It began for me the following morning. The Rice carriage rolled up and a distraught Elma leapt out and rushed to meet me.
Barely able to speak, in floods of tears, she gasped out, ‘Oh, Rose, it has happened….’
‘Felix?’
‘Yes. He has died – at last. It’s so awful.’ She shuddered. ‘So much worse than I expected.’
I was sympathetic: although it was inevitable, perhaps she had faith, knowing his indomitable strength, that he would recover from the coma.
‘I had to come and tell you, dear Rose. I am on my way into town to meet Peter. So much for us to do.’ She shivered. ‘Funeral arrangements, mourning clothes – a thousand things to take care of.’
I presumed she had just heard the sad news and this time she did not ask me to return with her, nor was my valued opinion sought regarding what she should wear for this solemn occasion. For which I was truly thankful that she had Peter at her side to see her through the sad days ahead.
She held my hand tightly as I saw her to the waiting carriage.
Kissing my cheek, as I murmured the required condolences, she said, ‘Peter is very upset, as you can imagine.’
‘I met him at the hospital on Friday.’
‘Friday?’ She gave me a stricken glance. ‘The day… oh!’ A frantic nod. ‘Yes, he looked in – I had lost an earring, a diamond!’
Closing the carriage door, she leant out of the window.
‘What on earth were you doing at the hospital, Rose? Nothing serious, I hope.’
‘I was on my way to the infirmary to see an old gentleman I know who lives in the Pleasance. We didn’t speak. Peter was in a great hurry,’ I added.
‘Oh!’ she said non-committally and tapped the window for Benson to start back to Princes Street. ‘I wish I could stay. But there is so much to do. You will excuse me rushing off, dear, and please, please come to the funeral. I need you to support me,’ she said with a wan smile.
I heard the story of Felix’s last hours from Jack that evening. He had died that same afternoon I was visiting Will Sanders. If Peter had just heard, then it accounted for his highly emotional state as he rushed out.
‘I wish he had told me,’ I said to Jack who shook his head.
‘What could you have done, Rose?’ Biting his lip he regarded me thoughtfully in that irritating way; I knew it well, it indicated there was something else he had on his mind and didn’t know whether I should be told or not.
‘Well?’ I said.
He shrugged. ‘It isn’t as simple as that, Rose. There is a suspicion that Felix didn’t die as the result of his coma. For the last couple of days, amazingly, he had been responding, showing faint signs that he was regaining consciousness. A remarkably strong man, Felix Miles Rice, and the doctors were all amazed.
‘Which makes it all the more infuriating that someone murdered him. Despite all our precautions. I’m afraid our police guard, young Hoskins you met, remember, had left the ward for a few moments. Good chap, one hundred per cent reliable, but he had a violent stomach upset. His missus and the children have had it too. Something they’d eaten. Urgently needed the WC, couldn’t wait to search for the ward nurse who was absent doing her rounds.
‘Hoskins was sure it would be all right, quiet time in the wards, patients sleeping, no one around until the visiting hour. He was away for five minutes…five minutes!’
Jack gave an exasperated sigh. ‘That was longer than he intended, but when he returned Felix had stopped breathing. One of the pillows and the bedclothes were scattered on the floor, it looked like a bit of a struggle, and by the colour of Felix’s face, he suspected that he had been smothered.’
‘Then, who killed him?’ I asked.
‘The answer is obvious. Whoever attacked him in the study had been lurking about. The person Hodge saw, for which he paid with his life, also killed Felix.’
There was plenty to mull over and in the Tower Thane wasn’t the only one behaving oddly. Jack was more than ever preoccupied and, what was more unnerving, sometimes I caught him off guard, staring at me in a brooding sort of way. I knew him well enough to recognise the signs. Again, as if there was something he wanted to say and couldn’t find the words.
I was vain enough to imagine that, now he had moved in, he was contemplating ways of broaching the delicate subject of becoming more than a lodger. The more likely alternative – all was not well in the Edinburgh City Police.
Tentatively I mentioned the search for Sam Wild and once again he clammed up.
