[Inspector de Silva 09] - High Wire in Nuala

by Harriet Steel

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘What about your wife and Mrs Hebden? Do they have any way of getting home by themselves? If they need transport, I’m sure we can find room in one of our cars.’

  ‘That would be kind.’

  Archie beckoned to a servant who hovered close by. ‘Go and make sure one of the cars waits for the two ladies over there, then come back and escort them to the car park.’

  The servant gave a little bow and hurried off.

  Having explained the plan to Jane and Emerald, de Silva and Archie set off into the tent once more.

  Chapter 2

  Away from the ring there was no electric lighting, and later oil lamps would be lit, but for now enough daylight penetrated for de Silva and Archie to see by. They followed the sound of voices until they came to a short corridor with an exit to the outside and a large, tented room at the far end. From the props and items of clothing lying around on benches and chairs, de Silva guessed that it was the place where the circus members assembled while they waited to go into the ring.

  Tatiana had been placed on a table at the far side of the room. Several people stood around her including Hebden and Boris Goncharov, who had discarded his top hat and silk scarf. Both men’s expressions were grave. Deep in conversation, they didn’t notice the new arrivals until Hebden looked up and came over to them.

  ‘It’s not good news, I fear,’ he said. ‘She would have been very lucky to survive a fall like that.’

  Archie frowned. ‘Do you mean the poor girl’s dead?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. In the circumstances, it may be a blessing. If she had survived, it would have been with terrible, life-changing injuries.’ He looked back at Tatiana’s body and the woebegone group of people stood around it. ‘Tragic. Apparently, she was barely twenty.’

  ‘I’d better go over and talk to whoever’s in charge,’ said Archie. ‘That ringmaster fellow, I assume. I ought to convey our official sympathies.’

  ‘His name is Boris Goncharov.’

  ‘Was the young lady related to any of the people here?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  As Hebden and Archie went over to the table where Tatiana’s body lay, de Silva heard a movement behind him. He hung back for a moment and, turning, saw one of the clowns. He might know something about the girl’s family. De Silva put a hand on his arm to detain him.

  ‘Do you speak English?’

  The clown nodded. ‘Some.’

  ‘Then I’d like a word with you. I am Inspector de Silva of the Nuala police,’ he added.

  The clown still wore his costume and makeup but had removed the orange wig. It had concealed a sweat-sheened head that, apart from a few strands of damp grey hair plastered across it, was bald as an egg. Now, his kohl-pencilled eyes and scarlet mouth gave him a grotesque rather than a comedic air.

  ‘Tatiana Petrovna had no relation. How do you say? Of her blood?’ he replied when de Silva asked the question. ‘But she grow up in Goncharov family with Boris, and Alexei Ivanovich.’

  ‘Alexei?’

  ‘Young brother of Boris Ivanovich.’

  ‘Boris Ivanovich?’ De Silva was puzzled. ‘Isn’t the family name Goncharov?’

  The clown nodded. ‘Yes, but it is, what do you say, polite for me to call him this. You understand?’

  De Silva didn’t fully, but he let it pass. Probably Jane would know the reason for the change of name.

  ‘Is this Alexei with the circus too?’

  The clown made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. ‘He own half.’

  De Silva frowned. ‘Is there a problem with that?’

  ‘Big problem,’ said the clown, rolling his eyes.

  ‘Where’s this Alexei now? Doesn’t he perform?’

  The clown nodded. ‘He look after the horses and does show with three other riders, but today, no show.’

  De Silva recalled Boris mentioning that the horses were weary from the journey and were being rested.

  ‘Alexei Ivanovich say two horses are lame. Boris Ivanovich say this not his fault. Make shorter act with two well horses.’ The clown shrugged. ‘They argue. It is nothing new. Alexei Ivanovich, he does not give in. Now for sure Boris Ivanovich will say Tatiana Petrovna’s accident is because of this. She make her act too long and this why she make mistake.’

  De Silva wondered why Tatiana should be the one to change her act. He was about to ask the clown when he saw Hebden beckon him over. He thanked the clown and asked his name in case he wanted to find him again.

