Death at Carasheen (Inspector Faro Mystery No.13)

by Alanna Knight

  He shook his head. ‘Still no sign of Mark or Luke or the gypsy children but I was anxious to get away. I had a nasty feeling that we were being watched from the upper landing and that, any moment, some kind of missile might land on us or a pistol might be fired. The Father said a prayer they could hear and, as we left added that it was now Mark’s responsibility to bury his brother’s body in the family vault. When we came back down the hill, I for one was glad that the outcome had been so painless - although poor Father McNee was very distressed.’

  Faro listened to Conn’s story very intently his mind working not on what was being said but on the peculiarities involved in their reception by Mark Cara. That he had refused to see them, despite the tragic reason for their visit, was unaccountable - even allowing for the reputations of the three brothers. That he did not choose to appear was one thing but that he was neither shocked nor surprised was quite another matter since the appearance of his brother’s riderless horse must have raised some suspicions in his mind of something amiss. It raised an interesting possibility. The elimination of the eldest and the youngest of the Cara brothers would have left Mark as the sole heir. So had Mark disposed of Luke and then killed Matthew in order to claim the Cara inheritance for himself?

  Then there were those gypsy children to consider - the slaves and unwilling prisoners of the Cara brothers. Those undernourished and abused ten-year-olds lived in terror of their owners but it seemed utterly beyond the bounds of possibility that they could have personally been involved in luring Luke and Matthew Cara to their deaths. They might well have been desperate enough but lacked the strength and ingenuity to put such a bold plan into action.

  Faro gave some thought to the gypsy encampment on the other side of the water. Had the Romanies killed two of the brothers? But that seemed illogical and bizarre as did so much of the Caras’ rule over Carasheen.

  And Faro had a strange feeling that he had only heard the overture.

  Chapter 15

  Having supper alone with Imogen, Faro was more preoccupied than usual, trying to work out how he might strike out on his own and interview the gypsy children. Breaking a long silence, Imogen said, ‘Those two accidental deaths. A weird coincidence, isn’t it? If I didn’t believe in such superstitious nonsense, I’d be inclined to think there was a curse on the Caras.’ But Faro didn’t believe in coincidences, especially of two brothers dead at almost the same spot within a few days of each other. However, according to Imogen, the folk of Carasheen had remembered an old legend and, now that it had been reawakened, it was running through Carasheen like wildfire.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ he said.

  ‘I remember it vaguely from my childhood. My grandmother told me about a girl that an earlier Cara lord had seduced and she had drowned in the lough. Her mother was a witch and, after her daughter’s death, she put a curse on the Cara family.’

  ‘It has certainly taken its time to come to fruition,’ said Faro dryly. He didn’t believe in curses either, apart from those uttered verbally in everyday bouts of anger and frustration.

  ‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ said Imogen, somewhat inappropriately. ‘It seems to be paying off at last. A pity that it hadn’t taken effect thirty years ago when a lot of the anguish of Carasheen might have been spared.’

  Used to being called to the scene where a suspicious death had occurred, Faro was feeling aggrieved that he had been denied the opportunity of conducting his own examination. Receiving descriptions second-hand was rather like reading an unsatisfactory police report. And, whatever his feelings, he realised that, if Luke was dead, both deaths could be dismissed as accidental. One brother had been thrown from a horse and his neck had been broken, hardly an unusual happening. The other brother had drunk too much and choked on his own vomit, again not something that was unheard of. Such tragic events happen in normal families. Except that the Caras were not normal and nor were they remotely part of a normal family life. They were villains who lived like feudal lords, took gypsy children as slaves and lacked all human decency. As well as terrorising Carasheen, it was well known that they hated and despised each other. And that was not based on local hearsay, Faro had the evidence of his own eyes.

  As for Matthew drinking himself to death because Molly Donaveen had turned him down, not in his wildest imaginings could Faro believe that any of the brothers were capable of such sentimentality. The only reason they wanted Molly’s hand in marriage was because it would give them possession of her land. Love had nothing remotely to do with it. And, although Dr Neill had signed the death certificate for Matthew, Faro’s suggestion regarding an inquest had been met by surprise. The doctor had laughed.

  ‘Inquests in Carasheen! For the accidental death or suicide of one of the Caras! My dear fellow, we would have a riot on our hands!’ Did the doctor also privately suspect that there was something amiss? Had he decided, in the interests of the community, to let sleeping dogs or, in this case, dead bodies lie? Whatever the cause, Faro was determined to find out the truth before Imogen’s time in Kerry ran out.

  Later that evening, as they walked to the high ground and watched the sun setting over the Blaskets, Imogen reminded him that their time in Carasheen was almost over and he realised that the death of Matthew Cara had put all thoughts of her Dublin visit out of his mind. When he asked her about the talk, she had told him that it went well. ‘What else did you do? Was there anyone else there that you knew from previous visits?’

  She frowned for a moment and then laughed. ‘Oh, yes. I forgot. There was a police superintendent - a Fergus Brady – said he knew you. Been at your lecture and told me how much he enjoyed it.’

  The name meant nothing to Faro. ‘I presume he knew your uncle Des?’

