The Strings of Murder

by Oscar de Muriel

  ‘Aye,’ McGray replied harshly. ‘We need to see Wood. Can ye call him?’

  ‘I have not seen Mr Wood this morning, I’m afraid. I think he is ill.’

  ‘Ill?’ I asked. ‘Was it anything to do with his injury?’

  Ardglass grimaced. ‘Oh, what a terrible sight that was; he told me how it happened. He’ll have a nasty scar. But no, the last thing he said was that he was feeling queasy. That was yesterday, right after luncheon, I believe. I assumed he’d eaten a rotten fruit or something, so I let him go, but you can find him at his home. I can give you the address.’

  Ardglass scribbled the address hastily, obviously not wishing to spend too much time with McGray, and again we left the Conservatoire. The rain had turned into a mighty storm and we rode miserably under the appalling weather. My hat and overcoat protected me rather well, but McGray’s black hair became soaked within minutes. His countenance, however, remained immutable.

  Wood happened to live at the eastern end of the Royal Mile, in fact only a couple of streets from Fontaine’s rented property.

  ‘What a convenient location,’ I said as we approached the large guest house, for Wood did not live by himself. ‘Close enough to his victim.’

  ‘We’re not sure yet, lass.’

  There was a large black carriage parked in front of the main entrance, another small cart and a couple of horses waiting for their riders; they were all gathered in front of the wide door, looking rather agitated.

  ‘Busy place,’ McGray said. We had not yet dismounted when a familiar face came out of the house: Charles Downs, Fontaine’s lawyer.

  The little man’s eyes fell on McGray and me, attracted like magnets. ‘Inspectors! What a surprise! Are you here to investigate the case of Mr Wood as well?’

  McGray had to dismount to address him, for Downs was so short that his face had been level with McGray’s calf. ‘Wood’s case? What d’ye mean?’

  ‘Oh, I supposed that you knew … Well … Mr Wood, also my client, sadly passed away yesterday.’

  21

  I almost fell off Philippa’s back when I heard that. ‘He what?’

  ‘He passed away,’ Downs repeated, somewhat perplexed by our ignorance. ‘Yesterday afternoon, I was told.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘The housekeeper told me that he got very sick; vomiting all over the place. Poor Mr Wood always was of a sickly constitution, I’m afraid.’

  Then we saw two men coming out of the house, carrying a very big chest. Two violin cases lay on its top.

  ‘Ye want this in the cart, master?’ they asked.

  ‘Where are ye taking that?’ McGray snapped before Downs could say anything. ‘Is that Wood’s property?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Downs said. ‘As his lawyer it is my duty to deliver his belongings according to his will.’

  ‘I’m afraid ye cannae take anything out o’ this house. Not right now, at least.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We’ve got a search warrant. Show him, Frey.’

  I did so and Downs snatched the sheet from my hand; his little eyes ran madly over the text. ‘Why, this is no longer valid! You were granted the right to search Mr Wood’s dwellings and possessions. Since he has passed away, legally these things belong to somebody else now, and a new order is in d–’

  McGray stepped towards Downs in an imposing move. ‘Mr Downs, ye can use all yer legal shite against us, but we’ll eventually find our way and look at those things. Besides, given the nature o’ the case, yer blocking our work will only give us reasons to suspect yer involvement in these men’s deaths. Both Wood and Fon-teen.’

  He said those last words in a threatening whisper, so that only Downs and I could hear him. The lawyer’s boldness immediately faded away; he turned pale and gave me the order back. ‘As you wish, Inspector. But you must let me know once you are done with your search.’

  ‘In fact, you should stay,’ I said, seeing that Downs was turning to his carriage. ‘We may need to ask you a few questions too.’

  He cast me a bitter look, but could only swallow and assent.

  ‘Laddies, get that stuff back in,’ McGray said. ‘I want youse to put every single thing exactly where it was.’

  The men carried the chest back and we followed them into an airy hall with high ceilings. As they climbed the stairs a rather young woman appeared. ‘Oh, I thought youse were takin’ those away!’

  ‘Ye the housekeeper?’ McGray asked.

