He thought desperately. Charlie needed money. Well, he should have it, the sooner the better, and Vince was prepared to hand over the money he had been saving for Ma’s birthday present to get him on his way, as far away from Edinburgh as possible.
He would have to confide his awful dilemma to Stepfather, but that would involve the police. He shook his head. No, better not, he had made a promise to Charlie and that at least he must keep.
Faro went off to work across the hill that morning, accompanied by warm sunshine and birdsong. There was a lot of life going on in the heather, as if the small animals hadn’t recognised that summer was over and were still lazily enjoying each day.
In reasonably good spirits to face the daily routine now that McLaw had been recaptured, he wondered what would be next on Inspector Gosse’s urgent list and whether it would allow him to give consideration to his own problem of how he was to fulfil his promise to Mrs Brook and put her mind at rest by finding Tibbie.
However, a surprise was in store, a frenzy of activity. Instead of constables yawning and pretending to work while reading the local newspapers, the station was in an uproar.
Expecting to see a triumphant Gosse basking in the glow of McLaw safely returned and grimly awaiting the gallows, an infuriated Gosse rushed towards him.
‘You’re late, Faro – again.’
Ignoring that, Faro said: ‘Glad to see you’ve returned, sir, after your successful journey.’
‘Successful!’ screeched Gosse. ‘No, it damned well wasn’t successful.’ His face was growing redder and redder as he thumped his fists on the desk. ‘Oh, yes, I got my man – that I did. Except that it wasn’t McLaw. This was the attacker, right enough. The money and the wallet still on him, no doubt about that, didn’t even deny it. But he was not McLaw!’ he yelled. ‘That whole bloody train journey to Glasgow and back was a complete waste of my time and my money, having to stay overnight. Any of the lads could have done it in a day.’
Faro listened in silence, indeed he could not have got a word in had he tried. At last, when Gosse paused for breath, he asked quietly, ‘This is indeed a surprise, sir. What happens now?’
‘The search begins again, that’s what. Oh no, McLaw is not getting away with it. We’ll find him, even if I have every constable searching every corner of the area for twenty-four hours a day.’
That, thought Faro, was a vast undertaking and a complete waste of time, given that if he was wise, and that he did not doubt, McLaw would have left the scene of his lucky escape from the overturned carriage and by now had probably put a hundred miles between himself and his pursuers.
‘He’ll not get away from me this time,’ shouted Gosse, and observing the consternation on the constables’ faces, Faro knew that the same thought was going through their minds. Just another waste of time. But obsessed with the fear of failing to recapture McLaw, his humiliation – and that was one thing his pride would not suffer – Gosse could no longer see straight or recognise the impossibility of what was involved in the task he was suggesting. Listening to him, Faro knew that the inspector had lost all sense of proportion.
He regarded him anxiously. Gosse was going mad, and in his role as senior officer, Faro tried to direct anxious constables into some kind of routine, for the inspector had disappeared, presumably taking a rest before outlining the details of the new search. Considering the list of urgent enquiries and allotting tasks to each constable, Faro listened to their murmurs of rebellion. What sort of fruitless activity was this, as they remembered combing every inch of Arthur’s Seat and the surrounding areas the first time in miserable weather? Were they all expected to do that again with the same hopeless result?
‘Sir,’ they appealed to Faro. ‘Can’t you reason with him? It’s useless.’ And emphasising what he and they already knew only too well, ‘McLaw will be miles away by now.’
By the end of the day, checking in the returning constables and their reports, and after seeing that all was in order, since Gosse had not put in a reappearance, Faro was glad to be going home.
Walking through the Pleasance, his mind now focused on domestic matters, particularly his stepson’s odd behaviour. Those extra helpings, that missing blanket from the clothes line, his willingness to clear dishes away and walk Coll each evening.
