A Rising Man

by Abir Mukherjee

NO DOGS OR INDIANS BEYOND THIS POINT

  Surrender-not noticed my distaste.

  ‘Don’t worry, sir,’ he said. ‘We Indians know our place. Besides, the British have achieved certain things in a hundred and fifty years that our civilisation didn’t in over four thousand.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ chimed Digby.

  ‘Such as?’ I asked.

  Banerjee’s lips contorted in a thin smile. ‘Well, we never managed to teach the dogs to read.’ He suggested he take a walk round the grounds while Digby and I went in search of Buchan.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ I said. ‘I’ll be damned if you wait out here slacking while Digby and I do the hard work.’

  He smiled. ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’

  ‘If I may, old boy,’ said Digby, ‘it might be better if the sergeant did remain out here. The last thing we want is to put people’s backs up, especially if we’d like them to answer some questions.’

  That might have been the tactful thing to do, but I wasn’t much inclined to be tactful. Fortunately Surrender-not stepped in.

  ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘perhaps I could question some of the grounds staff?’

  ‘Very well, Sergeant,’ I said, and Surrender-not set off across the lawns while Digby and I headed inside.

  The lobby was cavernous, the decor comprising more marble, more columns and more busts on plinths than was strictly necessary in any building that wasn’t the British Museum. If Julius Caesar or Plato had dropped in for a drink, they’d have felt quite at home. At the far end, marooned behind a reception desk, sat a middle-aged Indian in a black jacket emblazoned with the club’s crest. While Digby enquired after Buchan, I took the chance to look around.

  On one wall, a large oak panel listed the past presidents of the club: a roll-call of colonels, generals, knights of the realm and even the odd ‘Right Honourable’, all immortalised in golden type. The other walls sported the mounted heads of tigers, rhinos and more sets of antlers than you’d find on the heads of a whole herd of deer running around a Highland estate. The reception desk sat under another full-length portrait of George V, this time in full military regalia and looking slightly constipated. It always struck me how similar he looked to Kaiser Wilhelm. As far as I could tell, the only difference between them was their choice of facial hair. Dress them up in each other’s uniforms and I doubt anyone would have noticed the difference. Even for cousins, the resemblance was uncanny. Sad then, that so many should have died for what was essentially a family squabble.

  ‘Buchan’s having breakfast on the first-floor veranda,’ said Digby, walking towards an ornate staircase. ‘This way.’

  I followed him up, then through a mirrored landing to a large drawing room, empty save for a few grey-haired old duffers reading the papers. They reminded me of Colonel Tebbit: all moustaches and mutton chops and faces the colour of beetroot.

  We continued onwards, through a set of French doors and onto a shaded veranda. Half a dozen tables and cane chairs were set out under an awning. All were empty, save for the one furthest from us, where sat a stocky gentleman in a white shirt and blue silk waistcoat, reading a newspaper. A plate of ripe yellow mangoes sat on the table in front of him. I didn’t need Digby to point him out as our man. There was something about him, a barely concealed strength, like a retired boxer. He looked up at the sound of our footsteps and put the newspaper to one side. Steel-grey eyes, strong jaw and a sheer physical presence with an underlying hint of menace. He looked like a cliff face.

  ‘Mr Buchan, sir,’ said Digby, ‘may we have a few minutes of your time?’

  ‘Ah, Digby,’ said Buchan, his voice rough as a tank engine. ‘How the devil are ye, man?’

  ‘Excellent, sir, excellent. Thank you for asking,’ said Digby as though licking the boots of the Viceroy himself. He gestured to me. ‘May I introduce Captain Sam Wyndham, formerly of Scotland Yard.’

  Buchan acknowledged me with a slight nod of his shaved, bullet head.

  ‘Mr Buchan,’ I said, returning the gesture.

  ‘Captain Wyndham and I were hoping to ask you a few questions, sir, regarding this MacAuley business,’ said Digby, indicating the headline in Buchan’s newspaper.

  Buchan gestured to two empty wicker chairs. ‘Of course, gentlemen. Please join me.’

  A turbaned waiter appeared, unbidden, at our side.

  ‘What’ll ye have?’ asked Buchan.

  I shook my head. ‘Nothing, sir.’

