The Seal King Murders (22 page)

Rob Powers identified, Faro was free to go and was no longer detained by Stavely. With his departure date imminent, all that remained was to bring his logbook up to date. All things considered, apart from one or two loose ends, he was relatively satisfied with the results, although what he was going to tell Macfie, he had not decided. Telling him the truth that Dave Claydon was still alive and involved in criminal activities was going to be tricky.

As for Thora and the couple’s plans for the future, he remembered the packing cases behind her front door when he first called on her. That they were in preparation for a forthcoming journey was evident by her arrival at Spanish
Cove. Did that signify that they were about to take flight, escape to a new life when money changed hands for the stolen artefacts? Especially as Stavely had refused to take seriously Dave’s imposture as Josh Flett.

The sinister implications suggested that he should reconsider the wisdom of that boat tour with Amos as foolhardy as well as dangerous. But ignoring danger, taking chances, he told himself, were what being a detective was all about. The irresistible temptation to unravel the final threads of Amos’s involvement, his safety ensured by the presence of other passengers, was too strong for him to ignore.

Such were his thoughts as he approached the private landing pier, an indulgence by former owners of Scarthbreck. Rough seas, treacherous undercurrents and submerged rocks, however, made it extremely dangerous, and their ladies did so hate getting their feet or the hems of their gowns wet and considered it most undignified, if not indecent, having to be carried ashore by one of the male servants.

On the overgrown steep track which edged its way down the cliff face, he walked carefully, keeping a lookout for Amos and his boatload of visitors, wondering if anyone ever used the landing stage now. The archaeologists carrying their equipment and gear would have found it
unwieldy and hazardous, as Gerald Binsley had been informed by Sir Arnold when he mentioned that on a longer visit it might serve for a bit of fishing.

Faro’s view of the sea was shielded and it was not until he managed the last stretch of rock pools and reached the shore that he saw a boat.

It was a much smaller boat than he had imagined, with Amos sitting in it alone, crouched over the oars.

Faro hailed him and he responded, raising a hand but obviously unwilling to come any closer, no doubt with experience of those dangerous currents, so there was nothing for it but to gain access by scrambling across the rocks with their covering of seaweed.

Amos was well clad against the weather, huddled in a huge rain cape, a bonnet pulled down well over his eyes. His face looked pale and strained as Faro observed that there were seats for no more than six, including the oarsman.

Jumping down into the boat, he asked, ‘Where are the rest?’

Amos raised his head, looked towards the Neolithic settlement. ‘Waiting round the corner there.’

He began to row, as if it were an effort, and considering that he had brought the tiny craft all
the way from Stromness, the original pickup spot for the passengers, Faro, who was beginning to have doubts about the successful outcome of this pleasure cruise, gallantly offered to take an oar.

Amos nodded in agreement, and as they set off again, regarding that pale, sad face, sympathy for the loss of his friend replaced any of Faro’s growing premonitions of danger.

Staying well away from the rocks, they rowed in the direction of the settlement, a melancholy, deserted place. The sea was smooth as glass but the boat was entering the area notorious for submerged caves, and without a landing stage there were considerable hazards for any intending passengers, to say nothing of a soaking should they wade out to the boat.

Surely Amos had realised this was not a good meeting place, and Faro could see no evidence of a landing stage or anyone waiting for them.

‘No one there,’ he said.

Amos ignored him. Having difficulty with his oar, he seemed short of breath. ‘Mistaken directions,’ he gasped. ‘Pick them up, next stop.’

Faro’s question as to where that was went unheeded. There was one, however, that he was determined Amos should answer.

‘Where is Dave?’

Amos’s head jerked upwards. ‘Dave is dead.’

‘No, Amos. Josh is dead.’

Amos’s head turned towards him, ‘How … what makes you think that?’ he asked slowly.

Sitting side by side like comrades, as Faro told him what he knew, Amos shipped the oars, and as the boat drifted gently on the sea, he made no attempt to interrupt or comment.

Faro ended with the whispered words Rob had uttered before he died. ‘What he was saying was not “gosh … gave” but that Josh was Dave.’

‘Rob died for that.’ Amos’s voice was a whisper. ‘That’s why they killed him. He got in too deep and his religious principles made him want out.’

Faro found himself remembering Rob praying in the cathedral, and the Christian symbols in his house. ‘It was all he had in a way. He believed in right and wrong, good and evil. At first it was just a lark, everyone accepted smuggled goods; then some minister or other made him see the evil of his ways. He wanted us all to believe too, and threatened to tell the truth for the good of our souls. Dave and Thora were in serious trouble. They had to lie low for a while. Me too.’

