Flint grimaced. ‘If you must put it that way.’
‘It’s the way the law will see it, Mr Flint. There’s also the matter of your attempt to pervert the course of justice.’
Flint heaved a sigh. ‘I know, I know. I’ll have to take whatever’s coming to me. All I care about is that Marina’s safe.’
De Silva studied him. Some instinct told him that Flint was at last telling the truth. He nodded to the Hatton sergeant. ‘Cuff him and take him to the van.’
‘Shall I go too, sir?’ asked Prasanna.
‘No, stay here for a moment.’
As the Hatton sergeant marched Flint away, de Silva waited until they were out of earshot before he spoke. ‘Right, Prasanna, I want you to accompany them to the station and lock Flint up, but once you’ve done that, leave Nadar in charge and come back here. I want to find Donald Moncrieff’s Bugatti. Presumably Flint also lied about destroying it, and I believe I know where it is. Once I’ve had a look, I’ll go back to the Morris and wait for you.’ He explained where he would leave the car. ‘With luck, I’ll have the last piece of evidence and it will be time to pay another visit to Isobel Moncrieff. I may need you.’
**
After the trek back to the place where they had left the Morris and the Hatton van, de Silva watched it bump away with Flint safely stowed inside, then headed for Isobel Moncrieff’s bungalow. He parked the Morris out of sight in the spot where he’d left it on the evening before his trip to Colombo. Taking the bolt cutters that he’d put in the car before he left Sunnybank that morning, he started to walk. He hoped he would remember the way to the wooden building he’d seen. It was notoriously easy to lose oneself in even a small patch of jungle and the route might look different in daylight. Fortunately, however, it wasn’t long before he caught a glimpse of the building through the trees.
Soon he stood in front of the padlocked doors. He studied the chain and frowned. The links were chunkier than he remembered. Still, he would have to make the best of what he had. He hoisted the bolt cutters, clamped the jaws around the chain and squeezed. Nothing happened. Gritting his teeth, he exerted more force until his muscles ached and pinpricks of light danced in front of his eyes, but still the chain held.
Take a breather then try again. He put the bolt cutters down, mopped his face with his handkerchief and rubbed his hands on his trouser legs to dry them. When he was ready, he clamped the bolt cutters around the chain once more. This time he felt it yield a little. One more burst of effort and it broke, its links rattling as they pooled on the ground. He opened the doors and a wave of trapped hot air billowed out to meet him. He smiled grimly. Now to see if he was right.
Even with both of the double doors open, the inside of the building was dimly lit. A large, sinister grey shape with an animal look to it crouched in the middle of the space. Half expecting it to open fiery eyes and roar, he approached cautiously, the thin covering of straw on the floor crackling under his feet. Tentatively, he reached out to touch the shape and his fingers met something stiff with a slightly greasy quality to it: a tarpaulin.
Dust that had probably lain undisturbed for years rose in clouds as he hauled it off what was underneath. It filled his throat and nostrils and more than once, a fit of coughing made him pause, but at last he saw shining chrome and gleaming paintwork. He stood back from the mound of canvas to admire the silver Bugatti, so lost in contemplation that it was only when it was too late that he sensed movement behind him. He swung round and saw a dark figure silhouetted against the light. It kicked away the broken chain and slammed shut the double doors. There was the scrape of bolts shooting across. Trapped in the darkness, he remembered he’d noticed that the shed had no windows. He would have to find his way back to the doors and try to force them but where were they? It was alarming how easily darkness disorientated one.
He stifled a yell as he bumped against something hard. There was a loud crash that reverberated in the closed space and suddenly a sickening smell of petroleum. His blood thrummed in his ears and his stomach roiled. He must pull himself together. The car: that was the answer. If he felt his way along it, he was bound to find the doors eventually.
The metal felt cool to the touch as he edged along. The tarpaulin hampered his every step and more than once he stumbled, but at last, he felt the rubber of a wheel. Level with his feet, there was a thin streak of light. Two more steps and he touched wood.
He lay down on the ground and put his mouth to the gap at the bottom of the door in an attempt to catch a breath of fresh air, but the smell of petrol still sickened him. It seemed an eternity before he heard voices. With a mixture of apprehension and hope, he strained to listen; they sounded familiar. He began to shout. A few moments later, he heard the bolts being drawn back and the doors opened. Gasping, he tumbled into the daylight.
**
He looked ruefully at the metal drum overturned on the floor. Rust and corrosion had worn it eggshell thin, and it sat in a black, treacly puddle of leaking petrol. It was a mercy no one had tried to drive the Bugatti out of the building. The merest spark from the ignition, and in no time the whole place would very likely have been ablaze. He brushed straw from his hair, trying to compose his face into a dignified expression. It wouldn’t do for his juniors to see him in such a dishevelled state.
‘I’m sorry we weren’t here sooner, sir,’ said Prasanna. ‘We saw your car parked, but we had a bit of trouble finding you.’
‘You did well. Thank you both.’
