‘Hello, dear,’ Jane’s voice came on the line. ‘How are you getting on?’
‘Very well.’ He told her about the meeting with Rosamund Collins. ‘All I need to do now is get this copy of Victor Moncrieff’s will. Charlie Frobisher offered to help by ordering it while I was at the convent. I’ll head over to the Registry now, but I’m afraid I won’t be home in time for dinner. I’ll have something to eat in Colombo before I leave.’
‘Very sensible.’
He heard the pips. ‘I’ll ring off. This call will be getting expensive.’
‘Alright, dear. Drive carefully, won’t you.’
‘I will.’
After he’d put down the receiver, he realised he hadn’t told Jane about Charlie’s confidence. She was sure to be pleased, but it would have to wait now until he got home.
He left the post office and drove to the Registry. There he found Charlie Frobisher waiting in the vast, echoing reception hall. He held out an envelope.
‘Here you are. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve taken the liberty of taking a look. I think you’ll find Victor Moncrieff’s will very interesting. Very interesting indeed.’
‘In what way?’
‘Read it yourself. It seems to set up some sort of legal trust under which the plantation and the properties on it wouldn’t be inherited by Isobel or Marina on Donald’s death, but by the next male descendant in the Moncrieff family.’
Swiftly, de Silva took in the implications of this news. It might mean that all three of his suspects had a compelling reason to keep Donald’s death a secret. ‘I’ll need to have the terms of this will fully explained by a legal expert, but it may be the key to solving the case. Speed may be essential so I must get back to Nuala as soon as possible.’
‘If you like, I’d be happy to ask my uncle. He should be able to clarify things.’
‘Thank you, that would be a great help.’
‘I’ll talk to him this evening and ask him to call you first thing tomorrow.’
De Silva held out the envelope. ‘Should I give you this for the moment?’
Frobisher shook his head. ‘I hope you don’t object, but as the additional cost was minimal, in anticipation, I ordered an extra copy.’
De Silva chuckled. ‘You think of everything.’
Chapter 17
Jane finished studying the copy of the will and took off her reading spectacles.
‘I don’t really understand this trust business either, but I expect Ruth’s uncle will be able to explain it. It does seem strange though for Victor Moncrieff to leave nothing at all to Isobel. Just a direction to Donald that he’s to make sure she’s properly looked after. It’s even harder to understand when we’ve heard that Donald was irresponsible about money.’
‘Perhaps he managed to hide that from his father.’
‘I suppose so. But even if he had been prudent, Isobel was his stepmother. I think it was rash of Victor to expect him to have the same sense of responsibility towards her as he would have done if she’d been his natural mother.’
That would make no difference to an honourable man, thought de Silva. But then Donald Moncrieff had not been an honourable man. Perhaps he would have been parsimonious with his own mother too. ‘The only explanation I can think of is that Victor was one of those people who believe money is always best looked after by men. Of course, there may be something in that,’ he added with a grin and Jane scowled at him.
‘Only joking, my love. I think Donald Moncrieff is proof that’s a mistaken idea.’
Jane sighed. ‘If Donald kept her short of funds, it’s easy to see why Isobel would want it to look as if he had eloped. That way, she would be safe to make her arrangement with Flint and Marina, putting herself in a much better position than she had been when Donald was around.’
She put her spectacles back on her nose and scanned the will once more. ‘The address for this cousin of Donald’s who now stands to inherit is an English one. I wonder if he knows about the provisions of the will. His inheritance may come as a surprise.’
‘And a very pleasant one, I’m sure. Archie may know whether there are family solicitors who act for the Moncrieffs. It will be their job to track him down.’
‘If Isobel is the murderer, how do you think she did it?’
‘I don’t have the answer to that yet. And although Peter Flint’s story of how Donald died may not be true, that doesn’t mean to say Flint wasn’t the one who actually killed him.’
He yawned. It had been a long day and the drive back from Colombo had been a tiring one. ‘It’s too late now, but in the morning I’ll try and speak to David. With luck, he’ll have had a chance to look at the bones by now. With his help, we may be able to fit another piece in the jigsaw.’
‘I wonder what Isobel would have done if Rosamund Collins had kept her mouth shut at the time.’
‘Very probably she had another card up her sleeve just in case that happened. No doubt her uncharacteristic confiding in Mrs McTaggart was also part of the scheme. She’d probably heard about the trouble between Donald and McTaggart.’
‘What about Marina?’
‘I’m not ruling her out yet.’ He thought for a moment. ‘But I think there is a way that I can find out whether Flint’s story about the fight and its aftermath is true without waiting to hear from David Hebden. I wish I’d considered it sooner. It’s occurred to me that when I asked him why he buried Donald’s body so far from where he died, he talked about using the area behind the garage courtyard because it was both accessible and private and would lose him the least time. But where we found the grave was very overgrown. I’d call it wild rather than accessible. Unless it’s changed radically in the last eight years, no car would have got there and even a strong man like Flint would probably have struggled to drag Donald Moncrieff through it, especially as he was a dead weight. It wouldn’t have been a quick operation.’
