The Inspector's Daughter (A Rose McQuinn Mystery)

by Alanna Knight

  I decided I was quite tired after all and was on my way up to bed when there was a sharp rap on the kitchen door.

  Jack, I thought excitedly. An unexpected visit but very welcome considering my feelings about him at that moment.

  I opened the door to Foley - a very different Foley from the gardener in his rough clothes. This Foley had smartened up, wearing a suit and cloth cap, and smelling strongly of ale. That didn't bother me, I was used to men smelling of drink. He worked hard and had doubtless been celebrating his one well-earned evening off.

  'Good evening, ma'am,' he said, tipping his cap. 'I wonder if you've had a chance to look at the plants I left - to approve of them, like... They're ready to go into the trench.'

  'Heavens, Foley, you can't be gardening at this hour of the night.'

  'Correct, ma'am. I'm on my way back from the Sheep's Heid, down the road. I saw the light was still on and thought I'd better warn you.'

  'Warn me? What about?'

  'I don't want you falling into that trench I've dug.'

  He must be drunker than I first imagined, I thought, and said: 'I'm aware of the trench, I was in the garden when you were digging, when Sergeant Macmerry arrived-'

  'Oh, aye, the policeman. I ken him fine. We play cards together.' His rather contemptuous laugh hinted that he was a better player than Jack. Suddenly he squinted past into the kitchen, as if he thought Jack might still be around. 'It's a nice old place you have here. I often came past in the old days, that would be when you were a wee lass at Sheridan Place. I used to wonder what it would be like inside,' he added giving me a hard look.

  I let that slide. I certainly wasn't taking any broad hints, suspecting already that once inside the house he might be difficult to get out again.

  'Shh.' He looked over his shoulder, held up his hand for silence. 'Did you hear something?'

  'No.'

  'You must have heard it. I did!' And so speaking, he brushed past me and before I could protest he was in the kitchen. He looked around for a moment, then said: 'Mrs McQuinn - I'm being followed. You see, I know who killed that poor lass at Saville Grange.'

  'You do?'

  That pleased him. 'I knew you'd be interested, the way you talked to me about her when you were visiting the mistress.'

  'Yes,' I said vaguely, wanting to get him to the point. 'And now you've found out who killed her.'

  'Oh, aye, I ken him well.' He chortled and, without waiting to be invited, sat down at the table. Looking across, he wagged an unsteady finger at me.

  I remained standing. 'Suppose you tell me then,' I said coldly. I didn't like the way he was making himself at home, sprawled across my table. He was very drunk and I was pretty certain he knew nothing about Molly Dunn's killer and was using that to get into the Tower. My patience was growing thin. I just wanted him out, as quickly as possible. 'Why don't you tell me tomorrow?'

  He thumped his hands on the table. 'No, I want to tell you now! Don't you want to know? You were curious enough before.'

  His suddenly aggressive attitude infuriated me. But perhaps it was better to humour him.

  He didn't know what to make of my silence. 'Have a guess!'

  I shook my head. 'I haven't the slightest idea.'

  That didn't please him. 'They're saying it wasn't that savage bastard after all. The lads in the pub were saying they read in the papers that he didn't do in that circus wife either, Rosie.'

  Rosie indeed! I felt angry at this liberty. No one - not even my own family, except Pappa - ever called me that. 'I think it's time you went home, Mr Foley,' I said, emphasising the 'Mr'.

  Elbows on the table, he glared at me. There was no longer anything servile about this Foley. 'Why don't you listen to what I'm saying?'

  Another thump of his fist that rattled the vase of wild flowers. It rattled the last of my patience too. 'Very well, tell me what you have to.Then will you please go.'

  'Ah, that all depends.' Another sly look and something else that I couldn't quite define.

  'Depends on what?' I asked shortly.

  'On whether you're going to be nice to me-'

  'Nice to you!' I was shocked. I could hardly believe, my ears. The cheek of the man!

  The table was between me and the door. With as much dignity as I could summon, I walked swiftly towards it. But he was there before me, leaning with his back firmly against it.

  'I've had enough, Foley. Will you please get out of here. Go - now!' And turning, I tried to raise the latch.

  I wasn't prepared for him to grab my arm, his face peering into mine. 'Not before you listen to me. Ah, don't be like this, Rosie,' he pleaded. 'You must ken I always liked you, even at Sheridan Place, when you was a wee lassie. Right bonny you were then, still are.'

  He raised a hand to touch my hair and I ducked out of the way. That made him furious. 'You're just like her, aren't you. I thought you'd be different, being married - used to men - and all that.' Another glare. 'This is the way she went on that night. Whenever I wanted her to be nice to me, she'd push me aside - as if I was dirt. Just like you. Well, she did it once too often-'

  I stared at him. I was rooted to the spot as suddenly I realised who 'she' was. Sickened, I knew what he had wanted me to listen to, what he was telling me. 'You killed her. It was you, wasn't it. Oh, my God.'

  He made another grab at me, seized my head between his hands and tried to kiss me. I struggled but my back was against the door. He was a big strong man, his body hard against me. I could smell the sweat on him, the smell of sex.

  Oh, dear God. For a moment I panicked, knowing what he intended. Then I remembered the way saloon ladies dealt with this situation. I raised my knee, thrust it hard into his groin.

  He gave a yell, clutched himself, doubled up and let me go.

  That was all I needed. I opened the door and raced out into the black night.

  But where was I to go?

  Aware of my terrible peril, I thought of the hill.There I was on good ground. I was used to the paths, sure I could outrun him. And I remembered the drunken tinkers.

  But there was no Thane to save me now. Such miracles don't happen twice.

  Darkness was my enemy. I got as far as the trench by the garden wall, began to climb but one of the stones was loose and I stumbled.

