Killing Cousins (20 page)

He found Aunty Griz wringing her hands, looking shocked and horrified. 'I've just heard about that poor crazed laddie doing away with himself. Awful, it is, awful, so soon after poor Mrs Balfray.' Stopping, she gave him one of her shrewd glances. 'I suppose that's why you're here really, isn't it?'

Faro smiled wryly. News travelled fast in the islands as it had always done best, by word of mouth - far faster than the newfangled telegraph could transmit or the newspapers could print. At least there were no details, he soon gathered, for which he was thankful.

Suicide was presumed and, nodding in agreement, he let her believe what she had heard. 'I believe he has a young cousin Letty who used to be maid at the castle. Lives in Kirkwall now. Do you know her?'

'Well, of course I do. She's Mrs Groat now, lives just two streets away.'

'I wonder if I could have a word with her.'

'Go easy on the bad news, Jeremy, though she'll have heard by now, no doubt.' Aunty Griz smiled. 'She's in, what they like to call these days, an interesting condition. She gets easily upset, the poor lass,' and tapping her forehead added significantly, 'A bit simple. Runs in the family.'

'Indeed?' Faro tried to sound surprised.

'At this time of day you'll find her in the cathedral, she does a bit of cleaning there. She turned very religious, after her experience. Thinks she saw the devil in the guise of a seal man on Balfray before she left.'

Aunty Griz chuckled. 'An instant conversion and a quick marriage, not before time by my reckoning, to her sweetheart over here. So I suppose it did some good, because rumour was that young Joe was hard pressed by his parents not to have anything to do with that family. We all hope this bairn will be all right. At least Joe Groat is good healthy stock. There's a boat at noon on Mondays, are you catching it?'

'I hope so. But I'll drop into the newspaper office. Some things I want to look up when I'm here.'

Aunty Griz put on her shawl. 'I'll walk you there.'

'I know where it is.'

Aunty Griz smiled and insisted on showing him to the very door of
The Orcadian
offices as if he, a grown man, would lose his way if he wasn't personally escorted.

But on the way he realised that she had her own reasons which had nothing to do with his well-being. As they walked towards Victoria Street it was obvious that she had a lot of friends, all out with their baskets doing their morning shopping. And Aunty Griz was having the time of her life, more than eager to stop each one and, after a formal introduction, tell them all about her famous nephew.

The walk took considerably longer than the two minutes he had envisaged. Leaving her with a hug and a kiss, he extracted a promise that she would visit him in Edinburgh.

'Aye, I might well... some day.'

He smiled at this promise he knew she would never keep.

The old newspaper files were being read by one of the reporters at this moment, he was told, and as they were bound up in book form, he would need to come back again in half an hour. In that case, he would go and see Letty Groat.

Chapter Sixteen

In the rose-red cathedral of St Magnus, Faro once more stood in awe before the magnitude of man's creation in the name of Almighty God. Again, considering the hovels of the poor, hardly advanced in many instances from Dwarfie Ha', he marvelled at those medieval Orcadian builders who, with the most primitive of tools but with boundless imagination and tenacity, had placed stone upon stone, pillar upon pillar, gallery upon gallery. And, as garnish to it all, the final inspiration of a stained-glass rose window.

As he walked down the nave towards the altar, there was no mistaking the heavily pregnant young woman so carefully cleaning the brasses. 'Mrs Groat?'

She almost jumped in the air at his approach. 'Yes, who wants me? Who are you? Oh, you did give me a scare. A body can usually hear anyone walking down the aisle.'

Faro had forgotten that one of the first lessons he had learned as a detective was to walk noiselessly. He felt he owed her an apology. 'I'm from Balfray.'

'Balfray?' she said, and he saw the fleeting terror in her face, the way she clutched the brass crucifix as if she meant to hurl it in his face. He took a step backwards at the violence of her action.

'Yes, I was bringing my children back to school in Kirkwall and...' He paused, wondering how much she knew already. 'I thought I'd look in and see you.'

Mrs Groat sat down on the altar steps and began to cry. Amazed once again at the speed with which news, especially bad news, travelled in the islands, he realised he would be spared telling her of her cousin's death.

'Poor Troller, poor Troller. Tell Saul, will you, that I can't come to the funeral wake. I know it's dreadful wicked of me but Joe will be going. I never want to set foot on that evil place, not ever again.'

'Why, what happened?' he asked innocently.

'I nearly died of fright, that's what' She touched her stomach gently as if she felt the child moving. 'And...and...well, the bairn, you know.'

With a feeling that obtaining coherent information was going to be difficult, he asked, 'Do you mean when the housekeeper was drowned?'

She nodded. 'So they told you about it, did they? I asked them not to tell anyone, in case it got around and the selkies got after me too.'

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.