‘Tell me again, Mr Faro. How did you find it?’ He listened gravely, shaking his head in bewilderment with an occasional startled exclamation. Desmond remained silent - he neither confirmed nor denied Faro’s theory that it had been spread across the road as a mantrap on the night of Matthew Cara’s death.
With the rope in its two parts over his arm, Aaron sighed. ‘You could be right, Mr Faro.’ And, to Desmond, he said, ‘Don’t you agree, sir, that could be one answer?’ Without waiting for a reply, he added, ‘If we had not been with the doctor when he made his examination, I think we would be suspicious too.’
Desmond contributed a vigorous nod in agreement and Aaron smiled. ‘Whatever happened, you detectives sure are clever. But may I keep my lariat now? I’m kinda fond of it and I might need it when I’m shipping my bull back home to America.’
Looking vaguely in the direction of the Cara house, visible through the trees high on the hill, he sighed. ‘I guess I shall have to go back up there and make Mark an offer. It is not a prospect I relish since I was turned down by all three of them last time but now, well, I might just be lucky,’ Although Aaron had always maintained that buying the Caras’ prize Kerry bull had been the reason for him coming to Carasheen in the first place, Faro had doubts about that, convinced that following Imogen was Aaron’s real purpose and that he had been disappointed to find that she was not travelling alone. Smiling at Faro, he added, ‘Like Imogen and yourself, sir, I too will be leaving at the end of the week, moving on, I guess.’ He sounded regretful as he added, ‘Not much time left and I shall have to see Derrynane House and tie up some unfinished family papers in Waterville again.’
Faro realised that this decision had been made fairly recently as Aaron returned to the subject of the prize Kerry bull for his ranch, to be negotiated at an exorbitant price, considering the expense and hazards of shipping such a valuable animal across to America.
‘Any of you gentlemen care to accompany me to the Caras’ house?’ Aaron asked lightly.
He didn’t sound too hopeful and seemed taken aback when Faro promptly responded, ‘Of course I will.’
Aaron had provided him with exactly the excuse he needed to investigate the curious behaviour of Mark Cara.
Chapter 18
Eager to share his findings with Imogen, Faro found her with a spread of papers covering the table in Maeve’s sitting room. She sprang up and greeted him fondly. As he apologised for disturbing her, she laughed. ‘I’ve been writing all morning with all that noise, and I’m glad to take some time off,’ As they left the house, he wondered how on earth Imogen, who was used to working in complete silence, managed to concentrate with the screams and laughter of children at play issuing from behind the closed kitchen door.
At the inn, over a ham pie and a pot of strong tea, he told her of the day’s events. She seemed to accept without question the reason for the missing painting, amused at his suspicious interpretation. ‘Obviously you’re not used to clumsy maids, Faro darling. I’m sure your Mrs Brook was a paragon of virtue and competence but I believe Molly’s story - a picture being knocked off a wall can easily happen just as she said. At least the cord didn’t break of its own accord,’ she added with a shudder. ‘That means a death. Oddly enough, it’s one of my only superstitions.’
But she was intrigued about his discovery of the rope, near where the Cara brothers had been found. She did not doubt that this was Aaron’s missing lariat and in answer to his question, she said, ‘No, of course I haven’t noticed it on his horse but then I mostly see him on foot.’ As she smiled at him across the table, Faro became uncomfortably aware that Imogen could read his mind, that he had put a more sinister interpretation on the stolen lariat.
‘I am sure he was telling you the truth,’ she said gently. ‘Why should he lie? These are not the actions of a guilty man, Faro. Sure now, if he had been concerned in the murder of Matthew Cara - and that’s what I suspect is at the back of your mind, then he never would have drawn your attention to the rope lying there in the gig? My guess is that he would have ignored it completely and pretended that he had never seen it before.’ Faro reluctantly had to agree that there was a certain logic in Imogen’s reasoning, as she went on, ‘Smart of you, though, to guess that it had been used as a mantrap. It only remains for you to find out who put it there and you will have the proof you’re looking for that Matthew Cara’s death was not an accident.’