  ‘Aye. Youse are?’

  McGray introduced us (fortunately he did not call me lassie) and asked me to show the search warrant, but the woman did not take it.

  ‘I cannae read very well. I take yer word. Youse can look as much as youse need.’

  ‘Thanks, hen. Can ye show us the way? We need to ask ye a few wee questions too.’

  We walked into Wood’s room as the men were leaving. I needed but a quick glance to analyse it all: an old bed, a desk covered with nothing but sheet music, a jug and an almost empty wardrobe.

  ‘Doesn’t look like we’re gonna search a lot,’ McGray said.

  I nodded, still not completely recovered from the initial surprise. The place in fact reminded me of the abodes of the Ripper’s victims, not because it was shabby, but because of its total lack of personality: no pictures on the walls, no letters, no portraits of relatives; just the starkness of one who lets his life pass by without caring. I felt a light chill in my spine.

  A maid was mopping the floor fervently, but the room still gave off a strong stench of vomit. I had to produce my handkerchief to cover my nose.

  ‘Were ye here when it happened?’ McGray said.

  ‘Aye,’ the maid and the housekeeper replied at the same time, their faces marked by repulsion.

  ‘Tell us what happened,’ McGray asked. I saw the housekeeper’s face going paler as she spoke.

  ‘Well … It was about half past noon when Mr Wood came back from his job. He was feeling very ill, he said, and he had an appalling face; all yellow.’

  ‘Had he been ill recently?’ McGray asked.

  ‘Nae, but he wasn’t a very stout lad. He never ate properly and fell ill with a sick gut every now and then. That’s why we weren’t too worried when we saw him. We only thought it had hit him a wee bit harder than usual.’

  ‘He locked himself in here and played for a bit,’ the maid said. ‘But then we heard him choking and grunting. We had to break in and found him all … soaked in sick.’ The poor woman covered her mouth; thinking of the sight made her retch again. ‘He passed out and never woke up again.’

  ‘What did youse do then?’

  ‘I sent one o’ the maids to fetch the doctor and another girl to fetch the Italian gentleman, Mr Caroli.’

  ‘Mr Caroli? Why him?’

  ‘Mr Wood didnae have any family and Mr Caroli was his only friend; the only man who’d ever come to visit him. It was a good thing we sent for him. He took care of everything; he called the undertaker’s, the lawyer … he is even holding the wake at his house.’

  ‘Where is the body now? At the undertaker’s?’

  ‘Aye, I think so, sir. They must be gettin’ him ready.’

  McGray nodded and paced around as he pondered on the answers. I could tell that he was as staggered as I.

  ‘Did you notice anything unusual during the last few days?’ I said, rather mechanically.

  ‘Well, just that he played all the time! He always did, but not like this, not until the small hours without a single break. He wouldn’t even come down for dinner. I brought him trays but he left them untouched.’

  ‘Some of the other guests complained,’ the housekeeper added. ‘I was going to call my mistress if that went on one more might.’

  ‘Who owns this house?’ McGray asked. The answer was shocking, yet not surprising.

  ‘Lady Anne Ardglass, sir.’

  We both nodded at each other.

  ‘And how many people live here?’ McGray asked again.

/>   ‘Seven other guests sir, also three maids, including Mary here, a cook, a handyman and myself.’

  ‘Can ye fetch as many o’ them as ye can right now? We’d like to question them all. In the meantime Inspector Frey and I will search the room. In private.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  The housekeeper left, asking the maid to follow, and then McGray and I began the search.

  ‘It is a shame they cleaned,’ I said, looking at the polished floor. ‘They might have removed evidence.’

  ‘Aye, but this room wasn’t a potential crime scene ’til we arrived.’ McGray stood in the centre of the room and looked around for a moment. ‘What dy’e see, Frey?’

  ‘Not much. An affordable room. Second floor …’

  ‘No fireplace,’ McGray remarked, pointing at a very small log burner. ‘There’s no room to hide anything here.’

  He looked at the chest he’d told the workers to bring back. From the marks on the floor I could tell that they had placed it but a couple of inches off its original position.

