Deadly Beloved (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.3)

by Alanna Knight

  Chapter 4

  A great believer in the thought-clarifying powers of fresh air, on leaving the Kellar house Faro decided to walk around the extensive gardens. A grating burst of sunshine had temporarily demolished the leaden skies, turning untrodden snow and delicately frosted hedgerows into a semblance of winter fairyland. There was warmth on the sheltered paths and above his head birds twittered in a hopeful prelude to spring.

  He breathed deeply, enjoying this blissful moment between the acts of winter's cruel drama, for he had little doubt that the heavy skies above the Pentland Hills foretold yet another snowfall was imminent.

  How was Vince faring, he wondered, delighted that the lad would soon be home again. It had seemed a curious time to choose for a brief holiday at an asylum for consumptives in the Austrian Alps. One of the resident doctors had been Vince's close friend during University days and, Faro remembered, Walter had a very pretty sister.

  He leaned against a tree in the sun and lit a pipe. Surrounded by so much beauty, the subtle varied shades of umber and heliotrope and rose, he could never understand why people thought of winter as being the drab dead time of year.

  Looking across at the house, for the first time he envied the lot of those who could live in such comfort and enjoy splendid gardens of their own, akin to a small park. If he ever retired from the Police, or escaped the hazards of grievous bodily harm that threatened him almost daily, then he would crave a tiny house with a garden.

  Suddenly the years ahead seemed very bleak. His ancestors had been Orkney crofters, perhaps their blood unsettled him from time to time. Why had he chosen this violent, unpredictable life of fighting criminals? Had it begun originally in order to avenge his policeman father who had been murdered for getting too close to the truth?

  Whatever his reason., it was too late to go back now and he was once more committed to solving yet another of those baffling mysteries that were his daily bread, of trying to get inside the criminal's head and walk around in his skin for a while, in an effort to piece together motives and opportunities. In this case, however, he suspected that there was no evidence of any kind beyond a domestic tiff.

  The vital question remained. Was Kellar making too much of his missing wife? Had she merely absconded to teach her husband a lesson? Did he suspect that too?

  Faro smiled grimly. Anyone less important than the police surgeon would have received a rude reception, told by Superintendent McIntosh not to be so daft and waste his precious time sending his senior Detective Inspector off on a wild goose chase.Walking towards the gates, he would have been inclined to agree except that his visit to the Kellar home had left some disquieting observations to mull over on his return to the Central Office.

  First, the missing carving knife. Since cutlery had a habit of being mislaid or misappropriated in the best of houses, there was perhaps a perfectly innocent explanation. Mrs Flynn, uncertain of where everything was kept, had slipped it into the wrong drawer. But Ina, who was responsible for the washing up and stowing away of dishes had seemed so sure.

  Faro would have liked to discuss the matter with Mrs Flynn but a tactful approach was needed, one that wouldn't involve getting Ina into trouble with her employer. Dr Kellar's displeasure, rebounding on the housekeeper would, in the pecking order of such establishments, descend upon the hapless maid as everyone's scapegoat.

  Why did that carving knife bother him? Was it because he kept on hearing Vince's words about plunging it into Kellar's black heart for his treatment of Mabel?

  Faro was glad his stepson had been out of the country when she disappeared. He didn't care for the idea of Vince being associated, however remotely, with the police surgeon's absconding wife. In what must inevitably become known in Edinburgh circles as 'the Kellar scandal', even the innocent friendship of a very young man and a misunderstood middle-aged wife would be seized upon eagerly as a tantalising morsel of delicious gossip.

  Yet even more disquieting than the missing carving knife was the picture that persisted of Mrs Kellar's bedroom and the feeling that there was something important he had overlooked. Deep in thought, Faro had almost reached the gates when a brougham approached. The familiar face of Dr Kellar leaned down from the driving seat, and Faro cursed under his breath, wishing he had made his escape two minutes earlier.

  "Looking for me by any chance, Inspector?"

  Pocketing his pipe, Faro nodded vaguely.

