The Inspector de Silva Mysteries

by Harriet Steel

  ‘Thank you. I’ll remember that.’

  De Silva sneezed again and blew his nose. Returning his handkerchief to his pocket he felt a wet nose brush his hand and reached down to pat Darcy. He was dry and clean now, but at close quarters, there was still a lingering smell of wet dog. ‘I’m glad to see Darcy is none the worse for his outing,’ he said.

  ‘Darcy? Far from it. The old chap never minds a bit of water. Labradors are great swimmers, you know. Oh, I almost forgot. How’s that ankle getting on?’

  ‘Healing well, thank you.’ He didn’t want to give the impression that he was too much of an invalid.

  ‘Glad to hear it. Right then, take a seat. Early, I know, but in the absence of Friar’s, may I offer you a whisky for medicinal purposes?’

  ‘It’s most kind of you, but I won’t just now.’ His head was quite muzzy enough.

  ‘Very well.’ Clutterbuck sat down in his desk chair and steepled his hands. ‘Now, what are your thoughts about our discovery yesterday?’

  De Silva’s hopes rose. This was something new; usually Archie liked to launch into his own opinions straight away.

  ‘I appreciate we found no clear evidence that the dead man, Velu, had a connection with the place, but the coincidence is strong enough to persuade me that it’s worth having the items found with his body examined for a second opinion.’

  Clutterbuck picked up a pen and rotated it between his thumb and forefinger. ‘I’ve hesitated over questioning Henry Coryat’s verdict – he was, in his day, one of the most eminent men in the Museum Service.’ He paused, and de Silva’s optimism faltered.

  ‘But I had plenty of time to think matters over while Darcy and I spent our solitary evening together. In the end, I came to the same conclusion that you have. With the proviso that I’d prefer it if word didn’t get back to Coryat. I have no desire to offend the man.’

  ‘That ought not to be a problem, sir.’

  De Silva explained about his friend, Chockalingham, and the plan to find an expert through him.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Clutterbuck. ‘If you’re confident this man will be discreet, that seems a very good solution. I’ll leave it with you. Keep me posted, won’t you? And please give my regards to Mrs de Silva. A very sporting show she put on yesterday.’ He grinned. ‘I’m not sure my wife would have taken our excursion in her stride in quite the same way. Oh, and congratulate your lads for me. They did well under trying circumstances.’

  De Silva smiled. ‘I hope Mrs Clutterbuck is enjoying her holiday.’

  ‘Apparently so. I had a telegram. She’ll be embarking on her cruise soon. Dressing for dinner and string quartets. Dancing too, I believe. Not my line of country, I fear. Do you dance, de Silva?’

  ‘I do, although my wife would tell you I need more practice. We acquired a gramophone for the purpose. Although sometimes I think I would do better to sit and listen to the music than try to dance to it.’

  There was a whine from Darcy’s direction. Clutterbuck reached down and scratched him behind the ears. ‘Do you need to visit the garden, old chap?’

  The elderly Labrador thumped his tail and hauled himself to his feet.

  ‘I’ll come out with you, de Silva. I expect the servants are busy, and I could do with some fresh air.’

  He looked out of the window. ‘Ah good, the rain’s stopping. It makes a pleasant change to see a patch of blue sky. I’m not surprised my wife wanted to get away for a while. I suppose that, being born here, you’re used to the monsoon. But sometimes I miss our English weather. It’s a gentler creature than you have here. I never thought I’d say it, but I miss the winters too. Frost sparkling on the grass, the countryside white with snow, icicles hanging from the eaves. What did Shakespeare say? Something about owls, and shepherds with freezing hands? My wife would know. She’s a keen reader of Shakespeare. Yes, it’s a pretty sight, a snowy winter’s day. I presume you’ve never seen snow, de Silva?’

  ‘I’ve never left Ceylon.’

  ‘You and Mrs de Silva should take a holiday. See something of the world.’

  De Silva smiled. ‘She was saying the same yesterday evening. Perhaps one day we will.’

  They had reached the driveway, and Darcy lolloped away in the direction of the nearest coconut palm.

