Killing Cousins (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.4)

by Alanna Knight

  Within moments of entering the room, Vince and Faro were bombarded with frantic but quite relevant questions for which they had not had the least opportunity to prepare satisfactory and consolingly logical answers.

  Frith's statement that Troller had fallen down the cliff was being dismissed as a tragic but unfortunate accident, the result of too many drams at the wake. The removal of Mrs Balfray from her coffin was a different matter. A terrible shock, of course, but a situation they were prepared to accept as within the bounds of possibility from a young man of known unsound mind, further unhinged by grief for his beloved patroness.

  But no one, thought Faro, had asked Frith how Troller had managed this single-handed, injured as he was, before conveniently expiring at her side. Or, more significantly, what exactly lay behind the Romeo and Juliet death scene so elaborately staged on the Odin Stone?

  Erlandson cleared his throat and exercised his ministerial powers by inviting everyone to bow their heads in prayer, a comforting homily Faro recognised as straight from the service for the burial of the dead. This was immediately followed by delicate but practical suggestions for the next few hours.

  Faro and Vince left him to it. Erlandson was accustomed to dealing with family bereavement as the vast and elaborate panoply of mourning so firmly established by Her Majesty moved into operation.

  'Even on this small island,' Vince told him later, 'the proprieties of death must be observed. Mourning bands for the villagers, wreaths, a church service, black-edged cards, ostrich plumes.'

  Could Troller be removed to his own home for the kisting? Saul asked. Vince and Faro exchanged glances. To keep him in the vestry until the Procurator Fiscal arrived would arouse suspicions of foul play. The brother was obviously very distressed but Vince had to explain that they would have to await the arrival of authority.

  'Where will they get black ostrich plumes here?' murmured Faro as he and Vince thankfully made their escape.

  At the bottom of the staircase, Faro put a finger to his lips and steered Vince in the direction of the front door. He wasn't quick enough. From the dining room emerged Mary Faro, obviously lying in wait for them.

  'I thought you two were up to something. I insist that you sit down in my kitchen and have some breakfast before you do anything else and before all the food I've cooked is completely ruined. You must keep your strength up in this hour of trial, Jeremy.'

  'We'll be back directly, Mother. Just going for a constitutional. Brisk walk round the grounds.'

  Vince grinned at her disarmingly. 'Do us good. Clear our heads. I'll take care of him, Grandma.'

  'Sometimes I just think you encourage him. I don't know which of you is worse,' she wailed after them.

  Halfway down the drive, Faro said, 'I think we should revisit the scene of the crime. There are one or two small discrepancies we might do well to consider.'

  'Deuced awkward having any sort of exchange, let alone a discussion, with the minister breathing so conscientiously down our necks. But I assumed you've noticed them too.'

  As they walked rapidly in the direction of the kirkyard, the threatening weather had undergone a further rapid deterioration. Every vestige of late summer had vanished.

  Autumn had descended on Balfray and had chosen its day well. The close damp fog clung to houses and covered the ground with an undulating grey blanket of mist. Even as they walked the island had already begun to diminish and landmarks dissolve. With the first deep boom of the foghorn, the seals' lament and a few sheep bleating forlornly were the only indications that life existed beyond their footsteps beneath the growing swirling shroud of grey. The air tasted damp and slightly salty and the prospect before them, as one by one tombstones loomed out of the mist, was anything but beguiling.

  'What a day for a murder,' said Faro, burrowing deeper into his coat collar.

  Vince surveyed the now deserted Odin Stone bleakly. 'You're absolutely right, Stepfather. Troller wasn't killed by tumbling over the cliff. He was murdered. By a massive blow to the back of his head.'

  Chapter Seven

  'There is no doubt about it, Stepfather. Troller Jack was also murdered. So we now have two on our hands.'

  'One by poisoning and one by a more speedy form of despatch, eh?' said Faro.

  'Let's leave Thora Balfray out for the moment because there is a distinct possibility that the two crimes were quite unconnected, don't you agree?'