  ‘Gordo. My name is Gordo,’ the clown replied.

  Over in the group, Boris was speaking forcefully to a man de Silva recognised as one of the lead dancers. He looked older than the other men there. They spoke in a language that de Silva presumed was Russian.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked Hebden quietly.

  ‘Goncharov’s trying to find out where his brother, Alexei, is. No one seems to know. Do you have any idea where Emerald has got to?’

  ‘Archie offered her and Jane a seat in one of the Residence’s cars. I expect they’ll be on the way home by now.’

  ‘I’ll have a word and thank him, then I want to nip home and make sure all this hasn’t upset her. If you like, I’ll have a word with the manager of the undertakers too. Their office won’t be open over the weekend, but I have his home telephone number. In this heat, we ought to remove the poor girl’s body as soon as possible.’

  ‘I agree. Thank you.’

  ‘I’ll be back shortly in case there’s anything else I can do.’

  As Hebden walked away to speak to Archie, who was standing a little apart from the group and observing the proceedings, a man who de Silva recognised as the snake charmer made some remark to Boris. With a dismissive gesture, he shrugged before speaking again to the lead dancer. It was impossible for de Silva to understand the words, but he guessed Boris was telling him to go and look for Alexei, for soon he and his companions left the tent. The snake charmer followed them.

  Boris turned his attention to de Silva. ‘Who are you?’ he asked abruptly. De Silva bridled then remembered he was not in uniform.

  ‘My name is Inspector de Silva of the Nuala police.’

  Hebden had now left, and Archie joined them.

  ‘Ah, good. You’ve introduced yourselves,’ he said briskly. He turned to Boris. ‘I must be getting along now. I’ll leave you in my inspector’s capable hands. I imagine he may have a few questions for you. Once again, please accept my condolences and those of His Majesty’s government. De Silva, a moment before I go, please.’

  Leaving Boris alone with Tatiana’s body, Archie drew de Silva aside. ‘The poor fellow’s in pretty bad shape,’ he said in an undertone, although Boris didn’t appear to be listening. ‘I suggest you keep your questions to the minimum, but as it’s on our patch, so to speak, I suppose you ought to file a report of the accident.’ He glanced back at Boris who remained with Tatiana’s body, apparently lost in thought. ‘No need to make a meal of it though,’ he added. ‘As I said, these people are not British, and in any case, they’re only due to stay on here for a few days. You might give me a call later. Just so that I have a bit more information if anyone asks. Otherwise, do your best to be discreet.’

  De Silva nodded. Obviously, Archie didn’t want to put himself out, but on the other hand, he probably wouldn’t like any of the British community who happened to ask him about the affair to think that he had simply hurried home for tea. Or more probably – by the time Archie reached the Residence – a whisky and soda.

  Left alone with Boris, de Silva saw that his shoulders slumped, and he was wiping his cheeks with a handkerchief. His bow tie hung unfastened and he had unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. Its crisp material was now limp and stained with patches of sweat; black hairs curled from the open neck. Revealing itself to be no more than a prop, the upturned moustache was gone. De Silva felt a stab of pity.

  ‘I’ll do my best to keep things brief, sir,’ he said
. ‘But I hope you understand that in a case like this, I need to record details of the accident. I may also need to question a few people and take down statements.’

  Boris looked at him dully. ‘I understand.’

  ‘I believe that you and the young lady were not related by blood but did have a family connection.’

  ‘Who told you this?’

  ‘One of your clowns. He said his name was Gordo.’

  ‘Ah,’ Boris said listlessly. ‘What else did he tell you?’

  The poor man had enough to cope with without discussing his family difficulties. De Silva decided not to divulge what the clown had told him about the relationship between Boris and his brother. Fortunately, the ringmaster didn’t wait for an answer.

  ‘It will be hard for the circus to recover,’ he said sadly. ‘We all loved Tatiana.’ He spread his hands in a gesture of despair. ‘To replace her also – I do not know how we can do it.’ He sighed. ‘There will be other problems. My people will be afraid. They believe a death in the circus brings bad luck.’

