Deadly Beloved (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.3)

by Alanna Knight

  "Only if I could prevail upon you to play the Appassionata again," said Faro wistfully.

  Her answering smile was shy but happy. "If that would give you pleasure, of course I will."

  He followed her up to the bare drawing-room and she sat down immediately at the piano. As she struck the first chords, again Faro had the feeling that he was listening to the true artist, the musician who was no longer conscious of him, of the room or, beyond the room, of time itself.

  As he listened, rapt by her playing, he was no longer concerned that Eveline Shaw might be an accessory to murder. With her he too escaped into that boundless enchanted world of the senses.

  As the last liquid tones faded into silence, she sat with her fingers still on the keys, head downbent, unwilling to make that transition back into painful everyday existence with all its attendant cares.

  Faro's applause, his whispered "Bravo, bravo" seemed almost an intrusion and it coincided with jarring reality in the form of screams of rage. Growing ever nearer and more ear-piercing, they took form as a scarlet-faced, square-mouthed monster, hardly recognisable as the once genial baby Barnaby, was carried across the threshold by a frantic maid.

  "Sorry, ma'am, I canna' be dealing wi' him today. Real naughty he is. Just had to bring him home."

  Mrs Shaw rushed to the rescue, seized those waving, clenched fists. "Oh bad, bad Barnaby. Is it your teeth again, my precious?"

  Faro found himself now examining the baby for likeness to Melville Kellar. Certainly the passion of rage before him struck a chord of familiarity. But the baby's continued screams put firmly at an end any immediate possibility of further conversation, or of putting into effect his own subtle methods of trapping suspects into betraying incriminating evidence.

  His eardrums were sorely afflicted by the din, which threatened to be prolonged and immediate withdrawal seemed prudent. Indicating his intention, he called, "Tonight at seven," to which a harassed Mrs Shaw looked over her shoulder and shouted above the tumult, "I will be ready. Thank you." And to the maid, "Please see the Inspector out."

  Faro gladly made his escape, the divine music of Beethoven and the baby's angry yells jostling each other in his head. Annoyed that the visit had been cut short without the least advantage to his enquiries, he was not the man to accept the frustrations of questions unanswered where such information could be readily obtained.

  His way back to the Central Office took him past the rooms of Mrs Kellar's solicitors. Shown the envelope, the clerk at the desk looked through his register and shook his head. "As this was marked private and personal, it would be taken directly to Mr Franklin and would not be entered. I cannot give you any further details," he added severely. "You will need to approach Mr Franklin himself on the subject and he is in Court at Dundee today."

  Making a note to send McQuinn to interview Mr Franklin next day. Faro walked a little further along to Hanover Street and entered the office of Mr Alex Troup. He found that gentleman seated at his desk behind a mountain of documents. Always glad for a chat about hectic events the two had shared in Faro's earlier days with the City Police, he greeted his old friend warmly.

  After a few solicitous enquiries on the well-being of Faro's mother and his two small daughters in Orkney, Alex Troup regarded him quizzically. "I gather this isn't a social call, Jeremy. Is there something I can do for you?"

  "There is indeed."

  When Faro explained that he wanted the name of the buyer of Mrs Shaw's house, Alex Troup regarded him sternly. "You know, of course, that request is highly irregular. Such information is confidential but your visit implies that this is police business?"

  "Yes. A murder investigation."

  Alex Troup went immediately to his files. A moment later he emerged, document in hand. "Mrs Eveline Shaw. The house was purchased in the name of Dr Melville Kellar."

  Faro felt the glow of triumph. He had been right. "And the date?"

  "July of last year."

  "You've been a tremendous help, Alex."

  The date of purchase confirmed all he needed to know. This information was too significant to be written off as coincidence. Kellar had set up Eveline Shaw in the house in Regent Crescent when the son she had borne him was a few weeks old.

  Returning to the Central Office, the report of a break-in at a Princes Street store and the round-up of suspected villains from the notorious Wormwoodhall was to command Inspector Faro's full attention until early evening, driving out all thoughts of the evening ahead.