  ‘Well, I’ll let you get off,’ said Clutterbuck. ‘Keep me up to date with how things are going and take as much time as you need down in Colombo. Why not take Mrs de Silva with you? I’m sure she’d prove an admirable sleuth. Don’t stint yourselves; the Residence will pick up the tab.’

  ‘Thank you very much, sir.’

  De Silva walked over to the Morris and climbed in. Pulling away, he smiled to himself. That was one of the longest, and most affable conversations, apart from ones to do with work, that he had ever had with Archie Clutterbuck. He must have enjoyed yesterday’s adventure.

  Chapter 13

  On the drive home, though, his mood altered a little. It was gratifying that Archie had come around to his way of thinking so easily, and that he had made such a generous offer of a stay in Colombo, but the suggestion that he and Jane make a holiday of it did grate a little. If the death of a Britisher had been involved, would Archie have been so relaxed?

  ‘I think you’re being oversensitive, dear,’ said Jane when he grumbled about it over lunch. ‘Usually, the problem is that Archie resists doing what you want him to; you should be pleased when he agrees with you without any fuss. The fact it’s a villager who was murdered doesn’t make it any less important. If Archie didn’t take that view, he’s perfectly capable of telling you not to waste police time on the case. Now, when shall we go down to Colombo? We’ll need to book tickets and a hotel, but I can deal with all that if you’d like me to. It’s a long time since I’ve been in Colombo, but I’m sure I can find a place that’s not too expensive where we can be comfortable. I know you’ll have work to do, but it would fun to revisit old haunts too.’

  He got up and went around to her side of the table. Resting his hands on her shoulders, he kissed the top of her head. ‘I’m sorry, my love; I’m being a grouch. Archie said we weren’t to stint ourselves, so we’ll take him at his word: book the Galle Face Hotel.’

  Jane’s eyes danced. ‘That’s the spirit! I’ll have to bring my best frock.’

  Leaving her to make plans, de Silva drove to the police station. The bazaar was crowded for the time of day, and he had to slow down to negotiate the mêlée of carts, shoppers, dogs, and chickens thronging the road. Above it all, the sky was now a limpid blue, although a line of dark clouds mustered on the western horizon like a herd of angry bullocks massing for a stampede. No doubt all these people hoped to complete their business before the rain came on again.

  At one point, he had to wait for a handcart piled high with fruit and vegetables to lumber across in front of the Morris. A shrine to the Buddha had been set up at the corner of the crossroads. He noticed that all the candles had been doused in the last downpour. It had also turned the offerings of flowers to a soggy brown mush. Awnings over stalls steamed as they dried in the sun. In corners where its rays didn’t reach, lingering puddles glinted like sheets of silver laid on the muddy ground.

  Rain, rain, and more rain. Rather than go to Colombo, perhaps he should try to find an expert on antiquities in Jaffna or Trincomalee. It was the dry season there, on the other side of the island. He would never choose to live in either of those places though. The countryside around them couldn’t compare with the beauty of the tea country, and, although there were some fine buildings in both cities, to his mind, Kandy far surpassed them in elegance.

  Prasanna and Nadar gave the appearance of being busy when he walked into the public room at the station. He wasn’t sure what they were achieving, but he gave them the benefit of the doubt. They’d worked hard yesterday in extremely unpleasant conditions.

  ‘I’m going to trust you with a piece of information,’ he said. ‘But I rely on you both not to breathe a word to anyone. Agreed?’
/>
  ‘Yes, sir,’ they chorused.

  ‘Do you recall the artefacts we found that day we discovered Velu’s body?’

  They nodded.

  ‘Well, I took them to a man called Henry Coryat, an expert in the field of antiquities, and asked his opinion as to their worth. Mr Coryat considered they were virtually worthless – merely trinkets you might pick up in a bazaar any day of the week.’

  Prasanna and Nadar looked downcast. ‘Did you think they were valuable?’ asked de Silva.

  ‘We thought some of them might have been, sir.’

