Cold Case in Nuala (The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Book 10)

by Harriet Steel

  ‘When did you first meet Mr Flint?’

  ‘When he first came to the plantation. I believe before that he managed a smaller one to the north of here. I had nothing to do with employing him. That was my late husband’s decision when his health became too poor for him to cope alone.’

  ‘I understand that when your stepson took over, you had concerns about the way he ran the business.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Peter Flint.’

  De Silva studied her expression; there was no hint of uneasiness in it. ‘He also told me about the arrangement the two of you came to.’

  Isobel regarded him calmly. ‘Shall we get to the point? I had no qualms about it at the time and I still don’t. Holding money in reserve was for the good of the plantation, not for my personal gain. You can’t imagine how galling it was for me to see the work that my late husband put into the business wasted. I believed there was a chance that Donald would come back and return to his bad ways. If he had done, I would have done my best to continue the practice, and while he remained absent it was the sensible thing to do. Even unwittingly, he would have benefitted from the improvements Peter brought about in his absence.’

  De Silva felt some sympathy for her. If he had been in her position, he would have felt the same.

  ‘I’d be extremely surprised if Donald left me anything in his will,’ she went on. ‘There was no love lost between us. I assume Marina will inherit the plantation and everything that goes with it.’ She looked around her. ‘I’ve grown very fond of this place and would be sorry to leave it. I’m sure she and I can come to an arrangement, but I won’t trouble her with business matters at such a difficult time. Now, do you have any more questions for me?’

  De Silva stifled his annoyance at her abrupt tone. The interview had gone no worse than he’d expected, and he’d had a chance to observe Isobel more closely. He was prepared to let her have the satisfaction of being the one to end it.

  ‘No, ma’am. Thank you for your time.’

  ‘Good. Remember, I must be kept informed.’

  She reached for the bell on the small table at her elbow and rang it. As they waited for Jamis to come, de Silva noticed that the drawing room’s gold silk curtains hadn’t been drawn and the double doors between the two windows stood ajar. He recalled from his previous visit that they had appeared to lead straight into the garden rather than to a verandah.

  ‘Is your mistress expecting guests this evening?’ he asked as Jamis showed him out.

  The servant shook his head. ‘The memsahib always dresses for dinner.’

  Outside, for Jamis’s benefit if he was still watching, de Silva drove a little way down the drive to a point where he was out of sight of the bungalow then stopped. If he returned to it in secret, he might hear something useful. Keeping to the shadows, he made his way back and followed the path that led to the left-hand side of the building. Passing a screen of small trees with an undergrowth of shrubs, he reached the rear garden and crept close to the drawing room doors.

  Isobel was still there and Jamis was with her. She was talking to him but in such a low tone that, strain as he might, de Silva was unable to hear what was being said. Was the conversation mundane, or did it have a bearing on the case?

  What he did hear clearly was the hum of a mosquito. As quietly as possible, he swatted it away, then pushing aside a low branch of an oleander that partially obstructed his view of the room, he saw Jamis coming towards the doors. As he reached them, the humming sound began again. The dratted mosquito was back, this time homing in on his neck. Unable to restrain himself, he swatted it again and to his dismay, Jamis paused. De Silva held his breath, praying the servant wouldn’t step outside. If he didn’t move a muscle, the fellow might think all he’d heard was a lizard snapping up the insect. His heartbeat thudded as Jamis’s hand reached out, so close he could have touched it. What seemed like an eternity passed, then he heard Isobel speak. The doors were pulled shut and there was the click of a key turning the lock. The curtains closed, leaving him alone in the darkness.

  He waited a few moments then headed back towards the drive and the Morris. He had almost reached the front of the bungalow when he saw a beam of light and heard men’s voices seemingly coming in his direction. He froze, edging into the cover of the trees, and waited in the shadows. The men paused quite close by, but although he managed to catch a few words of what was being said, he didn’t understand the gist of the conversation. He recognised by his voice, however, that one of them was Jamis. He wasn’t sure who the other man was, possibly a nightwatchman.

