Cold Case in Nuala (The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Book 10) Page 15

  ‘That does sound suspicious.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll try to get down to Colombo tomorrow afternoon. I’m not sure if there’ll be time to visit the convent then or whether it would be best to go the following morning. Either way, it’s a long drive there and back in a day, so I think I’ll stay the night. If there’s time,’ he added, ‘it would be interesting to have another word with Perera. I’d like to see how he reacts if I ask him whether he thought he would escape detection when he went to the house on Saturday night.’

  ‘If either of our theories about him being involved with the Moncrieffs are right, do you really think he’d confess it?’

  ‘Probably not, but his reaction might be revealing.’

  Chapter 15

  He woke remembering that he still needed to speak to David Hebden about examining the bones to try to establish the cause of Donald Moncrieff’s death.

  ‘I’d like to arrange for him to do that before I go to Colombo,’ he said to Jane as they ate breakfast. He looked at the clock on the dining room mantelpiece. It was almost half past eight. ‘Do you think it’s too soon to telephone?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Emerald says they wake early these days. I’ve told her it will be good practice for when the baby arrives.’

  He finished his cup of tea. ‘Then I’ll do it now.’

  When he came to the telephone, David Hebden cut short de Silva’s apology. ‘Interesting,’ he said when de Silva finished telling him about Peter Flint’s confession. ‘So, I suppose you want to know if his story about how Moncrieff died is plausible.’

  ‘That’s exactly it. What do you think?’

  ‘Did Flint tell you whereabouts on the head the impact occurred?’

  ‘At the back.’

  ‘And the cabinet was metal, you say.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hmm. A very severe, precisely targeted blow to the back of the head is capable of causing death almost instantaneously if the brain stem ruptures, and the likelihood of that increases when the surface the head impacts on is hard like metal. Did Flint say he believed that Moncrieff died immediately?’

  ‘No. He indicated that there might have been a chance of saving him, but he panicked and didn’t go for help.’

  ‘Even if he had, if the injury was sufficiently severe, the outcome might have been the same. Imagine the human brain as a lump of jelly on a plate. If the jelly is shaken with enough force, it wobbles and eventually tears. Likewise, the brain will rebound within the skull and may tear or twist resulting in injuries. Swelling can restrict the flow of blood and the oxygen it carries to the brain. Without far more sophisticated treatment than we have available, the brain wouldn’t remain alive for long.’

  ‘If the blow caused Moncrieff’s death, would you expect to find that his skull had been fractured?’

  ‘I’d be surprised if that wasn’t the case. Did Rudd notice anything there?’

  ‘No, he mentioned the broken tibia but after that he seemed in a hurry to leave.’

  ‘Well, if you want, I’ll take a look at the bones and see if I can shed any light on matters for you.’

  ‘I’d be most grateful if you would. The remains are at the undertakers. I’m driving down to Colombo later today, but I’ll be back tomorrow evening.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll do my best to deal with it before then. At present, I don’t have a long list of calls for this afternoon.’

  De Silva thanked him and rang off.

  ‘He’s offered to have a look at the bones,’ he said when he went back into the dining room.

  ‘Good.’ Jane lifted the teapot. ‘Another cup now you’ve arranged that?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘What did he think about Flint’s account of the accident?’

  ‘He thought that if the blow had been severe enough to lead to death, it would very likely have caused a skull fracture.’ He spooned sugar into his cup and stirred. ‘I’ll think I’ll make a quick call to the Residence. It’s time I spoke to Marina.’

  It was a task he wasn’t going to relish. Jane looked at him sympathetically. ‘Don’t worry, dear. I know questioning her will be a delicate matter, but I’m sure you’ll handle it perfectly.’

  ‘Thank you for the vote of confidence, my love. I hope it won’t be misplaced.’

  ‘Will you suggest she has someone else with her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She may feel happier if it’s another woman,’ Jane went on. ‘What about Florence? I know we like to joke about her, but she’s no fool, and she would be independent.’

  ‘I’ll let Marina decide.’

