Enter Second Murderer (10 page)

"I am more baffled than ever," he said, suddenly needing to tell her the real reason for his visit.

"A teacher at the convent, you said. Was that where the recent murders took place?"

"It was."

"I thought the murderer had been hanged?"

"I thought so too ..." And Faro went on to tell her of the visit of Maureen Hymes. "I keep asking myself why Clara Burnleigh left a false address and spun a tissue of lies about going home to a sick mother, when neither mother nor the house exist."

"It might not be entirely sinister, of course," said Mrs. Aird. "It might mean only that she preferred not to tell the truth?"

"But why?"

Mrs. Aird smiled. "Well, it's perfectly easy for another woman to understand."

"Is it indeed?"

"I can see you're a stickler for truth at all times, Inspector, but Miss Burnleigh's deception might be more readily explained."

"In what way?"

She laughed. "The most natural of ways. Imagine she had a lover—a married man—and she has gone off with him. She would hardly be likely to wish to confess that to the Reverend Mother. Or, far more likely, she had the offer of a better situation and was too embarrassed to tell the truth—a white lie, a piece of face-saving, so as not to hurt her employer's feelings."

"I still think Miss Burnleigh's behaviour needs investigating."

"Ah, but that is because you are looking at it from the point of view of crime being involved, trying to exercise your deductive powers and find a hidden criminal motive when in fact the whole thing is no more than innocent deception."

"We're back to deception again—and I must once again disagree with you. In my book there is no such thing as innocent deception. Mrs. Aird, you are talking in paradoxes."

Mrs. Aird shrugged. "Paradoxes are all too often a necessary part of a female's survival in this man's world. It is part of our nature to be devious upon occasion."

Faro could think of no suitable reply, and as they came in sight of the Pleasance again the sun was setting on Arthur's Seat. A tranquil evening in a world where only man—or woman, when occasion demanded, according to Mrs.Aird—was vile. Be that as it may, he was reluctant to let the evening end.

"Shall we continue into Princes Street Gardens, listen to the band for a while?"

Mrs. Aird shook her head. "Forgive me, but I must return to my lodging."

At least she offered no excuse, no white lie, but Faro found himself wishing that she had, despite their earlier conversation. It was easier for his male pride to accept an excuse than what he must presume: that she had had enough of him and his dour society for one day. Had he thrown away, by his own folly, an excellent chance of further acquaintance? Thinking back over the day, he felt he had not acquitted himself too well. On almost every score he could have done better. Would Mrs. Aird consider him worthy of another chance?

While he waited impatiently for Vince's return home that evening, he hoped that the interview with Miss McDermot had been more productive. Whatever Mrs. Aird's explanations, he found the disappearance of Miss Burnleigh so near to the murder of Lily Goldie oddly sinister, and felt that somehow the two were connected.

It was late when Vince arrived home. His first question was, "Well, Stepfather, how was Fairmilehead?"

"Another mystery, lad."

Vince listened in silence to Faro's story of the missing Miss Burnleigh. "Well, I hope you did better with Miss McDermot."

"At least Miss McDermot exists, very prettily, too. I was just in time to find her emigrating to Canada." He groaned. "She goes on the next sailing—in two days—I'm quite heartbroken ..."

"I accept that, but did she tell you anything useful?"

"It seems that Lily Goldie didn't care much for her fellow teachers, or for female company in general. However, she did mention that on two occasions when she was out collecting nature specimens she observed Lily leaving Solomon's Tower."

"So? We already know that from Sister Theresa. Presumably she was negotiating the transfer of a kitten."

"You really think that's all?"

"Look, lad, occasionally our Mad Baronet, an ardent Calvinist who hates popery, rains down biblical curses on passing inmates of St. Anthony's, calling them the whores of Babylon. And he carries on a war of insults and threats with the boys at St. Leonard's School."

Vince tapped the notes on Faro's desk. "I imagine they torment him. But he did entertain a young and attractive teacher from the convent. Could he have made some improper advance, been repelled and had a brainstorm?"

"I'll be the most surprised man on the force if you're right, lad. But thanks for all your trouble."

"No trouble at all, Stepfather. It was a very great pleasure—although, alas, a short-lived one—to meet the delectable Miss McDermot." He sighed.

"By the way," said Faro, trying to sound casual, "I took Mrs. Aird with me to Fairmilehead."

"Mrs. Aird?" Vince's eyebrows shot upwards. "How did you manage that?"

"Met her out walking when I was hiring the gig. She expressed interest in the distant view of the Pentlands and announced herself delighted to accompany me."

"Well!" Vince was obviously impressed. "And what did you find out about the delectable Mrs. Aird?"

"That she is in fact a widow—husband long dead."

"Anything about Tim Ferris?" When Faro shook his head, Vince said, "It's quite possible that she didn't know of his association with Lily Goldie and believed that he had committed suicide because of her."

"Since you suggested it, I've been thinking along those lines too. Perhaps a closer acquaintance with Mrs. Aird will reveal all."

"Have you another assignation?"

"Not immediately." When Vince looked disappointed, his stepfather, not wishing to lose face, said hastily, "She is very involved with her next role for the Thespians."

"I should have thought she would have them all off by heart by now."

Faro offered no further comment and left for the Central Office, where he found an urgent message awaiting him. A message which suggested that his forebodings had been right and that they were now dealing with the murder of a third victim.

The body of a young woman had been washed up at Cramond Island.

Chapter 8

Faro knew the Cramond area well. He and Vince often spent a pleasant afternoon canoeing on the River Forth and taking a picnic on the island. Constable Danny McQuinn had been off-duty visiting in the area and had been the first on the scene when the alarm was raised.

