The Strings of Murder (14 page)

‘Aha! Ye recognize anythin’ like …’

‘I see finger marks, sir.’

‘Great. They clear, laddie?’

‘Aye, very clear!’

‘Splendid. Can ye climb to the top? Tell us if ye find something odd?’

‘Aye!’

I peered inside the chimney and saw the shining of the bull’s-eye moving as Larry ascended. He was almost at the top when he yelled: ‘There’s somethin’ here, master! A piece o’ paper!’

McGray gasped. ‘Can ye bring it doun?’

‘Aye! But it’s all wet ’n’ – yuk!’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s got blood on it!’

‘Then we definitely need it, laddie.’

‘All right, all right.’

After a louder ‘yuk’, Larry began to descend. As I saw the lantern’s light coming closer I moved back.

‘Right, Ah’m comin’ out!’ As soon as he jumped down, Larry let out a sudden squeal of pain, so sudden that I started. McGray leaped forward and caught the skinny boy just before he fell onto the floor.

‘
My foot!
’ he yelled, his eyes watering.

McGray carried the boy and tenderly sat him on the desk. Then he gently lifted Larry’s foot. He spoke sounding deeply concerned, almost fatherly: ‘There, there, laddie. Ye landed on a shard o’ glass …’

I drew closer and saw it: a piece of dark glass had pierced straight through Larry’s sole and plunged into his foot. No wonder; the boy was wearing the oldest, most worn-out shoes.

I pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket. ‘Larry, this is going to hurt, but it shall be quick. I want you to bite this.’

The boy did so, his teary eyes trembling. McGray patted his head and then, with a swift movement, I pulled the glass out. Larry groaned in pain, fiercely biting the cloth, but then sighed with relief. I took the shoe off and then wrapped the foot tightly with the same handkerchief. ‘There, there. You will be all right.’

‘We’ll take ye to a doctor, laddie. Don’t worry.’

‘Ah’m fine, master,’ he retorted stubbornly. I saw that he was clenching his right fist. ‘I found this.’

He opened his hand to show us a crumpled piece of wet paper: the corner of a page, most of it soaked in dark blood. I took it and carefully tried to smooth it. Immediately I recognized a page number, an unintelligible scribble stamped in blue ink, and the very corner of a group of quaver notes.

‘This is part of a music score,’ I gasped. ‘It must be the one Fontaine was playing.’

Larry frowned. ‘The blood still feels fresh, master.’

I shook my head. ‘The weather has been quite wet, that is why it has not dried. We had better keep this.’ I folded it carefully and wrapped it in another handkerchief.

‘Mighty chip ye stepped on!’ McGray said, examining the piece of glass. Pointy and sharp, it looked like a shark’s tooth to me. McGray narrowed his eyes. ‘This has dry blood on it.’

I looked closer and noticed tiny yellow speckles along the dark green glass. It looked as though it was part of a very expensive, artfully crafted vase. There was a coagulated stain next to the boy’s fresh blood.

‘I think we have our murder weapon, Frey …’

‘Do you think they killed and disembowelled Fontaine using glass?’ I asked out loud.

‘Aye, but this looks like part of a bigger piece.’

‘Do you think they broke some ornament and used the shards?’ I asked, but even as I said it I realized it could not be.

‘Nay. There’s no other pieces o’ glass in the room, and ye wouldn’t stop to sweep up a broken vase after killing a man. Whoever did this must’ve brought the glass with him, then broken it while climbing up, and torn the score too.’

McGray was reasoning well. He handed me the shard. ‘Ye keep this too, lass. I ken someone who can examine it.’

‘Oh, do you know a glass-blower in the city?’

‘Nae. A clairvoyant.’

‘What!’

‘Hey, don’t pull that shite-sniffin’ face! Ye’ve not even met the wifie. Madame Katerina is the best gypsy in the business … at least in Auld Reekie.’

‘This is getting more and more ridiculous,’ I muttered, wrapping the piece of glass together with the paper.

McGray made me call Mr Downs, who by then was utterly relaxed eating buttered teacakes in the kitchen. He had asked Goodwife Hill to fetch Fontaine’s violin cases and she had lined them next to the study’s door.

