Dark Clouds Over Nuala (The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Book 2)

by Harriet Steel

  At one point, he was afraid he would lose sight of his quarry, then, to his relief, he saw her stop beside a rickshaw and speak to the driver. As the porter loaded her luggage and she stepped into the cab, de Silva beckoned to the driver of another rickshaw that waited nearby and told him to tail them. The man looked uncertain but the flash of a few rupee coins brought a smile to his face. De Silva only hoped the journey wouldn’t be longer than he could pay for.

  The rickshaw set off in the direction of the Kiri Muhuda, Kandy’s great lake. Its other name was the Sea of Milk and under different circumstances, de Silva would have enjoyed revisiting its sparking waters and the beautiful balustrades and shady promenades that surrounded them, but for the present, his attention was focused on the shrouded figure jolting along in the rickshaw ahead of him. His stomach tightened.

  The rickshaw turned onto the road along the north shore and the dazzling golden bulk of the Temple of the Tooth reared up in front of him. Tangerine-robed monks and worshippers bearing offerings of flowers passed up and down the broad steps to the great entrance, insignificant as worker ants in the face of the temple’s magnificence. He wiped his brow, wishing he could go inside that vast, cool space and let it calm the jangling in his brain, but of course that was impossible.

  Ahead of him, the rickshaw left the lakeshore and threaded its way into the streets behind the temple. At last it halted at a whitewashed house next to a small chapel. The knot in de Silva’s stomach pinched tighter; in a few moments, he would know whether he was right or wrong.

  He rapped on the partition separating him from his driver and told the man to pass the house then stop around the corner. There, climbing down, he parted with some of his small supply of money and returned to the chapel end of the street. He was just in time to see the door of the house open and the nun step inside.

  The street was deserted now except for a small black cat curled up asleep in a patch of shade by the chapel wall. Someone had planted yellow and orange marigolds in a terracotta pot by the door to the house; the scene was a picture of drowsy peace. Doubt crept into his mind, but he must go on. It was better to look a fool than allow his quarry to escape. His hand felt for the reassurance of his gun, although, in the circumstances, he felt sacrilegious having it.

  As he walked towards the house, the door opened again and a different nun emerged carrying a small tin bowl. He stopped and watched her stoop to put it down in the shade.

  The cat looked up at the clink of metal on stone. It stretched, then stood up and arched its back before going to rub up against the nun’s knees. She bent to stroke its head and it started to lap at the milk. She waited until it was all gone then picked up the bowl. After a last fondle for the cat, she turned to go back inside then stopped. Glancing at de Silva, she smiled. ‘May I help you?’ she asked in English.

  He drew a deep breath. ‘The lady who just returned from Nanu Oya, does she live here?’

  The nun looked surprised. ‘Sister Honoria? Why yes. She’s lived here for many years, but she has spent the last few days at our sister mission in the hill country. Would you like to speak to her? Do you wish me to call her?’

  De Silva hesitated. It was dawning on him that the nun he had followed wasn’t Laetitia Lane. In his eagerness, he had been too ready to assume she would take the first available train out of Nanu Oya. Instead, she might be anywhere by now.

  The door opened and a face appeared. ‘Sister Barbara? Is something the matter?’

  ‘Ah, here she is,’ said the first nun. ‘Sister Honoria, this gentleman is asking for you.’

  De Silva took in the gentle expression in the grey eyes; the slightly crooked teeth revealed by a sweet smile and the retroussé nose. This was not Laetitia Lane. He flushed. ‘Forgive me, ma’am. A mistake. I thought you were someone else.’

  ‘It’s very warm today,’ Sister Honoria said kindly. ‘May we offer you something cool to drink?’

  Stammering his excuses, de Silva bowed and hurried away. He didn’t want to have to answer any questions. The knot in his stomach was replaced by a dull ache. The journey had been a waste of time. Now he had to get home with almost no money and he was hot and hungry into the bargain. Part of him wished he had accepted the nun’s offer after all.

