Killing Cousins (9 page)

'A post-mortem? Is that strictly necessary in this case? Really, the distress this will cause ...'

'Not quite so much distress as has already been caused to this poor young man, sir,' said Vince.

'And I am afraid we are just at the beginning,' Faro added.

'Yes, of course, the funeral...'

There can be no funeral until we have the Procurator Fiscal's report. Whatever Sergeant Frith's findings, I regard the circumstances of this young man's death as highly suspicious. The possibility of foul play cannot be entirely dismissed,' said Faro.

'I have to sign the death certificate and I cannot do so without being quite satisfied about what was the cause of his death,' Vince added sternly.

Erlandson scrutinised Faro carefully, in the manner of one who has been deliberately deceived. 'I heard the sergeant address you as Inspector. How fortunate indeed for my little flock.'

'And now, if you will assist us, sir,' said Vince brusquely. 'This blanket - perhaps we can use it to transport the body to your vestry where we will be reasonably comfortable?'

It was a weary climb to the church supporting their burden. Erlandson unlocked the door of the vestry where Troller's body was placed on a trestle table. Faro's final action of emptying the dead man's pockets, placing on the table a few coins, a pocket knife and a soggy handkerchief brought forth an almost anguished sigh from the minister.

As they left, Faro stretched out his hand for the key. 'I will take care of that, if you please.' And, as Erlandson regarded him doubtfully, he added, 'In my official capacity.' Erlandson considered the key as if it might be about to express an opinion, before handing it to Faro with a look of gravest suspicion and extreme disapproval.

In the dining room at Balfray Castle, scarcely less grand than its drawing-room, they found Mary Faro's carefully prepared breakfast being completely ignored.

An audience consisting of the entire Balfray family and adherents awaited them with a certain amount of hand-wringing and anxious questions. All were resplendent in mourning for Thora Balfray and looked for all the world, thought Faro grimly, like a set piece for one of Her Majesty's new-fangled group photographs.

Francis Balfray was Vince's chief concern. He looked scarcely more animated than the family portraits on the walls or the corpses they had been investigating. Behind his chair, a newcomer. The woman who stood with her hand protectively on his shoulder was obviously Norma Balfray whom he had glimpsed by the torchlight at the Odin Stone.

Vince was right, she had a certain allure. There was a quality of suppressed passion about her handsome features and Miss Balfray managed to exude sexual attraction remarkably well considering the melancholy circumstances. As they were introduced and she looked deeply into his eyes, Faro thought of the contrast there must have been between the half-sisters. Even allowing for long illness, unfortunate demise and resurrection from the tomb, Thora Balfray in life could never have been counted as a rival.

On the other side of the room, Captain Gibb had apparently collapsed into a chair with Mary Faro hovering anxiously over him.

'Look lively there, lad,' said Faro.

Vince needed no second bidding. He sprang into immediate action, applying one of his instant remedies from his emergency bag. It was perfectly obvious from the man's colour and difficult breathing that if someone didn't do something sharpish then they would have yet another candidate for the kirkyard.

Troller's brother Saul was there, too, seated on a hard chair at a respectful distance from his betters. If looks could be judged then no doubt he was feeling that death would be too good. Red-eyed with shock, he had scarcely emerged from the effects of the night's debauch and was incoherently demanding, 'Wha' ha-happened to Jack?' and 'Don't believe it', almost in the same breath. Sometimes he attempted to spring up, pugnacious in his bewildered grief, and was with difficulty restrained.

Behind his chair stood Inga, her hand on his shoulder. She limited her remarks to 'Hush, hush, my dear' which had little effect on the bereaved sibling.

And hovering in the background was Mary Faro, trying in vain to offer her cups of tea and plates of toast to keep up everyone's strength for the ordeal that lay ahead.

Within moments of entering the room, Vince and Faro were bombarded with frantic but quite relevant questions for which they had not had the least opportunity to prepare satisfactory and consolingly logical answers.

Frith's statement that Troller had fallen down the cliff was being dismissed as a tragic but unfortunate accident, the result of too many drams at the wake. The removal of Mrs Balfray from her coffin was a different matter. A terrible shock, of course, but a situation they were prepared to accept as within the bounds of possibility from a young man of known unsound mind, further unhinged by grief for his beloved patroness.

But no one, thought Faro, had asked Frith how Troller had managed this single-handed, injured as he was, before conveniently expiring at her side. Or, more significantly, what exactly lay behind the Romeo and Juliet death scene so elaborately staged on the Odin Stone?

Erlandson cleared his throat and exercised his ministerial powers by inviting everyone to bow their heads in prayer, a comforting homily Faro recognised as straight from the service for the burial of the dead. This was immediately followed by delicate but practical suggestions for the next few hours.

Faro and Vince left him to it. Erlandson was accustomed to dealing with family bereavement as the vast and elaborate panoply of mourning so firmly established by Her Majesty moved into operation.

'Even on this small island,' Vince told him later, 'the proprieties of death must be observed. Mourning bands for the villagers, wreaths, a church service, black-edged cards, ostrich plumes.'

Could Troller be removed to his own home for the kisting? Saul asked. Vince and Faro exchanged glances. To keep him in the vestry until the Procurator Fiscal arrived would arouse suspicions of foul play. The brother was obviously very distressed but Vince had to explain that they would have to await the arrival of authority.

'Where will they get black ostrich plumes here?' murmured Faro as he and Vince thankfully made their escape.

At the bottom of the staircase, Faro put a finger to his lips and steered Vince in the direction of the front door. He wasn't quick enough. From the dining room emerged Mary Faro, obviously lying in wait for them.

'I thought you two were up to something. I insist that you sit down in my kitchen and have some breakfast before you do anything else and before all the food I've cooked is completely ruined. You must keep your strength up in this hour of trial, Jeremy.'

