And so he waved her away, knowing that she was right. He was a coward. She had not put it into as many words but the truth, they both knew, was that he had faced implacable villains single-handed, fearlessly defied death a hundred times in his long career fighting crime, while his one mortal fear of having a tooth extracted remained. Squaring his shoulders, he walked determinedly in the direction of Dr Neill’s house. The maid showed him into the parlour where, in a more observant frame of mind, he would have realised that he was not particularly welcome.
Seated round the table besides the doctor and Aaron was Desmond who had arrived back earlier than expected from his Dublin visit. At Faro’s questioning look, he shook his head. He had no hopeful news to report about the police reinforcements. The head man, as he called him, the one he had sent the original telegraph, was away this week and no one under him had the authority to issue the order. A sudden silence and as looks between the trio were being exchanged, Faro realised that he had interrupted something. He apologised. Dr Neill laughed. ‘Nothing important - Aaron is just about to show Desmond more of his expertise at poker. Isn’t that so?’
Aaron smiled and produced a pack of card from his pocket, shuffling them in the manner of an expert player. ‘Sure thing!’
‘I have already suffered for my ignorance,’ said the doctor, giving Faro a wan smile.
‘Poker is a serious matter,’ drawled Aaron.
There was a rather lengthy pause during which Faro was expected to take his departure. He was sorely tempted. He could just walk away and tell Imogen that the doctor had been too busy. He could imagine her scornfully saying, ‘Playing poker!’
Aaron said, ‘Thought you were off to Dublin with Imogen.’
‘That was the general idea. But...well...’ Again squaring his shoulders, he remembered he had made Imogen a promise and that promise must be kept. ‘I was going. Look, I am sorry to interrupt you gentlemen but I wonder, Doctor, if you could...well, I have infernal toothache and I was wondering if you could - extract it.’
Astonished at his own brave-sounding words, he saw Dr Neill at once spring to his feet. ‘My dear chap, of course. You must forgive me. I hadn’t realised that you were here in the capacity of a patient.’ And, patting Faro’s shoulder, he said, ‘Of course I’ll take the wretched tooth out for you. Just go into my surgery and I’ll get together my instruments,’ Ushering him to the door, he said in his best bedside manner, ‘Through there. Take a seat. I’ll be with you in a moment.’ Obviously aware of Faro’s apprehension, he smiled. ‘No one likes having a tooth out. We’re all scared of it so don’t be worrying yourself. It isn’t nice but it will be over in a minute and I’ll give you something to ease the pain.’
It seemed to Faro, sitting in that rather sterile room with a clock ticking unnecessarily loudly at the sore side of his face, that the doctor was taking rather longer than the promised minute. Or was it his imagination as he partly longed for and partly dreaded the door opening again? At last, footsteps announced Peter Neill. Whistling cheerfully, he removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and put an apron around his waist. Faro regarded this transformation with some anxiety. The lack of a jacket, the rolled-up sleeves and the addition of the apron all made him look more like a butcher than a doctor. Obviously he was expecting quite a lot of blood. Dr Neill told him to open his mouth and his action of touching the offending tooth almost rocketed Faro through the ceiling.
‘That hurt? I’ll just rub some of this magic stuff around your gum. We’ll wait a moment and then...’
After a few moments, the pain dulled and Faro was again tempted to spring out of the chair and say, ‘That is absolutely splendid. I will come back later, when it is more convenient for you.’ But there was no chance of escape. The magic stuff had made him feel rather soothed and sleepy. However, that all ended abruptly as the doctor set to work. For all he had suffered with toothache, he had never reckoned that getting rid of it could be ten times more agonising. Seconds seemed like minutes, minutes like hours of intolerable pain and he thought his whole jaw was coming away in the doctor’s blood-stained hands and that he was destined to bleed to death.
Then at last, there was a sigh from the doctor as he uttered the magic words, ‘That’s it then - all done. A little brute! Like to see it?’ The horrible object was held in front of his eyes. Faro found it a very small and rather pathetic object to have caused him such distress. Washing out his bloodied mouth into the basin obligingly held by the doctor, he was asked, ‘Want it as a souvenir?’
Faro declined the offer with a shudder. Dr Neill smiled and handed him a fresh glass. ‘Drink this. It will ease the pain.’