  At last, he left matters in McQuinn's hands and hurried back to Sheridan Place. Vince had yet not arrived home for supper to be regaled with the new developments.

  Fearing he would be late for the concert, he dressed hastily and declined all but Mrs Brook's excellent soup, much to that lady's displeasure. He was fastening his evening cape and rushing downstairs, when he heard Vince's key in the door.

  "Can't talk now, lad."

  "I'll come with you to the cab stance."

  As they hurried along Sheridan Place and on to Minto Street, Faro gasped out the afternoon's events at the offices of Mr Franklin, ending with Alex Troup's revelations.

  Vince halted in his tracks. "So you were right. Eveline Shaw is Kellar's mistress. I can hardly believe it," he added disgustedly. "Poor Mabel. No wonder she was so desperately miserable, betrayed by her husband and her dearest friend and companion. I wonder why she didn't mention her name to Tiz."

  "I've no idea. Perhaps she didn't want to believe it."

  "That I can well imagine. She was the sort of person who would never believe evil of anyone. It makes my blood boil when I think of that dinner party. All that petting and cosseting — and all the time . . . How could she?"

  "Yes, lad. I've been thinking along the same lines. This new evidence creates a bit of a poser. It doesn't take us anywhere, just creates a new puzzle. She never hinted anything to you? We know that she had her suspicions at Christmas."

  Vince shook his head. "She did nothing but praise Eveline to me, what a wonderful friend. Her sister of the spirit, you know, the daughter she'd never had — all that sort of thing."

  "If she knew, then such an unworldly attitude, so saintly ..."

  Vince laughed softly. "Oh, that was typical of her. Well, Stepfather, when are you going to arrest Kellar?"

  "When we have a bit more evidence."

  "Haven't you got more than enough now?"

  "Only circumstantial, I'm afraid. We still have to find the body."

  "It's too late, Stepfather. You must know that now from Mabel's letter.

  Kellar put the noose around his own neck. We have it in his own words when he bragged to her how easy it would be to dispose of a victim. The young vultures in the medical school will have reduced everything to indecipherable butcher's meat long since. Oh dear God, it's awful, awful," Vince sobbed, leaning against the fence. "She didn't deserve that."

  As Faro flagged down an approaching cab, Vince said bitterly, "I hope you'll enjoy yourself. I'm glad it's not me. I'd hate to have to play the hypocrite and be nice to Eveline Shaw. She's as guilty as Kellar and I jolly well hope they both hang."

  Vince's words remained with Faro. He knew from earlier discussions about the disposal of bodies that even the head, unless required for demonstration purposes, could be dissolved in acid and nothing left but the skull. By the time he reached Regent Crescent he was so sunk in misery that he would have given a great deal to have had some other companion that evening.

  But Mrs Shaw was awaiting him eagerly. Her happiness and excitement were so infectious that he resolved to firmly set aside for the evening the grim realisation that he might be in the company of a murderess. The lovely woman at his side had perhaps entreated and assisted her lover to get rid of the wife who stood in their way, but Faro soon found his self-confidence elated by stepping into the foyer of the Assembly Rooms escorting a lady whose youth and beauty turned every head in their direction.

  Under the fur cloak Eveline Shaw wore a purple v
elvet gown, the fashionable bustle with its titillating glimpse of lilac lace petticoats showed off her tiny waist and exquisite figure to perfection.

  Faro was charmed and flattered. Had she really blossomed out into half-mourning so splendidly on his account? He was heartily glad and relieved to have missed supper in order to change into evening dress, his top hat and opera cape and to take extra care over his own appearance.

  Looking around in the interval, he was acutely conscious of the elegance of the concert-goers. Despite the fact that they and he wore the same correct attire for the occasion, there all likeness ended, for most were strangers to Faro's humble and often violent way of life. He lived daily with danger and sudden death. And here among the lawyers, judges, doctors, engineers, bankers and business men, was a stratum of Edinburgh life he rarely encountered socially and entered only from the professional viewpoint, often warrant in hand.

