The Inspector de Silva Mysteries

by Harriet Steel

  De Silva paid off the rickshaw man, and a doorman dressed in a white suit with gold buttons and white gloves greeted them. They were shown to their room on the first floor.

  Jane clapped her hands. ‘Oh, it’s lovely! Look at the view, Shanti! Isn’t it wonderful to be able to see the ocean?’

  Lightly, she stroked the curtains. The material rippled like water. ‘And look at these – made of this beautiful golden silk, and the same for the bedspread. And these flowers’ – she touched one of the petals of an arrangement of cream lilies and roses that filled the room with their perfume. ‘Are you sure Archie won’t complain about the cost?’

  ‘He’d better not; he told me to spoil you.’

  ‘How sweet of him.’

  He looked at his watch. ‘We have a few hours until lunchtime. I suppose I should go to the police station and let Rudi know I’ve arrived. Do you mind?’

  ‘You go. I’ll be perfectly happy here. Do you want to change into your uniform?’

  ‘Not for the moment; I’d rather be anonymous.’ He patted his pocket. ‘But I have my badge in case I need it. I’ll come back as soon as possible. We’ll have a spot of lunch and then a stroll beside the ocean. Apparently, this man Jayakody won’t be free until late afternoon, so we should have plenty of time.’

  Leaving Jane to unpack and explore the hotel, de Silva went down to the lobby and ordered a rickshaw. Memories of his Colombo days flooded back as he travelled through the familiar city.

  He’d always thought Colombo owed much of its charm to the contrast between the elegance of the colonial buildings and the colourful variety of daily life going on in the streets. Every kind of conveyance was there: motor cars, rickshaws, bicycles, bullock carts, and even a few elephants. Horns hooted; bells rang; whips cracked; dogs barked, and cart wheels rumbled. Men sat astride the water carts that trundled along spraying water from hoses fitted at the back to keep down the dust.

  Children darted about, narrowly avoiding being run over. Here and there, men lounged in the shade of the trees, smoking or playing dice or cards. Others trudged along, burdened by the goods balanced on their heads. The vivid colours of women’s saris flashed through the crowds like tropical fish in a reef. Buddhist monks in saffron robes walked with heads bowed as if oblivious to the cacophony surrounding them.

  By the time he reached the police station, de Silva felt exhilarated by the liveliness of his old city. He showed his badge to the guard on the door and went in. At the public counter, he gave his name and asked to see Rudi Chockalingham.

  The sergeant in charge gave him a strange look. ‘What’s your business with Inspector Chockalingham?’

  ‘Confidential.’ De Silva flashed his badge again. ‘Now just tell him I’m here, will you?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, I can’t do that.’

  De Silva frowned. Why did he always have to get the idiot?

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because he’s not at the station today.’

  ‘I’ll leave a message then. When will he be back?’

  The sergeant’s brow furrowed; he seemed to be thinking deeply. ‘Hard to say,’ he volunteered at last.

  Exasperation welled in de Silva’s chest. ‘You must have some idea,’ he said, trying to contain it.

  ‘Is there a problem, Sergeant?’

  The man who spoke had just come through the swing doors leading from the main offices. He wore the uniform of a chief inspector and sported a handlebar moustache. He looked to be about de Silva’s age.

  ‘This officer wants to see Inspector Chockalingham, sir. Says he has confidential business with him.’

  A frown flitted across the chief inspector’s face. ‘I’ll handle this, Sergeant.’

  He turned to de Silva. ‘We’d better go to my office.’

  Apprehensively, de Silva followed him back through the swing doors. He hadn’t intended to speak to anyone but Rudi, but he needed to know what had happened to him. He’d have to be careful to divulge as little as possible.

  The office they went into was large and light. Several framed photographs of Rudi’s colleague being presented with awards hung on the walls. One showed him shaking hands with a man de Silva recognised as the Governor General. The bookshelves contained an impressive array of leather-bound legal and police procedural volumes.

  ‘Please take a seat.’ The man gestured to the mahogany chair on one side of the desk then sat down opposite. ‘I’m Chief Inspector Fonseka,’ he said.