  "I thought you might be paying me a visit, despite McIntosh being in possession of all the facts." And tapping the Inspector's shoulder with his whip, Kellar said, "No need to apologise. I haven't worked with the City Police for years without knowing all about the keen noses of detectives. In search of clues they could, and frequently do, put bloodhounds to shame. Have to visit the scene of the crime and all that sort of thing."

  "We don't know that a crime has been committed, sir," said Faro sharply.

  Kellar was unperturbed. "A mere slip of the tongue — a figure of speech. I should have called it 'the last known sighting'." His laugh was light hearted, causing Faro to study him intently. If this was a guilty man, then he was behaving with considerably more aplomb than one might have presumed normal in the circumstances.

  "Well, what are you waiting for, man?" Kellar indicated the seat alongside. "Climb up. Come along to the house. Search the place to your heart's content."

  "At present we are merely investigating a disappearance, sir. Proceeding along the usual lines, beginning with relatives — "

  "You are wasting your time. Her sister and her uncle know nothing," Kellar interrupted.

  "Then there are the hospitals."

  "Hospitals?"

  "You will have already consulted their recent admissions lists?"

  "Of course not. Why should I? What on earth for?" was the indignant reply.

  Faro looked at him sternly. "Suppose Mrs Kellar has been injured and has lost her memory. Or had an accident and was pushed from the train. Surely such possibilities have occurred to you?"

  "What nonsense. Absolute rubbish," roared Kellar.

  Faro thought for a moment before replying. "Then you believe that your wife is unharmed and that her disappearance is deliberate." When Kellar stared at him blankly, he continued, "If that is so, Dr Kellar, then you realise that you are putting a great strain on a police force already overburdened and that your action is hampering the investigation of serious crimes."

  "I am merely taking precautions I deem necessary, Inspector Faro," shouted Kellar, pointing again to the carriage seat.

  "Come along. Search my house. I have nothing to hide."

  Tempted, Faro hesitated and Kellar smiled grimly. "Ah, I see I'm too late and that you've searched already. Find anything interesting that I should know about?"

  "A search of the premises is hardly necessary. Or proper, sir. Not at the moment," Faro reminded him.

  "Not at the moment," Kellar seized upon the words and repeated them slowly. "Now that does sound ominous."

  Suddenly anxious, he leaned over staring down into Faro's face. "Surely — surely to God, I'm not under suspicion. You can't think I — I — ?" Words failed him and observing with growing horror Faro's stern expression, he shouted, "That is absolutely ludicrous, Inspector. I yelled at her, and in company, as you are aware. But then I do so frequently — and she has never seized upon this as an excuse to leave me."

  When Faro didn't reply, he said angrily, "I don't like your suspicious look, Inspector, indeed I do not. It offends me deeply." And thumping the whip against the seat, "My God, this is beyond a joke. I thought I had convinced McIntosh that there was a perfectly natural explanation for my wife behaving as she did and she will return home eventually."

  "Then why did you insist on an enquiry, sir?"

  "Oh, I don't know. To teach her a lesson. I was confused and angry. I thought it was my duty to regard the matter as one that should be investigated — discreetly — just in case she had met with an accident — then my tardiness would pose a question in
some quarters — "

  "Then tell me, sir," Faro interrupted. "Why are you objecting to our enquiries? Had you some suspicions of your own regarding her whereabouts which you haven't imparted to Superintendent McIntosh?"

  "What kind of suspicions?" Kellar demanded.

  "Well, let us say, you suspected that your wife's destination was not North Berwick with her sister. That she perhaps had some other — well, assignation."

  Kellar stared at him. "I haven't the least idea what you mean. What the devil are you implying, Faro?"

  Faro sighed. "To put it delicately, sir, was there any possibility that there was some other man involved."

  "You mean a lover. My Mabel?" Kellar's head shot back, his mouth open in a roar of mirth. Then suddenly sober, he leaned over, his face inches away from Faro's. "My wife worships the ground I walk on. There never was and never will be another man for her."

  And so, since time began, has every cuckolded husband believed, thought Faro grimly.