  'Got you now, you bitch. There's your grave all dug ready, Rosie, dear,' he yelled. There was something raised in his hand.

  The spade.

  I ducked and slipped, screaming, into the deep trench. As I tried to scramble out, he hit me hard.

  I fell back, stunned.

  There was soil on my face, in my eyes and hair.

  'Help me - please,' I sobbed.

  He was shovelling in the earth as fast as he could.

  I was being buried alive.

  I was suffocating, struggling to free my arms, to clamber out, grasp something solid. But there was nothing, nothing but crumbling soil. Falling on me...

  A faint sound growing louder far above me. Then silence.

  I opened my eyes to a biblical scene of Pharaoh's daughter rescuing baby Moses.

  His basket was moving gently in the bulrushes. Was this what it was to be dead?

  A shadow moved, came between me and the tapestry. I was lying on my bed in the Tower, with Jack bending over me, wiping my face clear of soil with a towel. My jaw ached where Foley had hit me and the grave smell of wet earth was everywhere. In my nose, my mouth. I began to sneeze and choke, unable to breathe properly.

  ‘There, there, Rose. You're safe now,' said Jack.

  I tried to sit up and the room whirled round.

  'Steady on. You had a nasty shock-'

  'Thank God you got there in time,' I whispered. 'Where's Foley? He told me he killed that girl.'

  'Did he now? And he meant you to go the same way,' he said grimly. 'We've been watching him for a while now. You know the rules - when it wasn't the Indian lad, there was only one other logical person it could be. There were plenty of clues, especially the wa
y he insisted we find her killer. The old story of returning to the scene of the crime. A touch of insanity-'

  I sat up. 'I'd love a cup of tea, Jack.'

  He insisted on carrying me down to the kitchen as if I were fragile and might break into tiny pieces. At the table I watched him brew the tea from the kettle already boiled for water to wash the soil off me.

  'Have you arrested him?'

  'He ran off after that dog attacked him, but he won't get far.'

  'What dog?'

  He grinned. 'Your deerhound, I suspect.'

  'How...'

  He put the cup between my trembling hands. 'Drink up and I'll tell you. There was no way we could prove Foley killed Molly Dunn, but we knew he drank a lot at weekends. Then one of the lads in plain clothes who lives nearby was having a drink with him and encouraged him to talk, especially as he had been bragging to his cronies that anyone could get away with murder if they were clever enough to fool the police. He'd also said that lasses like Molly Dunn got what was coming to them.' Jack shook his head. 'This didn't fit the grieving Foley who pounded into the Central Office every other day.'

  He studied me, frowning. 'When I came into the garden today he was digging that trench. You weren't aware of it, but he was watching you. With a look any man kens fine as lust. I realised that our humble gardener fancied you a lot. When I went to the pub tonight he was drinking heavily so I decided to follow him. Instead of heading home to Priestfield, he set off across the hill. It was dark, I lost him and lost my way into the bargain. My one thought was to get to you. I had this awful feeling that you were in danger. And then, as I stumbled about, a very odd thing happened.'

  He looked at me. 'A big dog, your deerhound, appeared. He ran up to me, stopped, ran a few steps ahead, stopped again. Like a dog who wants some fun, wants you to throw sticks for him. But the direction he was heading was downhill, towards the Tower. I ran as fast as I could, but he got here first and by the time I jumped over the wall he had Foley on the ground. I called him off. He just looked at me, wagged has tail as if to say: well, I've got your man for you. Then he loped away back up the hill. I was going after Foley when I heard a groan from the trench, saw a shape half covered with soil-' He shuddered. 'Dear God, Rose, I'll never forget that moment. I thought I was too late. That you were dead. That devil was burying you alive. Oh, Rose-' With a stifled sob he took me into his arms and held me. 'I thought I'd lost you.'

  His kisses were real enough to convince me, but I said shyly as I came up for breath: 'I thought I'd lost you - to Nancy.'

  'Nancy!' He laughed. 'Whatever made you think that? Childhood sweethearts rarely become life partners, didn't you know that? Besides, I'd made my choice, long before Nancy appeared again.'

  He paused. 'You know what I'm saying, Rose.' We kissed again, 'I know. Jack. You can stay, if you like.'

  That's almost all there is to tell. Except that they found Foley in his home. Dead. He'd taken arsenic. If he'd lived, he would have hanged. Poor Foley, despite it all I still had a shred of pity in my heart for a lonely man, unloved and unwanted.

  I wondered if that was what had twisted his life and turned him into a monster. And if anyone would ever discover that sex is a powerful instinct and obsession a form of sickness.

  Howe confessed to his wife's murder. He was in love with a rich woman who wanted to marry him, but he refused to give the police any information regarding her identity. Arrested, he was put in the local jail awaiting trial. And somehow he managed to escape. He just disappeared. It seemed that he wasn't a magician for nothing and this was his greatest performance.

  For a week or two it was sensational news, then all was forgotten and, for Alice, forgiven. Her marriage saved, she was happy again with her Matthew, even insisting that he join a climbing club.

  As for Thane, he comes to the Tower when he feels inclined and I'm happy to see him.

  But I don't try to own him. No obligations. It's the same with Jack. For the moment, anyway, while I prepare for my next case. And until that dream finally fades, the one where I open the door and Danny McQuinn walks back into my life again.

  ###

  There are fifteen titles in the Inspector Faro series available from bookstores and on www.amazon.co.uk. Available on Kindle:

  Enter Second Murderer

  Bloodline

  Deadly Beloved

  Killing Cousins

  A Quiet Death

  To Kill A Queen

  Also available on Kindle in the Rose McQuinn series:

  The Inspector’s Daughter

  Dangerous Pursuits

  An Orkney Murder

  Connect with Alanna online:

  Author’s homepage: http://www.alannaknight.com