Frances watched as Davison gave the young man a stern warning. Though it wasn't his fault, Davison should have warned him that a middle aged woman would be coming who was entitled to help out at the crime scene. The young man trotted back towards them and in the distance Frances saw Davison raise his hand and wave them in. She and Alfred started towards him.
"Terribly sorry about the misunderstanding, my Lady," said the somewhat flushed young constable as he passed them, heading back to his post.
"Not at all," said Frances, and she offered him a genuine smile in return.
"Good day, my Lady," said Davison as she and Alfred joined the group. Pearce looked up from his notes and nodded at her, as did another constable she hadn't met before.
"Please, Inspector, call me Frances."
Davison nodded and looked back at Pearce, then he turned to Frances.
"We haven't found much to go on at this stage," he said, looking glum-faced. Pearce twirled his mustache with the hand that held his pencil and almost caught his eye. He readjusted.
"I wanted to speak to you about that," said Frances. "What if the shooter was behind the buffet table over here."
Frances walked off towards the hall, diagonally, to where the buffet tables still stood. The men joined her.
"There is a chance that the shooter might have hid behind here, at the corner of the table. Have you looked for any shell casings here?" she asked.
Davison shook his head.
"My men have been scouring the area where the group had been gathered."
Davison looked over at the constable and nodded at him vigorously. Frances stepped aside as the young man got on bended knee and started looking for shell casings.
"I've had my men scour around the area where some of the crowd who were gathered around Gandhi dispersed to. But we haven't come up with anything yet."
Frances nodded, and kept her eyes on the ground where the young constable was still fumbling around. This area was in the shade which, although still bright, wasn't in direct sun, which meant any shell casings wouldn't glint.
"I had them pay particular attention to where the three Indians ran off to."
"Right," said Frances. "I saw them go once I heard the shots fired. Two of them ran right through here," she said, pointing to the exit just off to her right where she had exited the hall last night for the buffet. "The third took off down the length of the hall before disappearing behind it."
She opined off to her left at the far end of the hall where she had just come from. Davison nodded.
"Quite right, that's what we've gathered from the witnesses we've spoken with so far."
"And anything there?" asked Frances.
Davison shook his head.
"Nothing. We looked all the way through the hall and up towards the house but we didn't find anything of importance. The same around the side of the hall. We also looked around the near side of the hall," said Davison looking over his shoulder, "and nothing again."
"That's the direction that the two Africans went, if I remember correctly," said Frances.
"That's right."
"Have you found anything at all, Inspector?"
"We have found a number of tickets for the night's lecture. As you can imagine, in the pandemonium, lots of people panicked and tickets flew everywhere."
"And these tickets are numbered, so that will help identify who they belonged to," said Frances.
"That's correct," said Davison, "I've requested the logs from the Vegetarian Society for all tickets sold. I'll be picking that up later today."
"How many tickets have you found?"
"We found six tickets around the general area where Mr. Gandhi was fielding questions."
"That's a jolly good start," said Frances.
She looked down at the constable still scurrying around on the ground. He hadn't found anything yet.
"What's going on down there, Button," said Davison looking at his constable. Cst. Button looked up with an unhappy face.
"I can't find anything Inspector," he said. "There are no shell casings down here."
Frances got down on her bended knees and hands and scurried around under the table and then back towards the hall and up towards the far end for several feet then back to the end of the buffet table. She got back up and dusted her hands off on the front of her dress.
"He's quite right," she said. "I can't find any shell casings at all, and there should be two. Don't you find that strange, Inspector?"
Davison shook his broad shoulders.
"Not particularly, it just means to me that he didn't use a pistol but probably a revolver."
"Yes, I suppose that does make sense," said Frances. "It just sounded to me, more of a muffled sound than what you would expect from a revolver."
"Yes, well, sometimes we get these things wrong."
Davison walked off back to the area where Ravi had been shot. Frances and Alfred and Pearce and the constable joined him. The grass was clearly stained with Ravi's blood. It was a large amount considering that he had been shot in the front. Frances suspected that the bullets had caught arteries. The blood was dark, almost a black red against the green grass which was no longer damp from the morning dew.
"I'm waiting for my photographer and then I'll be off to the Vegetarian Society," said Davison.
"Perhaps we can meet up together later," said Frances.
"If you wish," said Davison, staring down at the blood in thought.
"What is it?" she asked him.
He looked up at her and rested his chin on his thumb and index finger.
"What if it really was this Ravi chap they had wanted to shoot, and not Gandhi?"
"Then you should proceed with that as your focus," said Frances, still not convinced that was who the target was.
Davison nodded absentmindedly.
"And what are you doing this afternoon?" he asked.
"I'd like to visit Mr. Gandhi, if you have an address for him," she said.
Davison looked up at her.
"He'll be at the conference today," he said.
"Yes, I know, but perhaps Sujay will be home."
"Very well," said Davison. He looked at Pearce and nodded. Pearce flipped back a few pages in his notebook. He found what he was looking for.
"101 Cuckoo Dene," said Pearce. "Residence is home to Amar and Gita Bhandari."
