Fatal Finds in Nuala (The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Book 4)

by Harriet Steel

  ‘Anuradhapura,’ said Coryat. ‘When I first came to Ceylon, I spent several years on the excavations there.’

  Of course, the ancient city to the north of Kandy. Centuries ago, it had been Ceylon’s capital.

  ‘When was that, sir?’

  ‘Before the war.’ An impatient look came over Coryat’s face. ‘But I imagine you’re not really interested in my career, Inspector. I understand you want my opinion on some pieces you’ve found.’

  He went over to the desk in the window bay and pushed a few piles of papers aside to make space. ‘I suggest you lay them out here.’ He reached for the chain on the table lamp. A pool of ochre light fell on the desk’s worn leather and mahogany surface.

  De Silva opened the bag he’d brought with him, took out the coins and the metal pieces and laid them on the desk. He watched as Coryat picked up each item in turn, weighed it in the palm of his hand and then peered at it through his spectacles. Eventually, he removed them and made a considerable business of polishing the lenses with a soft cloth. When he put the spectacles back on, it seemed he was still dissatisfied. ‘Damned things,’ he muttered. ‘No use at all.’

  ‘Perhaps you should buy some new ones, sir,’ de Silva offered, trying to be helpful.

  Coryat scowled. ‘I already have, but I’ve mislaid them.’

  He took a magnifying glass from a drawer and continued with his examination. For several minutes, there was no sound in the room apart from the tick of the clock on the mantelpiece. De Silva wrapped his arms across his chest and repressed a shiver. The room felt dank. If Coryat spent most of his waking hours in here, it was no wonder he was so lugubrious. De Silva couldn’t remember when he had last seen such a cheerless place.

  At last, Coryat put down his magnifying glass. He waved vaguely in the direction of the armchairs. ‘Sit down; sit down. I need to look something up, but it won’t take long.’

  He went over to one of the bookcases; de Silva noticed how he fumbled with the small key to the glass door’s lock before he managed to turn it. Running a crooked finger along the spines of the books, he selected the one he wanted and pulled it out then took it to his desk.

  Another silence, this time only disturbed by the rustle of pages. De Silva began to think this visit was going to be of very little value.

  Coryat closed the book. ‘Just as I thought. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, Inspector, but none of your finds are of any importance. The coins are old and might fetch a few annas in one of the tourist markets in Colombo or Kandy, but you may as well dispose of the rest. These broken pieces would only be valuable if they came from something particularly rare or ancient. They don’t.’

  ‘But aren’t they made of gold? Surely that makes them valuable?’

  Coryat smiled for the first time. ‘You’re an optimist, I see. Not gold, the metal is an alloy. A little history lesson for you, Inspector: some two hundred years ago, a London clockmaker and jeweller called Pinchbeck invented a formula for an alloy of copper and zinc that resembled gold in virtually every respect except value. He called it Pinchbeck after himself and jewellery made from it became very popular in Victorian England among those who couldn’t afford gold, or those who could, but wanted to leave their precious pieces safe at home when they travelled. As is the way of the world, Pinchbeck has had many imitators down the years. Your pieces are among them.’

  He went to the bookcase and replaced the book. ‘Where were these things found?’

  While de Silva explained, Coryat rubbed the bridge of his long nose pensively. ‘To the best of my knowledge, there have never been any excavations in that area,’ he said when de Silva had finished. ‘Is anything known about the man who was murdered?’

  ‘Only that he occasionally worked as a tracker for foreign hunters.’

  ‘Perhaps his activities extended to supplying the more insalubrious market traders with spurious “antiquities”. They then sell them to gullible tourists looking for souvenirs. I’ve come across plenty of that type over the years. A few of them even had the brass neck to try and foist their wretched rubbish on the museum in Colombo when I was a senior curator there. I gave them short shrift, I can tell you.’

  He glanced at de Silva. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, I see I’m not being much help to you.’

  ‘Not at all, sir. I merely like to know what I’m dealing with in a case, and your opinion has given me that information.’

  ‘Good.’

