Deadly Beloved (12 page)

He did not relish the forthcoming interview. Kellar had deliberately misled them regarding his presence at a lecture on the morning his wife disappeared. If that was a sign of guilt, then he must be in a greater panic than they had realised.

There was also the matter of the bloodstained carriage. If this had been the result of Kellar's grisly murder of his wife, most likely on the way to North Berwick, then he was behaving in a remarkably naive fashion by drawing attention to it.

From his own experience with police procedure, Kellar must be perfectly aware that in a murder case, the victim's spouse is always the first, and most likely, suspect. Faro could only make the excuse of Kellar's notorious vanity, his assumption that his own connection with the Edinburgh City Police, a knighthood in the offing, rendered him beyond suspicion.

Chapter 9

Faro's arrival coincided with Kellar emerging from the dissecting room, whose odours heavily disguised with antiseptic still clung to him, an unpleasant miasma. He did not look overjoyed at Faro's presence and walked briskly down the corridor. Without lessening his pace, he looked over his shoulder, demanded brusquely, "Well, and what do you want?"

Faro groaned inwardly. This was hardly a promising start. "Only a few facts to check, sir." He tried in vain to sound nonchalant. "If you will be so good as to spare me the time."

"Very well," said Kellar. "Follow me. You know the way." Ushered into the miserable room that served as office, Faro was not invited to be seated, an indication, he gathered, that this interview was unwelcome and was not to be prolonged a moment longer than necessary.

"What is it now. Inspector?" Kellar asked impatiently. "As you can see, I'm a busy man."

"I went to your house earlier today hoping to see you there."

Kellar smiled grimly, seeing through this flimsy excuse. "I am always at Surgeons Hall during the working week at this hour. You should know that, Inspector."

"But not on Mondays apparently," Faro reminded him.

"Mondays?" As if a new thought struck him, Kellar said, "Mondays — no, as a matter of fact, I'm not."

"So you weren't lecturing at all on the day you took your wife to the station to catch the North Berwick train." Kellar gave an impatient shrug. "No. Obviously I wasn't."

"Then why, sir, did you indicate — "

Kellar interrupted with an impatient gesture. "Indicate? I indicated nothing. It was mere aberration, that's all. I forgot completely what day of the week it was."

Faro tried not to look as disbelieving as he felt. Strange that a husband should forget the day of the week that his wife disappeared. One would imagine such information would be indelibly fixed.

"You let your wife believe that you were going to be late for a lecture."

Kellar's head jerked up sharply. "How do you know what I let my wife believe, Faro?"

"You were overheard outside your front door."

"Overheard? By domestics, I suppose." Kellar raised his eyes heavenward in a despairing gesture. "Wasting time spying on their betters when they should be going about their business, which is what we pay them for. This is outrageous, Inspector."

Faro ignored Kellar's growing anger. "Perhaps you could remember where you spent the afternoon of Monday, 16th January. That would be of considerable help."

"Help? Help, in what way?" Kellar sounded surprised and then seeing Faro's sternly guarded expression, he laughed softly. "Oh, I see. I see. So what do you want me to tell you?"

"Anything that would account for your movements, sir."

"An alibi, is that it?" Kellar sounded faintly amused.

"Yes, sir, as you know that is quite usual."

"Usual, in what way usual?"

Kellar wasn't going to make it easy, thought Faro. Every move would have to be laboriously spelled out.

"Just so that you can be cleared — "

Kellar's eyebrows shot upwards. "Cleared? Do I take it from that remark, you are hinting that I — I am under suspicion, that you seriously believe I had something to do with my wife's disappearance."

When Faro could think of no suitable reply that evaded the truth, Kellar shouted, "My God, man, how dare you make such a vile assumption. This is preposterous, do you hear? Preposterous."

"So is murder, sir." And in an effort to calm him, Faro added quickly, "As a police surgeon you know that such enquiries are routine and that everyone connected with a murder victim, especially his or her own household, is under suspicion."

"Aren't you presuming rather a lot, Inspector?"

"We'll only know that, sir, when we find your wife's murderer."

"Or her body."

Faro thought he detected a gleam of satisfaction in Kellar's eyes as he added, "Don't let us forget the absence of that vital ingredient, the
corpus delicti
."

"I don't think anyone, not even you, sir, could dispute the fact that the evidence up to now looks uncommonly like foul play."

Kellar sobered at once. "I see," he said slowly and, thrusting out his upper lip, he gazed steadily at the ceiling as if words of inspiration might suddenly appear across its grimy expanse. "I mostly spend Mondays doing work of my own, in my study. So I expect that is how I was occupied when I returned from the railway station."

"Presumably Mrs Flynn or the housemaid would be able to confirm this, sir."

"Of course they would not," said Kellar irritably. "It is my policy to assiduously avoid contact with domestics at all times."

His tone of distaste made it sound like avoidance of lepers. "When I go to my study and I am working on a paper or lecture notes, I am not to be disturbed. My instructions are very strict on that point. I may only be approached in direst necessity."

"What about meal times, sir?"

Kellar stared at him as if the suggestion was mad or highly improper. "I communicate with domestics by leaving notes on the hall table."

"Did you do so that day?"

Kellar looked at him narrowly. "You know. Inspector, I really can't remember." He paused and then added triumphantly. "Oh yes, I can. Now it comes back to me. I didn't return home. I had an errand to do for my wife. Of course, of course."

That was safe enough, thought Faro grimly. And difficult to confirm or deny in the prevailing circumstances. "What kind of an errand would that be?" he asked.

"I was to take some garments across to her friend Mrs Shaw in Regent Crescent. The housekeeper had been given instructions to clear out the attic and while so doing had come across some infant garments." He paused and added hurriedly, "From the early years of our marriage when we had, er, anticipations. Mabel is very well disposed towards Mrs Shaw, and wished her to have these for her wee boy."

