Death at Carasheen (Inspector Faro Mystery No.13)

by Alanna Knight

  Even at that distance Faro fought back an overwhelming desire for instant flight but, taking faith in Aaron’s rope, he climbed the fence and knelt by the remains of Mark Cara. He examined the dreadful gouging made by the bull’s horns and a deep gash on his neck. One thing was immediately obvious from his many dealings with corpses. This was no new accidental death. From the evidence before him, not only birds - other small animals had left their mark. The body had obviously lain in the bullpen for several days.

  As he returned, Aaron asked, ‘How did he come to be in the field alone? It’s a bullpen, for God’s sake. They’ve had the animal for years. Surely he knew the beast’s fierce nature - that bulls are never to be trusted. Although it is unlikely that they would attack unless provoked.’

  ‘Then provoked is probably the answer.’

  Aaron frowned. ‘I don’t get you, sir.’

  ‘My guess is that he did not come willingly - that someone dragged him here, drugged or disabled in some way. I think Dr Neill will uncover some interesting findings for his post-mortem. A knife slash. The blood would attract the bull.’

  ‘So that’s how -’ Aaron whistled and produced the horse blanket that he had also brought from the stable. ‘When you’re ready to go, shall I?’

  ‘If you please.’

  In the manner of a toreador in the bullring, Aaron very dextrously threw the blanket over Mark’s body. ‘Now let’s get back, sir. If you please, I’ve had more than enough.’

  As they walked back towards the house, he said, ‘I have a theory, sir. It couldn’t have been the children exacting their terrible revenge but I favour the Romanies. What do you think?’ Faro had already dismissed the Romanies as a rather too obvious choice as Aaron continued, ‘Physically the children could never have managed it without their help but realising they now had only one Cara to deal with, they might have seized the opportunity to take revenge.’

  Heading in the direction of the drive, Faro hesitated. ‘A moment, if you please.’ And returning to the house, he walked up the steps, threw open the front door, Aaron at his heels. ‘Do you not find the fact that it was unlocked interesting? Look around you. True, the dirt and squalor is hideous enough but there is no evidence to suggest struggle - no chairs or tables overturned,’ he said as Aaron followed him mutely through the downstairs rooms that they had inspected earlier. They then went upstairs to the bedrooms.

  ‘What are we looking for, sir?’ Aaron asked at last, averting his eyes from the squalor.

  ‘Bear with me, if you will, Mr McBeigh. I want you to observe that there is a great deal of valuable property untouched both upstairs and in the entrance hall. Look around you - an abundance of silver, tarnished I admit, but extremely precious and saleable, candelabra, table silver and fine paintings. Is that not so?’ Aaron nodded and Faro went on, ‘Do you not consider it remarkable that nowhere in the house is there any evidence of a struggle - not even an overturned chair? And I am certain that, if there was such a thing as an inventory of the contents of the house, we would find that nothing was missing. What does that suggest to you?’

  Aaron frowned. ‘I was thinking along the lines that Mark might have intercepted thieves - Romany thieves?’

  ‘No,’ Faro shook his head firmly as Aaron continued to watch him, frowning.

  ‘I am not a detective, sir. I am not sure what you are getting at.’

  Faro smiled. ‘Then I will tell you. Does not the evidence or lack of evidence of violent activity suggest anything significant to you?’ And, ignoring Aaron’s shake of the head, he continued, ‘It tells me that Mark Cara received a visitor that day and left the house willingly to accompany that person to the bullpen.’

  ‘I see what you mean, sir.’ Aaron interrupted. ‘Perhaps someone came to tell him that the bull had escaped and was roaming free.’

  ‘That is indeed one possibility. But, whatever the reason, the signs indicate that he was only intending to be gone from the house for a short time and did not trouble to secure the door.’

  Aaron was still staring at him, wide-eyed behind the thick spectacles. ‘What you are suggesting, sir, is...is...’

  He stopped and shook his head in disbelief as Faro said, ‘There is not the least doubt in my mind that Mark Cara knew his killer. Come with me.’ And, leading the way into the kitchen, he pointed to the table. ‘What do you see there, Mr McBeigh?’