  "Get this into your head, Faro. I've told you all the reasons why I mentioned her disappearance. But between ourselves, I haven't the slightest doubt that once she has come to her senses and realised that this is a joke in very poor taste, she will come back to me."

  So that was it and Faro felt sudden anger. A discreet private investigation, McIntosh had called it. None of the usual sources which would bring Kellar into the public gaze. Not out of natural caring and anxiety for his wife - oh no. Kellar probably didn't give a damn whether she had gone or not, but his lack of interest might be misinterpreted. A blot on his reputation as a devoted husband, a model citizen, and there might be second thoughts about the knighthood.

  Faro regarded him with ill-concealed distaste. He had had quite enough of Dr Kellar. "I trust your assumptions are correct, sir. Now if you'll excuse me."

  Back at the Central Office, Superintendent McIntosh was eagerly awaiting Faro's arrival.

  Ushering him into the office, McIntosh closed the door. "Look at this, Faro." On a side table were the remains of a parcel of large dimensions, its brown paper wrapping disintegrating, sodden and wet.

  Slowly the Superintendent drew out what appeared at first glance to be the limp remains of a dead animal, its fur sticky with mud. Watching Faro's face, he lifted it carefully and shook out the folds to reveal a fur cloak, a once-treasured possession, soft as a caress, cared for as the most exquisite and valuable garment in any well-to-do woman's wardrobe. The fur was sable with a black cape. Its ruin was not mud as Faro had first thought. A closer look was enough to reveal that it had been soaked in blood.

  "Where . . . ?"

  "Just brought in, Faro," said McIntosh excitedly. "Found beside the railway line near Longniddry Station. May have lain under the snow for a while. The railwayman who handed it in happened to notice that the melting snow had turned pink. He thought at first it was a dead cat." Touching an area of the fur less bloodied, McIntosh added, "Looks expensive, doesn't it. Not the sort of thing one would throw away without good reason. Any ideas. Faro?"

  "One or two, sir. I think you'll find that it belongs to Mrs Kellar."

  "Mrs Kellar!" McIntosh gave a yelp of astonishment. "Mrs Kellar! How do you know that?"

  "Because I've just been to the Kellar house and this answers exactly the description of what she was wearing when she left the house for North Berwick."

  "You're sure?"

  Faro examined the furrier's label. There weren't many who could afford such a couturier. "Tracing the owner shouldn't present any difficulties and I think we'll find that was specially made for Mrs Kellar."

  McIntosh sat back in his chair and rubbed his hands together. "Well now, if you're right, that's an extraordinary stroke of luck."

  Faro gave him a sharp glance, surprised by his insensitivity. Whoever had last worn this cloak — and if his assumptions were correct the last wearer had been Mrs Kellar — had run seriously out of luck.

  "The railwayman thought it might have fallen out of a passing train."

  "More likely to have been thrown out," said Faro.

  "Well, whichever, it's been hidden by the snow." McIntosh thought for a moment. "If it belongs to Mrs Kellar then it could have lain there since she disappeared. Nice piece of fur. I suppose we were lucky to have it handed in at all."

  Faro was turning the cloak inside out. "Extensive staining here too. Look at the lining."

  "No doubt that was the real reason for the person who found it not being keen to keep it."

  "All we need is the weapon ..."

  "Oh, I think we have that too," said McIntosh with a grin, and from under the brown paper, with the air of a magician producing a rabbit from a hat, he dramatically withdrew a large knife. "This was wrapped inside the fur."

  Faro held out his hand for the knife. Without a second's hesitation, he said, "These are undoubtedly bloodstains."

  The information slowly dawned on the Superintendent. "My God, Faro," he whispered, "you realise what you're saying. Someone murdered the police surgeon's wife. There'll be all hell to pay over this. If we can only find where this knife came from," he added.

  "Oh, I can tell you that too."

  "You can?"

  Faro nodded."Yes. As a matter of fact, we've both seen the murder weapon before and fairly recently."

  McIntosh stared at him. "We have?" "Oh yes, and fairly recently. At Dr Kellar's dinner party the night before his wife vanished."