  When he’d counted his remaining coins, he decided to save them for food and drink and walk to the station. The train back to Nanu Oya would have departed anyway. He would have to sleep at the station that night. Hopefully there would be a spare bench in the waiting room where he could stretch out.

  He felt a pang of guilt; Jane would worry and he didn’t want that. After a few moments’ thought, the best solution he came up with was to go to the Kandy police and enlist their help. They must have a telephone he could call Jane from. No doubt they would enjoy a few jokes at the expense of a stranded provincial policeman but he would have to put up with that.

  Chapter 15

  ‘It’s a relief to have you back safely,’ said Jane when he arrived home late the following day. The Sunday train up from Kandy was a slow one in any case and there had been several delays for everything from goats to fallen branches on the line. ‘But I wish you’d told me where you were a bit sooner,’ she added.

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. After Archie Clutterbuck told me Miss Lane had made a run for it, I didn’t want to risk delaying, however briefly.’

  ‘I suppose I forgive you.’ Jane smiled. ‘Anyway, I’m very glad you’ve made things up with Archie.’

  ‘He made things up with me. He has given me an apology.’

  ‘So he bloody well should. Now, if you had so little money left to buy food, you must be ravenous.’

  ‘I am rather hungry.’

  ‘I’ll tell Cook to have dinner ready in half an hour.’

  ‘Good, that will give me time to wash and change my clothes.’

  **

  ‘So, I am out of ideas,’ he said, as he tucked into a large bowl of rice with dahl and curry. ‘Laetitia Lane may be any of a hundred places. My journey to Kandy was a wild duck hunt.’

  ‘A wild goose chase, dear.’

  ‘Hmm.’ He understood that the governess in his wife found it hard to shake off the habit, but there were times when he found her linguistic policing somewhat trying.

  She pondered for a few moments. ‘If she wasn’t on the train,’ she resumed, ‘isn’t it possible that she’s still in Nuala? Often the best hiding place is the one people least expect. We tend to think that someone who’s trying to escape will get as far away as possible but it isn’t necessarily the case.’

  He nodded reluctantly, wishing he had thought of that himself. ‘You have a point. I suppose Nadar and I could search the town for a day, but I’d be surprised if she doesn’t leave eventually. Why would she stay, except perhaps with the idea of letting the fuss die down? After all, she can hardly sell all the jewels in Nuala. If they are of the high quality and value that Ranescu claims, it would cause a great deal of comment.’

  ‘She might offer them to a jeweller who’s less than scrupulous and asks no questions.’

  De Silva shook his head. ‘There’s no one in Nuala who deals in expensive stones. The only jewellery you find up here is in the bazaar and most of that is cheap trinkets. No, if Ranescu’s telling the truth and Miss Lane wants the best price for her ill-gotten gains, she will need to be in Kandy or, better still, Colombo.’

  ‘I wonder if she really has stolen them.’

  ‘What makes you doubt it?’

  ‘Florence is very suspicious about whether the count is telling the truth and she may be right to mistrust him.’ She shrugged. ‘But then one must make allowances for the fact that she dislikes him intensely.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘He had the temerity to call Angel an annoying little creature and she heard the remark.’

  ‘Ah, that would be enough to banish him from her good books forever.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  De Silva mopped up the last of the spicy sauce on his plate. ‘That was delicious.
Well, if Nadar and I are to have any success with this search, I suppose we shall have to get on with it, but it’s late and I deserve a rest so it will have to wait until morning.’

  ‘What about Sergeant Prasanna?’

  ‘He’s still looking for the body. A shame as he might be more useful here, but Nadar tries his best and the experience will be good practice for him.’

  ‘So what will you do?’

  ‘I’ll have to check at the station before the train leaves tomorrow morning in case Miss Lane does try to escape that way. I think it’s more likely she will. She’ll need to have found a car and chauffeur to take her to Nanu Oya, but it’s not far and many people travel there. It will be much less conspicuous than arranging for someone to drive her all the way down to Kandy. A booking for that is far more likely to be remarked on and she will expect us to be checking with the hotels that provide chauffeur services. There’s only Nadar and myself to do it but we can use the telephone. We may as well search the bazaar as well. She might need money and be trying to sell some of the less-valuable pieces of jewellery there.’