No longer rowing, the boat was drifting lazily seaward. It had shipped a little water too, lapping in the base at Faro’s feet.

He asked cautiously, ‘Why are you telling me all this?’

‘I thought you should know. Inga said you were intrigued about Thora and the seal king, about that missing year. And her sister Elsa.’ Pausing, he looked at him. ‘You really wanted to know about Elsa, so I decided I would take you to meet her.’

This was news indeed. So Elsa was still alive. ‘Where is she?’

‘You will have to wait and see, Faro. Wait and see. I promise you won’t be disappointed.’

Faro had already decided, perhaps he had known right from the start when Amos was waiting for him in the boat, that there were to be no other passengers. He had planned it all carefully and the thought made Faro conscious of his own danger as Amos said, ‘Everyone wondered why Elsa didn’t come to Dave’s funeral.’

Looking towards the area of the caves, Faro had a sudden vision of Mrs Traill, her mind wandering, her guilt about Elsa, that she and Thora had a secret. He asked, ‘Is Elsa still alive?’

‘Didn’t I tell you? I’m taking you to meet her.’

‘Is it far?’

‘Not very far now.’

Amos began to cough and Faro noticed the flecks of blood on his mouth. His first thought,
a surge of pity. Was Amos dying like his brother, the same consumption?

It was at that moment he noticed the stain on Amos’s cape, which he thought was seawater, had grown larger. Amos touched it, dragging the cape closer, and his hand came away red. It was blood.

‘What happened to you?’

Amos looked at him. ‘I’ve been shot. After they killed Rob, I was finished with them. I’d had enough of murders. Someone took a potshot at me from Spanish Cove. Not as serious as what it did to the boat.’

There was rising water in the base of the boat. Seeing the sudden alarm on his face, Amos managed a mocking smile.

‘Good job it’s a smooth sea, or we would have gone down by now. Fortunately I’m a good swimmer, I’ll make it even with a bloodied shoulder. But I hear you can’t swim. Boat sinks and you drown. However, you are so keen to know the truth and I can’t deny you that before we part, especially seeing that we are almost kin – almost cousins. Shame really.’

Faro struggled towards an oar, got hold of it, but single-handedly he knew he could do nothing. Amos watched him, smiling gently, making no effort to help.

‘It’s useless, Faro. You’d be better off
listening to what I have to say. At least you’ll go to eternity happy that you guessed right and smuggling artefacts is the name of the game. In this case thousands of doubloons from the
El Rosario,
with an eager buyer waiting on the Continent.

‘As for Elsa …’ Amos paused.

‘Elsa is dead,’ Faro said.

‘That’s right. Another good guess. And dear, devoted Thora killed her, killed her only sister. She claimed it was an accident, but they hated each other because of Dave. Both wanted him. Dave was there and so was I. A lad of sixteen, and I helped them dispose of her body in the caves over there. Weighed it down with rocks.

‘And they have held that incident over my head ever since, made me do as I was told. Waiting for money from abroad for those artefacts Dave had appropriated, they had a bit of unbelievable good luck. My poor, brave brother died and they decided this was what they needed. Dave would take his place, become Josh, till the deal was settled. They thought it was a brilliant idea, couldn’t have been better timed. As for my indignation, my disgust at what they intended, they laughed that aside. Told me not to forget that I was an accessory to Elsa’s murder and if this plan failed, I’d go to jail too, probably hang.’

He pointed towards the submerged caves growing distant. ‘Behold, Elsa’s last resting place.’ Then, with the water steadily rising around their feet, he added genially, ‘And most probably yours, Faro. I was going to take you here personally, but not with a sinking boat. Anyway, you’ll meet in the great beyond but I’m sure you’ve worked out all the answers.’

‘I have now,’ Faro said. ‘Someone told me the sisters were as alike as two peas. They were, apart from the colour of their hair.’

Amos smiled. ‘Useful, wasn’t it? Thora panicked. It was Lammastide, and Dave convinced her that she would get away with Elsa’s accidental death at her hands by becoming the seal king’s bride. Disappear, put on a dark wig, take Elsa’s place and no one would know the difference.’

‘She couldn’t carry on the deception for ever, so when she came back a year later, Elsa conveniently disappeared. Went off to the mainland, broken-hearted that Dave had chosen to wait for the seal king’s bride. It all seemed simple, the perfect murder.’

Faro wanted to hear more, but the boat was no longer controllable. Swaying in the hidden undercurrent, the water had risen swirling round their knees. All of a sudden Faro was swept overboard.

