Quest for a Killer (4 page)

Elma continued, ‘We must do something of the same again, a concert perhaps, or the theatre.’

She left me with a promise to meet for lunch. ‘That is, if you are not too busy.’

I had not told her that I was a lady investigator.
Was I ashamed to admit it or did I think such a bizarre occupation might decide her against furthering our friendship?

Especially if she discussed it with her eminent husband: I could not imagine his approval. And how did she imagine a widow could afford Solomon’s Tower? Unless, of course, she had wrongfully decided that Vince gave me financial support.

Again I noticed in these small discrepancies that Elma seemed sorely lacking in observation. Or perhaps the truth was that it was a quality of which I had a superior abundance; the result of my early education where, to while away tedious train journeys, I had been taught by Pappa to observe my fellow passengers and deduce from their clothes and luggage what had brought them on to this particular railway. Although it had seemed like a game then, I had to admit that it had contributed strongly to my desire to be a lady investigator and, indeed, had even helped in solving cases.

Alone in the Tower, that night I thought about Jack, what he was doing back in Edinburgh and what had become of the young woman who had replaced me in his life. I shook my head; he was probably on a fleeting visit seeing old friends. He would be gone tomorrow, and after a two-year silence I was unlikely to ever know the truth.

Did I really care? And the answer was, strangely, yes. Although I had never wanted to be married again I greatly treasured Jack, not only as a lover but as a friend and confidant.

Never mind, the past was past. On with the future and, any day now, I would be receiving a call to take on a new case.

And that, as fate would have it, was closer than I ever expected.

The next morning, I opened the door to Jack Macmerry.

I was taken aback by this visitor whom Thane rushed forward to greet. A delighted, tail-wagging welcome for an old friend.

Responding warmly to this overture, Jack looked up from patting his head and said, ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in, Rose?’

I blinked, apologised and stood aside. In his uniform Jack looked quite splendid, and although never handsome in the Irish way of Danny McQuinn with his black hair and blue eyes, Jack had a pleasing countenance: a strong face with the sandy colouring, the broad cheekbones and the sturdy build of the Lowland Scots.

Following me into the kitchen, he laid aside his uniform cap and, rubbing his hands together in a familiar gesture, he grinned, ‘Well, aren’t you even going to offer me a cup of tea, after all this time?’ And amused at the discomfort I was unable to hide, he
laughed. ‘Don’t just stand there with your mouth open, Rose, looking as if a ghost had walked in. After our brief meeting again last night, didn’t you expect me to come and see you?’

‘No, Jack. To be honest, I didn’t.’

He regarded me slowly. ‘That’s scarcely flattering, is it?’

‘I should have thought we were well past the stage of flattering each other,’ I said sharply. ‘What are you doing here in Edinburgh, anyway? Visiting friends?’

‘Among other things,’ was the vague reply. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m here on business.’

‘Business?’

‘Yes, police business. I’m investigating a fraud which has Edinburgh connections.’ Again he hesitated, an uneasy glance, as if wishing to say more.

‘How long are you staying?’

‘As long as it takes to find some answers.’

‘So this is just a visit.’

He grinned. ‘Try not to sound so relieved.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…’ As I poured him a cup of tea my thoughts were racing. ‘Tell me about yourself; what has been happening since we last met?’

He sighed. ‘Quite a lot, Rose. Quite a lot.’ And looking around, ‘But I see things are still the same with you and with Thane here,’ he said, as the deerhound settled happily by his feet once more, as if two years had not passed by and Jack was home again, settled in the most comfortable armchair, his long legs stretched out before the fire.

I shuddered slightly as, patting Thane’s head, he
murmured, ‘At least
you
are still pleased to see me, old chap.’

Thane wagged his tail and looked pleased in that almost human way as Jack glanced across at me. ‘I take it that you are still a grieving widow, that the missing husband has failed to return?’ he said mockingly.

