The Strings of Murder (42 page)

‘And then something went wrong, I presume.’

‘Yes, sir. According to Mrs Caroli, Giacomo became irascible and rebellious. The Carolis never quite understood why, even though the reasons are downright obvious: The boy must,
must
have been conscious of his own talents, so the constant seclusion became a torture, as his own notes testify. The worst that can be done to an eager mind is to keep it locked up; it becomes restless and twisted. In Giacomo’s case, I believe it was all worsened by the natural swings of adolescence.

‘Even though nobody ever knew about Fontaine’s secret student, his presence did not pass entirely unnoticed to the people around him. His housekeeper, an old woman nicknamed Goodwife Hill, declared that during an odd period, around three years ago, Fontaine’s playing became rather sloppy and noticeably below his usual standard. What she was hearing was actually Giacomo’s first
attempts at classical pieces. The woman also told us that Fontaine would lock himself in his studio, even taking all the spare keys with him – which was exactly what he did on the night of his death.

‘Fontaine’s luthier – one Joe Fiddler – also gave account of Fontaine’s strange behaviour: one of his favourite violins suddenly broke from heavy use; something that had never happened to the man’s instruments. That was the violin that Giacomo would borrow from Fontaine, and he himself carved the unusual lion head to compensate for his over-zealousness.’

‘Oh, yes. That infamous “cursed” violin.’

‘I must admit that the little violin has enough history to make one’s mind wonder. Poor Giacomo, yearning to get out of his shed and show his talents to the world, fed his fantasies on these stories: the Devil’s Trill Sonata, Paganini’s dealings with Satan, violin strings made out of human gut … He intended to devote his soul to the Devil, most likely to create his own Devil’s Sonata and thus become the best composer in history. In order to do that, he fashioned a macabre plan, somewhat detailed in his notes: he would use the bodies – and souls – of four virtuosos, each one giving him a string to play his new piece. And he managed to find players whose Christian names matched with the string that would come from their bodies: Guilleum for the string that would be tuned to G, Danilo for the D string, then Alistair and … Elgie …’

I gulped and saw that Campbell was nodding, his face showing empathy for once.

‘It seems that Giacomo also killed following the musical scale in ascending order, and only killed people who had
played the violin in life. Whether this first was coincidence or part of his ritual, we cannot tell; the second, however, was most definitely deliberate.’

‘Clever soul …’ Campbell muttered.

‘Indeed. He knew that after Fontaine died the violin would go to Theodore Wood, and that if Wood died the violin would go to the Carolis, his own household, so Wood had to be taken out of the way, even though he was not part of the boy’s twisted sequence.’

‘And he did that in a very creative way, Frey.’

‘Genius, I would say: he
poisoned
the violin after killing Fontaine, and he managed to do it in a way that would only harm someone who played that violin for a very long time, not someone who merely happened to touch it or hold it. Theodore’s death really confused us since it completely departed from the pattern.’

‘Now tell me about Caroli.’

‘The night of Theodore’s funeral was also the moment when Giacomo escaped from Mrs Caroli; she went into labour and could not lock him in the shed, so the boy decided to seize the violin – too easy, since it was in his own home – and then he set off to get the
material
for his second string.’ I sighed; his was the death I regretted the most. ‘I believe that Mr Caroli was a potential victim from the very beginning: an obvious D and also a figure of authority Giacomo did not particularly like. From his notes I gather that he somewhat recognized the power of his relatives, but he saw Caroli as an intruder.’

‘And what about the butchery he committed on Calton Hill?’

‘Oh, that was Giacomo’s great mistake. The death of
Ardglass was unexpected for him – and for us all. I believe he intended to murder Ardglass that very night, so he would have been hiding in the chimneys, spying; it must have been then when he heard my brother play. Since Ardglass was killed by the cart, Giacomo risked all to get to his corpse before the bowels decayed. Desecrating his grave was a truly bold crime to commit so close to Calton Jail … and then running straight towards the City Chambers!’

‘It was very lucky that you and McGray were in the cemetery that very night looking for – will-o’-the-wisps, you mentioned?’ Campbell said that in a monotone, his eyes combing those lines in the report.

