A Rising Man

by Abir Mukherjee

  He gestured for me to drop my revolver, and seeing as how he had a Smith & Wesson pointed at my face, it seemed the prudent thing to do. I placed it slowly on the floor in front of me.

  ‘That’s a good fellow,’ he said, smiling. ‘Best not to do anything stupid. I must say, old boy, I am impressed. However did you work it out?’

  ‘That you killed Devi?’

  ‘Was that her name? I can’t remember. The prostitute, at any rate.’

  ‘The drop,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t long enough.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘That was careless. I suppose she’d have needed to fall a few feet more for her neck to break. Still, I could hardly have strangled her without some signs of a struggle. But that’s hardly conclusive.’

  ‘Of itself no,’ I said. ‘I thought at first it might have been Mrs Bose, but it would probably have taken a man to snap it cleanly. And there were other signs too. Our friend Buchan seemed to know far more about our inquiries than he should have, and let’s not forget that it was your pal Vikram who sent us chasing up that blind alley after Sen in the first place. Finally, when I heard Mrs Bose had been taken by Section H, it confirmed my suspicions. What possible use could she be to them? None as far as I could see. No, they took her to protect her from further questions from me. And how did they come to know she was in our custody? They might have eyes and ears everywhere, but the most obvious source was you.’

  ‘Very good, old boy. You really are a suspicious bastard, aren’t you? I don’t suppose there’s anyone you trust.’

  That was true. Sometimes not even myself.

  ‘Why’d you do it?’ I asked. ‘Why kill the girl?’

  ‘Orders, dear boy. There was a chance she might have known more than she’d told you.’

  ‘And MacAuley? Was that orders too? Just how much did Buchan pay you? Enough to retire?’

  Digby’s face contorted with hate so that he resembled some medieval gargoyle. Then he laughed.

  ‘Is that what you think happened? All your vaunted detection skills and that’s the conclusion you’ve come to? Bloody hell, Wyndham, I’ve been giving you too much credit. You’re supposed to be Scotland Yard’s finest but you wouldn’t be able to find your arse if it wasn’t in your underpants. I wish Taggart could see you now. His prize monkey, so cocksure but still hasn’t a clue.’

  He looked pityingly at me.

  ‘Buchan had nothing to do with it,’ he said.

  ‘That’s nonsense,’ I said. ‘I know about the botched abortion. I know about the death of the girl, Parvati, and the effect it had on MacAuley.’

  ‘And what else do you know, Captain?’ he taunted.

  ‘I know he was going to come clean. That’s what he went to tell Buchan the night he was murdered. And if Buchan was scared of the scandal of a living illegitimate child, then MacAuley spreading tales of a dead one would have been too much for him. That’s why he had you kill him.’

  Digby laughed and shook his head. ‘You really are an idiot, aren’t you, Wyndham? Believe me. None of this is Buchan’s doing.’

  ‘You’re lying,’ I said.

  ‘You should have stayed in England,’ he sneered. ‘You think you know everything, but the truth is you don’t know the first thing about life out here. Buchan’s got half a dozen bastard children already! One of them runs his damn jute mill, for Christ’s sake! You think one more would make a difference? He’s not afraid of scandal. He’s too rich to care. What possible damage could this child have done him?’

  ‘Then who?’ I asked. ‘Who did you do it for?’

  Digby sighed, as though I were expending what patience he had left.

  ‘Ask yourself this, old boy, who else did MacAuley work for? Who would have the most to lose if it ever came to light that he’d sired a bastard brown baby?’

  The answer hit me like a punch in the gut.

  He was laughing now. ‘The penny finally drops!’

  Even as I realised the truth, I still couldn’t believe it.

  ‘The L-G?’

  ‘That’s right, old boy. Our friend the Lieutenant Governor of Bengal has a thing for young native fillies. It wasn’t even the first time he’d got one pregnant. Of course, MacAuley always took care of it. Good old dependable MacAuley. Except it turns out he wasn’t that dependable after all.’

