Enter Second Murderer (20 page)

Alison glanced quickly at Faro before going to the table with its decanters and water carafe.

"I'm used to being threatened," said Faro. "Think nothing about it, a hazard of the job. But to use my family ..."

Alison was again kneeling by Vince's side. "Drink this."

"Ugh—what's this? Water?"

"Yes, my dear. And you're going to have a good sleep, which is what you need most. It's only laudanum."

A sudden growl of thunder shook the room, followed by the angry hiss of rain, like the arrows of an army in search of the three frightened people beleaguered, crouching, behind the room's closed shutters.

Alison shivered. "I have a request. May I stay here for the night? I am—I am so afraid to go home. I know I shall never sleep, and besides I might be of more use where I can look after him."

"Mrs. Brook can do that—besides we have no spare bedroom prepared ..."

"You have several comfortable sofas—a rug is all I need." And looking into Faro's stern face with tragic haunted eyes, she whispered, "I beg you, let me stay. I had a son once."

Faro slept little that night. Occasionally he awoke to hear a creaking board or movements in the kitchen below, a tap turned on. Once he went downstairs and found Alison making tea.

"What time is it?"

"Dawn," she said. "Listen to the birds. The storm is over, all is well with the world again."

"Vince?"

"I have kept my vigil. He is sleeping soundly. Now have some tea, it will refresh you. No?" She put a hand on his arm. "And do not look so worried, Jeremy. Go back to sleep!" And, standing on tiptoe, she kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"I won't sleep ..."

"Would you like some of my magic drops?"

He looked at her, conscious that his heart was in his eyes and that the most magical of all would be to make love to her against that dawn chorus. Afterwards, how he would sleep!

When he came downstairs again at eight o'clock, she had gone and Vince was in the breakfast room. In bright sunlight, his broken face looked even worse than by lamplight.

Faro groaned. "As Christ is my witness, I'll get Big Tam for this—if it's the last thing I do . . ."

"Careful, Stepfather—it might be just that."

"Look, lad, this is a situation I'm used to. There are always petty criminals out for my blood, and I wouldn't have thought Black Tam had enough imagination to try to get at me through you—but I've got to do my duty, whatever he threatened. He must be desperate ..."

"To hell with your duty, Stepfather—hear me out, will you?"

"Of course, lad."

"You are not the only intended victim. If you don't care about yourself, have a care for her—"

"Her?"

"Mrs. Aird. Remember his warning—"

"But why, for God's sake—what's she done?"

"Oh, that's easy—they seem to have eyes and ears, these naughty lads. They seem to know what you're both up to."

At the glint of amusement in his stepson's eyes, Faro shuffled uncomfortably. Vince made his innocent relationship with Alison sound like an illicit
grande passion
. If only it were true.

Mrs. Brook came in and began to set the table, full of apologies. She hadn't expected either of them to appear for breakfast. As she went out she beckoned to Faro from behind Vince's chair, a finger to her lips.

Faro made an excuse and followed her down to the kitchen, where he found her spreading a piece of crumpled paper on the table. "When I was putting Doctor Vince's clothes to the wash—all muddied and filthy they were, I don't know how I'll get them clean again—I found this. I thought you should maybe see it, before I gave it to the doctor, in his state."

One glance at the note's ill-formed letters sent Faro up to his study for the anonymous note directing him to seek Clara Burnleigh's whereabouts from Mrs. Wishart. Then he showed Mrs. Brook's find to Vince, who read, "'Let Lily Goldie rest in peace or Mrs. Aird will be next.'" He threw it down on the table. "You see? I'm telling you, take care. This isn't just your usual petty criminal working off his spite, Stepfather. Black Tam means your death."

"I doubt whether this dire threat was penned by Black Tam's hand. Nor was it written by 'One who seeks Justice'."

"I can see that. Different slant to the writing, besides the paper and ink aren't the same." Vince frowned. "But if Black Tam didn't put it in my pocket ..."