  Faro studied his superior's horrified expression with the grim satisfaction of knowing, without the least doubt, that what he held in his hand was one of a pair missing from the dining-room which had been used to more gruesome purpose than the carving of a ruined lamb roast.

  Chapter 5

  Superintendant McIntosh was put out of countenance by the enormity of the discovery of the fur cloak and the carving knife. Only a half-wit could now presume they were searching for an absconding wife when all the evidence pointed indisputably to the fact that Mabel Kellar had not only disappeared, but had been foully murdered.

  Worse, suspicion might now be reasonably directed to the personal involvement in the crime of Edinburgh City Police's surgeon. Fearful repercussions were anticipated by the Superintendent when this disclosure was made public. Such circumstances demanded that Dr Kellar be confronted, on what McIntosh called neutral territory, to give a good account of himself, if that were humanly possible.

  "Tactfully, you understand, Faro.Very tactfully.You can talk around it, you know the procedure well enough," he said hurriedly, as was his way when he wished to rid himself of an unpleasant duty. "See if he has any ideas about how his wife's bloodstained fur came to be found on the railway line."

  Faro smiled grimly at this somewhat naive method of approach. The evidence was overwhelming and had it been any other suspect than Kellar, doubtless policemen and the jail coach would already be bowling towards Surgeons Hall. Led by Detective Inspector Faro, the doctor would be questioned and if there were no satisfactory answers, then a warrant would be presented for apprehension on suspicion of murder. Considering the importance of the suspect and his unique role with Edinburgh City Police, Superintendent McIntosh seized his greatcoat and, more grim-faced than usual, decided to accompany his Inspector and be present at the interview.

  A carriage bore both men rapidly towards Surgeons Hall. They travelled in silence as the thought hung unspoken and uneasily in their minds that they were already too late. Dr Kellar, aware of the damning discovery at Longniddry, might well have taken prudent flight.

  It was almost with surprise that they met him emerging from the lecture hall. He did not seem in the least concerned at this unexpected visit.

  "Is there somewhere we can talk, sir?" asked Faro.

  "In private, if you please, doctor," added McIntosh sternly.

  Kellar nodded and opened the door into a rather dark study with all the comforting atmosphere of a bleak and draughty station waiting-room on a cold winter's day.

  Motioning Faro and McIntosh to
wards two woefully uncomfortable wooden chairs, he perched on the edge of the table and for the first time he seemed to notice the parcel under Faro's arm, now re-wrapped in fresh brown paper. Sighing, he said heavily, "Well, gentlemen, I suppose it's about Mabel, isn't it?"

  Faro looked at him in amazement. Did he already know what the parcel contained and, if so, was he about to confess? If he did, this would be one of the most remarkable cases on record, with very little detection involved: confession upon confrontation before any accusation could be made. Such a situation was not unknown, especially in a case of crime passionel but Faro had expected the police surgeon to be made of stronger stuff, to be wily and evasive.

  Dr Kellar stabbed a finger in his direction. "Go on, Faro, out with it."

  Faro noted the uncertainty. He had been mistaken about the confession and said, somewhat awkwardly, "Thank you, sir." This was not an interview that he relished.

  "God knows what I expected," he told Vince later. "Sobs and screams of rage. When you consider how he could take on about a burnt roast and yet the same man could receive with complete aplomb the almost positive proof that his wife had, in all probability, been dismembered with the same carving knife he had used that Sunday evening."

  Faro was aware that the Superintendent was also watching Kellar's expression intently as he unwrapped the parcel and shook forth the bloodstained cloak and knife.

  A faint groan hissed out of Kellar, his visible signs of discomfort were that his face paled, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the table.

  He made no attempt to touch the stained fur which Faro spread before him. "I want to see the label," he demanded. When this was revealed, he nodded. "Yes, there's no doubt about it. It belongs to Mabel. The knife?" He shook his head. "It is not unique. I believe you would find one exactly like that, in my dining-room."

  "I'm afraid, sir, we have no option but to treat your wife's disappearance as a murder investigation," said the Superintendent, clearing his throat in some embarrassment.