Quest for a Killer (19 page)

Jack did not delay his departure. I could hardly contain my relief, almost certainly obvious to someone who knew me as well as he did. He made no comment, merely promised that he would try to be home early for supper. My heart sank at that piece of news.

I said, ‘Don’t promise.’

He smiled wryly for this had been the pattern of our lives together, a continuation of my early life in Sheridan Place. A list of last-minute cancellations of Pappa’s presence at two small daughters’ school events. As for fairs and the circus, we soon learnt to accept that Edinburgh City Police came first; his substitute on such occasions was our housekeeper Mrs Brook, or Vince, and this state of affairs appeared as quite normal, part of the vows taken at the altar by a policeman’s wife.

After the door closed on Jack, Danny cautiously came downstairs. Perhaps I had expected some transformation by a night’s sleep, but I was alarmed to see that he still looked so ill, worse in fact than
yesterday, a troublesome cough, paler than ever, unshaven, his hair too long. A contrast, indeed, to the Danny of Pinkerton days, always clean-shaven, even imbuing rough and shabby clothes with a certain dignity. A man who had an inborn style and charm, whatever the circumstances.

I presumed he had a razor in that valise he carried and would use it when his arm hurt less. As he sat down at the table he was curious to know about Jack, so I gave him the carefully edited version of our relationship, with no hint that we had ever been lovers. Depending on what Danny had in mind, that might have been too great a blow to bear.

He listened silently and then asked, ‘Do you love him, Rose?’

‘What a question! He is an old and trusted friend, a widower and awaiting a new home; it is merely a convenient arrangement for him to be a temporary lodger.’

Danny gave me a shrewd look and said quietly, ‘You haven’t answered my question. Do you love him?’

‘It is you, Danny McQuinn, I have always loved and waited for here in this house for five years.’

He gave me a mocking glance. ‘Not this Danny, my darlin’. I’m a wanted man, remember. A man who has killed—’

‘What nonsense! Wasn’t that always a possibility of your life tracking down criminals at Pinkerton’s?’

‘In the line of duty, yes.’ Slowly he shook his head, looked at me, almost with pity. ‘But the Danny you loved and waited for was lost – lost a long time ago.’

It was so exactly like what I was thinking that I wondered if he had read my mind, that I was so transparent.

‘Never had your willpower to resist temptation. After we parted, no longer with your good influence, there was gambling, getting into bad company – yes, and killing too. The rough life that living out west demanded for survival.’

He spread his hands wide. ‘And now you see before you the mess it got me into. I was once a good Catholic, but I lost my God too. Haven’t thought about him or even said a prayer in years. Adding up my list of transgressions, the Devil would find me a suitable candidate for hell, in fact.’

He cut short my protestations with a shake of his head, smiled wryly and said, ‘So what about this admirable policeman of yours?’

I took a deep breath. ‘I’m still married to you, Danny. Still your wife in the eyes of the law.’

‘And so you are, my darlin’. Till death do us part,’ he added sadly.

As I cleared away Jack’s dishes and reset the table, I noticed him touching his bandaged arm, the knife thrust I had inflicted. I was so bitterly sorry. As if he did not have enough to bear.

‘I’ll have a look at that.’

‘No, no. It’s fine really. Later, maybe.’

He took the porridge I set before him, but before he had taken the last spoonful, his head dropped forward. He was asleep again. I touched his forehead. Did he have a fever?

I panicked. Where could I find a doctor? I knew none who would not feel it was their duty to inform the police about being called in to attend Sam Wild.

He stirred, his eyes opened, sighed. ‘Sure now, you always had nice cool hands, my Rose.’

‘You had better go back to bed.’

He rose from the table and, with a brief nod, slowly climbed the stairs, heavy-footed. An old man, I thought sadly. Seeing him safely into his room, I said I must go out for a while, and not to emerge – ignore all sounds downstairs.

