When he reached the police station, de Silva telephoned the undertakers in Hatton. Fortunately, they were able to send the black station wagon they used as a hearse straight away. De Silva drove back to the old Hatton road to find Prasanna on his own.
‘Where’s Nadar got to?’
‘He’s having a look round, sir.’
‘Oh? Why’s that?’
‘He noticed something glinting in the stream when he went to wash off the shovel. It was a coin, in fact there were several. He’s gone back to see if he can find anything else.’
‘Coins? That seems odd. Do you have them here?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Prasanna fished in one of his pockets and produced some tarnished coins, each about the size of his thumbnail.
De Silva took them and studied them. Whatever was marked on them was too worn away to make out, but they looked quite old. ‘They may not have any connection with this fellow, but it’s a strange place to find them. Have you checked his trouser pockets?’
‘No, sir. We didn’t like to disturb anything without your permission.’
‘Very laudable.’
De Silva glanced dubiously at the body. He didn’t fancy getting close to it again himself, but it was necessary. He pulled out a handkerchief and held it over his nose and mouth. With luck, that would make the operation more bearable.
There was nothing in the pockets of the dead man’s ragged trousers but, remembering an old trick thieves liked to pull in his Colombo days, de Silva unrolled the turned-up hems. The first turn-up was empty, but two more coins fell out of the other one.
He straightened and took a few steps back before removing the handkerchief from his face. ‘It seems there is a connection. I wonder how he came by these.’
Nadar emerged from the trees.
‘Any luck?’ asked de Silva. ‘Prasanna and I have just found more coins in the deceased’s clothing.’
Nadar held out some small pieces of metal that looked like gold. ‘They were in the bed of the stream near the coins, sir. I didn’t notice them at first.’
De Silva took the pieces. They were decoratively worked and apparently part of some larger object or objects.
‘Hmm, they may be from jewellery of some kind: brooches or hair ornaments. Interesting; our man might have been trying to make off with these and the coins then dropped them when he was attacked. What I’d really like to know is how he got them. We’ll take them along with us once the undertakers have dealt with the body.’
Chapter 5
There was only a little daylight left by the time the undertakers drove away with their grim cargo. De Silva had already decided to spare Kuveni’s friend the distress of a formal identification. He was sure in his own mind that the dead man was her husband, Velu.
He returned to the police station with Prasanna and Nadar and, with their help, wrote up a report of the afternoon’s work.
‘You may as well get off home now,’ he said when they had finished. ‘I’ll see Mr Clutterbuck in the morning and then decide where we go from here. Do you have any idea where Velu’s widow is now?’
‘I expect she’ll be at my house with Kuveni, sir,’ said Prasanna. ‘Kuveni didn’t want to send her back to the village without knowing where her husband was. A neighbour there promised to send a message if he returns in the meantime.’
‘Are you prepared to break the news to her?’
Prasanna nodded. ‘Yes, sir. I’m sure Kuveni will help me. We’ll tell her as kindly as possible.’
‘Good; there’s no need to give her too many details.’
‘I understand, sir.’
‘Well, if I go straight to the Residence tomorrow, I doubt I’ll be back here much before midday. It will do no harm for the station to be closed for a couple of hours. I’d like the two of you to go to the bazaar. See if anyone’s selling coins or jewellery matching what we found today.’
‘Shall we take what we have with us, sir?’ asked Nadar. ‘One of the stallholders might recognise something.’
‘Not for the moment. I don’t want to arouse suspicion. Look round the stalls but keep quiet about what you’re looking for. If there are any questions, drop a hint or two about contraband cigarettes or alcohol.’
He pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose. This wretched cold was getting worse. He wanted to be home, preferably with a stiff whisky in his hand. ‘Goodnight, both of you. Do your best tomorrow.’
**
‘Oh dear, your cold sounds dreadful this evening,’ said Jane.
De Silva poured two fingers of whisky into a glass and topped up with soda from the syphon. ‘I have a head full of lamb’s wool,’ he said gloomily.
