Murder out of the Blue (Maliha Anderson Book 1)

by Steve Turnbull

  “Is she?”

  Maliha frowned. “Yes, of course.”

  The MAA stared down at his piece of paper. “And you know this because?”

  “Because I have spoken to her. I have played cards with her. I have seen her with the general.”

  “No doubt. But how do you know the body was”—he hesitated for a moment—“her?”

  “I was watching from the Observation deck. She was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. And I saw her face, although it was a fair way away.”

  “The clothes were badly torn. The face was … damaged.”

  “Yes, but I had seen her in the afternoon, I was in the stern lounge when she came back on board with Temperance Williams. She was wearing the same clothes.” Which was odd, now she came to think of it; why had Lochana not changed after the heat of Khartoum?

  “You saw her?”

  “I was in the lounge watching for them because it was getting late. I did not know if they had adjusted their watches. The general was there too.” Maliha grasped what was behind his words. “She was murdered.”

  The MAA’s head jerked up. “No one said anything about murder.”

  “And you’re thinking I might have done it,” she said. “What possible reason could I have?”

  “The number of possible suspects is very limited, Miss Anderson.”

  “About five hundred, I would have thought.”

  “Not everyone would have a motive, Miss Anderson. I’m sure we can limit it to those who have had regular contact with the victim.”

  “And I have a motive, do I?”

  “You admit yourself you spend a great deal of time with the general. Perhaps you would like to take the place of”—again the curious hesitation—“Miss Modi.”

  Something exploded inside Maliha. It was not the master-at-arms himself. It was not the fact that he considered her a suspect. It was all the times in her life that the finger had been pointed in her direction because she was different.

  “Have you the slightest idea who my parents are? Do you even care?” Maliha found herself on her feet, shouting at the seated man. “I do not require a job. And if I did, I believe I could do somewhat better than a position tending the general and putting up with the constant sniping from his jealous wife. If you want someone to suspect, perhaps you should look a little closer to their home.”

  Her hands were shaking. She could feel tears in her eyes as the anger overcame her, anger from so many years of lies and hatred. She turned on her heel, pulled the door open, and stormed through; finding herself floating a little too high and long, she struck the wall opposite. Inside she screamed. She could not even manage an elegant exit.

  When she finally managed to get out onto the deck, the tears were flowing down her cheeks. People were looking at her. She turned away and faced the glass wall, looking out across the sea though she could barely make out where sea ended and sky began through the tears. She clicked open her reticule and rummaged for a kerchief.

  Something white appeared in front of her.

  “Here, cariad.” The soft tone of Temperance Williams penetrated her suppressed anger. She took the kerchief, dabbed at her cheeks, and sniffed.

  “Sorry.” She offered the damp cloth back to Temperance.

  “Keep it.” Maliha felt a hand grip her elbow, turning and pushing her towards the stern. “Let’s go somewhere more private.”

  v

  Temperance Williams’ cabin was of a similar layout and decoration to Maliha’s, but was one of the cheaper inboard ones. It lacked a rug, had fewer cushions, and less china adorned the walls. An elegant Turkish cloth had been thrown over the sofa where Maliha sat, a cloth which she recognised as an item Temperance had bought in Constantinople.

  Daylight spilled into the room through a small lace-covered window opening onto the companionway, which in turn had windows at its end. The room was lit by electric lights situated around the walls. Temperance had ordered some tea and served it when the maid had left.

  “Now,” said Temperance. “What has happened?”

  Maliha stared down into her tea. “Lochana is dead. Murdered.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The fuss this morning, when the ship stopped they were recovering her body.”

  “Recovering her body? From where?”

  “Outside, on one of the wings.”

  Temperance sipped her tea thoughtfully. “Why were you crying, cariad?”

  “I was being interviewed by the master-at-arms. He said I was a suspect.”

  Maliha was shocked from her introspection by the sudden barking laugh from Temperance. “How utterly ridiculous. Anyone who knew you would know you are far too decent a human being to do such a thing.”

  “That’s very kind, Temperance. However I’m sure anyone is capable of any act given the right motivation or the right set of circumstances.” Unconsciously she rubbed the ridged scar on her thigh. “One does not always consider the consequences when one is in the grip of emotion.”

  They went quiet and drank their tea.

  At length Temperance placed her cup down with a solid clink into its saucer. “So, Miss Anderson,” she said. “What do you intend to do about it?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You have been falsely accused.”

  “I’m only a suspect,” she said. “Using their criteria, you would also be one.”

  “What about Valerie, Max, and that Mr Crier? Oh, and the delightful Mrs Makepeace-Flynn.”

  “Yes, of course, perhaps some of the crew as well.”

  “So who is it?”

  “I couldn’t say.” Maliha wished Temperance would drop the subject but she refused to let go.

  “Let’s just review what we know, shall we? Why don’t you tell me what you said to the master-at-arms?”

  “I said I didn’t know a great deal. I saw you come back from Khartoum with her. That you mentioned you’d seen her between six and seven, I suppose the times would really be six and quarter of seven because that’s when we turned up.”