‘What pain? I thought it was over.’
The doctor interpreted his look of panic and said soothingly, ‘It can be rather sore and tender for a while but nothing like what you’ve been suffering.’
‘I am heartily glad of that,’ said Faro, smiling for the first time. He was hoping to have his shattered nerves soothed by a dram of whiskey but the contents of the glass were tasteless.
‘When you get back to the inn, take a rest for an hour. You’ll feel fine.’ But, as he rose from the chair, he found that his legs were quite shaky. Dr Neill took his arm. ‘There’s a gig outside waiting for you.’
‘I don’t need a gig, Doctor. It’s just a step across the common.’
The doctor shook his head sadly ‘You’ve lost a bit of blood and it’s rather a windy day outside so I think you should take my advice,’ he said kindly and holding his arm firmly, he led him outside where Faro found, to his surprise, that he was glad of a helping hand into the gig. Dr Neill waved him off, insisting on, ‘Have that good rest now.’
As he looked back, the doctor had disappeared into the house and there was no sign of Aaron and Desmond. Presumably they were too interested in their poker game to have any concern for him.
At the inn, the driver helped him down. Dr Neill had taken care of his fare and Faro staggered upstairs, feeling as if he was more than slightly drunk. He lay down on his bed fully dressed, telling himself, ‘An hour’s rest and I’ll be fine.’
It was still daylight when he opened his eyes. As he touched his jaw, the area of the extraction was tender but he did feel much better. Perhaps if he spent another hour resting, then he would feel like getting up, having some tea and taking a walk in the fresh air. The next time he opened his eyes, it was still daylight but he was sure that he had slept and something had awakened him. He sat up and when he touching his jaw this time, it was still tender and he was badly in need of a shave. Normally, he shaved every morning. How could this be?
There was a knock on the door and the maid entered. ‘Awake at last are you, sir? Feeling better now? There’s a visitor for you. Mr Tom said it was all right, in this case, for you to see a lady in your bedroom - even if it isn’t really allowed,’ she added sternly.
What on earth was she talking about? The sound of familiar footsteps and the shadow behind the maid became Imogen. She rushed over to his bed. ‘Darling, what happened to you? You look dreadful.’
Faro sat up and proudly announced, ‘Had the tooth out. Did what you told me - but what on earth are you doing back so soon? Don’t tell me the talk was cancelled?’
‘Darling - I’ve been to Dublin and back again. I gave my talk and it was well received despite my misgivings.’
Faro shook his head. ‘But that’s impossible.’
Puzzled, she took his hands. ‘I left the day before yesterday. This is Saturday,’ And, shaking her head, she laughed. ‘Whatever dear Peter gave you must have made you sleep for a day and a half.’ Rubbing his unshaven chin, Faro sat up sharply
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ asked Imogen.
Faro grinned. ‘Never felt better. A sleep like that is what I’ve been in need of all my life. "Sleep that knits up the ravel’d sleave of care" as Shakespeare so aptly put it. Dear God, I feel like Rip Van Winkle.’
Suddenly grave, Imogen said, ‘Well, things have cer
tainly moved on in Carasheen...’
Faro sprang towards the door and held it open. ‘Tell me about it while we eat - I’m starving.’
‘Faro, listen - there’s been another death...’
‘Oh, not the poor old Kellys!’
‘No, I think they’re fine. It’s Matthew Cara this time.’
Chapter 14
While Faro changed his clothes, put on a clean shirt, washed and shaved, Imogen sat on his bed and went over the details of the latest death reported by Uncle Des. From long experience, aware that he was never at his best when he was hungry, she insisted very firmly that, having starved for more than thirty-six hours, he must also eat something before going across to Dr Neill’s to hear from Conn who had made the discovery late last night.
Desmond, the doctor and Aaron were seated round the table with playing cards spread out before them, the remains of an abandoned poker game. To Faro, it felt like déjà vu, an exact repetition of the scene he had left the day before yesterday in the doctor’s surgery. Except that he no longer had toothache, and instead had what felt like an enormous crater in his jaw where the tooth had been extracted.