  **

  He made the call and ten minutes later set off for the Residence. Archie was in his study.

  ‘Join me in a walk round the garden, de Silva? I usually take this chap out for a run about now.’ He put a hand on Darcy’s head and the Labrador gazed up at him adoringly.

  De Silva was glad of the suggestion. If Archie was concerned about Marina’s state of mind and the effect questioning might have on her, this might be an awkward conversation, and those were usually easier to conduct when out in the fresh air.

  With Darcy lolloping ahead, they walked in the direction of the lake where Archie liked to fish. He glanced up at the cloudless blue sky. ‘Too bright for fishing today,’ he remarked. He adjusted the brim of his Panama hat. ‘Right, you’d better fill me in on what’s been going on.’

  His frown deepened as de Silva explained, beginning with what he, Prasanna and Nadar had found in Peter Flint’s office. He finished with his conversation with David Hebden that morning.

  ‘Marina will have to be told about this confession, of course,’ said Archie. ‘I imagine you’ll want to hear her side of the story and try to establish the truth. I’m sure I hardly need tell you that it would be inappropriate for you to interview her alone.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘If she wants a solicitor present, that can’t be arranged at the drop of a hat.’ He thought for a moment. ‘But she might rather just have another woman present.’

  ‘If so, would Mrs Clutterbuck consider it?’

  ‘We’ll turn back now. I’ll go and have a word with her. I suggest you wait in the library while I sort this out.’

  **

  The library was gloomy with thick damask curtains that kept out most of the sunshine. De Silva picked up an old copy of The Field from a table and flipped through articles about salmon fishing and grouse shooting. The photographs showed men in tweeds and gaiters with guns crooked over their arms. Labradors and spaniels nosed their way through bracken or stood proudly with game birds dangling from their jowls. Although he disliked the idea of hunting, at least these sportsmen probably ate what they caught. The situation was different with the big game hunters who shot wild animals in Ceylon and many other places, killing purely for the sake of taking trophies. How many magnificent creatures had been needlessly sacrificed to satisfy their vanity? He remembered the tiger-skin rug that had snarled up at him from the floor of Isobel Moncrieff’s drawing room and felt a shudder of revulsion.

  The door opened and Florence came in. He put the magazine down and got to his feet. ‘Good morning, ma’am.’

  ‘And good morning to you. I understand from my husband that you suggested I accompany you when you meet Marina. I’ve spoken with her and she’s in agreement. I’d like to make it clear at the outset, however, that although I’ve prepared her in order to avoid your news coming as a complete shock, should she become too distressed the interview will have to terminate.’ She gave him a stern look.

  Part of de Silva wished that she hadn’t taken it upon herself to intervene. It deprived him of the opportunity to observe Marina’s initial reaction, but it was done now.

  ‘I thought my private sitting room would be a more suitable place for our meeting than the drawing room. I’ve asked one of the staff to bring her along. Shall we go?’

  He followed her down a corridor that he’d not seen before. Instead of
hunting prints and gloomy landscapes, the walls were hung with attractive watercolours of picturesque cottages and gardens.

  ‘My late mother was an artist,’ remarked Florence. ‘I’m afraid my brothers and I didn’t inherit her talent.’ She stopped at a door. ‘Here we are.’

  Marina sat on the edge of a chintz-covered armchair with her hands tightly clasped in her lap. In the photograph de Silva had seen of her, her dark wavy hair framed her face and she was smiling, but today her hair was scraped back and her expression was strained. She looked up at him warily.

  ‘Good morning, ma’am. I’m sorry that our last meeting was under such unpleasant circumstances,’ he said gently.

  Florence pointed to a chair. ‘Why don’t you sit there, Inspector?’ She sat down herself with her back to a bay window that overlooked a lawn and some rose beds.

  ‘Florence has told me that you’re holding Peter at the police station,’ said Marina. ‘She says he’s confessed to a fight with my husband that led to his death.’ Her eyes filled with tears and she wiped them away with her handkerchief. ‘I blame myself. I ought to have left Donald long before that. Our marriage had become a sham, but I was afraid of him. I knew Donald would be too proud to accept that I wanted to be with Peter.’