  Eventually they must have moved on for the voices faded, but he decided to go deeper into the trees to get back to the Morris. That way, there was less likelihood of anyone noticing him, and if they thought they saw movement, hopefully they would dismiss it as being caused by an animal.

  The sky was clear, and the tree canopy not very dense, so moonlight helped him to see his way. All the same, as he negotiated the rough ground and tangled vegetation with great caution, he was mindful of how easy it would be to lose his way. After a few minutes he reached a place where the trees thinned out and saw a wooden building ahead of him. It was single-storey and big enough for a double garage. He wondered what it was doing there. There appeared to be no obvious route by which one could bring a vehicle up to it, so it was presumably some kind of storage shed. The wide double doors were secured by a heavy, padlocked chain. It was probably not important, but if he came this way again, it might be worth trying to have a look inside.

  It was a relief when he found the Morris. Deliberately, he had left her at a place where there was a slight slope to the drive. He engaged neutral then released the handbrake and let her coast until he was well out of earshot before he started the engine.

  It occurred to him that he’d done nothing more about Muttu. It was hard to credit he had been telling the truth about Marina when she’d not even left the plantation. Before he returned to Nuala, he ought to find him and caution him severely against telling any more lies.

  **

  There were no lights on at the main house. From the depths of the garden he heard the grunts and snuffles of nocturnal creatures and the low throb of insects. At the front door, he rang the bell, but no one came to answer it. The servants might have gone to their quarters for the night, particularly as there was presumably no one who required dinner to be served to them. He thought of Isobel Moncrieff dining alone in her finery. There was something immeasurably sad about the idea.

  He rang a second time but still no one came. Surely, the place wasn’t completely deserted. One might expect a senior member of staff like Muttu to be given a room somewhere in the house, or if nothing else, there ought to be a nightwatchman on duty. He went back to the Morris and fetched his torch. The beam bobbed ahead of him as he circled the building, calling out as he went. The last thing he wanted was to be mistaken for an intruder and attacked. Finally, he saw the wavering glow of a lantern and heard a voice. ‘Who are you?’

  A thick-set man emerged from the gloom. He had a stout stick in one hand and from his suspicious expression, he was prepared to use it.

  ‘I am Inspector de Silva of the Nuala police,’ said de Silva hastily, putting a hand to his badge and tilting it so that it caught the light. The nightwatchman’s expression relaxed a little. ‘I am sorry, sahib. It is very dark tonight.’

  ‘No matter. You are right to be wary. Are you alone at the house?’

  ‘I think all the servants have gone to the huts.’

  ‘Even Muttu?’ De Silva frowned.

  ‘Muttu is not here.’

  ‘Do you know where he’s gone?’

  The nightwatchman shrugged. ‘Maybe one of the servants will know. Shall I take you to speak with them?’

  ‘Please.’

  De Silva followed him down a track that led away from the house. In the torchlight, he saw a huddle of small huts ahead of them, and as they drew closer, he noticed that the land o
n either side of the track was cultivated. A variety of scents hung in the warm night air, from the spicy aroma of coriander and curry leaf to the earthy smell of cauliflowers and potatoes. A rumble in his stomach reminded him that dinner time was imminent. He also remembered he had promised Jane he wouldn’t be late. Hopefully, he had enough interesting news for her to make up for it.

  Stacked up against a wall of the nearest hut were piles of coconuts, small logs, and kindling. He smelled woodsmoke, frying onions, and the sweet, milky scent of simmering rice. Outside the first hut they came to, a woman who was stirring something in a small pan over a fire gave them a startled look. De Silva became aware that other eyes were watching from the shadows as people noticed them and stopped what they were doing, their faces ruddy in the glow of other small fires.

  ‘Who is Muttu’s deputy?’ he asked the nightwatchman.

  ‘Velu.’

  ‘Point him out to me.’