‘Don’t come out until I get back.’ I looked at Thane who was at our heels and now prepared to lie on guard outside Danny’s secret hideout. ‘Thane will take care of you.’

With two extra mouths to feed I needed more provisions and, as I bicycled down to St Leonard’s, I noticed that Will Sanders’ door was open.

He was home again. In answer to my call, he came out, grinning, wrist in splints but still deftly managing his crutches.

‘Come in, lass, come in.’ I handed him the sealed envelope. A word of thanks and I offered to make tea for us both. He accepted, watching gratefully as I buttered scones and set them out on a plate.

‘Right glad to be home again, lass. Out of that awful place. Like my own fireside and my own bed and knowing what’s going on – and what I’m eating.’

I made up the fire and, although he objected strongly, I tackled a pile of dishes, brushed the floor and tidied the room.

‘That’s enough, lass. Come and sit down. I want to talk to you. I did some serious thinking while I was in yon place and decided that I had to tell someone – about Belle.’ He paused and regarded me thoughtfully. ‘Something that maybe another lass might understand.’

He extracted the letter from his wallet. ‘This was what I told you about. This letter from Belle. She tried to explain it all.’

And taking a deep breath, ‘She wanted me to know wh-why she killed Amy and herself.’

I stared at him in disbelief. ‘She killed Amy? You must be wrong.’

‘No, lass, it’s all written down here. This is the suicide note the police were wanting and I kept it from them. Amy and Belle were always close even when they were bairns. And when they grew up, they never were interested in lads, never wanted to get married. Watch out or the two of you’ll be old maids, I used to warn them. And my Belle would say, “Why should we care about husbands when we’ve got each other?”’

He sighed, remembering. ‘Then she said, “I could never love a man as much as I love Amy.” I tried to explain to her that it was different. But I couldn’t find the words about loving a man, having his bairns and so on. She didn’t want to hear, just clammed up. That’s how it is between us. But you’re not to tell anyone. Understand?’

Will shook his head sadly. ‘But I didn’t understand then and I don’t now. I know about love between a
man and a woman, but between two lasses, that’s beyond me.’

A pause, he sighed deeply. ‘And then, out of the blue, this awful thing…it all went wrong. Amy met this sailor, crazy about her, wouldn’t leave her alone. That was bad enough, Belle and her could have laughed about that. But worse was to come. His uncle had a sheep ranch in Australia, keen for them to settle with him, promising a great exciting new life. Amy was tempted, sick, and fed up of her dreary existence: hard work, no money and no future to show for it. She might never get an offer like this again. She was fond of the lad and decided to get married and go with him.

‘My Belle was appalled, screamed and cried all night, like someone demented, heartbroken. She could talk of nothing else: this man was taking Amy out of their life together, taking her away for ever. She tried to tell Amy that she was making a big mistake, that she would find out too late that she could never be happy, not really happy with a man, or with any other living soul but herself.

‘Amy wasn’t to be persuaded, there were words between them, harsh words. When Belle heard that Dave was on his homeward journey and the banns were called, she was suddenly calm, said she would make it up after all.’

‘It was a washing day and Amy had been doing the bedclothes so Belle went upstairs and said she’d help her, as she always did, to put them on the drying rack. But instead, she took the rope and wound it
round Amy’s neck and strangled her. And having killed the one person she loved above all others in the whole world, she went to her own flat, and hanged herself.’

His eyes were full of tears. He began to sob and I put an arm around his tired old shoulders. ‘I found her and this note.’

He tore the envelope open. ‘Here, you read it.’

‘“Dear Grandpa. I killed us both. You know why. It was the only way. We’ll be together always. Your loving Belle. PS. I don’t want anyone else blamed.”’ I felt like crying too as I handed it back to him.

Folding it carefully away in his wallet, he said, ‘I couldn’t bear the police to read it. What if it got into the newspapers, for everyone to read about “an unnatural love” as they would call it. That was my secret and Belle’s. But when I read that the police were considering that the two girls might have been murdered and were investigating possible clues – what if some innocent chap got the blame?’

