Murder by Appointment: Inspector Faro No.10 (8 page)

^{Chapter 9}

John Brown and Faro met that evening in Lachlan's dressing room at the end of his recital. Faro had not been present but was aware that Brown's appearance had created a mighty stir in the streets of Edinburgh, a sensation worthy of confirmation by the newspapers next morning: 'Famous young concert pianist meets his illustrious relative.'

Obviously John Brown had not the least idea what the word
'incognito' meant since he arrived by open carriage in full Highland dress. His red hair, beard and the 'Balmoral' bonnet identified him immediately to all of Edinburgh familiar with
the Illustrated News, as well as those who had seen scurrilous
cartoons and drawings of John Brown with Her Majesty circulated privately.

Faro and Brown were of equal height and, Lachlan decided,
both somewhat intimidating personalities. Two men, he thought, suppressing a smile, who were more than a match for one another.

Faro, sensitive to atmosphere, was immediately aware that Brown, an indifferent actor, was not pleased by this unexpected encounter despite Lachlan's enthusiastic introduction. After a polite exchange of greetings and an acknowledgement of their last meeting, Brown surveyed the Chief Inspector from under lowered brows. His expression
was one of extreme caution, his tone evasive, his words slow and chosen with care.

It was, thought Faro, as if he expected each one might be
taken down and used in evidence. Not until much later did he
realize the excellent reason for Brown's behaviour.

Unaware of any tensions between the two men, Lachlan said, 'I have told Uncle John about McNair's visit and that you would like to know more about his background.'

'I understand the puir man is dead,' said Brown.

'That is what we are investigating.'

The word 'investigating' startled Brown. He sat upright, listening carefully as Faro explained the circumstances of McNair's death.

'Do you suspect foul play?' he demanded sharply.

'That may be difficult to prove.'

Brown looked relieved and ceased chewing the end of his moustache as Faro added, 'However, unless his body can be
formally identified and claimed within a few days, it must be
disposed of by the city's medical officers.'

Brown nodded 'I ken Davy McNair well. An awfae' like thing to happen to him. He was groom at Balmoral, been in Royal service as long as I can remember.'

'Had he any family?'

'He wasna' married, if that's what you mean. There was a
sister, Bessie—twin to him. She was a housemaid at the Castle
too and they had a cottage on the estate. They were near neighbours to your auntie.'

Listening, Faro felt triumphant. So his memory had not failed him entirely. He had doubtless seen Bessie McNair on his last visit to Deeside several years ago, for his aunt's birthday party begun in such high spirits and culminating in
the mists of Glen Muick where only seconds separated the Queen from death at the hands of an assassin.

'When did they leave Her Majesty's service?'

Brown frowned. 'A while since. There was a wee bit of trouble.' He wriggled uncomfortably. 'I dinna ken exactly what was involved. Some sort of pilfering.'

'Pilfering? After many years of loyal service, that does seem
a little strange.'

'Temptation, man. It's a great thing is temptation.' The deep sigh that accompanied his words indicated more clearly
than any speech that this was a subject on which John Brown
could say a great deal, indeed that he might prove to be something of an authority on temptations.

'I'll take a look, identify him formally, if ye like. He'd want
to be buried in Crathie and I can arrange that. Any sign of his
sister?' Brown added. 'Rumour had it she'd gone to Edinburgh. Mebbe he'd come to look for her.'

Faro did not relish having to tell that Bessie McNair was also dead, killed in a road accident.

Brown tut-tutted. 'Is that a fact now? Man, man, that's terrible. Although it's mebbe better that way. I mean them being so close. I've often heard tell that with twins, one doesnae' long survive the other.'

Reading Faro's doubtful expression, he said hastily, 'You're
not hinting that these unfortunate happenings were anything else but accidental Inspector? A rare coincidence—'

A lifetime's association of dealing with highly suspect alibis
had left Faro with no great faith in amazing or rare co
incidences. The most amazing, he had found, were frequently
the result of human agency.

Brown sighed. 'I can pay my last respects to Bessie too,
then. Arrange a decent burial for them both. Someone'll need
to do it, them having no kin.'

As Faro thanked him, he said, 'Just a matter of decency, man. Common decency, that's all.'

But as they parted, Faro decided that the swift change in Brown's manner from wariness to eagerness to be accommodating was a matter to give pause for thought. It was an attitude with which he was sadly familiar.

In anyone less important, such behaviour would have indicated the workings of uneasy conscience. And his interview with Brown served only to confirm the identities of the dead man and woman. He was no further forward in the matter of solving the mystery of the two deaths, which were being written off by the Procurator Fiscal as unfortunate accidents.

Superintendent Mcintosh's attitude was unsympathetic. Within a year of retirement and nursing secret dreams of a knighthood, he was determined that the Central Office
should present a good clean tidy appearance to his successor.
Most important of all, it should be seen that Edinburgh City Police had an amazing record where violent crimes were
concerned. He was anxious to portray Edinburgh as a safe city where men and women could go about their business in a kind
of urban paradise: God fearing, true to Queen and country.