Pausing, she regarded him candidly ‘I have to tell you - warn you perhaps - that, from what I hear from Maeve, no one in Carasheen is in any rush to find his killer, if one exists. They are all more than delighted to believe that two of the unholy trinity, who have made their lives a misery, are dead and I have a horrible feeling that, once you start asking too many questions, you are not going to be very popular.’ With a laugh, hugging his arm as they walked out into the sunshine, she added: ‘Just as well we have only a few days left,’ she said.
‘Shall I take you back to Maeve’s?’ Faro asked.
‘No, thank you. I have had quite enough for one day,’ And, breathing in the warm air, she added, ‘I am yours for the rest of the day. What shall we do?’
Faro had already decided that he wanted to visit the Donnelly house again. He wondered if she would regard this as rather morbid but, to his surprise, she said, ‘Yes, let’s do that. As you say, there might still be some fragment of a clue that you and Uncle Des have overlooked. And I’m always curious about tragic houses.’
Birds chattered above their heads as they walked through the wood, the trees swaying gently, their leaves a charming whispering canopy above their heads. ‘What a pretty place,’ said Imogen as they emerged at the tiny cottage. ‘It’s absolutely sweet.’ The door was still unlocked and, at first glance, the interior exactly as Faro had last seen it. Except that it seemed emptier than ever and sadder too. Trapped insects buzzed against the windows where spiders were already spinning their gossamer webs. Fine motes of dust hung in the sunshine and lay thickly on the table. Scuffling sounds suggested that other more aggressive creatures than insects were taking over possession. None of this worried Imogen who went from room to room and called out to him, ‘How pretty! Oh darling, come - you must see this...’
Faro’s main concern however was the photograph album still lying in the drawer where he had found it. Taking it out, he looked again at the wedding photograph of the dead couple and, with a sense of triumph, knew why he had wanted to return. He called to Imogen and, pointing to the photo, said: ‘Does she remind you of anyone?’
Imogen squinted over his shoulder. ‘Poor Peg. I only saw her once and quite fleetingly at the wedding.’ She took the photo and regarded it sadly. Looking around she sighed. ‘This house is so lovely too. It must have been full of their dreams and hopes.’
‘Have you ever seen someone who resembled Peg in Carasheen?’
Imogen thought for a moment then shook her head. ‘No, but I can’t claim to know the residents intimately. My visits have been very fleeting over the years.’
‘Was Molly Donaveen at the wedding?’
Imogen looked at him as if this was a curious question. ‘No. I’m not sure that she was invited.’
‘Perhaps there was a good reason for that.’
‘Why? Is it important?’
‘It could be. You see, that painting I told you about – the one that met with the unfortunate accident - it could have been of Peg. It is an unmistakable likeness.’
Imogen sat down at the table and said, ‘So you think Molly Donaveen was her mother, is that it?’
‘Almost certainly, unless she has a twin sister.’
‘I don’t think she has any relatives. I remember Uncle telling me how lonely she was after poor Sean died.’ She sat back in a chair. ‘What you are saying is quite astonishing. You realise that? But, if this is true, then it explains so many things - why Peg was given to the church house here in Carasheen as a baby, why Will had this mysterious legacy so he could buy this house.’ Pausing fo
r a moment, she added thoughtfully, ‘Molly could never acknowledge Peg as her daughter - she must have been conceived and born on one of poor Sean’s long voyages to South America. He was often away for two years at a time - more interested in his mines out there than his home life. It must have broken her heart not to be able to watch over her baby. I wonder who the father was.’ And then she said excitedly, ‘Could it have been someone here in Carasheen?’
Pointing to the space in the photograph album, Faro said, ‘There was a picture there when your uncle and I first saw the album.’
‘And someone came and stole it? You realise what that means? It could have been Peg’s father.’
‘You’re racing ahead, Imogen. Actually, your uncle took it with him. He had the same thought.’
