Enter Second Murderer (7 page)

Somewhere outside a bell tolled and the Reverend Mother rose to her feet. "I cannot help you any further and I am relying on your discretion when you make your enquiries, Inspector. Our school has suffered considerably in prospective pupils since this unfortunate scandal. I have learned one thing, and that is in future never to recruit any staff, either servants or teachers, from outside. Bear this in mind, Inspector, if you feel obliged to speak again to Sister Theresa, who found the photograph."

There was a tap on the door, and with obvious impatience the Reverend Mother opened it. A whispered conversation. "A moment, if you please."

As the door closed, Vince said, "Bless me if I can see any reason why the two women were Catholic or non-Catholic, or lied about it, should have any bearing on the case."

"It might seem a good reason for the Reverend Mother, perhaps easier for her to understand than the
crime passionnel
."

"I say. Stepfather, do you think we should be looking for a mad priest or a fanatical nun?" he whispered as the Reverend Mother re-entered.

Faro said, "I should like to speak to the other teachers who were not of your Order."

The Reverend Mother eyed him balefully as he consulted his notes. "There were only two, besides Miss Goldie. Miss McDermot—and Miss Burnleigh, whom you interviewed during the Hymes investigations."

"Correct."

"As I remember, Miss Burnleigh was as baffled and shocked as the rest of us."

"True, she couldn't help much then, but perhaps she might remember something about Miss Goldie. And I'd like to speak to Miss McDermot."

"Then I'm afraid you are too late, Inspector."

"Too late?"

"They are no longer with us. Miss McDermot left several weeks before the . . . er ... first incident. She was intending to emigrate to Canada with her parents and she may have already left the country."

"And Miss Burnleigh?"

The Reverend Mother's sigh indicated that she was becoming exasperated. "She left us the day of the murder, I'm afraid. She had word that her mother was taken seriously ill and her presence was urgently required at home."

"Perhaps you have her home address?"

The Reverend Mother gave him a look of ill-concealed disapproval as she unlocked a drawer in the desk. "I have the addresses of both Miss McDermot and Miss Burnleigh."

Faro held out his hand. "If you please. You have been most helpful. And now, might I see Sister Theresa, if you have no objections?"

"I have made myself clear on the subject of objections, Inspector, and you must please yourself and attend the dictates of your conscience." Accompanying them to the door, she said, "Tell me, Inspector, how is Constable McQuinn?"

Faro remembered his first visit, how the young and very presentable constable had been greeted like an old friend by the sisters. McQuinn was well known to them and to St. Anthony's, their orphan lad who had made good, and who had "by some manner of chance" (his own vague description) come to join the Edinburgh Police Force two years earlier.

"A splendid young man," said the Reverend Mother, and actually beamed at the Inspector, who thought sourly that McQuinn was just the kind of young man to ingratiate himself with nuns, or any other female between eighteen and eighty. Efficient and smooth. Faro should have considered him admirable. Was his unaccountable dislike based quite irrationally on a smile that was a shade too eager and a grin just a wee bit wolfish?

In the corridor, the Reverend Mother waved a hand towards the little formal garden with its arches and flowerbeds and rambling roses. "We have Danny McQuinn to thank for that. This dates from long before his police days, when he was a mere boy. He had a natural way with plants and herbs. If you would care to look around the garden, you will find that he had a hand in most of it. A very gifted boy, Inspector," she added sternly as if reading his thoughts on the subject of McQuinn.

As they turned to leave, she said, "A moment, Inspector. There is one question you have not asked, but one that I am quite prepared to answer."

"And what would that be?"

"One that might or might not help. We talked earlier about woman's intuition, did we not?"

"We did."

"Then I would be quite prepared to swear on the Holy Book that Hymes was not guilty of Lily Goldie's murder."

"For what reason?" demanded Faro sharply.

She shook her head. "Nothing I can lay my finger on, nothing that would be accepted in a court of law, except ..."

"Except?"

She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "Except that it is all wrong somehow. Hymes was a devout Catholic, he knew all too well the consequences of endangering his immortal soul. That is precisely why he gave himself up for the murder of Sarah. Had he also murdered Lily Goldie, there is not the slightest doubt in my mind that, far from denying it, he would have been most eager to make his confession and receive absolution on both accounts. After all, he had nothing to lose, his life was forfeit anyway."

Faro and Vince exchanged glances, since this theory coincided remarkably with their own, even leaving out Hymes's religious convictions.

"There is," continued the Reverend Mother, "only one way it could have happened. And that is, if Lily's had been the first murder, instead of the second."

"Murdered by mistake, you mean?"

"Yes, if in the dusk Hymes had mistaken Lily for Sarah, as I sometimes did," she added, putting out a hand to the bell on her desk.

Sister Theresa remembered the Inspector and greeted Vince with a smile. She was stout and jolly, a
religieuse
of the Friar Tuck school, thought Faro. In complete contrast to the Reverend Mother, she was eager for a gossip about the "unfortunate happenings" as she led the way to the room once occupied by Lily Goldie.

"This is where we found the photograph, Inspector. It had fallen from the mantelpiece here, and slipped down this loose skirting-board.''

As they were leaving, a marmalade cat sidled round the door and, finding the sister's ankles made inaccessible by her long gown, transferred his ingratiating activities to the tall Inspector.

Faro stroked the sleek coat. "Hello, young fellow. What's your name?"

"That's Brutus—poor Brutus, we might call him now," said Sister Theresa with a sigh. "He belonged to Miss Goldie. Pets aren't strictly allowed by Reverend Mother, but we had a plague of mice—it's all this new building around us brings them in, I'm afraid. And Miss Goldie got him for us from Solomon's Tower."

