The Bull Slayers: Inspector Faro No 9 (6 page)

^{Chapter 7}

Constable Dewar's reception of Mr Jeremy Faro, insurance
assessor, was considerably more encouraging than that of Sergeant
Yarrow. His eyes brightened, his eagerness to be helpful
confirmed Faro's suspicions of a daily round with nothing more
exciting than stranded animals or pursuit of the local poacher.

Faro produced an official-looking notebook and said he
wished to be taken to the scene of Sir Archie Elrigg's demise.
Dewar regarded this activity with nervous anxiety. His eyes
widened on being informed that this was the usual procedure
when violent death was involved to which there had been no
witnesses.

'Coroner said there were no suspicious circumstances, if
that's what you're inferring, sir. And he is His Lordship's cousin,' Dewar added indignantly, his tone implying that such an eminent
member of the family could not be in question on points of law.

'Besides,' he continued, ‘I’d have never thought the family
would need things like insurance, what with all their wealth.
Death insurances seem to be only for common folk like us.'
With a sigh, he added, 'Aye well, ye live and learn.'

'We do indeed. The site of the accident - is it far?'

'No, sir, but we can drive there.' Dewar stood up. 'If you'll
follow me.'

The police vehicle turned out to be a pony trap. As they jogged
up the hill at a leisurely pace, with an ancient horse who, Faro
decided, would be as inept as the constable at pursuing a fleeing
criminal, he used the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity regarding
the Elrigg constabulary.

'Do you see a great deal of crime?'

Dewar laughed merrily at such a ridiculous idea. 'What - here? Not on your life. The local poacher keeps us busy and
that's about all.'

'I should have imagined that an experienced constable like
yourself would be all that was needed to keep order.'

'Indeed that was the case. Sergeant Yarrow came to us from the Metropolitan Police Force a few years back. Very badly shot
up in one of their murder hunts. Cornered the villains, single-handed. Got an award for it,' he added proudly, 'but he was
finished for active service.'

Dewar sighed. 'End of a promising career. Refused to retire.
Asked for a quiet country posting up north, where he came
from. His Lordship thought highly of him although he was
appointed by the Northumberland Constabulary.'

'Isn't that the usual procedure?' Faro asked.

Dewar shook his head. 'His Lordship has the last word, makes
the decisions. Only right and proper, since it is his property we
are looking after. However, the Sergeant was personally
recommended by the Chief Constable, who is kin to Sir Archie.'

Before Faro could comment, Dewar continued. 'Old wounds
plague him a bit, poor fellow. But he's a good just man, well
liked and respected by everyone.'

And a good man to have around, thought Faro, if it's a
murder we're investigating. An experienced officer I can trust
should an emergency arise.

They had reached the summit of the hill where the landscape
was once more dominated by the weird stone circle.

Faro pointed to it. 'Interesting?'

'The headless women, sir,' said Dewar.

'I can see the reason for that. They look like sawn-off torsos.'

'Some say they were Celtic princesses, five sisters. Decapitated
by the Romans and turned into stone.' Dewar chuckled. 'You
should hear them crying, sir. When the wind's in the north, it
echoes through the gulleys and channels. Makes your blood run
cold to hear it.'

Faro looked back towards the village nestling peaceful and
serene at the base of the hill. Smoke from its peat fires climbed
wraithlike into the still air.

Constable Dewar smiled at him. 'Folk hereabouts believe the
old superstition that the headless women are calling for vengeance.'

Between the standing stones and the road a line of trees
marched sharply downwards to a grass-covered plateau.

'That's the old hillfort, sir,' said Dewar. 'Just below - see,
there's the wild cattle.'

Distant white shapes grazed peacefully about three hundred
yards and one substantial fence away as Faro descended from the pony trap whose ancient horse was being sympathetically
patted by Dewar.

'Out of breath, old fellow? You take a good rest now.'

What would Superintendent Mcintosh make of the Elrigg Police and their archaic mode of transport, thought Faro, used
to the swift well-trained horses of the Edinburgh City Police,
drawing the police carriage as it rattled across the cobblestones
of the High Street, striking fear into the hearts of its citizens as
it carried the guilty to justice?

Following Dewar to the site of the accident, keeping a
watchful eye on the empty, bleak pastureland that lay between
the cattle and the safety of the road they had just left, he was
relieved to set foot inside the only shelter offered, a tiny copse
of birch trees and bushes.

'The Elrigg shooting parties go mainly for game birds, foxes
and the like,' the constable explained. 'Occasionally the guests
are allowed to kill some of the wild cattle, if numbers have to
be kept down, that is.'

Safe within the copse, Faro breathed again.

'They look just like an ordinary herd of cows,' he said.

Dewar nodded. 'You don't see many all-white herds, sir.
When you get closer you'll see they're very different, smaller
than our beef and dairy cattle. And with those horns,' he
laughed, 'a lot more dangerous.'

Suddenly sober, remembering their mission, he said quietly:
'This is where I found His Lordship. There's the gate that was
left open. That's how the beast got in at him.'