Vince, he decided firmly, was hiding someone. But where? There was one way to find out. Following him that evening at a safe distance, he watched him go into the stables after a moment’s hesitation and a quick look round first. As it was too late to confront whoever he was helping without causing consternation, given that Vince’s involvement would upset Lizzie, he kept well out of sight. Waiting until after his stepson returned and the cottage slept, he went across to the stable, entered noiselessly and the sound of deep breathing led him to one of the stalls, where he looked down on a youngish man, his bearded face barely visible beneath Lizzie’s stolen blanket.
So this was Vince’s secret; Faro had a strange feeling of unease. Vince, in common with his mother, took people on face value and believed their stories. In this case he might well have been quite unknowingly giving shelter to a criminal.
Hoping that he was wrong and that this was just some beggar man who had taken advantage of his stepson’s kind heart, he returned to the cottage. Confrontation must wait until morning.
He slept little that night, thinking about the man asleep in the stables and the consequences if he had a criminal record. His thoughts were like a rat trapped in a cage – round and round they went and the circumstances of such an idea were appalling.
Gosse would have a field day if this unknown man had a police record and his hated detective sergeant’s stepson had been assisting a criminal.
At last he fell into an uneasy sleep, plagued with nightmares, to awaken at dawn to Lizzie tapping his shoulder. She had a shawl over her nightrobe and whispered, ‘Wake up, Jeremy. There’s been an accident on the railway line, a man trapped. The constable’s waiting for you downstairs.’
Pulling on his clothes, Jeremy found the beat policeman PC Oldfield waiting. ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir, but we need some help to get the man out from under the carriage and your cottage was nearest.’
It was a long, difficult job and by the time they got the railwayman free, unconscious and bleeding from a shattered leg, and into a carriage heading for the infirmary, Faro had forgotten all about the man hiding in the stables.
That would have to wait till he got home, life and death were the important issues of the day.
Vince had also endured school with considerably less enthusiasm than usual, anxious to get home to see that all was well: that Charlie, to whom he had given all his precious savings, would be away by now and that that he would find the stable empty.
Charlie had other ideas, however. He was sure that there must be money in the cottage. Vince’s father went out every day to work, described vaguely as working in an office. That suggested he was probably a railway clerk with a weekly salary. He would watch for Vince’s mother going out with her shopping bag and then take the opportunity to lift any spare cash, or failing that, jewellery lying about that he could turn into money.
She did not leave that morning. He watched anxiously. Was she ever going out that day? Finally, just after noon, he saw her distant figure taking to the road and made his way hastily across to the cottage. He realised that time was not on his side; if he delayed much longer, then Vince would be home from school and finding his friend Charlie raiding the cottage would not reveal him in a good light. But it had to be faced.
There were unforeseen problems on the horizon.
The first was that Lizzie had only gone a short distance when she realised she had forgotten an urgent letter that Faro had given her to post. She must get it, and with a sigh she turned her steps towards home again.
The second was that Vince, anxious to confirm Charlie’s departure, had managed to skip games. Complaining of a sore throat, he had been excused and was also hurrying homeward.
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br /> As for Charlie, delighted to find the cottage with an unlocked door, he had not been met by the suspicious snarling dog he had feared, instead an eager-to-be-friendly, tail-wagging Coll had welcomed him. Setting to work, ransacking ornaments and drawers for money or some jewellery, he was caught unawares. Behind him the door opened and there was Vince. The boy stared at him accusingly, unbelieving of the scene before him.
‘How could you, Charlie? Stealing from those who have taken care of you. I thought we were friends.’ He pointed to the door ‘Get out – now, before my stepfather gets here and I tell him. He’s a policeman, and if he finds you here, you’ll go to prison for this.’
At that moment the door opened. Ma had returned.
She stared at the two of them, bewildered. Vince went to her side and started to explain. But she pushed him aside, rushed towards Charlie.
Was she going to attack him? But no, Vince could hardly believe his eyes. They were laughing, in each other’s arms, hugging, greeting each other in a strange language he did not understand, with only the occasional anxious glance in his direction.
Having reached his own conclusions regarding the refugee in the stables, Faro’s speedy and unexpected return shattered this scene of joyful reunion.
