about it, my toothache gave them the perfect answer. Dr Neill extracted the tooth and drugged me so powerfully to kill the pain that I slept for more than twenty-four hours. While I was dead to the world, the doctor added poison to the bottle of poteen Desmond had stolen from Conn. They set up the trap for Matthew with Aaron’s lariat...’

  ‘Wait a moment, Faro. How did they know he or his brother would be going to Donaveen so conveniently that night?’

  Faro smiled and wagged a finger at her. ‘This, I think, is where an accessory to their plan was needed - one who could be trusted to lure the Cara boys to Donaveen, with an invitation they could not afford to refuse.’

  ‘Molly, you mean?’

  ‘Exactly. So the trap was set and all they had to do was wait. Matthew came along, riding furiously after having been turned from Molly’s door. His horse tripped over the lariat, they picked him up, forced the poteen down his throat and then rolled him down to the shore of the lough. There, some hours later, another regular traveller to Donaveen, namely Conn, who was courting the factor’s daughter, would be sure to spot the horse tied to the tree.’

  ‘Quite ingenious,’ said Imogen, sounding unconvinced still, ‘but what about Mark?’

  ‘Ah, yes, while all this was going on at the lough, Aaron speedily took his departure and rode up to Cara House. In a very genial mood, he told Mark that he was leaving in a couple of days and asked if they could negotiate the sale of the Kerry bull. Believing that Matthew was away to Donaveen and through his usual drunken haze, Mark probably realised that he could make a deal with the American and keep all the money himself. So they walk over to the bullpen and, while Mark has his back turned, Aaron knocks him out, draws blood, tips him over the fence and leaves the bull to complete his task.’ He paused. ‘And where were the gypsy children all this time?’

  ‘Keeping well out of sight,’ said Imogen, ‘I imagine their masters in drunken mood were to be avoided at all costs. Makes me wonder if they had a hand in the fire.’

  ‘Has something quite significant happened after the priest went up to the house with his brother’s body?’

  ‘Mark refused to see him - according to the children. That seemed odd.’ Frowning, she added slowly, ‘Now I understand what you’re getting at. Mark was already dead, lying in the bullpen. And the children knew about it. But how can you be sure of that?’

  Faro steepled his fingers together thoughtfully, ‘Because he had been dead for quite some time, a day or two at least, when Aaron called on me and suggested we go up to the house together where he wanted moral support while he was negotiating the sale of the Kerry bull.’

  ‘Aaron again?’ mocked Imogen. ‘How could you know how long Mark had been dead? Dr Neill said...’

  Ignoring her interruption, Faro continued, ‘Dr Neill’s examination was cursory, to say the least. He was used to giving false diagnoses - he had already declared that Matthew Cara had died because he h
ad drunk too much and had choked on his own vomit.’

  ‘Sounds plausible enough to me.’

  ‘Let me say that I am not used, through many years of police work, to accepting plausibility. I have to examine evidence for myself. And, in my long career, maybe I have seen many more corpses that have lain undiscovered for several days, than Dr Neill has in his.’

  ‘So the doctor, well respected and loved by all, is also a crook?’

  ‘No, merely an accessory. Mark was, to put it mildly, not a fresh corpse. And Dr Neill was only doing what he had already done before, signing death certificates for the Cara family. For the stepmother who allegedly fell out of a window and Sir Michael who fell down the stairs, when he had strong suspicions that both deaths had been engineered by the three boys.’ Imogen’s eyes widened.

  ‘Let me tell you a story then.’ And Faro proceeded to tell her of his interview with Dr Neill, on the trumped-up excuse of a sleeping draught, and how the doctor had confided his fears in him.

  ‘Poor Dr Neill,’ she said. ‘What a terrible predicament.’

  ‘I agree. Your compassion is quite understandable and so are his reasons for issuing false death certificates for the Cara brothers. He was terrified of the repercussions on his family.’

  Imogen looked at him. ‘Presuming you are right about all this,’ she said, ‘where do we go from here?’

  Faro regarded her solemnly. ‘I haven’t worked that out yet.’

  ‘We have just over an hour left before we catch that Dublin train so you’ll have to look sharp about it.’ At Faro’s exclamation of annoyance, she smiled. ‘Problem is you have no real proof, have you?’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘You could always go across and take the wind out of their sails - so to speak - by accusing them. You might even get a confession if they were scared enough.’ Still Faro did not answer and she took his hands. ‘I realise, knowing you, that this is all for your own personal satisfaction. And, if you would like to take my advice, I would say that you should regard this as one of Inspector Faro’s few unsolved murder cases.’

  His head jerked sharply upright and he demanded, ‘And why should I do that, pray?’

  She patted his hands. ‘Because, dear love, you are on the road to nowhere.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  She shook her head. ‘But then, you don’t understand the people of Carasheen - all they have suffered through the years. They don’t give a tinker’s curse, to put it mildly, what happens to whoever rid them of the Cara brothers. If it was Uncle Desmond, the doctor and the American visitor, they would be quite likely to put up a statue to all three of them on the common and venerate it like the old Celtic cross.’ Pausing, she added, ‘Don’t you see what I’m getting at, sweetheart? Carasheen has been liberated. They are eager to bury the past and get on with their lives and, if you try to accuse them...’ she added gravely, poking a finger at his chest, ‘then you, I fear, may be the next victim. Now, shall we go down to breakfast? Show our shamed countenances to Tom and the world?’

  Tom took their appearance with remarkable aplomb. Maybe, unaware that the maid had found the bedroom door locked, he was prepared to assume that Miss Crowe had merely arrived just in time for breakfast. As they ate their porridge and their bacon and eggs, Imogen asked idly, ‘What shall we do with our last hours before we leave? Have you anything special in mind?’