  'I'm curious,' said Faro. 'Everyone I've spoken to thus far has been at great pains to tell me that Balfray is law-abiding, God-fearing, with a highly respected laird. Universal love seems to be the order of the day and murder is unthinkable. Besides, Vince, if you use your powers of observation, you'll note the ground.'

  'The ground?'

  'Yes, where we are standing now. Come along.'

  They walked a few steps and then Faro stopped, kneeled down. 'Look, I'm certain this is where Troller emerged, where he climbed up. See, there are tussocks of grass pulled out, a branch newly broken. Ah, and look on this stone sheltered by the cliff face - dried blood. This is where he dragged himself along. Now follow me.'

  As they walked slowly back towards the kirkyard, he continued, 'Observe the ground near the vault. The grass is bruised and there are some impressions, footprints, dammit, most washed away by the rain. Now what does that suggest to you, Vince?'

  'Had there been several drunks from the village involved, with a struggle, then there would have been a great many more signs of activity underfoot, trampled ground and so forth.'

  'Notice anything odd?' demanded Faro sharply.

  Vince frowned. 'When we examined him, it hadn't begun to rain yet his clothes were sodden through - the reason I failed to observe immediately the wound in his matted hair.' He looked across at Faro. 'Also, there was a huge wet patch under him on the Odin Stone although Thora's shroud was bone dry.'

  Faro nodded eagerly. 'Very significant. And what else?'

  'Where he had been lying, there were pieces of seaweed, particles of sand on his clothes.'

  'And what might we conclude from that, I wonder?'

  'Obviously he had been in the sea.'

  'In the sea?' Faro repeated. 'Doing what? Swimming was hardly likely. Had he fallen in then, do you think? He was drunk, remember, staggering along that narrow cliff path. The question is, did he lose his footing, and fall... or was he pushed?

  'Inebriates do have miraculous escapes from death, quite unaccountable powers of survival, as we know.'

  'Aye, we encounter them in Edinburgh regularly. Everyone was, I gather, maudlin drunk at the wake including our off-duty Sergeant Frith.'

  'It could happen, you know. Troller was physically very strong, in the prime of condition. It was only his poor brain that was weak. And the shock of contact with icy water might well have sobered him.'

  'Let us presume that you are right. So with nothing more than a drenching and a few bruises, he climbs up again, tearing his hands while his wet garments gather quantities of mud, sand and seaweed.'

  Faro shook his head. 'We have missed one very significant fact, lad. Why make that tortuous dangerous climb at all? Ah, there's the rub.' Turning, he pointed a finger to the way they had come. 'When there is a perfectly good path only thirty yards away leading up from the shore? And why, instead of going home by that path, sobered and grateful for his miraculous escape, does he further risk life and limb to trot off to Thora's tomb—?'

  'Oblivious of a deep wound on the back of his head which was to cause his death,' Vince interrupted. 'It just isn't feasible, Stepfather. Whatever he did do, concussed, bleeding profusely, he certainly didn't make that climb with a split skull and then take Thora from her coffin and carry her, unaided, to that other resting place.'

  'Without knowing the full facts of the case, I would say that the murderous attack took place, either before or after putting Mrs Balfray on the Odin Stone.'

  'And if before, Stepfather, we can only come to one conclusion. That someone else arranged their particul
arly grisly death scene.'

  Faro shivered, listening to the floodtide biting deep into the rocks far below, and all around them the heavy swathe of mist blanketing the landscape and reducing visibility to nil.

  'Someone from the village, would you say? Some of the lads who tormented him and were the worse for drink at the wake?'

  'Unlikely,' said Vince. 'From all accounts, Troller was well thought of and Saul Hoy is a mighty force to be reckoned with, enough to discourage anyone with a cruel and senseless line in practical joking.'

  'Excellent. So you would agree that we direct our enquiries closer to home to find the answer to this one. You know the first rules by now, lad, without any prompting from me.'

  Vince smiled. 'You mean motive.'

  'Precisely. Let us first consider who stood to gain by Troller's death.'

  'I can answer that, Stepfather. No one. The lad was an orphan. Only Saul Hoy stood to gain ...'

  'Indeed?'