  There was a pause. ‘Forgive me not offering you refreshments,’ Coryat resumed. ‘I allow the servants to go to their quarters most of the time. An old bachelor like me doesn’t need much doing for him, and I like my privacy. Servants fussing around are a distraction I can well do without.’

  He led the way back to the front door and stood aside. ‘I wish you a safe journey, Inspector.’

  De Silva thanked him and stepped out onto the drive. He was glad that the sun had come out and it wasn’t raining; he needed to banish the despondency Coryat’s home had aroused. What a lonely life the man must lead. There had been no family photographs, nothing to indicate that Coryat cared to take part in the world outside his drab bungalow. Small wonder he had resisted Florence’s blandishments.

  He climbed into the car and started up the engine. He ought to stop at the station to check there was no news, but he would make the visit a brief one. He was looking forward to being home with Jane. As he so often did, he thought how lucky he was to have her and a home he loved. Poor old Coryat: all alone with his books and his dusty learning. De Silva wouldn’t be in his shoes for all the world.

  As he neared the gates, he saw a shack he hadn’t noticed on the way up. Out of curiosity, he stopped and beckoned to the man who was lounging in the shade under the eaves of the thatched roof. He stood up slowly and came over to the car. ‘Can I help you, sahib?’ he asked in Tamil.

  ‘Are you one of Sahib Coryat’s servants?’

  The man acknowledged it with a slight incline of his head.

  ‘When did he last call you up to the bungalow?’

  The man eyed him with suspicion.

  ‘I am Inspector de Silva, here on police business.’

  ‘I see, sahib.’ The man thought for a moment. ‘Two days ago. He needed some washing done. My wife saw to it and I took it back in the evening.’

  ‘What about his meals?’

  The man shrugged. ‘My wife prepares food when he calls for it.’

  ‘How often is that?’

  ‘Different times.’

  ‘But at least once a day?’

  ‘Not every day.’

  De Silva sighed inwardly. This wasn’t getting him anywhere. Coryat was obviously a very unusual character. Most of the British were only too happy to be waited on hand and foot. It was hard to understand a man who cared so little for his own comfort.

  Chapter 7

  ‘You make it sound very bleak,’ said Jane when he’d described Coryat’s home, and what the servant had told him about his master’s way of life.

  ‘It certainly wouldn’t do for me,’ de Silva said with a grimace. Outside, the rain had started falling again and he was extremely glad to be back in the cosy drawing room at Sunnybank, especially with the prospect of a good dinner ahead. The only thing troubling him was that he wasn’t sure where to go from here with the case.

  ‘What do you plan to do next?’ asked Jane.

  He sighed. ‘I’m not at all sure. I suppose I could speak to Velu’s wife again; it’s possible she’s hiding something. Then there’s the headman and the other villagers, but unless I can persuade any of them to speak frankly, I’ll be relying on hunches to work out if one of them is guilty of murder.’

  Jane smiled. ‘Hunches have served you well in the past, dear.’

  ‘I won’t deny it, but this time I feel as if I’m up against a brick wall.’

  ‘Are you convinced that this Mr Coryat knows his stuff?’

  ‘Well, Archie Clutterbuck seems to think he does. Apparently,
Coryat had a distinguished career in archaeology.’

  ‘Had, dear.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, from the way you described him, he does sound strange. These elderly academics can become very eccentric, you know; even a little soft in the head.’

  ‘You mean he might be losing his skittles?’

  ‘His marbles, dear.’

  ‘Yes, well, I suppose that’s possible.’

  ‘If he is, it might be worth getting a second opinion. I must say, I am rather surprised that he dismissed everything so quickly.’

  ‘A second opinion? Where do you suggest we go for that? I doubt there’s another archaeologist for miles. Anyway, Archie Clutterbuck wasn’t keen on spending much time on this.’

  ‘What a pity. I was thinking of Kandy, or perhaps even Colombo. Maybe there’s some way of persuading him. We haven’t been away from Nuala for ages. We could combine a little holiday with your investigation.’

  De Silva grinned. ‘Ah, I see what this is about. You’d like a shopping trip.’