Imogen’s reactions were confirming his own thoughts about the identity of the missing photograph. If Molly was Peg’s mother, was that the reason the unholy trinity were blackmailing her? And suddenly the rich widow had an excellent reason for murdering the two Cara brothers. The best reason in the world for any mother - they had killed her child. She had made no secret of being glad they were dead. How she must have hated them. But how did she manage it? The more he thought of it, the more physically impossible it seemed for a woman, no longer young or very mobile, to follow them down to the lough or lie in wait or, since she never set foot in Carasheen, steal Aaron McBeigh’s lariat. He also guessed that Peg Donnelly was the reason for Molly keeping her distance from the village - there were sharp eyes that would soon have noticed such a resemblance long ago.
According to Dr Neill, Molly was a long-term patient. She was certainly very breathless and overweight and hadn’t ridden for years. She had told them she no longer had a riding horse in the stable. On a horse, Molly would have been no match for the equestrian hard-riding of the handsome horses of the Caras. Did she have an accomplice? Perhaps it had been the factor they had beaten up, the one whose daughter Clare was in love with Conn.
Sadly or, rather, gladly Faro had to dismiss Molly as a suspect. He liked her and had to admit that although she might have been the brain behind the murders, she was not a suitable candidate to head the list of killers. Just to look at her and anyone could see that not by any stretch of imagination did she have the required physical qualifications.
Imogen was ready to leave. While she had one last look around the house, Faro looked again at the picture postcards in the album and pocketed those with the words ‘thinking of you’. Faces might change over the years but adult handwriting has characteristics that remain identifiable.
Imogen returned and, as he closed the door, she looked back and sighed, ‘I’m thinking I might buy it, Faro. It’s a dear little place and would be perfect for my visits to Carasheen. What do you think?’ Faro stared at her, taken aback by the suggestion. At his hesitation, she took his arm, ‘Don’t you see? A perfect retreat for us, all ready and furnished.’ Faro regarded the cottage from the gate; to him it looked sad and forlorn. Imogen said, ‘You don’t think it’s a good idea, do you?’
‘There are houses I have liked better - in France, for instance.’
‘But France isn’t home for me. It means nothing. But a house in Carasheen - it’s part of my childhood.’
He put an arm around her, saying, ‘Let’s think about it. See if you still feel the same when we’re back in Paris.’
As they walked back down through the wood, he knew that, for him, the tiny house would always seem as he had first seen it, heavy with the atmosphere of the tragedy that had overtaken its young owners and the melancholy of their lost hopes and dreams. He could not imagine it ever feeling like home.
‘Where shall we go now?’ she asked.
Faro had an idea. ‘Maeve has lived here all her life, hasn’t she? I’ve noticed a fine selection of family photos on the sideboard. Have you ever seen her photo album?’ he added excitedly.
‘Sure I have but...’
‘My dear Imogen, this I think will solve our problem. There might just be something to identify our missing photo!’
They could not ask Maeve’s permission. She was out giving the four children their twice-daily exercise but Faro sensed a certain reluctance in Imogen as she opened a drawer in the sideboard and took out a photo album. She set it on the table between them. As they leafed through, there were only a few picture postcards. This was a personal record of life in Carasheen over the past twenty years and, under each image, Maeve had conscientiously written the names of the people and the event.
Faro carried in his mind a clear picture of the missing photo from the Donnellys’ album. Suddenly he was seeing it again. A young man was standing with an arm around Maeve and, underneath, the inscription ‘With Des at the Summer Fair, 1872’.
‘That’s him,’ said Faro triumphantly.
‘Uncle Des? It can’t be.’
‘It is - quite definitely.’ Faro knew it was the reason why Desmond had removed the photo. Although it was extremely unlikely that a stranger, such as himself, would recognise a stout, balding man wearing spectacles as the slim curly-haired young man of almost twenty years ago.
Imogen stared at him wide-eyed and whispered, ‘The same photo you found in his study that day.’ And, as realisation dawned, she sat down heavily. ‘Does this mean that Uncle Desmond was Peg’s father? I just can’t believe it.’
‘Tell me this, have you ever observed your uncle and Molly together?’
She shook her head. ‘Not really.’
‘Then I have - just this morning. And I made a discovery. They behave exactly as we do in the company of strangers.’
She gave him an impish look. ‘You mean as if they are merely polite acquaintances?’
