At first I thought that Theodore would ignore him as he had Downs, but being asked about music only impelled his crazed enthusiasm. His awkward voice even turned bright.
‘Oh, there is so much to this little devil! This is one of the oldest instruments known. It belonged to Antonio Stradivari; he used it as one of the models for his violins, when he was perfecting his craft. You may say that this is the father of the Stradivarius violins!’ Wood was literally smacking his lips when he said that. ‘Then it belonged to Paganini; the most virtuoso violin player in history! Of him you’ve heard, I assume.’
‘Aye,’ McGray said, looking at me in mockery. ‘O’ him I’ve heard.’
‘When Paganini went bankrupt and he had to auction all his instruments, he only kept his most precious violins: this one and his very famous Canon Guarnerius. That violin gave an explosive sound during his concerts, but apparently he only played this Amati in private.’
McGray frowned. ‘Why was that? D’ye ken?’
Theodore shrugged. ‘No, nobody knows. Some say it’s because it has a very dark, kind of breathy sound. Look carefully; the waist is slightly wider than that of a normal instrument, so it does sound a bit graver – up to this day that sort of sound has never been in fashion. Others say that Paganini was so in love with its tone that he reserved it for himself … Now I’ll want to believe the latter! ’
His long, bony fingers plucked the strings as he spoke. Each time the violin trilled Wood would inhale deeply, as if the sounds were the dashes of an exquisite fragrance.
Poor Theodore is mad, I thought as I saw him crouched by the fireplace, his eyes staring at the instrument with an intensity that was almost sickly.
‘Well, my job here is done,’ Downs sighed, visibly tired and quite bored of Wood’s chatter. ‘Inspectors, do you mind if I leave?’
‘Not at all,’ I answered, and Downs shoved the signed documents into his briefcase.
I turned to him. ‘Mr Downs, do remember we would like you to let us know before you give the violin to Miss Ardglass. We need to be pre–’
Then we heard a sharp plucking sound and Theodore letting out a piercing shriek.
I turned around swiftly and found him on his knees, covering his face with his right hand. Trickles of blood ran between his fingers, and a red splash had stained the fireplace. He’d dropped the violin and I saw it lying on the carpet, one of its strings broken and bloody.
‘Dear Lord!’
I kneeled down and gently tried to pull Theodore’s hand from his wounded face. The poor man was shaking and moaning.
‘The-the … the string snapped,’ he stammered.
‘Easy, easy,’ I said in a soothing tone, but I knew I looked as appalled as McGray and Downs.
Finally, Theodore lowered his hand. I retched when I saw his left eye tightly closed: the skin of his eyelid was soaked in red.
‘Did it hit the eye?’ Downs gasped.
‘Dear Lord!’ Theodore cried again. ‘It burns!’
‘Easy, easy,’ I insisted, looking closer. Theodore’s skin had two straight rips; apparently the string had missed his eye socket – barely. ‘It looks like it just hit you in the cheek and eyebrow. I need you to open your eye to check.’
‘No, no! It burns!’ he kept yelling. ‘It burns! ’
‘You have blood in your eye,’ I said, ‘that is why it burns.’
I was not so sure about that, but we had to know whether he needed proper medical care or just to wash his wound. I thought I could carefully open the eyelid, but Theodore jumped as soon as my fingertips came in contact with his skin. Then he crawled, whimpering, towards a corner, where he curled up like a foetus.
Nine-Nails leaped forward, and nearly stamped on the violin as he tried to reach Theodore. He grabbed him by the arms and lifted him effortlessly.
‘Laddie, we’re trying to help. I ken yer in pain, but …’
Theodore would not calm down, so McGray simply pressed him against the wall with one arm and held his head with his free hand.
‘Do what ye have to do, Frey.’
In other circumstances I would have been appalled, but that was no time to hesitate. As gently as possible, I pulled the skin of the cheekbone and eyebrow.
‘It bu– it burns …’ Theodore moaned.
I faltered for a moment, but finally managed to open his eye. I saw the white of the eyeball, and for a horrible instant I expected the worst.