Conn had followed them in. ‘You’ve heard then that Matthew Cara is dead?’ Shaking his head, he added in bewildered tones, ‘I found him lying at the side of the lough in the early hours of this morning, just a few yards away from where Dr Neill told us Luke was lying face down in the reeds.’
Faro was curious. ‘What were you doing out there so late? It’s hardly on your beat, is it?’
Conn blushed and shuffled his feet. ‘I had an...an assignation,’
Desmond laughed. ‘You might as well tell them. Soon the whole village will know. Our Conn is courting the factor’s daughter Clare. Her father does not approve.’
‘We’ve been meeting in secret. He doesn’t think a village policeman is good enough for his daughter,’ said Conn in disgusted tones.
Desmond smiled. ‘Don’t give up, lad. Some of us who began as young policeman have done remarkably well. Look at Mr Faro - and me.’ Conn didn’t seem reassured by this information. He looked very worried.
But Faro was much more interested in Conn’s version of the night’s events than the young policeman’s love life. ‘Please continue,’ he said impatiently.
‘It was bright moonlight as I was returning along the lough and I noticed a horse tied to a tree. I recognised it immediately as one of the Cara horses - no one in Carasheen owns such magnificent animals - and I was puzzled, asked myself what it was doing there and where its owner was.’ Pausing dramatically, he went on, ‘It certainly was odd but, wary of the uncertain tempers of the Caras, I also felt a need for caution. I looked down the slope to the loch and saw what looked like a body.’ Conn took a deep breath. ‘It gave me a terrible shock, I can tell you. I thought I was seeing a ghost - Luke Cara’s ghost -’ he gulped. ‘I knew what was my duty so I scrambled down to the lough and it was a real body, right enough, thank God. It was Matthew Cara. At first, I thought he was dead drunk. There was an empty bottle of poteen beside him and I could smell the stuff on his clothes.’ He paused again and gave Faro a triumphant look. ‘And this is where it was really strange. That empty bottle beside him, I am absolutely certain it was the same one I told you about - the one that was stolen from the police station.’
‘Is there some difference? Could you actually tell one bottle from another?’ Faro asked.
Conn shook his head and looked annoyed at this interruption. ‘It was just a feeling I had that it was the same one. Don’t you ever get feelings like that, sir?’ he demanded. Faro nodded but failed to see the connection. One bottle of poteen must be very like another. The obvious answer was to add that such passionate feelings as those aroused by the theft could hardly be classed as hard evidence. Conn made an impatient gesture and, looking at the three men around the table for their support, he said firmly. ‘I knew straight away that he had drunk himself to death.’ And turning to Faro again, ‘Everyone here is aware of the danger, that home-brewed poteen can be lethal. Is that not so?’ His final appeal included the poker-players.
Desmond and the doctor nodded vigorously. ‘Quite right, Conn. Absolutely lethal.’
Aaron merely smiled. ‘Never touch the stuff myself.’ And, addressing Conn, he said, ‘Go ahead.’
‘I haven’t had a lot of experience in dealing with corpses but I know the rules so I went in search of Dr Neill. Luckily, he was at home here, playing cards with Mr McBeigh and Mr Crowe.’
The doctor smiled and said wryly, ‘And losing badly too. Des and I went back with him in the gig. There wasn’t room for Aaron and he wasn’t needed.’
Aaron gave a sigh of relief as Dr Neill continued. ‘According to what Conn had told us about the empty bottle, my first thoughts were why this seemingly conscienceless young villain had chosen to stop at that particular place, tie his horse to a tree and proceed to drink himself to death - at almost the exact spot where his youngest brother had been seen lying.’ He shrugged. ‘I wondered it this could be remorse and that Matthew had indeed arranged Luke’s accident?’
‘The motive?’ Faro questioned.
‘It could have been jealousy over the hand – and the property of Molly Donaveen.’ He sighed. We brought his body back with us in the gig. Conn had the brilliant idea of setting the horse free as neither of us fancied riding it.’
Conn nodded. ‘Knowing horses as I do, I was pretty certain that it would make its own way back home and it certainly needed no urging - took off like a bolt from the blue.’
The doctor frowned at this interruption. ‘As soon as I examined the body in the surgery, I had the answer. The cause of death was evident. This was no suicide. Death was accidental - he had choked on his own vomit.’
