Deadly Beloved (9 page)

The snow lay deep on both sides of the line covering the banks. Here and there a shrub or hedgerow was visible, but most of the landscape was hidden under a heavy blanket of snow.

There was another possible explanation for the still missing body. Heavier than the cloak, had it rolled, gathered momentum as it slid down an embankment? Was it still lying entombed in a huge unmelted snowball somewhere along the line?

As they approached Longniddry Station, a biting wind and acrid smoke blew into Faro's face as he leaned out of the window in search of places where a falling body might have lodged. There were none immediately visible and when the platform was in sight he beheld a band of uniformed policemen carefully searching the area surrounding the railway line.

As the train slowed down, they recognised him and shouted, "Nothing so far, sir. Nothing suspicious. No bloodstained corpse, but we keep hoping."

Faro lingered, watching the station master collecting tickets. He seemed to know most of the passengers well enough to pass the time of day and greet them by name.

That was hopeful. This was a small station and the people who used it were probably regulars working in Edinburgh or Musselburgh. A stranger, particularly one wearing bloodstained clothes, would surely be remarked upon.

Station Master Andrews was more than willing to chat about this sensational occurrence which had put Longniddry on the map. But Faro was in for a disappointment to his hopes that he might remember a stranger carrying a large brown paper parcel.

"Two weeks, sir." The man rubbed his forehead. "That's rather a long time ago. This train's always busy — dinner time and a lot of coming and going between the local stations."

To Faro's question, he shook his head.

"I think I would have noticed any stranger among the passengers, sir. I have a good memory for faces and it's mostly locals travelling on that train. Always a lot of our ladies with their maids returning from shopping expeditions in Edinburgh."

He looked at Faro curiously. "Word certainly does get around fast. Inspector. There was this reporter from the
Scotsman
wanting to know all the details ..."

Faro groaned. This was the worst possible news. He must try to stop this sensational piece of information being made public, although at the moment there was nothing the press could do to tie it in with the missing Mabel Kellar. As far as everyone but the few Central Office officials knew, Mrs Kellar was still on holiday with her sister at North Berwick. He just hoped that Ina and Mrs Flynn were not avid newspaper readers.

Trying to sound more casual than he felt, he said, "He was off his mark very quickly, seeing that the cloak has just been discovered."

"Yes, Inspector. It was a lucky day for him. He had been down here covering a society wedding in one of the big houses and was waiting for the Edinburgh train when Brown comes rushing down the track carrying the bundle and shouting. 'Look at this. I reckon there's been a murder done.' Those were his exact words and the reporter was on to it like a shot."

"Where can I find Brown?"

"There he is now. Over there, crossing the line, just back from his dinner."

Brown was young and eager. Yes, he found the parcel and took the liberty of unwrapping it, just in case. "I could see straight away that there'd been foul play." He paused looking at Faro's expressionless face. "Been a murder, hasn't there, sir?"

When Faro said cautiously, "Not necessarily," Brown continued, "But it's suspicious, wouldn't you say, sir? All that blood — and a carving knife."

"But there's no body so far, so there might possibly be some other explanation. And that is what we have to find."

Brown looked quite dejected.

"Now I'd like you to show me the exact spot where you found the parcel, if you please."

Leading the way down the line, Brown sounded glum. "But it is definitely foul play, isn't it, sir? I mean, the woman who wore it must have been stabbed to death, must have lost a lot of blood — and that knife too ..." Stopping, he rubbed his foot against the grassy slope. "It was exactly here, sir. I put this mark against the telegraph pole."

"Well done," said Faro, thanking Brown and fending off his eager and curious questions. The lad seemed most reluctant to leave him and, finally watching him wander rather despondently back towards the station building, Faro thought wryly that Brown with his ghoulish relish for crime might have exactly the right brand of enthusiasm they hoped to find in new recruits for the City Police.

He carefully examined the place where the parcel had lain, two hundred yards away from the station on the same side of the line. The station side also gave direct access to the platform for first-class passengers. Close to the ticket barrier, the privileged passengers could leave with a minimum of effort, instead of having to walk along a corridor, the length of a carriage. A fact, decided Faro, imagining the hasty descent and hurried exit from the station, of considerable assistance to Mabel Kellar's murderer.

From where he stood the railway line stretched north and south between the snowy slope of winter fields on one side and on the station entrance side, the Edinburgh road.

Faro lit a pipe thoughtfully and was considering the discovery of the parcel when a uniformed policeman appeared and leaned over the fence.

"Afternoon, Inspector. I've spoken to the farmer over there," he pointed to the fields. "But he hasn't seen anyone behaving suspiciously on his property, or carrying a large brown paper parcel. He's a forbidding old man, sir, and I don't think he'd miss much. He also showed me a shotgun he keeps to warn off intruders."

As Faro wandered back to the platform, he was in time to see Station Master Andrews chasing and capturing a youth of about fourteen. Holding him firmly by the coat collar, Andrews demanded, "Travelling without paying your fare, eh? Is that your little game?"

Grumbling, red-faced, the youth took out a coin and handed it over.

"All right, I'll accept it this time. But try that again and we'll get the police to you."

Andrews grinned at Faro. "There's always one of these townies tries it. Manage to hide from the guard on the way down and then they jump off the train, lurking about in the waiting-room or the lavatory until they think they can slip through the barrier without paying." A bell sounded shrilly inside. "That's the Edinburgh train from Newcastle approaching now, sir. You'll have to get across the bridge, sharp as you can."

As he settled back comfortably in the compartment and was carried to Edinburgh, Faro thought about the youth who had hidden in the waiting-room. If he'd managed to evade Station Master Andrew's sharp eyes, then what was to stop Mabel Kellar's murderer also washing the blood off his hands in the lavatory and then calmly crossing the bridge and boarding the Newcastle train back to Edinburgh as he had done?