"I didn't say he didn't plant it, lad, merely that he didn't write it. I'd be very surprised if he can read or write, or, even if he could, I doubt if he could spell."

"Then who?"

"That we have still to find out."

Vince took the note and studied it. "You think he was paid by someone?"

"Well, there's one thing for sure. If we discover the identity of whoever wrote this, I think he's going to lead us directly to whoever murdered Lily Goldie."

After he had eaten, Faro took the omnibus to the Central Office. He found Constable Danny McQuinn boldly sitting behind his desk, nonchalantly sorting through papers. One look at Faro's thunderous expression and McQuinn stood up, straightened his tunic, saluted smartly and said, "I see you've been home, sir. I've been waiting most anxiously to see you. It was a pity that you weren't at home when it happened."

The implied reproof intensified Faro's own sense of guilt that while his stepson had been in mortal danger he was gallivanting about Fife, bear-leader to a crowd of irresponsible young Thespians.

He controlled his anger with difficulty. "Perhaps you would be so good as to give me a complete report of all that happened."

McQuinn pointed to a paper on his desk. "It is all here, ready for you, sir."

"I would like to hear it in your own words, McQuinn. Everything that happened."

"I was on my normal duty-patrol in the area when I heard a man calling for help. I blew my whistle and rushed to the rescue. I used my truncheon to some effect and kept on whistling. That seemed to scare them off. At first I thought the young man on the ground was dead. He was hardly breathing and I could see in the dim light that he was in a bad way. I adopted the usual procedure of going through his pockets for identification. There was none. The light was very poor and it wasn't until I wiped some of the mud and blood from his face, which was swelling by then, that I recognised your stepson, sir."

"There was no note in his pocket when you searched for identification?"

McQuinn shook his head. "Nothing, sir. Nothing at all. The contents had been removed by his assailants. May I continue, sir?

"Police Constables McDonald and Scott arrived on the scene and I sent them off in pursuit of the attackers, while I carried the injured man across my shoulders to his home at Number nine Sheridan Place, where I woke up your housekeeper, Mrs. Brook, who then proceeded to clean him up and dress his wounds."

"And what did you do then?"

"I asked her for a pen and paper to make out a statement for Doctor Laurie to sign once he was fully conscious—for use as future evidence when the attackers were apprehended. I had a cup of tea from Mrs. Brook while I waited. Doctor Laurie had come round by then and was able to give his account of the attack—signed—here. I left immediately and returned to the Central Office, where I also found Constables McDonald and Scott, who informed me that their pursuit had been unsuccessful and the robbers had vanished in the area of the Sciennes district known as the Warrens, a great place for criminals to go to earth."

"Have you any clues to their identity?"

"Oh yes, sir. Doctor Laurie's description fitted Black Tam and his lads. As you will remember, sir," he added proudly, "it was Caller Jamie, his nephew, that we apprehended and put behind bars last week."

Faro picked up Vince's statement and read it twice over, with a sense of incompleteness. There was something else about that pathetic document staring him in the face, and he just wasn't seeing it.

Across the desk was McQuinn's blandly handsome face with its suspicion of a supercilious smile. Typical of him to turn in a statement, correct in every detail, just as Vince had told him, omitting any mention of Big Tam's warning.

When he returned to Sheridan Place, Mrs. Brook met him in the hall. To his question regarding Vince, she said, "He is ever so much better now, sir. Been in his room all day, sleeping like a baby, but he managed a bowl of porridge. A wee touch of yon powder works wonders. I hear that even Her Majesty approves of laudanum and has a supply of it when she stays up at Balmoral." Mrs. Brook's awed whisper implied a guarantee of unquestionable respectability.

"Have there been any visitors?"

"Yes, Inspector. Mrs. Aird called in before going to the theatre. She left a message that she would return later in the hope of seeing you." At that moment the sound of the front doorbell jangled through the hall.