‘Cotton wool, dear.’
He grimaced. ‘Whatever kind of wool it is, it’s most unpleasant. Will you have a sherry to keep me company?’
‘Thank you, a small one would be nice.’
He poured a sherry and brought it over to her then settled down in his armchair, cradling his glass of whisky in his hands.
‘I feel so sorry for this poor woman,’ said Jane. ‘Not only has she lost her husband, but you say he died in such a brutal way. I do hope Prasanna will be careful how much he tells her.’
‘I’ve told him to spare her the details.’
‘We ought to do something for her.’
‘What do you have in mind?’
‘Perhaps we could raise some money to make her life a little easier.’ She took a sip of sherry. ‘It’s a blessing there are no children.’
He shrugged. ‘Although most villagers see children as an insurance for their old age; that is, if they live long enough to have one.’
‘Do you have any idea who might have wanted this man, Velu, dead?’
‘Not yet, but he had a few interesting items on him, and Nadar discovered more in the stream we walked along before we found the grave. I’ve brought them home to show you.’
He went out to the hall and fetched the box in which he’d stowed the coins and pieces of metal. He put it in Jane’s lap.
She lifted the lid and picked up one of the coins then held it to the light. ‘How thin the metal is. Do you think these are very old?’
‘I’ve no idea, but it would be good to find someone who can tell me if they’re valuable.’
Replacing the coin in the box, Jane took out the metal pieces and studied them. ‘The patterns on them are very pretty,’ she said at last.
‘I thought they might be parts of brooches or hair ornaments. Something like that anyway.’
‘That’s possible. Are they made of gold, do you think?’
‘I’m not sure, but they look like it, and I definitely need to find out more.’
He pulled out his handkerchief, blew his nose and mopped his eyes. ‘In fact, it’s imperative that I do. Apart from the coins and these pieces, I don’t have a single lead.’
‘Do you think this man Velu stole them?’
‘I doubt he acquired them legally. A man like him would be extremely unlikely to have the money to buy jewellery. As for the coins, they’re not the currency we use today, so there would be no practical reason why he had them. If they were current, I might have assumed they were tips he received from game hunters.’
‘Are you certain that he was a tracker?’
‘Yes; Kuveni told me he worked with her brother sometimes. That’s how she came to know his widow.’ He drained his whisky. ‘Have I time for another small one before dinner?’
‘If you like, dear.’
He grinned. ‘Do I detect a hint of disapproval? It’s purely for medicinal purposes I assure you.’
Jane laughed. ‘I’m sure it is, dear; you have got a very nasty cold. Why not have an early night after we’ve eaten?’
‘I think I will.’
Glancing out of the window, he saw that the wind was lashing the trees and flinging great handfuls of rain across the lawn. His beloved garden would be a sea of mud by morning. ‘I certainly won’t be taking an evening walk in this.
The last thing I need is another soaking.’
He yawned. ‘I’ll go and see Archie Clutterbuck first thing in the morning. He doesn’t know about the case yet. I thought it was better to wait. Catching him at the end of the day’s not always a wise move. I want him in a good mood or he might think the death of a villager not all that important.’
Jane frowned. ‘Even when it’s clearly murder? That would be disgraceful.’
‘It would, and he’s a decent man at heart. Nevertheless, it’s always advisable to handle him in the right way.’
Chapter 6
The following morning, de Silva telephoned the Residence to find that Archie Clutterbuck was in meetings until midday but would see him then. He decided to spend the intervening time at home and allow himself some rest. He had moved to one of the bungalow’s spare rooms to avoid disturbing Jane with his cold and had passed a restless night. Contemplating the prospect of the conversation with his boss, he hoped Clutterbuck wasn’t going to be in one of his irritable moods.
‘It’s bad enough having a thick head,’ he remarked to Jane at breakfast. ‘Let alone having to deal with Archie. Especially as monsoon weather tends to make him fidgety.’
