Vince wilted under his stepfather's cold anger. 'I just wanted to try once more. That was all. I was very polite. But this time Wilfred Deane opened the door and said that Rachel was not at home and that if I continued these harassments then they would call the police.'
' Which he was quite at liberty to do if he felt they were being harassed.'
Vince ignored that. 'I argued with him, but I didn't lay a hand on him.' He clenched his fists, remembering. 'I could have choked the smug bastard, smiling at me, daring me to make a move. I called out Rachel's name, hoping she would hear and come and help me. Then the butler took over and between them they threw me out bodily. As for Rachel, she had never showed her face. Not a sign of her. But she was at home.'
'How do you know that?' Faro demanded sharply.
'They were lying. As I picked myself up from the drive, I saw her at one of the upstairs windows. Watching me. Never lifting a finger in protest. That was too much. I'm afraid I assaulted the front door and when no one came, I threw a stone through the window. You know the rest,' he said shamefacedly. 'Dear God, what am I to do?'
'Stay away from Deane Hall, for a start.'
Faro was furious. Anyone but Vince could see with half an eye that the girl no longer cared for him. Whatever motives had led her to that brief infatuation were now over and she deeply regretted her lapse from virtue.
Again he found himself wondering whether some quirk in her mind they did not fully understand had led her to seek an amorous adventure with her grandfather's handsome young doctor.
However, when she realised that his intentions were serious, she had coldly calculated, or had been made by her family to calculate, that she could not possibly exchange her life of luxury and plenty at Deane Hall for something which would seem to her by comparison only a little better than the squalor in which their workers lived.
As Paton's Lane approached, Faro said: 'You were speaking the truth. About the cottage, I mean. At least I've proved that. I've been to Errol for the day.'
Vince looked up, suddenly hopeful. 'You have? Oh thank you, Stepfather. Thank you. Did you see Rachel's old nurse? Did she tell you?'
Faro opened the door of his room. 'Sit down, lad.' It was very puzzling and to avoid arousing Vince's wrath with probing questions he had to proceed with great caution. At the end of his account Vince shook his head dully.
'I think I'll go to bed, Stepfather. Will you excuse me? This has been quite a day and I don't think I'm capable of coherent thought anymore.'
As his stepson left, he embraced him: 'There, there, lad. Don't worry. We'll sort it all out.'
Vince smiled. Thank you. Stepfather. What was it I used to say when I was a little chap? I'll try to be a credit to you.'
'Something like that. Sleep well, lad.'
Putting his head round the door, Vince asked: 'Is it true? Must you go back to Edinburgh so soon?' The question was followed by a look of disappointment and distress when Faro replied: 'Monday afternoon. Sharp.'
Vince swore. 'Now you'll never meet Rachel. Now you'll never know or understand how I adore her. And yet it's just as well. I guessed at that first meeting that you weren't terribly impressed,' he added with a shrewd glance.
'We didn't have much chance to get acquainted,' said Faro uncomfortably, heartily glad that it was unlikely he'd have the embarrassment of a second encounter.
In that as in so many things concerning Vince and Rachel Deane, he was to be completely mistaken.
Chapter Ten
Promises, it seemed to Faro just then, were easy to make and easy to break. However, it was a very shame-faced Vince he met at breakfast next morning.
'I promise not to get into any more trouble, Stepfather. You have my word.'
You have my word. McGowan had said that. Yet only twenty-four hours later he had been back at Dundee Station, pacing the platform, a madman stalking his quarry once again.
Perhaps it would be better to shrug off the whole incident, but Faro's sense of fair play demanded some sort of explanation for McGowan's rash behaviour which had cost him his life.
'How do I get to Groat Street?' And as Vince gave him directions he said, 'I'm hoping to see McGowan's widow.'
'McGowan? The man who was threatening Wilfred Deane?'
'The man who believed that his son's death was no accident and whose daughter-in-law has mysteriously disappeared.'
