The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Read online

  ‘The man you say was Ralph Wynne-Talbot?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Claybourne bleakly. ‘I wanted to call out to him, but when I tried to speak or move, the pain was too much. It was then I saw another man coming towards us. He was on his hands and knees, inching forward with great care. It was Johnny.’

  He gave a harsh laugh. ‘If I’d been able to attract his attention, I doubt I’d be here today telling you this. It’s ironic that the pain I was in saved me. He got to Ralph and stopped, but he didn’t speak. I saw one of Ralph’s hands lift a little and he made a low, guttural, moaning sound.’

  He swallowed hard. De Silva watched the ash from the cigarette drop unheeded onto Claybourne’s khaki trousers. ‘What made me do it, I can’t say, but I lowered my eyelids so I could only just see out and stayed very still. If Johnny planned to rescue us, it seemed strange he didn’t speak. Wouldn’t he want to know if we were alive before risking his own life? And if we were alive, wouldn’t he want to reassure us? Instead, he ripped a piece from Ralph’s shirt and I heard muffled sounds, as if Ralph was trying to speak. Then Johnny pressed the wad over Ralph’s nose and mouth. The sounds faded. He struggled for a few moments, then he lay still.’

  Claybourne’s voice tailed away. The misery in his eyes stirred de Silva’s pity. Even if the allegation was a massive fiction, it was excruciatingly real to this man. De Silva couldn’t help shuddering himself at the thought of such a cold-blooded execution of a defenceless man.

  ‘Would you like me to call for some tea, sir?’ he asked quietly.

  Claybourne shook his head. ‘There’s no need.’ He moistened his dry lips with his tongue. ‘People talk about being sick with fear and I never knew how that felt until that night. I waited to see what Johnny would do next. Even though the windows had been blown out with the heat, there wasn’t much light, but if he saw me, I knew I was a dead man.’ He gave a bitter smile. ‘Some people might say what happened next was a stroke of luck, and in a way, I suppose it was. There was another creak and the floor moved. Johnny let out a yell and slid backwards. I heard other voices shouting to us, then I was falling, and again I lost consciousness.’

  De Silva cleared his throat. He needed to bring the interview to a close and think this new information through.

  ‘It seems you are lucky to be alive, Mr Claybourne, but you’ve told me you were in terrible pain and it was hard to see what was going on around you. Are you absolutely sure about what you think you saw?’

  ‘I don’t think, Inspector. I know what I saw.’

  De Silva felt a wave of anger roll towards him from the other side of the desk, but he was determined not to back down. Slowly, Claybourne mastered himself. ‘I don’t blame you for being sceptical. It’s an extraordinary story.’ His shoulders slumped and the next words were barely audible. ‘All I ask is that you hear me out.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Mechanically, he rubbed his left leg. ‘I was taken to hospital,’ he went on. ‘Later I learnt that I had suffered a severe concussion, which explained why for a long time I remembered nothing, not even my own name. It was only after my memory started to return that everything that happened that night came back to me. I—’

  A paroxysm of coughing prevented him from continuing. De Silva went to the door and called Nadar to bring some water. Claybourne gulped it gratefully. ‘The smoke,’ he said at last. ‘The doctors told me my lungs would never be the same.’

  No doubt the cigarettes didn’t help, thought de Silva. ‘So where did you go after your recovery?’ he asked.

  ‘When I left hospital, I was sent to convalesce at a place near Perth. Several months passed before I was fit enough to leave, but when I was, I learnt from police records that Ralph was dead. I’d also been recorded missing, presumed dead; a misconception I didn’t chose to correct for a time.’

  ‘What about Randall?’

  ‘I could find no evidence of his death.’

  ‘So, to sum up, you believe you saw him kill Mr Wynne-Talbot that night? Mr Claybourne, you’re making a very serious accusation.’

  ‘I appreciate that.’

  ‘Putting it aside, if the man who claims to be Ralph Wynne-Talbot is Johnny Randall, how did you track him down to Ceylon?’

