The Seal King Murders (21 page)

‘Are you sure?’ Stavely asked.

‘Of course I’m sure.’

Hal’s comrades stared at him resentfully, wandered around looking here and there in a desultory fashion, finding nothing.

Stavely joined them, giving directions. Grumbling, they walked back and forth, a hundred yards in each direction.

Faro looked on helplessly, unbelieving. He sat down heavily. He had to think but his head ached more than his bruises.

There had been a body, a dead man.

‘You knew who it was?’

‘The ferryman Rob; don’t know his second name, lives up there at Spanish Cove.’

All heads turned towards the distant group of houses. ‘You knew him?’ Stavely repeated.

He sounded quite eager, Faro thought, as he said, ‘I only met him once briefly, but yes, I’m sure.’

The men watched him expressionless. Stavely sighed, ‘You could have been mistaken, he maybe fell from the cliff, only injured. Walked away.’

Faro shook his head. ‘He was dead, I’m sure of that. I’ve had experience of dead men, Sergeant, make no mistake about that.’

As he spoke, all heads swivelled upwards to the cliff face. Climbing up would have been even more impossible than scrambling down. An injured man bleeding profusely from a head wound could never have reached the Spanish Cove steps.

‘The only other way is the landing stage past my croft,’ said Hal.

‘That’s a mile away,’ Stavely put in, looking at the sea. ‘Tide’s coming in fast now, he could have slipped back again.’

‘He didn’t drown,’ Faro said sharply.

‘And how do you know that?’ Stavely’s flushed and angry countenance led Faro to decide to repeat Rob’s dying words.

‘His trousers were dry, covered in sand. He said he had been attacked, pushed down the cliff face.’

Stavely stared at him. ‘He told you that?’

‘Yes, before he died.’

‘What else did he tell you?’

Faro pretended not to hear and for Stavely
alarm bells were again ringing. Another missing body brought bitter thoughts of Celia
Prentiss-Grant
. Was this the work of another practical joker? Or was Faro behind it, for some obscure reason of his own? 

Stavely recovered his equilibrium and asked more suspicious questions, none of which Faro could answer, so weary that he was almost oblivious to the strange glances and suppositions his bloodstains brought forth.

He groaned as Stavely said, ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to come into Kirkwall and make an official report. But we’d better get you home first, change your clothes.’

Not those steps again, but that was the only way.

He managed somehow, on the threshold of exhaustion. Stavely, regarding the houses said, ‘Which one is where this fellow lives?’

‘I have no idea,’ Faro replied, as Stavely
marched ahead and tapped on one of the doors.

It was opened by Mr West, blinking against the light as if he had been asleep.

‘Ah, hello, Stavely,’ he said brightly, obviously recognising him, but the sergeant held up a hand as if to cut short any further conversation.

‘I’m looking for a man called Rob, who I understand lives hereabouts.’

West pursed his lips and pointed. ‘Ah yes, Rob Powers. Two doors along. But he’ll be at work.’

Stavely’s anxious expression suggested urgency, and glancing nervously at Faro’s bloodstained hands and face, he added helpfully, ‘His colleague, Amos Flett and his brother have just arrived – in the house next door.’

Turning to leave, Stavely said to the botanist, ‘How are the pigeons doing?’

West smiled. ‘Very well, Sergeant, very well indeed.’

Faro was slightly ahead but his acute hearing caught a whispered ‘Keep you informed’ speedily stifled by a nod from Stavely, who was heading briskly towards Rob’s house.

West shouted after them, ‘There’ll be no answer,’ and repeated, ‘He lives alone.’

But Stavely either didn’t hear or didn’t intend to listen. He gestured to Hal and the other two men to remain outside and, with Faro at
his heels, he pushed open the door which was without key or lock in the usual island tradition.

A dismal scene greeted them inside. It was obvious from the untidy dusty state of the tiny parlour that Rob did indeed live alone. A sink full of dishes, a musty stale smell of multiple odours followed them into a bedroom, the bed unmade and above it a crucifix, on the walls a series of religious portraits. A large family Bible was his obvious bedtime reading.

