Quest for a Killer (16 page)

That evening I told Jack about the soup kitchen incident at the convent and the possible link with Joey, or Sam Wild as we now knew him.

Jack shrugged it aside. ‘You’re so dramatic about everything, Rose. You should watch it, not good for your profession, you know, all this intuition, when hard facts are what is needed.’

‘You haven’t got far with your hard facts up to now,’ I reminded him, feeling angry and misjudged.

‘Let’s look at it, then. A young novice at a convent full of nuns who probably imagine that every man who looks in their direction has rape in mind.’

‘That’s not fair,’ I protested. ‘This girl had been repeatedly raped by the men in her family; that was why she took to the convent – to escape.’

‘To escape all men,’ said Jack dryly. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. We are not all monsters, beasts—’

‘The scarred face,’ I interrupted.

‘I was coming to that. Think of how and why. I don’t imagine that among a lot of war veterans in
Edinburgh, Sam Wild – if it was he – is the only one left with a scarred face. There must be dozens of men wandering around who were invalided out of their regiments.’

We had finished supper and settled by the fire. Just like ‘the old days’, as Jack was pleased to call them.

There was one difference. Jack grumpily returned to the subject of Thane’s odd behaviour. The curtains had made little difference. Thane had soon discovered that he could get behind them and continue his vigilance undisturbed.

Thane’s daytime behaviour had also undergone a change. He spent much more time apart from me, out on the hill, although he returned before dark.

Jack wasn’t pleased. He regarded Thane very much as our dog in the same way as Rufus was regarded by Elma or as any owner regarded their domestic pet.

But this was not, and had never been, the case with Thane. Now, as always, the old fears returned to haunt me: that Thane didn’t belong to me – or to anyone else for that matter – and I must face the fact that he would not stay for ever.

One day he would return to the wild, and my new fear was that this change in Thane dated from Jack’s return. Did it indicate that, with a man about the house, I was safe and no longer needed his protection?

Relieved at the prospects of a new case, I set off down the road to the Pleasance; my first port of call would
be the pawnshop adjacent to the tenement where the two girls were found.

It did not look promising, more rag-and-bone shop than one a servant would approach to dispose of a valuable stolen jewel.

The rather scruffy owner, bleary-eyed, unshaven, looked at me doubtfully when I asked to see rings. Somewhat reluctantly he produced a tray of sad-looking specimens, obviously wedding and signet rings handed in for a few coins.

When I said that it was a ruby ring I had in mind, he laughed, and looking at me as if I had gone mad, he pushed the rings away and said if that was the sort of thing his class of customers brought in then he’d soon be moving into premises in George Street.

As the old soldier, Will Sanders, lived just across the road I had brought a few provisions in my saddlebag. Parking the bicycle, I knocked at the door, usually open. There was no reply but a curtain next door twitched and a woman’s face looked out at me. Raising the sill she said, ‘Haven’t you heard, lass? The old chap has been taken to the infirmary. Had a bad turn, fell down in the street, tripped and broke his wrist. Poor old soul, can’t manage now. And no one to look after him anymore.’

I decided to visit him, especially as the infirmary he had been taken to was an extension of the hospital where Felix Miles Rice languished in a private ward. A boon for the lucky few, but that was still an aggravation for Elma. She insisted that he should be transferred to
an expensive private hospital, but since the police were involved in watching over him, she had been forbidden this privilege.

I was not the only visitor that day. As I was walking towards the entrance I was almost bowled over by a familiar figure. Elma’s twin Peter. He would have rushed past me, but I seized his arm.

‘Hello. You’re in a mighty hurry,’ I said.

He shook off my hand. ‘Something awful – awful.’ And white-faced, without even his usual polite bow, he dashed across the road. I wondered what had happened; presumably, he had been making an abortive attempt to see Felix and had been turned away.

I continued into the reception area and was directed to the male ward where Will was awake; his right wrist in splints heavily bandaged, he was protesting to the nurse, wanting to know how long he was being kept in this place. She gave me a sympathetic look and said it was just for a day or two to see how he got on.

He brightened up when I handed the provisions over to him. He hated hospitals, remembering bitterly his last sojourn when he lost his leg at the Crimea. I managed to slide away from those reminiscences by persuading him to tell me something of his early days in the Highlands before he had gone into the army.

As I was leaving he said, ‘You’re a good lass, Mrs McQuinn, and there’s something here I would like you to have for safe keeping.’ From under his pillow he withdrew a wallet and took out a folded sealed envelope. ‘I wouldn’t want this to fall into the wrong
hands. Belle would never want this to be made public. But someone should know the truth and I feel as if I can trust you.’

He paused and said dolefully, ‘Give me your promise that you won’t open it unless I don’t come out of here alive.’ And glancing at the line of beds, the sleeping or groaning occupants, ‘There’s some gay queer ones in here, they’d rob the sugar out of your tea if they could. And even some of the nurses, I don’t like the look of them, always after me, wanting to plump up my pillows – my wallet might not be safe from thieving hands. Not much they can pinch, but this – it’s precious.’

