[Inspector de Silva 09] - High Wire in Nuala

by Harriet Steel

  At the entrance to Nadia’s tent, he listened for a few moments, then gently raised the flap and looked inside. The tent was in two sections, the first one being where Nadia slept. But in the darkness, it was impossible to see what the other was used for, and he didn’t want to risk disturbing Nadia by going in further. Backing out, he let the flap down again. He suspected that Kumar had left whatever he had in that bag in the far section of Nadia’s tent. Tomorrow, he needed to find a way of searching it.

  **

  Thoughts about how to deal with this development raced through his mind on the walk back to the police station. Only when he got there did he realise that the blister that had been coming up on his big toe was oozing watery blood. In the yard at the back, he used the outside tap to sluice the dirt from his arms and legs and put his head under it to rinse his hair. Coming up, he shook like a dog, spraying the ground. Next he washed his feet, flinching when he reached the blister, then went to sit on the bench over by a wall. The evening air would dry him soon enough.

  Back in his office, he removed the old clothes and put on his clean ones. The mirror in the washroom showed that his hair was an unruly mess, but he was a lot more presentable than he had been half an hour ago. Now to drive home.

  The house was quiet when he came into the hall. Billy and Bella raised their heads from their basket, their jade eyes blinking. He went over and stroked them then, slipping off his shoes, tiptoed to the drawing room. He felt too tense to sleep; perhaps a whisky would help.

  The curtains were open and moonlight shone into the room. Going to the sideboard, he poured himself a generous whisky and went to sit in his chair to drink it. What had made it worth Kumar’s while to walk into town two evenings running? If he had come out of the house with nothing, de Silva would have been tempted to accept one of Archie’s theories, but the small bag the snake charmer carried inclined him to think otherwise. Even if he had gone to the house to gamble, surely he wouldn’t have needed a bag to carry his winnings? Far more likely that he had gone to fetch something small, but valuable. Jewellery was an obvious deduction. Was he right in thinking that Kumar had a connection to the burglary at the de Vere plantation? And perhaps to some of the other jewellery thefts too?

  The peaty warmth of the whisky relaxed him. He drank the last drop and wondered whether to have another one, but that would involve getting up from his chair, and the sideboard seemed a long way off. A cloud drifted over the moon, and the room darkened. His head felt heavy; his eyes closed.

  Chapter 12

  ‘Shanti! You should have come to bed, not slept in the chair. What time did you get home?’

  Groggy with sleep, he saw Jane standing in front of him in her dressing gown. Outside, a tangerine sky showed that it was dawn. He flexed his stiff limbs and rubbed his eyes.

  ‘And what have you done to your hair?’

  ‘Give me a minute, and I’ll explain.’ He tried to stand but one leg was numb, and he sank back in his chair, rubbing the calf.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ asked Jane anxiously.

  He shook his head. ‘No, just stiff.’ He explained about seeing Kumar and the walk to and from the racecourse.

  ‘And then you slept in your chair – it’s no wonder you’re stiff,’ said Jane. ‘You must have a hot bath before you do anything else.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  In the bathroom, he eased himself into the deep bath that Jane had run for him and lay back with a sigh of relief. Jane perched herself on the bathroom stool.

  ‘Thank you, this is just what I need,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘So, what did Kumar do when he got to the racecourse?’

  ‘I’m a hundred per cent certain he went to Nadia’s tent, but didn’t wake her. When he came out, I suspect it was without whatever was in that bag I told you about. What other reason would he have to go in without waking her? It might be that he let her sleep because he didn’t need her help, but I think it’s more likely it was because she’s not involved in whatever he’s up to and he needed a hiding place other than his own tent.’

  ‘He was taking a risk. She might have woken.’

  De Silva chuckled. ‘If you’d heard her snoring, you might not think it was much of a risk.’