  ‘Poor Ralph Wynne-Talbot. It must be very hard for him having to wait like this. I hear from Florence that Lady Caroline is terribly anxious about him.’

  ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t have to wait much longer.’

  ‘What happens if you never find the body?’

  ‘Mrs Wynne-Talbot will have to be declared missing, presumed dead. Not a very satisfactory outcome.’

  ‘If I were in Ralph Wynne-Talbot’s place, I think I would find it even worse never to know what happened to my wife. None of us want to be the one left behind, but at least a funeral is a fitting way of taking the first steps towards coming to terms with one’s grief.’

  He squeezed her shoulder. ‘Goodness, this conversation has taken a very solemn turn. We need to go dancing again to cheer ourselves up.’

  ‘Indeed we do, but all the same the poor man’s predicament reminds me how lucky I am to have you.’

  He gave her a mischievous smile. ‘I’m glad you appreciate it.’ Yawning, he got to his feet. ‘I think I’ll have an early night. That bench at the train station was as hard as granite.’ He rubbed the small of his back. ‘Next time, Count Ranescu can do his own chasing after his lady friend.’

  Chapter 16

  The next morning, de Silva called in briefly at the police station to explain the situation to Nadar. He left him telephoning hotels and set off for Nanu Oya, but no one resembling Laetitia Lane took the Kandy train.

  He beat an irritable tattoo on the Morris’s steering wheel as he drove back to Nuala. His resources were far too slim; it was very likely this woman would give them the slip but what could he do about it?

  At the station, Nadar was just replacing the receiver.

  ‘Anything to report, Constable?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, sir. But the gentleman who wanted to speak to you on Thursday telephoned again. He still wouldn’t leave his name.’

  ‘Well, I certainly haven’t time to waste on him now. You’d better go home and change into some clothes that will make you less conspicuous. I want to make a search of the bazaar and we mustn’t draw attention to ourselves.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘When you come back, I’ll show you a photograph of Miss Lane. She may have adopted some sort of disguise but it should help us a little.’

  While Nadar was gone, de Silva changed into the traditional clothing he had snatched up before he left home and also fashioned the length of cloth he had brought with him into a turban. It wasn’t much of a disguise and Laetitia Lane had seen him at close quarters but he would have to rely on the British tendency to fail to distinguish between one Ceylonese face and another. For once, it might be something to be thankful for.

  Nadar returned and, in silence at first, they walked briskly in the direction of the bazaar.

  It was busy with the start of the week’s trading but no suspicious sights met their eyes. After wandering around for a while observing passers-by, de Silva decided they should go their separate ways and sent Nadar to try the lake area while he took the town streets.

  Outside the cinema, people studied the posters for forthcoming films. Others browsed the windows of shops or went in and out of the numerous guest houses that had sprung up in Nuala to serve the needs of the summer tourists in search of the hills’ cooler climate. Some drank tea or ate cakes and sweetmeats at street cafés.

  The area of Nuala where he had started his search didn’t attract many British. Most people were Sinhalese or Tamil, but there were a number of Arabs, probably the merchants who liked to come to Nuala to do business. Out of the corner of his eye, de Silva noticed one particularly tall man dressed in a black robe and a dark turban. He was heavily bearded and his eyes glittered in his dark-skinned face; the traditional curved dagger gleamed in his belt. A few paces behind him, a heavily veiled woman, presumably his wife, followed with her head meekly bowed.

  The couple appeared to be on their way to a nearby guest house and, as the man passed him and turned to go through the doors, de Silva smelt a whiff of something like axle grease. He stopped and waited for the lady to follow and it was then that another scent invaded his nostrils: a luxurious, elegant, expensive aroma. This wasn’t something the lady had bought in the bazaar. Unmistakably, it was French perfume.