'I can well see that he felt justified in wishing to kill Deane,' said Vince grimly.
At the door, Faro turned. 'Have you half an hour to spare? Good. Would you care to accompany me?'
In Groat Street they climbed the winding stone stairs of a tenement similar in every way to the one they had left in Paton's Lane.
The door was opened by a young woman in mourning dress.
'I have come to pay my condolences to Mrs McGowan,' said Faro, wondering how he was to explain that he was a detective.
The young woman shook her head. 'Ma's no' very well. She's in her bed. I canna get her to see the doctor and her so poorly.'
Vince smiled and stepped forward. 'Perhaps I can help. I am the doctor at Deane's.'
'Oh sir, would you take a look at her? Her heart has always been bad but this shock of Da being killed—' She shook her head and left the sentence unfinished.
Mrs McGowan lay in the bed in the kitchen recess since the bedroom was occupied by her husband's coffin. Even to Faro's eyes she did look very poorly indeed. As Vince bent over her, he took a seat at the table opposite McGowan's daughter.
'Have you any idea how this dreadful accident happened?'
'All I could get from Ma was that he had someone to meet. He told her it wouldna' take long and that he'd be back for his supper. The next thing she knew was the police at the door.'
Her eyes filled with tears and she left him abruptly to refill the kettle at the kitchen sink. 'You'll both have a cup of tea?'
Vince, having completed his examination, said: 'She is very weak but there is no immediate cause for alarm. Plenty of rest and good nourishing food. I am sure you know better than anyone how to take good care of your mother,' he added with a smile.
The young woman shrugged, pouring out the tea. 'I may not be staying very long. I'm living in Liverpool now. It is just by chance that I happen to be here at all, on the way back from my young sister's wedding.' And glancing towards the bed:
'She's no' my ma. I was married to Charlie McGowan.'
So this was the missing widow.
'Your father-in-law was very anxious about you.'
'I know and I'm sorry about that. You see, I couldn't really tell them. They'd have been that upset. They thought Charlie and me were happy together, but that wasn't the way of it at all. I had already decided to leave him. I went a couple of days before the accident.'
She gave a shrug of distaste. 'He was going with another woman, some lass he worked with and I'd gone back to my lad that I let down to marry Charlie. I left a letter, but he must never have told his folks. Too ashamed, because they thought the world of him.
'I only heard through my sister that he was dead. I got a shock, I can tell you. I didn't want to come here. I was too embarrassed to explain it all. However, when I was home this time, my folks told me that I should come and see the McGowans because they thought something had happened to me. Well, something had,' she added grimly, 'but not what they thought.'
She sighed. 'Now at least poor Pa McGowan will never know the truth about us. I'm glad he's been spared that.'
They left shortly afterwards, Vince promising to look in and see Mrs McGowan again.
'Well, what do you make of that, Stepfather?'
'One missing woman accounted for, and with a simple explanation for her movements.'
'After that, I shouldn't be in the least surprised if the fair Kathleen walks into Paton's Lane hale and hearty one day.'
Faro smiled. 'You will let me know?'
'I will indeed. At least this is one mystery happily solved.'
'One mys
tery that existed only in poor McGowan's mind.'
Was that the answer? Had McGowan meant to fall under that train, thought Faro as he walked to the club where he was meeting Superintendent Johnston for lunch, the one person who might be able to offer some discreet and helpful advice regarding the Deane family. At the end of a meal, with more sirloin of beef inside him than a starving Dundee family saw in a year, thought Faro guiltily, he realised there would never be a better moment to question the now mellow Superintendent.
As they sipped their brandy, he said, 'I wonder if you could give me some confidential information.'
'Willingly, if I can.' Johnston smiled benignly.
'It's about the Deane family.'
Indeed.' Faro felt that a shadow of reserve had come over his friend's manner. 'What was it you wanted to know?' was the cautious response.
'Oh, just something of their family history.'