"A little lad was playing at the water's edge—he made the discovery. They put up the alarm flag for the boatman., since it was high tide and they'd had to drag the body ashore in case it drifted out to sea again."

Faro sighed. "Thereby destroying any likely clues."

"Clues, sir. There weren't many clues. I'd reckon this was a suicide."

"Oh, and what reasons would you have for that conclusion?"

McQuinn thought for a moment. "Young she was, fully clothed—at least, she had been when she fell in. Looked as if she might have been in the water for a week or two."

"Any means of identification?"

"Not any obvious ones. It wasn't my duty to carry out an investigation. That was for the police surgeon," he reminded Faro. "Is that all, sir? I believe they are doing the post-mortem now."

Faro nodded. Vince had accompanied Dr. Kellar to the mortuary.

"Before you go—a moment. You didn't by any chance recognise the body, did you, as that of Miss Clara Burnleigh?"

Constable McQuinn stared at him, and then blushed furiously. "Miss—Miss Burnleigh? You mean from the convent?"

"I mean precisely that."

"Well ... no. I didn't know Miss Burnleigh was a missing person, sir. I understood she had returned home to take care of a sick parent."

"She told you that?"

"Why should she? I mean, it was common knowledge in the convent."

"But you knew her quite well?"

"I did?"

"According to the sisters, you were very friendly with the teachers, so I naturally imagined you would be able to recognise if the dead body belonged to Miss Burnleigh."

Again a tell-tale flush rose in the region of McQuinn's neck. Faro suppressed a grim smile. What a desperate handicap in his profession. How could anyone take seriously a policeman who blushed like a schoolboy? This time it was anger.

"The body had been in the water some time. It would be very difficult for anyone to recognise her at a passing glance. And I certainly wasn't on those sort of terms with the lady and I certainly wasn't expecting it to be any other than a stranger." Looking at his superior's stony face, he asked, "Has something happened to Miss Burnleigh?"

"I wish I knew. I was trying to track her down, some routine enquiries about Lily Goldie's murder—"

"I understood that case was closed, Inspector."

"It is, it is," said Faro irritably.

"Oh, I see," said McQuinn slowly. "Did you try Fairmilehead?"

"I did indeed, but the address she gave doesn't exist and no one has ever heard of her mother, Mrs. Burnleigh."

"So you think she might have been murdered?"

"I certainly think there is a strong possibility. Tell me, when you were on friendly terms, did she talk to you about her home?"

"Only that she lived at Fairmilehead and had a widowed mother," said McQuinn guardedly.

"Well, this body that's been washed up. Was it her?" Faro demanded impatiently.

McQuinn suppressed a shudder of distaste. "Like I told you, sir. I didn't look very hard."

"A policeman can't afford such sensitive feelings. For heaven's sake, man, identifying corpses is all part of the routine, or didn't they tell you that when you joined up?"

"It couldn't be Clara Burnleigh, sir. Why should she want to commit suicide?" said McQuinn defiantly.

"That's what we've got to find out. And while we're on the subject, I've been looking at your interviews following Lily Goldie's murder. I find none relating to Sir Hedley Marsh, whom I am told she visited frequently."

"Seeing that all the evidence pointed to Hymes and he had given himself up, I hardly thought it necessary to disturb the old gentleman. It would have been a mere formality."

"In a murder enquiry, nothing is a mere formality. Remember that in future." Faro felt his temper rising. I must watch it, control my emotions where McQuinn is concerned. Or one of these days, I am going to resort to physical violence.

Fortunately for both men, Superintendent McIntosh came into the office at that moment.

"Well, what are you waiting for, McQuinn?" McQuinn saluted and departed gratefully.

"About this Cramond corpse, sir," said Faro.

"Positive identification might take some time. Nothing you need concern yourself over at the moment. From Kellar's report, there's no evidence of foul play. But you'd better be ready for anything that comes up."

Faro realised that patience would be required as the list of fifty missing females notified to the Central Office by anxious relatives was checked. Where the description tallied with the new-found corpse, the unpleasant visit to the mortuary lay ahead for those who had waited, some for days only, some for much longer, for that moment of awful revelation of whether they had at last discovered a missing daughter, sister, wife or friend.

The newspapers would also announce the discovery, and that was always calculated to bring in a fresh crop of enquiries from deserted lovers and husbands. In particular, those who had not considered that the storming out and disappearance after a quarrel was a matter worthy of police investigation. Faro felt impatient of the delays involved, sure that, if this was a murder case, time was of the essence, but he could hardly explain his feelings to Superintendent McIntosh, who would take a very dim view of one of his detectives carrying out a private investigation into a murder that was officially closed.

As he was leaving the office, the Superintendent called him in. "There's a ship docking at Leith on the evening tide. And we've been tipped off that there's contraband aboard. This is maybe what we've been waiting for. See to it, will you, Faro."

The warning had come too late. Faro spent a chilly evening in Leith investigating the ship's papers, talking to her captain while policemen and Excise officers carefully checked over the cargo and every possible hiding place in the ship.

Returning home, Faro realised that in the Pleasance Theatre the curtain had now risen on Alison Aird as Lady Macbeth. Disgruntled and weary, he sat down at his desk and carefully re-read his notes and his new information on Lily Goldie.

As he did so, he realised grimly that if the body at Cramond proved to be Clara Burnleigh, they were in all probability dealing with a multi-murderer, who might even now be stalking his fourth victim.

In the interval, he decided on a further visit to the Reverend Mother at St.Anthony's. A daunting prospect, for he would not be welcome, but he was certain that she had the strength, needed in her calling, not to shrink from what she considered her duty, no matter how distressing or distasteful the task—and even if it meant visiting the mortuary and identifying the corpse as that of Miss Burnleigh.