‘Very lucky indeed,’ I said shamelessly. I was sure he knew what had really taken us there. ‘As you know, it was the red mark on Alistair’s neck that led us to the poisoned chinrest … and from there to Mrs Caroli, who had commissioned it especially for her nephew. The poor lady told us that she suspected something untoward was going on, but did not fully realize it until we took the evidence to her.’

‘Or so she claimed,’ said Campbell.

‘We will never be able to tell how much Mrs Caroli suspected; however, I would give her the benefit of the doubt. The secrecy in which we kept Fontaine’s death played in Giacomo’s favour; without knowing the particulars, it
is
possible that she simply did not make the connection.’

Campbell nodded slowly. ‘I have one last question, Frey. McGray kept babbling nonsense about the Devil’s five eyes and the satanic ritual that Giacomo would practise on his victims.’

‘That is correct.’

‘Where did Giacomo learn all that gibberish?’

‘We can only guess that he had secret friends even the Carolis would not know about. A gloomy, deformed chap wandering at night would be likely to catch the eye of those interested in the occult. At the end of my report I do recommend a further investigation.’

Campbell turned the pages hastily. ‘Why, you have a suspect already! Some … “Madame Katerina”.’

‘The evidence is only circumstantial, but yes. That woman knew things nobody else could have known; she referred to the murderer as an “encaged genius”; the cart that killed Ardglass happened to be driven by one of her minions, and later on she foresaw my brother’s being in peril. Besides, McGray repeatedly revealed vital information to her.’

‘What is Inspector McGray’s view on her?’

‘Oh, he does not know I included that in the report. He believes the woman is
gifted
and seems to utterly trust her. Personally, I believe that her actual gift is her craftiness.’

Campbell nodded. ‘Good. We shall keep a close eye on her.’ He closed the file. ‘You may go, Frey. Now it is up to us to decide your future.’

It was snowing hard over Edinburgh’s castle.

Seated on a sheltered bench, I watched how its roofs and the side of the dead volcano were being slowly painted white. Soon the dark branches of the bare trees were the only hint of colour in Princes Street Gardens.

I recalled that not so long ago those gardens had been under water; North Loch, they used to call it. Looking at
the castle, I could only imagine what a staggering view it must have been, the aged brown walls and the craggy rocks of the mount reflected on the quiet waters of a lake.

I wrapped up tighter in my coat before checking the time again. Sir Charles Warren was late for our meeting and I was freezing.

After a rather long wait I saw the man swiftly descending the stairs that led from Princes Street to the sunken gardens. He too was freezing, and was probably having a harder time than me, for his coat seemed quite thin for the time of the year. I instantly recognized his scant hair and broad moustache, as white as the snow around us.

He sat next to me and greeted me with a firm handshake – a decided show of emotion from a man like him.

‘You have been very busy, Frey.’

‘I take it you read my report.’

‘I did, and Lord Salisbury was delighted to have it in his hands. Outstanding piece of work, Frey. Even that incident in the cemetery did you good. Your findings were perfectly timed to refute the papers’ stupid theories.’

‘Did you hear about our … quarrel with Superintendent Campbell?’

‘We did! I should not tell you this, but some officers now murmur that he bruises like a peach …’ He saw I was about to smile. ‘Do not take this so humorously, Frey! It was a most dishonourable display. However, all things considered, it proved useful to have an informant over here, and you and McGray seem to complement one another, in your respective skills, quite well. The prime minister spoke to Monro and ordered him to intervene. He sent Campbell a strong letter
asking him to overlook his differences with you and McGray. You both shall keep your little subdivision.’

Those words came along with a gust of wind. The snowflakes that hit my face were just as icy as that news.

‘Pa– pardon me?
Our
subdivision? Does that mean that I must remain stranded here with the demented Nine-Nails McGray? I thought that Lord Salisbury would have the morals to reinstate me in London!’

Sir Charles sighed. ‘I did try to persuade him, but he said that at this time you are more useful to the CID up here than in London. He finds it very convenient to have a pair of good agents he can move around without arousing suspicions. I should not tell you this either, but I doubt that mock Rippers are the only cases the prime minister has in mind for you.’

I felt my face reddening in fury. ‘So will I not be reinstated?’

