Faro smiled gently. 'You should be safe enough here.'
'There's no place they can't get at you, mister.' She looked around wildly. 'And in any disguise too. That Inga, she's one. She's a witch,' she added viciously and then shook her head. 'But she's not all wicked, like some. She persuaded me to leave ...'
'For your own good I'm sure, Mrs Groat.' And, trying to get her back to the main concern, he added, 'I'm making some enquiries about Mrs Bliss regarding relatives and so forth. I was hoping you could tell me exactly what happened, in your own words.'
Mrs Groat launched into the story of the seal man rising from the waves around the rock and snatching Mrs Bliss and her little dog into the sea. It was an unfaltering repetition of the version he had already been told at Balfray, in almost identical words.
He was disappointed. In that oft-repeated tale, fear had destroyed and distorted long ago any significant detail or relevant clues that a vital eye-witness account of Mrs Bliss's death might have originally contained.
Thanking her politely, he returned down the nave, stopping occasionally to look at the seventeenth-century tombstones - melancholy with ornate skulls and cross-bones. Once the burial place of select Orkney families, it offered a gratifying sense of the continuity of man under one great roof. A story seven hundred years old, a harvest of times gone and dynasties long turned to dust.
At the massive doorway, he paused, looked back once more. Remarkable. Even the heathen, he thought, must be inspired and awe-struck, for the builders had also captured with the work of their hands, the peace which passeth all understanding.
Faro was not a man who troubled a busy God with his prayers except in moments of extremis, but here he felt the presence of a different deity to the wrathful Jehovah thundered out in two-hour-long sermons by preachers in fashionable Edinburgh churches. Here he felt, for one single instant, was the God of Love and he left wishing he had kept the simple faith of his childhood and envying those who had.
Stepping into the sunlight of Kirkwall on a busy Monday morning, he headed towards the offices of The Orcadian where, at the end of a long and tedious pursuit through the narrow news column files of the past months, he at last found what he was looking for.
Kirkwall Ferry Tragic Accident. Man Overboard
Captain Williams and his crew were summoned on deck by cries for help from a woman passenger, Mrs Leon, who, in great distress, informed them that she and her husband had been walking the deck to clear their heads. Mr Leon had felt suddenly unwell, having imbibed rather freely of ale at supper. As he leaned over the rail, and she assisted him, her hat, a new one bought for a wedding they were going to at Stromness, was caught by a sudden breeze. Mr Leon, trying to catch it, overbalanced and fell into the sea. A witness to the accident, a Mr Brown, a business man from Aberdeen, confirmed that he had seen the couple walking together and had exchanged greetings with them minutes before the accident He had noticed that Mr Leon was somewhat inebriated. Hearing Mrs Leon's cry of distress and witnessing her husband's gallant but useless attempt to save the hat, he had rushed to their assistance but, alas, too late to save Mr Leon.
Faro walked across to the police station, a tiny office manned by one constable. When he introduced himself, the policeman, who had hardly glanced up from reading the newspaper, sprang to his feet and saluted smartly.
'Sergeant Frith said we might be having a visit from you, Inspector. The Fiscal isn't back yet.'
'I know. I should like a glance at your log for the seventeenth February, if you please.'
The details were all there; a briefer account than that contained in The Orcadian simply stated, 'Mr G. Leon, from Banff, reported as falling overboard on Kirkwall ferry.' And in the adjoining column, 'Result of accident while drunk. No further details.'
'Was the body recovered?'
The Constable smiled pityingly. 'There are always bodies being washed up, Inspector. We have a fair number of wrecks around the coast, foreign ships as well as our own. But most of them are beyond identification by the time they come ashore.'
'Has Mrs Leon made any subsequent enquiry?'
That I couldn't tell you, Inspector. Sergeant Frith's your man, deals with letters and so forth.'
'Very well. Will you please inform the Sergeant if he has any relevant information that I am to be found at Balfray Castle. And tell him that it is a matter of urgency, will you?'
