Murder by Appointment: Inspector Faro No.10 (7 page)

^{Chapter 8}

Before Faro could question the woman further about the jacket, the door opened and a well-grown youth of about thirteen came in.

Despite his mother's attempts at gentility, her careful accent as she explained quickly that the gentlemen were enquiring about poor Mr Glen, Andy Carling had the wily look and attitude Faro was well used to encountering, that of the Edinburgh street urchin, born and bred.

'Andy often went messages for Mr Glen,' said Mrs Carling, obviously glad of this diversion.

'Aye, that's right. He wasna' too keen on using his own feet and legs. Didna' go out much during the day.'

'What kind of messages?' asked Faro.

'Food and once a letter.'

'Who was this letter addressed to?'

'A Miss McNair.'

That was interesting, thought Faro, as Mrs Carling interposed, 'I said to Andy that was probably the woman who visited him.'

'Can you remember the address by any chance?'

Andy exchanged a glance with his mother.

'These gentlemen are policemen and this is Detective Inspector Faro,' she said. They want us to help them.'

This revelation was followed by a look of guilt and anguish
towards his parent, a glance that plainly asked: Was there money involved? Shall I oblige or not? Then deciding there
was no doubt profit to be gained, he smirked at Faro and with
a self-important air that marked him as Mrs Carling's son, he
said, 'I canna' mind the exact address, but I can take ye there,
sir. It's nae far: Duddingston way.'

Faro recognized that he had had an unexpected stroke of luck, although there was only one person who could identify
the jacket as once the property of Lachlan Brown and confirm
'Mr Glen' as his mystery visitor Davy, friend—or so he claimed—of John Brown.

Faro folded the jacket and put it beneath his arm, cutting short Mrs Carling's protests. 'This is required to help establish the dead gentleman's identity. It will be returned to you.' And, tearing a page out of his notebook, he wrote rapidly. 'Here is a receipt.'

Andy regarded this procedure with dismay, especially when
Faro, laying a hand on his arm, suggested that he accompany them to Duddingston.

Clearly afraid that he was being placed under arrest, Andy began to tremble, and yelled, 'Ma!'

Muttering reassuringly, Faro did not relinquish his grip on the lad's arm. Andy was bundled inside the police carriage
beside Constable Thomas, his nervousness increased at being
thus anchored between guardians of the law.

'What was this lady like?' Faro asked, as the carriage trundled through the streets.

'Oh, just an old lady, ye ken.'

'How old would you say?' asked Faro patiently.

'Older than you. Grey hair. No' frae Edinburgh, either.'

And gazing steadily out of the window, he pointed. 'Over there. That's it.'

The tiny cottage of recent vintage was deserted, its windows
blackened ominously.

There had been a fire and the smell of smoke hung unpleasantly upon the air.

As they stepped down from the carriage, Andy was not disposed to linger. With one panic-stricken glance at the scene he took to his heels and raced along the road back towards the city.

And what was strangest of all about his precipitous departure
was his neglect to wait for any reward for his services.

The fire had been recent enough for their presence to attract
an immediate investigation by next-door neighbours and two small elderly ladies of almost identical appearance hurried
towards them. Obviously sisters, white-haired, with spectacles over noses twitching with curiosity, hands fluttering in dismay
and eyes wide and eager. Their emergence struck Faro with a
striking resemblance to a couple of squirrels from the nearby woodland.

'It happened two nights ago—' said the first.

'No one was hurt, Mary,' said sister number two. 'That's right, sir. The lady who lived there—'

'Who lives there, Annie,' sister Mary corrected her.

'A Miss McNair—'

'They'll need to trace her, to give her the news.'

'What a shock for the poor soul.'

A shock for the searchers too, thought Faro, when they discovered she was dead, and in all probability murdered.

'How did the fire start?' he asked.

Two heads shook in unison.

'Miss McNair was a very careful lady.'

'Oh, she was, indeed. Not the kind Annie and I would associate with neglecting fires.'

'But sparks do come out, Mary. These chimneys are bad on
downdraughts. Remember we had our fireside rug burnt.'

'And if we hadn't been in the room, goodness knows. Our cottage might have gone up in smoke many a time.'

'That's why we are always particularly careful with the fireguard, isn't it Mary—'

'We are from the police, madam. And this is Detective Inspector Faro,' said Constable Thomas, interrupting what showed signs of becoming an interminable flood of reminiscences.

'We are looking for Miss McNair in connection with one of
her relatives recently deceased,' said Faro.

Relief flooded the two upturned faces. Police obviously suggested criminal activities in this gentle neighbourhood.