  With a flick of his hand, Buchan dismissed the waiter, who melted away as unobtrusively as he’d materialised.

  ‘Gentlemen, this is a bloody disgrace,’ said Buchan, tapping the newspaper with one large hand. ‘What’s this country coming to when the wee bastards have the audacity to murder an aide to the Lieutenant Governor? And here, of all places! Right in the middle o’ Calcutta!’

  ‘We’re on the case, sir,’ insisted Digby. ‘You can be sure of that.’

  Buchan ignored his protestations. ‘And what have our good friends in the Indian Congress Party had tae say about it? Nothin’. These preachers of “non-violence”? How many o’ them have come out and condemned this act of supreme violence? Not a single one… Bloody hypocrites. I tell ye, gentlemen, an example needs to be made of whoever did this. We have tae send a message to the natives that this sort of mendacity will be met without mercy. Hang half a dozen of ’em and their families and you can be sure they’ll no’ try something like that again in a hurry.’

  He picked up a folding knife that lay on the table and proceeded to expertly slice off a piece of mango, raising it to his mouth with the knife-point.

  ‘We’re going to apprehend whoever was responsible,’ I said. ‘That’s why we’re here. We’d like to ask you some questions.’

  ‘Aye,’ he said, ‘and what would ye like to know?’

  ‘Mr MacAuley was a friend of yours?’ I asked.

  Buchan nodded. ‘That’s right,’ he growled. ‘A good friend, and I’m no’ ashamed to say it… unlike some.’

  ‘Tell me about him.’

  ‘What d’ye want to know?’

  ‘How long had you known him?’

  ‘I guess it must be nigh on twenty years.’ He sighed.

  ‘And did you meet in India?’

  ‘Aye.’ He nodded. ‘Met him in Calcutta; right here in this very club, as it happens. It’s odd, we grew up down the road frae each other back in Scotland, but we never met there. I’d just come back from negotiatin’ a large jute purchase out near Dacca and was on my way back tae Dundee. Thought I’d stop off in Calcutta for some creature comforts afore the long voyage home. It was a party hosted by the Viceroy, if I’m no’ mistaken. I moved out here soon after. Looked him up when I got here.’

  ‘You looked him up specifically?’

  ‘Aye. He may have been just a junior clerk back then but he was already marked out as a rising man. An’ he was a Taysider like mysel’. Don’t we all crave the familiar when we’re far from home, Captain?’

  That was probably true. You only had to look around for confirmation. One glance at Calcutta, that little piece of England dropped slap bang into a Bengal bog, would tell you that we British probably craved the familiar a good deal more than most.

  ‘What sort of a man was he?’ I asked.

  Buchan thought for a moment. ‘A decent man,’ he replied. ‘A hard-workin’ servant o’ the Crown. He did as much as a’body in helping to improve this place. An’ it was no easy job, ’specially no’ in the last few years when he had to deal wi’ growin’ demands for the Indianisation of every bloody thing.’ He screwed up his face in disgust.

  ‘You don’t think that’s a good idea, sir?’

  ‘On the contrary, Captain. It is a good idea, at least on paper. Make some concessions, let the Indians gradually take over some of the responsibility for running this country so that one day, they can take their seat at the table o’ nations in the empire, beside Australia and Canada and the like. But in practice? You have to remember that the Indian is an Asia
tic. He cannae be relied on in the way you could an Australian or a Canadian – or even a South African, for that matter. All that our reforms have done is open a Pandora’s box. We’ve given them a taste o’ power and rather than being grateful, all they want is more, and then more still. They won’t be satisfied until they control everything we’ve built here. That’s what MacAuley had to deal with.’

  ‘How did it affect him?’