  The watchman peered into the gloom then jabbed a finger at a tall man who watched them from the door of a slightly larger hut than the rest. De Silva went over to him.

  ‘Are you Velu?’

  The man waggled his head.

  ‘I came to see Muttu. Can you tell me where I’ll find him?’

  Velu’s face cracked in a smile, revealing a set of crooked, betel-stained teeth. ‘I am sorry, sahib, I cannot help you. Maybe he has gone to his village.’

  De Silva frowned. ‘Why is that?’

  ‘I think maybe one of his family is sick.’

  ‘Did he say when he expected to be back?’

  ‘No, sahib.’

  ‘This village of his, is it far away?’

  ‘I cannot say, sahib. He has not spoken to me about it.’

  How convenient of Muttu’s relation to be suddenly taken ill, thought de Silva sceptically. There must be hundreds of villages out in the countryside. The chances of finding the one Muttu had fled to were so small as to be almost impossible. Unless he turned up of his own accord, he would probably have to be written off. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d come across a servant whose reaction to trouble had been to leave their old life behind them like a snake sloughing off its skin. He didn’t always blame them. No doubt the forces of law and order seemed particularly threatening to people in their position.

  Chapter 14

  Back in Nuala, he stopped at the police station to arrange for Prasanna and Nadar to take turns to be in charge of Flint overnight and in the morning.

  ‘How has he been since I left?’ he asked. It was not uncommon for men in Flint’s situation to attempt to harm themselves.

  ‘We checked on him every hour as you wanted, sir,’ said Prasanna. ‘He’s just been lying on the bed. He seems very calm.’

  Was that because he had got his story off his chest and was confident that he would be believed? De Silva found it hard to credit that he wasn’t man of the world enough to know that he was in a very precarious position. However good the lawyers Isobel proposed to engage, a jury would only have his word for it that he had not intended to kill Moncrieff or cause him serious harm. He might claim that Moncrieff had provoked the fight, but the fact that he’d had time to call for help and not done so would count against him. Then there was the matter of concealing Marina’s whereabouts from the police. He would be very lucky to be found innocent on all counts.

  ‘Nadar, you may as well take the first shift. Prasanna, go and buy some food in the bazaar and bring it back here before you set off for home. After that, be back here by seven tomorrow morning to relieve Nadar. I’m going home now. Nadar, would you telephone my wife, please and tell her I’m on the way.’

  **

  ‘Am I in trouble?’ he asked Bella as he picked her up. She had been waiting for him by the front door. Her jade eyes blinked, and she cocked her head and miaowed.

  ‘That bad, eh?’

  He opened the door and went through the hall and into the drawing room. Lights twinkled on the verandah. ‘I’m sorry, my love,’ he said when he found Jane out there. ‘Things at the plantation took longer than I expected.’

  ‘Never mind, Emerald invited me to tea, so I expect you’re far hungrier than I am. When Constable Nadar telephoned, I told cook to start the final preparations for dinner. It should be ready soon.’

  In the bathroom, de Silva stripped off his jacket and shirt and confronted the bleary-eyed face in the mirror. Perhaps he shouldn’t have curtailed his earlier sleep quite so readily. He wetted and soaped a flannel and scrubbed it over his face and neck, removing the dust of the drive to the plantation. Bella, who had been prowling along the bathroom shelf stepping daintily between bottles and brushes, jumped down and removed herself to a corner, watching the operation suspiciously. He grinned. ‘Don’t worry. No one is going to try to wash you.’

  Dried off, he put on a white cotton tunic and changed his uniform trousers for a sarong, then freed from his leather shoes, he wiggled his toes and slipped on a pair of rope sandals.

  ‘I’ve poured you a whisky,’ Jane called from the verandah as he came back into the drawing room. He went outside, plumped down into his chair, and took his first sip. ‘Ah, that’s good, thank you.’

  ‘Well, tell me what happened this afternoon.’

  He swallowed another mouthful of whisky. ‘Many things. I have plenty for you to get your nose into.’

  ‘Teeth, dear. Noses go in books.’