His next call was at the shipping office. He was in luck. The Kirkwall ferry was moored alongside and in reply to his question, the clerk answered, 'Captain Williams? Yes, sir, he's sitting over there.'
And Captain Williams, busily completing loading documents, cordially invited Inspector Faro to a seat. 'What can I do for you? Smuggling, is it?'
'No, not this time. Do you have a passenger list for February?'
The Captain shook his head. 'Anyone can buy a ticket. Depends on whether they booked a berth for the night crossing, otherwise we don't take names of passengers. However, if you'd care to come aboard, I'll have a look for you.'
Faro, following him up the gangway, said, 'It was the lady whose husband fell overboard last February that I'm interested in.'
'Oh dear, yes. The drunken gentleman. Most unfortunate, most unfortunate. Something about his wife's hat, wasn't it? No, I don't remember him, but I do remember the wife. Terrible state she was in,' he added, ushering Faro into his cabin. Taking down a ledger, he flicked back a few pages.
'February... you're in luck, Inspector. Here it is. A Mr and Mrs G. Leon were in Cabin Six.'
'I believe there was a witness, a Mr Brown, from Aberdeen?'
The Captain scanned the list and shook his head. 'No Mr Brown. He must have been a foot passenger.'
'Do you remember him at all?'
Captain Williams scratched his forehead. 'Only very vaguely that he was a well-spoken gentleman and very concerned for the poor lady.'
'May I see the list, please?'
One familiar name drew his attention. He pointed to it.
'Don't remember anything about that one,' said the Captain. 'Not that I'd want to. Bring bad luck. And this one certainly did. For someone.' Pausing, he added, 'What's this all about, anyway, Inspector?'
'Just insurance claims.'
'Insurance, eh?' The Captain eyed him doubtfully.
'Nothing you need concern yourself about, Captain.'
Faro left the ship with a sense of jubilation and a growing certainty that Mrs Leon did not exist. Soon he would have proof positive that she and Mrs Bliss were one and the same.
Walking down the gangway, he was acutely aware of the Captain watching him uneasily, confirming his own suspicion that Williams had been holding back, that he knew more than he was ready to admit. But what? He was soon to find the answer and from a totally unexpected quarter.
Heading along the quayside to discover that the Balfray mailboat would leave within the hour, he became aware of a prickling sensation in the region of the nape of his neck.
He was being followed. He knew now that his movements had been under close scrutiny since he left the ship. And before that, in the Captain's cabin, a lurking shadow had indicated a listener to their conversation. Turning a corner he leaned back against the wall. The footsteps grew closer.
'Got you,' he said, triumphantly seizing the seaman who had been tracking him in a vice-like grip from which there was little hope of escape. His captive wriggled frantically. 'Give over, mister. Give over. For God's sake. You're throttling me.'
Faro turned the man round. He recognised the grizzled weather-beaten face of the old sailor who had been sitting on a bench in the shipping office while he talked to Captain Williams. He released his merciless hold to be greeted by a bout of coughing and spluttering.
'God's sake, man, what are you? A prize fighter or something?' was the half-choked demand.
'Let's say that I don't enjoy being followed. I'm rather sensitive about such matters.'
'Let me go, mister.'
'I shall. When I know
what is your business with me?'
'Nothing, mister. I was just curious when I heard you talking to the Captain. You see, I was on duty that night when that accident happened.' The man paused, fingering his throat tenderly. 'God, man, I could use a drink.'
'Very well.' And Faro led the way across to the Boat Inn where he set a jug of ale between them, the sight of which brightened the sailor's eyes and outlook so considerably that he volunteered his name was Henry.
'Drink up. Now what was it you wanted to tell me?'
'That night you was enquiring about when the woman's husband fell overboard. It wasn't just like the woman said. There was two men fighting...'
'Two men?'
'Aye, sir. And I got the feeling they was fighting over her. She was, well, cowering to one side. Looking scared.'
'Why then didn't you intervene?'
Henry laughed. 'Me? What do you take me for? Come between two men and their woman? Not likely. I've seen too many fights like that end up with the man in the middle coming off worst, with a knife sticking out of his back.' He shook his head. 'If I'd made a move, then I might have been the one to land in the drink.'