  ‘When I’d fully recovered, I didn’t want to stay in Australia, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to return to England either. The British government was advertising for engineers to work on the roads here and that seemed to be the answer. I work mostly in the north of the country, but I happened to be down in Colombo for a meeting when the Colombo Times reported the arrival of Ralph Wynne-Talbot and his wife. One look at the photograph on the front page and I realised what Johnny was up to. It wasn’t enough for him to step into Ralph’s shoes with Helen, he wanted everything that was Ralph’s by right.’

  ‘Mr Claybourne, say you’re right about this, and I’m afraid it will take more than your word alone to convince me, what do you believe Helen Wynne-Talbot knew about her husband’s death?’

  ‘She probably wasn’t aware that Johnny’s responsible, although of course she must have colluded with his impersonating Ralph. Helen was always the nervy type and pretty neurotic. I doubt Johnny would entrust her with his biggest secret. Even she might find it too much to stomach,’ he added sourly.

  De Silva’s mind whirred. Was this story the truth or a carefully concocted pack of lies? For the moment, he could think of no more questions that might be useful – except perhaps one.

  ‘Has engineering always been your field, Mr Claybourne?’

  Claybourne’s forehead puckered. ‘Yes, but I’m puzzled as to why you ask.’

  ‘No particular reason, sir. I’m just curious. Do I take it that the man you refer to as Ralph Wynne-Talbot had less experience than you?’

  Claybourne looked faintly irritated. ‘It stands to reason as Ralph was my junior. But don’t misunderstand me, Inspector, he was a very capable engineer and loved his work. It was in his private life that he failed to succeed and that was through no fault of his own.’

  De Silva rose to his feet. ‘I’m afraid I must bring our discussion to a close for the moment, Mr Claybourne. I have other business to attend to. But please feel free to come back if you have anything further to tell me.’

  He saw Claybourne’s knuckles blanch. ‘Do I understand you correctly? Do you have no intention of taking this matter any further? Are you satisfied that an innocent man is dead and the man who committed the crime can look forward to a life of wealth and privilege?’

  De Silva maintained an impassive expression, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘I’ll make some enquiries,’ he said, ignoring the fact that he hadn’t the glimmer of an idea in what direction they might usefully lie.

  ‘Ah, enquiries.’

  ‘Yes. Is there somewhere I can reach you if I need to speak to you about the results?’

  Claybourne got to his feet. ‘Oh, I’ll find you, Inspector. Rest assured of that.’

  Chapter 24

  The door closed and de Silva inhaled deeply then exhaled in a long, slow sigh. This was a development he could well have done without, but instinct told him he would be wrong to dismiss it out of hand. He remembered his motto: no stone unturned.

  He looked at his watch. He knew Jane wasn’t at home for lunch, so he’d planned to ask Prasanna or Nadar to fetch him some food from one of the stalls in the bazaar, but now he changed his mind. A drive in the Morris always helped to clear his head; he’d go down to the lake for an hour. There were always plenty of food vendors there and after the long meeting he was hungry.

  The calm waters of the town’s large lake sparkled in the sunshine. It was a fine asset to Nuala and one the inhabitants didn’t need to thank the British for. Like the majority of Ceylon’s numerous lakes, it had been constructed in the time of the kings to conserve the precious water that reached the island twice a year in the form of the monsoons.

  He parked the Morris at the edge of the grassy shore and pulled
up the hood. There were several stalls nearby doing brisk business as well as vendors weaving among the groups of people who had, like himself, decided to spend their lunchtime by the lake. He purchased a round of naan bread, some dahl and a vegetable curry and found somewhere to sit.

  Although he always teased Jane about her British addiction to travelling rugs, it might have been good to have one today. In spite of the recent rain, the ground was dry and dusty.

  He took off his jacket and sat down. Breaking the naan into pieces, he used it to scoop the dahl and curry into his mouth. As he ate, he went over the conversation with Claybourne. Now that the man was no longer in front of him, his doubts increased, but what if the story was true? The implications were tremendous. He would have a murder case on his hands that threatened to shake British society in Ceylon and abroad.

