Quest for a Killer (12 page)

I felt quite light-hearted, exceedingly glad to be going home again, as I bicycled through the Grange and headed through Newington.

The truth, which I hated to admit even to myself, was that although I had grown fond of Elma, who had so many excellent qualities, I didn’t warm to her twin at all. A fact I was sorry to realise and I even hoped that, for once, those first impressions had been wrong.

I didn’t like Peter. He did not greatly resemble Elma – although this was most often the rule with different sex fraternal twins – apart from both being of roughly the same height, with fair hair and blue eyes, and I could imagine that, as infants, they looked like little picture book angels.

I was disappointed. I had expected some sort of affinity as I had with Elma. Instead, there was only the odd likeness to the man who had spoken to her outside the theatre. Perhaps that was the trouble: it persisted and, despite Elma’s assurances, I could not persuade myself that I had been mistaken.

After all, Elma should know much better than I who had spoken to her that evening, and since she claimed the man was a casual acquaintance, she was completely unaware of any resemblance.

As I reached home, with Thane there waiting to welcome me, I knew that I did not care for Rice Villa either. There was also something wrong about Elma’s luxurious home, something deep and disturbing that wealth could not disguise.

I wondered if it was haunted. It had a forbidding air of sinister depression, almost, I might add, of evil, yet
it was only a few years old and Solomon’s Tower, by comparison, was a warm, serene and welcoming place, despite the many untold acts of violence and death its walls had witnessed during the past centuries of its existence.

I decided that Rice Villa would be worthy of a visit from the psychic Sara Hengel, but a more pressing reason for talking to her again was my endeavour to gather information about my prime suspect, Joey.

That was the night Leo, King of the Jungle, escaped from the circus.

It was not until daylight next morning that the cage door was discovered swinging open. Leo, mercifully its sole occupant, was nowhere to be seen, which hinted that he had enjoyed almost twelve hours of freedom.

Panic ensued. What if he was already roaming the streets of Edinburgh in search of food – or prey? Should the authorities be notified?

‘No,’ said Fernando and Hengel together in agreement. They reasoned that it was unlikely Leo would go where there were humans, and police would bring guns, trigger-happy ready to shoot him, a valuable animal, on sight.

There was one other possibility. All eyes turned apprehensively towards the vast unpredictable slopes of the extinct volcano that was Arthur’s Seat with its many secret caves and hiding places.

They groaned. Nets and poles were distributed, and one or two rifles with stern instructions to be used only in the last resort. Heads scratched in perplexity. There had never been anything like this before, and how on
earth could he be tracked down and brought back alive, too valuable an asset to be shot dead?

And how to keep this out of the newspapers and especially from those folk with handsome houses and vast gardens in the wealthy new suburbs adjacent to Queen’s Park, where Leo might be at large at this moment?

Angry glances were exchanged. Who was to blame? Who had allowed this catastrophe to happen? Carelessness where wild animals were concerned was inexcusable and there had to be a scapegoat. They did not have far to look: Fernando’s son, with the very ordinary name of Jimmy – not at all foreign, which was hardly surprising as Fernando’s real name was Percy Edwards from Halifax.

Jimmy, aged seventeen, was one of the five clowns. His father had problems with him. Jimmy was utterly fearless and fancied himself since childhood in the role of lion-tamer. Loving all animals, he nursed the totally mistaken idea that they shared this agreeable sentiment for him.

Fernando had failed completely in trying to impress upon him that, however docile the animals appeared, he ruled them with a rod of iron and, although they obeyed, such obedience was unnatural to a beast of the jungle. Every human being was a natural enemy, captivity was unnatural and every beast’s brain harboured only one desire – to escape back to the wild.

Jimmy was not convinced and he would sit on his little stool for hours outside the cages, talking to the
animals through the bars, trying in his childish way to establish a bond and make them realise he was their friend.

And so it was, on the night of Leo’s escape, Fernando went into Princes Street to celebrate the birthday of Miss Adela the equestrienne who he greatly fancied. To his delight, the feeling appeared to be mutual. He was to spend the night at her lodgings, especially as, amid fits of unrestrained rather drunken merriment, she leant amorously against him, insisting that he was in no condition after the amount of whisky consumed to return to Queen’s Park.

Fernando, with his unshakeable sense of duty to his animals, scorned the luxury of lodging in Newington. Unlike Jimmy who resided with the other three clowns in the comfort of Mr Wood’s establishment in Sheridan Place, his father had a caravan on the site, his travelling home close to the cages where, a light sleeper, he slept with one eye open (the habit of many years) and the slightest disturbance, the merest rumble from the cages, had him immediately alert to possible danger.