Stavely gave the rooms a cursory inspection. ‘There’s nothing to indicate that this fellow didn’t leave for work as usual, is there now? No evidence of violence, nothing to suggest an accident. Seems likely that his fall down the cliff knocked him out. After you found him, he recovered and will turn up, a little worse for wear.’ And regarding Faro intently, ‘Something like yourself, in fact.’

Faro stared at him. Stavely was refusing to believe that murder had been committed and a man’s dying words would be dismissed as circumstantial evidence.

Stavely’s next words were ominous. ‘However, until he does appear, we had better make an official report.’ Weary and unsympathetic, he’d missed that feast he had been looking forward to, his only reason for coming to the family party, knowing how boring it would be. And
although he didn’t believe Faro’s story, there was something odd about it, as well as his dishevelled appearance, and Stavely, still bruised by being shown up in the Prentiss-Grant case by Faro’s quick thinking, wasn’t taking any chances on being made to look a fool this time.

‘I’ll tell Amos Flett. He’ll need to be informed,’ Faro said.

Stavely nodded, ‘Very well, you do that.’

Hal was riding off to inform Lily of the delays and Pete and the two party guests, unwilling companions on their fruitless search for the missing man, were sitting in the carriage, muttering together, their remarks full of anger and resentment at having being dragged into this farce.

Stavely gestured towards them. ‘I’ll see these lads get back safely. It’s not far. Back for you in twenty minutes,’ he added, hoping there would be some remnants of the festive meal still available.

Observing that Faro’s forlorn appearance suggested he was on the verge of collapse and in no state to walk back to Scarthbreck, Stavely thought that he had better be tidied up before the journey into the police station.

‘Stay right here. Don’t go away.’

Faro’s weary shrug indicated that was not his intention, and sighing, Stavely again decided
that Constable Faro was just a damned nuisance and he asked somewhat impatiently, ‘When is it you intended leaving us?’

‘Wednesday.’

With one foot in the carriage, Stavely nodded grimly. ‘You might have to postpone that again. If neither this Rob nor his body has turned up there’ll need to be an enquiry, once you’ve set this missing person business in motion.’

Watching Stavely drive off, Faro groaned not only for his aches and bruises. Was this another case with all the elements of the Prentiss-Grant incident? If only he had caught the last boat to Edinburgh instead of now being forced to remain indefinitely, once again a prime suspect in the case of a man whose body had disappeared. But Faro was certain that he had indeed been murdered.

Walking back along the street, a tap on Amos’s door had an immediate response. Quick, light footsteps approached and the door opened. Not by Amos, but his brother. Faro caught a glimpse, a smile of welcome quickly suppressed as he stepped back into the shadows.

Obviously Faro was not his expected visitor.

‘May I have a word with Amos?’

‘He’s not here. Probably at the ferry.’

‘Very well. But if you should see him, I have
a message.’ He hesitated. ‘About Rob. There’s been an accident.’

‘What?’ Josh wasn’t listening. He was looking anxiously beyond Faro who, glancing over his shoulder, observed a carriage approaching. Thora stepped down and when Faro turned again, the door had been firmly shut.

Thora also seemed dismayed at his sudden appearance, as the driver of the gig helped her unload several pieces of luggage. She was not intending to delay and, ignoring Faro’s polite greeting as the door was opened once again, and grappling with her luggage, she went swiftly inside.

Obviously she had come to stay. The couple’s behaviour baffled him. Did Amos not approve of their association, and did the lovers always have to meet when he was absent? Was time precious?

He thought of those quick, firm footsteps hurrying to open the door. Hardly those of a dying man.

Returning along the street, West was at his window, binoculars trained on the horizon. Hearing footsteps outside he nodded, smiled and Faro stopped in his tracks, overwhelmed by a possibility so outrageous that it left him completely stunned.