Amos was smiling again. ‘Won’t be long now, old friend. I’ll swim back, say the boat sank, you were lost, I tried to save you, just like I tried to save Dave when he fell boarding the ship that night.’

Faro tried to grip the side of the boat but his wet hands kept slipping.

‘I’ll make it easier for you. Take a grip of this.’ And Amos tried to lift an oar. He managed to swing it over towards Faro.

As the boat veered and the sea took them both, he yelled, ‘There’s a rock over yonder – until the tide turns. Fare thee well.’ A hand raised in grave salute, Amos shrugged off the cape and began swimming for the distant shore.

Faro hung on to the oar. If only he could drift towards that rock, still unsubmerged by the rising tide.

Then suddenly he was no longer alone.

Had Amos come back for him, taken pity?

Something was underneath him. Something solid, holding him above water, pushing his body towards the rock, still several feet away. Perhaps he could reach it.

Desperately, he stretched out an arm, but the movement lost him the oar. It drifted away and as he slithered back into the sea, a face appeared.

Amos, he thought again. No, not a man.

Human-eyed, beseeching, curious.

A seal.

The sea claimed him again.

So this was death.

Baubie Finn had been restless all that day. In the morning she had asked Inga to take her back to South Ronaldsay, her voice urgent, explaining that, although she had been so happy in Spanish Cove, she could wait no longer to return to her own home.

And then while Inga, always willing to help her friend, was discussing the arrangements, Baubie had shaken her head. ‘Not today, my dear. I find I must stay here today.’

Inga made no comment. The discovery of the drowned man, whom she had never met, distressed Baubie, made her even more ill at ease, and as the day drifted towards evening, she wanted to go along the shore and watch the fireworks at Scarthbreck.

A curious request, thought Inga, and remembering how slowly Baubie walked, she would hire a gig from the stables.

Baubie was pleased. But with Scarthbreck in sight she decided no, she wanted to go further, on towards the old dwellings.

Inga was puzzled as she drove further along the shore, the seals keeping pace, their heads bobbing up and down in the water. Far from any fireworks now, the shore was empty except for the passing of a carriage bearing Thora with a companion, who, although she could not see him clearly, Inga assumed to be Josh, accompanied by the Frenchman Emil on horseback.

She called out a greeting. They turned away and pretended not to see her.

‘Did they know about the fireworks?’ she began, but Baubie wasn’t listening. She didn’t want to stop here after all.

Shaking her head she said, ‘This isn’t the place. Further, further along.’

Utterly confused, Inga drove on until Baubie seized her arm and said, ‘Here. Stop here. This is it.’

She got out of the gig and walked, quickly and steadily, towards the water’s edge. Inga followed, afraid that her friend would get her feet wet, and that it would bring back the pneumonia, sure as life.

‘Baubie. Come back,’ she called, but Baubie didn’t seem to hear or care. The seals had moved nearer, clamouring, barking, and Baubie was holding out her hands towards them almost in supplication.

‘Come back,’ Inga called.

This time she heard her, turned round and said, ‘Jeremy is out there. He’s drowning.’

‘What …? How do you …?’ Inga stopped.

‘The seals tell me. You must save him.’

‘But where?’

Baubie pointed. ‘Over there – where the waves are breaking … a rock.’

Inga shaded her eyes. ‘But I don’t see—’

‘He is there. Go – please go.’

Inga waited no longer. She slipped off her gown and dashed into the sea. And it seemed, in case she was in danger of losing her direction, the seals were around her, guiding her ahead. Their presence was no consolation: she had never been so scared in her life before. She was an excellent swimmer but the undercurrent was strong.

At last, with the seals’ heads bobbing in a circle around her, she saw the large rock and a still shape, spreadeagled and face down.

It was Jeremy. She pulled herself up the slippery surface and turned him over. He was alive. His eyes opened.

‘Is this heaven?’

‘You bloody fool,’ she swore and wrapping an arm around him, managed to dog-paddle him to the shore.

Baubie was waiting.

Inga regarded her anxiously as Faro climbed into the gig. She looked worse than he did, as if all the life had been drained out of her, and there were no words for any of them as Inga drove swiftly back along the shore.

When they reached Scarthbreck, Faro had observed the change in Baubie. She looked small and pale, and with an arm supporting her, he said, ‘No, Inga. Don’t stop for me. Let’s get her home first.’

At Spanish Cove, Inga bustled Baubie inside while Faro went across to join the group gathered by a couple of carriages.

Stavely was there with a man being carried on a stretcher.

Amos Flett.

‘Yes, he’s alive, lost a lot of blood,’ Stavely said. ‘But he’s young and strong enough to hang, if he doesn’t turn Queen’s evidence against the others.’