‘Where is he now?’ asked Faro, ‘I should like to see his body.’ The glances the three men exchanged suggested that this seemed an odd and perhaps even an unseemly request.
Dr Neill smiled kindly at Faro. ‘You have some medical knowledge?’
Faro shook his head and the doctor continued, ‘Then I am afraid you must take our word for the cause of death - unless you wish to go up to Cara House, that is, and ask to see him.’
Obviously feeling that a reply was unnecessary, Desmond turned to Faro and said, ‘As you might imagine, the question in all our minds was who was going to tell Mark and Luke - if he was still alive since there has been no certificate of death - that their brother was dead.’
‘It was my duty,’ Conn replied none too eagerly.
‘And you have a certain reluctance about it,’ said Desmond testily.
‘Which we all understood,’ the doctor put in with a sharp look at Desmond.
‘However, even as we sat and thought about the best way, we were saved. News travels remarkably fast in Carasheen and, although it was scarcely six in the morning, Father McNee had heard. Paddy, who never seems to sleep, had told him. He’s always lurking outside the house looking for Aaron.’ Aaron groaned at this disclosure as the doctor added, ‘Paddy had seen us arrive back in the gig with our burden which we left unattended for a few minutes while we went into the house to prepare things for an examination.’
‘And, knowing Paddy’s curiosity, no doubt he inspected what we had left lying under the blanket,’ said Desmond grimly.
Dr Neill sighed. ‘Quite frankly none of us was keen on the idea of informing Mark Cara and, when Father McNee came to ask was it true, he could see our problem and, squaring his shoulders, immediately said that he would take Matthew’s body up to the house. We tried to dissuade him but not very forcefully, I must confess, and he was adamant. He was treating this as his Christian duty, whatever the deceased’s shortcomings. And there were many.’
‘We all agreed with him there,’ Desmond put in bitterly.
Ignoring the interruption the doctor continued, ‘He did not leave immediately. There was a short delay while we listened to a sermon on the deceased being a human soul, one of God’s creatures and that we
were to remember what the Bible told us - that no sinner was beyond Christ’s redemption.’
Desmond sighed. ‘None of us could think of a suitable reply except that there were limits even to redemption if the Father cared to look around at what had happened and what was happening to Carasheen.’
The doctor nodded. ‘Indeed. I had a sick old man, who was likely to die of his injuries, as well as his terrified wife, as evidence. So we were glad in our cowardly ways not to have the responsibility and Matthew was duly replaced in the gig and, with Conn at his side, representing the law, they drove up to Cara House.’
‘I’m ashamed to say I was a coward all right,’ said Conn.
‘Not at all,’ said Faro gallantly. ‘You simply aren’t used to unpleasant situations which are commonplace experiences for a city policeman, I assure you.’
Desmond nodded vigorously. ‘Mr Faro is right, Conn. When we are young and inexperienced, we are always scared. I know I was. I remember, to this day, my first beat on the streets in Dublin. There was a bank robbery...’
But Conn didn’t look convinced and he interrupted, saying, ‘When we got to the door with the priest and Paddy in the lead, it was opened by two of the gypsy lads. Father McNee asked to see Mark. They were gone a minute or two, came back and said Mark didn’t want to see him. They were about to close the door in our faces when the Father said, "Tell Mark that there has been a serious accident - involving his brother Matthew." Off they went again and I could see the Father praying. They came back almost immediately, said the master had said to clear off – or words to that effect. The Father was exasperated, said to the lads, "Tell your master that his brother Matthew is dead. We have brought him home."’ Conn paused. ‘I can tell you we waited in fear and trembling after that. I feared that Mark would storm out - but I was wrong. We could hear whispering inside the hall and the gypsy children poked their heads round the door and said, "He says you’re to sod off."’ Conn shook his head. ‘The Father was shocked. He didn’t know what to do and neither did I. We couldn’t take the body back to Carasheen - there would have been an uproar if he had been placed in the community hall, I can tell you. The door was still open so we carried him inside the hall and looked for some place to lay him down. There was an ancient huge carved chest against one wall so we laid him on it.’
Death at Carasheen (Inspector Faro Mystery No.13) Page 10