Imperative to sit down and sort out his thoughts, he couldn’t just stand there and wait to tell Stavely what he had discovered, and passing the tea shop, he went in, sat at a table and ordered a pot of tea, when what he was needing most at that moment was something infinitely stronger, like a very large dram.

Seeing West had triggered off what had been at the back of his mind, half-remembered since he read
A Tale of Two Cities.

A man who takes another man’s place.

And there it was being played out before him.

He did not need his logbook to recall the facts. Dave was a good swimmer. But the same night that his supposedly drowned body had been washed ashore, Josh Flett, long on his deathbed, had breathed his last.

The switch was made. Josh was buried as the drowned man and Dave became the dying invalid confined to the house, any glimpse of him swathed in bonnet and mufflers. There must have been complications, and a criminal organisation involved; for Amos’s identification of the nonexistent body discovered by a conveniently ‘passing’ tourist with a substantial bribe for his statement changing hands.

There had to be a death certificate. But from Edinburgh police records, Faro knew that for
clever criminals doors could be opened and forged documents readily obtained.

And then there was Thora. As Dave’s wife she had to be part of the plot. Faro remembered the Claydon house, the table kept as a shrine to her ‘dead’ husband. The meeting in the cathedral, those precious stolen minutes. Small wonder Inga had been taken aback that Thora the widow had chosen Josh rather than his handsome brother.

It all made sense, but what was the motive? How was it to end? The Claydons could never live openly together in Kirkwall. They would have to move to another island and start anew. It was a fragile situation.

What was the delay? What were they waiting for? Dave as Josh had to die again. No, that would be an added complication. The logical answer lay with the missing artefacts, that mysterious treasure trove waiting to be handed over to a buyer with enough cash to make their exile worthwhile.

Exile. He looked down at the harbour, West watching the horizon. That was the answer. They were waiting for a boat to arrive, and that was why Thora was also in Spanish Cove.

And what about Amos? A fellow conspirator, what did he stand to gain?

‘So this is where you are?’

And he looked up into the face of Amos, unable to find the words that would bring things back to normality, as he sat down opposite.

‘Josh tells me you were looking for me. I was having a rest. Was it something urgent?’

‘Rob is dead.’

‘What! What are you talking about? Rob’s at the ferry today.’

Faro stared at him and shook his head. ‘I found Rob at the bottom of the cliffs beside Spanish Cove. His head was bleeding. He was dying.’

Amos opened his mouth, closed it again. ‘That can’t be. Where is he now?’

‘I don’t know. Has he any family? We called in at his house.’

Amos shook his head. ‘He hasn’t anyone. Lives alone.’ He looked stunned and angry. ‘Didn’t you go back for him? Make sure?’

‘I left him. Got help and went back. He had disappeared.’

‘Disappeared?’

‘The tide was coming in, perhaps he had been swept into the water.’

Amos sprang up. ‘Maybe you just
thought
he was dying.’

Sergeant Stavely had said that too. Now Faro remembered the blood from Rob’s mouth,
choking on four whispered words, ‘Attacked me … gave … gosh …’

Then the silence of death. But now those words took on a new meaning.

They were not ‘gave … gosh’.

Rob had been trying to tell him that Dave Claydon was Josh Flett.

‘So that’s where you are!’ This time it was Stavely, red-faced and indignant, his eyes on the set table. ‘You were supposed to be waiting outside,’ he said, ignoring Amos completely.

Amos, who stood up white-faced, bewildered, and without a word, hurried out of the tea shop.

Faro watched him. Aware of his agony, of one thing he was certain, he was innocent of Rob’s death.

‘Amos was very upset. Rob was his friend.’

‘Did he have anything constructive to say?’ Stavely demanded.

‘Just that Rob lived alone. But I have something to tell you, Sergeant, something very important.’

Stavely shook his head. ‘Not now. It can wait. We’ll go to Scarthbreck first. Get you cleaned up. Into the carriage, if you please.’

Faro was pleased. He didn’t fancy the walk back to the servants’ lodge. When they reached it, taking in Faro’s exhausted appearance, Stavely had a moment of compassion.

