Murder by Appointment: Inspector Faro No.10 (20 page)

Faro considered this deficiency in the character of a man
whose whole life was involved in tracking down clues. A man
who saw himself as one who cared deeply for his fellow men
and would fight any injustice on their behalf. Did this grave omission exist in his personality alone or were all senior
officers so afflicted with indifference, regarding their police
men as little more than soulless drones to drive carriages,
carry messages, smooth out the dull and exhaustive patches of
criminal investigations.

And it struck Faro as despicable to learn only after the young man was dead that he had a private life.

He turned to Lamont. 'I had better inform Mrs Thomas.'

'No need for that, sir, unless you particularly wish to do so.'
There was an embarrassed silence 'You see, sir, I've visited her with Charlie several times.' He paused. 'It'll come easier from me sir, seeing I was his friend.'

'Thank you, Lamont. I appreciate your action. I will of course send an official letter, and so will Superintendent Mcintosh.'

As he said the words, Faro was aware of his own hypocrisy, of being overwhelmed with feelings of relief that he had been
spared the ordeal of breaking tragic news to a bereaved parent. He was also guiltily aware that he had been secretly hoping Lamont would make the offer.

There was a little pause, then Lamont cleared his throat and said, 'Someone will need to tell his sweetheart, sir. It'll break the poor lass's heart. They were hoping to wed, you know.'

‘I’ll tell her, Lamont,' said Faro, wondering how on earth
he would convey such dire news to a girl who could not even
speak.

At the Central Office, a full investigation into Thomas's death was set in motion. Witnesses in the area would be questioned, policemen alerted for information regarding suspicious persons and guilty behaviour.

Thomas had been struck in a main artery, his killer could not have escaped without his clothing being considerably stained with blood.

It was late afternoon before Faro returned home, anticipating the dreaded interview with May.

His arrival coincided with Mrs Brook bustling along the road with her basket of groceries. 'Quite a stir we had, sir, getting them away.'

Faro stared at her. Getting who away? The events of the early morning and his speedy departure had swept from his mind that Vince and Olivia were leaving for the wedding at Dunblane.

'You'll be needing something to eat, sir—'

'No, not now, Mrs Brook, thank you.'

'A nice cup of tea, then?'

He felt in dire need of something much stronger than tea but followed her downstairs, rehearsing the words he was going to say to break the news to the maid. He was greatly relieved to find her absent, doubtless out on some errand for Mrs Brook.

His wan appearance hadn't escaped the housekeeper's vigilance. She was curious about the Inspector's appearance in her kitchen since he usually went straight up to his study.

'Is there something I can get you, sir?'

When he shook his head, she said, 'If you'll go upstairs, I'll bring you a tray directly.'

Faro sat down heavily at the table. 'Mrs Brook, I have some
bad news—'

She turned to him anxiously, her hands holding the teapot trembled. 'Oh, sir, what is it? Oh dear—not one of the family?'

'No, Mrs Brook. Not the family. Now, please do sit down.' And when she did so, he said, 'It's Constable Thomas, he's been stabbed in a fight.'

'Oh, poor Charlie.' She looked at him. 'May will be worried
about him. He's not seriously hurt, is he?'

'I'm afraid so. He died earlier this morning.'

Mrs Brook gave a little scream and covered her face with her hands. 'Oh, not that nice young man.' She regarded him tearfully. 'How we are going to break this to May when she gets back, I don't know.'

'Will she be long?'

'Long, sir? Why, she's away to Dunblane with Dr Vince
and Mrs Laurie. Rushes in at the last minute, hands me a note
that the young mistress wants her with them.' Pausing she shook her head. 'I don't know what this house is coming to, really I don't. All these notes. And now poor Charlie killed. He was sitting just where you are—'

She put a hand to her mouth. 'I've just remembered something. Oh dear—' She went over to the sideboard and took a large envelope out of a drawer. 'This was for May. Charlie left it for her. How do I give this to her now? It'll break the poor lass's heart.'

She placed the envelope on the table. 'It's for her birthday. That's tomorrow. I should have remembered and given it to her before she left. But with all the confusion, it went clean out of my mind.'

Pausing, she looked across at Faro. 'Charlie wanted it to be a surprise. Poems he'd written, that sort of thing. A bit of nonsense I thought for, bless the poor dear lad's heart, he's the romantic one—she's the practical kind. While he was explaining that he wanted it to be waiting for her at her
bedside when she woke up, she came in, back from the shops. So he tipped me a wink and said sternly, "This is for Inspector
Faro, Mrs Brook. Very important. You see that he gets it. Put
it on his desk right away. Understand?" And off they went together.' She sighed. 'What'll I do now, sir?'

Faro shook his head. 'Explain it all to her when she comes back. Maybe she'll understand and it will be something for her to remember him by.'

On the following day, Thomas's killer was apprehended.