  ‘Will you go back and search her tent today?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t want her to know. Even if she is not involved, I’ve no idea how she will react. I want to know a lot more about what’s going on before I reveal to anyone that I saw him.’ He frowned. ‘It might happen by chance, but if not, I’ll need to think of a way of getting her out of her tent.’ He ducked his head under the water and came up hair dripping. ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘What about Reverend Peters? Why not take him with you to talk to Boris about the funeral arrangements? I don’t think it would arouse suspicion if you invited Nadia to join them. After all, she was close to both Tatiana and Alexei.’

  ‘That’s an excellent idea, but I’d rather he didn’t know my motive.’

  ‘Why does he need to?’

  ‘I suppose he doesn’t. And that reminds me, he still hasn’t returned my call.’

  ‘Then telephone him again. It can be your excuse that Boris is anxious to finalise everything, and you have time to take him up to the circus this morning.’

  The bathwater sloshed against the side of tub as he stood up and reached for a towel.

  ‘But the first thing you must do is have some breakfast,’ said Jane firmly.

  ‘That won’t be a hardship.’

  As he dried his feet, she noticed the blister. ‘That needs some antiseptic and a bandage.’ She went to fetch them, and he winced as the antiseptic stung. Jane applied a bandage. ‘There, it will take a few days to get better, so no more long walks until it does.’

  ‘I hope it won’t be necessary.’

  **

  After breakfast, he telephoned the vicarage, and Reverend Peters came to the telephone.

  ‘Ah, Inspector de Silva, my wife gave me your message. My apologies for not coming back to you sooner, but I wanted time to think the matter over.’

  De Silva heard the vicar suck in his breath.

  ‘It’s a knotty problem,’ Peters went on. ‘Relations between us and the Orthodox church are cordial, and I hope there will be no problem with the young lady, but where Alexei Goncharov is concerned, it is a different matter. Strictly speaking, the church does not permit a funeral service and burial in consecrated ground when a person took their own life. However, I am aware that in a spirit of Christian charity and for the sake of the bereaved families, some of my brethren have, on occasion, obtained consent to depart from the official line. I’ll see what can be done, but I will have to consult the diocesan authorities in Kandy. I’m afraid that at this stage, I’m unable to predict what the bishop’s reaction will be.’

  ‘I’m sure Boris Goncharov will be grateful for your kind efforts. I know he is eager to speak with you. There’s also a lady called Nadia who looked after Alexei and Tatiana as well as Boris when they were children. Boris tells me she’s like a member of the family. If you’re able to accompany me, I have time this morning to take you up to the circus.’

  ‘Well…’ Peters sounded hesitant. ‘It is more usual for the family to come to the vicarage.’

  ‘On this occasion, I’d be grateful if you’d depart from your customary practice.’

  ‘Why would that be?’

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather not say.’

  There was a short pause. ‘Is the reason something that would trouble my conscience?’ asked Peters at last.

  De Silva considered the question for a moment. ‘I believe not.’

  ‘Then you need not tell me more. What time would you like me to be ready?’

  ‘Would an hour be too soon?’

  ‘Not at all. I’ll be ready.’

  **

  On his arrival at the vicarage, de Silva rang the bell and waited, admiring the profusion of orchids that grew in large terracotta pots on eithe
r side of the front porch. He complimented Reverend Peters on them as they walked to the Morris.

  ‘In England, growing tender plants in one’s garden is impractical. Here, I have the pleasure of being able to do so to my heart’s content. I have to admit, even though there are times when I miss the land of my birth, I wouldn’t like to return to her cold, rainy winters.’

  ‘Have you been away from England long?’ asked de Silva. He had never engaged in more than the occasional bit of small talk with the vicar. Getting him to talk about himself should ensure that he didn’t ask awkward questions.

  ‘Almost twenty-five years.’

  Only half listening to Peters’ lengthy reminiscences about the places he had ministered in before being sent to Nuala, de Silva ran over in his mind how he was going to excuse himself from the discussion about the funeral. His thoughts dwelt too on the search he hoped to carry out. Unexpectedly, he felt slightly uncomfortable about it. He tried to analyse why and decided that what troubled him was the prospect of unearthing something that incriminated a man Boris Goncharov obviously trusted. Hadn’t the ringmaster suffered enough? But then he quashed the feeling of distaste. If Kumar was involved in shady dealings, he had to be stopped.

