The Strings of Murder (17 page)

I went downstairs to that pigsty of an office, which I had privately christened ‘The Dumping Ground’, and found McGray with his feet on the desk again. He lifted a file.

‘Pictures, Frey. The photographer finally brought them. D’ye want to have a wee look?’

I went through the glossy photographs, meticulously scanning every inch and feature. I was happy to see that the scene had indeed not been altered at all. The first few images showed Fontaine’s eviscerated body before it had been removed from the study’s floor, then there was a close shot of the bloodstained violin, which lay close to the body, half hidden under the desk as we’d found it. There were also a couple of pictures of the satanic symbol and of the empty music stand, where I recognized the dark specks of blood.

The stack ended with some photographs taken during the post-mortem, which showed the half-emptied belly of the old man in detail. I felt glad I’d only had coffee that morning, for I had to pay particular attention to those pictures. I could corroborate that Fontaine had been attacked most viciously – the cut on his throat was a clean, straight slash, but the work on his abdomen was as savage as Reed had reported it.

‘Can ye tell anything from those?’

I shook my head. ‘They did a good job at documenting the scene and the post-mortem, but to be honest I cannot deduce anything new from these.’

‘Neither can I. File them, anyway.’

I threw the file into one of the empty drawers of my desk, not knowing then how useful those images would eventually prove to be.

‘What now?’ I asked wearily. ‘Gypsy clairvoyant? I would be keener to talk to the luthier.’

‘Aye, we have to see that lad some time soon, but today we go to Madame Katerina’s. Also, I think we should have a wee talk with the Ardglass clan.’

‘Oh, yes.’ I remembered McGray’s tension when we’d met Alistair Ardglass. ‘What was all that about?’

McGray sighed, toying with a wooden amulet of some sort. He passed it through his fingers, and it surprised me how skilled the remaining phalange of his lost finger actually was. ‘I probably shouldn’t tell ye this, and I will only cos I don’t want ye to whine if I treat them like the scum they are.’ A deeper sigh followed, as though McGray was gathering patience. ‘It all began when my father bought our house in Moray Place, nine … God, almost ten years ago! That Lady Glass bitch defamed us as much as she could. We were new money and she didn’t like that. For a good while we weren’t well received in society … Of course, it all changed when the rascals found out how much the McGrays were worth in gold – we had some nice wee times then. It didn’t last long, though. When –’ McGray suddenly stopped, his jaw tense and hatred in his eyes. He dropped the amulet onto the desk. ‘When my folks died Lady Glass struck again, gossiping and planting her poison against this household. That’s why I cannae even get a decent bloody cook!’

‘Why do you call her Lady Glass?’ I asked.

He cackled, a joyful glow in his eyes. ‘It’s not only me. Abody calls her that for her drinking … She claims to come from noble lineage, all the way back to the War o’ the Roses, just marrying commoners from time to time to avoid harelip. Well, she may be as grand as she wants, but she still cannae spend more than three days without getting blootered.’

‘Getting what?’

‘Blootered! Drunk! Unable to put her glass doun! Anyways, the hag owns about a third of Edinburgh and makes a fortune every year from letting her properties.’

‘Oh! So she was Fontaine’s landlady?’

‘Aye. Fontaine’s maid called the police and Lady Glass when she couldn’t open the door and Fontaine didn’t reply. Lady Glass was the one who wouldn’t let the police break the door cos a window would be cheaper to replace. The stingy hag …’

I nodded, pondering the information. ‘There could be a connection, yes. And there is something I do not quite like about that Alistair. Then again, if that woman owns so many properties, it might be just a coincidence. Whichever the case, it would not harm us to ask them a few questions. After we visit your charlatan witch, perhaps?’

‘We’ll play it by ear. And don’t call her a witch. Yer gonna love Madame Katerina.’

I knew that McGray would not change his plans, but I whined throughout the ride nonetheless – through the Old Town, along the avenues around the castle, and then to one of the filthiest spots in Edinburgh: the Cattle Market.

‘I presume you have consulted this bloody clairvoyant in the past?’

‘Aye.’

‘What does she do? Does she read tea leaves? A crystal ball? Or does she keep guessing until she gets one fact right after a few hours?’