  “I think it was shortly after six.”

  “Yes, and she told you she wasn’t coming to dinner.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “That’s all, I said.”

  Temperance looked at her watch. “We have a couple of hours until lunch. What say we have a snoop around and see what we can find?”

  Chapter 4

  i

  Maliha trailed Temperance as she strode down the main companionway. People stood around in small groups speaking quietly with worried voices. The news of the death was now common knowledge and even the word murder was uttered. Maliha considered how impossible it was to keep a secret like this. They turned into the passage that led past Maliha’s cabin to Lochana’s and the general’s.

  A crewman stood outside Lochana’s door. He had a gun holstered at his side. Maliha hesitated, but Temperance did not even pause. She approached the sailor, and Maliha could not fail to notice the way he took in Temperance’s slim modern form.

  “Can I help, miss?” he said.

  “Oh dear,” said Temperance in such a soft voice that Maliha studied her face carefully to make sure she was not unwell. The woman that stood so tall and proud at all times was transformed into some meek child. She clasped her hands demurely at waist height and did not make eye contact. Clearly Temperance had missed her calling on the stage. “I’m really sorry…”

  “What’s the problem, miss?”

  Temperance hesitated. “This is all so awkward and so sad. I really hope you can help.”

  “Whatever I can do, miss.”

  “It’s so terrible, Miss Modi…” Temperance pulled out a kerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “But, oh, this is too awful.”

  “Should I fetch someone?” This time he addressed his comments to Maliha, having noticed her for the first time. He looked back at Temperance.

  “No, I need to fetch my Bible.”

  “Your Bible?”
>
  “I feel so foolish. I lent my very own family Bible to Miss Modi. You see, I am taking up a position as a missionary to the Hindu ladies of India. I was instructing Miss Modi on the wonder of God’s grace. I lent her my very own family Bible. And now this…”

  “Shall I fetch it out for you?”

  Temperance laid her hand gently on his arm and looked up into his eyes. “Oh no, I could not ask you to leave your post. We can find it as quick as may be.” She smiled at him.

  ii

  The door closed behind them, and Maliha switched on the electric light. Temperance regained her usual poise. “Men are pathetic.”

  The room was another inboard cabin without windows. In this case, it was specifically intended as servants’ quarters and had a connecting door to a large cabin on the outside. The wooden floor had a rug in front of the sofa, and the armchair while off to the side was the writing desk near the connecting door to the master cabin.

  Something nagged at Maliha. She stared around the room again frowning.

  “Problem?” asked Temperance. As she spoke, raised male voices filtered through to them. The door slammed open, and the master-at-arms stormed in.

  Temperance shrank back to become the mouse version of herself. But the MAA’s attention and anger was not directed at her. His ire was reserved solely and entirely for Maliha.

  “What’s the meaning of this? Tampering with evidence, Miss Anderson?”

  Maliha stood her ground, but her thoughts were not coherent. She knew she should be paying attention to the master-at-arms, but there was something in the room that was just not right. Temperance came to her aid.

  “Oh no, sir. It is my fault.”

  His eyes did not leave Maliha. “And you are?”

  “Temperance Williams. Missionary.”

  “Really.”

  Maliha frowned again and turned away from the master-at-arms. She studied the sofa and, with a feeling of relief, saw the thing that troubled her.

  “That end cushion is upside-down, Mr Grey,” she said and pointed at the left-hand end. The sofa was of the three-seat variety, with individual cushions for each position. The cushions were shaped so that each end one was an L-shaped piece that fitted around the front of the armrest. Each was patterned and when observed more closely it was clear the pattern of the left-hand cushion did not match.

  The master-at-arms made a harrumphing sound. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  Maliha, feeling more confident, turned back and met his gaze. “What reason might you have for turning a cushion over in a murdered woman’s room?”

  The man was not a fool. Two strides took him to the erroneous cushion, and he flipped it over. A mottled brown stain covered most of the surface.

  “So this is where she was murdered,” said Temperance.

  He looked at her. “Of course not.”

  It was the turn of Temperance to look confused. “Why not?”

  “Look around, Miss Williams.”

  Temperance did not look, but her eyes narrowed, and she opened her mouth for a sharp retort. Maliha interrupted before she could say anything. “There are no other bloodstains and besides, how did she get outside?” She said the words but her mind was already racing ahead because there was still something wrong with the sofa, and now she knew what it was. “Anyhow, that cushion doesn’t belong in here.”

  The MAA looked down at the cushion in his hands and back at her. “How could you possibly know that? We use the same design throughout this deck.”

  Maliha knew that thoughts of her guilt were running through his mind again. It was very tiresome. “I did not kill her.”

  “That remains to be seen. How can you possibly suggest this cushion does not belong in this room?”

  “Try putting it back the right way up.” Maliha said dismissively. She turned away from him and went to the connecting door to the general’s room. She turned the handle and pulled, but the door did not move.

  The MAA swore in a most indelicate way. “It’s a right-hand end cushion.”