‘Exactly.’
Imogen stood up. ‘I’m quite shattered. This calls for a pot of tea.’ The kettle, always at the boil, was put into action and, setting a plate of Maeve’s freshly baked soda bread on the table as she poured out two cups, she said, ‘Sure now, I realise this does explain a lot of things. Desmond and his wife were childless and so were Molly and poor Sean, the excuse being he was away for long periods. So, if as you suspected this morning they are or have been lovers, then there is a strong possibility that it’s true. The missing photo of Uncle Des and Peg’s striking resemblance to Molly at the same age.’ Shaking her head vigorously, she said, ‘A guilty secret kept over the years, for heaven only knows what good reasons. If the Cara brothers were blackmailing Molly, I still can’t imagine that Uncle Des would have thought it was bad enough for him to take matters into his own hands. He’s such a peace-loving gentle soul.’
Faro agreed but he did not add that Desmond had once been an officer of the law in Dublin and knew all about violence. Or that even the most peace-loving gentle souls could resort to murder to protect those they loved who were in peril.
Imogen looked at him slowly. ‘But it does give a lead, in your mind, that is, to why the Caras were killed?’ About to take a bite of soda bread, she put it back on her plate and sighed deeply. ‘There’s something else - something I didn’t tell you and hoped I could just forget all about it...’
Chapter 19
‘It’s about my Dublin visit. I hated thinking about it and I thought if I kept it to myself then no one would be hurt,’ said Imogen, ‘especially Uncle Des.’
Faro remembered her abrupt change of subject when she would normally regale him with all the details of her talk, and the people she had met. ‘I realised there was something wrong,’ he said.
She took his hand across the table. ‘What I found out still doesn’t make him a killer,’ she added hastily. ‘You remember I told you about the detective superintendent, Fergus Brady, an old friend of Uncle Des who had been at your lecture?’ Faro nodded and she went on, ‘Uncle told me he had seen him while he was visiting Edith. But that wasn’t true. Superintendent Brady said they hadn’t met for a couple of years.’ She paused, regarding him gravely. ‘But what was worse was the Dublin police knew nothing about the murder of th
e Donnellys and Uncle had never applied to them for reinforcements to back up the enquiry. The fact was that he told us all a pack of lies. I know this doesn’t make him the Cara boys’ killer,’ she repeated quite emphatically, as if willing herself to believe it.
Faro sat back in his chair with a sigh, back at the beginning of it all again. The murdered couple were at the heart of all the killings and, as far as Faro was concerned, Imogen’s revelations did, despite her reluctance, establish her uncle at the top of the suspects’ list. One fact was becoming abundantly clear, he had already planned to avenge Peg Donnelly’s death and confident that he could stay one step ahead of the village constable Conn and a retired Inspector Faro, he did not want an official police investigation complicating the issue. He did however have an alibi for the night that Matthew Cara was found. He was playing poker with Dr Neill and Aaron McBeigh.
‘Why didn’t you tell me it was a photo of your uncle as a young man?’ Faro asked and Imogen looked uncomfortable as he added, gently, ‘Didn’t you recognise him?’
She shrugged. ‘Not really. You must admit he’s changed a lot since that photograph was taken. I hadn’t seen him for years. I thought it might be him but I wasn’t sure and I didn’t think it was important.’
‘That he had taken it from the photo album, you mean?’ Faro reminded her. ‘Did that not strike you as significant?’
She shook her head, evading his eyes, but Faro, watching her, knew now the depth of loyalty to one’s kin in Carasheen and he found himself regarding her in a new light. Even aware that Imogen loved him, she was prepared to ignore anything that might reflect badly upon her uncle or her kin. He felt a shaft of sudden loneliness, fear too - like standing on the brink of a precipice. This was indeed a different Imogen Crowe, a stranger he had discovered here in Kerry. This was the Irish girl who put her family first, based on generations of tradition, and who said, ‘Be damned!’ to the rest of the world and ‘Be damned!’ to anyone who threatened them.
Death at Carasheen (Inspector Faro Mystery No.13) Page 13