‘Look,’ I said, ‘I have a major interest in this, you know.’
He gave me an odd look. ‘What makes you say that?’ And his lips twitched as if he was about to laugh at some secret joke.
I was furious. ‘I’m the one who has been threatened, in case you have forgotten.’
‘Oh that! I don’t think you need take that seriously – or consider that you are in danger any longer.’
‘Does that mean Sam Wild is no longer in Edinburgh?’
He shrugged, said coolly, ‘Let’s say that it’s all in hand.’
But I wasn’t prepared to accept this. Determined to have some answers I said, ‘It isn’t good enough, Jack. After all, you did ask my help and now you’re closing the door in my face.’
A vague gesture of dismissal. Avoiding my eyes, he said, ‘Let’s just say there are things I can’t discuss with you at the moment.’
This was Inspector Gray all over again. I was furious. I opened my mouth to protest and as he leant forward he said sternly, ‘Just leave it, will you, Rose? Believe me, I will keep you informed when the time comes. Now to more important matters, what are we having for supper?’
But Sam Wild and Jack’s irritating behaviour continued to occupy my mind. Had Wild been lurking at the hospital, awaiting a chance to murder Felix? How did he know that he was showing signs of recovering? Even Elma did not know that.
It was all completely baffling, especially as my life now felt very disrupted by Jack’s continued presence. He gave no indication of how long he was staying and looking after him made me feel less like a private detective and more like a housekeeper, a role I did not wish to know more about.
When I questioned him, rather pointedly I’m afraid, regarding the progress of the new housing, he said, ‘Slow but sure,’ adding with a mischievous grin, ‘anxious to get rid of me, Rose?’
What I did not know until much later, too late, was that Jack was staying in Solomon’s Tower for a very different purpose.
The trap was set and I was bait. The perfect bait to lure and capture the elusive Sam Wild.
And Jack got his wish.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I bicycled homewards at dusk that day after visiting Rice Villa in the hope of seeing Elma. I felt that I should put in an appearance. After all, even with a devoted twin brother at her side, a bereaved wife might appreciate another female, her allegedly ‘dearest friend’, at such a time.
My visit was in vain. Neither she nor Peter were at home and I gathered from the housekeeper that the mistress and her brother had gone into the city that morning.
They had not yet returned and she had not been given a time to expect them or received any instructions regarding supper.
‘There is much to do,’ she added reproachfully, as if I should be aware of the disruption the master’s death had caused.
I imagined Elma was still shocked and hysterical. Relieved that she had Peter, I hoped she hadn’t heard the grim details that Jack had imparted concerning Felix’s last hours and the suspicion that her husband was showing signs of recovery before he had been murdered.
I bought a loaf of bread in the Pleasance and as I remounted I was suddenly aware of a flat tyre and, to make matters worse, it had begun to rain.
Cursing loudly, for there was not a soul in sight and I still had a mile to walk, I pushed the bicycle without my rain cape which, for once, I had not replaced in the saddlebag; I would be drenched by the time I reached home.
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Head down, I battled on, standing aside to get out of the way of the trotting horse cab. The driver stopped and looked down at me.
‘Give you a lift, miss. Heading for Duddingston to pick up a fare.’ And pointing out the obvious, my already streaming hair, ‘You’re getting soaked.’
I pointed helplessly to the bicycle. ‘Got a puncture.’
‘No trouble, lass. We’ll put it on the back. Where are you heading?’
I shouted up to him, ‘Solomon’s Tower.’
He jumped down, seized the bicycle, attached it firmly and, helping me aboard, he said, ‘Good job I was heading past your way. Don’t get many fares to Duddingston. Last time was the early hours in the morning. Couple of lads, blind drunk, legless. Been to a party. One carrying the other. I gave them a hand inside, hard to decide who was worse; dropped them off by the loch. The one who could still speak said his mate needed fresh air to sober up a bit, as his wife would give him hell.’
He grinned. ‘I got a good tip and nearly got hell from my wife when she smelt the whisky fumes in the cab.’