'Didn't you tell the Captain about this?'
'I'm coming to that, mister. I did tell him. But he told me it wasn't necessary to put that part into the report, especially when he had a witness report of the accident. All cut and dried.'
'Did you see this witness, Mr Brown, by any chance?'
Henry shook his head. 'I see what you're getting at, mister. You think he might have pushed the husband into the sea?'
'Never mind what I think, just answer my question, if you please.'
'No, I didn't see him. In any case I wouldn't have known him. It was a wild stormy night to start off with, heavy sea rolling and black as pitch.'
'But enough light for you to see two men fighting?'
'Aye, and hear them too. But they were all swathed up to the eyes, as any sensible body would be, walking the deck on such a night'
'Have you any idea why the Captain didn't report this incident?'
'I can give a good guess. You see, it was his very first command and he didn't want trouble right at the beginning. I kept my peace too, but, if the body had been found and there had been an enquiry, then I swear to God, mister, I'd have come forward.'
Here indeed was a new dimension to Mr Leon's fatal accident. Two men involved and one woman.
'Remarkable,' said Faro and, handing Henry a gratuity, which was eagerly received, for his help, he leaped aboard the mailboat as it was casting off to Balfray.
Thankful that the crossing was a smooth one, for he needed all his wits about him to mull over some very interesting conclusions that had emerged from his enquiries, he was certain that the key to the labyrinth was almost within his grasp.
At Balfray, he skirted the castle drive and approached by the sea wood.
Was it only a sense of duty that led him to Saul Hoy's cottage, he wondered, where he was momentarily gratified to find Inga rolling pastry at the kitchen table, apparently none the worse for her attack on the cliff path.
When she saw him, he realised her face turned pale, her hands momentarily tightened. Then it was over. What dire news did she expect him to bring? It was obviously more than an anxious query about her health.
'I'm fine, just fine, Jeremy,' she said, clearly relieved.
That bump on your head?'
'Getting smaller every hour.' She smiled. 'Won't you sit down and I'll make you a cup of tea?'
'No, thank you, I have to get back to the castle.'
'Surely it isn't all that urgent?' she pleaded.
'Some other time, Inga. I just wondered if you had any more idea who it was who attacked you yesterday.'
She shook her head, her eyes on the pastry-cutting. 'No idea at all, I'm afraid.'
'You don't sound very concerned.'
She looked up at him. 'I'm not.' With a shrug, she added, 'I bear a charmed life. Haven't you realised?'
'I shouldn't have thought yesterday afternoon's events were an indication of a charmed life,' he said grimly.
Smiling still, she shook her head. 'What you don't seem to realise, Jeremy, is that this was not the first time, or probably the last.' Enumerating on her fingers, she said, 'I've been stoned, tripped, cajoled and threatened. It's been going on as long as I can remember.'
'Then, for God's sake, why don't you take the warning and leave this place?'
She straightened up, put her hands on the table and leaned towards him. 'Is there something you want to ask me?' she whispered.
'Had you something in mind?'
'I thought you might be about to propose.'
His shocked expression told her that he was taken aback and with a sigh she added, 'I seem to be wrong, don't I?'
Gathering up the pie dishes, she said, 'I'm sorry. Now I've embarrassed you. I didn't mean to. Are you sure you won't have some tea?' And with a return to impish humour, she added, 'I can recommend tea. It's an excellent remedy for shock.'
Faro leaped to his feet, and said brusquely, 'I must go, really.'
'Very well. If you must'
He waited until she closed the oven, wishing he could bring himself to stretch out his hand and touch her. At the door, he turned and, without looking at her, asked, 'What would your answer have been, Inga St Ola?'
'Same as before, Jeremy Faro. You had my answer twenty years ago. I haven't changed,' she said cheerfully.
But as she spoke she evaded his eyes and he was sure she lied, a bitter tight line about a mouth that smiled. He nodded and turned away. There was nothing between them now and he could return to Edinburgh untroubled, unfettered by any longing for Inga St Ola. He told himself that he was glad that he was not in love with her and had not been for many years, thankful that he need not tell her the truth.