"Thank you Sergeant," said Frances.
"What are you hoping to find with them?" asked Davison, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.
"Not quite sure, but I'm sure I'll think of something. I'll keep you informed if I uncover anything helpful."
"Good," said Davison.
"Well, I'll be off then. Thank you for your help, Inspector."
Davison nodded and went back to speaking with Pearce and the other constable as Alfred and Frances left.
"Good day, my Lady," said the young constable who was still keeping the riffraff from the crime scene, although the only riffraff he had stopped had been Lady Marmalade and her loyal butler. Frances smiled at him as she passed.
"Not much evidence at the scene, my Lady," said Alfred as they climbed the slight embankment towards the car.
"Not much, no, but despite what Inspector Davison thinks, I find it odd that there were no shell casings, and it certainly didn't sound much like a revolver."
"I'll take your word for it, my Lady."
"I'd like to find out what kind of bullet the coroner is able to extract. That might explain something about the type of gun used."
"Sounds reasonable."
"But the tickets, Alfred, the tickets are quite valuable."
"How so?"
"It proves that we know at least six from the audience were actually there, mostly gathered around Mr. Gandhi. They cannot argue that they bought the tickets but elected not to attend."
"I suppose a guilty person might do that."
"I suppose they would. In any event, it would be hard for anyone to suggest they bought a ticket and wer
en't there. Everard said it had been sold out for some time, and when we arrived I couldn't see an empty chair for the life of me. But at least now we know who some of the crowd were who had gathered around Mr. Gandhi to ask him questions."
Alfred nodded and walked up to the passenger door and opened it for Lady Marmalade. Frances stopped for a moment and looked down. Something silver had sparkled in the sun and caught her eye. She leaned down and dug her fingers into the gravel and dirt to pull it out.
"What is that, my Lady?" asked Alfred.
Frances held it out and showed him. It was a police whistle, a little tarnished and dirty from the ground but otherwise in good shape.
"I wonder if one of Inspector Davison's men lost that?"
Frances shook her head.
"I don't think so. This looks like it has been trampled over and been here at least a day or so. Would you mind taking it back over to Davison and tell him we found it here by the car. Ask him if he would find out who it belonged to. It's got the constable's number on it."
Alfred took it from her and jogged off down the hill and around the hall where he disappeared from view. He returned shortly to find Lady Marmalade already in the car with the door closed. He got in and looked at her.
"To Ealing then?"
Frances nodded.
TWELVE
Chapter 12
IT was shortly after noon when Alfred pulled up the Rolls Royce in front of 101 Cuckoo Dene. Cuckoo Dene was a quiet neighborhood of row homes in the Tudor style. It was the sort of place where you could raise a family not far from the hustle and bustle of central London.
The area of Ealing was dotted with green space and parks. It was the kind of place where neighbors were nosy but hid it well. Where gossip ran up and down the streets like children kicking a soccer ball around.
A Rolls Royce brought stares from behind glass windows as old and young women alike stood next to curtains to gawk at who might be the lucky one to have a visitor pop by in an expensive car.
It was no surprise then, to the neighbors, when Alfred and Frances walked up the short path and stairs that led to Mr. and Mrs. Amar Bhandari's home. They were after all hosting Mr. Gandhi, and everybody wanted to know what Mr. Gandhi was up to.
Alfred knocked on the white front door in the style of half French door with the windows on the upper half. It wasn't long before an older Indian woman in a saffron colored sari came to the door. She had in the middle of her forehead a red bindi representing her third or spiritual eye. She opened the door a quarter of the way.
"May I help you," she said, and her accent was British as if she had been born and raised.
"Good afternoon," said Frances. "I'm Lady Marmalade, and this is my butler Alfred. I was hoping to speak with Mr. Gandhi or Mr. Patel if either one of them is available. It is regarding the unfortunate business from last night involving Mr. Meda."
Frances beamed at her as innocent and as doe eyed as she might have looked on her wedding day. The Indian woman nodded.
"Please come in, my Lady. My name is Gita Bhandari."
Gita opened the door fully and stretched out her left arm towards the back of the house. Frances and Alfred stepped inside the house.
"Please call me Frances."
"Please come this way," said Gita as she led them into the living room which was down the hall and on the right hand side.
The living room was busy. There were a few Indian men in the living room and one young Indian woman. Frances remembered Sujay Patel from the night before, and she assumed the older Indian man to be Amar Bhandari. She did not know who the other young Indian man or the young woman were.
"Amar," said Gita, "this is Frances Marmalade and her butler, Alfred, they want to speak with Sujay about last night."
"Please come in and sit down," said Amar as he stood up and offered Frances his hand. He had no discernible accent either. Sujay and the other young man had stood up. Gita readied two more settings at the table. Frances took a seat next to Amar on his right as he sat at the head of the table. Alfred took a seat on Amar's left.
"You know Sujay, obviously," said the slim Amar with a twinkle in his eye. "This is my son Ajeet and my daughter Chandra."