This arrangement suited both and on this occasion had certain advantages for Fernando’s social life and his wooing of Miss Adela. Jimmy agreed readily enough to occupy the caravan for one night, left with instructions to look after the cages, impressed upon most sternly, time and time again, to make sure they were securely bolted before he retired.

As there had been no performance, it being Sunday, Jimmy regarded this last-minute procedure as quite unnecessary. However, someone – most probably Sean
(although this could never be proved), one of the tinkers who roamed everywhere – was heard that night shouting and roaring drunk in the circus precincts and had accepted a dare to enter Leo’s cage. Had the man been sober and in his right mind, even eager to impress his latest lady-love, he would never have tackled anything so dangerous. He got as far as unbolting the door and lifting the iron bar when the apparently sleeping Leo sprang up, roared and made a desperate bid for freedom.

This immediately sobered Sean. He rushed back to his companions hovering at a discreet distance, and all of them hastily departed, led by Sean, who in his exit from the scene had failed to replace the iron bar. The door was left ajar and Leo, who had long awaited just such an opportunity, smelt freedom – and took it.

Jimmy heard nothing. He had also seized the opportunity of his father’s absence, and had been enjoying a relaxed evening sharing a few jars with the other clowns, a luxury strictly forbidden by his parent.

A naturally heavy sleeper, unused to the effects of alcohol, he was quite unconscious, unaware of the tinker’s altercation outside the caravan.

Early next morning, a jaunty but bleary-eyed Fernando, feeling pretty good about the night’s activities and what Miss Adela had on offer, strolled back from her lodging in South Clerk Street to the circus, where the open cage door told its own terrible story.

Anger and recriminations were useless and too late. Fernando’s caravan was also empty. Jimmy had woken early with a shocking hangover. Horror-stricken by the
results of his night’s carouse, he had already set out to recapture Leo, fearless, confident and alone, armed with pole and net, a gladiator from the Colosseum in Ancient Rome.

Precautions such as seizing the first things he saw his father use might have been quite adequate in the circus tent, but Jimmy had not stopped to ponder on how useless they would be in the vast expanse of Arthur’s Seat, even presuming that he came face-to-face with an angry lion whose temper was not known to be the sweetest, especially now he was undoubtedly hungry, deprived of his usual substantial breakfast.

Leo had forgotten in his long years of captivity how to hunt down zebra and wildebeest, even if there had been such creatures on a Scottish hillside. A few sheep scattered higher up the hill suggested hard work. As for rabbits – what were they? Small furry creatures, the only game and always in a great hurry. Beneath his contempt, they could outrun him and rapidly disappear into the safety of their warrens.

This, then, was the background to what was happening outside Solomon’s Tower as I opened the curtains of my bedroom window.

As often happened in the autumn, the hill was crowned by a swirling early morning mist, obliterating distant visibility. A peaceful scene, with the sun struggling to put in an appearance heralding a mild day.

I yawned, then suddenly, to my astonishment, I saw a large tawny creature. A lion, no less, prowling not
twenty yards from my garden, and fast approaching him the small figure of a boy carrying a net and pole. From my vantage point, also visible running across the hill through the mist, a group of men presumably from the circus.

I could see the boy making what looked like friendly and encouraging gestures applicable to a domestic pet to the crouching lion, who failed to understand. Its lashing tail swinging in fury indicated clearly that it was having nothing to do with any return to captivity.

As for the boy – I hammered on the glass with the sickening realisation that he would be dead, mauled to death long before the men running across the hill reached him. Powerless to intervene, nevertheless I rushed downstairs and seized the poker, perhaps imagining I could provide a distraction but with little hope of avoiding the inevitable tragedy.

Thane, lying by the fire, was awakened and at my heels as I opened the kitchen door to shout a warning.

I was too late. The lion had seized the boy and was dragging him along by one arm. As I screamed in horror, Thane leapt over the garden wall.

I yelled at him to come back. It was no use. We could not save the boy. It was like some scene I had dreamt of in a nightmare.

Thane, in his great loping run, had reached the lion and his prey. I wanted to howl with terror, to close my eyes, for the lion raised its head, turned snarling and looked at the deerhound.

Too late, too late, my nerves screamed. Too late. The boy was probably already dead, lying still and lifeless
on the ground. I saw bright red blood where his arm had been. The lion threw back his great mane and roared at Thane.

And now Thane, dear precious Thane, would be killed too.