  She crushed the handkerchief into a damp ball. ‘But if only I’d known he’d found out about us and planned to confront Peter, I would have found the courage somehow. Donald’s temper was so violent. I knew what he was capable of from my own experience.’

  ‘Are you saying that your husband didn’t tell you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Her answer surprised de Silva. In his experience, men who suspected their wives of infidelity usually chose the easiest target first, and wouldn’t that be the wife who was vulnerable and already afraid of them, rather than her lover?

  ‘Does that surprise you?’

  ‘I’d reached the stage where nothing about Donald surprised me.’

  ‘Even his disappearance with no warning?’

  ‘Donald was often absent, and he never explained where he’d been. Usually, I presumed he was with other women.’ She made a face. ‘There would be a hint of perfume that I knew wasn’t mine, or a stray hair on his jacket. There was one rule for Donald and another for me.’

  ‘You were told he’d left Nuala with another woman. When was that?’

  Marina looked at Florence. ‘When your husband came to ask if we knew where Donald was. That was when Isobel’s companion admitted she’d heard him talking with this woman and making plans to go away with her.’

  ‘The companion being Rosamund Collins?’

  ‘I think that was her name.’

  ‘Why was she so convinced they were planning to leave Nuala? Did she tell you the exact words your husband used?’

  ‘Eight years have passed, Inspector. At the time, her story was plausible.’

  ‘But even when years passed without the faintest rumour of where he was, are you sure you never suspected your husband might be dead?’

  Marina’s eyes blazed. ‘No. My anxiety diminished but I was always afraid that one day he would walk in the door and the misery would start all over again.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘I was always afraid he’d come back. I wish Peter hadn’t kept the truth from me.’

  ‘You must have known people would be looking for you after that. Why did you hide?’

  ‘Peter was afraid I’d be blamed. He said he wanted time to decide what we should do.’

  ‘Why do you think he kept the truth from you for so long?’

  The colour drained from Marina’s face. ‘I can’t explain it, but I refuse to believe he meant to kill Donald. He had to defend himself. It was an accident.’

  ‘Nevertheless, ma’am, it is against the law to conceal a death,’ de Silva said quietly.

  Rising from her chair, Marina went to the window and turned her back to the room. She gripped the sill. ‘I don’t care about that,’ she said angrily. ‘All I care about is that you let him go.’

  Her shoulders shook, and before de Silva had time to reply, Florence raised a hand. ‘I think that’s enough for now. Marina needs to rest.’

  **

  ‘It could have gone better,’ he said gloomily as he sat on a chair in their bedroom where Jane was packing his overnight bag for him. ‘I didn’t even have the chance to bring up the subject of the hidden profits. I don’t blame Florence. She was very restrained until Marina became upset, and she warned me she’d bring the interview to an end if that was the case.’

  Jane rolled up a pair of socks and tucked them in a corner of the holdall. ‘How did she seem at first?’

  ‘Surprisingly calm and controlled. That may have been because Florence had already given her the gist of Flint’s confession. If she’s hiding something, that would have given her time to prepare.’

  ‘Several things about her story strike me as odd,’ said Jane, starting to fold a shirt. ‘I find it hard to believe that Donald wouldn’t have tried to make her give Flint up before he did anything else. As Flint was working for him, he could have sacked him at any time.’

  De Silva stroked Bella, who had come into the room and started to rub up against his calf. ‘But I suppose that then she might have tried to leave with Flint; maybe Donald thought she would. But I agree, that is strange.’

  ‘And if Flint and Marina were so close, can one really believe that he kept the truth from her for eight years? Especially if she was so anxious about Donald coming back.’

  She turned to put the folded shirt in the holdall and then stopped. ‘Oh, Bella, what are you doing?’

  De Silva laughed and scooped the little cat out of the holdall where she was preparing to curl up on the clothes that were already packed. He held her at arms’ length, and she gave a plaintive miaow.

  ‘Do you want to come with me? I’m afraid I don’t think that would be wise. Colombo is far too busy and full of traffic for a country cat. What if I lost you?’