‘But that time in hospital gave me time to think. Knowing that I was an old man, I had to share this terrible burden. That’s why I gave her letter to you. If I died, someone would know the truth.’

Like Will, I had never experienced anything other than love between man and woman, that all-consuming passion I had for Danny. But I believed I could understand the other kind. While we were in Arizona folk said that some of the legendary women of the west, like the notorious Calamity Jane, had female lovers and we knew two saloon girls in
Phoenix who were the subject of wry glances. They used to walk about with their arms around each other, cuddling and kissing. They boasted that they sold their bodies to the men out of necessity for survival, but their true and only real love was for each other.

I hurried back home, anxious about leaving Danny on his own. He was in the kitchen and didn’t seem to have a fever. He said his arm was fine now. At least he was fit enough to have boiled some water, washed and shaved, which added to the feeling-better illusion.

‘I’m fine now, been making myself at home.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll be ready to retreat upstairs when the lodger returns. How much time have we?’

‘About a couple of hours. We’ve a lot to catch up on, and just this afternoon, you’ll be glad to know I’ve cleared Sam Wild’s name in connection with another local crime.’

And because he knew of the love affair of the two saloon girls I told him Will Sanders’ story of his granddaughter’s suicide.

‘Just as well he has that note, the evidence. I can well understand his wish to keep that information to himself. Do you remember those Phoenix girls saying what they did with men was business, but what they did with each other was pleasure? I guess most of Edinburgh folk of your acquaintance would find that hard to understand. Men and men, maybe – behind scandalous whispers and speculations. But never women and women.’

And as we talked about other Arizona days, the nostalgia of our lives together returned and I thought sadly that everything between us was like that – past, lost for ever – and I could not help feeling that there was no way forward, no future for us.

When we heard Jack’s footsteps on the path outside, Danny retreated upstairs, with Thane at his heels. I realised it was dangerous if he lay down outside the secret room, so I called him down, and when Jack gave me an enquiring look, I said, ‘He’s taken to sleeping on his rug upstairs.’

‘Maybe he’s heard someone say that two’s company,’ Jack replied and added sadly, ‘if only it were true.’

Ignoring that, I told him of my meeting with Will Sanders.

He was not as surprised as I had expected, indeed, he seemed to have revised his earlier suspicions.

‘I was always pretty sure that there wasn’t anyone else involved despite the sensational press statements. They’ll say anything to sell a few extra newspapers. I was always sure we weren’t looking for a killer and that it was a suicide pact. And that is how the verdict went, the case has now been closed and there’s no danger of opening it again or of anyone else knowing what really happened.’

He sighed. ‘However, we still have Felix Miles Rice’s death on our books.’ To my question about anything new, he said, ‘Yes, things are on the move. I don’t suppose you heard while I was away that, according to the Miles Rice office in George Street, his lawyer was to call next day at Rice Villa. All they could get out of interviewing that tight-lipped gentleman was that it was for a purely personal matter, not one handled by his business interests.

‘We’ve also had a visit from Peter Lambsworth. He came to see us anxious to make a statement that he found Felix was dead when he returned to recover the diamond earring his sister had lost on their earlier visit…that he was deeply shocked, and as there were no nurses or doctors around, and Hoskins was also absent from his post, he guessed that Felix must have just died and that they were away making arrangements.

‘Lambsworth, however, was so upset that he didn’t delay and rushed out to be the first to break the terrible news to his sister. He added that Mrs McQuinn of Solomon’s Tower, who had been visiting at the time, could confirm this. But what was more important than explaining why he rushed out without informing any of the hospital staff was that he remembered having seen a man with a scarred face, a shifty-looking character was how he described him, hurrying down a corridor. He called out to him to stop, but the man just took to his heels and disappeared. Lambsworth thought this might be significant.’