  ‘Inspector Shanti de Silva, now of the Nuala police force, but formerly stationed down here. I spoke with Inspector Chockalingham a few days ago and arranged to meet him.’

  ‘Ah, Inspector de Silva. I feared it might be you. I’m afraid I have bad news.’

  Chapter 20

  A chill came over de Silva. Fonseka steepled his hands and leant forward. ‘I’m sorry to say Rudi has met with an accident.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Do you recall his passion for motorbikes?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘It was dark. He was in Dalan Street, riding home from work. A cart got in his way. There were no witnesses, but people nearby heard a crash and came out of their shops and houses to see what had happened. The motorbike must have skidded when he took avoiding action. It had run into a wall, trapping him underneath. He was lucky the petrol tank didn’t explode.’

  ‘Is he badly hurt?’

  ‘Some broken bones, but what concerned the doctors far more was the fact that he lost consciousness for many hours. They feared he might die. Thankfully, it was not the case, but he is still very weak.’

  De Silva felt his nails bite into his palms. Quite apart from the fact that he liked Chockalingham, this news spelt potential disaster for his plan. He had been relying on Rudi to take him to see Jayakody. His mind raced. And what was he going to say if Fonseka asked what his business with Rudi was?

  ‘But surely a few broken bones won’t hold him back for long?’ he asked, forestalling the question while he cast about for inspiration.

  ‘The situation is more complicated than that. Although he regained consciousness, he remembers nothing. The doctors say they have seen the condition before after a severe trauma. They are unable to say how long the malady will last. Possibly his condition will be permanent.’

  With a feeling of deepest dismay, de Silva assimilated the news. This affected far more than their business together. Rudi’s whole life was in danger of being ruined. And he’d said he was marrying soon. What of his intended bride? A tragedy for her too.

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘At the main hospital. He is being well cared for.’

  De Silva took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. ‘I’m very sorry to hear this. I’ll visit him before I leave for Nuala.’

  ‘I’m afraid he won’t have any idea who you are.’

  ‘All the same I’d like to see him.’ He stood up. ‘I’m sorry we’ve met under such sad circumstances, Inspector Fonseka. I’m sure you have work to do, so I won’t take up any more of your time.’

  Fonseka leant forward and lowered his voice. ‘No need to hurry away, Inspector. I may be able to help. Over the last few years, Chockalingham and I have worked closely on numerous cases. Before the accident, he confided in me. I know the reason for your visit.’

  De Silva felt a stab of alarm. Rudi hadn’t admitted to this. What else had he been hiding?

  Fonseka smiled. ‘I see you are concerned, Inspector de Silva, but you need not be. The information went no further. And, as matters have turned out, isn’t it as well Rudi didn’t keep your business to himself?’

  De Silva had to admit Fonseka had a point. He only hoped he was as discreet as he professed to be.

  ‘The only thing Rudi didn’t mention was the name of the man you were going to see.’

  ‘Professor Mahindra Jayakody.’

  ‘Had you agreed a time?’

  ‘Rudi mentioned going this afternoon.’

  ‘Right; leav
e it with me. Where are you staying?’

  ‘The Galle Face Hotel.’

  ‘An excellent choice. I’ll telephone you there later once I’ve spoken to Professor Jayakody.’

  Fonseka paused a moment. ‘By the way, when I said Rudi confided in me, he didn’t tell me exactly why you wanted a second opinion, only that it was in connection with a crime. Are you able to give me any more information?’

  ‘I’d prefer not, sir. If it’s all the same to you.’

  Fonseka smiled dryly.

  ‘No offence intended,’ de Silva added hastily.

  ‘None taken.’ Fonseka stood up. ‘I look forward to speaking with you later, Inspector.’

  **

  ‘What a dreadful thing to happen,’ said Jane. ‘When do you want to go to the hospital?’

  ‘In the morning. From what Fonseka said, I doubt it will make any difference to Rudi when I visit, and I don’t want to spoil your day. I promised you lunch and a walk.’

  ‘Oh, you mustn’t worry about that.’