‘Who shot him?’ Faro asked.

Stavely nodded towards the police carriage where Emil sat statue-straight alongside the
Claydons. All three handcuffed while Mr West issued instructions to the policemen in charge. ‘Got to get this lot behind bars. We got Latour too. Attempted murder among other things. Yes, he shot Flett when they decided he knew too much.’

‘There’s your smugglers, Faro. Been after them for a while now. And thanks to West’s lookout and his homing pigeons we got them red-handed, and Latour as well. There’s a French ship offshore there, waiting to take them to Marseilles.’

‘The artefacts, too?’

He shook his head. ‘All in good time. We’re waiting to find out.’

And taking in Faro’s bedraggled state, ‘You look like the next casualty. Better get into some dry clothes.’

They didn’t have long to wait. While Faro had been wrestling with angels in the unlikely shapes of grey seals, back in Scarthbreck, Beau, in one of his boisterous chases, skidded across the floor and knocked down a couple of Emil’s pictures.

In a panic Mary Faro rescued them and heard something rattling inside. Removing the torn backing, a shower of gold coins rolled across the floor. The missing doubloons, treasure trove from the wreck of the
El Rosario
, waiting to be
loaded on the French ship arriving in Spanish Cove that evening.

Regarding Latour’s arrest, Mary said sadly, ‘Never thought much of his paintings. I mean, not nearly as good as those prints in our parlour,’ she added, referring to the Millais reproductions. ‘I never really believed I would go to Paris, that was too good to be true.’

Faro put an arm around her and kissed her.

‘You are too good to be true sometimes, Ma. Always trusting folk, taking them at face value.’

As they sat down at the table, she sighed. ‘Emil seemed a nice enough fellow, if a bit flashy, and I felt guilty, thinking what if he asked me to marry him? I’d never be able to care about him that way. There could never be another man like your dear pa.’ Smiling, she leant over and kissed him. ‘Except you, Jeremy. You get more like him every day.’

And, Jeremy thought, what a reputation to live up to.

Stavely arrived looking pleased with himself. West, the retired botanist, was a government agent who had had the smugglers under surveillance for some time, his homing pigeons a fast and efficient means of communications with the Orkney Constabulary.

‘You can’t expect to win every time, Faro,’ Stavely crowed. ‘The lads in Kirkwall have to
have some of the glory. Can’t deny them that.’

So saying, he darted a resentful look in Beau’s direction, wishing he could say the same about being upstaged by the mongrel pup who had accidentally discovered the smugglers’ secret hiding place.

On the day of his departure for Edinburgh, Faro realised that Jimmy Traill would get his sensational story, an abridged version. The most sensational part of it would remain Faro’s secret: how Inga had rescued him from drowning and Baubie had used her selkie power over the seals.

There was one final moment, a last word shared between himself and Baubie, a final mystery that had lacked a solution.

As he thanked her yet again, she said, ‘This is for your ears only, Jeremy. We may never meet again, but you wanted to know what became of Sibella Scarth.’

He took her mittened hands and held them. ‘I know. I think I have always known since that very first meeting.’

She smiled, leant across and kissed his cheek. ‘Aye, and you’re a grandson to be proud of. But this must be our secret, remember.’

‘But why?’ Even as he said the words, Faro remembered Mary Faro and the conversation he had overheard between his parents so long ago.

‘There are some things, like selkies, that ordinary folk, even the best of families living in small communities, are not able to cope with. Selkie blood, let’s just leave it at that.’

Faro smiled. ‘Never. Something to be proud of, and what goes with it.’

Before he left he had a final visit from Stavely.

‘How did you find out about Josh Flett?’ Faro asked. ‘I seem to remember you didn’t believe a word of my theory.’

Stavely smiled wryly. ‘It seemed too far-fetched but it set me thinking, and the more I thought … Then a chance meeting with the local doctor over a pint in the Lamb & Flag. Just back from holiday, he was astonished to find the patient he had left on his deathbed had made a miraculous recovery. Naturally he went to visit him and see for himself, but Amos turned him away. Josh, he said, refused to see him.

‘I also heard that various other folk, intrigued by this miracle, had caught glimpses of this new Josh who always took avoiding action.’

He paused and said, ‘Suddenly your absurd theory began to make sense. Too many coincidences.’

As he turned to leave, Faro said, ‘Before you go, Sergeant, there’s another one for you.

Remember Thora, the seal king’s bride? Here’s what really happened.’

Stavely listened this time. At the end, Faro said, ‘I solved that mystery, but I’m afraid it’s left you another corpse to unearth.’