‘What do you deduce from that?’
‘That if he was primarily concerned with hiding Marina and cooking up a convincing story about how Donald died, Flint may not have got enough information from the servants to enable him to pinpoint the burial spot. It’s not an easy place to find, and I doubt he had time to do that for himself before I arrested him. I think I’ll take him back to the plantation. If he manages to lead me there without any help, I’ll be more prepared to believe he’s telling the truth.’
‘I hope you aren’t planning to take him up there on your own.’
‘No, Prasanna can come with me. Flint’s younger than I am and very probably a lot fitter. I expect he can run faster too. I don’t want to give him the chance to escape. We won’t manage with just the Morris, so I’ll call Singh at Hatton and ask him to lend their police van and someone to drive it.’
‘When will you go?’
‘As soon as I can make the arrangements with Singh.’
Chapter 18
The promised telephone call from Ruth’s uncle came the following morning while de Silva and Jane were at breakfast.
‘Robert Bailey here,’ a voice said cheerfully when de Silva went to take it. ‘I understand from my niece Ruth’s young man, Frobisher, that you need clarification of the terms of a will that he’s shown me.’
‘That would be a great help.’
‘Well, I’ll do my best not to bog you down in technicalities. Basically Victor Moncrieff, the testator as the maker of a will is called in law, used his will to put land that he owned into a trust called a settlement. I understand from Frobisher that it’s a tea plantation.’
‘Yes.’
‘Settlement is a device used in English law to keep a landed estate in a family, almost invariably the male side of it, through the generations. The person who is entitled to benefit from the land at any one time, in this case Victor’s son Donald, is known as the life tenant. In the will, the testator appoints trustees who legally hold the land and supervise the life tenant’s actions to ensure that the land is properly managed and preserved,
and the interests of subsequent beneficiaries protected. On the death of the life tenant, usually his eldest surviving son takes his place and so on.’
‘What if the life tenant has no children?’
‘The next surviving male descendant of the testator would become the life tenant.’
‘And what kind of people would these trustees be?’
‘Anyone whether related to the family or not, who the settlor of the land regards as a trusted advisor. In this case, it looks to be a solicitor and a senior official of a bank.’
De Silva reflected that they didn’t appear to have been particularly active in their duties. ‘You mentioned this settlement device is designed to protect land, but what about other assets?’
Bailey chuckled. ‘Very good, Inspector. You have a lawyer’s eye for detail. Other assets – shares or cash deposits for example – cannot be protected in a settlement. Therefore, Donald Moncrieff would have inherited some of his father’s estate with no fetters. However, I took the liberty of checking at the Registry to ascertain the declared value of everything that Victor Moncrieff left on his death. The amount attributed to the plantation formed the bulk of it.’
De Silva thanked him and rang off then went back to tell Jane.
‘So, Donald may have run through most of the assets he was free to use as he wished,’ he said. ‘Leaving only what the plantation made.’
‘And if that wasn’t doing well, he would have been hard up. Now we know Isobel was dependent on him, she definitely had a strong reason for wanting him out of the way but not declared dead. Who knows whether the cousin would have helped her.’
‘The will says nothing about that. Presumably Victor assumed, not unreasonably, that Donald would outlive her. I’d better get on and call Hatton.’
Inspector Singh readily agreed to lend the Hatton van. ‘I’ll send my sergeant with it,’ he said. ‘You can rely on him to deliver your prisoner safely. How’s the case going by the way?’
He listened while de Silva outlined progress.
‘Well, good luck. I hope your plan is successful.’
‘Thank you. Can you give me an idea of how long it will be before your sergeant gets here?’
‘Give me a moment.’
He heard Singh shout someone’s name then he came back on the line. ‘He’s on his way.’
**
Once the Hatton sergeant arrived, and having escorted Flint to the van, de Silva sent Prasanna with them to show the way to the plantation. He had not told Flint the purpose of the journey and had instructed Prasanna not to discuss it. If Flint was lying, de Silva didn’t want to give him time to make up a more plausible story. He was getting into the Morris to follow them when Nadar emerged from the police station and hurried over.
‘A call from Doctor Hebden, sir,’ he puffed. ‘I thought you’d want to take it.’
‘I do. Well done, Constable.’
In the public room, he picked up the receiver.
‘Sorry to hold you up, old chap,’ said Hebden.
‘That’s quite alright.’
‘Your constable was sure you’d want a word. Well, I’ve had a good look. As well as the fractures to the tibia, the body has several broken ribs, but I can’t be sure of what caused the injuries. They may have happened when Moncrieff was alive, say a bullet or a heavy impact of some kind, but I’m afraid the length of time that’s elapsed since the death makes a firm theory impossible. What I expect you’ll be far more interested to hear is that I found no fractures to the skull. I can’t say for sure that it definitely rules out your friend Flint’s story, but if he’s telling the truth about the severity of the blow, it’s surprising.’
De Silva frowned. ‘That certainly is interesting. Many thanks for taking a look.’
‘My pleasure.’