  I felt sick.

  Digby must have read my expression.

  ‘Cheer up, old boy,’ he said. ‘You were right about one thing. MacAuley did tell Buchan about it on the night of his death. He told Buchan he was going to the papers and to the police. I believe Buchan tried to talk him out of it but MacAuley was adamant. After he left, Buchan telephoned the L-G in a panic and told him what MacAuley planned to do. The L-G telephoned me and ordered me to find MacAuley and try to talk some sense into him. If he failed to see reason, I was to make sure the matter was appropriately dealt with.’

  ‘And what was in it for you?’

  ‘Isn’t that obvious, old boy? My career put back on track. I should be a Chief Inspector by now. I guessed MacAuley would be at the brothel and confronted him when he came out. He wouldn’t listen. We argued and he tried to push me out of the way. That’s when I slit his throat.’

  ‘And stabbed him.’

  ‘Oh no. That wasn’t me. After I’d cut his throat, I left him in the alley and fled. I telephoned the L-G and reported what had happened. He told me not to worry, that he’d have Section H deal with it. It was those fools who wanted to make it look like a terrorist assassination. They stabbed him and stuck that idiotic note in his mouth. Any India-hand with half a brain could have told them it was melodramatic nonsense. At the very least it should have been written in English, but you know these university types, fresh off the boat from England. A degree in oriental languages and they think they’re bloody Clive of India.’

  ‘And Sen?’

  ‘That was their idea too. Vikram was paid to spin you that story.’

  ‘So Section H knew where Sen was? Is that how they found him so quickly?’

  ‘Of course they knew where he was. They’ve known for the last four years! It was they who let him escape when the rest of his comrades were killed at Balasore. They wanted to see who else he might lead them to. It was just a happy coincidence that he’d returned to Calcutta. If it hadn’t been him, they’d have found someone else to take the fall. In fact, I think Section H would have preferred to have kept him at large, but sometimes you have to sacrifice a pawn to protect the king.’

  My head was spinning. I’d never stood a chance. The L-G was the embodiment of British power in Bengal. A threat to him was a threat to the whole Raj. There was no way I could make the truth known now. The entire might of the empire would be brought down on me if the L-G required it. Not that much seemed necessary, Digby and his revolver would be more than adequate for the task.

  It begged the question, did Taggart know? Why let me keep digging if he did? He might not have known but I was sure he’d suspected something. Why else would he warn me to be careful? He knew that if his suspicions were correct, even he couldn’t have protected me. After all, I was expendable. Just another pawn.

  ‘What happens now?’ I asked. ‘Are you going to shoot me?’

  ‘With any luck I won’t have to. Vikram will be happy to do it. The chance to kill an Englishman? He’ll jump at it, especially after that massacre in the Punjab the other day. He’s quite a patriot in his own way. He might do it even if I didn’t pay him. You’ll just be another victim of the terrible violence unleashed by that unfortunate incident.’

  He poked my chest with the revolver. ‘You brought this on yourself, you know. You could have just accepted that Sen was guilty. It would all have been neatly wrapped up and everyone would have been happy. But you just couldn’t let it go. The vaunted Captain Wyndham and his insufferable ego. You couldn’t accept it even though you knew there was no chance you’d be able to save him.’

  ‘I like to get to the truth,’ I said. ‘I’m old fash
ioned that way.’

  He was so near I could smell his sour breath. Anger had made him reckless. I had only one chance. I had to take it. Before he had a chance to move, I pivoted forward and, with as much force as I could muster, slammed my forehead into his face. A headbutt isn’t exactly gentlemanly, but if you get the positioning right, it’s crudely effective. I was lucky. I smashed right into his nose. He dropped his revolver and staggered back, bringing his hands up to his damaged face. Blood poured from through his fingers. He cursed and lashed out wildly, missing me and hitting the table, and knocking the candle to the floor. I dropped to my hands and knees and searched frantically for my revolver. The headbutt had reopened the wound I’d received the night before and blood was trickling into my eye. Digby was hunting for his gun. I heard metal scraping off the wooden floor. He’d beaten me to it.