  ‘Oh, yes, they had been colleagues and great friends.’

  ‘Did he know anything about the problems back here and why that call for reinforcements had gone unanswered?’

  Imogen regarded him bleakly. ‘I never thought to ask.’

  ‘Had he seen Desmond on this last visit?’

  She sounded surprised. ‘I haven’t the slightest idea. Why don’t you ask him yourself?’

  There was a pause. She shivered and said, ‘Let’s walk. I’m cold.’

  The sunset had faded, the brilliant colours changed into a heavy ominous grey sky and, as they walked back down to the village, she changed the subject rather abruptly to travel plans for Paris. He didn’t mention Dublin again and she kissed him as fondly as ever when they said goodnight. Faro decided that he must talk to Desmond next morning.

  Retiring to his bed, sleep evaded him as he recalled Imogen’s manner during that walk home. It was one with which he was not unfamiliar. She had something on her mind that she did not wish to discuss with him. Was it merely the anxiety of leaving Kerry sooner than she had planned? Telling himself that it had nothing to do with Uncle Des and the Dublin visit, he consoled himself with her final words that she was going to need all her time to complete her research on O’Connell. Smiling, she had hoped he would find enough to amuse himself without her and unaware of the irony of such a remark, added, ‘Sure, and you’re not to go imagining I don’t love you but there are times like this when I have to be on my own. You do understand, don’t you, Faro?’

  Now watching the moonlight angle across the floor, he saw the sense in her reasoning. He was aware, during the first stages of an investigation, how necessary it was for him to be solitary. Such was the present situation and he had little time left to solve this case. And solve it he would.

  Far away in the clear air, the church clock struck midnight. Just a few more days and then all this would be behind him. Yawning now, he sighed. Time had always been his enemy, the implacable and undefinable enemy. And at last he slept.

  He was saved having to go in search of Desmond. While he was at breakfast next morning, the detective hurried into the inn and greeted him genially. ‘I thought this might be a good opportunity to get you alone. About Matthew Cara? Have you any new id
eas that you’d like to share?’ Without awaiting a reply, he continued, ‘I don’t know about you but I find this whole business very difficult to assess. Two cases of accidental death - on almost the same spot.’ He shook his head. ‘Not even the slums of Dublin could have come up with anything like this. And I speak from thirty years’ experience dealing with the criminal fraternity’

  ‘You still believe that Luke is dead and their deaths were accidents, then?’

  Desmond seemed surprised by the question. ‘Sure they were. What else? I was with Peter and Conn when we went down to the lough. Aaron was there too.’ And, giving Faro a quick look, he added, ‘I watched Peter make the examination. Matthew Cara certainly choked on his own vomit. There was plenty of evidence - anyone with a nose could smell that. And there was the spilt poteen.’ After another pause, he then said apologetically, ‘We would have been glad to have you there with us - as a witness - but Peter was against it. As a doctor, he realised that a patient being woken in the middle of the night was hardly the correct procedure - especially with you being somewhat disabled after the tooth extraction.’

  Faro shook his head. ‘Drugged was closer to the mark than disabled.’

  Desmond smiled. ‘He hadn’t bargained for his medicine taking such a prolonged effect. I suppose, like all healthy folk, your constitution got a severe shock - didn’t know what had hit you.’

  ‘A warning might have been useful. I wasn’t prepared for a few hours that extended to a day and a half.’

  Again Desmond gave him a comforting smile. ‘I’m sure poor old Peter was surprised - and worried - by the result. I am not acquainted with his drugs for easing pain, never needed any so far myself. But even losing a day and a half is better than suffering pain. And whatever our good doctor gave you, you can be sure he meant it in your best interests.’

  Faro realised there was no point in argument on the niceties of drug doses with anyone else but the doctor himself so, changing the subject, he said, ‘About Matthew’s death?’

  ‘I’m quite satisfied about the cause. But what is really worrying me, what I can’t understand is that weird reception - the behaviour of Mark Cara refusing to see his brother’s body.’ He shook his head. ‘It was my first thought when I woke up this morning that there is something criminal going on with the Caras. And I don’t just mean the gypsy children being kidnapped and used as slaves. Mark must have suspected when the riderless horse rode in that night and Matthew didn’t appear subsequently that there had been an accident.’

  Pausing he looked thoughtful. ‘If we didn’t know that they were accidents I would be seriously considering that he might have done away with his two brothers. As the remaining brother, he would stand to inherit. And then there was the bad blood between all of three of them over Molly Donaveen.’

  All this confirmed Faro’s own thoughts on the matter, except for the latest accident theory. Despite the good doctor’s diagnosis, he was certain this was murder. For one thing, the smell of poteen didn’t quite ring true. A less innocent doctor used to dealing with death in suspicious circumstances would have guessed that this was a plant set to look as if Matthew had drunk himself to death.

  ‘As for Luke,’ Desmond continued. ‘He was an experienced rider, it would have taken more than a conveniently stormy evening, with thunder and lightning to make his horse throw him and bolt. I had grave misgivings about that. It just didn’t ring true. What do you think?’

