Quest for a Killer (17 page)

I bicycled homewards at dusk that day after visiting Rice Villa in the hope of seeing Elma. I felt that I should put in an appearance. After all, even with a devoted twin brother at her side, a bereaved wife might appreciate another female, her allegedly ‘dearest friend’, at such a time.

My visit was in vain. Neither she nor Peter were at home and I gathered from the housekeeper that the mistress and her brother had gone into the city that morning.

They had not yet returned and she had not been given a time to expect them or received any instructions regarding supper.

‘There is much to do,’ she added reproachfully, as if I should be aware of the disruption the master’s death had caused.

I imagined Elma was still shocked and hysterical. Relieved that she had Peter, I hoped she hadn’t heard the grim details that Jack had imparted concerning Felix’s last hours and the suspicion that her husband
was showing signs of recovery before he had been murdered.

I bought a loaf of bread in the Pleasance and as I remounted I was suddenly aware of a flat tyre and, to make matters worse, it had begun to rain.

Cursing loudly, for there was not a soul in sight and I still had a mile to walk, I pushed the bicycle without my rain cape which, for once, I had not replaced in the saddlebag; I would be drenched by the time I reached home.

Head down, I battled on, standing aside to get out of the way of the trotting horse cab. The driver stopped and looked down at me.

‘Give you a lift, miss. Heading for Duddingston to pick up a fare.’ And pointing out the obvious, my already streaming hair, ‘You’re getting soaked.’

I pointed helplessly to the bicycle. ‘Got a puncture.’

‘No trouble, lass. We’ll put it on the back. Where are you heading?’

I shouted up to him, ‘Solomon’s Tower.’

He jumped down, seized the bicycle, attached it firmly and, helping me aboard, he said, ‘Good job I was heading past your way. Don’t get many fares to Duddingston. Last time was the early hours in the morning. Couple of lads, blind drunk, legless. Been to a party. One carrying the other. I gave them a hand inside, hard to decide who was worse; dropped them off by the loch. The one who could still speak said his mate needed fresh air to sober up a bit, as his wife would give him hell.’

He grinned. ‘I got a good tip and nearly got hell
from my wife when she smelt the whisky fumes in the cab.’

He refused my tip, nice fellow, said he had been glad to help.

As I rushed indoors and dried my hair, I was excited, almost certain that the two drunks had been Hodge and his killer. Probably ‘legless’ confirmed that Hodge was already dead. And three o’clock was the time I heard a carriage on the road outside the Tower.

I could hardly wait to tell Jack, but what was waiting for me banished all thoughts of that illuminating encounter with the kindly cabbie.

It was almost dark in the kitchen. Thane, lying by the fire, looked up and wagged his tail in greeting.

Laying aside my wet cloak and lighting a lamp, I heard footsteps in the hall.

‘Hello, Jack,’ I called. There was no reply. He hadn’t heard me.

‘Jack,’ I called again. ‘Kettle’s on. Tea in a minute.’

And after washing my hands, I seized the bread knife and began cutting slices from the new sweet-smelling loaf.

Footsteps again. I turned, and in the fire glow, I saw that the figure approaching was too tall for Jack.

In that moment I knew who it was. Who had invaded my home.

I had come face-to-face with Sam Wild.

He was walking swiftly towards me. I couldn’t see him clearly but I thought fast and realised I was not completely defenceless.

I had a weapon – the bread knife in my hand.

The lamp behind him revealed a glimpse of a man’s face scarred on one side, and greying tousled hair.

My heart raced. I drew a deep breath. He was just a few paces away. I raised the knife and lunged forward.

My reaction took him by surprise, but with the amazing speed learnt, no doubt, in the ring at the circus, he swerved aside and the knife aimed at the region of his heart struck his upper arm.

He yelled out. I thought he was going to fall and prepared to strike again as he stumbled, fell forward and grabbed hold of the table’s edge.

I turned, screamed at Thane. Thane who should have been my protector was standing by, an interested spectator to the scene of horror.

‘Do something, for God’s sake, do something!’ I shouted.

Sam Wild straightened up, one hand covering his arm, and looked at me.

‘You always were good with a knife, Rose, me darlin’. Even better than a rifle.’