  ‘I’m not, I just don’t think we need to rush there. I’d like to see Rudi, but tomorrow will do.’

  She looked at him shrewdly. ‘Do you believe Fonseka?’

  ‘His account of the accident, do you mean?’

  ‘That and about your friend Rudi confiding in him.’

  De Silva weighed up the possibilities. ‘Yes, I do,’ he said at last. ‘He told me the street where it happened. It’s easy enough to verify the circumstances. And as I know Rudi let slip to Jayakody that another expert had already given an opinion when I expressly asked him to keep it to himself, I’m not all that surprised he spoke to Fonseka.’

  He gave a sad smile. ‘In the circumstances, I haven’t the heart to be angry with him.’

  They ate lunch in the hotel’s grand dining room where tables laid with silver cutlery and cut glassware were dotted among tall palms in copper pots. They were late and there were few other diners. ‘I feel as if I should whisper,’ murmured Jane.

  De Silva grinned. ‘It is rather like being in church. Perhaps it will be more lively tonight.’ He poked his fork into the food on his plate. ‘But the food is excellent. I was afraid there would be only British dishes on the menu.’

  ‘I expect the chefs in a hotel like this know how to cook both kinds of food well.’

  After lunch, they took the promised stroll by the ocean. ‘Imagine,’ said Jane dreamily. ‘If you sailed away, the next time you saw land it would be the Horn of Africa, more than two thousand miles away, but it’s less than three hundred miles from one end of Ceylon to the other.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that another hint you’d like to see more of the world?’

  ‘I suppose it is,’ she said with a laugh, then sighed. ‘I expect it would be very expensive.’

  He tucked her hand through his arm. ‘We’ll manage it somehow, I promise.’

  They reached the end of the promenade and turned back towards the hotel. ‘Is there something else you’d like to do this afternoon?’ she asked.

  ‘I’d like to check out Fonseka’s story about the accident.’

  ‘No stone unturned?’

  ‘You know me.’

  At the hotel, they hired a rickshaw and told the driver to take them to Dalan Street. ‘Wait for us here,’ de Silva said, climbing down before helping Jane.

  A man standing in the shade of a shop doorway regarded them curiously. A trestle table to his left displayed a pile of mangoes and some bunches of green bananas.

  De Silva went over to him. ‘Is this your shop?’

  The man nodded.

  ‘Have you seen an accident recently? A man falling off a motorbike who was badly injured.’

  Other men and a few women and children appeared, all talking at once.

  De Silva raised a hand. ‘Just one of you tell me.’ He pointed to the first man he’d spoken with. ‘You’ll do.’

  ‘We heard a big noise. Everyone came running out to see what had happened. The motorbike was red.’ The man drew a big circle with his hands. ‘The elephant of motorbikes.’

  That sounded like Rudi.

  ‘It lay on the ground.’ He pointed to a shattered wooden cart and a pile of rubble that looked like it had once been a wall. ‘Stones were on top of it. The rider was underneath it all. His face and clothes white like a spirit.’

  Spare me the flowery language, thought de Silva. ‘What did he look like?’

  The man studied de Silva impudently. ‘Younger than you, sahib. Long legs. Black hair that curled.’

  Rudi, undoubtedly.

  ‘Who took him away?’

  The man shrugged. ‘An ambulance came. I don’t know who sent for it.’

  ‘Well, that bears Fonseka’s story out,’ said de Silva as the rickshaw man took them back to the hotel. He yawned. ‘I hope he hasn’t telephoned while we were out.’

  ‘I’m sure one of the receptionists will take a message.’

  **

  There were no messages, so they ordered tea in the lounge, but de Silva was unable to settle.

  ‘Do try not to fret, dear,’ said Jane. ‘I’m sure there’s a good reason why he hasn’t telephoned yet.’

  ‘I hope this Professor Jayakody hasn’t changed his mind. I can’t be sure that Fonseka’s as persuasive as Rudi.’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s all we’ve got to rely on now.’

  She held out a plate of little iced cakes. ‘Have one of these. They’re delicious.’