  Temperance laughed. “There you are. Mr Grey, is it? No woman would make such a mistake.”

  Maliha took a piece of paper from the writing desk and slid it into the top of the gap between the door and the frame. She carefully slid it down until it reached the handle level where it met an obstruction. “It’s bolted on that side. I wonder why?” She turned to where both of them were staring at her.

  “Why shouldn’t it be bolted?” asked Temperance.

  Maliha hesitated. The secret moment between the general and Lochana that she had observed was almost a precious trust. But if it helped to find Lochana’s murderer it would be best to reveal all the truth. But what of any embarrassment to the general’s wife? No, Maliha was sure Mrs Makepeace-Flynn already knew. It was the only thing that explained her attitude.

  “Because I believe the general and Lochana were”—she paused and gathered her courage—“intimate.”

  Despite everything, she was not prepared for the surprise that took hold of Mr Grey’s face, which rapidly degenerated into utter disgust. Temperance had only a look of the latter.

  “That is a very serious accusation, young lady.” The words seem to have been torn from the MAA’s gut. Maliha felt a twinge of anger that he should be disgusted at a liaison between an Englishman and Indian woman. After all, that described her parents precisely.

  “There you are,” said Temperance. “Must have been the general.”

  iii

  The captain’s day cabin was equipped with various tables, chairs and desks; there was a wide sofa along one wall over which hung photographs of various ships of the Royal Navy. There were no windows. Captain Jones stood at ease behind his desk as the steward pushed open the door from the companionway with his elbow and then backed in, pulling the general in his wheelchair. As the door swung back, the steward turned the general round and pushed him into position opposite the captain.

  The captain moved round the desk and shook the general’s hand. The man looked grey and feeble, as if all the blood had been drained from him. His hand was cold, and it was like clasping a withered leaf. The old soldier put no effort into the formality. Captain Jones nodded at the steward and the man left.

  It was a very awkward situation, thought the captain as he took his seat opposite the man. It was hard to think that this was the same irritating gentleman that had come aboard four days earlier.

  “Would you like a drink, General?” The general shook his head, staring at the desk in front of him, but the captain was certain the man saw only his inner thoughts. “A cigar?”

  “Say what you must say.”

  The question on the captain’s mind was not one he could say outright. It was the kind of question that must be approached sideways. There were easier questions.

  “I must, of course, ask about the death of your nurse.”

  The general did not respond.

  “When did you see Lochana Modi last?”

  The general took a deep breath. “It was in the afternoon between three and four o’clock.” He finally looked up and met the captain’s eye. “I did not kill Lochana, Captain.”

  “The ship’s doctor says she died in the evening, most likely, but he was unable to specify the time with any degree of precision.”

  “The last time we spoke was in the afternoon.”

  “Can you tell me the nature of the discussion you had?”

  “I do not recall,” he said. “Do you have a nip of whiskey?”

  The captain took a few moments to pour a drink from his private stock. It was a decent single malt. General Makepeace-Flynn took the glass and cradled it for a few moments before taking a sip. The captain resumed his seat and leaned forward across the desk.

  “There is a steward who was on duty at that time who will swear that you spoke with raised voices.”

  “Yes, all right. I was angry with the amount of time Lochana was spending in the company of Miss Williams.”

&nbs
p; “Miss Williams?”

  “Some Welsh missionary travelling first class, if you please. Full of zeal which she decided to expend on my nurse.”

  The emotion he expected from the man was creeping back.

  “So if you did not kill your nurse, General, who did?”

  “I don’t know! And let me tell you that if I did then I would be doing your job for you and that person would pay!”

  “She’s just a nurse, General. Just a native.”

  “You, sir, are a fool!” The general looked very much as if he wanted to pull himself from the chair and wrap his fingers around the captain’s neck.

  “But Lochana Modi was not a woman at all, was she? He was a man.”

  The general slumped back into his wheelchair and looked, for all the world, as if he were going to cry. The captain hoped he would not.

  iv

  Maliha and Temperance waited outside the general’s cabin. Mr Grey had not allowed them to enter though he left the door open, perhaps hoping for some insight from Maliha. The view it afforded them was better than nothing. It was quickly confirmed the right-hand cushion of the general’s sofa was also the wrong one and presumably the one swapped. But as the MAA continued his search, Maliha became disinterested. He was looking in all the wrong places.

  Without a word she turned away, went to the nearest window, and looked out. It confirmed what she already thought; all the cabins on this companionway were forward of the rear wing.

  She judged that anything thrown from her own window would be eaten by the rotor as her cabin was slightly forward of it, but the general’s cabin was further towards the stern and thus behind the rotor. From his windows, an object would be caught in the air stream, blown backwards, and probably lost forever. Unless, by some happenstance, it was a heavy object that managed to fall onto the wing and get caught on some protuberance before being thrown into oblivion.

  “What are you doing?” said Temperance from the door.

  “Just thinking.”

  “I am told gentlemen are not attracted to women who think.”

  Maliha looked at Temperance in her Parisian dress. “It’s not something that concerns me.”