‘Did you see who shut you in, sir?’ asked Prasanna.
De Silva shook his head. ‘But I’ve a good idea it was Isobel Moncrieff’s servant, Jamis. We’d best get up to the house and hope we’re not too late to catch the birds before they fly.’
Chapter 20
It was eerily quiet at the bungalow. De Silva wondered if Isobel had already left. If she had, she couldn’t have much of a start, but before trying to follow he had better check inside. He beckoned to the two sergeants.
‘Prasanna, you take the back and make sure no one escapes that way.’ He turned to the Hatton sergeant. ‘You stay here and watch the front while I go inside.’
He was about to ring the bell when he noticed that the door was ajar. Pushing it a little further open, he prepared to face an assailant, but there was silence. He stepped cautiously into the hall, keeping his back to the wall and treading as softly as possible. He had no desire to succumb to another surprise attack. Isobel’s study was deserted and there was no sound from the drawing room. He reached the door and paused, then he heard her voice.
‘Come in, Inspector. I presume it is you.’
He stepped into the room and she smiled at him. ‘I wondered how long it would be before you arrived. I’m all alone, so I’m afraid I can’t offer you any refreshment.’
Briefly, de Silva was nonplussed by her calmness.
‘Have you come to arrest me?’
He recovered his equanimity. ‘Yes; for the murder of your stepson, Donald Moncrieff. I believe you killed him and hid the body, arranging matters to look as if he’d left his wife for another woman.’
Isobel laughed. ‘How clever of you to work it out. Jamis told me that you found Donald’s Bugatti too. Oh, by the way, I suggest you don’t waste time looking for Jamis. I let him go as soon as he told me he’d locked you in with the car. I presumed you’d soon free yourself somehow. I want you to know that I have no regrets. Victor forced me to depend on Donald’s generosity – a quality foreign to his nature. Donald wanted me to beg for every penny. One day we had a more violent argument than usual, and I realised that killing him was the only option.’
She spoke with such conviction that it was easy for de Silva to believe she was untroubled by remorse.
‘Who else knew about it?’
‘Not Marina, I assure you. Peter Flint may have had an inkling of what happened, but he never challenged me. The only one who knew the truth was Jamis. He buried the body on my orders. As for that little mouse Rosamund
Collins, and that blabbermouth Elspeth McTaggart, children would have been harder to manipulate.’
She rose from her chair and went to the window. ‘I shall miss all this,’ she said wistfully as she gazed out over the garden. ‘Perhaps I should have made my escape when you found Donald’s remains, but I couldn’t let go of the hope that the furore would die down and be forgotten. My mistake was to assume that you would not be as eager to gloss over matters as Archie Clutterbuck was all those years ago.’ She turned back to face him and smiled. ‘If you have a fault, Inspector, it is that you are too thorough.’
De Silva wasn’t sure whether she intended a compliment.
‘Will you permit me a few minutes alone before I come with you? There’s something I wish to do before I say goodbye to my home.’
In the normal course of events, de Silva would have insisted that anyone he had just arrested remain in his sight, but something in Isobel’s tone made her hard to deny.
‘Very well, ma’am. But I should warn you that I have my officers on watch outside.’
‘I assure you, I’m not in the habit of running away.’
He watched her as, unhurriedly and with her head held high, she walked out of the room. It seemed to diminish without her presence. He noticed that the turquoise and rose Persian rug was not as fine as he’d thought when he first saw it. In several places, there were badly worn patches. The edge of one of the silk curtains that swept to the floor was frayed and some of the porcelain ornaments chipped. He remembered Jamis’s words: the memsahib always dresses for dinner. There was something rather sad about the idea. Isobel Moncrieff’s hold on the life she wanted must often have been precarious, and now that life would be denied her for ever.
The silence thickened, broken only by the tick of the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. He glanced at the time. He would give her five more minutes.
Then the shot he had been half expecting rang out.
Chapter 21
Sunnybank
Several weeks later
After the day of Isobel Moncrieff’s death, at the invitation of Florence and Archie, Marina stayed on at the Residence. Now, however, she was free to come and go as she pleased. Peter Flint remained in custody for a while until Archie, in consultation with William Petrie, the government agent down in Kandy, ruled that he would not be prosecuted, although he would have to pay back the money he took from the plantation. Archie took pains to brief de Silva fully on their discussion.
‘He even expressed regret for the fact that Donald’s fate hadn’t been more thoroughly investigated at the time,’ de Silva said to Jane.
‘I should hope so. It would have saved a lot of trouble. If the matter had been left as it was, justice would never have been done.’
‘Hindsight is a wonderful thing, my love.’
‘And so is foresight.’
De Silva smiled. ‘You know, when the charges against Peter Flint were dropped, I was conflicted. He engaged in criminal acts and has not had to face justice, according to Archie a prosecution not being deemed to be “in the public interest”. On the other hand, when he was released from custody, I was rather sorry to lose his company. We talked several times and he’s an interesting man. I believe he truly loves this country, and unlike many Britishers, wants to protect our wildlife, not shoot it. He’s a talented artist too. He did some impressive sketches with the materials Marina brought in for him to keep him occupied.’