‘Understandable, I suppose. People like him are happiest out of doors.’
‘Hmm.’
He glanced out of the window. He had lain awake listening to the rain on the bungalow’s tin roof for much of the night, but it seemed that the clouds still hadn’t exhausted their supply of water. On the drive to the Residence, he took the precaution of driving more slowly than usual.
A servant showed him into Clutterbuck’s study where he found the assistant government agent – golf club in hand – practising his putting into the narrow space between two paperweights set down on a Persian rug. He looked up and nodded at de Silva. ‘This dratted rain; have to keep in practise somehow. Don’t tell Mrs Clutterbuck. She thinks I’m hard at work.’
That was a relief, thought de Silva. Archie was in one of his jovial moods. It was safe to anticipate he would be cooperative.
‘A bad business,’ he said grimly when de Silva had explained the situation. ‘Where’s the body now?’
‘The undertakers have taken it to the mortuary at Hatton.’
‘Not much point arranging a post mortem; the cause of death seems abundantly clear.’
‘I agree, sir.’
‘Has the widow been informed?’
‘I expect she has been by now. Sergeant Prasanna and his wife took on that unpleasant duty.’
‘Then I suggest you release the body to her as soon as possible. If she has no family to help her, I’ll instruct my office to provide funds for the funeral.’
‘That’s good of you, sir.’
‘Least one can do under the circumstances. Any idea who might be responsible for the murder?’
‘Not yet, sir.’
‘I imagine a private feud of some kind is probably behind it. Have you been to the village yet?’
De Silva sneezed. ‘No, but I intend to, of course.’
‘Why not send one of your men? You don’t look too fit to me, and it will be good experience for them.’
‘I might do that, sir.’
It was true it would be good for Prasanna and Nadar to take more responsibility, and the villagers might talk more readily to someone less senior. He could always pay a second visit later if it seemed necessary.
‘I’ll ask around my staff and see if anyone has personal experience of the headman,’ Clutterbuck went on. ‘Always handy to know more about the people you’re dealing with than they do about you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Clutterbuck’s eyes slid to the golf club leaning against his desk.
‘There is one more thing, sir,’ said de Silva.
‘Yes?’
As de Silva described what they’d found near Velu’s body, he sensed that Clutterbuck wasn’t particularly interested, but he ploughed on.
‘Have you brought any of these pieces with you?’ asked Clutterbuck when he finished. There was a note of impatience in his voice.
De Silva opened the box he had brought with him, unrolled the cloth in which he’d wrapped the coins and metal pieces and put them on Clutterbuck’s desk.
Clutterbuck inspected the haul for a few moments. ‘Not my line of country,’ he said with a shrug.
‘With your permission, sir, I’d like to find out more about them.’
His boss rubbed the bridge of his nose and pondered for a few moments. ‘You have a point, but I’ve no idea who could help us up here, and I’m in two minds whether it’s worth making a trip to Colombo or even Kandy.’
‘I think it might be, sir.’
There was a longer pause. ‘I remember now,’ Clutterbuck said at last. ‘There is a fellow who might be able to throw a bit of light on the matter; his name’s Henry Coryat. He’s a bit of a hermit these days, but I believe he was very eminent in his field when he worked at the museum down in Colombo. Mrs Clutterbuck tried to involve him in the social whirl when he first arrived in Nuala. If memory serves, he played a decent hand of bridge, although he wasn’t much use for anything else. But he soon made it clear he preferred to be left alone. Lives in a bungalow way out of town. I think he has a telephone though, and the telephonist should still have the number. If so, I’ll contact him and ask if he’ll see you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Clutterbuck looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘No time like the present. If he’s willing, shall I suggest you motor out after lunch?’
The telephonist did indeed have the number and the call didn’t take long. Obviously, Henry Coryat was a man of few words. Clutterbuck replaced the receiver. ‘That’s done: he’s expecting you this afternoon. Come back and let me know how you got on, will you? I’ll be here all day tomorrow.’