The greying hair, the face scarred on one side, but the voice. The voice was…

Danny McQuinn. My Danny!

He held out his hands, one covered in blood.

The moment I had yearned for, dreamt of these long years had come…

‘Danny,’ I whispered and knew no more.

I was in the armchair by the fire, the kettle singing on the hob. I stirred, opened my eyes. I had been asleep. Dear God, what a terrible nightmare.

Where was Jack? No, this wasn’t Jack.

The man bending over me was my husband, Danny McQuinn, my longed-for dream come true: since my return to Edinburgh, seeing myself opening the door, Danny waiting there, holding out his arms to me, smiling.

Except that this Danny was Sam Wild, a killer.

And he was smiling, that part of the dream at least was true. He was holding out not his arms but a cup of water, a bloodied towel round his arm.

‘Drink this, Rose. You’ve had an almighty shock.’

I drank slowly. This couldn’t be happening. I would wake up properly, really wake up this time after I blinked several times (the way I knew I could rely on to banish nightmares).

But Danny remained. This tall, almost emaciated man with greying hair, the left side of his face deeply
scarred, but the right side unmarked, the dark-blue Irish eyes, well-marked eyebrows, the gentle mouth, was my once handsome, beloved Danny. So changed.

I felt tears welling. He stroked my hair back from my forehead, a gesture one would give to a frightened child, a gesture I remembered from days of terror, our lives in turmoil and danger in Arizona.

‘There now.’ He sat back on his heels. ‘You’re all right, my Rose. The sight of blood took you—’

‘Your arm – I’m sorry.’

He shrugged. ‘Just a scratch, nothing to worry about.’ Then he grinned. ‘You’ve gone soft, my Rose. Sure now, and I’ve seen you shooting down renegades and Mexican bandits without turning a hair.’

He looked at me, smiling gently, holding my hand. And I knew that I might have changed but that Danny still loved me. It was all there in his eyes for the world to see. He had lost me and now I was found again.

And suddenly the awfulness of the situation took its grip.

What if Jack walked in any minute? Sam Wild was a wanted man.

‘You’re in danger – they’re out looking for you.’

He smiled. ‘Oh, that fellow I’ve seen, the policeman. Married now, are you?’ He took my left hand.

‘Of course not. That’s your ring, Danny McQuinn. The one you put on my finger more than fifteen years ago. What makes you think I’m married?’ Then I remembered. ‘You’ve been watching us.’

I looked towards the kitchen with its now curtained window, remembered Thane’s odd behaviour. We
should have known there was someone out there…

Danny sighed. ‘Sure now, and it was very cosy the two of you looked, just like a happy married couple. I hadn’t the heart to intrude.’

Thane had come over. He had his head on my lap. Danny stroked him absent-mindedly. I looked at Thane and demanded, ‘And what were you doing, Thane, letting a strange man into the house? What kind of a watchdog do you think you are?’

Thane managed a reproachful look and Danny laughed.

‘Thane? Is that your name, now? Sure now, the name for a Scottish noble becomes you.’

Thane looked pleased, with that almost human smile, and Danny grinned, stroking his head. ‘To tell you the truth, Thane and I are friends. I’ve been living rough. Out on the hill there. I was resting in the rain and this dog appeared out of nowhere, gave me a friendly lick and led me to a cave.’

He took Thane’s head in his hands, frowned, ‘Sure now, it’s a strange creature, you are, right enough.’ And giving me a puzzled look, ‘He seemed to know me.’

I hadn’t quite worked it out yet, but I was getting the message of why Thane had deserted Jack and me and spent so much time staring out of the kitchen window.

That was only one answer. Among the many others was how on earth he knew that Sam Wild was Danny McQuinn. Unless he could recognise Danny’s photograph on my dressing table, which I doubted. But nothing about Thane responded to the application of human logic.

Danny straightened his shoulders. He winced and I said, ‘I’ll attend to that arm of yours. I’m so sorry…’

‘It can wait, I’ve had worse. I’m starving, Rose. Haven’t had a proper meal since the soup kitchen at the convent.’

‘I’ll get something. Have some bread meantime.’ I buttered two thick slices, and as he took them like a starving man, my heart ached with pity.

