Ghost Walk (7 page)

‘Thane!’

Even on three of his four feet, he was much faster than Jack, desperately clinging on to the rope around his neck.

‘Thane,’ I yelled again as he reached me, threw out those three anchors and stopped just in time, at my feet. There he sat down. Even sitting he reached my shoulder as he gazed at me adoringly and blissfully attempted to lick my cheek.

‘Thane – what on earth –?’

As Thane, however willing, was incapable by nature of human speech, it was Jack’s turn. Regardless of his parents at the door, he pushed Thane aside and swung me off my feet in a lingering
passionate
embrace.

Thane regarded this with the human equivalent of a heavy sigh. He had seen all this before. He yawned.

‘I’ve missed you,’ said Jack tenderly. ‘How have you been?’ he added glancing nervously over his shoulder at his approaching parents while the two labradors, Whisky and Soda, who had been roused from their apathy by the arrival of Wonder Dog, peered out of the kitchen door like disgruntled dowagers.

‘Jack, for heaven’s sake. Are you mad? What on earth is Thane doing here?’

Thane, who was following this comment closely, held up a heavily and somewhat inexpertly bandaged paw by way of
explanation
.

‘What happened to you?’

‘You might well ask,’ said Jack. ‘Just look at him. I couldn’t leave him in Edinburgh. He has a badly cut paw, caught in a snare or something. You weren’t at home, so who was to take care of him?’

As he spoke, a series of images floated rapidly through my mind. Thane, whose habitat was Arthur’s Seat, brought into a
strange environment miles from home. How he lived on Arthur’s Seat, who fed him and groomed him was one mystery we had never solved. How would he react and live in Eildon was
immediate
and our responsibility, as imagination prompted a ghostly tribe of panic-stricken woolly sheep streaking across the fields –

‘Jack, what have you done?’ I wailed.

Jack stamped an impatient foot. ‘You aren’t listening to me, Rose. I’m telling you I couldn’t leave him. He was at the back door when I called at the Tower, and I’m pretty certain he’s been sitting there every day, waiting for you to come home.’

Pausing to stroke Thane’s neck, he said, ‘Looking so poorly, too. You wouldn’t have wanted that, you’d have been worried sick.’

That at least was true.

I made no comment and Jack beamed. ‘Then I had a brain wave. All I could think of was that Da is fantastic with animals, a real animal doctor, he missed his vocation. As anyone around here would tell you. So I knew exactly what I had to do,’ he added firmly.

I looked at Thane who was studiously avoiding my eye. I
patted
his head. He turned and winked at me, and Jack said in wounded tones. ‘I thought you’d be pleased’.

I was trying to think of a suitable reply when his parents
decided
to join us. His mother said quickly, in a no-nonsense tone, firm and decisive, ‘That Dog can’t stay here.’

Thane and Jack both looked at her and Jack said patiently but rather proudly. ‘He isn’t a dog, Ma, he’s a deerhound.’

Mrs Macmerry considered this correction, shrugged and said, ‘Whatever he is, he can’t stay in my house, that’s for sure. He’s far too big for one thing, for another, Whisky and Soda wouldn’t
tolerate
it.’

And neither would Thane, I thought as Jack’s father beamed on us, rubbing his hands in an excited way.

‘What a fine chap he is. We haven’t seen a deerhound in this
neighbourhood for donkeys’ years, have we, Jack?’

Thane gave him an approving look, that injured paw thrust forward once again.

‘Aye, aye, a great animal. He can sleep in the stable with Charity.’

Thane and I exchanged nervous glances. Who was Charity? Then I remembered the old mare who pulled the pony cart.

I wasn’t sure how Thane would react to this strange bedfellow as Jack, a latter day Pontius Pilate, washed his hands of the whole affair, the problem solved as far as he was concerned.

‘That’s settled, then. It’s just for a day or two.’ This for his mother’s benefit, ‘Then we can take him back with us.’

‘Leave it to me, son. We’ll have that paw sorted in no time at all, won’t we, Thane,’ said Mr Macmerry with comforting
reassurance
.

‘There now, Rose,’ Jack, all smiles, repeated. ‘I knew you’d be pleased. After all I couldn’t leave him back at the Tower – to die –’

‘To die.’ The terrible words echoed the shocking event that Thane’s unexpected arrival had banished completely from my mind.