  ‘Take that whole Champaran business a couple of years ago. When that rabble-rousing wee lawyer frae Gujurat came over and brought the place to a standstill for months. The peasants stopped paying their rent or harvesting the indigo. Non-violent civil disobedience, they called it. More like blackmail. The Viceroy ordered the L-G to sort it out and, as usual, that chinless wonder didnae have a clue what to do. So it was up to MacAuley to deal wi’ it all. The poor man had to force the landowners to give in to most o’ the peasants’ demands. A lot o’ them weren’t happy with him, felt he’d railroaded them into a settlement just to save the Viceroy embarrassment. And you’d think the Indians would hae been thankful for the deal he’d got them, but no. No’ a bit of it! That was just the beginnin’. Every few months now they make some new attempt to grab more concessions. You should see the number of strikes I have to deal with at my mills. An’ each time they’re successful, it just makes ’em worse. They think they can get away wi’ anything. I suppose it was only a matter o’ time before they tried somethin’ like this,’ he said, tapping the newspaper headline.

  ‘Was MacAuley ever in your employment?’ I asked.

  Buchan ate another piece of mango before answering. ‘He’d been in the ICS as long as I’d known him.’

  The choice of words was interesting.

  ‘And did your friend ever do you any favours?’

  The question hung in the air like a bad smell. Digby squirmed awkwardly in his seat as Buchan fixed me with a stare. I didn’t mind. I was hoping to incite a reaction. He looked down at his plate. Slowly and deliberately, he took his knife and drove it deep into a fresh mango, expertly slicing it into quarters around the stone at its heart. When he looked up, his expression was once again calm.

  ‘Well, Captain, as you say, he was a friend. He sometimes gave me an insight on the thinking inside government circles if they had a certain impact on business matters.’

  I had to give the man credit. He wasn’t about to let himself be provoked. He’d sized me up and decided that the friendly approach was best. After all, I was just a policeman here to find out who’d killed his friend. Still, his reaction was telling. It was the reaction of a politician.

  ‘And did that include insights into government policy on the partition of Bengal?’ I asked.

  Buchan rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. ‘I don’t see how that’s in any way relevant, Captain. It happened fifteen years ago.’

  ‘We’re working on a theory that MacAuley may have been killed by someone who held a grudge against him. Possibly linked to his role in pushing through the Curzon partition. I understand a lot of people were ruined by it.’

  ‘Aye!’ he said irritably. ‘A lot of the old zamindars took a big hit. An’ I’ll admit, we did talk about it at the time. Hell, it was the biggest thing to happen in this part o’ the world since the Battle of Plassey! It was the only thing anyone was talkin’ about back then. In fact, it would have been strange if he hadn’t discussed it with me. But we only chatted about it, that’s all. He certainly didn’t seek my opinion.’

  He turned to Digby. ‘I hope you an’ the captain didn’t just come here for a history lesson. Surely you’ve got more pertinent questions for me? Somethin’ relevant to a murder inquiry? I’d hate to have to tell Taggart that his officers are wasting my time on ancient history when they should be out catching the bastards who did this.’

  Digby spluttered protestations to the contrary. I ignored whatever it was he was saying.

  ‘Did he have many other friends?’ I asked.

  Buchan took another piece of mango. ‘Not really. An’ before you ask, Captain, I don’t know why. I guess he just wasnae that sociable.’

  ‘Do you think it had anything to do with his background?’

  ‘You mean, being frae Tayside? I doubt it, Captain, it’s never done me any harm.’

  ‘I meant his social class.’

  Buchan thought about it. ‘Aye, I can see why you might think that. But to be honest, Calcutta’s the kind of place where a man who has the ear of the Lieutenant Governor will never be short of friends – of a certain sort, at any rate. I think it would be more accurate to say he just didn’t want them.’

  That at least chimed with what Annie Grant had told me. I changed tack.

  ‘Did you notice any change in his behaviour over the last few months? I understand he may have had a religious conversion?’

  Buchan’s expression darkened again. ‘You mean all the nonsense that preacher was fillin’ his head with?’

  I nodded.

  ‘What can I tell ye? Some time ago, some Calvinist minister by the name o’ Gunn arrived here from South Africa. One o’ those earnest types that believes we’ve a God-given duty to save the heathens from themselves. He’d known MacAuley from way back. He’d even known MacAuley’s wife.’

  ‘MacAuley’s married?’

  ‘Was married,’ said Buchan. ‘She died a long time ago, back in Scotland. It may have been why he decided to come out here in the first place.’

  It seemed that MacAuley and I may have come to Calcutta for the same reason. It wasn’t a particularly inspiring precedent.