**
Prasanna and the Hatton sergeant were waiting for him at the plantation’s courtyard.
‘Shall I let the prisoner out now, sir?’ the Hatton sergeant asked.
‘Yes.’
De Silva wasn’t sure it had been entirely necessary to keep Flint sweltering in the back of the police van. Perhaps Inspector Singh was a stickler for nothing being done by his men without superior authorisation. He always seemed pretty easy-going when they encountered one another, but he might present a different face to his subordinates.
Flint emerged from the van, gulping down air and throwing them a baleful look. His handcuffs rattled as he thrust his clenched fists in de Silva’s direction.
‘Are you going to tell me what the hell’s going on?’ he snapped. ‘I’m bundled into a van without a word of explanation then half roasted alive. I demand to be taken back to Nuala and I want to see a solicitor.’
He wasn’t seriously the worse for wear, thought de Silva wryly, and he was entitled to have a solicitor, but first they had better get on with what they’d come to do.
‘This won’t take long, I assure you, Mr Flint. Since there’s been considerable movement in the soil around the burial area, I need to know from you what the configuration was at the time when you disposed of the body.’
Flint looked bemused. ‘What the hell do you—’
De Silva raised a hand to silence him.
‘All will be revealed, Mr Flint. I promise you. Now, would you please lead us to the site?’
Flint glanced around the open spaces surrounding the courtyard, letting his eyes stop at an opening in the trees. It went in a different direction to the one that Rudd had used to take them to Moncrieff’s grave, but it appeared to be wider and more navigable, probably a recent animal track. De Silva waited, hoping Flint would be sufficiently uncertain about what was going on to make a move.
The manager grunted. ‘Very well.’
As he walked in the direction of the more navigable pathway, de Silva touched Prasanna’s arm. ‘You walk behind him,’ he said. ‘I doubt he’ll try to make off up here, but in case he does, you can run faster than me.’
Prasanna grinned then straightened his expression. ‘Righto, sir.’
Thankfully, the pathway was far less thorny and treacherous than the one Rudd had taken them down. They walked for five minutes until de Silva noticed that Flint’s steps were faltering. The trees on either side of the path were still close together. It would have been difficult to step off it and up ahead, there was no promise of change. Raucous noises overhead made him look up. A troop of monkeys were swinging through the canopy, chattering and looking down at them. It brought Hamish McTaggart’s garden and his target practice back to de Silva’s mind. Mrs McTaggart’s gossipy nature had been another piece of good luck for Isobel.
He peered into the distance once more. Was that light he saw? Slowly, the trees thinned out and the pathway widened. Flint was looking increasingly agitated. Then all at once, they emerged into open space. They were on the lip of a sheer drop that plummeted more than a hundred feet to the jungle below.
Flint turned to face them, his expression hovering between despair and defiance.
‘I think we have just established that you did not bury Donald Moncrieff’s body, Mr Flint,’ said de Silva. ‘Now, I suggest you tell us what really happened.’
Chapter 19
Flint slumped down on a fallen tree trunk and held out his handcuffed wrists. Sweat was pouring off him. ‘Take these off, will you? I swear I won’t try to make a run for it.’
De Silva gestured to Prasanna, who stepped forward and removed the cuffs. Flint wiped a freed hand across his face leaving streaks of dirt on his tanned skin. He ran his tongue over his lips. Arms folded, de Silva, Prasanna, and the Hatton sergeant stood and watched him.
‘I invented the story of the fight,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve no idea who killed Donald or how they did it.’
‘Why did you decide to take the blame?’
A spasm of pain crossed Flint’s face. He jumped to his feet and de Silva tensed, ready to grab him, but he had only stood up to get away from the red ants that were already crawling over his
trousers. He swatted them away.
‘Marina. It was because of her.’
‘But you said just now that you had no idea who killed Donald.’
‘I don’t. I…’ He slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand and took a few paces away from them. De Silva glanced at Prasanna and was pleased to see he was ready to run if it became necessary, but Flint didn’t go any further.
‘When Donald’s body turned up, I was pretty sure she’d had nothing to do with it, although after the way he treated her, I wouldn’t blame her if she had, but there was still a trace of doubt in my mind. And one thing I was sure of was that she would be the prime suspect. I wanted to protect her, so I told her to stay hidden at my place while I figured out what to do.’
‘Do you still have doubts?’ asked de Silva.
‘No. I’m convinced she’s innocent.’
‘If that’s the case, I find it hard to believe that you’ve not speculated about the true identity of the murderer.’
Flint raised an eyebrow. ‘Of course I have.’
‘His stepmother, Isobel?’
‘Precisely, though how she would be able to do it and get rid of the body beats me. I knew she didn’t like him, and she was pretty quick to persuade Marina and me to come to an arrangement over finances after Donald disappeared. Marina was fairly certain Isobel wasn’t well off. She’d heard her and Donald rowing about money. Namely, Donald keeping her short of it.’
‘You do realise that by doctoring the accounts and diverting the hidden profits, you were committing theft?’
Cold Case in Nuala (The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Book 10) Page 17