‘– Sorry for not being here when you arrived, Rose, but things have been tricky and Glasgow took longer –’

I was no longer listening. I clutched his arm.

‘Jack, I’m so glad to see you. You must come with me, right now! Now. Father McQuinn – the Catholic priest down the road. He’s dead –’

‘Dead,’ echoed Mr Macmerry. ‘Sad, that.’

‘Not just dead,’ I shouted. ‘Someone killed him!’

From Mrs Macmerry a shocked exclamation of disbelief.

Mr Macmerry recovered first and asked. ‘What makes you think that, lass?’

‘Because I’ve just been there. I found him in the church.’ And aware of Jack’s warning hand on my arm, I added lamely: ‘I
wanted
– to talk to him.’

These words said, I could see questions like ‘What on earth for’ forming in balloons above their heads.

‘Never mind about that.’ I could hardly tell Jack that
according
to the Little Sisters of the Poor there was a strong chance that Danny might still be alive. And in danger of being branded a bigamist, I wanted to talk to his only relative, the priest who had brought him to Scotland on the off chance he might know the truth.

‘Please, Jack – let’s go. I’ll explain later.’

Jack needed no second bidding. Thrusting Thane’s rope into his father’s hands he raced at my side across to the church.

The door was closed. I was sure I had left it open.

Inside the candles still fluttered. We ran down the aisle. But there was no man lying prostrate in prayer, alive or dead, by the altar steps.

‘Well, Rose, where is he?’ whispered Jack.

I took in the scene. The huge candlestick was still there, but where was the body? The bloodstain too had gone, washed away very energetically by the look of the still wet stone floor.

At my side, Jack sighed. It was a familiar sigh, long-suffering and patient but implying that he didn’t believe a word of it. ‘Rose, what’s this about? Is this some kind of a joke?’

‘A joke! Jack Macmerry, you know me better than that.’

He sighed again. Again I knew what he meant.

History was repeating itself. Once I had found a dead woman at the ruin of St Anthony’s Chapel on Arthur’s Seat. Summoning Jack, by the time we got back to the scene, the body had disappeared. Refusing to accept any logical explanation that might be
forthcoming
I went stubbornly headlong into an investigation that almost cost me my life.

Jack had gone strangely quiet. ‘Well, what are we supposed to do now, Rose? Any ideas?’

He saw my frightened expression, took pity on it and put his arm around me. Leading me to the nearest pew, he said gently,
‘Let’s sit down for a moment, shall we?’

‘No,’ I protested. ‘I’m all right. If you’ll be patient and listen I’ll tell you exactly what happened.’

‘Go ahead. You have my undivided attention.’

I pretended not to notice the hint of mockery. ‘I came in to see Father McQuinn to – to talk to him about Danny.’

I ignored that familiar wince, the sudden coolness as he said:

‘An odd time of night for a social visit.’

‘No, it was the right time. I’d been told he would be here after Mass. I came in, the church was empty but I heard movement and thought he was in the confessional. Over there, those boxes. A curtain moved. I called out but when he didn’t answer I came down to the altar – the light was very dim –’

‘Still is,’ said Jack looking round, his tone denoting that
anyone
could make a mistake.

‘So I came down to the altar and then I saw him. He was lying – just there.’ I indicated the wet place on the floor with my foot. ‘He was dead.’

‘How could you know that?’ Jack demanded.

‘Because maybe it has slipped your mind, Jack Macmerry, but I have considerable knowledge and experience in that direction. In America, long before we met, remember, I saw plenty –’

I walked over to the altar candlestick. ‘This was lying beside him. There was blood on it and a trickle of blood leading from his forehead, the blow that had killed him.’

As I spoke Jack inspected the candlestick ‘Is this the same one, do you think?’

I said of course it was and Jack shook his head. ‘No sign of any blood here, Rose. Or on the floor. But it’s a mighty heavy object,’ he added weighing it in his hand. ‘It could do some damage if you got hit over the head with that –’

I was intrigued by that still damp area near where the priest’s body had lain. Someone had cleaned up the blood not only
efficiently
but very recently.