McGray mistook my mockery for actual interest. ‘Actually she’s got this gift that she calls her “inner eyes”. She can see things whenever she touches somethin’ with enough … she calls them imprints – energy we leave behind.’

I could not believe how stupid all that sounded. And McGray’s throaty accent made it all sound far more stupid.

‘Actually …’ I said, producing my pocket watch and wrapping it in the handkerchief with the other items, ‘it will be most interesting to gauge your beloved witch’s accuracy.’ I winked. ‘You know, for the sake of scientific curiosity. I shall give her my timepiece, pretending that it is part of the evidence. Let us call it … our “control sample”, as biologists like to do.’

McGray looked at me most intently. ‘Do what ye want, but ye might not like what she’ll say.’

The gypsy lived in one of the dreadful shacks that surrounded the wide esplanade of the Cattle Market, only a few blocks south of Castle Rock. Fortunately for me, it was not a market day; otherwise the place would have been packed with smelly cows and oxen from all around Scotland, and the air would have roared with the yelling of sellers and bidders, as well as the bellowing of their beasts. The square did stink of animal, though, and the
bare soil, pressed by the hooves of countless cattle over the years, was peppered with their droppings.

We found some posts to tie the horses to and walked towards one of the dilapidated buildings. Only too late I felt my foot plunging into a soft mass of faeces.

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake!’

Nine-Nails cackled when he saw my otherwise shining shoe covered in dung. He headed to what looked like the filthiest, most crooked beer stall in town, set in the windows of a lodging house. It reminded me of the slums I had seen in London’s East End; murky spots where the poorest workers gathered to drink and alleviate a little the misery of their existence.

‘I thought we were going to see your crazy witch, not for a drink. Although this does strike me as a place sophisticated enough for you.’

‘Madame Katerina keeps the brewery as a side business.’

I whistled. ‘Beer seller
and
fortune teller! Why, she gets the clients drunk and then reads their hands! What a bright businesswoman.’

McGray talked to the fat chap who was serving beer to a couple of builders. ‘Mornin’, laddie. Can we see yer boss?’

‘Course, Mr McGray. Ye ken she always welcomes ye.’

The man took some coins from the already half-drunk workers and then led us in. We followed him through a darkened, damp storage room crammed with barrels of beer, and then up a creaking staircase. We passed into an equally dark room, lit only by the orange glow of a small fireplace. The room did have a window, but it was covered with thick curtains.

‘Madame Katerina won’t be long,’ the chap said and then walked away.

I looked around in discomfort. ‘Oh, McGray! Where have you brought me now?’

The weariness in my voice was well justified. Out of all the dubious places I’d seen in the previous days, this one was the strangest: the walls were completely covered with faded, moth-eaten tapestries (most likely second or third hand), there were shelves displaying stuffed birds and snakes, skeletons, crystal balls of all sizes, and many other artefacts whose use I preferred not to question. It resembled the mess in McGray’s office, only ten times odder.

As I looked around a heavy drowsiness began to hit me, partly because of the intense smell of incense mixed with other odorous herbs, but also because the fire kept the room much warmer than required. The tapestries on the walls helped to keep that uncomfortable heat inside … and to retain the herbal reek.

I sat at the round table in the middle of the room, took off my overcoat and produced my clean handkerchief. I pressed it against my nose for a moment and then carefully wiped beads of sweat off my temples.

Nine-Nails cast me a mocking look. ‘Och, next time we’ll bring ye a lavender posy and a Flemish lace fan!’

I was about to retort but was interrupted by the loud, coarse voice of a woman: ‘Oh, Adolphus! I knew ye were coming! I dreamt about ye last night!’

Turning round, I saw a medium-built woman emerging from behind the hanging tapestries. The wretched gypsy was so unbelievably weird I still do not know where to start … She was all wrapped in colourful cloaks and veils,
over which lay countless chains, pendants, bracelets and charms, so she jingled with every move she made. She had a chiselled, angular face; her aquiline nose, thick eyebrows and rather pointy ears were all pierced with either a drop or a pendant.

Among her total extravagance there were a couple of things literally standing out, for she had the widest, largest bosom I have ever beheld. And she wore an indecent, plunging neckline, and walked with her back arched in a shameless, most vulgar way.