  ‘I’d like to speak to whoever rigged up the high wire and trapeze. From my position in the audience, it appeared that the young lady encountered an unexpected hazard at the end of the wire.’

  Boris’s gaze lingered on Tatiana’s body. From his expression, de Silva deduced that he was unwilling to leave her.

  ‘Perhaps someone else can show me the way,’ he said gently.

  Boris seemed to consider this for a moment then sighed. ‘No, I take you. I must be with you when you talk with my people. Most of them speak only Russian.’

  **

  Three circus hands sat in the shade of a tree some way off from the rear entrance to the main tent. Two of them looked up with abject expressions on their faces, but the eldest man’s expression was defiant. He acted as spokesmen for the other two as Boris relayed de Silva’s questions.

  ‘He say everything was done properly,’ Boris explained. ‘Tatiana has made checks as usual. Izabella too.’

  De Silva was not surprised. He imagined that anyone taking the risks that they did would want to satisfy themselves all was in order, not rely on others to do so. So, what had gone wrong? He would have to try another approach.

  ‘I’d like the wire lowered,’ he said. ‘I think a closer inspection needs to be made. Please get your men to do that.’

  ‘It will take time, but we can do it.’

  Boris barked something in Russian, and the three circus hands headed back in the direction of the tent.

  ‘I understand from Gordo that you own the circus together with your brother,’ said de Silva as they followed them.

  Boris grunted. ‘Yes. I have sent men to find him and tell him what has happened.’ He seemed oddly unconcerned by his brother’s absence, but de Silva didn’t pursue it.

  By the time they reached the ring, the two younger circus hands were already climbing the towers while the eldest one stood below, shouting up orders. Boris went to sit alone, and de Siva left him in peace. Apart from the sound of the circus hands climbing the tower, it was eerily quiet. Hard to believe that the tent had been filled with laughter and applause only an hour or two earlier. De Silva stirred the sawdust at his feet with the toe of his shoe and smelled the tangy aroma of resin.

  Someone had extinguished all but a few of the electric lights and rolled down most of the canvas sides behind where the audience had sat. Shadows crept over the banks of seating. A vision of rows of ghostly faces murmuring a lament rose before de Silva’s eyes. With an involuntary shiver, he recalled what Boris had said about the belief that a death in the circus brought bad luck. It was something he must bear in mind. It was not only circus folk who believed in bad luck. He didn’t want rumours to get around town, and stories to become distorted. The circus had been welcomed, but that might change.

  A quiet step and a low cough drew his attention from the circus hands’ progress.

  ‘How’s it going?’ asked David Hebden.

  ‘These three are the men who rigged up the high wire. They insist – at the least the eldest one does, the others don’t say much – that everything was done properly. Tatiana and Izabella checked everything too.’

  ‘It’s unlikely there was anything wrong with the tensioning of the wire then.’

  ‘It looks that way. One of the clowns I spoke to told me the act was longer than usual, so it’s possible Tatiana’s concentration wavered, but I’m not convinced that’s all there was to it. I think there was a problem at the end of the wire too. Something that made her lose her balance. She seemed too skilled to make a mistake unless there was a contributory factor.’

  The two circus hands were descending the towers now, lowering the wire between them as they went.

  ‘Well, now’s our chance to find out,’ said Hebden as they reached the ground and laid the wire out on the sawdust.

  Going over to it, de Silva found that it was composed of lengths of steel, tightly woven to give it strength. He followed Hebden along the line of it, only making a cursory inspection of the left-hand side and the centre; if necessary, they could be checked again. Hebden reached the end and knelt down in the sawdust. ‘There’s something here. Come and have a look, de Silva.’

  Unlike the rest of the wire which had been quite shiny, the section Tatiana had fallen from had a dull, milky sheen to it. Hebden ran a finger along it then showed the fingertip to de Silva.

  ‘There’s something greasy here. Only a trace, but it seems odd.’ He stood up. ‘I suggest we go back to that room and see if there’s any on the lady’s footwear. It might explain why she got into difficulties.’

