Faro and the Bogus Inspector by Alanna Knight
One of the most baffling crimes Detective Inspector Jeremy Faro ever faced had nothing to do with murder, but quite a lot to do with buying presents for his mother and two small daughters. Birthdays were difficult enough for a widower, but Christmas presents were worse, especially when Rose, aged eight, took one look at the familiar oblong cardboard box and cried out reproachfully: “Oh, Papa, not another doll.”
Had his normal powers of deduction been functioning, Inspector Faro might have found the vital clue in her younger sister Emily’s letter, that she “liked the dolly’s frocks, but not very much.”
Birthdays were inevitable but by the 1870s the fashion set by Her Majesty and the late Prince Consort had been eagerly followed and the Christmas craze had spread to Edinburgh. Now a middle class, once content with the annual Hogmanay debauch, demanded turkey, plum pudding, a tree in the window, and the unsteady march of Christmas cards across the mantelpiece. In mainly candlelit rooms this also had the city’s fire engines on constant alert.
Nor were fires the only hazard in the homes of the well-to-do. A rash of yuletide parties and conviviality, with a regrettable slackening of the tough moral fibre of Calvinism, was regarded as a positive enticement to sneak thieves. As a consequence, this quite unnecessary season of peace and goodwill was greeted with less than enthusiasm by the Edinburgh City Police.
Advertisements like that of Jenners in Princes Street, offering customers a chance to inspect valuable seasonal items, had been viewed by the criminal element as an open invitation to more splendid opportunities of breaking and entering in a spate of daring robberies.
As Faro’s young stepson Dr. Vincent Laurie studied his sister’s letter, he said:
“Now what do you think of that? I imagined that all little girls liked dolls.”
“They do indeed, Stepfather, but not every Christmas and birthday. Ever since our mama died-” he added sadly. “Don’t you see-”
Faro tried but failed. “You wouldn’t-I suppose-” he said wistfully.
“No, I certainly wouldn’t,” was the stern reply. “The very idea! I find it hard enough getting suitable presents for my own list.”
Vince could be notoriously unsympathetic sometimes, but seeing his stepfather’s anguished expression, he said: “What about a piece of jewellery, then? Small girls like lockets and bangles.” And warming to the idea, “And a brooch for Stepgrandma-”
“You really think so…?”
“I do indeed. And what’s more, there’s a splendid new jeweller’s shop opened in South Clerk Street, just a step away. Foreign chap. Did an excellent repair on my pocket watch-a wizard with clocks, I understand-highly recommended-”
“In the circumstances-would you-?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” said Vince crossly. “The experience will do you good.”
Rose and Emily had lived with their grandmama in Orkney for the past two years, and as the last date for posting parcels grew nearer, so too did Inspector Faro’s frowns grow deeper and darker with the preoccupation of choosing suitable presents. Finally, with all the anticipatory joy of a man presenting himself for the extraction of a particularly sensitive tooth, he stared glumly into the jeweller’s window, feeling utterly helpless faced with such a bewildering and dazzling selection.
If only he enjoyed shopping. He had relied on his dear Lizzie to keep his wardrobe up to the mark. His indifference to sartorial elegance was well known at the Central Office of the Edinburgh City Police. As long as garments were comfortable and covered him in modest decency, he did not care a fig for fashion. The reflection of his greatcoat in the window glass jolted him a little, but closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and entered the shop, where a loud bell noisily proclaimed his presence.
Taking stock of his surroundings as he waited for the jeweller to appear, he saw that the shop was small, dark, and depressing, a complete contrast to the brilliant sunshine of a winter afternoon settling into a rosy sunset sharp with frost.
A closer look at the owner, who entered through the curtain and bowed gravely, told a delighted Faro that he might have modelled Mr. Dickens’s Fagin but for those gentle eyes and dignified bearing.
Indicating a tray of brooches, he found Mr. Jacob most helpful. Was the recipient a young lady?
Faro shook his head. “No, it is for my mother.” He was both delighted and relieved when Mr. Jacob after careful deliberation pointed to the very one he had in mind. “Yes, indeed. That is perfect,” said Faro. “I will take it.”
“Is there anything else I might interest you in, sir?”
When Faro asked to see lockets, the jeweller beamed.
“For your lady wife, sir?”
“Actually for my two small daughters. I am a widower.”
Mr. Jacob sighed. “I also. I have a daughter to look after me.”
Choosing two identical gold lockets, Faro asked, “Forgive my curiosity. I realise you are a newcomer to Edinburgh. May I ask what brought you here?”
“I have been here since May. As to what brought me here, sir, I will be frank with you. Persecution-yes, persecution. We have been dogged by utmost misfortunes and we are still wanderers. But Edinburgh gave us hope for a home and a future. Here it seemed that our race was tolerated and even encouraged to settle, to live and die in peace.”
Faro suspected that Mr. Jacob had been lured by the fact that sixty years ago, in the early years of the century, Edinburgh had seen the establishment of the first Jewish cemetery in Scotland, a stone’s throw from his shop.
A sign of tolerance, generous but sadly misleading. Faro was well aware that to the ordinary Edinburgh citizen, a minority racial group was something to be jeered at, despised, and that any success in business by honest dealings and honest sweat was treated with the darkest suspicion.
Mr. Jacob was fitting the gifts into velvet boxes. When Faro said they were to be posted, a sturdy brown envelope was produced.
“Perhaps you would write on the address, sir. I have a card to enclose with your message.”
“That is most thoughtful of you, Mr. Jacob.”
The jeweller studied the name and address. “Faro-you are the inspector-Inspector Faro?”
“I am,” said Faro, surprised and flattered to find himself famous.
“You must forgive me, sir, I did not recognise you again.”
“Again?” queried Faro.
“Yes, sir. I have the ring ready for you-”
“The ring-what ring?”
It was the jeweller’s turn to look astonished. “Why, sir, the valuable brooch you left.” And unlocking a drawer behind the counter, Mr. Jacob produced an emerald and diamond ring.
Faro was taken aback. Although no connoisseur of gems, he would have hazarded a rough guess that it was worth at least ten times his annual salary with Edinburgh City Police.
He also knew that he had never set eyes on it before.
Mr. Jacob, watching him intently, mistook his expression as one of disapproval and said anxiously: “I hope it is correct, sir. I tried to follow your instructions exactly.”
“My instructions?”
The jeweller nodded vigorously. “Indeed, sir. I was to change the order of the diamonds and make the original brooch into a ring setting suitable for a lady,” he said slowly, then, frowning: “There is some mistake?”
With a shake of his head, Faro replied: “There is indeed. This piece of jewellery is not mine.”
“But you are Inspector Faro? Is that not so?” and Mr. Jacob consulted his ledger. “Here is the entry. This brooch was handed in two days ago by Inspector Faro. See for yourself.”
Now examining the ring thoughtfully, Faro said slowly: “I didn’t by any chance tell you how I had come by it, did I?”