The Superintendent leaned forward. 'Are your people on to this?' he demanded sharply.
'I'm not sure what you mean.'
'Your special branch. Have they got wind of it?'
'Wind of what?'
Johnston leaned back in his chair with a sigh of relief. 'I'm not sure whether I should talk about this, even to you, although there's nobody I'd trust more in normal circumstances.'
He hesitated before continuing. 'I dare say it will all come out in the not too distant future but the position regarding Deane's is that we're investigating a massive case of fraud concerning the building of the bridge. We're in the very early stages and we don't want to scare anyone off.'
He laughed uneasily. 'It gave me quite a nasty turn when I thought the Edinburgh Police were on to it.'
Faro shook his head. 'No. My reason is rather more personal.'
'I should have realised that. Your stepson, of course.'
Faro broke a silence that threatened to be lengthy. 'Now you've aroused my curiosity, sir. I have always understood that Deane was the soul of respectability, a pillar of society and a public benefactor.'
'So did everyone else, until recently. As you know they have the contract for the bridge. Fought tooth and nail to get it, plenty of competitors too. Even without undercutting everyone else in the field, they were the obvious choice, with their background—the Baron of Broughty and all that sort of thing.'
Again he paused so long that Faro prompted him. 'Do go on.'
Johnston nodded in the manner of a man who comes to a sudden decision. 'Well, things seemed to be fine at the beginning and then there was a series of misfortunes. The bridge was to be finished in two years. Any fool could see that it wasn't possible, but lately there have been a staggering number of accidents.'
'Vince is the factory doctor, so I know something of them.'
'Well, the accidents seem to have been due to shoddy materials and poor workmanship—gantries collapsing, piers sunk without careful knowledge of the rock formation. As you've maybe heard, the Tay is a tricky river at the best of times, subject to violent storms and high winds which haven't helped much.'
Faro smiled. 'I've experienced several kinds of remarkable weather in the few days I've been here.'
Johnston nodded. 'One of our detectives whose nephew was lost decided to take a further look, employing some plain-clothes men as navvies. The things the humble constable has to take in his stride. Anyway, he discovered that the sound materials which had been ordered and paid for had often been replaced by cheaper, less substantial and, indeed, often inferior ones.'
He tapped his fingers against his glass. 'In other words, Faro, someone has been making a hefty packet out of the enterprise. But this is no ordinary fraud, this is tantamount to murder when you consider the lives that have been endangered.'
It was a shocking story and confirmed what McGowan had told him of his son's discovery.
'This man McGowan who fell under the train—'
Johnston nodded and Faro continued: 'He told me that his son who worked in the finance department suspected fraudulent dealings.'
'Precisely. It was from him we received our first inklings.'
'Were you not suspicious then, when he so conveniently met with an accident on the bridge?'
'Of course we were. First the man Simms and then young McGowan. The two prime witnesses in a fraud enquiry.'
'Then why didn't you do something about it?' asked Faro angrily.
'Look, Faro, you know the rules as well as I do. They were both dead and we had nothing yet to prove our suspicions. But if we stormed in with accusations at this delicate stage, we'd alert whoever was guilty. Then Simms and McGowan would have died in vain.'
His reasoning didn't please Faro. This wasn't the way he worked even if there was a kind of logic about it. 'Can nothing be done about the bridge at this stage?'
'Not without tearing down the whole structure and starting again. And we'd certainly never be able to convince the shareholders that we were acting in the passengers' best interests. Or that poorer materials than those ordered had been used and that careless measurements had been made. They would simply laugh at us. After all, they have big money at stake. And that is what counts. Not human lives, Faro. Money and secure investments.'
'But if this goes on and the bridge is ever completed, you realise the danger. A trainload of passengers. My God, to sit back and do nothing is quite unthinkable.'
'We could all be wrong, you know. It is maybe not as serious as it sounds. We can do nothing meantime but if this fraud is proved then we will certainly insist that the work so far be properly reinforced to make it doubly secure.'