'A moment, Constable. Can we back to the beginning, if you please? Two gentlemen out riding, one of them is thrown by his
horse. His companion suspects he is badly injured, goes for
help...'

As he spoke, Faro's brief examination of the gate revealed a sturdy heavy iron latch which could hardly have been left open accidentally. Except by someone leaving in too much of a panic
to check that it was closed, he thought grimly.

'Am I correct, so far?'

Dewar grinned. 'You are, sir. As luck would have it Sergeant
Yarrow and I were out riding on duty together that day. We
need the horses when we have a lot of ground to cover during
the shoot. We are expected to keep an eye on things. The
Sergeant being lame and I'm not a young man any more, we
both move fairly slowly on foot.'

'You usually accompany a shooting party?'

'That's correct, sir. Oversee it, in case of accidents.'

'But there wasn't a shooting party that day?'

Dewar looked uncomfortable. 'No, but there had been
earlier that week. You see, at the Castle they were entertaining
a very special guest, an important gentleman.' He went on
hurriedly before Faro could ask if he knew this important
gentleman's identity. 'We had also been warned to keep a
lookout for those two valuable paintings that went missing.'

Faro had no wish to be diverted from the circumstances of
Archie's death. He had already decided that there had been no
burglary at the castle. And that the paintings had been
conveniently stored away by the Elriggs themselves, safe from
Her Majesty's acquisitiveness.

'Did you witness the accident by any chance?'

'No. But we were just a short distance away - over there, on the pastureland when the gentleman rode over to us. He was in
a dreadful state. A real panic. Said he was going for help.'

'Were the cattle about?'

'Oh yes, they were grazing. Just like today.'

'And you rode among them?'

'Not quite among them, sir, that would be asking for trouble. We kept at a safe distance and if you're on horseback they don't
attack. Seems as if they only see the horses and don't consider
other four-footed creatures as their enemies. It's odd because they don't seem aware of the men on their backs.'

'And what happened then?'

'Sergeant Yarrow told me to ride like the devil for the doctor and bring back the pony trap from the station in case he needed
it to carry Sir Archie back if he was badly injured. He'd stay with him, meantime, see if there was anything he could do to
help.'

'How long did all this take?'

Dewar shook his head. 'I didn't take much notice of the time to tell truth, sir. I was a bit flustered - His Lordship injured and
all that. We're not used to crises like that. I suppose we thought
of Sir Archie as being immortal. A bit like God. And he wasn't
the sort that accidents happen to, could ride like the wind,
drunk or sober.'

He was silent for a moment. 'I had to tell Her Ladyship and
get old Clarence ready for the pony trap.' He sucked his lip,
calculating. 'I'd reckon I was nearly an hour at least. When I got back Dr Brand was already there with Sergeant Yarrow. And I
knew, just by looking at their faces, that it was too late.'

Dewar stopped and glanced at Faro who was studying the
ground curiously. 'Is there something wrong, sir?'

'Has there been much rain since the accident?'

Dewar clearly thought this an odd question. 'Not more than
a few showers, sir. We're having a dry spell.'

Kneeling down, Faro examined the ground, ran the soil
though his fingers, but any evidence had long since returned to
dust. A few weeks was enough to obliterate the churned-up
mud which might have preserved evidence of two riders side by
side, and even of a charging animal.

Dewar watched, too polite to ask the burning questions
brought about by such strange behaviour.

Faro straightened up, smiled at him. 'Footprints and horses' hoofs, sharp and clear, can tell us a lot. Did you notice anything
unusual?'

And when Dewar looked merely puzzled, Faro pointed:
'About the ground, I mean.'

Dewar thought for a moment. 'Odd that you should ask, sir.' And rubbing his chin thoughtfully, 'When I came back with the
others, I walked around -' He grinned. 'Just the policeman in
me, sir. Can't help that. And when the doctor said that Sir
Archie had been gored, I wondered about the bull's hoofprints.'

'There were some?'

'No, sir, that's what was odd. There weren't any. Nothing to
indicate the churned-up ground a great heavy angry beast
would make charging down on someone.'

'Did you point it out to Sergeant Yarrow?'

Dewar looked embarrassed. 'Yes, I did. But he wasn't
impressed. I don't blame him,' he added hastily. 'He's a city
policeman really, and they don't see things like country folk
born and bred. Besides,' he added reluctantly, 'he does make a
bit of fun of me, says I'm always on the lookout, hoping for a
crime but that I'd never recognise one if it stared me in the face.'

His voice was sad, then he laughed. 'He's probably right, sir.
Crimes are the last thing he wants. And you can understand
that, after all he's been through, he values a peaceful life above
all things. Not like me, I've never had much chance of real
crime,' he added in tones of wistful regret.

Faro smiled. Such reaction fitted in with Yarrow's relaxed
attitude to crime; however, if Dewar's observations were
correct, the omission of hoofprints should have perturbed him
considerably. He said consolingly: 'Well, you were quite right to
bring it to Sergeant Yarrow's attention, even the smallest thing
can be of importance.'