When they reached Waverley, Faro made a mental note to have his constables carry out a routine check at the station. Meanwhile, on the off-chance that a porter might have remembered putting Mrs Kellar on the train or that the ticket collector, like Andrews, had a good memory for faces, he lingered at the barrier.

When the last passenger had departed, he described Mrs Kellar and asked, "Do you recall any lady like that boarding the 12 o'clock North Berwick train?"

"A couple of weeks ago, sir? Now that's a poser. Fur cloak, you say, middle-aged? That's what most of the first-class ladies wear in this weather."

As Faro was walking away, a porter who had been listening curiously and intently to this conversation came forward.

"Excuse me, sir, couldn't help overhearing. You say two weeks ago? Well, I remember there was a middle-aged lady, in a very fine fur cloak. She called for a porter at the station entrance, asked for the North Berwick train. She was very upset, poor soul, in tears."

"Did she get out of a carriage?"

"Oh yes, sir, a brougham."

If Mabel Kellar had travelled on the train alone then this information threw a completely new light on to the evidence and they were seeking a faceless murderer.

"The man who was driving the brougham? Can you remember what he was like?"

The porter shook his head. "Not really, sir. But he was in a terrible temper. Shouting at her."

"Shouting — like what? Do you remember?"

"Oh yes. Abuse, that's what. 'Go to him and damn you both. Damn you both to hell." The porter paused. "I suppose that was her husband and she was going off with another man and taking the laddie with her."

"Laddie? What laddie?"

"There was a wee chap with her, clinging to her hand. About nine or ten. And he was fair upset too."

Thanking the porter, Faro walked away. So much for grand theories, advanced and demolished within minutes, he thought, making his way back to the Central Office.

Chapter 7

Calling in at Sheridan Place to collect some papers from his study. Faro was delighted to find Vince had returned late that morning. Already well-cosseted and pampered by Mrs Brook, he looked up with a grin from reading the newspaper and greeted his stepfather.

"I have to rush out again, lad, but did you have a good holiday?"

"Superb. I'll tell you all about it at dinner. Bought a
Times
to read on the train. Have you seen this?"

A small paragraph read: 'Mysterious Discovery on Railway Line near Longniddry. The discovery of a woman's bloodstained fur cloak and a carving knife has led to an immediate investigation by Edinburgh City Police into the possibility of foul play.'

When Faro groaned, Vince said, "Fame at last, eh? Is this one of your cases? Has all this happened since I've been away?"

"I'm just back from Longniddry."

"Really? Tell me more."

"Vince, lad," Faro sat down heavily in the chair opposite and took his stepson's hands. "I have to prepare you for a shock. We have reason to believe that the cloak belonged to Mabel Kellar."

Vince laughed. "How extraordinary. Then what on earth was it doing on the railway line. Stolen, was it?"

"We don't know. Vince, I warned you the news was bad. Mrs Kellar has been missing since the morning you went on holiday."

"But she only went to her sister's at North Berwick."

"She never got there."

"But — "

"Vince. We think she's been murdered."

"Murdered? Mabel? Oh dear God — no."

And Faro was later to find some significance in the fact that Vince's cry of agony was considerably more heartfelt than Dr Kellar's reaction to the grim discovery that pointed to his wife's brutal murder.

"I have to go now, but I'll be back shortly." He put his hand on Vince's shoulder. "We'll talk about it then."

Vince declined supper that evening. "Mrs Brook fed me more than enough when I arrived home. I couldn't eat another bite, especially now — with all this about Mabel. Come on, Stepfather, tell me."

As carefully as he could and without displaying any more emotion than he would have shown had the missing woman been unknown to either of them, Faro went carefully over the details, from Kellar informing Superintendent McIntosh that Mabel was missing to his own visit to Longniddry Station and the subsequent revelations.

Vince was silent, trying to take in all these crucial facts and at the same time trying not to link them with that dear woman who had befriended him. At last he spoke, wearily, as if the effort of remembering was too much for him.

"Did you know I called on her that — that very morning on my way to the station?"

"The housekeeper told me. Oh, I'm sorry, lad."

"Don't be sorry for me, Stepfather. Be sorry for her murderer," he said harshly. "Because if the law doesn't get him and hang him, then I'll take the matter of justice into my own hands."

Appalled at such a prospect, Faro said, "I don't think that'll be necessary."

"You know who did it then?"

"We have a good idea."

"And you haven't arrested him yet? For God's sake, Stepfather, he might escape."

"Be calm, lad, be calm. As you were almost the last person to see Mabel, anything you can tell us about that visit would be of enormous help."

Vince stared out of the window at the snow-clad slope of Arthur's Seat. When at last he spoke, his voice was overcome with emotion. "Thinking about it, I realise that she was trying to conceal how desperately upset she was that morning. There'd been that unholy row with Kellar after we left. Just one more but this time serious enough for her to be seeking refuge with her sister. Actually leaving her husband, as he rightly deserves. She should have done so long ago ..."

"What was this row about? Did she tell you."

"She spared me the exact details, hinted at a very unpleasant post-mortem on the culinary disasters of the dinner party and that Kellar hadn't spared her. Anyway, I offered to escort her to the railway station as I was catching a train there myself. She refused. Said she wasn't ready to leave. Packing to complete, instructions for the housekeeper and so forth, very nervous and upset."

Vince's words took on a sinister meaning. That had been his own impression of Mrs Kellar during the dinner. Of course, it might not indicate more than a nervous disposition heightened and upset by the new housekeeper's delay in preparing and serving the courses.