Although his belittling words made me angry, I told myself that he had every reason to feel bitter. Danny’s ghost had always been between us right from our first meeting, when I still believed Danny would return from Arizona and would walk in one day. To be honest, later, I learnt to accept with almost certainty that Danny was dead. It still remained the perfect excuse for not putting our relationship on a permanent basis, a refuge to evade marrying Jack.

‘And what about you? Did you marry the young lady you fancied so much, the one you left me for?’ I said as lightly as I could.

‘I did indeed.’

‘And so you are a happily married man at last.’

He held up his hand as if not wishing to hear more. ‘I had no intention when I left you of marrying anyone: I was still in love with you. You surely never doubted that, Rose. It wasn’t my fault we ever parted. You drove me away.’

He paused as if giving me the opportunity to deny it. When I said nothing he shrugged.

‘But circumstances overcame my plan that you would miss me. To cut a long story short, the young lady took pity on me, desolate as I was, and we formed a… er…relationship. Before I could recover my senses which
told me this union was going to be a disaster, Meg announced that she was having my child.’ He sighed. ‘And so I did the honourable thing. We got married.’

That was a relief, I thought. At least I was in no danger of an unrequited lover’s return.

‘And so you are living happily ever after. I am glad to hear it.’

Jack shook his head solemnly.

‘Not quite, Rose, not quite. Meg died. Scarlet fever.’

‘And the child?’

‘She is being cared for by her grandmother.’ His face expressionless, he sounded troubled, resigned.

‘I’m sorry, Jack. Indeed I am.’

He regarded me without speaking and, somewhat at a loss for words myself at these unexpected revelations, I said, ‘Such a tragic situation. Especially for the wee girl.’

He nodded and said slowly, ‘Indeed it is. But it could have been worse. I knew from the beginning, even in those first months together, that I had made a mistake.’

Shaking his head he regarded me solemnly. ‘I knew we would never be happy – the thought of long years ahead was intolerable; through no fault of her own, poor girl, she could never take your place. A sweet lass in many ways, but – oh, I don’t know, I suppose I was looking for another Rose McQuinn. A woman who stirred my senses, an impossibly strong-willed woman who drove me mad, but one who I never needed to explain everything to—’

I held up my hand. ‘Stop – stop at that, Jack Macmerry. Not another word.’

He jumped to his feet and seized my hands. ‘I will not – I cannot stop, Rose, I will always love you. The years we had together. You can’t change that. You loved another man, a dead man, more than me. Pitiful, wasn’t it, living with his ghostly presence?’

I wrenched myself free. ‘Please, Jack, no more. Let’s have no more of this. You always knew the score. You wanted a sweet submissive wife and I wanted my career…’

I watched his mouth curl as his lips echoed the words.

‘I never wanted, could never promise to be, that kind of a wife and you always knew that. You persisted in believing that you could change me.’

He looked so hurt, I said, ‘Jack, I am sorry – sorry that I hurt you – and that all this has happened—’

The doorbell rang. Jack looked at the clock and sprang to his feet. ‘That’s my carriage. Damn it, have to go, have an appointment with the assistant chief constable – just like old times, Rose.’

That was true. And we both laughed. There was always an important meeting interrupting the flow of our life together.

Jack shook his head wryly and then said, ‘May I come again and see you? We need to talk.’

I looked doubtful for he added quickly, ‘Not about us this time, I promise you. But I need advice, so let’s forget about the past and be friends, Rose.’

‘Yes, Jack, I’d like that.’ And at that moment, I meant it.

‘Tomorrow, perhaps?’

‘Yes, tomorrow then.’

At the door he paused. ‘Your companion at the circus – Mrs Miles Rice?’ He threw back his head and with a deep laugh said, ‘Well done. Well done.’ A pause, a shrewd look. ‘Not a client, surely?’

‘Of course not!’

He grinned, a mocking bow. ‘You have moved up in Edinburgh society.’

Thane stood at my side and we watched him get into the carriage.

