The Bull Slayers: Inspector Faro No 9 (18 page)

Faro picked it up, turned it over. If this meant what he
thought it did, then Duffy's death was no accident. He had been
murdered.

He was still thinking about the implications of his discovery when a horse and rider came into view. It was Yarrow, shortly
followed by Dewar, the vicar, his sons and a couple of estate
workers.

Reverend Cairncross knelt by the body, took the cold hands
in his and murmured a prayer.

Almost roughly, Yarrow pushed him aside and also bent over
the body. 'You can smell the drink on him.'

Faro leaned over and sniffed. 'You can that, Sergeant.'

'As if it had been poured over him,' sighed the vicar.

Yarrow gave him a sharp look, asked: 'Has he been moved?'

Faro indicated the Cairncross brothers. 'They found him.
While they went for help, naturally I examined him to see if
there were any signs of life.'

'Naturally,' echoed Yarrow sourly and turned to Dewar who
was ready with the stretcher carried in the pony cart for
emergencies, its use seldom required apart from farming
accidents.

Reverend Cairncross said: 'I can do nothing here.'

'Has he any family?' Faro asked.

Yarrow answered, 'Not in these parts. There's a woman
looks after his cottage.' And to Dewar, 'Best take him there till
we make the proper arrangements. I'll walk back with Mr
Faro.'

It wasn't a great distance, but Yarrow was slow on his feet
and insisted on leading his horse. Faro's silence (related to
whether this was an opportune moment to hand over the notes
in his pocket) was presumed by Yarrow to be the layman's first
sight of a drowned man or a corpse.

'You get used to it in time,' he said sympathetically.

Faro could think of no suitable reply and Yarrow continued:
'Are you to be staying long in Elrigg?'

'Not much longer. My investigations are complete and my
stepson is arriving today. We will probably take a few days'
holiday before returning to Edinburgh.'

'That is awkward.'

Faro was conscious of Yarrow's intense gaze. 'Indeed?'

Yarrow cleared his throat apologetically. 'I might have to call
on you to give evidence as you were the first on the scene, the
first to touch the body. A passer-by, of course, nothing to worry about,' he added hastily as if Faro's silence was an indication of
guilt.

'I hope it won't take too long.'

Yarrow shook his head. 'Just routine, Mr Faro. Paperwork,
that's all.' In a voice elaborately casual, he added, 'When did
you last see Duffy alive, by the way?'

'A couple of days ago.'

'Oh! I thought you had a meeting arranged with him last night. At the inn. Heard Bowden discussing it with you.'

True. But he failed to appear. As you know,' he reminded
him gently.

Yarrow considered that for a moment, nodded. 'Have you
any idea what it was he wanted to talk to you about?'

'None at all.'

'You've talked to him before? Privately, I mean.'

'Never. Bowden suggested that he probably wanted to
borrow money.'

There was a slight pause. 'Can you think of any reason why
he should imagine that a stranger to the district would be
willing to give him money?'

'I haven't the least idea, Sergeant.'

Yarrow stared ahead, frowning. 'May I ask your whereabouts yesterday evening?'

'Certainly. I was at the inn. As you know.' Faro's laugh held
a note of exasperation. What was Yarrow getting at?

Yarrow did not share his amusement. He continued to eye
him sternly. 'You were seen in the vicinity near where Duffy was
found.'

'I might well have been. I had an evening stroll.' And Faro turned to him, his laughter now disbelieving. He was being cross-examined. Detective Inspector Faro was a suspect.

His mirth faded at Yarrow's expression.

'It was the earlier part of the evening I was considering -
before we met.'

'Oh, I have an alibi for that too, if that's what you're asking,
I was visiting Miss Halliday. She will vouch for me. We had tea
together and she was most informative on the history of the
village - and her clever pupils. We talked about Sir Walter Scott
and I admired some of her paintings. She's very good.'

Yarrow nodded. 'So I've heard. Could have made a name for
herself.'

Relieved at this change of subject and return to normal
conversation, Faro said: That I can believe. There was one
portrait - of a young lad, one of her pupils, a brilliant lad by all
accounts - killed in a shooting accident. He looked ready to
speak - it was remarkably lifelike...'

Yarrow frowned. 'That would be one of the beaters. They
still talk about him. Before my time, but memories are long in
places like this.' As they approached the inn, he added: 'Thank
you for your help, Mr Faro. Perhaps you'll let me know when
you're leaving in case I need to talk to you again.'

Faro watched him go. Yarrow obviously suspected that
Duffy's death might not have been an accident. Having
overheard the poacher asking for Faro at the inn was enough to
alert any policeman worthy of the name of detective when a
man is subsequently found dead.

Faro was not quite as amused as he might have been to find himself in the classic situation of the stranger, the newcomer to the district, immediately under suspicion and the first to be
questioned.

As he awaited Vince's arrival, he thought about the tiny piece
of evidence resting in his pocket beside his notes on the two
deaths at Elrigg. As he wrestled with his conscience he decided
that Duffy's death could not have come at a worse time.
Another twenty-four hours and he would have been clear of
Elrigg.