"Solomon's Tower? You mean the old gentleman gave the cat to her?"

"Oh, yes. She was on very friendly terms with him."

As they followed her directions to the kitchen, Vince said, "That was an interesting piece of information about the Mad Bart, don't you think? 'Very friendly terms.' Now that might be significant."

Bet and Tina were to be found, red of face and forearms, washing sheets in the laundry. They were eager, even gleeful, at this excuse to leave their labours to talk to the Inspector, especially when he was accompanied by a handsome young gentleman. Their remarks about Lily Goldie were punctuated by coy giggles in Vince's direction. Yes, they recognised the photograph of Ferris as a sweetheart of Miss Goldie's.

"Treated him something cruel, she did."

"That's why he fell under the train, poor soul."

"Did Miss Goldie have any other—sweethearts—that you knew about?"

Heads were shaken. "No."

"There was yon wee laddie from the school at St. Leonard's," said Tina with a giggle. "Used to skulk about waiting for her, out there by the gate."

"You can't count him," said Bet indignantly. "He was no more than fourteen or fifteen."

"What made you think he was a schoolboy then?" asked Faro.

"He was too well dressed to be an errand lad."

"Aye, too well fed."

"What exactly did he look like?"

"Never saw him close to. Always wore one of those big caps the school laddies wear."

"Remember how he kept on coming to the gate, waiting for her, for days after. . . ?" said Tina with a shudder.

Bet sighed. "Aye, the poor laddie."

"As if he couldn't believe that she wasn't coming back."

Faro thanked them for their help and they looked yearningly at Vince, who gave them a gracious bow, which brought about more giggles.

"If you're going back to the station," said Tina, the bolder of the two, "remember us to Danny."

"Danny? Oh, Constable McQuinn."

"He used to do the gardens here before he joined the police."

"Danny was very upset about Miss Goldie. She was always his favourite."

"Quite sweet on her, he was," said Tina spitefully.

"He liked all of us," cried Bet, suddenly remembering Christian charity. "A nice lad is Danny."

"For a policeman," added Tina doubtfully.

Vince's wry look in Faro's direction indicated that McQuinn had obviously ingratiated himself with an entire convent. No mean feat for a mere male, who was also a policeman.

Their road home took them past Salisbury Crags, the scene of both crimes. Aflame with the yellow gorse of summer, it was devoid long since of anything that might provide a clue.

"What about the well-dressed school laddie?" asked Vince.

"Some poor wretch that took a fancy to an older woman."

"Think it's worth a visit to St. Leonard's School."

"I do not," Faro laughed. "First a convent and then a boys' school. Bring in the whole wide world," he sighed. "Can you imagine how the pupils would react to a policeman's visit, or my Superintendent when he found out? Think of the fear and trembling in every heart, remembering stolen apples and other minor misdemeanours. You wouldn't get any one of them admitting to hanging about near the convent, although I dare say it happens regularly."

"The fascination of the forbidden?"

"Exactly. Lily Goldie must have been a remarkable woman."

"She was. Stepfather. Even on my small acquaintance with the lady, I'd say she appealed to all ages and conditions of men," said Vince, poking at the gorse with a stick as if the answer might lie hidden there. Then he pointed dramatically towards Solomon's Tower, grey and ancient far below them. "And what about the Mad Bart? Do you think he might be included in our list of suspects?"

Faro laughed. "As a possible murderer, you mean? You're not serious, surely."

Sir Hedley Marsh, known to locals as the Mad Bart, was the scion of a noble family who, according to legend, had abandoned society after some family scandal, and now lived a hermit-like existence.

"You'll have to do better than that, lad. A harmless old eccentric with a life devoted to cats."

"But think of the opportunity. She did visit him. Surely that was in your file?"

"It was not. Another of McQuinn's curious omissions," he said shortly. "There was no mention of the school laddie, either."

Vince laughed. "Surely you wouldn't consider that a serious piece of evidence?"

"Nothing is too trivial to be included. And it's often the most innocent-seeming incidents that lead to a conviction." He shrugged. "I'd be more anxious to interview our infatuated school laddie, however, if his visits had ceased at the time of Goldie's murder rather than several days afterwards. Obviously, he didn't know she was dead." Frowning, he looked towards Solomon's Tower. "It was remarkably slipshod of McQuinn not to include a visit to our Mad Bart as a matter of routine."

"Maybe he was misled by the harmless devotion to cats. Seriously, though, consider the proximity to both the convent and the Crags here. Don't you think-?"

"That we would be wasting our time. It's no good, Vince lad, I sometimes get the feeling that Lily Goldie is going to remain a mystery unsolved and that we'll have to settle for Hymes after all . . ."

"What? I can't believe my ears—give up so soon?" was the indignant response.

Faro sighed wearily. "Well, we might as well see the teachers. This Miss McDermot." He looked at the addresses. "She's in Corstorphine. Miss Burnleigh's in Fairmilehead."

"I'll take Corstorphine, Stepfather. One of my colleagues lives out there and he has been asking me to dine and visit the old church. That's capital. I can combine both activities."

As he waited for dinner that evening, Faro had another look at the statements from the sisters. Brief indeed, they all expressed shock and bewilderment at the monstrous crimes, at this invasion of the cloister with violence from a world they had long since relinquished. But their overall opinions never wavered: "Miss Goldie seemed such a nice, well-behaved young lady. Not the kind who would get herself murdered."

But get herself murdered she had. And Faro had an instinctive feeling that it would serve no useful purpose interviewing all the inmates of the convent a second time. There was little hope of the nuns producing any new clues to Lily's possible life outside the convent walls, and he wished to steer clear of the Reverend Mother's wrath.