Closing the door, I sat down at the table and tried to sort out my confused feelings. Perhaps I had been harsh, always too harsh. To be honest, it was good to see Jack again, and if we could be friends, and stay that way, which I doubted, all would be well.

As for that advice he wanted, was it personal, professional, or just an excuse for a further visit?

That evening Elma had seats at the Theatre Royal for
Mrs Warren’s Profession,
a daring and witty play by Mr George Bernard Shaw, whose dislike of the capitalist society (which I encountered regularly in Edinburgh) was akin to my own. As a passionate feminist and suffragette, I was an avid reader of his
Fabian Essays
and his socialist tracts.

As I expected, we were in the best seats and directly behind us was one of my former clients. We had been friends for a short while but when our eyes met there was no flicker of recognition. Sad, but no doubt, as I was becoming well known, she had her own excellent reasons for ignoring a private detective in public.

Elma was anxious to hear my comments on the play, and when I remarked upon the theme, she laughed.

‘London theatregoers accept this sort of thing without question. Mr Shaw is well known for his outrageous opinions, but I fear it may be a little strong, still a little too modern, for Edinburgh audiences.

She was very knowledgeable about the theatre and as we were approaching her carriage she was hailed by a man standing near the entrance of the theatre.

‘Excuse me, Rose.’

She hurried towards him, and although it was too dark to see him clearly, I could make out a top-hatted rather flashily dressed young man who greeted her warmly; he placed an arm about her shoulders. She was obviously not pleased. She left him standing and seemed anxious to escape as soon as possible.

As she stepped smartly into the carriage, he made a move and dashed across to her window. From my side of the carriage I was unable to see his face clearly, and the noise of the horses setting off made it impossible for me to distinguish the words he was shouting.

Something about their next meeting; he sounded angry and, as she leant back in her seat, I was aware that she was very upset by this encounter.

It was none of my business, but obviously aware that politeness demanded some explanation, she summoned a smile and said, ‘So embarrassing, Rose. I don’t even remember his name. An actor I met in London, no one of any importance.’

But her voice rather shrill and her laugh a little false spoke a different line and left me with the certainty
that, at some time, they had known each other extremely well.

Indeed, her knowledge of the theatre, and of the circus come to that (how expertly she had told me about the equestrian jockey acts and she seemed to know a great deal of what went on behind the scenes in the world of entertainment), suggested that she might well have been an actress herself at some stage of her life, before she met Felix Miles Rice.

If that was so, one could not blame her for keeping it quiet. Many actresses who married rich or titled men were very keen to keep their humbler origins secret.

Jack was as good as his word. He arrived so early next morning I wondered if he was expecting breakfast to be offered: that had been the pattern of our early days together when he would look in on his way to the central office; this was before we became seriously involved, when he frequently stayed the night.

Fortunately I was an early riser and uncharitably wondered if he expected to see me at my worst, as if I had just tumbled out of bed. Rather triumphantly, I offered him a cup of tea and a piece of bread.

He shook his head. ‘I’ve eaten already. Thank you.’ But taking a seat at the table he seemed very relaxed and, irritatingly, Thane drifted immediately to his side, the master welcomed home again.

Stroking his head, Jack looked round the kitchen and smiled. ‘Just like old times, Rose. Nothing has changed, not even you,’ he added with an admiring glance which I avoided.

‘One of us has certainly changed,’ I said sharply. ‘You, Jack, remember? You got married.’

As he winced at the reminder, he leant forward and said, ‘And as I said, seeing you in the royal box with Mrs Rice, you have certainly moved up the social ladder.’

‘You know Mrs Rice?’

‘Only by sight.’ He hesitated. ‘Quite a coincidence you knowing her too. Everyone knows Felix Miles Rice and his beautiful wife, even in Glasgow. Not merely ornamental but full of good works, rapidly qualifying her as one of the city’s eminent lady bountifuls.’

A dismissive shrug and he continued, ‘But I’m not here to talk about Edinburgh society. I’ve come to ask you a favour, Rose.’