  Aaron glanced quickly at the table and said, ‘A plate of food - nothing particular about it.’

  Faro laughed. ‘Come now - you can do better than that. This table,’ he said thumping it with his hand, ‘this table contains vital evidence.’

  The American continued to stare at it. Adjusting his glasses, he walked round, moved a chair out of his path and turned to Faro, shaking his head and looking increasingly baffled. ‘Why sir, it is only food - the remains of a meal.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Faro triumphantly ‘A meal still on the place, the meat with a knife in it, the potatoes untouched. Does that not suggest to you that this particular meal, which he was having alone, was hastily abandoned? See, the half-empty wine glass. And that chair which you pushed back so neatly into place as you walked around is also significant,’ Aaron continued to stare at him, occasionally shaking his head, as Faro insisted, ‘All of this is evidence, Mr McBeigh.’

  Aaron frowned. ‘Evidence of...what, sir?’

  ‘Evidence that Mark Cara’s last meal was interrupted,’ Faro pointed dramatically at the table. ‘It is all here for us to see. Look at that abandoned plate - it tells us he threw down his knife, pushed back his chair and left the table in a considerable hurry to meet his visitor. That visitor was the last person to see him alive,’ He then added, soberly, ‘And his identity, Mr McBeigh, once we know it, will also reveal his killer.’

  Chapter 21

  As they walked down the steps, Aaron stared back at the door as if it might give confirmation to Faro’s theory. ‘Your observations are truly amazing, sir. Amazing. I am lost in admiration.’

  Down the drive, they were met by a procession heading up the hill. In the lead was the doctor in the gig with Conn at his side. They were followed at a little distance on foot by Father McNee, Paddy and an unhappy-looking young curate who had just arrived from Cork that morning to begin his probationary period with the priest.

  Dr Neill greeted Faro and said, ‘A dreadful business. I can scarcely believe what I have heard - is it true?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Then, since you made the discovery, would you or perhaps...’ Pausing, he smiled encouragingly at Aaron whose well-tanned face was showing signs of stress.

  Aaron shook his head and Faro said quickly, ‘I will come with you.’ Boarding the gig, he told the doctor and Conn the details of their horrific discovery.

  At the bullpen, the carrion birds had returned to resume their gruesome feast and were only thrust off with some difficulty. ‘Disgusting creatures,’ said the doctor. ‘But, to survive, some must die. It’s the law of nature.’

  The Kerry bull, still tethered to the far side fence, bellowed his displeasure and gave an ineffectual tug at the rope. The doctor, about to climb into the field, paused to shudder and ask, ‘Is it safe?’

  ‘Mr McBeigh made an excellent job of anchoring him,’ said Faro reassuringly, but he kept a sharp lookout in the bull’s direction as he clambered over the fence. The small procession was led by the doctor and Conn, with Paddy at their heels. Behind came Father McNee and Joseph, the young curate, carrying the requirements to say a Mass for the dead.

  Listening to the murmurs of their prayers as they knelt over the dead man, none of it seemed real. This was the stuff of nightmares, Faro thought, as Paddy came and stood beside him, turning his bonnet round and round in his hands, muttering little shrill birdlike cries and dancing from one foot to the next. The horror of the situation seemed well beyond him too although Faro felt that he was actually enjoying being part of such a terrible scene, unlike the young curate who had to be excused his duties
to rush over to the hedge and be violently sick.

  The doctor’s examination had not taken long. After a few words with Father McNee, he and Conn came back to Faro, who asked, ‘Has he been dead for some time?’

  ‘About fourteen hours, I would estimate,’ was the doctor’s cautious reply.

  Faro was taken aback and said, ‘I would have thought considerably more than that.’

  ‘Oh, but then you would be mistaken, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Mr Faro? We doctors know our jobs, I assure you,’ was the smooth reply.

  ‘I should like you to come back with me and give your official report, sir,’ Conn said to Faro, ‘since you and the American gentleman discovered the body.’ Faro said he would do so, frowning towards the little group around the remains of Mark Cara.

  Dr Neill interpreted that glance and said, ‘A sorry situation. We cannot take him back down to the village knowing the uncertain temper of the folks there regarding the Caras. Alive or dead, it is all the same to them. Especially after the Caras’ shocking behaviour towards their priest. They are superstitious as you know about the dead going to purgatory without the necessary committals.’