I chuckled, still not believing that I was actually there. ‘Did you hear that, McGray? She
knew
that you were coming! Why, she must have seen your hairy face in her tea … oh, sorry, you said that she uses her
inner eyes
!’

She looked at me with bitterness and, again, spoke with her loud voice and the strangest Eastern European accent I had heard. ‘Oh my! And you brought Inspector Frey! The greatest let-down of the English police!’ She drew closer and winked maliciously at me. ‘And I didn’t need to use my inner eyes to see
that
.’

I pulled my face away, for her breath stank of stale beer. Her green eyes, despite the abnormally long eyelashes agglomerated in excessive mascara, were fierce and alert. I could tell that I was in front of a clever, yet ruthless person.

‘Lassie, this is Madame Katerina,’ McGray said … needlessly.

She sat in front of me, stretching her arms on the table, as if to reaffirm that she fancied herself in charge, and drummed her
very
long fingernails on the red tablecloth – painted in black, they looked like vicious claws. Her
bosom was so offensively wide that it was hard to keep one’s eyes off it. ‘Well, Adolphus, what brings you here today?’

I mumbled: ‘Oh, so when you foresaw that McGray was coming, you could not see what for.’

‘Shut up and give her the stuff,’ McGray snapped, sitting next to me. ‘We found these things in –’

‘Shush!’ she cried, ‘remember you mustn’t contaminate my vision! Give me that and
I
will talk.’

She extended her hand towards me and I could see that the sides of her fingers were tattooed with the shapes of thorny roses.

I first produced the piece of paper and Katerina snatched it, twisting and stretching her neck as if preparing for a tough physical chore. Her eyes were closed tightly when she began to run her fingers across the little paper … and then she groaned.

The woman spent several minutes in that attitude and I felt like an utter idiot simply for looking at her. However, whenever I was about to speak or tried to take the piece of notation from her, McGray would invariably elbow me in the ribs.

Finally, after a seemingly endless trance, she spoke hesitantly. ‘I-I … see a dark tunnel … black, very black. And then … some weak light in the end …’

I arched an eyebrow, for once as baffled as McGray. Could that mean that she was seeing …?

Katerina let out a growl of frustration and opened her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, that’s all I can see … this paper doesn’t have enough imprints for me to see more.’

‘What a surprise,’ I mumbled.

Katerina banged her palm on the table and snapped: ‘Would you be able to see if I turned all the lights off, you insufferable know-all? I wasn’t finished! There isn’t enough energy imprints in this … but I do feel that …’ She seemed confused, looking for words. ‘I feel that there is more to it than it seems. As if I’d been looking through a window and someone had drawn the curtains.’

I shrugged and replied carelessly. ‘That is one
imaginative
argument. You may be luckier with this one,’ and I gave her my very own pocket watch. McGray’s eyes were fixed on her, even more expectant than when she’d held the fragment of notation.

As soon as her fingertips touched it the woman started: ‘My goodness,
so much noise
! So much noise in this man’s head! It all comes in a torrent. Pernickety … cantankerous … conceited …’

‘
What!
’

‘Sounds about right to me!’ Nine-Nails declared, grinning.

‘But there is something else. Something subtle, sort of whispering underneath all that noise. Yes. A very conscious sorrow; a feeling of – of … what does he call it?
Lack of purpose
…
of not belonging
.’ Then she dropped it on the table. ‘Other than that, this belongs to a quite harmless boy.’

I took the watch again, seeing with the corner of my eye that McGray was grinning mordantly. ‘We have one last item. You should be careful, it is sharp.’

I laid the piece of glass on the table and, from the moment she saw it, Katerina’s mood changed. She stared at it for a moment, examining it warily.

With a hesitant hand, Katerina picked it up and for a moment nothing happened. She closed her eyes and tilted her head, as if she were trying to make out a very faint sound, and waited.

All of a sudden Katerina gasped and changed colour, as if hit by a sudden nausea. For a moment I thought that she was about to vomit. She was quivering, her face distorted in a horrified expression, as she gripped the glass so tightly that I feared she would pierce her palm.

She opened her mouth and tried to speak but another voice came out; a vile, coarse whisper that chilled my spine.