‘So it was you that scared the life out of the young girl at the convent.’

He nodded. ‘Thought that girl was you when I first saw her working in the vegetable garden. She looked so young, so like you – remember, when you cut short your curls for practical reasons, in our Arizona days? I see they have taken over once more in their wild golden glory.’

And he reached up, twisted a curl around his fingers, a gesture from the past, as he added, ‘Undimmed by the years and very becoming still.’

As I put the hastily prepared meal of scrambled eggs and bacon before him, sliced more bread, he ate hungrily, sometimes pausing, fork in the air, to say, ‘There’s a lot to tell, Rose darlin’. I don’t know where to begin.’

‘Later,’ I said. ‘It can wait. Eat first, while I attend to your arm.’

As I examined and bathed what was fortunately not a deep cut, there was a lot I wanted to ask as well. I needed urgently to know the truth but the clock striking five was like the voice of doom.

It was now completely dark and outside the rain
streaming down the window cast its own note of doom.

Jack would be home in an hour. We had so little time. His arm now bandaged, as he drank a third cup of tea, I knew that Jack must not find him here.

Sam Wild was a wanted man, Jack was a policeman searching for a killer, and the fact that Sam Wild was also Danny McQuinn, his ghostly rival come to life, certainly would not endear him to Jack’s heart.

One thing was growing clearer by the minute. I had to hide Danny and somehow get Jack away from the Tower.

But how? And then I thought of that old room upstairs, the secret room Jack and I had discovered years ago. The perfect temporary hiding place and, unless Jack knew Sam Wild’s real identity, he would not have the slightest reason to suspect that Danny was in the Tower.

I would need to take other precautions, keep the kitchen, our usual entrance to the house, locked at all times. This I could explain by telling Jack that it felt safer, and to Elma and Peter the same safety precautions would apply, although I guessed I would see little of them until Felix’s funeral was over.

Fortunately Jack did not have a key, as locking doors was a new innovation, and if asked I would tell him that there was only one ancient key of enormous dimensions in existence, and should he suggest having another made, as his stay was only temporary, it was hardly worthwhile.

The sound of a rap on the front-door knocker
echoed through the house. We both jumped. I sprang from the table, motioned Danny to hide upstairs while I went to the door.

The caller was impatient, and when I released the catch, my heart thumped. A policeman!

I recognised Constable Hoskins. Looking like a drowned rat, he was holding out a piece of paper. I gazed at it in horror.

‘For you, Mrs McQuinn. From the Inspector, urgent, like. I live just along the road past Duddingston,’ he pointed to his bicycle, ‘so I said I’d hand it in.’

He had a sudden bout of sneezing. I felt so sorry for him and, as this was an unexpected opportunity to get some information on Felix’s last hours in the hospital when Hoskins was on guard duty, I said, ‘Do come in. Maybe the rain will abate while you have a cup of tea.’

I had some anxious moments but there was no sign of Danny, not a sound from upstairs as the constable gratefully followed me through to the kitchen.

As he discarded his wet cape, I took the note to the lamp.

‘Sorry, won’t manage this evening. Urgent police matters out of town. May be very late, will try not to disturb you. See you tomorrow. Hope you enjoy the concert.’

Concert? What concert? I had completely forgotten in the events of the last hour that I was supposed to be meeting Jack at the Assembly Rooms.

As the constable ate the buttered scone I gave him, I asked after his family and said how delightful his
children were and how the inspector and I had enjoyed the picnic at Yellowcraigs.

He gave a rueful smile and said, ‘I’m in bad with the inspector just now.’ And obviously believing that his boss and I were on intimate terms, he said. ‘Probably told you about the… er…incident at the hospital. Never live it down. Feel badly about Mrs Miles Rice and her brother too. Nice folk, thoughtful too. Never came in empty-handed, every day always something tasty.’ He sighed. ‘Now looks like turning into a murder enquiry.’

This was exactly the information I was hoping for. I murmured sympathetically and said, ‘You didn’t see anyone, then?’

He shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t. But one of the nurses saw a man rushing out in a great hurry. She just saw his back. Wasn’t much help.’