  I got to my feet and made a run for it. I just got out into the hall as Digby fired wildly, the bullet hitting plasterwork somewhere behind me. He’d have his bearings soon. The next time he fired I might not be so lucky. I made for the back of the house. A split-second decision. I just hoped I’d remembered the building’s layout.

  I reached the worm-eaten back door. Something glinted in the half-light. Since my last visit, a sturdy padlock had been bolted on to the latch. Behind me, Digby had made his way into the hall. He fired. Splinters flew as the bullet punched a hole in the thin door. It gave me an idea. I threw myself at the door. It gave way under the force of my momentum and I crashed through and landed on the ground outside, the taste of dirt and blood in my mouth. I quickly hauled myself up and raced towards the wall at the far end of the compound. The crate we had used to scale the wall previously was too far away and I had no time to retrieve it. Instead, I took a run at the wall and jumped.

  My fingers reached the top and held. Pain shot up my left shoulder. With what strength I had left, I pulled myself up and over the wall, dropping down on the far side. Behind me I heard Digby jump. For a moment it seemed as though he too would make it over, but his hands slipped and he fell backwards. He cursed wildly. I figured I’d bought myself thirty seconds while he went to retrieve the crate, but I was wrong. He took another jump and this time his fingers held. He began pulling himself up as I scrambled to my feet and started running towards the house in the distance. It was the only way out. Digby was now on top of the wall. I heard him reach for his gun. A shot rang out. The bullet whizzed past my ear. I kept running. Behind me there was a thud as Digby landed on my side of the wall. In front of me, I could see a thin sliver of light. Then the door of the house in the distance flew open. Vikram stood silhouetted in the doorway, a rifle in his hands. I stopped dead. There was nowhere left to go. Slowly I raised my hands above my head. Behind me Digby got to his feet.

  ‘About fucking time,’ he shouted. The Indian remained motionless in the doorway. Digby walked over to me. His nose was a mass of bloody flesh and there was a madness in his eyes.

  ‘You’re going to pay for that, you bastard,’ he said, pulling out his revolver and bringing the butt down forcefully on the side of my head. I slumped to my knees. In front of me, Vikram took a step forward. I heard a click as he cocked his rifle. I looked up at his silhouette. He seemed different from how I remembered. He raised the gun then paused. It was the legs. The skinny legs.

  ‘Go ahead,’ said Digby, ‘shoot him.’ Then he too noticed. ‘You?’ he said, frantically raising his revolver. But he was too slow. A shot rang out and Digby slumped to the ground, a neat round hole in his forehead like the red dots the native women wear.

  ‘You took your time,’ I said drily.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Surrender-not. ‘Sorry, sir. It took a while to fill out the chits to requisition the rifle. After the riots of the last few days, the authorities are a bit skittish about allowing Indians access to weapons.’

  ‘That’s understandable,’ I said. ‘Look what you’ve done to poor Digby here.’

  EPILOGUE

  I WAS SAT on a wicker chair in Lord Taggart’s garden, soaking up the late-afternoon sun as a servant poured out two large measures of single malt. He placed them on the table between us as another servant helped the Commissioner light a cigar. His Lordship puffed several times, turning the cigar, ensuring it was evenly lit. Content, he gave an almost imperceptible nod and the servants retreated silently into the shade.

  ‘I still can’t quite believe it,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Digby of all people. I never thought he had the balls.’

  I took a sip of whisky.

  ‘What happens now?’

  ‘That’s hard to say.’

  ‘You’re going to sweep the whole thing under the carpet?’

  He took a puff of his cigar. The tip glowed red. ‘What would you suggest? That we go and arrest the Lieutenant-Governor?’

  ‘The last time I checked, murder, conspiracy and attempting to pervert the course of justice were all serious offences.’

  Taggart shook his head.

  ‘What do you think our role out here is, Sam?’