Before letting Downs in, McGray asked Hill to bring a large bed sheet, which we used to cover the stains on the floor. The true circumstances of the death were still of the utmost secrecy. Downs passed inside, looking at the cloth with piercing eyes. He could not have been more
curious had he seen the actual blood. Then he saw Larry seated on the desk.

‘What happened to the boy?’

‘Tripped on my feet,’ Larry replied immediately, the clever chap.

Downs produced his stack of documents and carefully took each of the violins from the shelf. ‘Let’s see … we have the Guadagnini … the dark Galiano … Oh, the pride of Fontaine’s collection; the Stradivarius …’

As he picked them up he ticked a list, made some notes and then put the instruments in their cases. The tiny man was taking his time.

‘Care to stir yoursel’?’ McGray finally snapped. ‘We need to take the boy to a doctor.’

‘Oh, yes, yes, Inspector. It’s just that one violin is missing …’

‘That’s on the desk, behind the laddie,’ McGray said. Larry was about to hand the violin to Downs, but the attorney almost jumped on him.

‘
I
will handle this, boy.’ He lifted the violin as carefully as if carrying a newborn, and looked into the f-hole. (Thanks to Nine-Nails I shall never be able to even write that at ease …) ‘Oh, yes, the Amati Maledetto! Fontaine liked this little one very much.’

That phrase made me frown and McGray noticed. ‘What?’

I hesitated. I did not want to feed his delusions. ‘Maledetto … I recognize the Latin root … maledictio … It means …’

‘The Cursed Amati,’ Downs said, placing the instrument in the last velvet-lined case.

McGray’s face went red with excitement: ‘Cursed!’

‘Aye, Inspector. They call this violin the Cursed Amati. You know, musicians like to have their legends.’

‘Do ye ken why they call it that?’

‘Jesus Christ,’ I muttered, exasperated. ‘You said that we had to take Larry to the doctor, did you not?’

‘Hush! I wanna hear too!’ the boy cried, suddenly oblivious to any pain.

‘Aye, shut it, lassie!’

Downs shook his head. ‘Unfortunately I do not know the story. But I am sure that someone at the Conservatoire will be able to tell you.’

McGray grinned like a child. ‘Well, I was gonna take Larry to the doctor and let ye do the boring questioning in the music hall, but now I have a good reason to join ye …’

12

‘Before you even utter a word, let me see if I can be a clairvoyant myself … I predict you are about to say that Fontaine was a victim of that violin’s morbid curse.’

‘Pish! Ye don’t even ken if it’s morbid or not.’

‘Well, those things always are! There is always the bloody bride hunting all the virgins who dare move into her ancient manor, or the murdered child that appears at midnight with a bloody dagger. In this case, I would expect at least an impaled Renaissance violinist who will drag to Hell all those who dare play his beloved instrument.’

‘Good. Yer startin’ to think like me.’

The cold was bitter and the fog kept shrouding the city. I could see it being dragged down the Royal Mile as the carriage took us back to the City Chambers. McGray had decided to take Larry to Dr Reed, for the boy might not be accepted at the Royal Infirmary – he simply looked too filthy. Young Reed was all too happy to attend the boy, and I seized the opportunity to ask him about the photographs.

‘Oh, I’m afraid those aren’t ready yet, Mr Frey,’ he apologized as he cleaned Larry’s foot with a piece of cotton soaked in alcohol. The boy was groaning but held on bravely. ‘Some chemicals ran out,’ Reed said. ‘I did manage to pull things forward; the photographer assured me
that the pictures will be on Inspector McGray’s desk by tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Great job, laddie,’ McGray said. ‘Larry, ye mind if we leave ye with Dr Reed? We still need to catch these folks in the school o’ music.’

‘That’s all right, master.’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘Here, have something good for dinner.’ I tossed a silver shilling to the boy, who caught it in the air with swift reflexes.

‘And come to the house and ask George to give ye some milk and flour,’ McGray added. ‘We got tons o’ that stuff.’

Larry could not have been more grateful. After that we set off.

Downs had preferred to wait outside with the violins, and apparently the cold was getting to his bones, for he was embracing himself tightly.