Pausing, Jack looked at me curiously. I was confused, thinking of Danny, who to all intents and purposes
fitted the description. My expression must have betrayed some anxious moments, as he asked, ‘Did you see this character by any chance, Rose?’

‘No. I saw no one like that.’

Jack shrugged. ‘I doubt whether you would have made a note of that in any case, remembering where you were. Just as I told Lambsworth not to forget that, leaving the hospital by the reception area where accidents are admitted, a man with a scarred face might not be an improbable sight. He said he was glad about that and explained, somewhat apologetically, that being aware the police were on the lookout for a wanted man of that description, when he had informed his sister, she insisted that he should mention it to the police.

‘He sounded rather cast down and disappointed that we were not taking seriously what he and his sister had thought of as an important piece of observation, apologised once again for having taken up our time and so forth.’

Knowing that the twins fancied themselves as amateur detectives, I wasn’t surprised at Elma’s reactions or the results. But I got the distinct impression that Jack wasn’t very concerned about the mystery man with the scarred face who Peter was hinting might be Felix’s killer.

I knew for sure that it could not have been Danny, who hadn’t ever met Peter, Elma or her late husband. However, the alarming thought came unbidden that, if Peter was right, then perhaps there was a scarred man who might prove to be a likely suspect, as Jack continued:

‘Whatever Lambsworth claimed to have seen, all the evidence points to his brother-in-law having undoubtedly been murdered, and we have absolute confidence in finding his killer, however long that takes; we will get it sorted out in the end.’ And looking round he said, ‘Now, where’s that dog of ours? He seems to have deserted me.’

‘Thane,’ he called upstairs. ‘Come, Thane.’

And Thane, who was proving to be a good actor, came as called, wagging his tail delightedly as he took his usual place at Jack’s feet.

Jack stroked his head. ‘What’s come over you, lying in that cold bedroom when there’s a nice fire down here with us?’

Once more I cleared away the supper dishes, always taking care to meticulously remove any extra cups or signs of Danny’s presence; I knew that we were playing for time. This absurd situation of Jack and Danny living under the same roof was on a very thin wire.

They were bound to encounter one another by accident, or ill timing, sooner or later, and I did not want to consider the consequences of that meeting, for Jack would be obliged in his official role, whatever his personal feelings for my distress, to arrest Danny McQuinn as Sam Wild.

Although he was not guilty of murder, the unfortunate death of the bank clerk might well be classed as manslaughter. He would still be guilty on a charge of robbery. But, much worse, he was wanted for murder in the United States.

Whatever happened, I could see myself in a dangerous situation as an accessory for having sheltered a known criminal. Even if I didn’t go to prison, that would certainly be the sad end of my career as a lady investigator.

Each passing day was of gnawing anxiety, a feeling of doom I could not shake off. A routine was established: each morning as soon as Jack departed, Danny came downstairs and I made another breakfast.

I was pleased to see that, although he still looked pale and ill, his arm was healing nicely and he was getting restless. He was not used to inactivity or solitary confinement, so I decided after much careful thought and deliberation that he should walk on the hill with Thane.

He would be quite safe: Arthur’s Seat was a wild and lonely place on weekdays, only a few stray sheep grazing, and Thane would give plenty of warning, with his ability to hear the approach of anyone, scenting a human or animal well before they were in sight or sound.

My real fears were on behalf of Elma and Peter and their informal visits. Would Thane’s warning system fail when he considered the two as friends made warmly welcome in the Tower?

I was expecting them imminently as I had heard nothing from Elma for a few days – obviously she was too involved in her husband’s funeral arrangements. She was expecting me to be present on that sad occasion but, for several reasons, I decided to give the funeral
at St Giles’ Cathedral a miss. I had never met Felix and women were not expected to attend the graveside committal service. And afterwards I had no desire to return to Rice Villa or some expensive hotel marked down for elaborate refreshments and a turnout of Edinburgh society.