'Will you never give up, Faro,' he sighed wearily, 'and
accept accidents without wasting your time and mine searching for some sinister motive? Can't you content yourself with
the minor crimes that plague us? There's plenty of fraud and
burglaries and crim. cons, that you could get your teeth into if
you are ever out of a job.'

Faro was mortally offended at such a suggestion. 'Crim.con.', or 'criminal conversation', was the law's quaint description of adultery. It was also the kind of investigation he considered beneath the attentions of a detective who had dedicated his whole career to murder investigations.

Vince was more understanding. He knew his stepfather of
old and, listening patiently as he had done so often in the past,
reminded him gently, 'Mcintosh is right, you know. It isn't anything to do with you really—'

'Wait a moment. Two murders in Edinburgh and nothing to do with me,' Faro exploded. 'If that isn't my business, then I don't know what is!'

'Look, Stepfather. If John Brown and Balmoral are involved,
thieving servants and so forth, then it is the business of the Aberdeen branch to sort it out. You know that perfectly well and you can be sure they already have it in hand.'

Pausing, he placed his fingertips together and regarded Faro over them, once more the doctor whose soothing manner was meant to inspire confidence in a particularly stubborn patient.

'From what you've told me, one thing is puzzling. Why did brother and sister live apart, when she already had a rented cottage in Duddingston?'

'Exactly what Constable Thomas observed!' said Faro. 'The answer is fairly obvious, lad. They had information so dangerous it was vital there was no connection between them.'

Vince considered for a moment. 'Blackmail, do you think?'

'Before I can answer that, I'd like a lot more details, particularly about that pilfering Brown mentioned.'

'If it was jewels, something of that sort, McNair's remaining
in his sordid lodging could have indicated that he was trying to contact a fence,' said Vince.

'We have no idea of what was taken. Brown was very vague. All we know is that it was of sufficient importance to have cost
two people their lives. So far,' Faro added grimly.

'About Bessie McNair's Irish visitors. Could it be that the Fenians are busy again?'

Faro nodded. 'That thought had crossed my mind. Although they could have been innocent enough. There's plenty of Irish
folk in Edinburgh.'

'And they don't fit the description of your two attackers on
the Mound,' said Vince. 'As for a tall, slim woman concealing
a pretty face under a veiled bonnet. It could fit almost any well-off Irishwoman living here.'

As he spoke he watched his stepfather's expression change. He hadn't the heart to suggest what was in the forefront of his
mind: someone like Imogen Crowe, the Irish writer they had
encountered during one of Faro's earlier cases on the Borders
at Elrigg Castle.

He guessed that Faro had been a little in love with her. She
was to get in touch with him when her travels brought her back
to Edinburgh. But when time passed without any letters or
communication, Vince presumed that Faro had dismissed her
from his mind as she had apparently dismissed him from hers.

Oddly enough, it was Olivia who had brought it all back to Vince. Just a week ago she had been shopping with the maid May and was certain she had seen Imogen.

'Imogen or someone very like her, sitting in Princes Street Gardens. I was tempted to go for a closer look, but she was
obviously waiting for someone and as I was trying to make up
my mind, a young man came along and greeted her. He sat
beside her and took her hand. They were obviously well acquainted. So I turned May round, made some excuse and hurried in the opposite direction.'

'Why on earth—!'

'My dear, I simply didn't want to intrude. How embarrassing, especially if she wasn't Imogen or, worse, was—and didn't remember me!'

'But you were friends, for heaven's sake.'

Olivia sighed. 'We did exchange a letter or two after Elrigg. I liked her very much, I even read her books and told her how
much I enjoyed them—'

As Vince listened he thought that Imogen had perhaps written back only in politeness, answering a fan letter. But tactfully he refrained from mentioning it. Not for the world would he disillusion his darling Olivia.

'I sent her an invitation to our wedding, which she never even acknowledged.' Olivia sighed. 'Such a shame. The perfect opportunity for her to be reunited with your stepfather. I was vexed they hadn't kept in touch after Elrigg.'

'You are a wicked little matchmaker,' said Vince, smiling at
her tenderly.

'I know,' she laughed shamelessly. 'But I do wish and you know it would be a good thing—if the dear man remarried. All those good looks, that kind heart, going to waste.'

'He'd hate to hear you saying that about him. It's not how he
sees himself at all. Anyway, Livvy, I don't think marriage is for
him. He's married already—to the City Police. If only you
knew how he reproached himself for neglecting my mother—'

'That was quite a long time ago,' Olivia reminded him. 'And it wouldn't have saved her life, poor soul. After all, she didn't exactly die of his neglect, having his baby.'

Now remembering Olivia's words and regarding his stepfa
ther's remote expression, Vince quickly changed the subject to Rose and Lachlan Brown. He and Olivia had invited them to the Café Royal for lunch the previous day.