  He took note of the name of the guest house and hurried back to the station. He had told Nadar to meet him there before dark and the constable wasn’t far behind. The more he thought about the Arab and his wife, the more de Silva’s spirits lifted. Perhaps he was really onto something this time. And if the dutiful-looking wife was Laetitia Lane, who was her companion? Was he the writer of that impenetrable letter he had found at the bungalow?

  The brief tropical dusk had turned to night by the time he and Nadar reached the guest house. De Silva had changed back into uniform; he wore the holster containing his gun and had made sure the Webley was loaded. The owner of the guest house gave his badge a wary look when he demanded to know which room the Arab and his wife were staying in.

  ‘Number two,’ the man said nervously. ‘But I know nothing about them, just that they will stay three nights, perhaps longer. The man has paid the first of the money already.’

  ‘Have they ordered food?’

  The owner nodded. ‘I must have it brought to their room.’

  ‘We will wait until it’s ready, then you must show us the way.’

  ‘But, sir—’

  ‘No arguments. Once you’ve knocked on the door, you will leave everything else to us.’

  The food ready, the owner led them up the stairs to the second floor. He stopped at a door decorated with a lopsided metal ‘2’, and knocked.

  ‘Yes?’ shouted a male voice in Tamil.

  ‘The food is here, sir.’

  ‘Leave it outside the door. I’ll collect it in a moment.’

  De Silva put a finger to his lips and nodded.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the man replied. He put the tray on the floor and moved away down the stairs as de Silva indicated.

  De Silva positioned himself to one side of the door and motioned Nadar to stand behind him. He cocked his gun and listened intently as footsteps approached.

  Laetitia Lane’s eyes widened. She tried to slam the door in his face but he wedged his foot in the way. Behind her, he saw Major Aubrey drop the cloth that was in his hand and lunge for the table where the curved dagger lay. He had removed his turban and robe along with the beard and now wore only a pair of trousers. Traces of dark-brown greasepaint streaked his face.

  De Silva took aim and fired and the dagger spun off the table and flew across the floor. With unexpected presence of mind, Nadar ran over and seized it while Aubrey caught his foot on the edge of a rug and crashed to the floor. The smell of cordite filled the room and de Silva’s ears rang. He hadn’t fired a gun since his Colombo days.

  As the reverberations died away, Laetitia Lane was the first to recover. She had
removed her burka and wore a loose silk robe. There was no disputing that it was her.

  ‘Why, Inspector de Silva!’ she said coolly. ‘Forgive us for receiving you in such an unfriendly fashion. We weren’t expecting company but, now you’re here, won’t you join us for dinner?’

  Chapter 17

  Aubrey regained his feet and de Silva noticed that the skin on his chest bore several scars that looked fairly recent. He picked up a shirt and pulled it on. When he spoke, his tone was more hostile than his companion’s.

  ‘Good evening, Inspector. As the countess says, your arrival is unexpected. I hope you have a good reason for bursting in on us in this discourteous fashion. I would remind you I’m a British officer and the countess is a member of the aristocracy.’

  His glance went to the gun. ‘And by the way, I’d be obliged if you’d stop waving that damned thing around.’

  De Silva lowered the Webley’s barrel but kept a close eye on Aubrey. He was determined not to fall into the trap of letting the major rattle him.

  ‘I believe I have a very good reason for coming, Major Aubrey. I have questions for you and Miss Lane.’

  If Laetitia Lane was shocked, she concealed it well. A clipped British accent replaced the Italian one.

  ‘So, you’ve discovered my identity, Inspector. Did the count tell you about our little charade? How very ungallant of him. He might have had the decency to spare my blushes.’

  De Silva wondered whether this was what she really believed. If so, it indicated that he was dealing with a simple case of jewellery theft. If, however, she had noticed her possessions had been searched, there might be more to it than that. For the moment, he decided to play along.

  ‘Perhaps if you hadn’t relieved him of a considerable fortune in jewels, ma’am, he might have been more inclined to do so.’

  Laetitia Lane threw back her head, displaying her long, creamy neck to its best advantage. She let out a peal of musical laughter. The lady hadn’t been an actress for nothing, thought de Silva.