Blood Line (7 page)

The report went on:

Later:

I am very sceptical about Egyptian-style curses. The two men who died in 1830 were drowned, washed ashore at Granton. It was thought they had purloined a boat which capsized. Their names were Connor and Doyle, 'believed to be from Ireland' (like most itinerant labourers, poor starving wretches who arrive in droves from Ireland and the Highlands). Christian names would have been a help for further investigation, but employers of casual labour are frequently careless about such details.

Notes:

Tomorrow I intend to see Dowie (if he is still alive and capable of speech) then proceed to Leith and talk to Femister's relatives.

On another sheet of paper, hastily scrawled:

Tried to see Dowie, but he is far gone.

Was the cameo buried in the child's coffin?

Jeremy felt the surge of excitement. He had been right. The jewelled cameos were connected with the royal apartments -

If so, is it one of a hoard [Magnus Faro's account continued], hidden for safe keeping? Could buried treasure be the reason for the earlier 'accidents', and is this a case of murder? Was the drowning of Connor and Doyle also murder? There is something very suspicious about that 'purloined' boat.

Have talked to Dowie. Have learned enough to be warned that I must go carefully now.

Went to see Dowie again, but was turned away. Perhaps he is already dead. These devils will have no mercy and I must protect my dear Mary and the boy.

There could be danger.

The last words were heavily underscored. Faro turned the page, but there were no more entries. Again he read that last entry. It was dated 1 August 1837.

Two days after his interview with Dowie, Constable Faro had met his death. Returning from duty in the early hours of the morning, crossing the High Street, a runaway cab had hurtled towards him, and trying to seize the horses he had been trampled to death.

The cab was never traced and the inquest recorded 'death by misadventure', with Mary Faro protesting that the verdict should be 'murder by person or persons unknown' and that her husband had been killed by someone with a grudge against him. What better reason, thought Jeremy sadly, re-reading his father's last heavily underscored words,
'There could be danger.'
What had Dowie warned him of in his dying breath that threatened Constable Faro and his entire family? As he put the notes together, he heard the clock in the hall chime four. The Police Surgeon might not release Vince for several hours.

Faro sighed. He did not count patience among his few remaining virtues and sending Mrs Brook out to summon a gig, armed with walking stick and supported on a wave of enthusiasm and excitement, he decided to begin his investigations with a visit to the royal apartments of Edinburgh Castle.

The effect of reading his father's casebook as well as the attempt on his own life on Castle Road made Faro more than usually watchful. His sixth sense warned that his home was being watched and as he awaited the arrival of the gig at the dining-room window, was it coincidence that a strange man, his face well concealed by a high collar, was apparently searching for a house number? On the rare occasions when Faro rode out with Vince, he felt uneasily that they were being followed at a discreet distance by a small carriage with blinds drawn.

He patted his greatcoat pocket containing Queen Mary's jewel. If this formed part of a treasure hoard long concealed in the walls of Edinburgh Castle, he might be dealing with desperate men anxious to get their hands on it. The presence in 9 Sheridan Place of his mother and daughters gave him added cause for anxiety. How to warn them without causing unnecessary distress? He shook his head. A tricky situation which would need urgent but careful handling.

There was only one method, a method which although hazardous had paid off in the past. Lay the bait, draw the enemy fire. As a carriage swung into the street and he limped towards the front gate, it was no shadowy watcher who erupted before his startled gaze, but the substantial shape of Constable Gregg, who, saluting smartly, indicated the vehicle.

'Superintendent Mackintosh's compliments, Inspector, and will you be so good as to present yourself at his office immediately? The Superintendent knows about you being lame at the moment, but I am to assure you that you would not be troubled unless it was a matter of the utmost urgency.'

At the Central Office, he found Superintendent Mackintosh in a less than understanding mood and dismissive of his Senior Detective Inspector's injury. His scornful manner declared more than any words that this had been caused by incompetence combined with a reckless disregard for personal safety.

'Clambering about rocks, Faro. You should leave that sort of thing to the constables. That's what we employ them for.'

Useless to murmur that they didn't always use their imagination when looking for clues.

'Imagination? What has that to do with it? We don't keep them to use their imaginations. Evidence based on solid fact and logic, that's all we pay for, all we get and indeed, all we have a right to expect,' he added self-righteously.

'Is that what you wanted to tell me, Superintendent?' asked Faro heavily.

Mackintosh made an impatient gesture. 'Of course not. Jock Clavers has been seen, in the neighbourhood of Glencorse. We have information that he has gone to earth, winged by one of the gamekeepers during the last robbery. Anyway, our informer tells us he is hiding in the folly on Lord Wylie's estate.'

'When did you hear this?'

'Just before we sent for you.'

Faro wondered who had clyped and why. If it had been one of his regulars then the Superintendent would have told him.

'It won't be dark until ten o'clock,' he continued, 'so this is an opportunity not to be missed. Clavers's daughter worked there as servant lass. Bearing in mind that his lairdship is a sheriff, I thought he might appreciate having the arrest made by someone in authority, rather than a bevy of police constables descending on him. Just in case the report is false. Don't you agree?'

At any other time, Faro would have been delighted to know that the elusive Clavers had been run to earth. Safely behind bars, the baffling six months of unsolved robberies would be at an end. All were from stately homes and bore the Clavers gang's unmistakable imprint. Jewellery, ornaments, plate, pictures and other valuable items worth several thousand pounds had been taken, and the irate owners were increasingly annoyed by the Police Force's singular lack of success in tracing the thieves and restoring their property.