I promised to look after the letter. Did it contain money, or was it the missing suicide note from his granddaughter or Amy?

The rain had begun. The search for Mrs Craig’s ring at the city pawnbrokers must wait. I preferred not to get soaking wet on what promised to be a long and tedious task bicycling between city and suburban streets, locations with which I had become very well acquainted through my years as a lady investigator, for this was not by any means my first foray into the stolen-jewellery market.

When I reached home I found Jack already installed. He had left the central office early that afternoon and I heard him moving about upstairs. I thought for a moment, then decided to keep Will’s letter a secret.

Jack came down to greet me. ‘Just looking for
something to keep my clothes in.’ I followed him into the great hall where he had discovered a new toy, deciding to acquaint himself with that lost cause, the typewriting machine.

Always fascinated by new gadgets, he was teaching himself and plodding slowly, finger by finger, as he searched for the right letters, assuring me that such ability would be extremely useful in my profession, for writing letters, sending bills and so forth.

Jack had bought paper and in no time at all the table was littered with his practice at mastering the keyboard which, judging by the numerous discarded attempts, was giving him a very hard time.

His garments, also discarded, were scattered around and the normally pristine and unused great hall with its stone walls, high windows and ancient tapestries now looked wincingly untidy.

Giving his request some thought, I decided that as Jack had moved in with only a valise for a day or two, this signified that he intended longer, indeed even a permanent residence. Wondering how I could tactfully raise that subject, I found him a discarded and not too large cabin trunk in one of the attics.

In my bedroom I realised Jack had been searching there for something suitable and the first thing I noticed was that some of the objects on my dressing table had been displaced. I have a sharp eye for such things and the studio photograph of Danny and me, taken in happier days in Arizona, had been moved from its central position.

When Jack and I were lovers, this one and only
memento of Danny, irreplaceable and greatly treasured, had been tactfully relegated to a drawer, and in our new relationship as landlady and lodger, I had never considered removing it once more.

Jack obviously had. Another indication that he considered he was here for good. Danny was his dead rival, part of my past that must be banished for ever.

My new assignment was destined to be the shortest on record. A letter from Mrs Craig asked me to call as soon as possible.

Over the usual hospitable afternoon tea, I heard an extraordinary tale. After our meeting, she had been visited by an old friend of her mother who was passing through Edinburgh.

‘She was surprised to see Winton, the maid in question, and once we were alone she did not beat about the bush. She asked me if I ever lost any item of jewellery. When I told her about the ring, she said, oh yes, my mother also lost pieces of jewellery on an almost regular basis. However, if she informed Winton of the missing piece and asked her to keep a look out for it, in every instance the chances were that it would be replaced.

‘With nothing to lose I took her advice. I described the missing ring, this family heirloom, how I suspected it might have fallen off the dressing table and rolled away somewhere out of sight. I added how upset Mr Craig was.’

Mrs Craig stopped and laughed. ‘You will never
credit this but the very next morning there was the ring. Not on the dressing table but back in its velvet case in the jewel box. And not a word of explanation.’

Pausing, she smiled wryly.

‘All of which, of course, proclaimed her guilt.’

‘She will have to go, of course,’ I said.

Mrs Craig shook her head. ‘No. I think we understand each other and perhaps it is some kind of a game with her. She is a good servant, and for my dear mother’s sake I want to keep her. I hope she got the message. If it happens again, however, I doubt whether I will have the same patience.’

Mrs Craig thanked me profusely for all my trouble and handed over my fee, which I was almost, but not quite, ashamed to take for one visit to a pawnshop.

The Indian summer continued. Thane and I enjoyed two delightful days outdoors without any appearance from Elma or Peter and, I must confess, I was rather relieved. The daily repetition of Elma’s tale of woe regarding Felix and the hospital authorities was rather wearisome and I did not get any fonder of her shrill little dog, nor he of me.

I felt almost carefree. In time, the crimes that now intrigued me would be laid aside, resolved one way or the other, cases closed, old news, and that would include the elusive Sam Wild. I had boundless optimism that another domestic investigation would soon arrive to tax my detection abilities and decided to make the most of this peaceful interlude.

And, as so often happens when we feel overconfident,
this was merely the lull in the approaching storm.

A storm from which my life would never again emerge to greet with the same tranquillity those cloudless blue skies.

It began for me the following morning. The Rice carriage rolled up and a distraught Elma leapt out and rushed to meet me.

Barely able to speak, in floods of tears, she gasped out, ‘Oh, Rose, it has happened….’

‘Felix?’

‘Yes. He has died – at last. It’s so awful.’ She shuddered. ‘So much worse than I expected.’

I was sympathetic: although it was inevitable, perhaps she had faith, knowing his indomitable strength, that he would recover from the coma.

‘I had to come and tell you, dear Rose. I am on my way into town to meet Peter. So much for us to do.’ She shivered. ‘Funeral arrangements, mourning clothes – a thousand things to take care of.’

I presumed she had just heard the sad news and this time she did not ask me to return with her, nor was my valued opinion sought regarding what she should wear for this solemn occasion. For which I was truly thankful that she had Peter at her side to see her through the sad days ahead.