I had to do something. As I ran forward with my poker, clambering over the wall, throwing caution to the wind, it seemed that time stood still as the two creatures – the lion huge, tawny, four times the weight of the slender grey deerhound – faced one another.

Thane was very still. Just yards away from them, I was stricken, incapable of movement. For a moment it was as if we had been turned to stone, then life took over, moved on again.

Leo sat back on his haunches, lifted his head, roared again and, turning away, trotted to where the breathless, shouting men had reached the scene too late to save the boy.

Leo faced his master Fernando who, fearless as ever, approached him carefully – there was nothing like this in the programme from the circus performance, nothing in the silent audience equal to this real-life terror.

The circus men who had learnt to remain calm whilst dealing with any emergency had the net ready. They crept closer and flung it over the lion who, snarling and protesting, struggled in vain. The king of beasts was transported in the undignified manner of being carried in a net hanging from a pole to be returned to his cage, his short burst of freedom at an end.

All thoughts now turned to the boy lying so still. I remembered the lion’s jaws, dragging his arm, I
could see blood pouring out of him as I raced over.

Thane had not moved. He remained there motionless as if on guard over the body of the dead, or fatally injured, boy.

Injured? I approached, dreading what I must see, the remains of a torn and bloody arm, the awful signs of mauling by those terrible jaws. He was face downwards, but I saw a movement of his shoulders. At least, thank God, he was still alive, although his days as a circus performer were certainly over.

He sat up, his father reached his side. He tried to struggle to his feet; at least his legs were all right. But what about that arm?

Jimmy was shaking his head, bewildered. ‘I must have fainted when he launched himself at me.’ And straightening his shoulders, ‘But no damage.’

‘No thanks to you – and you’re the luckiest lad alive,’ said his father, as anger and relief banished all thought of chastisement and he hugged him to his heart.

They looked across at me. ‘Anything I can do for you?’ I asked. Thoughts of a pot of tea came to mind, the inevitable cure for all ills.

‘No, thank you, miss.’ said Jimmy. ‘I’m fine.’

‘But…your arm?’

He rolled up his sleeve, smiled. ‘Yeah, I was lucky. Your dog must have scared him off.’

I stared, moved closer. There was no sign of injury on his bare arm. I blinked in astonishment. Where was all the blood I had seen?

Fernando was stroking Thane’s head. ‘You’re a good
dog, able to frighten the king of the jungle. You should be in the circus, we could do with animals like you. Great in one of our acts.’ Pausing, he looked at me. ‘Don’t suppose you’d consider—?’

‘No, never.’ I said sharply.

‘Ah well, if you ever change your mind.’

Jimmy was hugging Thane. ‘You’re a great dog. Scaring him off like that.’

As Jimmy and Fernando departed, walking towards the circus, their thanks still echoing in my ears, I returned to the Tower.

Thane walked at my side, impassive as ever and, although I knew I had seen the lion dragging the boy along the ground, his arm in those mighty jaws, I had the evidence of my own eyes that there was not even a scratch. No marks of a mauling, not even a drop of blood.

‘Remarkable,’ Fernando’s parting words. ‘King of the jungle and a deerhound.’

Remarkable indeed. But as I went into the kitchen still shaking from the dreadful experience, I realised that this was not the first time I had seen Thane’s effect on wild animals: the wild white cattle on the Borders had reacted similarly, bowing, retreating from his presence. And as for blood, I had once seen Thane struck in the chest by a bullet and he had returned to life, with not even a scar.

Later that day, I opened the door to an unexpected visitor. Young Jimmy, grinning, no worse for his ordeal, thrust a bunch of flowers awkwardly into my hands.

‘These are for you, missus,’ and looking past me, over my shoulder, he said shyly, ‘I just wanted to see your dog again, he was great. I’ll never forget that he saved my life, scaring off Leo like that.’

‘You have recovered.’ I smiled at the obvious.

He squared his shoulders. ‘Never better, thank you. My arm feels a bit bruised, but I really thought my end had come when Leo leapt on me. I even felt his jaws close, his awful breath.’ And with a shudder, ‘Don’t know how Pa can bear to put his head in that mouth every night. That was my last thought as I felt him tearing off my arm.’ He glanced at it, shook his head. ‘Even felt it bleeding, but there was nothing, not even a mark.’ He grinned wryly. ‘Must have all been in my imagination.’

And I could have told him other instances of Thane’s strange intervention as he added, ‘Got a terrible ticking off from Pa, but I’ll be performing this evening just as usual.’

This seemed a perfect opportunity for learning more about the clowns, and Joey in particular; I invited him to have a cup of tea and a piece of cherry cake, a gift from Elma.