'We'll be back directly, Mother. Just going for a constitutional. Brisk walk round the grounds.'

Vince grinned at her disarmingly. 'Do us good. Clear our heads. I'll take care of him, Grandma.'

'Sometimes I just think you encourage him. I don't know which of you is worse,' she wailed after them.

Halfway down the drive, Faro said, 'I think we should revisit the scene of the crime. There are one or two small discrepancies we might do well to consider.'

'Deuced awkward having any sort of exchange, let alone a discussion, with the minister breathing so conscientiously down our necks. But I assumed you've noticed them too.'

As they walked rapidly in the direction of the kirkyard, the threatening weather had undergone a further rapid deterioration. Every vestige of late summer had vanished.

Autumn had descended on Balfray and had chosen its day well. The close damp fog clung to houses and covered the ground with an undulating grey blanket of mist. Even as they walked the island had already begun to diminish and landmarks dissolve. With the first deep boom of the foghorn, the seals' lament and a few sheep bleating forlornly were the only indications that life existed beyond their footsteps beneath the growing swirling shroud of grey. The air tasted damp and slightly salty and the prospect before them, as one by one tombstones loomed out of the mist, was anything but beguiling.

'What a day for a murder,' said Faro, burrowing deeper into his coat collar.

Vince surveyed the now deserted Odin Stone bleakly. 'You're absolutely right, Stepfather. Troller wasn't killed by tumbling over the cliff. He was murdered. By a massive blow to the back of his head.'

Chapter Seven

'There is no doubt about it, Stepfather. Troller Jack was also murdered. So we now have two on our hands.'

'One by poisoning and one by a more speedy form of despatch, eh?' said Faro.

'Let's leave Thora Balfray out for the moment because there is a distinct possibility that the two crimes were quite unconnected, don't you agree?'

'I'm curious,' said Faro. 'Everyone I've spoken to thus far has been at great pains to tell me that Balfray is law-abiding, God-fearing, with a highly respected laird. Universal love seems to be the order of the day and murder is unthinkable. Besides, Vince, if you use your powers of observation, you'll note the ground.'

'The ground?'

'Yes, where we are standing now. Come along.'

They walked a few steps and then Faro stopped, kneeled down. 'Look, I'm certain this is where Troller emerged, where he climbed up. See, there are tussocks of grass pulled out, a branch newly broken. Ah, and look on this stone sheltered by the cliff face - dried blood. This is where he dragged himself along. Now follow me.'

As they walked slowly back towards the kirkyard, he continued, 'Observe the ground near the vault. The grass is bruised and there are some impressions, footprints, dammit, most washed away by the rain. Now what does that suggest to you, Vince?'

'Had there been several drunks from the village involved, with a struggle, then there would have been a great many more signs of activity underfoot, trampled ground and so forth.'

'Notice anything odd?' demanded Faro sharply.

Vince frowned. 'When we examined him, it hadn't begun to rain yet his clothes were sodden through - the reason I failed to observe immediately the wound in his matted hair.' He looked across at Faro. 'Also, there was a huge wet patch under him on the Odin Stone although Thora's shroud was bone dry.'

Faro nodded eagerly. 'Very significant. And what else?'

'Where he had been lying, there were pieces of seaweed, particles of sand on his clothes.'

'And what might we conclude from that, I wonder?'

'Obviously he had been in the sea.'

'In the sea?' Faro repeated. 'Doing what? Swimming was hardly likely. Had he fallen in then, do you think? He was drunk, remember, staggering along that narrow cliff path. The question is, did he lose his footing, and fall... or was he pushed?

'Inebriates do have miraculous escapes from death, quite unaccountable powers of survival, as we know.'

'Aye, we encounter them in Edinburgh regularly. Everyone was, I gather, maudlin drunk at the wake including our off-duty Sergeant Frith.'

'It could happen, you know. Troller was physically very strong, in the prime of condition. It was only his poor brain that was weak. And the shock of contact with icy water might well have sobered him.'

'Let us presume that you are right. So with nothing more than a drenching and a few bruises, he climbs up again, tearing his hands while his wet garments gather quantities of mud, sand and seaweed.'

Faro shook his head. 'We have missed one very significant fact, lad. Why make that tortuous dangerous climb at all? Ah, there's the rub.' Turning, he pointed a finger to the way they had come. 'When there is a perfectly good path only thirty yards away leading up from the shore? And why, instead of going home by that path, sobered and grateful for his miraculous escape, does he further risk life and limb to trot off to Thora's tomb—?'

'Oblivious of a deep wound on the back of his head which was to cause his death,' Vince interrupted. 'It just isn't feasible, Stepfather. Whatever he did do, concussed, bleeding profusely, he certainly didn't make that climb with a split skull and then take Thora from her coffin and carry her, unaided, to that other resting place.'

'Without knowing the full facts of the case, I would say that the murderous attack took place, either before or after putting Mrs Balfray on the Odin Stone.'

'And if before, Stepfather, we can only come to one conclusion. That someone else arranged their particularly grisly death scene.'

Faro shivered, listening to the floodtide biting deep into the rocks far below, and all around them the heavy swathe of mist blanketing the landscape and reducing visibility to nil.

'Someone from the village, would you say? Some of the lads who tormented him and were the worse for drink at the wake?'

'Unlikely,' said Vince. 'From all accounts, Troller was well thought of and Saul Hoy is a mighty force to be reckoned with, enough to discourage anyone with a cruel and senseless line in practical joking.'

'Excellent. So you would agree that we direct our enquiries closer to home to find the answer to this one. You know the first rules by now, lad, without any prompting from me.'

Vince smiled. 'You mean motive.'

'Precisely. Let us first consider who stood to gain by Troller's death.'