The Bull Slayers: Inspector Faro No 9 (9 page)

'You say they've been here for thousands of years - where
did they come from?'

'No one can answer that. Bones which might belong to them
have been found in the hillfort, so they provided meat for
prehistoric man. At one time they were thought to be related to
the Highland cattle, a sort of albino relative. But that has been
disproved.'

'How have they managed to survive without inbreeding with
other domestic cattle?'

'Because they've never been domestic. It's possible that being
white they were regarded as sacred - kept for some ancient
religious ritual. They've never been known to throw a coloured
or even partly coloured calf. As for their survival, who knows?
It is against all the odds since the cows are poor breeders, suckle
their calves for long periods. Nature's way of preventing the
herd increasing rapidly.'

'I'm surprised that they survived the moss troopers and the Border reivers. I understood they carried off everything they
could lay their hands on.'

Dr Brand laughed. 'Aye, what they laid hands on, right
enough. But there was no hope of laying hands on these beasts and driving them back across the border. Much too wild and fierce to be treated like the ordinary domestic variety.'

Turning, he looked back towards the hill. 'I'd advise you to take great care about walking across these fields. I was quite alarmed when I saw you. Someone should have warned you.
Where are you staying?' When Faro told him, he nodded. 'I
shall have a severe word with him, have a notice posted in very
large letters.'

Pausing, he regarded Faro sharply. 'I don't think you are
taking me seriously, sir.'

'I am, doctor, I am indeed.'

'Make no mistake about it. These animals are extremely
dangerous. And they have perception beyond what we humans understand.' Shading his eyes, the doctor pointed with his whip.
'I don't suppose you've been here long enough to observe that
they never take their eyes off any humans in the vicinity. We are
under constant surveillance. There is always one animal
watching, on guard, somewhere,' he added with an uneasy
laugh.

'So you think there might have been a calf in the vicinity that
Sir Archie didn't know about?'

'It certainly wasn't a wounded king bull, anyway. Saw him
large as life grazing with the herd the next day. Besides the
horns - the goring injury, I mean - they hadn't penetrated deep
enough for a really angry charging bull. Makes a nasty mess, I
can tell you. But this was just one hole, quite neat, just an inch
or two deep.'

'Is that so?' said Faro thoughtfully. According to Constable
Dewar there had been no hoofmarks of a charging animal
either. 'You had no doubts about the cause of the death when
you signed the death certificate?'

'None at all. The coroner's inquest was a mere waste of time.
Death by misadventure, there couldn't be any other verdict in the circumstances. I'll let you have his report if you need it for
your firm. And if you're interested in the cattle, there's some old documents in the Castle library, I'm sure Lady Elrigg would let
you see them.'

The road narrowed steeply and they were passing by the tiny
Saxon church with its graveyard, deep in primroses and wood
anemones. A blackbird sang on one of the tombstones, the
feathers on its throat fluttering, its piercing sweetness a eulogy
to an awakening world.

Faro sighed. 'Gives you hope, doesn't it? I wouldn't mind
lying here to all eternity with a requiem like that every spring.'

At his side the doctor had raised his top hat to reveal a mane of silver hair and lapsed into a reverent silence. 'Spring's a sad
time for some people, for the ones who are left.'

'I understand, sir, only too well.' Noting the doctor's grief—
stricken expression, Faro remembered that his Lizzie had died
with their newborn son beside her on a June morning eight years ago. 'To lose one's partner in life...' He paused. 'Your
wife, sir?' he said gently.

'Lost her long ago,' was the bitter response. 'God only
knows what sky her bones lie under. It was my daughter I lost.
My dearest only child.' His voice broke and, geeing up the
pony, he drove fast into the village, his lips a tight line of misery,
while at his side Faro cursed his own lack of tact.

Setting him down at the inn, Dr Brand spoke again. 'You must
forgive my outburst, sir, to you a stranger, quite unforgivable.'

'It is I who must apologise, sir. But I do know something of
the loss you have suffered. A child dying -'

'Dying. She didn't die. She could have been alive today, she
was seventeen with all the world before her. She didn't die. She
was murdered.'

At Faro's shocked expression, he jabbed a finger in the
direction of the Castle. 'And they killed her.'

As Faro entered the inn, Bowden ceased the polishing of the counter long enough to say: 'Duffy has been looking for you, Mr Faro.'

'Are you sure it was me?'

'You're the insurance mannie, aren't you?'

'Did he say what he wanted?'

'Not my business to ask, sir. But knowing Duffy I'd say there was money involved. Wouldn't you, gentlemen?'

Bowden grinned at Yarrow and Dewar. About to depart, they paused long enough to give Faro a decidedly searching glance. It suggested that they also suspected he might be involved in some of the poacher's dubious activities.

'He said he'll see you when he comes in for his pint of ale later on,' said Bowden as Faro made his way towards his room.

What could the poacher want with him? Faro was curious and hopeful too. From his vast experience of the criminal world, he did not doubt that this new turn of events indicated information was for sale.