"That'll be her now, sir. Shall I send her up?"

"If you please."

He heard her light step on the stairs and she ran into the room and, rushing over to him, threw her arms about his neck. She was trembling. "Jeremy, my dear, I am so relieved to see you. What a day I have put in. Something rather awful happened when I got back to Mrs. Penny's. This!" From her reticule she took out an envelope addressed "Mrs. Aird". "It was waiting for me. Read it."

In the same ill-formed letters, on identical paper to the note Vince had received, was the warning, "Let Lily Goldie rest in peace and go back where you belong if you want to stay alive."

"Jeremy, I'm afraid. I don't know any Lily Goldie. What are they talking about?"

"Lily Goldie is the girl from the convent—"

"You mean—you mean the one who—who was murdered?" He saw now how afraid she was, as her voice rose shrilly. "Oh my God, how dreadful. But what has that to do with me?"

He put his arm around her trembling shoulders. "Not a thing, my dear. It just happens that I'm carrying on a private investigation—on behalf of relatives ..."

"Wait a moment—of course, that was why you were going to Fairmilehead—when you took me with you."

"Yes."

She looked at him wild-eyed. "But that had nothing to do with me. I wasn't helping you—I hardly knew you—"

"My dear, please be calm."

"Calm!"

"I'll explain everything, but tell me first, when did you receive this?"

"Mrs. Penny said it must have been handed in some time when I was out on Sunday. See—there's no postage stamp."

"Doesn't Mrs. Penny remember who. . . ?"

Alison shook her head. "The usual thing is for the postman or anyone leaving messages to put them on the table in the lobby. The front door is never locked, so it might have been delivered any time."

"When did you last receive any mail?"

She frowned. "I occasionally receive letters from admirers—you know, the kind actresses get—and that is all. We all pick up our letters from the lobby table as we come in. Jeremy, what does it mean? Who would write such a beastly note?"

"Tell me about the other boarders."

"Only the girls from the theatre, Beth, Marie, Julia—oh yes, and Hugo. He moved in last week, some trouble with his landlady's family arriving, and Mrs. Penny agreed to put him in the attic, temporarily."

She looked at Faro earnestly. "You can't possibly think—I mean, its unimaginable—the girls are a terrible tease, but they mean no harm. And none of these dear young people are capable of playing such cruel and frightening practical jokes."

"I'm afraid this is no practical joke."

"You mean—it is serious, someone is threatening me, just because I happened—quite innocently—to go with you to Fairmilehead? But that is monstrous, monstrous—it's so unfair—oh, dear God ..." Alison sat down, her face pale. "What will they do to me?"

"Nothing. I shall look after you. I mean it." Faro poured out a cup of tea. "Here you are. Go on, drink it. Do as I tell you." He drew up a chair opposite, and, scrutinising the letter lying between them on the table, said, "Vince received a similar threat. By the same hand, I'd say, and in almost the same words."

"When was this?"

"Mrs. Brook discovered it when she was attending to his clothes. It had been thrust into his coat pocket."

"I still don't understand."

"I think I'm beginning to—it fits a definite pattern, although I wouldn't have expected it quite so soon."

"Pattern? What pattern are you talking about?"

"Someone is getting very anxious about our interest in Lily Goldie's murder."

Alison frowned. "I don't understand. Wasn't a man hanged—dreadful case, he murdered someone else, didn't he?" She shook her head, trying to remember.

"His wife. However, we have uncovered evidence which leads us to believe that in fact the man who was hanged—Hymes—was innocent of Lily Goldie's murder."

Alison stared at him. "Are you saying that there is another murderer still on the loose?"

"I'm afraid so, and he realises—somehow—that we are catching up with him. That is why he is getting desperate, trying to scare us with threats. Have no doubt, my dear, that whoever wrote these two notes is our man. And I mean to get him, and he knows that. Now, I will see you safe back to your lodging and take the opportunity of making a few enquiries."