‘I will, sir.’
**
‘I’m glad it went well, dear,’ said Jane as they ate lunch at Sunnybank. ‘But please drive carefully to Mr Coryat’s house. That area’s very deserted; the road’s bound to be rough.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.’
‘I met Henry Coryat once or twice at the Clutterbucks,’ Jane mused. ‘Absolutely no small talk, although I’m sure he’s very interesting on his subject.’
‘I don’t need to know his views on the cricket, or the latest cinema release.’
Jane looked at him sympathetically. ‘Are you still feeling poorly?’
‘Does it show?’
‘A little. Why not take Archie’s advice and send Prasanna and Nadar out to the village to talk to the headman?’
‘I might just do that.’
He sighed. ‘But I ought to visit this fellow Henry Coryat myself. Being British, I doubt he’d take kindly to being interviewed by my subordinates.’
‘I expect you’re right. What a nuisance for you, but perhaps something useful will come of it.’
‘Let’s hope so.’
**
The road to Henry Coryat’s house was as rough as Jane had predicted. In places, it snaked along the flanks of hillsides, rising in a series of hairpin bends that de Silva negotiated very cautiously. He was relieved when the road levelled out and ran in a more-or-less straight line between plantations of rubber and banana trees.
Freed from the necessity of concentrating solely on his driving, he turned his mind to the prospect of the interview with Coryat. From what Archie said, he wasn’t going to be the easiest of men to deal with, but he had agreed to meet. That was reasonably encouraging.
There was a gap in the trees to the left of the road, and he caught his first glimpse of the bungalow. It was built close to the edge of a plateau. Where it ended, the land fell steeply away once more. The bungalow must enjoy magnificent views to make up for its isolated situation.
Fifty yards further on, de Silva reached some gates. Fortunately, they were open, so he drove through and into the bungalow’s grounds. It was clear that Coryat’s interests didn�
��t lie in the direction of gardening. The drive ran between tangles of overgrown shrubs, and after that an unkempt lawn, dotted with a few bushes and weedy flowerbeds lay between him and the bungalow. Roses struggled to lift their heads above the weeds. De Silva recognised some of the varieties; they were sturdy favourites, and his fingers itched to rescue them.
He parked and went up to the front door. The paintwork on it and the window frames was dry and flaking. De Silva guessed that the glass hadn’t been cleaned for many months. A dark green stain ran down one wall; above it jutted the cause: a broken section of guttering.
There was no sign of life, and when he rang the doorbell, it was a long time before he heard the rattle of a chain being undone. The door opened, and an elderly man stood on the threshold. He was pale, with sparse, grey hair and a long, untrimmed beard. A tweed jacket and cavalry twills that had both seen better days hung on him as if they had been made for a much larger man. Watery blue eyes with heavy pouches under the lower lids regarded de Silva sceptically.
‘I presume you’re the policeman.’
‘I am, sir.’
De Silva was surprised that Coryat had answered the door himself but was careful not to show it.
‘You’d better come in.’
‘Thank you; it’s very good of you to see me at such short notice.’
Coryat grunted by way of acknowledgment. ‘We’ll talk in my study.’
De Silva followed him down a dimly lit passageway that led to a gloomy room. The walls were lined with glass-fronted bookcases; presumably, they ensured that Coryat’s extensive library remained free of dust, which certainly wasn’t the case with the rest of the contents of the room. He noticed the washed-out red curtains hanging at the windows and the uninviting armchairs on either side of the fireplace. On the wall above, there was a flyblown watercolour in an ugly frame: the only picture in the room. It showed antique ruins that dwarfed the sketchily depicted figures standing among their stone columns and crumbling walls. The place looked vaguely familiar.
‘Anuradhapura,’ said Coryat. ‘When I first came to Ceylon, I spent several years on the excavations there.’
Fatal Finds in Nuala Page 3