  His stomach gave a lurch. There was also the matter of Helen Wynne-Talbot. If there was murder involved, had she been an accomplice? Had her guilt become too much for her? Did it explain why she jumped? He would have to watch his step. It was all too easy to imagine how outraged Archie Clutterbuck would be if he made allegations that proved to be untrue, to say nothing of William Petrie…

  A crow landed next to him, cocking its head and fixing its beady eyes on the remains of his lunch. De Silva wiped up the last of the curry and dahl but kept back a piece of naan before signalling to the vendor who waited nearby to take back the bowls. He stood up and stretched, then crumbled the remains of the naan and threw it for the crow. By the time he reached the Morris, a small flock had descended and were squabbling over the crumbs. Like the British would be over his carcass if he got this one wrong.

  On his return to the station, he found the public room deserted. He picked up the bell on the counter and rang it briskly. A moment later, Constable Nadar appeared from the back looking flustered.

  ‘Forgive me, sir, I wasn’t gone for long.’

  ‘I should hope not. Where’s Prasanna?’

  ‘In the backyard, sir.’

  ‘What’s he doing there?’

  Nadar shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘I’m not sure I should say, sir.’

  De Silva’s forehead puckered. ‘You make it sound very serious, Constable.’

  ‘It is, sir,’ said Nadar unhappily, ‘but I do not have any business telling you. Prasanna will be doing that himself.’

  Mystified, de Silva walked down the short corridor that led to the backyard. As he drew near, a monotonous thumping noise reached him, coming at regular intervals, as if someone was hammering a piece of wood.

  In the sunny yard, Prasanna was throwing a cricket ball hard against one of the walls then catching it on the rebound and hurling it again. De Silva watched him for a few throws before loudly clearing his throat. The ball fell to the ground and rolled away.

  Prasanna’s expression combined dejection and defiance; de Silva felt a prickle of disquiet. What had the young man been up to? He didn’t speak, so de Silva was forced to break the silence.

  ‘Out with it then, Sergeant. If you’ve made a mistake, I expect we can fix it.’

  Prasanna shook his head. ‘It’s nothing like that, sir,’ he mumbled, staring at the ground.

  De Silva hesitated. If it was nothing to do with Prasanna’s work, questions might be overly intrusive.

  The sergeant looked up. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said awkwardly. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be getting back to work.’

  ‘Very well.’

  Puzzled, de Silva watched him go. Whatever it was, Prasanna clearly didn’t want to talk about it and it was no use relying on Nadar to enlighten him. He sighed. He’d come to Nuala hoping for a quiet life; two mysteries in one day didn’t sit well with that. He didn’t relish the prospect of double trouble.

  **

  ‘You’re very preoccupied, Shanti,’ said Jane as they ate dinner that evening. On his drive home, he had resolved not to mention Claybourne to her. She might worry the man was a dangerous crank. Prasanna was another matter. He knew she had a soft spot for the likeable young sergeant.

  ‘I’m sure it’s true that it’s nothing to do with his work,’ she said when he told her what had happened that afternoon. ‘He’s a very decent young man. If something had gone wrong, I have no doubt he would own up. No, I’m convinced it’s to do with this girl, Kuveni.’

  De Silva rubbed his chin. ‘I suppose I should have thought of that. He would be upset if he’d argued with his mother over her. Mrs Prasanna may be bossy, but I know he’s very fond of her and takes his filial duties seriously.’

  ‘Well, if we’re to help in some way, we need him to talk to us.’

  De Silva pushed the remains of his dinner to the side of his plate, put down his knife and fork and nodded uncertainly.

  Jane chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, dear. I’m not suggesting it has to be you.’

  He brightened. ‘You mean you’ll speak to him? Why that’s an excellent idea. You’ll do a far better job of it than I ever could. Are you at home tomorrow?’