  Some recognised him and moved away with a hasty backward glance, anxious not to be recognised. Faro smiled wryly. His contact with several of those concert-goers that evening was not one they would wish to acknowledge in public. And yet, listening to the buzz of talk around him, he realised that here they were all momentarily united in their love of music, discussing the programme and Hallé's powerful conducting of the orchestra in the Mendelssohn Hebrides Overture and his Third, 'Scottish', Symphony.

  He found a corner seat and as Mrs Shaw gratefully sipped a glass of lemonade, he answered her question as to how it had all begun for him, this love of music.

  "Many years ago, when I first came down from Orkney to join the police, I was sent here to arrest a Hungarian violinist who had been involved in a fraud case. Until that evening, all the music I had ever known was the Orkney fiddle, the fife, the drum, the clarsach. I had never heard so many instruments, wind, strings, all playing at the same time and making such heavenly sounds. Indeed, it was exactly what I expected of paradise. When I asked what they were playing, I was told it was Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. I was enthralled."

  "Did you catch your criminal?" Mrs Shaw asked gently.

  "No. Not then. I was the one caught that night — caught by a passion for classical music that I have never lost."

  "Did you not have music round the piano at home?"

  "Oh yes. But I had never appreciated that particular instrument until I heard it on the concert platform, in the hands of an expert." He looked at her smiling. "Divinely played, as it is when you play the Appassionata."

  "You are very kind."

  "Not at all. Just amazed that you are not up there yourself on the concert: platform. I feel certain that you did not reach such an amazingly high standard from taking piano lessons."

  She sighed. "I was born into music. My parents were both musicians, the violin and the piano were their instruments. They had hopes that I too would become a professional and my childhood was dedicated to that high goal."

  Her face darkened and she shook her head sadly. "Alas, they both died in a cholera epidemic and I was left on my own at sixteen. The aunt I was sent to in Caithness thought such ambitions far too grandiose for an orphan." She stopped, frowning, as if reliving a particularly painful scene.

  "A pity. Such a waste of talent," said Faro.

  "No, Inspector. It wasn't written for me, omitted from my chapter in the Book of Life, that's all. Anyway, it was very soon afterwards I met Barnaby's father ..."

  Ah, he thought, that careful and evasive phrasing gives nothing away. Before he could probe the subject further, the bell sounded marking the end of the interval.

  Soon both he and Mrs Shaw were absorbed and captivated by Mme Neruda playing the Beethoven Violin Concerto in D. The thunderous applause and cries of 'Encore', were rewarded by a short virtuoso piece and at last the orchestra took their final bow.

  The audience trooped out into the foyer to seek their carriages in the long waiting line extending down George Street and as Faro and Mrs Shaw stood under the brilliant lights from the candelabra, he was aware of admiring glances from young men and envious looks from their partners.

  At his side, Mrs Shaw's eyes roamed constantly, and not in search of admiration, he realised as her hand tightened suddenly on his arm. Thinking she was about to bring someone to his attention, he turned and caught a glimpse of her expression. He was well aware of the miasma of fear after twenty years with the Edinburgh City Police. It was something so tangible, he could almost smell, see, and touch it.

  Mrs Eveline Shaw was trembling and afraid.

  A moment later, he saw the reason. The young man he had encountered at her front door was waiting on the steps. His eyes blazing in fury, left no doubt whom he was searching for. Mrs Shaw hesitated. He leaped up to her, hand upraised. The words he yelled were in Gaelic, but Faro was sufficiently familiar with the language to know that she was being cursed as a bitch and whore.

  Outraged, Faro jumped forward, deflected the blow and was pushed aside.

  "Keep out of this."

  Braver men than the one before him had lived to infinitely regret having laid hands on Detective Inspector Jeremy Faro. Now he raised his fists purposefully.

  "Apologise to this lady, sir," he threatened, "or it will be the worse for you."

  Mrs Shaw dragged at his cape, adding her own entreaty."Keep out of this, Inspector. Please, for my sake." And to the glowering young man, "This is nothing to do with him. Please, Harry. He is just a friend of Mabel's. I beg you, please don't make a scene. Please."

  Suddenly the young man gazed down at her hand on his arm. Although he swept it aside, it had gentled him, like a wild stallion that feels the quieting caress of fond ownership.