  ‘Am I right that you felt that would make this case much more interesting than it would be if Velu was simply murdered over some village squabble?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Prasanna. ‘We assumed it was the reason we made the search in the jungle yesterday.’

  ‘Then I have some good news for you. Increasingly, I’ve had my doubts about Mr Coryat.’

  ‘Do you mean he was lying, sir?’ asked Nadar.

  ‘That is a possibility, or it may be that he’s not as competent as he once was. Whatever the truth of the matter, Mr Clutterbuck has agreed to my getting a second opinion. Oh, by the way, he praised your hard work yesterday. Well done, both of you.’

  The young men beamed.

  ‘I’ll be going down to Colombo soon to consult a man there. I’m not sure what the result will be, but this could be a turning point. Meanwhile, I’d like the two of you to scout around in the bazaar. See what information you can glean about Velu.’

  He scratched his chin. ‘There’s the village headman’s grandson too. I think I’ll go back to the village this afternoon and see if there’ve been any developments. We can’t be certain there’s a connection, but any unusual circumstance needs to be followed up. If the grandson isn’t back before I leave for Colombo, I rely on you, Prasanna, to keep an eye on the situation. Nadar, you can help if need be. Now, I’ll be in my office. One of you put a call through to the police at Colombo for me, please.’

  A few minutes later, the telephone on his desk chirruped. He picked it up and heard Nadar’s voice. ‘I have the police headquarters at Colombo, sir. Who shall I say you want to speak with?’

  ‘Inspector Rudi Chockalingham.’

  There was another silence then his old colleague’s voice crackled down the line against a racket of typewriters and shouted conversation. Conditions at the Colombo headquarters had clearly not improved in the years since he had been gone.

  ‘Shanti de Silva! What a pleasure to hear from you. Are you still up in Nuala?’

  ‘Indeed I am.’

  ‘How’s married life?’

  ‘Excellent. The best thing I’ve ever done.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear you say so. Especially as I am about to embark on the same state.’

  ‘Tamed at last, eh?’ said de Silva with a chuckle.

  ‘My mother said it was high time.’

  ‘Well, congratulations. Is it the end of motorbike riding?’

  ‘That point is still to be negotiated. But tell me more about how things are with you. Are you missing the big smoke at all?’

  De Silva laughed. ‘There are times, but on the whole, I find quite enough excitement up here.’

  ‘Riddles in the tea leaves? Stolen bullocks?’ De Silva pictured his old colleague’s mischievous grin.

  ‘Murder this time.’

  ‘Ah, that is a more interesting challenge. Who’s the dead man?’

  ‘A villager by the name of Velu.’

  ‘How was he killed?’

  ‘He was shot. The body was buried in a shallow grave in the jungle.’

  ‘Shot, eh? Then it seems unlikely the murderer was another villager settling a score.’

  ‘I agree. We also found artefacts close to the body.’

  ‘And they were?’

  ‘Coins – old ones – and some fragments of jewellery.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I took them to one of the British residents up here – a man called Henry Coryat who used to be a senior curator at the museum in Colombo.’

  ‘Coryat…’ Chockalingham paused. ‘Ah yes, I remember the name. He retired a few years ago because of ill health.’

  ‘He told me that nothing we’d found was valuable.’

  ‘But I sense you weren’t content to leave it there.’

  ‘I wasn’t. One of the British staff at the Residence here knows something about archaeology, and he believed there were things worth looking for in the area. I decided to investigate further.’

  Chockalingham listened, dropping in an occasional comment or question, as de Silva recounted the story of the jungle adventure.

  ‘The upshot is,’ de Silva finished, ‘our assistant government agent has agreed to my getting a second opinion. That’s where you come in.’

  There was silence at the other end of the line.

  ‘Can you help?’ prompted de Silva. ‘You must know a suitable person. One who would be discreet.’

  ‘I’m just thinking who would be best. Yes, I have an idea. Can you leave it with me for a day or two? I’ll contact him and get back to you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Shall I call you at the police station?’

  ‘Or at home if you can’t get me there. I have a telephone installed.’

  ‘I’m impressed; an inspector down here doesn’t qualify for one.’