  I tried to focus. Buchan was still talking. ‘Anyway, before long he’s attendin’ church every Sunday and talkin’ about giving up the drink. As you can imagine, Captain, that’s a pretty serious step for a Scotsman.’

  ‘What can you tell me about this chap, Gunn?’ I asked.

  ‘Not much. I’ve only met him a few times. Let’s just say we don’t have much in common.’ He took a gold pocket watch from his waistcoat and made a show of checking the time. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to be back in Serampore by two, so I’m afraid we’ll need to wrap this up.’

  ‘Of course, sir,’ said Digby, ever obliging. He made to rise from his chair. I put a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Just one or two more questions, sir. If you wouldn’t mind.’

  Buchan nodded.

  ‘We understand that on the evening of his murder, MacAuley attended a party here, hosted by you?’

  ‘That’s right,’ he said, looking out over the gardens below. ‘I was having a wee soirée for a few Americans who were looking to place a large order. I thought a party wi’ the cream of Calcutta society might impress them. I’d even have got the Viceroy over, had he been in town. You know how Americans are, so proud of their republic but then so quick to fawn over anyone with a title. I’ve often thought I’d have made a lot more money out of Americans if I’d been born a lord.’

  ‘What time did MacAuley leave?’

  ‘I cannae say for sure. I was busy seeing to my other guests, but it was probably some time between ten and eleven.’

  ‘Do you know where he was going?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not a clue, Captain, I assumed he was going home.’

  ‘Any idea what he was doing up in Black Town?’

  ‘None at all,’ said Buchan. He sounded peeved. ‘Maybe you should ask Gunn? For all I know, MacAuley was up there helpin’ him save heathens.’ He gave a hollow laugh. ‘And now, gentlemen, I really must be going.’ He rose and held out his hand for me to shake.

  ‘I’m havin’ another wee get-together next week, Captain,’ he said, walking towards the French doors. ‘Come along if you’re free. I’d be happy to introduce you to some o’ Calcutta’s finest. You too, of course, Digby. I’ll have my secretary send you the details.’

  Once he’d departed, Digby and I sat back down. I looked out over the veranda. In the distance, Surrender-not was talking to a gardener
.

  ‘What do you make of that, old boy?’ asked Digby, smiling.

  ‘The religious angle is curious,’ I said. ‘We may need to look into that.’

  ‘You think some local hotheads might have knocked him off for preaching?’

  That was unlikely. I had trouble picturing a bunch of fundamentalist natives killing MacAuley for preaching the Good News. In fact, there was probably more chance of the good Lord himself deciding to smite MacAuley with a bolt of lightning for a bit of a laugh. In my experience, the Almighty could be capricious like that. Nevertheless, I wasn’t going to share any more of my thinking with Digby just yet. I was missing something – a connection I was failing to make. Maybe it was down to the heat, or the O, or Mrs Tebbit’s food, but for whatever reason, I wasn’t yet as sharp as I should be.

  ‘I think we need to be open to all possibilities,’ I said.

  Back at the entrance, Digby signalled for the driver while I went looking for Surrender-not. The heat of the day was fierce now and I found him sitting on a bench in the shade of a jacaranda tree, holding one of its purple flowers and lost in thought. I called over to him and he snapped out of his reverie, dropping the flower. He stood up and hurriedly made his way over.

  ‘I thought we agreed no slacking?’

  ‘Sorry, sir, I was just…’

  We walked back across the lawns to the entrance. The motor car was waiting with its engine idling. Digby was seated in the back, watching us.

  ‘Did you find out anything useful?’

  ‘Possibly,’ he replied, almost breaking into a run to keep pace with me. ‘I had a cigarette with one of the bearers who was on duty the night before last.’

  ‘The night of Mr Buchan’s party?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Apparently this was one of Mr Buchan’s more sedate soirées. Normally they continue till two or three in the morning. This one was over by midnight.’

  ‘And did he see MacAuley leave, by any chance?’

  ‘He did. He believes it was around eleven, and this is the interesting part: he intimated that before MacAuley departed, Buchan and he left the other guests and went into another room for fifteen minutes. When they came out, Buchan was red faced and MacAuley left without a word to anyone else. Buchan then made a call from the members’ telephone.’