  When they reached the racecourse, they headed straight for the area where the circus was pitched. De Silva was relieved to see Gordo sitting by one of the tents. He immediately offered to take them to find Boris.

  He was in the main tent, supervising operations to take it down. Dust drifted about as sweating circus hands rolled canvas into mountainous bundles and hauled them away to be put on the wagons. Loose wires rang against poles as other circus hands dismantled the tent’s metal skeleton and tossed its constituent pieces onto clanging heaps. It was sad to see how ephemeral the magic of the circus was.

  Directing the work with impatient shouts and gestures, Boris looked weary. ‘We will go to my tent,’ he said when de Silva explained why they had come. He beckoned to one of the older circus hands who was nearby and shouted something over the noise. Presumably, it was an instruction to take over. The man nodded.

  As they walked to Boris’s tent, de Silva suggested that Nadia should be included in the discussions. To his relief Boris accepted readily, and as they passed her tent, they collected her. At the entrance to Boris’s own one, de Silva excused himself.

  ‘I don’t want to intrude,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’d prefer to talk to Reverend Peters in private. I’ll just walk around for a while.’

  Boris thanked him and he, Nadia and Reverend Peters went into the tent. Waiting a few moments to make sure they were settled there and checking no one else was in view, de Silva pulled aside the entrance flap to Nadia’s tent and slipped inside.

  He had been concerned that any noise he made while he was searching might be noticed, but in daylight, he realised that the section he wanted to be in was adjacent to the sleeping area in Boris’s tent. He would still need to be quiet, but there was less danger than he had feared of attracting attention. It worried him, however, that he might not have time for a thorough search before the meeting next door ended. There were more than twenty trunks to deal with. Fortunately they were not locked; indeed, some were opened.

  The first dozen or so were packed with meticulously folded costumes. These included the folk dresses and oriental costumes that he had seen the dancers wear, as well as flamenco dresses in scarlet and black taffeta, matador costumes, the clowns’ harlequin outfits, ballet tutus, and many others.

  When he had done with the first trunks and found nothing untoward, de Silva went back to Nadia’s bedroom and listened at the entrance to the tent. He heard the low murmur of voices from Boris’s one. He, Nadia and Reverend Peters must still be talking. Returning to the trunks, he resumed his search.

  The rest of the trunks contained wigs, shoes, hats, and a selection of elaborate headdresses, tiaras, and jewellery. As quietly as he could, he gingerly picked up a few pieces from the latter selection and studied them. On close inspection, the metal they were made of was thin and the gemstones were tawdry. It was obvious, even to his untrained eye, that they were paste. But a few of the pieces were a different matter. The gold looked genuine, and if the gemstones were fakes, they were very convincing ones.

  He sat back on his haunches and looked around the tent. He had searched everything in it now. Had Kumar been carrying some of this jewellery when he left the club last night? And if so, who had he collected it from?

  He re-examined one of the necklaces. It was of a distinctive design, but in some places, the rubies that should have been set into it were missing. He glanced at a jewelled band that looked like a hair ornament. There were rubies in that too. Was he imagining it, or was there a lack of uniformity in them? The depth of colour in some of the stones was closer to those in the necklace.

  All at once, he remembered the glowing brazier and Kumar shoeing the horse. Hadn’t he said his father was a blacksmith and had taught him the skills to work with metal? What if Kumar was using those skills to replace fake gemstones with genuine ones in the costume jewellery and accessories? It would be the perfect hiding place: not only a way of transporting them from where they had been stolen, but also of allowing them to be sold with far less danger of being found out. If necessary, the gold settings could be melted down and the jewels sold separately.

  He considered the collection again. If he was onto something with Kumar, it was vital not to arouse his suspicions, but he needed an expert opinion on whether some of the jewels were genuine. There was a jeweller in town who had helped him before; his discretion could be relied upon. After a few moments’ hesitation, he took a few rings, a brooch, the jewelled band, and the necklace.