Clear of suspicion!

'You could tell Yarrow who you are, of course,' said Vince as
he unpacked and hung an array of shirts and cravats in the
capacious wardrobe. He sounded irritable and with good
reason.

Within their first few moments of conversation on his arrival
at the inn, he had seen fast disappearing all hopes of that splendid
walking holiday he was looking forward to. His stepfather had
got himself hopelessly involved in yet another crime.

'You're impossible, Stepfather, too conscientious by far.
These murders, if murders they are, have nothing to do with
you. This isn't your province. You know that perfectly well. The
Northumberland Constabulary will tell you sharp enough that
you are out of order, Inspector Faro.'

He shrugged. 'And as for this latest happening, it isn't
unknown for a poacher who's fond of drink to accidentally
drown while under the influence.'

'Perhaps you're right, Vince,' said Faro weakly, almost eager
to be persuaded.

'Of course I am.' Vince closed the wardrobe door, thrust his valise under the bed and said: 'Let's join the others.' He led the
way downstairs to where Owen and Olivia were already
enjoying afternoon tea in front of the large fire.

'Two more places, Mr Bowden, if you please,' said Faro.

Approaching the Gilchrists, he saw that an adjoining side
table was solely occupied by Imogen Crowe, awaiting her order.
She looked up and smiled a friendly greeting.

Faro, somewhat taken aback, suspected that the recipient of this transformed Miss Crowe was his handsome stepson. Vince, with his fair curls, his deceptively angelic countenance, had that
effect upon young women.

'Two places, did you say, sir?' said Bowden.

Olivia looked at Faro, smiled encouragingly and said quite
loudly, 'Why don't you ask your friend to join us, sir?'

'Heavens, no.' whispered Faro, assiduously turning his back
on Miss Crowe.

Olivia considered that lady for a moment and gave him a
reproachful look. 'A pity to have her sitting on her own, is it
not?' she murmured.

'Yes, indeed,' responded her brother with an admiring glance
at Miss Crowe. The more the merrier, I always say.'

Vince turned, joined in his friend's enthusiasm, bowed in her
direction and was rewarded by even more smiling Irish eyes, a
pretty inclination of dark red curls.

Turning sharply to Faro he said enthusiastically, 'Yes,
Stepfather, why not?'

'No,' said Faro firmly, almost too loudly for politeness.
While he studied his empty plate with tightly closed lips, the
others looked across at Miss Crowe, were pleased by what they
saw and stared back at Faro reproachfully.

Their expressions made him angry. Mrs Dewar's weakness it
seemed was shared not only by most womankind, but had
spread to his own family and friends.

Matchmaking. He grimaced, he was sick and tired of it. He
had thought Olivia Gilchrist might have more sense.

But as the tea was poured and the scones eaten at a leisurely
pace, Miss Crowe was forgotten. Out of the corner of his eye
Faro thankfully watched her depart. Grateful that the jarring
incident created by her presence was over, he joined in the
laughter as the two young men reminisced about college days,
meanwhile keeping a sharp eye on Olivia's reaction to his
stepson.

He would have been shocked indeed had someone told him
that he was indulging in exactly the same behaviour as poor
Mrs Dewar and that this pairing off was endemic in the human
race.

The young couple seemed so fond of each other, laughing,
teasing. Almost like brother and sister. He groaned. That was
what he feared, that they had been dear friends too long for
romance to blossom.

'Delightful place, this, sir,' said Owen. 'You were lucky to
find it. Full of atmosphere.'

'It wasn't difficult to find,' Faro laughed. 'It's the only place.'

'My bedroom floor squeaks abominably,' said Vince.

'Quite right,' said Olivia solemnly. 'That will keep you from
straying.' Then to Faro: 'Great-Aunt is so sorry she couldn't
accommodate Vince too. Her cottage is just too tiny. Have you
told your stepfather the arrangements, Vince?'

'I haven't. We've had other matters to discuss.'

'Nothing as important as the party.' And leaning over, she
said: 'You mean he hasn't told you that we have been invited to the Castle here for Great-Aunt's birthday celebration?'

When Faro shook his head, she looked at Vince.

'Dash it all, Olivia. I've been keeping it a secret - a surprise,
as you told me,' was the reproachful response.

'Honestly - men!' Olivia gave a despairing sigh and turned to her brother. 'You tell him, Owen. This is so exciting - you
being here already, sir,' she added to Faro.

'Hold on, Livvy,' said Owen. 'We've just heard ourselves,
when we called in to see Great-Aunt. She was governess to
Mark Elrigg long ago. They have always been very close. When
Mark's mother died, he didn't even as a child get on very well
with his stepfather -' He looked at Vince and Faro. 'Not like
some I could name. Anyway, he turned to Great-Aunt for love and comfort. He's never forgotten her kindness and he's kept in
touch with her by letter and frequent visits to Branxton.'

'The really exciting part is that we've been asked to stay the
night at the Castle after the party. I'm so looking forward to
that,' Olivia put in. 'Apparently Mark wouldn't hear of his dear
Miss Gilchrist travelling all that way back home.'