Vince, Lizzie and, yes, McLaw – it was he, undoubtedly – turned to face him. All looked terrified.
He rushed over, seized McLaw. ‘You are under arrest.’ Regardless of the fact that the man was unarmed, Faro took out the handcuffs he always carried in the deep pockets of his greatcoat and snapped them on with the thought: what a triumph over Gosse. His detective sergeant bringing in this most wanted man and stealing all his glory. He could hardly wait to see his face.
‘Now, you will accompany me back to the cells,’ he said sternly, looking at Vince and Lizzie, the latter shivering, staring at him, and McLaw with terrified, tearful eyes. Seizing Charlie, shaking him roughly, he added, ‘And if you have harmed either of these two—’
‘No, no,’ said Lizzie.
‘You are all right, and you, Vince? He hasn’t touched you?’
Vince nodded, utterly bewildered and unable to work out the scene he had just witnessed: his mother and Charlie, the thief who he thought had been his friend and had betrayed his trust. The two of them, whispering together in that foreign language and glancing in his direction as if he might overhear.
‘Very well, then.’ said Faro. ‘Take care of your mother, Vince. I will be back as soon as I have delivered this wretch to the proper authorities.’
Going to the door, Lizzie rushed between them and stood with her back against it. Faro stared at her. Was she afraid that he could not get McLaw to the cells, that this man, a killer, might harm him in doing his duty?
‘It is all right, my dear.’
She seized his arm. ‘No, it is not all right, Jeremy. You can’t take him – not now,’ and glancing at the handcuffed man, she whispered, ‘Not ever.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Faro asked gently. ‘I am not in any danger, I can look after myself.’
‘Jeremy, Jeremy,’ she regarded him with tear-filled eyes, clutching his arm. ‘You don’t understand. You cannot arrest him.’
This was taking human kindness and compassion too far, even for his gentle Lizzie, who clung to him so fiercely and said slowly, ‘He is my brother.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Faro felt as if someone had thumped him hard in the chest, taken his breath away, as his sense of triumph faded away. He could only stare incredulously at McLaw and then at Lizzie, as the full horror of the situation began to seep through his mind. For one moment only, he thought he was having an absurd nightmare. Yes, that was it. He blinked furiously, the method he had used all his life to bring himself awake from bad dreams. But no, they were still there, three terrified faces staring up at him.
Still keeping the handcuffs on McLaw, he indicated the table with a shaky hand. This dreadful scene with all its terrible implications clamouring already in his brain … it was as if they had climbed a vast mountain and all of them were breathless, exhausted and needed to sit down and gather strength to continue, to face reality.
‘Will someone please explain,’ he said weakly. And while Lizzie and Vince opened their mouths, and, unable to find words, closed them again, he turned to the criminal who was now his brother-in-law.
‘You are McLaw, the wanted man—’
‘I am, sir, but I am not guilty,’ said McLaw firmly. ‘That is why I tried to escape. I haven’t ever killed anyone. I was wrongly convicted of Annie’s murder – no one would believe me, but I am innocent.’
With a gesture Faro cut him short, saying coldly: ‘I have read all the accounts of your trial. You were proved guilty. That is all I need to know.’
‘I did not do it,’ McLaw insisted, ‘whatever the judge and jury decided – I was being sentenced to death for a crime someone else committed—’
Faro held up his hand, shook his head. ‘Justice has been done and I accept the law’s decision.’ He had heard it all before. All murderers said that, denied everything as sentence of death was pronounced.
His head swivelled round to Vince and Lizzie. ‘What I want to know is how my wife and my stepson are involved in breaking the law, sheltering a wanted man,’ he said coldly, and pointing a finger at Vince, he added sternly, ‘I guessed from your odd behaviour that you were hiding something – or someone. Knowing you shared your mother’s weakness for waifs and strays, I thought you’d found a poor tramp and were befriending him.’ He shook his head. ‘Right at the beginning, the blanket off the line supposedly stolen by gypsies should have given me a clue …’ Pausing, he regarded McLaw contemptuously. ‘If my mind hadn’t been fully engaged with all of Edinburgh’s police force on searching for this scoundrel …’
‘Let me explain, Stepfather,’ Vince cut in.