Constable Bevan, on duty at Waverley Station and, on the lookout for a sneak thief operating on the railway, had
noticed a man in a great hurry, his clothes covered in bloodstains, heading towards the platform where the London train was about to depart.

He had no ticket and when the guard refused to let him through the barrier, he hurled the unfortunate man to the ground and, running along the platform, flung open a compartment door and jumped aboard as the train gathered speed.

Constable Bevan ran to the Telegraph Office and alerted stations along the line. The man's bloodied appearance, his suspicious behaviour, had been observed by a frightened passenger who pulled the communication cord. He thereupon leaped from the compartment and tumbled down the steep embankment.

By the time the policemen reached him, he was unconscious,
badly injured and unlikely to live.

They took him to the City Hospital where the contents of his coat revealed Thomas's pocket watch identified by Lamont. Also a purse containing twenty sovereigns. The
man, Jack Byrne, was well known to the officers.

The surrounding policemen eyed it grimly. Such a sum of money was practically a confession that he had been paid to kill the constable.

And by a person or body of persons who had plenty of money and were very anxious that Thomas and his precious information should go no further, thought Faro as he elected to sit by Byrne's bedside in the hope that he might survive long enough to reveal the present whereabouts of the constable's official notebook. Its absence from his possessions suggested that it might hold vital clues to his murderer's employers.

As he took up his vigil Faro regarded Byrne's brutal countenance with distaste and despair. It was of little comfort to know that a 'wanted for murder' notice had long been posted for this habitual criminal who lived in the thieves' kitchen at Causewayside. He had been in and out of gaol since his youth, having known nothing as refined as schooldays, a paid killer, a man who would maim for a shilling and kill for a couple of sovereigns.

And this was Thomas's killer. Thomas had apparently tried to arrest him in Leith. If Byrne lived, he would go to the gallows, denied the claim of self-defence, that the constable
had charged him in connection with a crime he knew nothing
about. Resisting arrest, Byrne had fought him off, drawing
the knife he always carried as a deterrent whereupon Thomas
had somehow fallen on it.

Byrne never had the chance to put it all into words this time. Sometime during Faro's vigil, he opened his eyes and asked for water. Holding the glass to his lips, Faro asked, 'Who paid you to kill the policeman?’

Byrne shook his head. 'Don't know—nothing.'

'What do you know of the McNairs?'

'The McNairs.' The man shook his head. He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh and any hopes of further information were over for good. Blood bubbled through his lips and Jack Byrne was dead. He had escaped the hangman's rope.

But the questions remained unanswered. It had been presumed that Thomas was trying to arrest him, but Faro guessed that most likely Thomas had been lured to Weighman's Close on some pretext of information and that Byrne had been waiting ready to knife him.

Faro remembered seeing Mrs Carling as he knelt by
Thomas. He was certain there was a connection with the McNairs and that it centred on Mrs Carling and her son Andy.

'I think I've cracked the case for the chief.’

His words continued to haunt Faro as he set off to interview
the Carlings.

He was unlucky. The door was locked.

'Away for the day,' was the laconic answer from a neighbour
with as little desire as Mrs Carling for any dealings with the
police, especially when one of their colleagues had been killed
in the vicinity. The woman and the other members of her household had already been closely questioned as possible witnesses.

'Tell her I'll be back,' said Faro.

The coolness of Faro's reception by Mrs Carling when he
arrived at the close next day confirmed his suspicions that she and her son probably knew a great deal more about Constable
Thomas's death and the events preceding it than they were prepared to admit.

He was not unexpected. The neighbours must have warned her.

'Is your son at home?'

'No he isn't.'

'When are you expecting him?'

'I don't know. He's away—to Glasgow—looking for work,'
she added defensively. 'A good lad, keen to get on, you know.'

Faro regarded her sternly. 'You are aware that the constable
who was with me last time was stabbed almost outside your door.'

She winced. 'Everyone in the close knew about it.'

'And yet no one went to his assistance.'

Her laugh was shrill and unhappy and she looked at him as
if he had taken leave of his senses to entertain such an idea. As
with the rat-infested closes off the High Street, he guessed that at the first sign of trouble people swiftly withdrew into
their own houses and closed the doors firmly until it was past.

Anyone accused of cowardice asked simply: What was to be
gained by getting a knife stuck in you? or: We all have troubles enough of our own, mister, without going out looking for other folk's.

Mrs Carling, however, recovered her composure enough to say, 'A terrible thing to happen outside a respectable boarding house. How this will affect my gentlemen, I don't know. They'll be afraid to sleep in their beds. And my
livelihood will suffer. I'll be in the workhouse in no time,' she
added wringing her hands convincingly.

'Did you see Constable Thomas that day? Had he called at your house recently?'

Her eyes wavered uncertainly. 'He was around the close quite a lot lately. Very unnerving it was, a uniformed police
man sniffing about, as if we were guilty of some crime. Gives
a respectable house a bad name.'