  ‘Nonsense! I’m simply applying your own principle of no stone unturned. And if there happens to be time for shopping, it would be very pleasant.’

  He put down his empty glass and stood up to plant a kiss on her forehead. ‘I’m only teasing. If Archie can be made to come around to the idea, a visit to the museum in Colombo might be most instructive, and I certainly don’t begrudge a little shopping along the way.’

  ‘We’ll have to be cautious though.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If this Mr Coryat worked at the museum in Colombo, he may know people who are still there. We wouldn’t want anything to get back to him, would we?’

  De Silva scratched his chin. ‘From the way he lives, it seems unlikely, but we certainly wouldn’t. I’ll have a think about how best to approach this.’

  ‘What about making one more visit to the place where you found these things before we go? It would be rather exciting to do some more exploring.’

  ‘Like in King Solomon’s Mines?’ Recently, they had both read Rider Haggard’s adventure story.

  ‘Yes, but hopefully we won’t get lost. I think we should take Prasanna and Nadar too. That way we can cover more ground in less time.’

  De Silva raised an eyebrow. ‘My goodness, you have it all worked out. I think I may as well retire and let you take charge.’

  ‘Certainly not. I have far too many other things going on,’ said Jane airily. ‘For instance, how would the sewing circle survive without me?’

  ‘And who else would keep Florence Clutterbuck in order?’

  She laughed. ‘I doubt I do that, but it’s kind of you to give me the credit. Actually, there’ll be no need of it for a while. Did I tell you she’s off on a cruise?’

  ‘Good gracious! Florence on a cruise. Is there a ship sturdy enough?’

  ‘Shanti! That’s unkind.’

  ‘Sorry, I was just joking.’ He gave her a shrewd look. ‘But is that another reason for you wanting a holiday?’

  Jane sniffed. ‘If you’re implying I feel the need to keep up with her, I certainly don’t.’

  He patted her hand. ‘We’ll have our holiday, I promise. I’d enjoy it as much as you would.’

  Chapter 8

  When de Silva went to make his report to Archie Clutterbuck the following morning, he found that the Residence’s usually calm conduct of affairs had been replaced by a scene of chaos. The portico’s broad stone steps played haughty host to a profusion of trunks, bags and hatboxes. Florence, dressed in a light-brown travelling suit, stood amid them, directing the show with her customary imperiousness.

  As de Silva approached the steps, the small creature that unfailingly reminded him of an animated household mop scampered out of the building, weaving through the luggage.

  ‘Angel!’ shrieked Florence. ‘Come back at once!’

  De Silva scooped up the black-and-white shih tzu and carried him to his mistress.

  ‘Oh, thank you, Inspector.’

  She tapped Angel’s black button of a nose. ‘Naughty! We have to leave soon, so no running away.’

  ‘Are you off on your travels, ma’am?’

  ‘I’m going up to Trincomalee. My nephew’s stationed at the Naval Base there. He commands a destroyer, you know.’

  De Silva hadn’t known, but he smiled to be polite.

  ‘He’s promised me a tour of the Grand Harbour which I’m greatly looking forward to. I’m told it’s magnificent. Have you been there, Inspector?’

  ‘I’ve never had the pleasure, ma’am. You’ll come back far better acquainted with my country than me.’

  Briefly, he wondered whether he had made an unfortunate remark. It was debatable, of course, whose country Ceylon was, although he liked to regard himself as having a greater entitlement to it than the British, at least on historical grounds. Fortunately, Florence was too full of her plans to take umbrage.

  ‘We are all guilty of that to some extent, Inspector,’ she said equably. ‘There are many parts of England I’ve never visited. When my husband retires, it would be pleasant to remedy that.’

  ‘And I trust you will, ma’am. But I hope it will be many years before you are taken away from us,’ he added quickly.

  ‘My nephew has leave due to him, so he and his wife will come up to Jaffna with me. I have old friends there whom Archie and I knew from our Colombo days when we were new to the Service. It’s a great pity he’s unable to come with me, but the poor man is so busy.’

  Wryly, de Silva speculated that Archie would be rather looking forward to some peace and quiet.