‘Please do, I am listening,’ Faro said grimly.
And so Faro and Lizzie heard a brief account of his meeting with McLaw on the hill outside, discovered by Coll, and his tale of fleeing from a gypsy marriage, overthrown from his horse, his sprained ankle.
‘I made a promise not to tell anyone, Stepfather. I thought it was just for a day or two, but he told me he needed money for his journey to the Borders.’ Shaking his head, he cast a reproachful look at McLaw.
‘Last night I handed him all my savings to help him on his way.’ A helpless look at his mother and stepfather. ‘I believed he was speaking the truth, never doubted that until … until I went to the bookshop again and saw the photo Tommy, Mr M’s cousin, had hung up.’ He gulped. ‘I saw that the clothes Mr M were wearing were identical to those ones which fitted Charlie so badly. They were far too small, and he claimed they had belonged to an old man who died at the gypsy camp.’
Vince drew a deep breath and looked angrily at McLaw.
‘I did some calculations, Stepfather, and if they were correct, then I realised this man I had befriended was Mr M’s killer—’
‘Who is this Mr M?’ McLaw interrupted indignantly. ‘I’ve never heard of him and I certainly did not kill him, either—’
‘Be quiet!’ said Faro, tightening his grip. ‘Proceed, Vince.’
‘That was all I knew, Stepfather. I got off school early and was coming home because I was afraid Ma might be in danger – I didn’t guess he was McLaw, the man all the police were searching for—’
‘Or that you could go to prison for protecting a wanted man and assisting his escape,’ Faro reminded him harshly. Thank God he had been in time, but for the curious and dreadful fact that this man claimed to be his wife’s brother, he might have come home to find them both dead.
Lizzie was whispering to McLaw and Faro said sternly: ‘In English, if you please, so that we can understand. Neither of us speaks Gaelic.’ And to Lizzie, ‘A language you seemed to have conveniently forgotten, like so many other details of your early life,’ he added reproachfully.
Lizzie reached across to take his hand. ‘
Teàrlach – Charlie – is my younger brother, there is only a year between us. We were always close but we haven’t met since I left home’ – she darted an anxious glance in Vince’s direction and added the quick lie – ‘to marry your father.’
‘Poor Ma, you were disinherited for that. Marrying a brave soldier, they should have been proud of you,’ said Vince.
Faro closed his eyes. He hadn’t seen yet another complication – that somewhere now, very close by, lurked the truth that Vince must be told. But Charlie knew and behind Vince’s back Lizzie gave her brother an imploring glance, a warning.
Faro had heard enough. He stood up, dragging McLaw towards the door. ‘You come with me.’
‘No!’ cried Lizzie. ‘I beg you, Jeremy. They will hang him.’
‘In due course, no doubt,’ was the heartless response.
Lizzie stared at him in horror. ‘You cannot mean that, Jeremy. You cannot see my brother hang.’
Faro looked at her coldly, an expression she had never seen in his eyes before. She had a momentary horrid glimpse of that other Faro. The gentle, caring man who was her husband and who she loved with all her heart had been taken over by another image, the cruel Viking warrior who had stormed and conquered Orkney long ago, a transformation she had never expected or would have believed could exist until this moment.
‘Please, Jeremy,’ she whispered. ‘I beg you, please.’
He shook his head. ‘You are forgetting, Lizzie, what I am, what I do, what I believe. That justice must be served, my duty is to protect the people of this city.’
‘Even if it means sacrificing your own family, apparently,’ she said bitterly.
He shuddered at the implication, but went on. ‘That, too, is a sad but inescapable fact.’ And to McLaw, ‘You will be chained up in the stable where you have had so much hospitality until we sort out some family matters. Then your fate will be decided.’
Akin to Murder Page 10