He refused my tip, nice fellow, said he had been glad to help.
As I rushed indoors and dried my hair, I was excited, almost certain that the two drunks had been Hodge and his killer. Probably ‘legless’ confirmed that Hodge was already dead. And three o’clock was the time I heard a carriage on the road outside the Tower.
I could hardly wait to tell Jack, but what was waiting for me banished all thoughts of that illuminating encounter with the kindly cabbie.
It was almost dark in the kitchen. Thane, lying by the fire, looked up and wagged his tail in greeting.
Laying aside my wet cloak and lighting a lamp, I heard footsteps in the hall.
‘Hello, Jack,’ I called. There was no reply. He hadn’t heard me.
‘Jack,’ I called again. ‘Kettle’s on. Tea in a minute.’
And after washing my hands, I seized the bread knife and began cutting slices from the new sweet-smelling loaf.
Footsteps again. I turned, and in the fire glow, I saw that the figure approaching was too tall for Jack.
In that moment I knew who it was. Who had invaded my home.
I had come face-to-face with Sam Wild.
He was walking swiftly towards me. I couldn’t see him clearly but I thought fast and realised I was not completely defenceless.
I had a weapon – the bread knife in my hand.
The lamp behind him revealed a glimpse of a man’s face scarred on one side, and greying tousled hair.
My heart raced. I drew a deep breath. He was just a few paces away. I raised the knife and lunged forward.
My reaction took him by surprise, but with the amazing speed learnt, no doubt, in the ring at the circus, he swerved aside and the knife aimed at the region of his heart struck his upper arm.
He yelled out. I thought he was going to fall and prepared to strike again as he stumbled, fell forward and grabbed hold of the table’s edge.
I turned, screamed at Thane. Thane who should have been my protector was standing by, an interested spectator to the scene of horror.
‘Do something, for God’s sake, do something!’ I shouted.
Sam Wild straightened up, one hand covering his arm, and looked at me.
‘You always were good with a knife, Rose, me darlin’. Even better than a rifle.’
The greying hair, the face scarred on one side, but the voice. The voice was…
Danny McQuinn. My Danny!
He held out his hands, one covered in blood.
The moment I had yearned for, dreamt of these long years had come…
‘Danny,’ I whispered and knew no more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I was in the armchair by the fire, the kettle singing on the hob. I stirred, opened my eyes. I had been asleep. Dear God, what a terrible nightmare.
Where was Jack? No, this wasn’t Jack.
The man bending over me was my husband, Danny McQuinn, my longed-for dream come true: since my return to Edinburgh, seeing myself opening the door, Danny waiting there, holding out his arms to me, smiling.
Except that this Danny was Sam Wild, a killer.
And he was smiling, that part of the dream at least was true. He was holding out not his arms but a cup of water, a bloodied towel round his arm.
‘Drink this, Rose. You’ve had an almighty shock.’
I drank slowly. This couldn’t be happening. I would wake up properly, really wake up this time after I blinked several times (the way I knew I could rely on to banish nightmares).
But Danny remained. This tall, almost emaciated man with greying hair, the left side of his face deeply scarred, but the right side unmarked, the dark-blue Irish eyes, well-marked eyebrows, the gentle mouth, was my once handsome, beloved Danny. So changed.
I felt tears welling. He stroked my hair back from my forehead, a gesture one would give to a frightened child, a gesture I remembered from days of terror, our lives in turmoil and danger in Arizona.
‘There now.’ He sat back on his heels. ‘You’re all right, my Rose. The sight of blood took you—’
‘Your arm – I’m sorry.’
He shrugged. ‘Just a scratch, nothing to worry about.’ Then he grinned. ‘You’ve gone soft, my Rose. Sure now, and I’ve seen you shooting down renegades and Mexican bandits without turning a hair.’
He looked at me, smiling gently, holding my hand. And I knew that I might have changed but that Danny still loved me. It was all there in his eyes for the world to see. He had lost me and now I was found again.
And suddenly the awfulness of the situation took its grip.
What if Jack walked in any minute? Sam Wild was a wanted man.