  'By having one less mouth to feed,' Vince replied grimly. 'And that's a callous assessment for, according to everyone, Saul was devoted to his simple brother. And I think we'll find he didn't even have an insurance on him which might have made him only a few pounds richer or would pay for the funeral wake.'

  They had reached the Balfray vault. 'Let's go inside, shall we?'

  'Vince followed him reluctantly, obviously regarding with distaste a prospect only minutely more daunting than the weather outside.

  As Faro lit the lantern and lifted the coffin lid they both took a step back at the chilling odour of death.

  'We know that Troller was in the sea, for what reason it isn't yet clear. But when he reached Thora's tomb did you notice that it was quite dry inside, immaculately tidy, in fact? There were no wet marks, no sand or seaweed, as you would imagine from a man whose clothes were dripping wet.'

  Faro lifted the lantern so that its light illuminated the coffin. 'Now what sort of implement did he use to unscrew the lid?'

  'The pocket knife we found in his pocket would have been quite adequate.'

  Vince shuddered as Faro paced across the vault carrying an imaginary burden. 'So, he takes out Mrs Balfray and carries her to the Odin Stone.' Turning, he regarded his stepson gravely. 'What were his reasons for such extraordinary behaviour, do you think?'

  Vince frowned. 'Are we to believe he was still fuddled enough with drink to imagine that the stone had powers to resurrect dead lovers?'

  Faro smiled. 'Ah, now you are getting close, lad, for that is precisely what we are meant to believe.' Frowning, he added, 'But was that all he intended? There is another highly unpleasant possibility, which I expect has already occurred to you.'

  'Necrophilia, you mean?'

  'The same. Perhaps by the light of an indifferent moon.'

  Vince looked shocked. 'I think you are quite mistaken. I'm sure his love was absolutely pure for Thora.'

  'In moments of sanity and sobriety, yes. But mad drunk...he had the mind of a child, Vince, but his body was that of a young and virile man. So who knows what desires overwhelmed him when he opened that coffin?'

  'You're wrong, Stepfather. We both saw Thora's corpse. Her grave-clothes weren't even disarranged... '

  Faro smiled. 'Exactly. They were remarkably well starched - pristine, in fact.' Leaning forward, he added, 'Observe closely the satin lining of the coffin.'

  With a certain repugnance Vince looked over his stepfather's shoulder in the lantern light. 'Not a stain there, either, of any kind.'

  'Nor was there any such mark when we replaced her. Now, does that not strike you as remarkable?'

  'It does indeed since the blood on his hands had not yet congealed when we found him,' said Vince.

  'Yet, considering the frightful condition of Troller's person, not so much as a spot of mud or blood, not even a peck of sand on Mrs Balfray, who he must have clasped quite firmly in his arms to negotiate the narrow door and the steps up from the vault.'

  Faro smiled grimly. 'And what does he do next? He arranges her on the Odin Stone, lies down and conveniently expires beside her.'

  Vince shook his head. 'Whatever impulse, pure or impure, drove him, I don't believe a word of it.'

  'And neither do I,' said Faro, thumping his fists together. 'Not a single word.'

  'Do you think we have seen enough in here?' said Vince anxiously. Even in the lantern glow, Faro observed that he was beginning to look a little green, the effect of holding his breath for long intervals.

  'For the present, yes.' And closing the coffin lid, Faro gratefully followed his stepson into the moist air. After wiping their faces with handkerchiefs, they sat down on the steps and Faro lit a pipe.

  'Most distressing, most distressing, this whole business. And, alas, I fear there will be worse to come ...'

  'If Troller didn't perform these miraculous feats, then who staged the dramatic death scene?'

  'Someone deuced anxious to make it look as if there was a connection.' Faro shook his head. 'Find the answer to that, lad, and we have our murderer. Let's not be blinded by the obvious, and keep always in sight the vital question - motive, lad, concentrate on that. Find out who had motive and opportunity, and we're halfway there.'

  'Who should want to destroy a harmless simpleton, liked by everyone?'

  'Precisely. Let us presume that the two deaths are connected and that whoever murdered Thora Balfray had good reason for wanting rid of Troller.'

  'Such as?'

  'Let us say that he had stumbled on something important - the identity of Mrs Balfray's murderer.'