As he walked up the drive to the castle, he was totally unprepared for the next disaster.
As he rang the doorbell, Vince rushed into the hall to greet him. Thank God it's you. Come quickly, Stepfather.'
'Is it Francis?'
'Yes. He's been poisoned.'
'Poisoned?'
And Faro swore as all his precious theories fell to dust.
Chapter Seventeen
I hope you're handy with a stomach pump,' said Vince as they raced upstairs. 'Because, if we don't take action immediately, Francis is a dead man.'
The next hour was one Faro hoped never again to experience. Although insensitivity about gore was part of a policeman's life, it rarely had to do with the living and as they fought to keep Francis Balfray alive, Faro was thankful that he had never chosen medicine as a career. At last it was over and Balfray, drained and white, lay death-like against the pillows.
'I'll stay with him,' whispered Vince, pulling up the bedclothes.
'And I'll keep you company.'
'Good. When is the Procurator Fiscal coming?'
'As soon as he returns from South Ronaldsay and gets the Sergeant's message. Apparently they are like us here at Balfray, completely isolated without any telegraph system.'
'All very commendable unless you have an emergency. What happened in Kirkwall?'
Faro finished his account of the morning's events by sitting back in his chair, placing his fingertips together and regarding his stepson with a look of eager expectation.
'I have left out nothing of importance, Vince. You are now in possession of all the facts, so may I ask what you have deduced so far?'
Vince thought before replying. 'I would be prepared on your evidence to hazard a guess that Mrs Bliss and Mrs Leon are one and the same person.'
'Excellent.' And from his pocket, Faro produced the cipher which he had found in Mrs Bliss's notebook. 'We have it there, "Leon" in her own words. And what else?' he demanded sharply.
'I should like to know who her husband was, and where he fits into what looks undoubtedly like a conspiracy of some kind and why she was travelling under an assumed name.'
'Ah
, Vince, Vince, you've missed the vital point. Take another look at these words she wrote—'
At that moment they were interrupted by Faro's mother who had been kept at bay with a story about Dr Francis having a severe gastric attack.
'It's almost dark and you haven't lit the lamps,' she said accusingly. 'You have hardly eaten a thing all day, Vince, and your stepfather hasn't had his supper yet.'
Vince smiled. 'I had forgotten, Grandma. But now that you mention it, I'm rather hungry.'
'I'll stay with Francis. Something on a tray will do excellently for me, Mother. Really it will,' Faro said firmly, silencing her protest.
While they were gone, Faro made some more notes. When Vince returned he was eager to discuss his deductions, but they had no sooner settled down at the table, heads together, when Francis opened his eyes.
'Why didn't you let me go?' he groaned as Vince bent over him taking his pulse.
'Be silent, Francis. Is that all the thanks we get for saving your life?'
Francis stared past him and, observing Faro for the first time, he said, 'You had better tell him, Inspector Faro.'
'Tell him what, Francis?'
'You have only saved me for the gallows.' Then with a sigh he added, 'I killed her, Mr Faro. I killed my poor Thora.'
'Of course you didn't,' said Vince. 'It wasn't your fault she died. No one could have looked after her better. So please don't exert yourself. Talking wastes your strength.'
Francis shook his head and attempted to sit up feebly against the pillows. 'But I must tell you, if only to ease my terrible anguish. I have hardly slept since it happened.'
Disjointedly, with many outbursts of groans and tears, he began, 'It was Norma I loved and Norma I intended to marry. But when I came to Balfray I realised that the future of the island was at stake. Norma - Miss Balfray - was penniless.
'As for the Bothwell treasure, that was a legend only. There was no hidden hoard of gold. Whatever remained of that by the beginning of this century had been spent by her father and grandfather to build Balfray Castle and ensure better living conditions and houses for the tenants. Thanks to those two philanthropic relatives, she owned only the estate, heavily entailed, and it would soon have to be sold.'
Killing Cousins (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.4) Page 15