She held my hand tightly as I saw her to the waiting carriage.

Kissing my cheek, as I murmured the required condolences, she said, ‘Peter is very upset, as you can imagine.’

‘I met him at the hospital on Friday.’

‘Friday?’ She gave me a stricken glance. ‘The day… oh!’ A frantic nod. ‘Yes, he looked in – I had lost an earring, a diamond!’

Closing the carriage door, she leant out of the window.

‘What on earth were you doing at the hospital, Rose? Nothing serious, I hope.’

‘I was on my way to the infirmary to see an old gentleman I know who lives in the Pleasance. We didn’t speak. Peter was in a great hurry,’ I added.

‘Oh!’ she said non-committally and tapped the window for Benson to start back to Princes Street. ‘I wish I could stay. But there is so much to do. You will excuse me rushing off, dear, and please, please come to the funeral. I need you to support me,’ she said with a wan smile.

I heard the story of Felix’s last hours from Jack that evening. He had died that same afternoon I was visiting Will Sanders. If Peter had just heard, then it accounted for his highly emotional state as he rushed out.

‘I wish he had told me,’ I said to Jack who shook his head.

‘What could you have done, Rose?’ Biting his lip he regarded me thoughtfully in that irritating way; I knew it well, it indicated there was something else he had on his mind and didn’t know whether I should be told or not.

‘Well?’ I said.

He shrugged. ‘It isn’t as simple as that, Rose. There is a suspicion that Felix didn’t die as the result of
his coma. For the last couple of days, amazingly, he had been responding, showing faint signs that he was regaining consciousness. A remarkably strong man, Felix Miles Rice, and the doctors were all amazed.

‘Which makes it all the more infuriating that someone murdered him. Despite all our precautions. I’m afraid our police guard, young Hoskins you met, remember, had left the ward for a few moments. Good chap, one hundred per cent reliable, but he had a violent stomach upset. His missus and the children have had it too. Something they’d eaten. Urgently needed the WC, couldn’t wait to search for the ward nurse who was absent doing her rounds.

‘Hoskins was sure it would be all right, quiet time in the wards, patients sleeping, no one around until the visiting hour. He was away for five minutes…five minutes!’

Jack gave an exasperated sigh. ‘That was longer than he intended, but when he returned Felix had stopped breathing. One of the pillows and the bedclothes were scattered on the floor, it looked like a bit of a struggle, and by the colour of Felix’s face, he suspected that he had been smothered.’

‘Then, who killed him?’ I asked.

‘The answer is obvious. Whoever attacked him in the study had been lurking about. The person Hodge saw, for which he paid with his life, also killed Felix.’

There was plenty to mull over and in the Tower Thane wasn’t the only one behaving oddly. Jack was more than ever preoccupied and, what was more unnerving, sometimes I caught him off guard, staring at
me in a brooding sort of way. I knew him well enough to recognise the signs. Again, as if there was something he wanted to say and couldn’t find the words.

I was vain enough to imagine that, now he had moved in, he was contemplating ways of broaching the delicate subject of becoming more than a lodger. The more likely alternative – all was not well in the Edinburgh City Police.

Tentatively I mentioned the search for Sam Wild and once again he clammed up.

‘Look,’ I said, ‘I have a major interest in this, you know.’

He gave me an odd look. ‘What makes you say that?’ And his lips twitched as if he was about to laugh at some secret joke.

I was furious. ‘I’m the one who has been threatened, in case you have forgotten.’

‘Oh that! I don’t think you need take that seriously – or consider that you are in danger any longer.’

‘Does that mean Sam Wild is no longer in Edinburgh?’

He shrugged, said coolly, ‘Let’s say that it’s all in hand.’

But I wasn’t prepared to accept this. Determined to have some answers I said, ‘It isn’t good enough, Jack. After all, you did ask my help and now you’re closing the door in my face.’

A vague gesture of dismissal. Avoiding my eyes, he said, ‘Let’s just say there are things I can’t discuss with you at the moment.’

This was Inspector Gray all over again. I was
furious. I opened my mouth to protest and as he leant forward he said sternly, ‘Just leave it, will you, Rose? Believe me, I will keep you informed when the time comes. Now to more important matters, what are we having for supper?’

But Sam Wild and Jack’s irritating behaviour continued to occupy my mind. Had Wild been lurking at the hospital, awaiting a chance to murder Felix? How did he know that he was showing signs of recovering? Even Elma did not know that.

It was all completely baffling, especially as my life now felt very disrupted by Jack’s continued presence. He gave no indication of how long he was staying and looking after him made me feel less like a private detective and more like a housekeeper, a role I did not wish to know more about.

When I questioned him, rather pointedly I’m afraid, regarding the progress of the new housing, he said, ‘Slow but sure,’ adding with a mischievous grin, ‘anxious to get rid of me, Rose?’

What I did not know until much later, too late, was that Jack was staying in Solomon’s Tower for a very different purpose.

The trap was set and I was bait. The perfect bait to lure and capture the elusive Sam Wild.

And Jack got his wish.