There was a spread in the newspapers about Miles Rice’s sudden tragic death, his great loss to the community, and a lot about his beautiful heartbroken grieving widow and brother-in-law. It all sounded like a normal obituary of a well-respected Edinburgh citizen.

I wasn’t surprised to learn from Jack that he and his senior colleagues had also been present at the cathedral and the cemetery. I imagined them trying hard to look inconspicuous on the faint off chance that they might have a chance encounter with Felix’s killer.

Although I knew that they still had an unsolved murder on their books, a killer on the loose, it seemed a useless exercise to me. I could not imagine that creature turning up at the graveside, although I was informed, quite seriously, by Jack, that such things often happened.

‘Perhaps just making sure,’ he said, ‘or a warped sense of taking a last look and breathing freely at last, seeing their victim has really gone for ever and will not trouble them any longer.’

The following day I encountered something very strange and sinister while making up Jack’s bed in the great hall, something he usually did for himself, but that morning he had overslept and left in a
hurry. I seized the opportunity to do a little tidying.

I turned my attentions to the table, its normally pristine surface scattered with discarded sheets of paper – Jack’s attempts to teach himself to use the typewriting machine. He had not progressed very far: there were lists of three- and four-letter words, simple everyday ones used to make it easier to recognise the letter positions of the typewriting keys, words like ‘you’ and ‘yours’, ‘two’ and ‘wore.’

The machine symbols QWERTYUIOP seemed odd to my way of thinking. Why not have a proper ABC? I glanced at one page of words and noticed that on the ‘you’ and ‘yours’ the letter U was missing altogether or very faint.

Very faint indeed, and tentatively I tried it out for myself on Jack’s last practice sheet of paper which was still in the machine. I had to hit the letter U really hard…and then…I remembered. This was probably the result of the damage the machine sustained when I was attempting to carry it and, losing my balance, bashed against the wall.

I went suddenly cold. For that faint ‘U’ was the letter I had noticed was faint on the warning note I had received, informing me: ‘Your turn next’.

There was only one possible conclusion. I backed away in horror as if the machine was guilty, for it had typewritten that note.

Which meant that someone had been in the Tower, used it in my absence. Of course the kitchen door had, until lately, always been left unlocked for Thane. But who was to know that? Had the writer of the note
been lurking about outside somewhere just awaiting such an opportunity? That I knew was nonsense.

Was the writer, then, a joker perhaps?

I did not think so. And the only persons with legitimate access to the Tower in my absence were Jack, and Elma and Peter, who had occasionally taken shelter driven inside by the rain or awaiting my arrival. But it was absurd to imagine either of them doing such a thing, although on second thoughts, I wasn’t past considering Peter might fancy himself as a joker: his sense of humour was a little warped on occasions, something that embarrassed poor Elma exceedingly.

But on the rare occasions when we had been in the great hall together, neither had shown much interest or curiosity about the typewriting machine under its leather cover, and I remembered how shocked they had been at the warning note, Elma in particular frantic for my safety.

I decided not to tell Danny. He had troubles enough of his own without having to listen to long explanations about the typewriting machine and the note, thereby giving him the extra burden of worries for my safety.

After supper with Jack that evening, I produced the note and we compared it with the words he had been practising.

‘Sharp eyes!’ He whistled. ‘I should have spotted that!’

He listened carefully as I recalled the events of the day that the letter had been brought by the postman while I was out.

‘Remember when I showed it to you, you insisted that I got curtains for the kitchen window?’

He nodded. ‘A very interesting development. Who had access to the Tower that day apart from yourself?’

When I said only Elma and Peter, who had called in and were waiting for me, he asked sharply, ‘Can either of them use a typewriting machine?’

I thought that highly unlikely. But as I watched him pocket the note, saying that he would add it to the file, I doubted whether it could have anything to do with the present investigation into Felix’s death.