  The chest had no lock, and when McGray opened it we found it half empty: there was an expensive black suit (which Wood probably only wore to concerts), his legal documents (nothing but the regular birth and school certificates and so on), loose accessories for his violin (pegs, bridges, rosin, etc.), and a small ebony box with a violin beautifully carved on the lid.

  McGray grabbed it. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got here …’ He opened it and we found a bundle of violin strings, snugly rolled between velvet lining. ‘My, my! A fancy box to keep his strings, don’t ye think?’

  ‘Indeed. At odds with everything else in this room.’

  ‘What can ye tell about ’em?’

  I took one and inspected it closely. ‘It is definitely not metal. It could be catgut, but I cannot be sure.’

  There was a glow in McGray’s eyes. ‘I’ve only just met someone who could tell us a lot about fiddle strings.’

  ‘Oh, really? Who?’

  McGray raised his eyebrows.

  ‘What, Elgie? No, absolutely not. I do not want him involved in this.’

  ‘There’s no one better to give us unclouded information.’

  ‘Why, there must be. We have Caroli, or that Ardglass man, or someone else at the Conservatoire.’

  ‘Aye, and any o’ them could be involved.’ I was shaking my head. ‘Come on, Frey, yer brother doesn’t even have to ken details o’ the case.’

  ‘Does he not? I suppose you will simply show him these strings, ask him whether they are made out of human gut, and then expect him to ask no questions.’

  ‘We’ll think o’ something,’ he concluded, carelessly tossing the wooden box into my hands. ‘We better take them with us.’

  I could not protest any further, for McGray was already going through the contents of the chest again and again. He also looked carefully at the walls, tapped the floorboards and inspected every possible nook and cranny.

  ‘There is nothing more to see here,’ I said, looking at the clean, bare walls. ‘My feeling is that Wood was a violinist and – quite literally – nothing else.’

  McGray inhaled deeply, sitting on the bed. ‘There are two possibilities: either Wood was the murderer, but he happened to snuff it too soon after his crime … Or someone got rid o’ him to get hold o’ the fiddle.’

  ‘I am inclined to believe the latter.’

  ‘D’ye always have to talk like that?’

  ‘McGray, will you focus, please?’

  ‘Right, right. Aye, I agree with ye. Wood died at a very strange moment.’

  I tapped the little wooden box, thinking. ‘Do not ask me how, but the story strikes me as one of poisoning.’

  ‘Ye think so?’

  ‘Aye – I mean yes! It should be easy to find traces of poison in Wood’s stomach, but we need to take his body to the morgue immediately.’

  ‘Aye, but we also need to question all these folks very soon, while they still have it all fresh in their heads. I think we should split up. Ye question all the people here – I ken ye love doin’ that – and in the meantime I’ll take the body to the morgue.’

  ‘You will need an official order for that.’

  ‘Mnah! Gimme the search warrant we already have. I’ll get persuasive.’

  ‘Please, do not do anything stupid like cracking the mortician’s arms …’

  ‘Cannae promise anything, laddie,’ he said as he walked away.

  I went downstairs and found that the housekeeper had gathered all the people present in the house – Downs was sitting among them with a mighty frown. I decided to question him first, since a moody state of mind is most likely to contaminate a person’s declarations. I told the housekeeper that I would prefer to question everyone in private, so she led us to a small, secluded parlour.

  Downs’s version of the story agreed with the housekeeper’s: he had received a message from Mr Caroli telling him about Wood’s death; he then looked for the man’s will in his files, and immediately set off to do all the paperwork and distribute the goods … which were not many, nor too valuable.

  ‘His only valuable possessions were his two violins … and perhaps the mahogany chest you saw,’ Downs was saying, sipping a cup of tea which appeared to have relaxed his temper. The man did like his teas. ‘As you remember, he only received the second instrument a few days ago.’

  ‘Can you tell me who is to inherit Mr Wood’s possessions?’

  ‘Well, he had no family, as you probably know by now, and although he had quite a few acquaintances he wasn’t close to many. He simply left everything to Mr Caroli.’