Beyond his window was a pageant of undulating hills, cloudless skies. Trees moved in slow ecstasy to their burden of soft breeze and birdsong, a scene characteristic of any gentle sleepy village that one could hardly credit with violence. Even the ivy-clad walls of its ancient cottages seemed to have grown naturally out of the tranquil earth rather than the stones hewed by men.

A traveller passing though
en route
for Scotland would think nothing ever happened here, that time had passed it by, but Faro was aware of the elements of passion that lurked behind such quiet exteriors and that this was a more elemental world than the one he had left a short time ago in Edinburgh. With total recall he saw again the words written by Mary Elizabeth Braddon:

We hear every day of murders committed in the country... No species of crime has ever been
committed in the worst rookeries of the Seven Dials
that has not been also done in the face of that rustic
calm...

Words that Imogen Crowe had heavily underscored. She had
written 'Elrigg?' beside them. Why?

Do not be fooled, Jeremy Faro, he told himself as he
considered his evidence so far.

Philip Gray had been riding with the Prince. They had
quarrelled when the Prince accused him of cheating at cards.
Bertie had returned alone. Later, when the actor's horse came in
riderless, a search party found him gored to death.

Sir Archie had met his death in suspiciously similar
circumstances. Two men dying in identical place and manner,
months apart, after quarrels with the same illustrious guest,
hinted not merely at coincidence, but at murder.

If only the trail was still warm. Any clues regarding Gray's death by misadventure had vanished beneath last year's fallen autumn leaves and for the last four weeks Sir Archie had rested
in his grave.

The Prince had been the last to see both men alive and Faro
remembered grimly the letter Her Majesty had shown him.

He wished he had been allowed to make a copy of it for a
more careful study of the schoolboy pleading: 'Don't blame me.
It wasn't my fault, Mama.'

Her son's innocence was all he had to prove. Murder in this
case was not his business.

If only he could leave it at that...

From the valise under his bed, Faro withdrew the bull's horn.
Weighing it in his hands, he knew how Sir Archie had been
murdered. Almost as if he had been present, a silent witness, he
could conjure up the exact picture of Elrigg's last moments.

The horn had been broken off from the pair stolen from the
public bar downstairs.

Archery was the local sport and it would not have needed an
expert marksman to realise that although it could not be fired
with any accuracy from a crossbow, it presented a splendid
potential as a murder weapon. By a piece of good fortune his
opportunity came when he found his victim semi-conscious and
unable to rise from the ground.

Faro frowned. That posed a question. It had to be someone
who was in the area at the time and witnessed the accident. It might have been that Sir Archie was still alive when the first of
the rescue party arrived, perhaps one of the tenants alerted by
Constable Dewar on his way through the village. For a man
with a grievance, a unique opportunity of settling an old score.

Once the deed was done, the murderer withdrew the horn
and thrust it into the wall, where with luck he hoped it would
never be noticed.

With circumstances of Philip Gray's death still fresh in
everyone's mind, the possibility of foul play had never occurred. Neither Yarrow nor Dewar had thought to search the copse for
evidence, indeed the constable's observation regarding the lack
of hoofmarks had been mockingly dismissed.

Faro regarded the bull's horn thoughtfully. The question
now was who had reached Sir Archie ahead of Yarrow and Dr
Brand.

The only person he could safely eliminate was Lady Elrigg who had remained at the Castle. In a state of shock as befitted
the newly widowed.

He knew nothing of any relationship with the young actor
but he recalled vividly his first sight of Lady Elrigg and Mark
leaving the archery field together. Had there been a sinister
quality to their careless laughter?

Although Elrigg would be Mark's some day, did he see
himself as a young knight ready to dare all - even murder - for
the stepmother who could never be his wife?

Guilty lovers invariably provided the best motive for murder.
From Biblical times to the present day that had been the case
and Faro did not doubt it would continue until the final curtain descended on mankind. The male rivalry between the old and
young was not unique. Just a mile away, that instinct for
survival of the species was strong enough to drive young bulls to challenge the king for supremacy of the wild cattle herd.

The question was, did Lady Elrigg respond to Mark? If so,
then she had the perfect reason for wishing to be rid of an
elderly husband whose charm was limited to his bank account,
especially when there was a fortune and a handsome, young
and virile man to inherit it. If Poppy Lynne had married Elrigg
only for his fortune and with his stepson conspired in his
murder, then Faro would feel no sympathy for either of them.

Was she morally responsible for Gray's death too, enticing
men to kill for her love? The more facts Faro unearthed, the less
he liked the unpleasant picture that his imagination created.
One did not have to dig too deeply below the surface to
discover that Elrigg was a man who made many enemies.
Known as well as unknown - as yet!

Of the known enemies, Hector Elrigg had the best reason of all. Over the years, a festering rage and resentment that he was morally the rightful heir. He also had the best vantage point for
murder: witnessing the accident from the hillfort, seeing the
Prince ride off and finding his hated uncle helpless, had he
seized the chance for revenge?

With the bull's horn?

Faro shook his head. No, it wouldn't do. Hector might have
stolen the horns, but it was unlikely he could have secreted
them away for such a possibility. If they had been taken from the inn with such a plot in mind, then Sir Archie would have
been lured to his death.