  ‘I doubt she’d let you,’ said Jane. ‘Your little shadow.’ She straightened the clothes Bella had rumpled and put in the shirt. ‘Were you convinced by Marina’s outburst before Florence called a halt to the interview?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I don’t feel I have her measure yet. Flint seems genuinely to care for her, but she may have been using him all these years.’

  ‘Do you mean she killed Donald after all, and Flint is covering up for her?’

  ‘It’s something that has to be considered. If he’s found guilty, it will be interesting to see what she does. Isobel thought she would inherit the plantation and everything that goes with it. She would be an independent woman then.’

  ‘What about Isobel? She doesn’t seem to have as strong a motive as Marina for wanting to be rid of Donald, but she might know more than she’s admitting. The three of them may have made a pact to stay silent. All the while living very comfortably off the profits from the plantation.’

  ‘Hmm, yes. It would be interesting to know more about Isobel’s past and whether her financial affairs are as robust as she claims. If not, she would have a powerful motive for keeping quiet and taking the money.’

  Jane snapped the clasp on the holdall shut. ‘There, that should be enough for one night. You will telephone me when you arrive, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘I’ll miss you.’

  After lunch, he telephoned Hebden’s surgery, but he had been called out on an emergency after all and not returned.

  ‘Did he happen to leave a message for me?’ de Silva asked the receptionist.

  ‘I’m afraid not. Shall I ask him to call you when he comes back?’

  ‘There’s no need. I’m sure he’ll be in touch when he’s ready.’

  **

  He was on the edge of town when a way of finding out more about Isobel Moncrieff’s past came to him. Hadn’t she said her first husband had occupied a senior position in the Justice Secretariat? Charlie Frobisher and his young lady were staying with her uncl
e who had also worked there. He might know of him. De Silva searched his memory for the name and after a few moments, came up with it: Harold Dacre.

  A short detour took him to the main post office where he used the public telephone to call the Residence. He spoke to one of the secretaries and gave his name, then asked if they had a telephone number for Charlie in Colombo. He recalled Charlie mentioning that he always had to ensure he could be contacted by his base if they needed him to return early from leave.

  He waited, listening to the muffled clack of typewriters, while the secretary looked it up.

  ‘We only have an address, I’m afraid,’ she said when she came back on the line. De Silva wrote it down and thanked her then went to the telegraph office. When he had composed his message, he gave the small hotel in Colombo where he usually stayed as the return address, paid the fee, and started out again for Colombo.

  Chapter 16

  The sun was setting over the ocean by the time he arrived, turning water and sky to startling shades of pink and purple. A cool, salty breeze blew. He decided that once he had taken a room at the hotel and deposited his bag, he would go down to Galle Face Green for a walk by the water and something to eat.

  There was a message at the hotel reception from Charlie Frobisher; he took it up to his room to read it. Charlie suggested de Silva meet him outside the Galle Face Hotel at ten o’clock the next morning and promised to speak with Ruth’s uncle beforehand.

  It took only a few moments to unpack his bag and he was soon on his way to the green. He had been looking forward to an evening there ever since he left Nuala. Not only was the view beautiful, he knew there were also numerous stalls selling tasty food. His mouth watered at the prospect of one of the specialities that he particularly enjoyed – isso wade, prawn-topped lentil patties served with chopped chillies and onions. Just the smell of them made you think of the sea.

  He bought a paper bagful and found a place to sit where he could listen to the ebb and flow of the waves whilst he ate. All along the grassy promenade, graceful coconut palms swayed in the wind like the spinnakers of sailing boats. People taking their evening strolls passed him without a glance. There were noisy groups of families and friends, young lovers too wrapped up in each other to pay much attention to the view, and older couples talking quietly or walking in companionable silence as he and Jane would have been doing. All of a sudden, he felt lonely. Colombo had been his childhood home and the place where he had spent his early career, but it was very different to Nuala. There, it was never long before you saw someone you knew. He belonged there now. In Colombo, one might go for days without seeing a familiar face.