  He examined her face, looked deeply, beseechingly into her eyes, like one who searches for an answer.

  "Harry, please listen, my dear," she whispered.

  But the momentary spell was broken and Harry threw off her hand again, this time violently. Turning, he quickly pushed his way through the crowd who had gathered silently, expecting a fight.

  Ignoring stares and whispers, Faro tucked Mrs Shaw's trembling arm firmly into his own and led the way to the carriage that was awaiting them. She said nothing, crouched in the far corner like a hurt animal who wishes only to avoid all physical contact.

  Once or twice on the journey back to Regent Crescent they stopped to give way to the traffic and, under the street lamps briefly illuminating the carriage. Faro saw her expression. Dazed and lost, that was how she now appeared, exactly as he remembered her from the Kellars' fateful dinner party.

  She remained silent until her house was in sight. When the carriage stopped and Faro handed her down, she took his hand limply and said in a small exhausted voice, "Thank you for this evening, Inspector. I am sorry, truly sorry, it had to end in such a way. Please accept my apologies."

  Running up the steps, she opened the door swiftly and hurried inside, as if afraid he might attempt to follow her.

  But Faro was not prepared to depart without the explanation which he considered due to him. Afraid that Mrs Shaw was in danger from the violent young man, before taking his departure he required reassurances, and to offer his protection if necessary.

  He raced up the steps. "Wait. You have no need to apologise."

  She regarded him wide-eyed from behind the half-closed door. "I find myself in a very difficult situation. Harry Shaw gets jealous ..."

  Shaw, thought Faro and said, "He is related to you?"

  Mrs Shaw seemed bewildered by the question. She shook her head, biting her lip.

  "He is an acquaintance then?" Even as he said the words, Faro heard their echoing absurdity.

  Mrs Shaw looked up into Faro's face sadly. "Oh no, Inspector. He is more than that. Much more. He is my lover."

  Chapter 13

  Vince came down early next morning to join his stepfather at breakfast, eager to hear about the concert with Mrs Shaw.

  Faro described the scene outside the Assembly Rooms with Harry Shaw, the young man she claimed was her lover and whom
he had met earlier that day, leaving her house in a temper.

  Vince whistled. "Now that is a surprise, Stepfather. Did Harry precede or succeed Captain Shaw? They must be related. Sounds as if she's got herself not only into a difficult situation but a right old pickle. And where does Dr Kellar fit into this new picture?"

  Faro had much to occupy his thoughts as he walked down the Pleasance that morning and hurried towards the Central Office, where the mystery surrounding Mrs Shaw was beginning to unravel with considerably more speed than he had anticipated.

  He was greeted by a triumphant and jubilant McQuinn. "I've checked on the Caithness Regiment as you asked, sir. There isn't, and never has been, a Captain Shaw. He doesn't exist."

  So the late Captain Shaw who died fighting for Queen and country on the Indian frontier, leaving his grieving widow to bear him a posthumous child, had been a mere invention to appease convention. It raised some interesting speculations. Did this new piece of scandal, to be relished in due course by Edinburgh gossips, have any bearing on Mabel Kellar's murder?

  But the most burning question of all remained unanswered. What part had Harry Shaw played in Mrs Kellar's disappearance? Kellar and Eveline Shaw had an alibi, they had spent that afternoon together. But was it, in fact, Harry Shaw who had been waiting for Mabel Kellar on the train where he had murdered her and helped dispose of her body?

  A tap on the door and the constable on the desk duty gave him a note.

  "Just found this, Inspector. It was handed in yesterday."

  Faro regarded him stony-faced. "Yesterday! When yesterday, may I ask? There's no time stated."

  "It's a new young lad on the desk, sir. When you'd gone home, he probably thought it wasn't all that urgent."

  "He'll remember next time, that's for sure, if he hopes to stay in the police. Impress on your lad that this is an urgent missing persons case. McQuinn is my second and if he is unavailable, then I can be contacted at home."

  The note read: "An errand lad brought a message from Dr Kellar's house. Mrs Flynn requires to see the Inspector only [the words were heavily underlined] as soon as possible."