  De Silva gave him the number.

  ‘Do you plan to bring the artefacts to Colombo yourself?’ asked Chockalingham.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. We must spend an evening talking over old times. They still serve the best arrack in town at Vikram’s.’

  De Silva remembered the dark, smoky bar favoured by some of the Colombo force. He wondered if the ebullient Tamil who owned it had got around to cleaning up the tobacco-stained walls and ceiling since he was last there.

  ‘I’ll be glad to.’

  When they had said their goodbyes, de Silva leant back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. A good day’s work: now all he had to do was wait for Rudi’s call. After that, he’d report back to Archie.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall. There were still a couple of hours before dusk, but if he drove out to the village to see if the headman’s grandson had returned, he would probably have to drive home in the dark. He didn’t relish the idea if the rain had started again, and his ankle was still painful and in need of rest. He’d leave it until morning and spend what remained of the afternoon here catching up on routine business.

  Chapter 14

  The rain came again just as he and Jane sat down to dinner. It lasted through the night, and at first, de Silva couldn’t sleep. When he did manage to doze off, he dreamt that elephants were using the bungalow’s tin roof as a dance floor. Rudi Chockalingham added to the commotion, roaring round the house on his motorbike, but when de Silva woke, he realised it was only the rain falling, and the wind buffeting the windows.

  He slept again then woke a final time to find a servant placing a tray of tea on the table by the bed. The rain was over, and sunshine flooded into the room, making the silver teapot gleam.

  ‘The memsahib sent this up for you, sahib. She is already downstairs.’

  De Silva pushed a hand through his hair. ‘I’ll be down soon. Tell her to start breakfast without me.’

  The servant poured a thin, golden stream of tea into the bone china cup. ‘Very well, sahib.’

  De Silva drank his tea then washed and shaved quickly. His face stared back at him from the bathroom mirror. There were traceries of lines at the corners of his eyes and on his forehead, and an increasing number of grey streaks in his hair. Age was catching up on him, but at least the drawn look he remembered from his Colombo days wasn’t apparent. He had Jane and the healthier air of Nuala to thank for that.

  Five years since he had left the Colombo force. Apart from a brief visit there three years ago, most of which he’d spent on the Black Lotus case in the High Court, he
hadn’t been back. He rinsed his razor and patted his face dry with a towel then reached for his comb. He wondered how the years had treated Rudi Chockalingham. He’d sounded on good form, but then he always was a gregarious fellow and fond of a joke.

  His ankle was less painful this morning; it must have benefitted from the overnight rest. He left the bandage in place, pulled on underpants, socks, and uniform shirt and trousers then padded downstairs. He’d finish dressing after breakfast: his stomach called.

  ‘Good morning, dear,’ said Jane with a smile. ‘I thought I’d let you sleep for a while. You had a restless night.’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure why. The case is progressing according to plan for the moment.’

  ‘How’s your ankle?’

  ‘A little better, I’m glad to say.’

  ‘Excellent. I telephoned the Galle Face. They have rooms available this week and next.’

  ‘Good; all we need now is a call from Rudi.’

  **

  After breakfast, he set off for the village in the jungle. As a precaution, he took a walking stick with him. Even though his ankle had improved, he had quite a long walk in prospect.

  Driving through town, the gullies on either side of the road still ran with water from the overnight rain. Out in the countryside, coils of mist drifted among the trees. When he reached the dirt road, the surface was slippery with mud. Parking the Morris close to where the road dwindled into a mere track leading into the jungle, he changed his shoes for the stout boots he had taken the precaution of bringing with him and set off.

  Now he was alone, the walk seemed more intimidating than it had when he came this way with Prasanna. The deeper he penetrated, the more malevolent the squawks and whistles of hidden birds sounded. The track widened a little and he saw that this was because on either side, saplings had been wrenched from the ground and branches ripped from the taller trees. Giant feet had churned up the earth. Elephants had passed this way; perhaps not long ago. In addition, the improvement in his ankle soon wore off. He was glad he had brought the walking stick and did his best to use it to keep his weight on his good foot.