‘A favour?’ I said cautiously.

‘The officer in charge of this fraud case has been taken seriously ill, and the assistant chief constable (who I knew in his lowlier early days) wants me to take it on. My Edinburgh connection, you know.’ He paused and laughed gently. ‘Wheels within wheels. He would love to have me back on the force.’

Looking intently at me, he was suddenly silent. ‘So I’m here to ask for your help and advice – in your professional capacity.’

His words amazed me. In the past he had always been ready to pour scorn on lady detectives and had hooted with laughter at my business card: ‘Lady Investigator, Discretion Guaranteed, indeed!’

Had he forgotten that my ‘profession’, as he called it, was the main reason why he had abandoned me? This was a new Jack indeed.

‘Will you help me, Rose?’

I hesitated. ‘Depends on what is involved.’

He nodded. ‘Speed is involved and this is an instance where a woman investigator might make considerably more headway than the police, and I hardly need tell you that your much vaunted discretion guaranteed can be of great service to the community in this case. I am asking your help to track down a murderer.’

He paused. ‘Well, what say you? Are you willing?’

I might not be willing but I was intrigued and, yes, a little flattered too. ‘Tell me more. Is this to do with the fraud case?’

He ignored that and said, ‘You will have read, of course, of the two girls who committed suicide within hours of one another in the slum tenements of St Leonard’s, less than a mile from where we are sitting now.’

That had my immediate attention. I said I had read about it and he continued, ‘There are some baffling circumstances about this case, and in all truth, it seems more like two murders than suicides.’

‘The newspapers have hinted at doubts, of course. But
that’s
how they increase their sales. One does not have to take such things seriously,’ I said.

He sighed. ‘Precisely so. But the police have only circumstantial evidence that the girls were strangled. A neighbour coming home from the public house reported that a man cannoned into him, who had rushed down the tenement stair. Questioned further, however, he admitted that he had had a lot to drink and, as he was unsteady on his feet, “pushed aside” might have been a more correct description of the encounter with
the running man. Also, he had been carried away by the drama of the two girls’ deaths, and cronies in the tenement had urged him to report to the police as he might possibly be a witness to identifying a murderer and – who knew? – there might also be a reward on offer.’

‘What do the police know of the girls’ families, background and so forth?’

‘Both respectable, employed at a laundry. And this is where the doubts about suicides come in.’

‘Did either leave notes?’

‘No, and that seems significant to me, if not to my colleagues. Especially as Amy was engaged to be married; the banns had been called at the local church and her fiancé’s ship was due in port any day. According to the neighbours Amy was very much in love, full of excited preparations, looking forward to her future life as a married woman. There was absolutely
no
reason why she should have taken her life…’

‘Perhaps this fiancé had changed his mind at the last minute. That would have been
one
good reason.’

‘No. When asked if this possibility had been considered, this neighbour, who insisted that she was like a mother to Amy, said she would have been the first to know. As for the other girl, Belle, she looks after her old grandfather who lost a leg at the Crimea. He, too, was distraught. He had been out with cronies that evening and she had promised to have his supper ready for him in his flat across the road.’

He looked at me thoughtfully. ‘Strong evidence, don’t you think? Both the fiancé and the bereaved grandfather
insist that the girls were close friends, healthy and happy.’

The absence of suicide notes seemed to confirm Jack’s theory.

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘I would be very grateful if
you’d
look into these cases, give me your opinion. You are, as
I
remember, especially good at asking questions, ferreting out information that the police don’t consider important. I know from our time together that you have solved some remarkable cases thanks to what you call, if I am correct, observation and deduction.’

He paused. ‘Will you do this as a special favour for
me
? This is strictly unofficial, but I think you can speed matters up. I need to get back to Glasgow rather urgently. Problems with the wee lass’s grandmother’s health.’

A sigh from the heart and I thought of the wee daughter who was now motherless, and realised that Jack had always wanted children, but what an irony that he should be left in such circumstances.