  Father McNee who called across to the doctor provided the solution. ‘We are ready now, Doctor.’

  To Faro and Conn, Dr Neill smiled grimly. ‘I will stay and oversee matters here.’

  ‘What are you intending, sir?’ asked Conn.

  The doctor shook his head. ‘Not I, Constable. Father McNee has decided on instant committal in the family vault with his brothers. An excellent suggestion since this appalling situation certainly will not be improved by delay.’ This was increasingly obvious. The stench had everyone pressing handkerchiefs to their noses - everyone except Paddy, that is, and he climbed over the fence to offer his assistance. Smiling gently, he rolled up his sleeves and seemed totally unmoved by the horrendous task or the presence of the fierce bull. His help was sorely needed. The young curate was being sick again. He was reprimanded by the priest who was attempting to wrap the remains of Mark Cara in the horse blanket.

  At this point, the doctor whispered that they would take the body briefly up to the house. ‘Clean him up, you know, and prepare him for interment. Perhaps the vault will then be sealed. Carasheen will approve of that. It will mark the end of a chapter - the unholy trinity - closed forever.’ Along with a lot of unanswered questions, Faro decided, such as a man who had already been dead for several days being dismissed as the victim of a recent fatal accident.

  ‘As for the bull, he will have to be destroyed,’ said Conn firmly. Faro had an idea that Aaron would have a lot to say about that.

  Walking down the hill, Faro and Conn were greeted on all sides by folk who had heard the news and clamoured for details. There were shouts of, ‘The young divil is dead, God rot him.’

  ‘How did he die? Who killed him?’

  And, ‘He will go straight to hell, that’s for sure!’

  Ignoring such sentiments, Conn managed a dignified response by saying, ‘You will have all the details in due course. We can tell you nothing definite until we have the doctor’s report.’

  ‘He is really dead tho’, is he not, Constable?’ was one anxious question which raised a stillness in the little crowd.

  ‘He is indeed,’ said Conn. ‘For certain.’

  ‘No doubt about it, Constable?’

  ‘None at all.’ At that, a cheer rose from many throats. Anxious looks turned to cries of jubilation. Carasheen was free - free at last from the tyranny of the Caras. Now they could look forward to living their lives, tilling their fields and going about their daily tasks without the ever-present nagging fear of the unholy trinity riding their black horses through the village, bringing with them a tide of destruction, stealing what was not given willingly and whipping folk who got in their way. And this behaviour was always accompanied by the derisive mocking laughter that some would have cause to remember to their dying days.

  Faro was glad to leave Conn to deal with the crowd that clustered around him and make his escape to the inn. Aaron had already arrived and was talking to Imogen who rushed to his side and put her arm around him. ‘Faro darling, we have been waiting for you,’ she said anxiously. ‘Aaron told us all about it - dreadful, dreadful. Are you all right?’ Assuring her that he was, Faro did not add that he doubted whether he would be able to close off the fearful scene - the sight of it in his mind’s eye or the smell of it continually in his nostrils. He sighed inwardly. Dear God, he had thought he was finished with such scenes, that they had been laid aside with his retirement from the Edinburgh City Police.

  Imogen continued to cling to his side, her expression concerned and tender. As if she was aware of his disturbed state of mind, she led him to the window, away from Aaron and the innkeeper’s numerous customers eager for news and speculation on the morning’s events at Cara House.

  ‘I seem to remember we were engaged for lunch,’ she said, leaning round to kiss his cheek.

  Stroking her arm, he smiled wryly, saying, ‘You won’t be offended if I decline, will you, my dear?’ At that moment, food was furthest from his thoughts, obliterated by that recurring scene in the bullpen and the stench of death. ‘I am not particularly hungry,’ he added.

  ‘You look dreadful, darling,’ she whispered.

  ‘Do I? I could do with a strong drink.’