  ‘I can be. There’s plenty to be getting on with. I’ve promised Florence to make some things for the Bring and Buy stall at the fête. I thought it might be cancelled after poor Mrs Wynne-Talbot’s death, but Florence says Lady Caroline was adamant that life must go on as usual in Nuala, even though she’s made her excuses and won’t attend. Well, no one would expect her to after what’s happened. I’m sure the last thing she wants is anyone fussing over her. Florence says the family intend to have a very quiet funeral, but Reverend Peters may say a few words in church on Sunday.’

  ‘Then tomorrow I’ll think of an excuse to send Prasanna up here to fetch something for me.’ He grinned. ‘If I know you, you’ll have him coughing up the beans in no time.’

  Chapter 25

  He arrived at the station the following morning to find a still-disconsolate Sergeant Prasanna talking quietly to Constable Nadar. Their conversation ceased abruptly at the sight of de Silva and they chorused a good morning.

  ‘Anything new to report?’

  ‘No, sir.’ With Prasanna in such low spirits, there seemed to be a chance of Nadar becoming the spokesman for the two of them. The sergeant looked as if he hadn’t slept well at all and the top button of his tunic was undone. In the circumstances, de Silva refrained from telling him off.

  ‘I was halfway here when I realised I’d left some important papers at home,’ he said. ‘Prasanna, I’d like you to go and fetch them, please. Mrs de Silva will know where they are. If there’s nothing urgent this morning, you may take your time over it.’

  If Prasanna was surprised by this unusual request, it didn’t disturb his listless expression. He merely nodded and got up from his seat behind the public counter.

  Nadar, however, looked puzzled. ‘What would you like me to do this morning, sir?’ he asked as the door closed behind Prasanna.

  ‘I need to go out for a few hours so you’d better hold the fort, Constable. If anyone asks for me, tell them I’ll be back around lunchtime.’

  Buoyed up by the conviction of a good job done, de Silva emerged into the sunshine and climbed into the Morris. If he returned to the station at lunchtime, Prasanna would probably be back and he knew he could rely on Jane to sort out the problem in the meantime. What he wanted to do was find out where Claybourne was living. It would probably involve a morning, if not longer, of scouting round the hotels but it would be worth it. He disliked being ambushed, and if he let the initiative remain with Claybourne that was very likely to be what happened next.

  **

  After she saw her husband off to work, Jane settled herself on the verandah with her work basket containing the embroidery silks she was using to make evening purses and spectacle cases for the Bring and Buy stall at the fête. As she sewed, she listened for the sound of Sergeant Prasanna’s bicycle crunching over the gravel.

  She didn’t have to wait long; she was putting the finishing touches to a particularly pretty purse embroidered with flowers and be
es on a pale-green background, when one of the servants came to the verandah door. ‘The sergeant from the station is here, memsahib. He is asking if he may speak to you.’

  ‘Of course he may. Will you ask him to come round by the garden?’

  ‘Yes, memsahib.’

  She made a show of looking surprised as Prasanna came up the steps, his cap in his hand. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but Inspector de Silva has sent me to fetch some important papers he left behind this morning. He says you will know where they are.’

  Tutting, Jane put her sewing aside and smiled at him. ‘How good of you to come all this way, Sergeant, and how forgetful my husband is becoming. I hope you aren’t in a hurry?’

  ‘No, ma’am, Inspector de Silva said I do not need to be back urgently.’

  ‘Good, because although I have some idea where the papers are, it may take me a little while to find them. Won’t you sit down and have a cold drink while you wait? You must be very warm after cycling all the way up from town.’

  Prasanna looked doubtful. ‘I don’t want to be in your way, ma’am. I can wait in the kitchen.’

  ‘Nonsense, you won’t be in my way and it’s far too lovely a morning to be indoors. I’ll go and find the papers, and in the meantime, one of the servants will prepare us some iced tea.’

  Inside the bungalow, Jane went to the study. She collected up a few old car magazines, put them in a large envelope and sealed the flap. What a lot of these magazines Shanti had. She’d have to speak to him about sorting them out and getting rid of some of them. But then again, she had a considerable pile of film magazines. Perhaps they should both go through and pick out the ones they would never look at again. They might fetch a few pence on the Bring and Buy stall.