'I don't need to tell you that this would be a feather in your cap, Faro, if you could nab Clavers. He's damned clever, but he's bound to make a mistake sooner or later.'

'Who is your informer?'

Mackintosh shook his head. 'The fewer who know this person's identity the better, Faro. That was part of the bargain. We've been trying to get Clavers for a long time now and all you need to know is that our informant is very much in our debt and anxious to prove reliable. Take some lads in readiness. I don't need to tell you to spread them around discreetly in case he makes a bolt for it.'

'Any word on the Edinburgh Castle break-in yet?'

'No. And I rather fancy there won't be any either. Clear as daylight that this is a case of death by misadventure. Man was climbing where he had no business to be in the first place.'

'Is there anything in the missing persons file that would identify him?'

The Superintendent sighed. 'That's the first place we looked, Faro. We've made the routine enquiries, had a couple with missing fathers, half a dozen absconding husbands, but none of them identified the corpse.' He chuckled grimly. 'Most of the wives we saw were very put out and distressed, I might tell you, that the dead man wasn't the absconded husband. Bitterly disappointed they were. You should have heard the reproaches from a couple of them, as if we had lured them to the Office on false pretences, with a guarantee of widow's weeds and the chance they had been waiting for, to enjoy the insurance.'

Picking up some papers on his desk in an attitude of dismissal, Mackintosh said, 'We'll give the corpse another week to enjoy the mortuary's cold hospitality and then we'll have him tidied away and the case closed.'

'Tidied away' was the Superintendent's delicate way of saying that the unclaimed body would be given to the Medical College for dissection.

'And if someone claims him?'

'I would imagine they'd want him underground as soon as possible. They don't keep well in this weather. Nor do I imagine they'll want to be involved in any scandal about what he might have been doing on Castle Rock. Elderly relatives can be embarrassing, they get odd ideas.'

And as Faro rose from the chair with some effort, Mackintosh added, 'McQuinn was just going off duty. I asked him to stay. You won't be much use if it comes to a chase and he's a good man to have along with you if Clavers turns nasty or makes a bolt for it.'

Remembering that Glencorse bordered Piperlees, Faro collected the dead man's jacket and ordered a police carriage. While waiting, Faro stood at the window of his room and considered the Queen Mary cameo now reposing in his pocket in a new light.

Could it have any connection with Claver's robberies? Had they been planning a grand
coup
on the royal apartments, and was the unknown man a member of the gang?

No. Much as the tidiness of the theory appealed to him, Faro decided that this was a case of imagination and wishful thinking gaining precedence over common sense. Years of experience had lent him an ability to recognise instantly the habitual criminal and house-breaker. Whatever had led to that clumsy attempt on the Castle Rock, the dead man's age and air of genteel poverty did not fit the pattern of Clavers's highly organised and successful gang, most of whom were under thirty-five and extremely agile.

There was only one way to make certain. Make a drawing of the jewel he had found and have the police show it at each of the houses where the robberies had taken place.

No mean draughtsman, Faro was quite pleased with his effort when a short time afterwards he emerged from his office to find McQuinn waiting impatiently.

Half an hour later, the carriage turned into the leafy drive of Lord Wylie's estate, admirably situated for concealment of the police reinforcements.

With McQuinn unhampered by a walking stick in the lead, Faro cautiously approached the folly, using the natural screen of vegetation to give as much cover as possible. McQuinn leaped up the steps and at his touch the door flew open without the least effort. Even before he could issue his stern warning, Faro knew that they were too late.

Clavers had eluded the net once again.

With a raging, frustrated McQuinn cursing at his side, he limped back along the drive. The sustained effort of walking quickly was still painful and he was glad to take a seat in the waiting carriage.

'Seeing we have come this far,' he told McQuinn, 'we might as well continue to Piperlees and try to find out something about the jacket here while there's still light.'

A look of annoyance crossed McQuinn's face. He knew he could not refuse this extra duty much as it irked and inconvenienced him. 'I was wondering about that. Could it possibly be one of yours, I thought. A bit shabby for a Detective Inspector.' He laughed. 'But men who are getting on seem to prefer old clothes, more comfortable, they tell me...'

Another splendid chance of indicating that his superior was old and decrepit, thought Faro, biting back his anger and resolving to cheat McQuinn of the satisfaction of seeing him rise to the bait.

Truth to be told, Faro would have vastly preferred to have Vince with him at Piperlees, but when they were so near it seemed an opportunity not to be missed. Especially with a police carriage at their disposal, for it would be a dismal and wearying journey on his own from Edinburgh and back again in his present crippled condition.

Turning into the drive of Piperlees, Faro decided that his mission would appear more casual if he visited Sir James alone. The presence of the police could be intimidating. An almost unfailing reaction which Faro had witnessed with carefully suppressed amusement through the years. How even the most respectable and innocent of citizens were prone to display feelings of resentment, reticence and, at the pricking of uneasy conscience, even unaccountable guilt at the presence in their house of a uniformed sergeant or constable.

As the drive swept round towards the handsome mansion, lights blazed from the windows and the presence of several carriages with waiting coachmen indicated that Sir James had guests.

'Looks like a party,' said McQuinn.

Faro ignored the obvious. 'One more carriage won't matter then.'

With instructions to McQuinn to wait, he limped up to the front door, which was opened with alacrity by a manservant.

'Is Sir James at home? Detective Inspector Faro.'

The servant was unimpressed. 'What is your business?'

Faro thought hard. He could hardly present Sir James with one of his discarded jackets in the middle of dinner.

'It won't take long, just a routine enquiry.'