'Let us hope that it isn't too late and that your bridge isn't already doomed.'
Johnston frowned. 'Of course, it will cause a lot of bother. Delaying completion for a few more years will greatly distress the shareholders.'
'Damn the shareholders. What do their feelings matter when the whole bridge may fall in the first storm and take a full passenger train with it?' Faro shuddered. 'Dear God, it doesn't bear thinking about.'
'We've already been warned about that.' A moment later Johnston added casually. 'Not psychic by any chance, are you, Inspector?'
'Not that I admit to.'
'Then you needn't worry. My mother was Highland and I get the odd quiver now and again. One of our famous citizens was the Seer of Gourdie.'
'Yes, I've heard of him.'
'He was remarkably accurate about his own and other people's lives, foretelling his own death and other major, less personal events.'
'And he predicted that this rainbow bridge would fall. I heard about that.'
Johnston nodded. 'Of course, everyone laughed at such an idea. Took refuge in the knowledge that old Patrick Matthews was born in the eighteenth century. What could a man with old-fashioned ideas possibly understand about the marvels of modern progress and science?' Johnston paused and regarded him grimly. 'I just hope he's wrong.'
'And if he's right, that there's no train going across at the time it falls,' Faro repeated in worried tones, for the enormity of Johnston's revelations had thrust all else aside.
While the waiter replenished their glasses, Johnston asked: 'How is your stepson today? Has he recovered from his temporary experience of police hospitality?' he added with a grin.
'I hope so. I gave him a good talking to and extracted a promise that he would keep away from Deane Hall.'
Johnston sat back in his chair. 'Poor lad. If it isn't too late I'd implore him to steer clear of Rachel Deane. Forget about her.'
'How so?' demanded Faro sharply.
The Superintendent shrugged. 'Because the lass isn't—well, stable, let's say. She has a family history of mental illness, her mother and father were first cousins and Mrs Deane committed suicide while the lass was still a bairn.'
'One of my friends, Tom Elgin, whom you may remember, told me about that when I was visiting him.'
The Superintendent nodded. 'As is often the case in these close-knit families, they waver between producing brilliant sons and simple
tons.'
'Do you know Miss Deane personally?'
'We've visited the house socially through the years. And I've never been left with a very good impression. Rude, wild, and liable to throw the soup at the maid if it didn't please her. The kind that makes you grind your teeth and if there wasn't the excuse of some kind of mental disturbance, then you'd be tempted to take the hairbrush to her backside.'
'Has she ever been under restraint?'
'You mean put away? No, that possibility has never been raised. Not strictly necessary in her case since she has never been a danger, so far as I have heard, to anyone but herself. If she'd been in poorer circumstances there might have been some reason, but fortunately for her, Deane Hall is a big place. When she has these erratic outbursts from time to time, I gather she can be effectively put under restraint at home.'
'But this girl is the heiress, the whole of Deane's fortune comes to her as the only offspring.'
That has been taken care of. Wilfred Deane, her second cousin, is in charge of the family finances and in fact is virtually top man since Sir Arnold's illness. He wants to marry her. Did your stepson mention that?'
'No. First I've heard of it.'
'Well, give the girl her due, she is not to be pushed into marriage either. Just as well,' said Johnston.
'You mean—'
'If this embezzlement businesses proved, Wilfred Deane is likely to be spending some years behind bars.'
What an unholy mess. Faro walked back to Paton's Lane feeling considerably upset. How could he tell Vince that Rachel Deane had obviously escaped her supervised seclusion in Deane Hall only long enough to indulge her appetite for romance? Perhaps any man would have done just as well. The butler for instance.
But how to tell his lovesick stepson that his first great love, the consummation of his passion, had been with a girl with a family history of madness. A girl he could never hope to make his wife, even if she had not denied ever knowing him.
A Quiet Death (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.5) Page 9