  ‘Very interesting …’ I muttered. ‘All right, Mr Downs, you are free to go now. I am sorry we had to detain you for this long. Unfortunately, I will not release the goods just yet. I hope that you understand.’

  Downs was going to rise but he faltered. He opened his mouth but it was hard for him to make any sound.

  ‘Mr Downs, is there anything else you would wish to tell me?’

  ‘Erm … Well, yes, yes, Inspector. You see, I am not stupid. I can tell that you and Inspector McGray are following the trace of Monsieur Fontaine’s violin, and that my hands have been on it too much for my own good.’

  I only nodded. I did not want to give away any information as to my theories. The truth was that, until the moment he mentioned it, I had not considered him more suspicious than any of the other people involved.

  ‘You’ll surely understand that it is simply because of my profession!’ he said. ‘I have been the lawyer of those musicians for decades; they recommend me among themselves; it is only natural that I would take care of all their legal matters, including their wills! Mr Wood was not a very practical fellow; he only hired me because Mr Ardglass strongly advised him to. Ardglass and Monsieur Fontaine were two of my first clients.’

  Downs’s insistence on clearing his name was in fact having the opposite effect. He had beads of sweat on his temples and his voice trembled at certain points.

  I simply nodded again and told him he could leave, but he walked away with hesitant steps. Could it simply be that McGray’s words had scared the man … or was he worried by something else? Whatever it was I would have to decide later; I still had many people to summon. I interviewed them one by one, jotting down their entirely predictable replies in my notebook.

  The young housekeeper: ‘Ye’ll excuse me, sir, but Mr Wood gave me the creeps sometimes. No sweetheart, no friends other than those few musicians he had to deal with … And so weird-looking! When I saw that ghastly cut on his face I almost ran the other way.’

  The scruffy-looking, sweat-smelling handyman: ‘No, not much, boss; he rarely spoke to anyone, but I tell ye, if a bad oyster killed ’im it wouldn’t surprise me; the laddie was very flimsy. I usually had to open his jam jars.’

  The very young maid: ‘Horrible, horrible stuff, and I had to mop it all on an empty stomach! Although it looked more like bile, sir, like Mr Wood hadn’t eaten anything f
or a while. I know ’cause that’s what my late dad’s puke looked like when he came home from the pub.’

  The bony spinster who lived in the room underneath Wood’s: ‘Very strange lad. Very strange, but living at a guest house I’ve seen worse, I suppose. I can’t say his music usually annoyed me, but last night I was tempted to knock at his door and ask him to stop. He was playing a mighty awful song. Well, not even a full song, He was playing the same passage, over and over and over. It gave me nightmares.’

  My eyes had been closing, but those words brought me back from my stupor.

  ‘Nightmares? May I ask why?’

  The woman perked up, utterly flattered by my sudden attention. ‘Well, it wasn’t something pleasant to hear, like a sweet melody or a waltz. It was more like … like the violin was trembling.’

  My last witness was the chubby man who lived across the corridor. ‘And it suddenly stopped. It just stopped, and then I heard the poor lad choke and the maids making a fuss. They asked me to help them crack the door open, and … well, you know the rest.’

  Once I was done with the inquests I confiscated all the keys to Wood’s bedroom and went upstairs to lock it myself. Before doing so I had one last glance round the room, just to make sure that everything was still in place, which was the case. When I saw the two violin cases, now lying on the bed, I took a mad decision: I would take the Amati Maledetto with me. I opened the cases to make sure I was taking the right one; it was easy to recognize it because of the wooden lion head.

  That decision still haunts me at night … taking the violin … Only God knows where the case would have ended up if I’d left it there.

  It was still raining hard when I went back to the City Chambers. I found Constable McNair by the entrance and he told me that he had seen McGray coming back a couple of hours earlier. I went to the morgue and found him there, waiting patiently at the entrance.

  ‘Did you manage to fetch the body?’

  ‘Aye. Reed is looking at it now.’

  I was glad McGray had decided to go to the undertaker straightaway, otherwise we would have wasted precious hours locked in that guesthouse. While we waited for Reed to finish the post-mortem I told him what little I had found out from Wood’s neighbours, and the strange speech Downs had made.