‘I’m in despair, Rose, the lads don’t seem to have many original ideas and, in fact, something I encountered before and always deplored, they have already made up their minds regarding the killer’s identity.’

‘Who do they think—’

‘Oh, their prime suspect
would
be someone from the circus, of course.’

I knew that to be true, and it was the reason why many innocent persons had gone to the gallows. There were instances when the police decided that a suspect
was guilty and obtained a speedy conviction by fixing the evidence.

‘You’ll do it, Rose?’

‘I’ll think about it.’

He smiled. ‘Good. Here you are, then.’ And producing an envelope he laid it on the table. ‘These notes are a copy of all the evidence so far. I needn’t add – for your eyes only.’

The carriage was waiting for him on the road. At the door, he turned. ‘One thing that isn’t in the notes which might be of use to your investigation, both girls were briefly employed at Rice Villa.’

He grinned. ‘Might be useful, might mean nothing, but seeing that you are on friendly terms with Mrs Rice, I thought it worth mentioning.’

As the carriage began to move, he leant out. ‘Another thing not in the notes that might interest you. Amy once worked at your old home, 9 Sheridan Place, the scene of a recent break-in, and the man who lives there now might be involved in this fraud case I came to investigate. Small world, isn’t it?’

I knew nothing of the new tenants but the excuse to visit my former home, to help Jack with his enquiries, was an almost irresistible temptation.

I went inside and spread the notes he had left on the table.

Pieces of paper; lots of words that said nothing. Two apparent suicides, coincidental, curiously identical in nature. And the shocked disbelief from the statements of their neighbours hinted at murder.

I had an instinct that this was so. Curiously enough,
the happy home life of Felix Miles Rice, Elma and the two dead girls, who had briefly been part of that enthusiastic staff devoted to a generous employer, bothered me most.

Did the two girls carry something discreditable regarding their employer which had necessitated their disposal?

‘You must meet my husband,’ said Elma, who was now a familiar sight to be seen heading in the direction of Solomon’s Tower with Rufus at her side. I was encouraged to accompany them on a brisk walk over Arthur’s Seat, fortified on our return by tea and scones, the latter provided by the Rices’ excellent cook.

Thane took a dim view of these outings: the idea of scampering about the hill in an undignified manner with a small yapping dog at his heels was not for Thane. Used to having me as his sole companion, he remained invisible until our return and the departure of Elma and Rufus.

‘You don’t like him much, do you?’ I said. His imploring look said everything. ‘I’ll let you into a secret, then,’ I said patting his head, ‘neither do I.’

And Rufus liked neither of us. I decided he was a spoilt silly lapdog but the best Elma was allowed, since she confided that her husband did not like animals at all. It was on one of our walks that Elma, who rarely mentioned her husband, became expansive on that topic.

‘Felix has heard so much about you, Rose. He is so delighted that I have found such a good friend to
accompany me on my walks – he was never keen on the idea of me all alone on Arthur’s Seat in all kinds of weather. So he is grateful to you, especially as he is always so busy and, alas, his life has little time for frivolities such as the circus and the theatre.’

She sighed. ‘We do not think along the same lines in such matters: he is very serious-minded, devoted to reading the Classics, and my education failed to include any foreign language other than French.’

As she smiled I wondered again what her education had included, since up to now I knew so little of her background. It was as if life started the day she married Felix Miles Rice. Perhaps, I thought shrewdly, it had indeed. A vastly different life, perhaps.

One day she was quite excited. ‘He has asked that I invite you to a little dinner party. There now. I am sure you will like each other, of course. I hope I haven’t scared you off, but let me assure you, beneath that serious exterior, he is the sweetest, noblest and most generous of men; warm-hearted and kind to those in need. You will get along famously, of that I am quite sure.’

I was delighted to accept; a date was arranged, but fate deemed it otherwise and I never was able to meet Felix Miles Rice.