Frances shook hands with both of them before she sat down, as did Alfred. Chandra was sitting across from her, next to Alfred, and Ajeet was seated next to Frances.
"I hope you will join us for lunch," said Amar, "we have just started."
And you could see it was so by their plates. The food was piled high but not much had been eaten.
"We are vegetarian, so I hope you won't mind."
"Not at all," said Frances, smiling, "my son's friend is vegetarian too. That is how we ended up at Mr. Gandhi's lecture last night. A very inspiring and informative lecture too, if I might add."
Amar smiled. He seemed happy and relaxed in front of his family and the feeling of warmth and caring immediately put Frances and Alfred at ease.
Amar was wearing a white dhoti, which stood in stark contrast to his son and daughter, who were both wearing European style clothing. The son in a white shirt and gray pants, and the daughter looking lovely in a patterned yellow summer dress.
"All the food is on the table," said Amar, sweeping his arms across the table. "Please help yourself to whatever you like."
"I might need a little help understanding what everything is," said Frances.
"Certainly. That dish closest to my wife is a chickpea curry. Then working towards me is a saffron, basmati rice with peas and mushrooms. The next is a vegetable curry and then we have a plate of those triangular pastries called samosas which are filled with potatoes and peas. Next to them are vegetable fritters. They're made with chickpea flour and vegetables and then fried. Lastly we have dahl which is a lentil soup."
"It looks so lovely and smells so delicious. It's a good thing we hadn't eaten lunch yet isn't it, Alfred?" asked Frances.
"It is, my Lady, I can hear my stomach grumble already."
Amar beamed from ear to ear.
"Please, help yourselves. We have tea and water to drink, in case you find it a bit spicy."
"I have spent some time in India over the years, and I absolutely love your cuisine, though I understand you usually make it hotter for yourselves than what I might be used to."
"That is true," said Amar, chuckling, "though this week we are trying to make it milder for Mohandas. He prefers plainer food as part of his overall philosophy, so you might find it just about perfect."
Frances took a helping of rice and poured some of the chickpea curry over it. She took another small helping of vegetable curry and then put a samosa and vegetable fritter on her plate. She reached for a pitcher of water and poured herself a glass just in case. She had found she had a good tolerance for Indian food and spices, but she had never eaten with the Bhandaris before, so she erred on the side of caution.
Alfred heaped his plate with a little bit of everything that was available and he too poured a tall glass of water for himself. Everyone had already served themselves and started before Alfred and Frances had arrived so they tucked in.
"Are you working, Ajeet?" asked Lady Marmalade.
Ajeet shook his head.
"No, my Lady, I am at the University of London studying engineering. I hope to head back to India one of these days and work with the independent government."
Frances nodded, and looked over at Chandra.
"Please, call me Frances. And you, dear, are you at university too?"
Chandra nodded and smiled. She was a very attractive young woman with long black hair that curled naturally.
"I too am at University of London. I am studying medicine. Like my brother, I hope to go back to India and help with forming our new government."
"That's marvelous and ambitious," said Frances. "You know, my daughter recently graduated last year from the University of London, and she took medicine too. I wonder if you know her…"
"I was wondering that too," said Chandra, smiling. "She
wouldn't be Amelia Marmalade, I mean, Lady Amelia, it's just that she was very informal with her title, everyone called her Amelia or Amy."
Frances nodded.
"Yes, that's my daughter."
"She was very well liked. I didn't know her that well, I mean, everyone knew her, she was very popular and very kind. Very helpful with the younger students. I had just entered my first year when Amelia, I mean Lady Amelia, was graduating."
It looked as if Chandra had blushed just slightly.
"Don't worry my dear," said Frances, "I find it hard to keep these titles straight. Stick with Frances and Amelia and you'll do just fine."
Chandra smiled.
"Thank you, Frances. You know, we all thought that Amelia would have been our valedictorian, except, well you know how it is, everything still isn't quite equal between the sexes in some parts of society."
"I do know what you mean. It's a shame really."
"I had heard it said that was why Amelia had chosen U of L rather than Oxford, because the medical faculty was treating women more equally. Is that true?"
Frances finished chewing on a bit of fritter before replying.
"Yes, my dear, that is exactly the reason she chose University of London over Oxford. Though my husband wasn't amused."
Frances chuckled and Chandra smiled in empathy.
"He's on the board with Oxford and they gave him every reassurance that her degree would be just as good as anyone else's. They said it would of course be better than the one she would get from the University of London. No offense, U of L is a terrific university."
Chandra nodded.
"But Oxford is only slowly coming into the twentieth century and they've only recently started offering medical degrees to a select few women. Amelia is a bit stubborn that way. She wanted a university that would treat her, or at least pretend to treat her equally, so the University of London it was. She loved it, Eric, my husband, got over it and all in all I think she got a very good education."
"We have been very happy so far," said Amar, "for both Chandra and Ajeet. Of course, for me, I can't complain about the price, Oxford would have been out of the question."
"I quite understand," said Frances.
They ate together in silence for a while.
Lady Marmalade Cozy Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3) Page 54