If only he and Thomas could investigate without attracting undue speculation, but the two sisters watched them relentlessly as Faro tried the front door.

It was locked. As he was wondering how to broach the subject of a spare key, sister Mary approached and said, 'The back door is open. The lock was broken when Miss McNair moved in and she's never had it repaired.'

'Besides no one here ever locks their back doors, Mary.' And turning to Faro, Annie continued, 'She's only been here a short while and keeps herself to herself. Doesn't she?' she added to her sister.

As did Mr Glen, thought Faro grimly, with no longer any doubts that Lachlan Brown's 'Davy Mac-something' would also prove to be a McNair.

Picking their way through the two rooms, they saw that although the interior of the kitchen had been seriously damaged, its contents had survived the conflagration as a depressing array of blistered furniture and scorched rags of curtains.

'Look over here, sir,' said Thomas.

The fireplace showed evidence of papers having been burnt
in the grate. Faro regarded it thoughtfully. One spark would have been sufficient to ignite the worn rug and spread fire through the house.

That the two dead people were brother and sister was confirmed by Miss McNair's few possessions. In the bedroom press, darned underwear indicated an original owner with expensive tastes in body linen.

He examined the stitches. Sewing styles were highly individual and he had a feeling that the same hand had also mended the beggarman's darned clothes.

The lack of any documents or letters suggested that further evidence had been carefully destroyed, but returning to the kitchen he found Constable Thomas still meticulously raking through the ashes in the fireplace.

'Looks as if an intruder might have been searching for something. When he couldn't find it he deliberately started the fire to cover his tracks, sir.'

The two sisters were at the door, awaiting the policemen's emergence from the cottage.

'Did Miss McNair have many visitors?' Faro asked.

Mary shook her head. 'We only saw two callers, didn't we, Annie, all the time she was here.'

'That's right. And both came when she was out.'

'And what were these visitors like?' asked Faro, expecting
either a description of Mr Glen or of the two men who had abducted Miss McNair and undoubtedly murdered her.

'They came at different times—'

'Yes, that's right. One was a young man, the other a young woman.'

'Young, you say?'

'Yes indeed. And they were from Ireland.'

'Ireland—are you sure?' he asked.

'Well, they spoke with Irish accents,' said Annie.

'We know because our mother came from Kerry,' said Mary triumphantly.

So much for his theory, thought Faro as he asked, ‘What did this young man look like?'

The sisters regarded this question as odd. They studied
Faro carefully as they replied, 'Oh, well-spoken. Twenty-five
or so—'

'About your height, sir. Spectacles and red hair—'

'And the young woman?' asked Faro.

'She was tall and slim, good-looking too, wasn't she, Annie?'

‘Well, yes. That is, what we could glimpse of her face through her veil.'

'We thought she might be a charity worker or a nurse.'

'Definitely not a servant, that's for sure.'

'A real lady.' Annie repeated. 'Educated, well-spoken—like
the young man.'

Faro decided the conversation was getting nowhere, so much of it built on speculation. He was disappointed too
since the two callers would most likely prove to have nothing
to do with the McNairs' deaths.

Summoning Constable Thomas, he headed towards the police carriage. The two sisters followed, anxious to prolong
this drama which had invaded their usually uneventful lives.

'There was one other person, Inspector,' said Mary.

'Who was that?' demanded her sister sharply.

'You've forgotten, Annie. There was the other young woman wanting to know if the cottage was for sale. She was looking in the windows,' she explained to Faro. 'We saw her and, well, we were curious.'

Annie gave a sigh of exasperation. 'It was a mistake,' she
said to Faro. 'It was the cottage further down the road she was
interested in. She was just wanting directions, nothing to do with Miss McNair, Mary,' she added crossly.

'I know that, but she did ask who lived there,' said Mary.
'And when we told her it was Miss McNair, a single lady and as far as we knew she hadn't any plans to move, she said even
if it had been available it was too small for her with a husband
and four bairns. I just thought the Inspector should know, Annie. He did ask about all visitors.'

'But the last woman wasn't a proper visitor, she was just a passer-by,' her sister protested.

'Well, you were the one who thought it was odd having three Irish people all practically on each other's heels—'

Thankfully Faro and Thomas left them still arguing. As the carriage headed back along the lochside, the constable said, 'That Carling lad took off very sharpish, sir. I was just thinking, did he know something? Or was it a natural fear of being associated with arson?'

'You could be well right,' said Faro grimly, pleased that Thomas also had sharp powers of observation and had recognized a villain in the making.