The carriage took us north. We passed right next to the white columns of Scotland’s National Gallery as we crossed the gardens of Princes Street, and then entered the New Town again.

We went up along some elegant streets until we reached a curved avenue called Royal Crescent, where I saw a white, round building and I had to point at it. ‘Mr Downs, is that a gymnasium?’

‘Indeed, Inspector, and a grand one. Not that I frequent it, though.’

‘Do you know whether they practise fencing there?’

‘Yes, they do, Inspector. A few of my clients have told me about it.’

‘Good. I must join, then. I am glad I asked my maid to fetch my fencing equipment after all.’

‘Ye like doing that girly thing?’ McGray asked, his face wincing in disgust.

‘Girly? Fencing is a man’s sport, McGray.’

‘Oh, aye! A bunch o’ delicate laddies dressed up in white cotton nappies, pokin’ each other with long sticks! Sounds
really
rough!’

As we reached the gymnasium we turned west and very soon we were in front of an old, baronial building behind a long lawn. Its walls were built with dark, smoked stones, and it had a couple of spiky turrets and many chimneys pointing up to the grey sky. The place had certainly been a grand tower house when it was built, centuries earlier.

‘The Conservatoire, gentlemen!’ the driver announced.

‘Will you give me a hand with these?’ Downs asked us, having trouble carrying all the violin cases. The man was very short indeed.

As we walked inside, the gloomy building seemed forbidding, although the darkened sky might have had something to do with that.

Downs inquired after one Alistair Ardglass and McGray jumped.

‘Ardglass!’

He immediately cleared his throat, and I stared in wonder, for it was the first time I had seen him discomfited.

‘Indeed,’ Downs said. ‘I suppose you are familiar with his aunt, Lady Anne Ardglass.’

‘Aye, I am,’ McGray grunted. ‘The old bitch lives on and on and on.’

Downs’s face paled after McGray’s remark, and then we could only walk in an uncomfortable silence.

As we went deeper into a long corridor, we heard the muffled music of countless instruments. Apparently there were many students practising in the upper storeys, and even though they all were playing different pieces, the overall sound was rather soothing, even pleasant.

We approached a wide oak staircase, where a fat, middle-aged man received us.

He had all the looks of a mad musician: half bald, with messy grey hair on the back and sides of his head; his eyebrows were thick and projected upwards like pointy brushes; his uneven whiskers were a loud statement of bad taste, just like his jacket, which was a couple of sizes too small for his round waist.

‘Mr Downs! What a surprise.’

Downs introduced us immediately as CID inspectors investigating the death of Guilleum Fontaine. The fat man, of course, was Alistair Ardglass, dean of Edinburgh’s Conservatoire of Music.

As soon as he saw McGray his eyes widened. ‘Oh, but it is none other than Nine – Mr Adolphus McGray! Pray, tell me, how is your family?’

McGray cast him the most hateful stare. For a moment I feared he would explode as he’d done in the tavern. Fortunately he only hissed: ‘As you’d expect. And Lady Glass?’

Mr Ardglass cleared his throat noisily and Downs’s face reddened like a ripe cherry.

‘Inspector Ian Frey, at your service,’ I said neutrally,
trying to break the tension. ‘We would like to ask you a few questions about Guilleum Fontaine.’

‘In the meantime, I can give these violins to their new owners. You see, Mr Ardglass, my client bequeathed his instruments to his most distinguished students and colleagues.’

Mr Ardglass could not hide a greedy spark in his eyes. ‘
Did he?
’

‘Ye’ll have to wait,’ McGray prompted. ‘I want to interrogate all the legatees, and to be present when they receive the fiddles.’

I saw McGray looking at me, eyebrows arched. I understood what he was looking for: a suspicious inheritor.

‘As you wish, Inspector,’ said Downs. ‘In fact, the first instrument I was intending to deliver is for Mr Ardglass.’

Ardglass pressed his chest in the most unconvincing gesture of surprise. ‘Oh, good,
good
Guilleum!
To think of me!
’

‘Please, don’t soil yerself,’ Nine-Nails muttered.

Ardglass looked annoyed, but then Downs said something that would upset him even more: ‘Actually, the violin is not for you personally. It is for the Conservatoire.’