‘You’re in danger – they’re out looking for you.’
He smiled. ‘Oh, that fellow I’ve seen, the policeman. Married now, are you?’ He took my left hand.
‘Of course not. That’s your ring, Danny McQuinn. The one you put on my finger more than fifteen years ago. What makes you think I’m married?’ Then I remembered. ‘You’ve been watching us.’
I looked towards the kitchen with its now curtained window, remembered Thane’s odd behaviour. We should have known there was someone out there…
Danny sighed. ‘Sure now, and it was very cosy the two of you looked, just like a happy married couple. I hadn’t the heart to intrude.’
Thane had come over. He had his head on my lap. Danny stroked him absent-mindedly. I looked at Thane and demanded, ‘And what were you doing, Thane, letting a strange man into the house? What kind of a watchdog do you think you are?’
Thane managed a reproachful look and Danny laughed.
‘Thane? Is that your name, now? Sure now, the name for a Scottish noble becomes you.’
Thane looked pleased, with that almost human smile, and Danny grinned, stroking his head. ‘To tell you the truth, Thane and I are friends. I’ve been living rough. Out on the hill there. I was resting in the rain and this dog appeared out of nowhere, gave me a friendly lick and led me to a cave.’
He took Thane’s head in his hands, frowned, ‘Sure now, it’s a strange creature, you are, right enough.’ And giving me a puzzled look, ‘He seemed to know me.’
I hadn’t quite worked it out yet, but I was getting the message of why Thane had deserted Jack and me and spent so much time staring out of the kitchen window.
That was only one answer. Among the many others was how on earth he knew that Sam Wild was Danny McQuinn. Unless he could recognise Danny’s photograph on my dressing table, which I doubted. But nothing about Thane responded to the application of human logic.
Danny straightened his shoulders. He winced and I said, ‘I’ll attend to that arm of yours. I’m so sorry…’
‘It can wait, I’ve had worse. I’m starving, Rose. Haven’t had a proper meal since the soup kitchen at the convent.’
‘I’ll get something. Have some bread meantime.’ I buttered two thick slices, and as he took them like
a starving man, my heart ached with pity.
‘So it was you that scared the life out of the young girl at the convent.’
He nodded. ‘Thought that girl was you when I first saw her working in the vegetable garden. She looked so young, so like you – remember, when you cut short your curls for practical reasons, in our Arizona days? I see they have taken over once more in their wild golden glory.’
And he reached up, twisted a curl around his fingers, a gesture from the past, as he added, ‘Undimmed by the years and very becoming still.’
As I put the hastily prepared meal of scrambled eggs and bacon before him, sliced more bread, he ate hungrily, sometimes pausing, fork in the air, to say, ‘There’s a lot to tell, Rose darlin’. I don’t know where to begin.’
‘Later,’ I said. ‘It can wait. Eat first, while I attend to your arm.’
As I examined and bathed what was fortunately not a deep cut, there was a lot I wanted to ask as well. I needed urgently to know the truth but the clock striking five was like the voice of doom.
It was now completely dark and outside the rain streaming down the window cast its own note of doom.
Jack would be home in an hour. We had so little time. His arm now bandaged, as he drank a third cup of tea, I knew that Jack must not find him here.
Sam Wild was a wanted man, Jack was a policeman searching for a killer, and the fact that Sam Wild was also Danny McQuinn, his ghostly rival come to life, certainly would not endear him to Jack’s heart.
One thing was growing clearer by the minute. I had to hide Danny and somehow get Jack away from the Tower.
But how? And then I thought of that old room upstairs, the secret room Jack and I had discovered years ago. The perfect temporary hiding place and, unless Jack knew Sam Wild’s real identity, he would not have the slightest reason to suspect that Danny was in the Tower.
I would need to take other precautions, keep the kitchen, our usual entrance to the house, locked at all times. This I could explain by telling Jack that it felt safer, and to Elma and Peter the same safety precautions would apply, although I guessed I would see little of them until Felix’s funeral was over.
Quest for a Killer Page 17