Theodore blinked a couple of times, still panting and horrified, but then his pupils began to move all around.
‘I … I-I can see.’
We all let out a sigh of relief.
‘That’s great, laddie,’ McGray told him, letting go of him. ‘Sorry about that, but we had to check.’
Theodore nodded nervously. The skin around the cuts was already swelling.
‘You should wash your face,’ I said. ‘Your eye is fine, but we still have those wounds to attend. Mr Downs, can you help him?’
‘But of course!’ Downs said immediately, offering his handkerchief to Theodore. ‘Come on, lad. We’ll give you a good rinse.’
I was going to follow but Downs shook his head. ‘It’s all right, Inspector. I have seen many a wound,’ he said as he helped Theodore out of the room.
As soon as they were gone, McGray kneeled down by the violin, looking fascinated. ‘Who would’ve thought the strings were so bloody tense?’
‘I think they have to be,’ I said, ‘to give the right tones.’
‘How … interesting.’
‘You already think that the bloody thing is cursed, do you not?’
McGray arched his eyebrows, the wrinkles above his forehead deepening. ‘Perhaps … but I cannae prove it. Not yet.’
He picked up the violin with extreme care. Anyone would have said that he was touching gunpowder. The glass of the carved lion’s eyes reflected the flames in the fireplace, and for a moment it looked as if the wooden head was blinking.
‘Now … whatever angered ye, lil’ boy?’
‘Do not – do not talk to the violin.’
‘Why not? It may have interesting things to tell us.’
For a moment he seemed all seriousness, but then he grinned sardonically and I lost my temper. ‘Oh, give me that!’
Just as I snatched the violin from his hands, a second string snapped.
It must be in place by now … together with my little present. Placed so well!
And yet it feels so long, so painfully long, waiting here, squatting like the dogs do.
Soon … soon … soon …
13
‘Agnes! Agnes! ’
‘Aye, master?’
‘What the hell is this?’
‘Yer suit, master. I mended it.’
‘You said that nobody would notice it was torn!’
‘Aye, and ’tis not torn no-more. Don’t ye see the stitches?’
‘I bloody see them, woman! It looks as though you were stitching a stuffed ham!’
‘But master …’
‘Oh, shut up! And take the damn thing out of my sight.’
‘Don’t ye want it? Can I keep it for my husband?’
‘Keep it, burn it, use it as a mop, but do not touch my clothes ever again! Understood?’
‘Aye master.’ Then Agnes grabbed the suit with greedy hands. I would also need to find a proper launderer. I could not believe that I was missing Joan more than I did my own father.
That morning Campbell summoned me to his office. I had been working on the case for two full days – which in fact had felt like two weeks – so it was about time to deliver my first report.
Campbell interlaced his fingers and looked at me as quizzically as on the first day. ‘Well, Frey? What news can you tell me?’
‘The main thing, sir, is that this is definitely not the work of an imitator.’
‘Oh, are you certain?’
‘Indeed. I can tell that the person we are after is definitely not trying to emulate. The modus operand
i is totally different; so is the victim. Jack’s killings came out of pure sadistic pleasure, and an imitator’s work would have the same taint. There is no such thing in this case; it is clear that the murderer acted with some purpose, as a kind of ritual. We are seeking somebody well versed in the occult.’
‘Good, good. What else can you tell about the killer?’
‘There are a few things we know for certain. We are looking for a slender, agile person; one able to access the room through the chimney. That immediately discounts Fontaine’s maid.’
‘Good. I had my doubts about her too.’ The man’s jaw seemed only a little less tense when he said that. That probably was the way he showed his approval. ‘Even if this was not an imitator, you must be as careful as before. This must not leak to the press. You know that these journalists do not look for the truth; they build a saleable story and then just try to find ways to support their twisted tales.’
‘I understand, sir.’
‘Good, good. I shall leave you to it. Do you think it is possible that we shall see more deaths like this?’