  No one had ever asked me that before, probably because I was a copper, and a copper’s job was pretty much universally acknowledged to be making sure the bad guys didn’t get away. Surely even in India, that went without saying?

  ‘To dispense justice?’

  Taggart laughed. ‘Justice is a matter for the courts, Sam, and is best left to better men than you or me. Our job is to maintain law and order within His Majesty’s province of Bengal. We are here to keep the status quo. That can hardly be done if we try to arrest the man who’s been put in charge of the place.’

  ‘So it was all for nothing?’

  ‘On the contrary, my boy. We might not be able to bring charges, but your work has given us something much more valuable. It’s given us leverage. I doubt the L-G will be quite so keen to stick his nose in police matters in future. And he might also be a little more open to acting on our advice. Take your man Sen, for instance. The L-G has, upon my guidance, seen fit to commute his death sentence to one of deportation and incarceration on the Andaman Islands. The L-G will portray it as a gesture of British magnanimity, which, in the light of that unfortunate business in Amritsar, might help to win back some native hearts and minds. In a few years’ time, once all the fuss has died down, we’ll quietly bring him back to India. We can use a man like him.’

  It was my turn to laugh. ‘He’ll never work for us.’

  Taggart was unmoved. ‘He doesn’t have to. If he really has converted to the path of non-violence, the best thing for us is to have him back here as soon as possible, converting more of his followers to the peaceful path. After all, what would you rather have to deal with: an armed revolution or a bunch of conscientious objectors? No, this non-violence nonsense is the most positive thing that’s happened in years.’

  ‘So Sen will still be guilty of MacAuley’s murder?’

  Taggart nodded. ‘I think that’s a fair exchange for his life.’

  ‘And Digby?’

  ‘A posthumous promotion. For his sterling work on this case. It’s just a shame his informant turned on him like that.’

  He’d have liked that, I thought. And in a perverse way, he deserved it. If he hadn’t killed MacAuley, the Darjeeling Mail would have been packed with cash the night it was attacked and the chances were we’d be looking at a full-blown terrorist campaign right now. That we weren’t was as much down to Digby as it was to anything I or Section H had done subsequently. That reminded me…

  ‘I have to go to see Dawson at Fort William.’

  Taggart smiled. ‘I hear the two of you have started playing nicely with each other.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ I said. ‘I doubt he’ll be sending me a Christmas card any time soon.’

  The situation between us had stabilised into a wary stand-off. I knew about his involvement in the MacAuley cover-up and I guessed he knew about my little issue with the O. We both had dirt on each other, but preferred, for the time being at least, to ke
ep our powder dry. Besides, I’d done him a favour by calling him that morning and telling him my hunch. That would hopefully make him less inclined to try to have me killed. But as with all secret policemen, you could never be totally sure.

  Taggart took a puff of his cigar and looked out across the lawn. In the distance, a sentry patrolled the perimeter.

  ‘And you, Sam? Have you decided whether to stay on with us?’

  I drained my glass. The Scotch had a sharp edge to it. I swallowed it down like medicine.

  ‘I need some time to think.’

  Unbidden, the manservant came up and refreshed my glass.

  Taggart smiled. ‘Take all the time you need, my boy.’

  Dawson met me outside the church at the centre of Fort William. It was an odd choice of location. I assumed I was now persona non grata up in Room 207. There were probably secrets up there he didn’t want me to see. Or maybe he just didn’t want me chatting up Miss Braithwaite.

  ‘Have you got anything out of him yet?’

  Dawson puffed on his pipe. ‘Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time. So far, though, he’s been doing a pretty good impression of a Trappist monk.’

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s much he can say.’

  ‘Not really. Not when we caught him outside a godown full of arms and explosives with a hundred and fifty thousand rupees in his suitcase. Enough money to keep him in Guinness for a while.’

  ‘Did you catch anyone else?’ I asked.

  Dawson shook his head. ‘We followed him to the godown in Howrah where he met two natives. We tried to tail them but they got wind of us and ran for it. They were both shot trying to escape.’