He said rather curtly, ‘We’ll get you back once you’ve made a statement, described the man you apparently found,’ and pointing to Beau, who had never left Faro’s side and now leapt on to his knee, ‘And take that animal in with you.’

Faro hoped that he would not meet his mother. He did not relish her despairing looks and anxious questions about his appalling appearance. He had one answer prepared, but it was Emil he met on the way in and he looked only mildly interested.

‘Chasing Beau, fell down the cliff,’ Faro said in a cheerful voice which he hoped was also casual enough.

Emil shrugged, shook his head with a disbelieving smile, a slightly mocking bow and hurried across the courtyard.

From the window Faro saw the Frenchman talking to Stavely and wondered if the sergeant was an art lover. Washing his bloodstained hands and face at the kitchen sink, dabbing at
cuts and bruises, and brushing his clothes, he left Beau with an affectionate pat and hurried out to the waiting carriage, where Stavely signalled his impatience. ‘At last. Let’s go.’

Apart from asking how long the Frenchman was staying, Stavely resumed his enquiries about Rob. Faro, wanting to discuss his theory concerning Dave Claydon, found himself repeating the story in great detail but Stavely’s lack of comment suggested that his mind was elsewhere, and in weary acceptance, Faro knew he would have the whole version to repeat once again and a statement to sign.

As the carriage moved swiftly in the direction of Kirkwall, he said, ‘I’ve just made a very important discovery, Sergeant, which I think I should share with you.’

‘Another one?’ said Stavely with a mocking laugh. ‘Don’t tell me this fellow is about to appear and pretend it was all a practical joke.’

Faro cut him short. ‘Josh Flett—’

‘Josh Flett,’ Stavely interrupted. ‘What in God’s name has that poor soul to do with all this?’

‘Nothing, but Dave Claydon might have.’

‘Dave Claydon!’ Stavely shouted. ‘Another drowned man. Been in his grave for weeks. So the dead are walking now!’ Pausing, he looked intently at Faro. ‘I think you must have damaged
your brains falling down that cliff.’

‘I didn’t fall, I climbed down,’ Faro said. ‘And if you’d spare the time to listen instead of yelling at me, what I’m trying to tell you is that Dave Claydon is still alive. The man they buried in his place was Josh Flett.’

Stavely’s mouth opened and closed again. ‘Detective Constable you might be, but you’re quite, quite mad. This is absolute nonsense.’

‘I am not mad. And I have proof.’

‘Proof!’ Stavely snorted. ‘I’d like to hear that.’

So Faro patiently went through all the details of the imposture for Stavely’s benefit. The sergeant held up his hand, shook his head once or twice and tried to interrupt with, ‘But how …? And why …?’

All were swept aside, Faro ending with his visit to Amos and Josh rushing to the door.

At mention of the appearance of Thora, Stavely lost his patience. ‘So what! The grieving widow is in love with the poor invalid. I don’t find that astonishing. You’re not a married man, Faro, so I can’t expect you to understand such emotions. Very complicated they are,’ he added, remembering how sometimes he felt he hardly knew Lily at all. After all these years of marriage she could still surprise him.

Faro sat back, conscious that he had been wasting his time. ‘So you don’t believe any of it?’

Stavely shook his head. ‘All seems a bit pointless to me. There’s one serious flaw. You need a death certificate before you bury anyone, and in an accidental death in Edinburgh you’d need the fiscal’s report.’

‘And here?’

‘Not always for accidental drownings. Depends. With the fishing boats and such storms as we get, they’re a daily hazard, often so frequent that the fiscal would have to live permanently on the scene.’ Pausing, he added, ‘Incidentally, for your information, there was a death certificate signed by a doctor.’

‘The local doctor who attended Josh?’

Stavely shook his head, and said uneasily, ‘No, he was away on holiday.’

‘Very convenient.’

‘Amos got hold of a doctor from somewhere, I expect.’

Amos, very helpful again, thought Faro, as Stavely went on.