‘That I cannot tell … We are not certain of the actual nature of the ritual; it might as easily be an isolated event. Whichever the case, I assure you I will make my best efforts to find the murderer as soon as … as soon as McGray’s eccentricities allow.’
Campbell’s eyes opened a little wider. ‘Oh! Is he being an obstacle?’
I could only think of the whole morning wasted reading pathetic witchcraft books.
‘I will be entirely honest, sir. Things could move a lot faster without having him in the way. Today, for instance, he has scheduled a meeting with a gypsy clairvoyant.’
Campbell meditated, and for a moment I was innocent enough to believe that he would support me. ‘Unfortunately, things must stay the way they are, Frey. McGray could not be a better smokescreen.’
‘I do understand that, sir, but if at least I could move with autonomy rather than being tied under his authority –’
‘Is this really about the case, Frey? Or is it merely your inability to act as a subordinate?’ I hesitated one instant, which was enough for Campbell. ‘Things seem to be moving at a good pace, so I see no reason to change this arrangement.’
‘Sir, with all due respect …’
‘You mentioned that the murderer appears to be an expert in the occult, did you not?’
‘Yes, but …’
‘Then McGray will be of some help. I doubt you have that sort of knowledge.’
I bit my lip in frustration. ‘I suppose that is true, but I cannot see how –’
‘I shall not discuss that with you, Frey. Is there any other issue you wish to mention?’
I could not repress a frustrated grunt, but then remembered that I did have something else to complain about. ‘Well, I also wanted comment about this chap in the morgue …’
‘Dr Reed?’
‘Indeed. I would strongly recommend you to hire another forensic doctor; a man of more experience. Reed is far too young to be running the town’s morgue.’
Campbell nodded. ‘I know that. We had to appoint him after Dr Carter retired. Reed is one of the most distinguished graduates in town. In fact, you are the first to complain about him.’
‘I am not complaining, sir. I simply think that this case in particular might be too much for him. I am not asking for his dismissal; simply for a more experienced person to be sent.’
‘Frey, I have a very busy agenda today. You will have to make do with Reed, and that is not up for discussion. A more experienced forensic would cost us money and we are not in a position to squander our budget. You would do well to remember that this is not your wealthy London.’
I blew inside my cheeks. ‘Sir, Commissioner Monro sent me because he trusts my judgement. Frankly, I do not see the point of my presence if all my suggestions are dismissed by you and Inspector McGray.’
‘Would that be all, Frey?’
I grunted. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Then you may go.’
Once more, I could only leave the office with tied hands. However, Campbell did not know that I was sending another report to Sir Charles Warren, and that my comments were likely to reach the prime minister’s ears. While the accounts of my progress would not differ much from what I had just said, I spared no adjectives to condemn McGray’s foolish authority.
I went downstairs to that pigsty of an office, which I had privately christened ‘The Dumping Ground’, and found McGray with his feet on the desk again. He lifted a file.
‘Pictures, Frey. The photographer finally brought them. D’ye want to have a wee look?’
I went through the glossy photographs, meticulously scanning every inch and feature. I was happy to see that the scene had indeed not been altered at all. The first few images showed Fontaine’s eviscerated body before it had been removed from the study’s floor, then there was a close shot of the bloodstained violin, which lay close to the body, half hidden under the desk as we’d found it. There were also a couple of pictures of the satanic symbol and of the empty music stand, where I recognized the dark specks of blood.
The stack ended with some photographs taken during the post-mortem, which showed the half-emptied belly of the old man in detail. I felt glad I’d only had coffee that morning, for I had to pay particular attention to those pictures. I could corroborate that Fontaine had been attacked most viciously – the cut on his throat was a clean, straight slash, but the work on his abdomen was as savage as Reed had reported it.
‘Can ye tell anything from those?’
I shook my head. ‘They did a good job at documenting the scene and the post-mortem, but to be honest I cannot deduce anything new from these.’
‘Neither can I. File them, anyway.’
I threw the file into one of the empty drawers of my desk, not knowing then how useful those images would eventually prove to be.
‘What now?’ I asked wearily. ‘Gypsy clairvoyant? I would be keener to talk to the luthier.’