  With the haul tucked away in his pockets, he took out his notebook and wrote brief descriptions of the other pieces that interested him, then closed the trunk and eased the catches shut. It was fortunate that Nadia had not thought to lock it, but then why would she if she had no idea there was anything valuable inside? Cautiously, he returned once more to her sleeping quarters and listened at the entrance. Reverend Peters’ tendency towards verbosity was another thing to be grateful for. The conversation had not ended yet.

  Leaving the tent, he wandered off to a patch of open ground where there was a view over town. Nuala looked very peaceful in the sunshine, but he knew that in reality it would be bustling with all of its usual morning activities. The bazaar would be full of colour and shoppers; delivery trucks and cars would be hooting as they edged through the crowds; the perfumed smoke of incense would be drifting from flower-strewn roadside shrines; cows would be ambling through the streets, and stray dogs foraging.

  ‘Good morning!’

  He swung round to see Kumar smiling at him.

  ‘Good morning to you.’

  ‘Is there something I can help you with?’

  Painfully aware of the jewellery in his pockets, de Silva then chided himself for being ridiculous. The man might have a way with snakes, but surely he didn’t have the power to see through clothing. Still, he must take care.

  ‘Thank you for the offer, but no. I’m only here because I drove our local vicar up to speak to your boss about the funeral arrangements for his brother and Tatiana.’

  Kumar sighed. ‘Of course. He and Nadia have been worried about what can be done.’

  ‘I hope Reverend Peters will be able to set their minds at rest.’

  ‘And once it is over, we will go. The circus loses money if we do no shows. More important, people need change to help them forget.’

  And if you are what I think you are, thought de Silva, you have another reason for wanting to shake the dust of Nuala off your feet. He had better get the jewellery assessed as soon as possible.

  He smiled, assuming a nonchalant tone. ‘Has it been decided where you’ll go?’

  Did he imagine a flicker of wariness in Kumar’s eyes? After a moment, the man shrugged. ‘South, perhaps. After this tour, Alexei talked of going to Australia. Perhaps Boris
will decide to go there.’

  That would certainly put a safe distance between Kumar and the Ceylon police.

  A voice called his name. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Reverend Peters coming across the grass.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Inspector de Silva. Well, I’ve had a good talk with our Russian friends, and I think we have made some progress. I’ll telephone the bishop’s secretary when I get back to the vicarage and ask him to arrange for me to have a word with the bishop. I’ve warned Mr Goncharov we may have to wait several days for a decision. Now, if you’re ready, shall we return to town?’ He nodded to Kumar. ‘A pleasure to see you again. I enjoyed our talk.’

  ‘I too enjoyed it,’ said Kumar with grave politeness. ‘I do not meet many people with your knowledge of snakes.’

  They sauntered towards the tents, conversing about the vicar’s pet subject. It remained a mystery to de Silva how anyone found it so absorbing. Near to what remained of the main tent, they parted company, leaving Kumar to go about his business. On the drive back to town, Reverend Peters still dwelt on the subject of snakes. If he was curious as to whether de Silva’s errand had been a success, he was too tactful to ask.

  **

  He left Peters at the vicarage and went on to the police station. Prasanna and Nadar were in the public room, bent industriously over their work. They both stood up.

  ‘Anything to report?’ he asked.

  ‘A lady from Doctor Hebden’s surgery telephoned earlier on, sir,’ said Prasanna. ‘She gave Doctor Hebden your message. He will meet you at twelve o’clock at the undertakers’ office.’

  De Silva clapped a hand to his forehead; he had forgotten about the business of wanting Hebden to take a look at Alexei’s body. He glanced at the clock. It was already ten minutes to twelve.

  ‘We haven’t telephoned to say you will not be coming, sir,’ added Prasanna. ‘I spoke to Mrs de Silva a little while ago, and she said we should wait to see if you were back in time.’