  Back in the tented room, Hebden folded back part of the sheet that covered Tatiana, exposing her feet. In turn, he lifted each one carefully and examined her pink satin ballet pumps. ‘The soles are stained. Maybe just from wear but,’ he prodded one gently, ‘there might be more to it than that.’

  De Silva peered over his shoulder. ‘May I touch?’

  ‘Be my guest.’

  De Silva felt a vestige of grease. He leaned closer and sniffed the soft leather. The woody odour of sawdust was mingled with a greasy smell. It was possible that Tatiana had picked up something on her feet before she climbed onto the wire, but it was strange that she had walked almost to the end before it caused her any difficulty.

  ‘I wonder if that circus chap was hiding something,’ said Hebden with a frown. ‘Why would there be grease on the wire when the last thing anyone would want would be for it to be slippery? Perhaps one of the circus hands had been using some on it and not wiped it away carefully enough.’

  ‘But why would that be necessary in the first place?’

  Hebden shrugged. ‘Only trying to think of an explanation, de Silva. My father was an engineer. Lubrication seemed to play an important part in all kinds of operations. Maybe there was a kink in the weave of the wire, or some such thing, that needed easing back into place.’

  It was an inventive idea, but de Silva was not convinced.

  ‘We may as well go back to the ring,’ said Hebden. ‘It might be worth having another word with our friend Boris. Get him to ask his people a few more questions.’

  Boris sat in one of the front row seats, staring at the ground. De Silva was about to go and speak to him, but at that moment the ringmaster stirred and stood up. He walked over to them. ‘You find something?’ he asked wearily.

  When de Silva showed him the suspicious section of wire, he frowned. ‘What is this?’ He shouted for the circus hands who shambled over with a show of reluctance. From the words exchanged, de Silva guessed that they were denying all knowledge.

  ‘They say they know nothing about it,’ said Boris when the exchange finished. ‘They did not put anything on wire. It was not needed, and if they had, they clean it away.’

  The eldest circus hand spoke again, apparently issuing an even more forceful denial than before. De Silva decided he was probably telling the truth. It wouldn’t be worth his job to make a mistake.r />
  ‘I’m afraid I must be off and leave you to deal with this, de Silva,’ said Hebden. ‘I need to pack for a trip that I’m going on tomorrow morning. Some old chums from my Kandy days have arranged a fishing trip and asked me to come with them.’

  ‘I won’t hold you up then. Thank you for your help.’

  ‘Think nothing of it.’

  As Hebden walked away across the sawdust-strewn ring and disappeared through one of the public exits into the sunshine, de Silva debated what he should do next. If someone had tampered with the wire, he must find out who they were. They would have to be sufficiently fit to climb up the tower. Would they also need to be skilled enough to step along the wire to the spot where it was greasy? Maybe so, but how would they be able to lean down to apply a substance and still maintain their balance? Could they have had something like a long-handled brush or mop and leant off the tower to apply it from there? Swiftly, he ran over the possibilities and came up with Tatiana’s partner, Izabella, as a prime suspect. She obviously had a head for heights. The flying acrobats must have too, but on the facts that he had established so far, Izabella was more involved with Tatiana than they were.

  ‘You have more questions?’ asked Boris.

  ‘I’d like a word with Tatiana’s partner, Izabella.’

  Boris said something to the circus hands and one of the younger ones went away. When Boris turned back to de Silva, his expression was troubled.

  ‘You think Izabella know something?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not sure, but I need to question her. How long has she worked with Tatiana for?’

  ‘Two years.’

  ‘And who had the most experience?’

  ‘Izabella, by much. This is why I want them to work together. Tatiana—’ There was a catch in his voice. ‘Sometimes too confident.’

  So Izabella had more experience but was not presented as the star of the show. De Silva wondered how she felt about that.

  ‘Is she too from Russia?’

  ‘No, Izabella Rabach is Hungarian. She joined in Malaya. The circus she worked in had some problems.’ He frowned. ‘She is difficult woman, but I don’t believe she is bad one.’