‘Aye, we have to see that lad some time soon, but today we go to Madame Katerina’s. Also, I think we should have a wee talk with the Ardglass clan.’
‘Oh, yes.’ I remembered McGray’s tension when we’d met Alistair Ardglass. ‘What was all that about?’
McGray sighed, toying with a wooden amulet of some sort. He passed it through his fingers, and it surprised me how skilled the remaining phalange of his lost finger actually was. ‘I probably shouldn’t tell ye this, and I will only cos I don’t want ye to whine if I treat them like the scum they are.’ A deeper sigh followed, as though McGray was gathering patience. ‘It all began when my father bought our house in Moray Place, nine … God, almost ten years ago! That Lady Glass bitch defamed us as much as she could. We were new money and she didn’t like that. For a good while we weren’t well received in society … Of course, it all changed when the rascals found out how much the McGrays were worth in gold – we had some nice wee times then. It didn’t last long, though. When –’ McGray suddenly stopped, his jaw tense and hatred in his eyes. He dropped the amulet onto the desk. ‘When my folks died Lady Glass struck again, gossiping and planting her poison against this household. That’s why I cannae even get a decent bloody cook!’
‘Why do you call her Lady Glass?’ I asked.
He cackled, a joyful glow in his eyes. ‘It’s not only me. Abody calls her that for her drinking … She claims to come from noble lineage, all the way back to the War o’ the Roses, just marrying commoners from time to time to avoid harelip. Well, she may be as grand as she wants, but she still cannae spend more than three days without getting blootered.’
‘Getting what?’
‘Blootered! Drunk! Unable to put her glass doun! Anyways, the hag owns about a third of Edinburgh and makes a fortune every year from letting her properties.’
‘Oh! So she was Fontaine’s landlady?’
‘Aye. Fontaine’s maid called the police and Lady Glass when she couldn’t open the
door and Fontaine didn’t reply. Lady Glass was the one who wouldn’t let the police break the door cos a window would be cheaper to replace. The stingy hag …’
I nodded, pondering the information. ‘There could be a connection, yes. And there is something I do not quite like about that Alistair. Then again, if that woman owns so many properties, it might be just a coincidence. Whichever the case, it would not harm us to ask them a few questions. After we visit your charlatan witch, perhaps?’
‘We’ll play it by ear. And don’t call her a witch. Yer gonna love Madame Katerina.’
I knew that McGray would not change his plans, but I whined throughout the ride nonetheless – through the Old Town, along the avenues around the castle, and then to one of the filthiest spots in Edinburgh: the Cattle Market.
‘I presume you have consulted this bloody clairvoyant in the past?’
‘Aye.’
‘What does she do? Does she read tea leaves? A crystal ball? Or does she keep guessing until she gets one fact right after a few hours?’
McGray mistook my mockery for actual interest. ‘Actually she’s got this gift that she calls her “inner eyes”. She can see things whenever she touches somethin’ with enough … she calls them imprints – energy we leave behind.’
I could not believe how stupid all that sounded. And McGray’s throaty accent made it all sound far more stupid.
‘Actually …’ I said, producing my pocket watch and wrapping it in the handkerchief with the other items, ‘it will be most interesting to gauge your beloved witch’s accuracy.’ I winked. ‘You know, for the sake of scientific curiosity. I shall give her my timepiece, pretending that it is part of the evidence. Let us call it … our “control sample”, as biologists like to do.’
McGray looked at me most intently. ‘Do what ye want, but ye might not like what she’ll say.’
The gypsy lived in one of the dreadful shacks that surrounded the wide esplanade of the Cattle Market, only a few blocks south of Castle Rock. Fortunately for me, it was not a market day; otherwise the place would have been packed with smelly cows and oxen from all around Scotland, and the air would have roared with the yelling of sellers and bidders, as well as the bellowing of their beasts. The square did stink of animal, though, and the bare soil, pressed by the hooves of countless cattle over the years, was peppered with their droppings.
The Strings of Murder Page 12