One of the servants came to the door of the verandah. ‘Visitors are here, memsahib,’ she said to Jane.
‘Who are they, Leela?’
‘Memsahib Moncrieff and Sahib Flint. They say they would be grateful if you have a few minutes to speak with them.’
‘Of course; ask them to come in.’
The last time de Silva had seen Marina, she had been pale and troubled, but today she looked happy and relaxed in a white shirt-waisted dress that showed off her slender figure and lustrous dark hair. Peter Flint looked happy too. De Silva got to his feet.
‘Forgive us for arriving uninvited,’ said Marina. ‘But we’re leaving Nuala soon and before we go, we wanted to thank you.’
‘That’s very good of you, ma’am, but I was only doing my duty.’
‘All the same, without you, Peter and I might have been separated for ever.’
They sat down and Jane had tea brought out. Billy and Bella woke from their afternoon doze to inspect the new arrivals, Billy his usual confident self, whereas Bella was a little shy. Flint bent down and held out his hand to her. ‘My family always had cats when I was growing up. These two are quite young, I assume.’
‘Yes, it seems only yesterday that they were kittens,’ said Jane. ‘So, where will you go when you leave here?’
‘Down south to Yala. I’ve been offered a job at the wildlife sanctuary there. I hope to be able to make myself useful.’
‘I’m sure you will.’
‘I’m looking forward to it too,’ said Marina. She smiled at Flint. ‘The change will be good for us both.’
‘So, what will happen to the plantation?’ asked de Silva.
‘The solicitors have been in touch with Donald’s cousin who inherits it. He has no plans to leave England, so he’ll put a temporary manager in to run the place until it can be sold.’
‘We’ve heard Johnny Perera is interested,’ said Flint. ‘Apparently, he has a hankering to be the owner of the place where he grew up. He doesn’t seem put off by its recent history, and he’s already made Donald’s cousin an offer for the Bugatti.’
The combination of Perera and the Bugatti would certainly add excitement to the Nuala scene, thought de Silva. He was glad he had stepped back from pursuing Perera when he did.
‘As I expect you know, there’s still no sign of Muttu or Jamis,’ Flint added. ‘But I was glad to hear that Perera intends to take on the rest of the house staff and the plantation workers.’
Half an hour later the visitors took their leave. ‘It’s good to see them looking so happy,’ said Jane. ‘They seem well suited, but they need to learn to trust as well as love each other. Particularly on Flint’s side.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It was noble of him to make his false confession to protect Marina, but I think he was wrong to make the decision on his own. I’m convinced that if she’d known what he was planning, she would have insisted they hold out to prove her innocence and that Isobel would have been unmasked as the murderer that much earlier.’
De Silva considered the proposition. ‘You may be right,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Although I suspect Flint hadn’t even decided to make the confession until after he was arrested.’
‘Luckily for them both, everything worked out well, but it might so easily not have done.’
**
Two days after the visit, he arrived home to find a parcel in the hall.
‘It’s addressed to you, dear,’ said Jane. ‘Are you expecting something?’
He shook his head. ‘No, I can’t imagine what it is.’ He undid the string and brown paper. Inside were several more layers of wrapping. He peeled them away to reveal a framed watercolour.
Jane clapped her hands. ‘Oh, how lovely! It’s of Billy and Bella.’
De Silva studied it; the signature was Peter Flint’s.
‘I see what you mean about him being a talented artist,’ said Jane. ‘He’s captured them perfectly, even though he saw them only briefly. He must have a very good memory. I suppose he and Marina will have left Nuala by now. We’ll have to find out how to reach them in Yala and write to thank them.’ She paused. ‘I do hope the change of scene will be a success as they hope.’
‘I expect it will be, and that reminds me, I’ve been thinking that it’s a long time since we had a holiday. Being in Colombo reminded me of how pleasant it is to be by the sea. What do you say to a trip down south to visit Galle for a change? It’s a charming town and there are beaches nearby to explore.’
‘That’s a marvellous idea.’
Jane smiled. ‘Whatever would you do with yourself, dear?’
He grinned. ‘Get under your feet, I suppose. But there’s no cause for alarm, I don’t intend to hand in my badge just yet.’
***
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Other books by Harriet Steel
The Inspector de Silva Mysteries #1
Trouble in Nuala
When Inspector Shanti de Silva moves with his English wife, Jane, to a new post in the sleepy hill town of Nuala, he anticipates a more restful life than police work in the big city entails. However, an arrogant plantation owner with a lonely wife, a crusading lawyer, and a death in suspicious circumstances present him with a riddle that he will need all his experience to solve.
Set on the exotic island of Ceylon in the 1930s, Trouble in Nuala is an entertaining and relaxing mystery spiced with humour and a colourful cast of characters.
Cold Case in Nuala (The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Book 10) Page 18