  ‘Noses in books, eyes on stalks, burning ears – your language has too many odd ways of putting things for a tired Ceylonese policeman.’

  ‘Poor dear; no more English lessons then. Back to what happened this afternoon.’

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked when he had recounted Peter Flint’s story.

  Jane frowned. ‘Whether he’s innocent or not, he’s taking an enormous risk. If a jury only has his word for what happened, they’d have to be thoroughly convinced that he’s an honest man. Do you know if there’s anyone who could be called to attest to his good character?’

  ‘Possibly an old employer or someone he’s worked with, but in Nuala I doubt he’s known to many people outside the plantation and then probably only if he’s done business with them. Isobel and Marina Moncrieff would be the obvious ones to speak up for him, but if it came out that he and Marina were close, and no doubt it would, her testimony would be worth nothing.’

  ‘Would Isobel speak up for him, do you think? Her opinion might carry some weight, despite her financial involvement.’

  ‘A day or two ago, I would have been doubtful, but she seemed very sympathetic towards him today. She even talked of paying for him to have the best lawyers. There would certainly be people who could confirm that Donald Moncrieff had a terrible temper and a habit of insulting people.’

  ‘I wonder if they’d come forward. People are often reluctant to speak ill of the dead.’

  ‘You know, something that struck me about Peter Flint’s confession was the detail with which he described it. Eight years is a long time, yet he hardly hesitated.’

  Jane looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘I see what you mean, but on the other hand, wouldn’t something so dramatic be harder to forget than an everyday occurrence?’

  ‘I suppose it would. Fortunately, I’ve never had the need to test out that theory.’

  Dinner was served. In the dining room, de Silva sniffed appreciatively the aromas of roasted spices, garlic, and lemongrass. The fiery orange of a fenugreek seed curry and the deep red of a beetroot one gave the table a cheerful air. Both had a subtle sweetness to which he was particularly partial. He heaped his plate and concentrated on eating for a while.

  ‘What intrigues me about Peter Flint’s confession,’ observed Jane, ‘is that he made it at all. He must realise what a risk he’s taking. He could simply deny all knowledge of what happened to Donald.’

  De Silva took a sip of his glass of water. ‘Yes, but then the most likely suspect left is Marina. He may be trying to protect her.’

  ‘Does she know he’s
confessed?’

  ‘I doubt it. I haven’t reported to Archie yet and I’m sure Prasanna and Nadar would have told me if he’d telephoned the station to find out what’s been going on.’ He helped himself to another spoonful of the fenugreek seed curry. ‘Silence gives me the advantage of a free hand, but if I’m to question Marina tomorrow, I ought to give Archie the latest information.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘And I suppose it will be as good a time as any to tell the dragon who guards the gate.’

  Jane laughed. ‘Poor Florence. She means well, you know.’

  ‘I’m sure she does.’

  After dinner they returned to the verandah and sat in companionable silence for a while before bed. The delicious fragrance of jasmine perfumed the air; comfortably replete, de Silva turned the case over in his mind.

  ‘After I’m done at the Residence,’ he said at last, ‘I think it will be time to find this lady who was working as a companion to Isobel at the time Donald disappeared. I’ve only heard her story second hand. I want to find out if she backs up Isobel’s version of it.’

  ‘What if she doesn’t? Do you think we should include Isobel in the list of suspects?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet. We know she disliked her stepson and was aware that he ill-treated Marina, but I don’t think that alone constitutes a convincing motive.’

  ‘Mm, I suppose not. What about this telephone call Rosamund Collins claimed she overheard? Do you think it was rather flimsy evidence for Donald’s disappearance?’

  ‘It’s certainly regrettable that Archie didn’t go into it more at the time.’

  ‘But why would the companion make it up?’

  ‘That’s what I hope to find out. And then there’s Muttu, the head servant at the main house. When I went up there, his deputy told me that he’d gone back to his village. The deputy had no idea when he was coming back or where the village is.’