Shivering at what that implied, I said, ‘I think I missed his killer by seconds. When I opened the door I called ‘Father McQuinn.’ As I told you there was movement from the direction of the confessionals. At first I thought he was still hearing Mass and I didn’t want to interrupt. So I thought I’d wait.’

Pausing I looked at Jack. ‘You realise that it must have been his killer. As I knelt beside the body, I heard footsteps. Someone ran out of the church.’

Jack tried not to look sceptical and failed. ‘All right, Rose, so where is the body then?’

‘We’d better try to find out, hadn’t we?’

Jack sighed. ‘Maybe we should have brought Thane with us. Used to scenting blood and that sort of thing –’

I had personal doubts about Thane’s expertise in that area and said, ‘He can’t be far away. I wonder where they took him –’

That mystery was soon solved. When we got outside there was considerable activity around the church house.

The door was open. Mrs Aiden came out wringing her hands.

‘Oh, it’s you, Miss Faro.’ In her agitation she had forgotten that I was Mrs McQuinn. ‘Something awful has just happened. The Father – the Father is dead.’

‘I know, I know,’ I said.

She gave me a surprised look, shook her head from side to side. ‘So sudden. So terribly sudden. He must have had a heart attack after the Mass. I went in to tell him his supper was ready and – and there he was – lying by the altar.’

In a state of shock, she obviously didn’t want to add that he had been murdered.

Suddenly she broke down, gave way to heavy sobs. ‘Oh the poor dear man, God rest his soul. He was kneeling at the altar steps, as he always did before he came home, a final prayer. He’d hit his head on the stone steps as he fell forward. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t carry him. I ran outside for help and a man who was passing by carried him here, into the house. He went for
the doctor.’

‘What was he like?’ I asked.

She stared at me frowning, shaking her head. ‘Who – the Father?’

I had to repeat it. ‘No, this man who helped you.’

Leaning her head forward, listening intently, she seemed
surprised
by the question. ‘I didn’t take much notice of what he looked like. Just an ordinary-like man.’

‘He must have been strong to carry Father McQuinn into the house.’

She shrugged. ‘Yes, I think he was quite tall and strong
looking
.’

‘You didn’t know him, then? He wasn’t from here.’

‘No. I’d never seen him before.’ She kept watching me as I spoke, dazed and distressed, and wondering what all these
questions
were about. ‘I expect he had been visiting the Abbey.’

At eight o’clock, when it closed at four? I thought that very doubtful and my stalker leapt to mind. He was tall. But before I could ask any more, a door opened across the passage and a
distinguished
looking man emerged closing his bag, presumably the local doctor.

Trailing behind him was a uniformed constable. Adjusting his helmet with an air of importance he hurried out.

Calling after him, the doctor said: ‘I don’t think you need trouble, constable. The Fiscal wouldn’t lose any sleep over this one.’

And apologetically to Mrs Aiden: ‘My condolences, a sad
business
. A very nasty accident. But these things happen. The church can be a dangerous place.’

Noticing Jack and I standing by the door, he beamed on us both. ‘Well, well, Jack, we don’t see you often. Visiting your folks, is it? Preparing for the happy day, eh? I presume this is your fiancée, Miss Faro.’

Jack smiled proudly and didn’t bother to correct him as, smiling,
he introduced Dr Dalrymple, who shook my hand warmly.

‘What happened to the Father?’ I asked.

‘Heart attack. Took us all by surprise, as he’s a very fit man for his age. Walks miles and miles every week, seeing that his
parishioners
are fairly well spread about the countryside. Nasty accident though.’ he repeated and shook his head. ‘When he fell he split his head open on the stone steps,’ he added, confirming Mrs Aiden’s statement.

There were others arriving. Some of his congregation had heard the news and were there to support the distraught
housekeeper
.

We took our departure, I following Jack reluctantly and lingering beside the doctor, wanting to question him about the stranger who had carried the priest into the church house. Most importantly, had he ever seen this man before.

Jack however, as if he read my mind, kept the conversation on a light social level about the changes in Eildon since his last visit and walked me firmly towards his parents waiting at a discreet distance from the church.

They knew Dr Dalrymple well. I learned that he had brought Jack into the world and we left them chatting philosophically about mortality and how it strikes without a second’s warning, the young and the not-so-young alike.

‘Natural causes, was it?’ Mr Macmerry sounded relieved.