A longer pause followed while Kellar smiled at Faro, as if inviting comment on such generosity. Then in his sudden burst of laughter, Faro thought he detected relief.

"Of course I had forgotten because it was all so unimportant. I had dismissed it from my mind entirely. After I set Mrs Kellar down at the station, I drove directly to Mrs Shaw's home. As a token of her gratitude, she was kind enough to offer me luncheon."

Frowning, he thought for a moment. "I found her greatly in need of fresh air, to cheer her spirits. So I took her and little Barnaby for a drive, well wrapped up, of course. We had to cut it short when the snow began to fall rather heavily again. I dined at the Surgeons' Club that evening. You can easily confirm this, if you wish."

He looked across at Faro. "Well, Inspector, are you satisfied?"

"It helps considerably, Dr Kellar."

"No doubt you will wish to speak to Mrs Shaw. I am sure she will remember the afternoon we spent together."

Faro thanked him and left, resolving to interview Mrs Shaw immediately, before Kellar had a chance to communicate with her, on the unlikely chance that the two were in collusion.

He made his way on foot as swiftly as possible down the High Street, his progress impeded by the maze of luckenbooths. He had forgotten that this was market day. The din of stall-keepers yelling their wares, combined with smells of fish and vegetables and many less agreeable human odours made concentration impossible.

Walking in the direction of Regent Crescent, head down against the icy blast from the Firth of Forth, Faro saw the Palace and Abbey of Holyroodhouse stripped of all romance. Inadequately sheltered by skeletal trees whose feeble thin branches moaned back and forth in a pathetic protest against the sleet-like rain, the scene was one of direst misery, a monument of inescapable mourning for a Scotland lost for ever with the passing of the Stuarts.

With Mrs Shaw's house in view, Faro mentally rehearsed the forthcoming interview, bearing in mind the new turn of events. If Kellar had gone directly to Mrs Shaw's and spent most of the afternoon with her, then he could not possibly have murdered his wife.

And if not Kellar, then who? With an alibi for the main suspect, this would cease to be an open and shut case. The net must be opened wide to admit the usual exhaustive routine enquiries, for identity and possible motives of murderer or murderers, as well as her missing body. A bleak prospect indeed, Faro suspected, with a trail already cold as the snow which had so conveniently hidden the first evidence of possible murder.

Regent Crescent overlooked the grounds of Holyrood Palace and he soon identified the handsome Georgian house in which Mrs Eveline Shaw lived, by the grand piano in the window. Faro thought himself fortunate to have found her at home or, more correctly, encamped around a rather small fire. They made a pretty picture playing on the rug together, the lovely fair-haired young mother, the sturdy baby with his expressive velvet brown eyes, but they needed a gentler, less forbidding setting. Piano apart, the large drawing-room with its lofty ceiling could have accommodated a whole floor of Sheridan Place. Sparsely furnished, it suggested that the tenant had newly taken up residence.

There was none of the solid furniture, the family portraits, the photographs draped with mourning that he would have expected to find in the home of an affluent young widow whose officer husband had died recently fighting for Queen and country on the Indian frontier.

Mrs Shaw observed Faro's expression and in a wide gesture which indicated the rest of the house, said, "It is really too big for me and Barnaby and the maid. We occupy only one floor."

An unfortunate choice of establishment in her melancholy circumstances, thought Faro, needing a whole staff of servants to keep it warm and homely.

As if she read his mind she said, "Perhaps I should find a tenant for the upper floor and the basement." She paused to look hard at Faro, making him wonder if she was seeking his advice. "I might wait until things sort themselves out. At the moment, I haven't the slightest idea what the future holds," she added with a sigh.

The baby, neglected, issued a piercing yell of indignation and Mrs Shaw rushed to pick him up. "This is Barnaby, Inspector. Say hello, Barnaby."

Barnaby was a fine sturdy lad, six months old. Faro knelt down. The sight and warm smell of newly-bathed baby overcame him with the nostalgia for his own now distant fatherhood.

"Hello, young fellow." But Barnaby wasn't in the mood to be friendly and tried to obliterate himself by burrowing into his mother's shoulder. Faro was disappointed. He was fond of babies, especially good-natured ones. He had loved his two wee girls at that age. Now they were growing up away from him in Orkney, ever faster every day.

When he said so, Mrs Shaw smiled sympathetically. "You must miss them, Inspector. Barnaby is very good, but a little shy. He doesn't see many strangers."

"I dare say you find it lonely here."

"Lonely?" She stared at him.

"Without your husband."

"Oh yes. Yes, I do. Very lonely."

"What regiment was Captain Shaw with?"

"The Caithness Regiment."

From his mother's arms, Barnaby lunged towards Faro's watch-chain. Faro grinned, grasping the tiny starfish hand firmly. "Got you, young fellow. I get your little game. Snatch and grab, is that it?"

Barnaby gurgled and retreated again into his mother's shoulder.

"He's a fine lad. He must be a great comfort to you."

"Oh yes," agreed Mrs Shaw, studying the loose thread on the baby's petticoat. A tap on the door announced the maid. "Off you go now. Bessie will give you some milk." She paused to plant a kiss on his forehead, then they both waved as he was whisked away, gurgling happily, by the maid.

"What about your late husband's family?"

"What about them?" she asked sharply.

"Do they see much of Barnaby?"

"Hardly. They live up north."

"Far away?"

"Caithness."

"That is a long way."

"Yes."

"Do they come often to Edinburgh?"

"Why should they?" Again her voice sounded oddly sharp, as if the question irritated her.

"They must be pleased to have such a fine handsome grandson."

Her face softened. "Oh yes, they are."