  ‘After that, we’ll be taking a cruise for a few weeks. I must say, I’ll be glad to be away from this tiresome weather. In all the years we’ve lived here, I’ve never become resigned to it.’

  De Silva smiled. ‘Having two monsoon seasons is most convenient, ma’am. It’s dry in the north and east when it’s wet here and in the west.’

  While Florence had been distracted by what was probably one of the longest conversations she and de Silva had ever conducted, as opposed to him listening to one of her monologues, the Residence staff had managed to stow all her luggage in the official car. Two of them remained standing by the steps, awaiting further orders. Florence’s gimlet eye swept over them. For their sakes, de Silva hoped she would find everything in order.

  Archie Clutterbuck emerged from the house, Darcy at his heels. ‘Morning, de Silva!’

  He turned to his wife. ‘Are you ready for the off, my dear?’

  ‘Nearly. But I sent the maid in for my hat and my handbag, and I can’t think where she’s got to. Would you mind, dear?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  He went back into the house but was out again a moment later with the maid in his wake, carrying the bag and a stylish cloche hat that was soon settled on Florence’s head. She proffered her cheek, and he planted a rather awkward kiss on it. ‘Take care, my dear,’ he said as he straightened up.

  She patted his arm. ‘I will. I’ll send a telegram to let you know we’ve arrived safely.’

  He nodded.

  De Silva felt somewhat guilty. He hoped he wasn’t being a raspberry at this leave-taking – or was it a gooseberry? He must ask Jane. But neither of the Clutterbucks seemed inclined to linger. Florence was soon ensconced in the official car’s back seat with the household mop on her lap, and her maid in front with the chauffeur.

  ‘They’ve plenty of time to get to the station at Nanu Oya,’ Clutterbuck remarked. ‘But they’ll need it with all that luggage to load on the train. Beats me why my wife needs to take so much; I suppose some is gifts for her hosts. She insisted on taking them tea – says it tastes better when it comes straight from the plantation rather than via the auctions at Colombo.’

  He raised a hand and waved as the official car glided down the drive, slowed to go between the wrought-iron gates, and turned onto the road.

  ‘Well,’ he said briskly. ‘You’d bett
er come inside and tell me how you got on with old Coryat.’

  **

  Clutterbuck leant back in his chair, rested his elbows on the desk and pressed the tips of his fingers together.

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘Mr Coryat wasn’t impressed with what I had to show him, I’m afraid. It was his opinion that none of the pieces were of any value. He also said he wasn’t aware of there ever having been excavations in that area. He suggested that the pieces might have been in Velu’s possession because he was hoping to sell them to unscrupulous market traders who would sell them on to gullible tourists looking for souvenirs.’

  Clutterbuck reached for his cigarettes and lit up a Passing Cloud.

  ‘Plausible, I suppose,’ he said, shaking out the match and dropping it in the ashtray on his desk. ‘Perhaps Velu had an accomplice, and there was an argument that got out of hand. What do you think?’

  De Silva hesitated for a moment. On reflection, he had no good reason to doubt Henry Coryat’s capabilities, and the idea that he had lost his marbles wasn’t a serious one. Clutterbuck might well take a dim view of a local policeman questioning the opinion of someone the British regarded as an authority in his field. He’d have to tread carefully.

  Clutterbuck exhaled a puff of smoke. ‘Well, out with it,’ he said, in an encouraging tone. ‘It’s many moons since I saw old Coryat. I’m interested in your opinion of him. A man can go a bit doolally when he’s too much in his own company, you know. Do you think he’s still all there?’

  De Silva smiled. ‘He certainly didn’t seem mad, and I’m sure his opinion was based on a great deal of knowledge and experience, but nevertheless, we have so little else to go on that I’m unwilling to close off the line of investigation just yet.’

  ‘What did you have in mind?’

  Deciding not to mention the idea of a second opinion for the moment, de Silva drew a breath. ‘I’d like to spend some more time searching the area where we found Velu’s body. Even if the pieces I showed to Coryat are valueless, that doesn’t mean to say that Velu didn’t have others that are valuable.’