‘Helped in every way he could, even identified the body, to save Thora a gruesome task.’

‘Or to save anyone realising that the body was not that of Dave Claydon, recently drowned man, but of Amos’s brother Josh, who had conveniently died that day,’ Faro replied, grimly aware that whatever was going on, Amos was deeply involved.

Stavely regarded him stolidly.

‘Your theories are all very interesting but where’s your proof of a word of it?’

‘I haven’t any except that all this could be part of something much bigger – they could all be in a conspiracy.’

‘Such as?’

‘Smuggling artefacts abroad comes readily to mind.’

A faint gleam in Stavely’s eye, then he shook his head. ‘Too far-fetched. They’d never get away with it.’

They had arrived in Kirkwall. ‘Now, if you will be so good as to accompany me …’

Feeling suspiciously as if he was under arrest rather than making a statement that no one was going to believe anyway, Faro went into the police station. Once the words were taken down and duly signed in the presence of Stavely, a silent witness, he prepared to leave.

Stavely escorted him to the door and indicated the waiting carriage. ‘I can take you part of the way back, as far as Pete’s.’

He was not eager to do so, having had more than enough of Constable Faro to last him a lifetime. It was a tedious, dismal journey, with no attempts to resurrect the topic of Josh Flett.

Faro was overcome by exhaustion and in no mood for further argument, so both men,
absorbed by their own very different thoughts, were relieved when, at last, the carriage clattered through the twisted streets of Stromness and headed in the direction of Scarthbreck.

As Faro was leaving outside the cousin’s house, Stavely leant out and said, ‘If I were you, I’d abandon all those fantastic notions and concentrate on staying out of trouble.’

The following morning, Faro realised there was one man who would have been eager to believe his dramatic disclosure regarding Dave Claydon’s resurrection and that was Jimmy Traill, but instead he had accepted Stavely’s offer of transport and was now regretting having overcome the temptation to look in at the newspaper office before leaving Kirkwall.

In despair, he felt that no one would believe him, and as Stavely had been eager to point out, the deception was merely a theory, and he wouldn’t ever be likely to be able to prove that the man buried in the kirkyard in Dave Claydon’s grave was Josh Flett.

The only ones who could supply that evidence were Amos Flett and Thora. As both were in this conspiracy, whatever its nature, that was a possibility remote indeed.

Faro knew there was one other person who might believe him, and that was Inga. Setting out
for the walk to Scarthbreck and hoping that he might pick up a carter returning to Spanish Cove, he was fortunate. The farmer and his wife lived there, and driving back in a gig, offered him a lift.

They were polite, friendly but not inquisitive about his reasons for visiting Scarthbreck. They seemed a little in awe of the ‘Big House’ and conversation was restricted to his holiday on the island. They were relative newcomers from Burray and had not heard of his family connections.

Reaching their destination, there was a small crowd of people on the pier. Shouts indicated that a body had been washed up.

Faro raced down the steep steps. A glance at the body confirmed that it was Rob, and a horseman was speedily despatched to inform Sergeant Stavely who, Faro guessed, would not be pleased.

Inga was among those gathered. ‘So he was swept away by the incoming tide, poor lad.’

Faro knew he could no longer be considered a prime suspect.

He was eager to tell Inga about Dave Claydon’s imposture but there was no opportunity. She had a customer coming for a fitting and ran ahead up the steep steps, leaving Faro no option but to remain until Stavely arrived.

Neighbours who had hurried down to the scene suggested that Rob’s body be taken to his house until the police arrived.

As Faro reached the top of the rough steps behind the sad cortège, Mr West emerged from his house. He had seen the crowd gathering from his window and guessed that something was amiss, but touching the region of his chest, he said, ‘Alas, I am no longer able to go up or down to the pier, stairs of any kind are beyond me.’ And regarding the men heading into Rob’s house, observing Faro’s anxious looks and curious to know the reason for his bloodstained appearance a short while ago, he said, ‘A sad business.’