‘Well … no. Not yet, at least.’

There were so many things I wanted to say but nothing came out; I was too drained to fight back, and I also knew that no argument could help my case. I simply looked away, crestfallen. Sir Charles patted my shoulder as he spoke rather soothingly.

‘Don’t distress yourself, Frey. I have always believed that this sort of thing happens for the best.’ He heard my wry chuckle. ‘Besides, I do not see why you wish to return to London so soon, given the very inopportune engagement of your brother.’

I raised my head, frowning. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Come, Frey. Your eldest brother marrying your former fiancée must be far from agreeable …’

‘
What!
’ I shouted, jumping to my feet and yelling in the most barbaric manner. ‘Laurence and Eugenia!
Bu-but – How? When?
’

Sir Charles blushed intensely, his old phlegm offended by my coarse exhibition. I cleared my throat and rearranged my collar, trying to appear self-possessed – a pointless effort, given my red face and gushes of steaming breath.

‘Had you not been informed?’ he said with more incredulity than embarrassment. ‘I thought that – well – having your youngest brother in Edinburgh … you would know by now.’

I do not recall his precise words after that, but he said that the new engagement had been announced only a few days after my departure. Then he excused himself and walked away as soon as decorum allowed, leaving me in a temper as bitter as the winter cold. I wandered in the gardens for a while, looking for a quiet spot, and an area of frosted wilderness was the unfortunate recipient of my wrath. Once I was sure nobody was looking, I abandoned myself to downright savagery, thrashing and kicking and stamping on leaves, branches and acorns, as I spluttered the foulest profanities in my repertoire.

Lack of breath was the only thing that stopped me, and I rested my hands on my knees, panting and oblivious to the snowflakes fluttering around me. I then realized that I had one spectator: a black cat that stared at me with bewildered green eyes. Somehow, it made me feel more embarrassed than if I had been observed by Queen Victoria herself.

I walked back to McGray’s house thinking that
Christmas was approaching, and with it my family’s annual deer stalking in Gloucestershire. Far from looking forward to it, I could only wonder whether Laurence would have the nerve to invite Eugenia and the Ferrars to my uncle’s estate. A Christmas gathering, I knew too well, was a perfect opportunity to celebrate a new engagement.

‘At least we will be hunting,’ I told myself. ‘I could always claim it was a stray bullet …’

Epilogue

McGray was up very early that morning – not that he’d been sleeping much, anyway. When I walked into the breakfast parlour I found he had almost finished eating and was chatting merrily with Joan.

She had prepared whisky fudge, toffee and other sweets, and while I had breakfast she arranged them prettily in small pouches that she tied with ribbon. George brought some fresh white roses from the florist, and as soon as he saw Joan’s wrappings he remarked how sissy they looked. Joan retorted with her vulgar wit and I shuddered to think how they must bask in their rough love. I still had not told McGray about the horrid sight of our servants in flagrante delicto.

McGray and I left them arguing at ease and went to get our horses. Larry had already prepared the mounts and we found him feeding Rye and Philippa with a bucket of oats. The boy’s eye had been healing speedily during the last couple of days, and Joan had scrubbed almost all the soot off his face. I was glad his parents had still not inquired after him; I would hate it to see him go back to that abusive home.

We set off and our first stop was the Caledonian Railway Station. We found Elgie on the first-class platform, watching as his luggage was loaded.

‘Why on earth would you buy a bloody bagpipe?’ I
cried when I saw the offending instrument protruding from one of the trunks.

‘I might give it a try,’ Elgie said. ‘I will be rehearsing day and night with the orchestra in the coming months, so I’d better let the violin rest until the New Year.’

‘Well,’ I snorted, ‘if you want to play something that sounds like the cry of a cat being castrated –’

‘Hey!’ McGray protested. ‘Say something like that again and I’ll make a bagpipe out o’ yer Londoner’s bowel!’ Then McGray noticed that the destination of my brother’s train was Bristol. ‘Ye not going to London, laddie?’

‘No. I have only a short leave,’ explained Elgie, ‘so I will go directly to my uncle’s Gloucestershire estate. It is almost Christmas time and we always hunt with him. I hope you let my brother come … for a couple of days, at least.’