  As if he understood perfectly, Tom, who had observed their retreat from his other customers, came over and put down a very large whiskey on the table. Thanking him, Faro drank it gladly. Watching him drain it, Tom said, ‘Another wouldn’t do you any harm either, sir.’ And, as he picked up the empty glass, he added, ‘A terrible business up yonder, but look outside if you will, sir. You will go many a mile to find a happier place than Carasheen this day - happy accident for all of us, the young devil’s folly.’ So he believed or had been told that it was an accident, thought Faro, as Tom went on, ‘You wouldn’t be knowing, sir, but there was once a lovely herd of cows up at the house - the pride of Kerry they were. But once the old gentleman died and the young devils took over, all they kept was the bull.’ He paused and shook his head. ‘The bull. Can you imagine keeping a bull on his own without cows - sure, it is asking for trouble. Any farmer will tell you that. Perhaps the poor beast was like the rest of Cara, just waiting for its moment of vengeance,’ he ended darkly and swept away to refill the empty glass.

  Imogen smiled and said, ‘That must be one of the longest speeches our usually silent Tom has ever made.’ Faro thought that what he had to say raised some interesting points, none more so than the fact that Mark Cara’s death was being regarded as just another accident. If it was presumed that Luke was also dead, this series of accidents had effectively wiped the unholy trinity off the face of the earth. That they deserved their fate, Faro was in no doubt. But all three brothers meeting accidental deaths - one after another, suggested sinister manipulation rather than coincidence.

  Tom, returning with the whiskey, wiped the table in front of Faro and offered his own interpretation. ‘The hand of God, that’s what they are saying back at the bar there. Sure, God works in mysterious ways,’ he added, piously, looking at Faro for approval. Faro nodded, thinking that he would very much like to discover the identity of the human agency lying behind those divine hands.

  Finishing his whiskey, for which Tom refused payment, he and Imogen walked out into the sunshine where most of the crowd had dispersed, a few remaining to welcome the return of Father McNee, beloved by all, and in the belief that he would bury for ever the last of the unholy trinity.

  If only time was not against him, Faro thought desperately, left with only two days to prove that the accidents had another name - murder. But if time was against him, so was the community. Carasheen had made up its mind. Its conscience was clear. This was an act of God and that was how it would go down in their annals - just like the thunderstorm that they believed had, to their intense satisfaction, caused the death of the youngest Cara.

&n
bsp; And Faro knew that, in this battle of wits, he would not only be facing the real murderer but the hands and hearts of every man and woman in Carasheen would be turned against him.

  United, they would protect the killer in their midst. They regarded the man or woman who had released them from the tyranny of the Caras as their saviour - it was not even beyond the bounds of possibility that they might raise funds for the erection of an appropriate monument.

  Chapter 22

  Leaving Imogen and heading towards the police station, Faro found Conn conscientiously entering the details of the morning’s discovery in his report, which he handed to Faro. It read, ‘Mark Cara gored to death by bull at eight p.m. last night.’

  This was followed by the date that Faro decided was a curious discrepancy. It must have been obvious, even to a medical student in his first year, let alone a doctor of Neill’s long experience, that the body had lain in the bullpen for considerably longer than fourteen hours before he and Aaron had made the gruesome discovery. The other question was the complete disappearance of the gypsy children from Cara House - and why this did not seem to concern or throw a shadow over the community’s present euphoria.

  ‘Where are they now and who spirited them away?’ Faro asked. ‘Was that before or after the Kerry bull’s attack on Mark Cara? And, most important of all, I should like to know if and how the children or the Romanies were involved.’

  Conn threw down his pen and shook his head. ‘My grandmother was Romany and the method of Mark Cara’s death does not fit in what I have ever heard of their customs. They execute by the knife. Putting a man to death by throwing him into a bullpen is not their style at all.’ Pausing, he added thoughtfully, ‘And they would not have left an empty house with the contents untouched - of that you can be sure, sir. I was once inside during the old gentleman’s days, when I was a little lad, and I remember rich pickings - silver and fine things. The sale of such objects would have kept the Romanies in comfort for the rest of their lives.’ He sighed. ‘And they would not have considered it sinful in any way. The people who had once owned the objects were dead and gone and they themselves are a poor people with few resources - except what they make by their hands or...’ he grinned ruefully, ‘occasionally steal. Sure now, they would have regarded anything saleable as their right.’