‘Did you know him?’ asked Faro.

West shook his head. ‘Not really. I’m afraid we aren’t very sociable here.’

Faro wasn’t feeling sociable at that moment, either. ‘I have to wait for the police to arrive.’

West nodded. ‘Then perhaps you would care to come in and have a little refreshment.’

West’s house was typical of the man. Glass jars containing small plant specimens fought for space on every surface, between stacks of books and papers. Scooping some aside to make a seat for Faro, West retreated into his little kitchen whose window connected with the pigeon loft.

At his entrance some of them perched expectantly
on the sill. Looking over his shoulder, he smiled at Faro, ‘My little darlings …’ and he went on to produce a list of names which Faro made no attempt to remember. There was one bird that fluttered down, identified by the ringed foot as a homing pigeon.

It immediately engaged West’s attention, and his expression anxious, he turned his back on Faro, seized the bird and unfolded a small piece of paper. Whatever it contained obviously concerned him. A sharp intake of breath and ‘Just a word from a loved one’, combined with the grave expression which West could not conceal, failed to satisfy Faro that this was, in fact, the message that the pigeon had delivered.

Over the inevitable pot of tea, while Faro again thought longingly of something much stronger befitting his shattered nerves, he was able to enlighten West’s curiosity regarding the drowned man. How he had, in fact, discovered him while walking Beau yesterday morning.

‘He had fallen down the cliff?’ said West.

‘It looked like that,’ said Faro, but some doubt in his voice prompted West’s next question.

‘He was still alive when you reached him?’

‘He was, but died almost immediately. A severe head injury.’

West regarded Faro intently for a moment 
and then said, ‘Then he was unable to tell you exactly what had happened.’

Faro thought of the four whispered words the dying man uttered. He shook his head and West tut-tutted, looking thoughtful.

Thanking him again for
A Tale of Two Cities,
West nodded approvingly.

‘I am delighted that you have enjoyed it. A most valuable addition to one’s reading list.’

Faro smiled wryly with a sudden longing to tell the old man that it had been much more than a valuable addition, that it had in fact led him to solving one of the mysteries that had brought him to Orkney on this visit.

A shadow passed by the window and Faro recognised Amos with Inga at his side. Again, that fleeting shaft of jealousy that he had been her customer expected for a fitting.

West looked startled as he leapt up and excused himself, ‘A friend I have to see.’

Outside, Inga was entering her house and Amos heading down the street. Faro caught up with him at the entrance.

‘I am so sorry.’ Amos turned towards him. His face a mask of anguish, and anger too, he nodded bleakly and through clenched teeth muttered, ‘Someone will pay for this.’ And brushing him aside, he went into Rob’s house.

Faro considered following him but felt it
more urgent to talk to Inga who emerged with a basket over her arm.

‘A bad business,’ she said. ‘Couldn’t have come at a worse time.’

He looked at her questioningly and she said, ‘This will make it particularly hard for Amos at tonight’s Lammastide celebrations.’

Seeing his blank expression, ‘Didn’t Amos tell you?’

He shook his head. ‘He said I was to give you a message. His boat will be at the pier down there, picking up passengers for his tour of the islands at eight o’clock. He’ll collect you at the landing for Scarthbreck.’

‘Are you coming?’ he asked eagerly.

She shrugged. ‘Maybe – I’m not sure. I have other things to do.’

‘Maybe I have too, then.’

She gave an impatient shrug, obviously not making the same sentimental connection of a last evening together. ‘Amos said you were leaving, that it was important for you. Anyway, make your own mind up. I’m off.’

Faro was baffled. West’s door was still open and he decided he should go back and apologise for his hasty exit.

West smiled as he appeared but he had hardly got the words out when Stavely appeared in the street, breathless, on horseback.

As he stood with West at the door, Faro was aware that the two men exchanged a curious glance. What was their connection? he wondered as Stavely said impatiently, ‘Accompany me, if you please, Faro. I’ll need you to identify the drowned man as the one you found yesterday.’