I smiled and said nothing. It was obviously Peter whom I had met but I didn’t want to muddy the waters by having the police question him.

He had returned to search for Elma’s missing earring. Hoskins had been absent. Was Felix already dead? Was that why he had rushed out, to find someone?

He would not have had the slightest idea, until the police came to tell Elma, that his brother-in-law had been murdered and that he had just missed the killer by a few minutes.

There wasn’t much Hoskins could add to what I already knew and, after some polite pleasantries, I looked out of the window. The rain had ceased, and thanking me, Hoskins went on his way.

Danny came cautiously downstairs. ‘What was all
that about?’ he said, and giving me an anxious look, ‘Bad news?’

‘On the contrary, it’s good news. My lodger, the policeman Inspector Macmerry, isn’t coming back this evening, so we have a few hours.’

‘How did you meet him?’

So I told him about my new role in life as a private detective and roughly how that had come about through meeting an old school friend, hearing about a murdered servant and a husband who was behaving suspiciously.

‘Lady Investigator, Discretion Guaranteed.’ Danny laughed. ‘I like that. Good on you – always did have the knack of solving riddles. Do you make a living out of it?’

‘I’ve had my problems. Edinburgh society rather frowns on a lady riding a bicycle.’

That amused him too. ‘You don’t say! They should have seen you fighting off Indian raids as well as being the confidante of the saloon girls.’ And nodding towards Thane, ‘Where did you find him?’

‘He found me.’ I told him of our first meeting but I don’t think he heard all that strange saga. Exhausted, sitting by the warm fire, he nodded off.

He looked so ill. His sleeping face was that of a stranger who bore no resemblance to the man I had loved and waited for. Only occasional glimpses of that other Danny in the sudden smile, the Irish brogue which he had never lost, a turn of his head.

I wanted to weep. I had lost him, lost my one true love. But now I had to save him from prison, or worse, the hangman’s rope.

But first I had to keep him hidden until his arm healed and he got back his strength again, while I devised a method for his escape. Somehow help him flee to a place of safety, far from Edinburgh. Even if it meant never seeing him again, at least I would know he was alive.

I looked at him with compassion. Could this be the face of a murderer? I shuddered. My Danny, a killer. It seemed impossible. And yet, perhaps anything was possible of this stranger who had taken his place.

I had to think quickly. First of all, Jack’s presence in the Tower must be ended. There was no possible way he could remain in the house at night sleeping in the great hall downstairs with Danny hidden overhead in the secret room.

Making sure that the back door was bolted against any unexpected visitors, Danny never stirred as I moved quietly about the kitchen, gathering lamp and cleaning materials.

Climbing the stairs, I opened the panel to the secret room with some difficulty, and once inside, covering my hair, I brushed aside the cobwebs, and choking against the dust, swept the floor clear of the debris of a hundred and fifty years.

An hour later I looked round at the results of my labours. The palliasse would have to suffice meantime as I sought out blankets and pillows from the landing cupboard. At last I looked around, straightened my back. I felt as if every bone was aching, so tired that I longed to lie down and sleep – anywhere. But hard work brought a feeling of satisfaction, a sense that
there was nothing like gruelling physical activity to keep at bay the true terror of a situation.

Putting on those final touches, removing all evidence of the secret room’s previous occupant, I thought that once again in its history the room was to provide refuge for another man with a price on his head. Who had used it before? A deserter from the Jacobite army at Prestonpans, or one of the Hanoverian enemy? I would never know: time was silent on that, as on so many questions posed regarding the unwritten history of Solomon’s Tower…

Closing the door and making sure that the inside bolt still worked, if somewhat stiffly, I regretted the necessary absence of a fireplace. The room would be less than comfortable for more than a brief stay. Daylight would reveal all its inadequacies but in the faint light that struggled through the slit window, invisible from the outside ivy-clad wall of the Tower, it would be safe enough for Danny until I could help him escape.

Escape? I thought wryly after all these long years of dreaming of the moment we would be together again, this was to be the sad ending, which goes to prove the old adage that one should be careful about what one asks the gods to provide, seeing that it can also be answered in a way that is completely unacceptable.

And never was a moment in my life more unacceptable than this.