  Noting his preoccupation and guessing where it lay, she said, ‘I have promised to see Uncle Desmond. Perhaps you should confront him with your - evidence. What do you say to that?’

  Faro smiled. ‘I will certainly come with you but, as for confrontation, I’m not too sure...’

  ‘It’s now or never,’ was Imogen’s cheerful response.

  Desmond was expecting them. Aaron and Dr Neill had also arrived to say goodbye. A poker game was spread out on the table. Kissing Imogen’s cheek, Desmond said sadly, ‘We will miss you.’

  Shaking hands with Faro, Dr Neill said, ‘You arrived at a trying time. Now that is all over, the Caras have gone at last.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Faro, ‘but their killer remains at large.’

  Three startled faces turned towards him and Imogen said, ‘Faro has something to say to you. Go on, tell them what you have just told me,’ she added firmly

  Faro drew a deep breath. ‘I am willing to accept that Luke Cara’s death was an accident but I believe I know who killed his brothers.’

  There was an uneasy laugh from Dr Neill and he said, ‘My dear fellow, can you not accept a doctor’s word on that before you leave? Everyone knows they were accidents.’

  Faro shook his head. ‘Not accidents, Doctor. Murders. Shall I tell you how I arrived at these conclusions?’

  The doctor smiled confidently ‘Please do.’

  Faro reiterated what he had said earlier to Imogen. During the solemn confrontation, the three men watched him and he took careful note of their expression. Sometimes a gasp or a quick nervous glance exchanged between them restored his confidence and told him triumphantly that he was on the right track.

  At the end, Dr Neill asked, ‘You really believe that Aaron did the killings?’ Aaron gave the doctor a startled look as he continued, ‘And that we provided him with alibis?’

  ‘I had the word "accessories" in mind,’ Faro put in.

  ‘How extraordinary,’ said Desmond. ‘As you have proved to us, I have to admit that your conclusions are all very plausible but there is one serious omission - Aaron has no motive.’

  There was a short silence that was broken by Imogen. ‘I have a piece of interesting information for you from my visit to Derrynane yesterday.’ And, with an apologetic glance in Faro’s direction, she said, ‘An unexpected confidence came my way - the missing piece that completes a puzzle. Just like you, Uncle Des and Dr Neill are confident that Aaron is the only one without a motive for killing off the Cara brothers. It just happens that he has the best motive of all.’ Turning to Aaron, she asked gently, ‘Don’t you think you should tell them?’

  Aaron shrugged. ‘Why not? When we were in Waterville, I found the documents I’ve been searching for. They proved that my grandmother was first cousin to Sir Michael Cara’s father. She went to America after the Famine but, with all the family now disposed of, I guess I would have an excellent claim to the Carasheen inheritance.’ Looks of surprise were exchanged and there followed an uncomfortable pause. Were congratulations or accusations in order?

  Dr Neill came up with the answer. ‘A motive, alas, but not long to enjoy the benefits.’

  Aaron jumped to his feet. ‘No, Peter, I forbid it. Please - I beg you...’

  ‘Sit down, Aaron, and preserve your strength.’ And, leaning over him, the doctor continued, ‘You must tell them, Aaron,’ and, with a despairing glance in Imogen’s direction, he said, ‘You surely would not wish Miss Crowe...’

  ‘She was the last one I ever wanted to find out. Dammit, Peter, why couldn’t you keep it to yourself? I thought that was the rule for doctors.’

  While he spoke, Dr Neill produced a paper from his pocket and waved it in front of them. ‘Aaron was in Dublin on his way out to Carasheen. He was in hospital for a few days. And this telegraph is the result. It reads: "Grave news. Condition terminal. Expectancy weeks only."’ Pausing for a moment, he went on, ‘Aaron is dying. He was shot in the chest, in a fight before he left America. The bullet lodged too near his heart to be removed. However, it is gradually moving closer and one day, very soon –’

  ‘All right,’ said Aaron. ‘All I want now - all I have ever wanted is to die in Ireland and, when I came to Carasheen, I saw something - as an old lawman - I could do for the land of my ancestors. Hell, I had nothing to lose. The Kerry bull was a great excuse.’ Looking across at Conn. ‘I was relieved to hear that someone is taking care of him.’

  Conn nodded. ‘That’s all in hand. An auction and the proceeds will go to the community.’

  Aaron smiled. ‘Excellent.’ And returning to Faro, he said, ‘You were right, I
guess. It was Luke’s accident that gave me the idea and these two gentlemen were my assistants. And we got away with it, Mr Faro, in spite of your interfering and prying into what did not concern you. You should have left it alone. You could never win - you never had a winning card in your hand. If you did, then you couldn’t play it. The Caras are dead and all that remains for me is to have my greatest wish granted - to die in Ireland.’ To Imogen, he smiled wryly. ‘I guess I did not want you to know any of this. I never had your love but I sure as hell didn’t want your pity.’

  A clock struck in the hall. Desmond stood up and said, ‘Now you must go or you’ll miss your train. We’ll see you to the station.’

  Faro held up his hand. ‘No, please, none of you,’ and indicating the pack of cards on the table, ‘stay and finish your game.’ Imogen went over, kissed Aaron’s cheek and gave him a whispered farewell.

  Faro stepped forward and grasped his hand. ‘You are a brave man, Aaron McBeigh. I salute you.’

  Armed with their luggage from the inn, they raced towards the station as the train came steaming along the platform. It was on time and they took their seats in an empty compartment. Silently, Imogen stared out of the window for the last glimpse of Kerry. Then, with a sigh, she leaned her head against Faro and he put an arm around her.

  Later they would talk but, for now, there was no need for words.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1