  'It's a fantastic theory, Stepfather, but you could be right.'

  Faro was silent for a moment before replying. 'There is another alternative. That Troller's murder was an accident.'

  'An accident?'

  'Let's leave aside for a moment his maudlin love for Thora Balfray. Picture instead a very frightened murderer - on the verge of being discovered. Only in such dire necessity would he, or she, have resorted to this quite unplanned violence.'

  'He or she,' Vince repeated. 'But it must have been a man, Stepfather. No woman could ever have grappled with Thora's corpse.'

  'Difficult, I admit, but not impossible.' Faro paused.

  'Not for a woman used to lifting a sick person in her bed over several months.''

  'Of course. You have something there,' said Vince triumphantly. 'Why didn't I think of that before? Hospital nurses tell me there's a knack in it.' And, with a look of faint horror, he added, 'You mean... ?'

  'Well, perhaps it is a little far-fetched, a little early for that. Let's concentrate on the likelihood of a man being involved, on our earlier theory of the murderer waiting for Troller when he staggered up the cliff path and attacking him with a heavy implement that split open his skull and, I suspect, killed him instantly.'

  'What did he use?'

  Faro looked around. 'In all probability whatever was nearest and most effective for the job. In these surroundings, with an unplanned attack, I'd hazard a guess that he'd use a spade. There are always plenty lurking about kirkyards, the natural implement for digging graves. I dare say it isn't far away.'

  As Faro spoke he walked rapidly towards the tiny woodshed where the grave diggers kept the tools of their trade. A moment later he gave a cry of triumph.

  This, I think, is our murder weapon. See for yourself.' He held up a spade for Vince's inspection.

  'By heaven, you're right, Stepfather. Blood stains...and hair on the blade.'

  They were silent, struck by the enormity of what they had discovered. The murder weapon between them, they were isolated in a gloomy kirkyard where all contact with life had long since ceased, and even the comfort of horizons had vanished. Their range of vision was now limited to a few yards, bound by swirling shadows of heavy vapour, shrouding the church and turning the tombstones into the shapes of lurking ghosts.

  Suddenly it was not a place in which to linger. With only the echoes of the seals barking, Faro was seized by an ominous feeling th
at this was one case he was never going to solve. Defeated already, a fit of sneezing did nothing to lessen his depression.

  Vince looked at him anxiously. He knew the signs well. 'Cheer up, Stepfather, a good hot bath is the answer. And that, thanks to the ingenuity of Balfray plumbing, can be instantly provided.'

  Chapter Eight

  An hour later, Faro sat in front of a large fire in his bedroom, wrapped in a bathrobe. Under the disapproving eye of Mrs Faro, Vince generously replenished their whisky glasses.

  Mrs Faro raised her eyes heavenward, frustrated that the management of her son's health on which she prided herself had been entirely removed from under her ample wing. Drams, except for high days and holidays, she regarded as instruments of the devil.

  As he sipped his drink, Faro unashamedly encouraged her to tell him all about Balfray. She was not unwilling and a lively interest in local gossip was exactly what he most needed, with an idea that Mrs Faro's ear for seemingly irrelevant information could be of considerable importance.

  He soon got more than he had bargained for and found his eyelids drooping under a barrage of life histories of the entire population of Balfray but was, in effect, only the staff inside and out, past and present, of Balfray Castle.

  'Poor as church mice they are. That poor Miss Balfray, she has such a job making ends meet'

  Faro's head sank a little lower.

  'Paid off most of the servants. All new now except Annie.'

  Faro jerked awake. 'Who's Annie?'

  'Haven't you been listening, dear? Annie, the upper housemaid, has been with them since before Dr Francis married.'

  'And everyone else is new?'

  She smiled reproachfully. 'Like I've just told you, dear.'

  Faro was fully alert again as he made a mental note to talk to Annie. Why should this complete change of servants bother him? Had it been coincidence, as his mother claimed, or was there some carefully thought out pattern behind it all - a sinister reason that might be connected with the two deaths?

  When Mrs Faro took her departure full of anxious concern and advice for his future well-being, Faro felt considerably more cheerful.