  De Silva took one and bit into it. She was right: it was good. There was a distinct flavour of cardamom and ginger. He licked a stray dab of icing from a finger and chose another; this time the taste was of rosewater. He was eating the last morsel when a waiter approached. ‘There is a call for you, sir,’ he said deferentially.

  ‘Thank you, I’ll come.’

  The telephone rang in the booth in the lobby and he picked up the receiver.

  ‘Inspector de Silva?’

  ‘Speaking; good afternoon, Inspector Fonseka.’

  ‘Professor Jayakody is still able to meet you, but something has come up that makes today difficult. He sends his apologies and suggests you meet tomorrow. Rather than risk causing comment by seeing you in the museum, I’ll put my house at your disposal in the evening. You’ll be able to speak in private with no fear of anyone asking unwelcome questions.’

  ‘That’s very good of you. How do I find your house?’

  ‘I’ll send one of my servants to drive you there. Shall we say six o’clock?’

  Shame for his lack of trust pricked de Silva. He thanked Fonseka and went back to find Jane.

  ‘It’s all arranged.’

  ‘What did I say? There was no need to worry.’

  Chapter 21

  The following morning, they went to the hospital to visit Rudi Chockalingham. The injured policeman was a sorry sight, badly bruised with one arm in plaster from the shoulder to the fingers, and a high collar around his neck that forced his head into an unnaturally stiff, upright position. He studied de Silva’s face intently, clearly struggling to remember who he was, but recognition didn’t dawn.

  ‘It’s best if you don’t stay long,’ whispered the nurse who bustled into the room carrying a tray on which there was a glass of something unappetising. Despite the cold that still partially clogged de Silva’s sensitive nose, he was aware of an evil smell.

  ‘Time for your medicine, Mr Chockalingham,’ she said brightly.

  A startled expression came into her patient’s eyes. With his good hand, he reached for the edge of the sheet and pulled it up to his chin, as if trying to make a barrier. Gently but firmly, the nurse unclasped his fingers and smoothed the sheet down again. She put the glass to his lips; he swallowed then grimaced.

  ‘There,’ she chirped. ‘I’ll bring your lunch in a little while.’

  She gave Jane and de Silva a meaningful look. With an awkward smile, de Silva bent down and squeezed Chockalingham’s uninjured shoulder. ‘We must be goin
g. Get well soon, my friend.’

  He straightened up, noting sadly that the blank expression didn’t change. But a tear welled up in Chockalingham’s eye and slid down his cheek.

  **

  At five minutes to six, de Silva stationed himself in the lobby. He didn’t have to wait long before Fonseka’s driver came up to him.

  ‘Inspector de Silva?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Please come this way, sahib. The car is outside.’

  It was a cream Riley, almost new. Fonseka must be doing well. They cruised through the busy streets, eventually drawing up in front of a pleasant, largish villa in a residential street shaded by jacaranda trees. Fonseka was waiting to greet de Silva and showed him into the drawing room. The man who was already there stood up and held out his hand.

  ‘How do you do, Inspector? I’m Mahindra Jayakody.’

  They shook hands and Fonseka gestured to the table by the window. De Silva noticed it was a fine piece of furniture. In fact, the whole room was tastefully furnished with things that must have cost a good deal of money. It would be interesting to know how Fonseka managed it on an inspector’s salary.

  ‘Would you like to lay the artefacts you’ve brought with you out on that table, Inspector?’ asked Fonseka.

  Opening his bag, de Silva unrolled the cloth he had wrapped the finds in and put them on the table. Jayakody rubbed his hands. ‘Let’s see what we have here.’

  He took an eyeglass out of his pocket and, picking up one of the coins, inspected it slowly. The process continued until he had examined every item.

  ‘Where was all this found?’ he asked, putting the last piece down.

  De Silva explained, omitting to mention that there had been a dead body close by.

  ‘As you tell me they were found in the Hill Country in the Nuala area, I’m going to hazard a guess that the other man who’s given you an opinion on them is Henry Coryat.’ He threw a sideways glance in de Silva’s direction. ‘Am I right?’

  There seemed to be no point denying it. De Silva nodded.