  He was echoing Faro’s own thoughts. ‘I agree with you. The circumstances are certainly suspicious.’

  Desmond frowned. ‘Imogen tells me you are both having to leave us earlier than planned. A pity. We have enjoyed your visit.’

  ‘Did she also tell you that I am determined to find the answer to quite a number of things before we go? I could do with your help.’

  Desmond brightened at that. ‘And you may have it gladly. We can put our heads together and see what Mark Cara was up to.’ Then, with a sigh, he added, ‘But there is so little time. Where should we start?’

  ‘I think a visit to Molly Donaveen would not go amiss.’

  ‘You have it. The very same thing was going through my mind,’ said Desmond triumphantly. ‘The Cara boys’ fascination with her - or rather with her property - seems to have been the cause of two accidental deaths. If Matthew was also visiting her that evening, she was most probably the last person to see him alive.’

  She was not quite the last, but Faro didn’t bother to correct him. If his own theory was right, the last person to see Matthew alive had been his murderer on the road by the lough. Instead he asked, ‘When would be an appropriate time?’

  Desmond grinned. ‘No time like the present. Right now - if you have finished your breakfast, that is?’ Standing up, he buttoned his jacket and said, ‘I’ll bring the gig round.’

  ‘Can we just drop in on her like this? It’s only nine o’clock,’ Faro asked, remembering that Imogen - who was quite informal herself in her dealings with people had heated objections to casual morning visitors.

  ‘Sure we can,’ said Desmond. ‘Molly is a grand lass - a very old friend - so I am always welcome.’

  ‘Before we go, pour yourself a cup of tea, there’s plenty in the pot.’ As Desmond did so, Faro produced the photograph he had found in the study, the one that was had been removed from the Donnellys’ album. Placing it on the table, he asked, ‘Seen this before?’

  With the cup halfway to his lips, Desmond returned it to the saucer and frowned. Looking bewildered, he said, ‘I have. But where did you find it?’

  ‘Between some books on a shelf in your study. I went with Imogen to collect a book you were lending her and, as I was thumbing through your splendid library, it fell out.’ As Faro spoke, he watched Desmond’s change of expression.

  Now holding the photo, he sighed and said, ‘So that’s where it was. I’ve hunted high and low.’ He frowned. ‘But why did you take it?’

  Faro wasn’t prepared to answer that question and said only, ‘I was curious to know what you were doing with it. May I ask why you removed it from the Donnellys’ photo album?’

  Desmond spread his hands wide. ‘Isn’t that obvious, my dear fellow? I wanted to see if it rang any bells for me. Perhaps someone in the village would recognise it and that might give us some clue to the mystery of those murders. Dear God, we have almost forgotten them, haven’t we?’

  ‘Why didn’t you mention that you’d removed it at the time?’ Faro insisted.

  Desmond looked bewildered and frowned again. ‘Did I not? Oh, I meant to. You were searching for clues and I just put it in my pocket and forgot. So many other things at the time.’ And, giving Faro a searching look, he added, ‘I didn’t think it was all that important. It was just a hunch, as I told you, that it might be someone I might have known in the past. Someone you couldn’t have known, anyway.’

  His words added to Imogen’s conclusions about the missing photo. Had Faro, anxious for clues, given a sinister interpretation to an action that had an innocent explanation? But, as they went out to the gig, he thought about how much trouble it would have saved if that so-experienced retired Inspector Crowe had mentioned it at the time or even soon afterwards.

  And now a new possibility occurred to him, an unworthy thought that this might well be a case of the retired detective not wishing to share the glory of solving a local double murder with an incomer. It was the kind of human situation often encountered during his own career. However what really worried him was the possibility of other less innocent clues that Desmond preferred to keep to himself.

  It would pay Inspector Faro to be watchful and wary.

  Chapter16

  As they drove along the road to Donaveen, Faro asked to stop by the lough where the two Cara brothers had been found. Desmond seemed surprised by the request and protested, ‘I assure you there’s nothing else to see.’

  Faro smiled grimly as he stepped down from the gig. He refrained from saying that these words should not be in a detectiv
e’s vocabulary. In all his years of experience with Edinburgh City Police, he had found there was always the remote chance of some item so trivial that it had been overlooked at the scene of the crime and evident only to his own sharp eyes. In this case, he was hoping to be as fortunate at this scene of crime or, as was being stoutly maintained, scene of two accidental deaths. His hopes for success lay in the very reason that, having been dismissed as accidents, the area had not been searched.

  Desmond remained in the gig and watched Faro disapprovingly as he wasted their time by going carefully down the slope. ‘Where?’ shouted Faro when he reached the water’s edge and, pointing with his whip, Desmond indicated the spot where Matthew’s body had been found. Although Faro walked back and forth, there was nothing to see which might be construed as evidence of violent death and all evidence of the vomit that had choked Matthew had disappeared into the reeds. ‘You are sure that’s where Conn found him, lying face down there?’ he said returning to the road.

  ‘Face down, yes, that’s definitely what he said.’ Desmond stroked his beard thoughtfully. ‘I think I see what you are getting at.’