Cold Case in Nuala (The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Book 10) Page 3

  ‘The lady Archie mentioned was called Marina. He said she was the wife of a man called Donald Moncrieff.’

  ‘But presumably, Isobel is some relation.’

  ‘Well, Archie will be here soon. He’s offered to drive me up there, so I expect I’ll find out more.’

  He broke off a piece of his hopper and dipped it into the slightly congealed yolk of one of his eggs. The pancake had cooled, but it was still crisp.

  ‘Would you like some fruit after that?’ asked Jane. He shook his head. ‘I don’t think there’ll be time.’ He looked down at his brocade dressing gown. ‘I’d better go and get ready. I can hardly meet Archie dressed in this.’

  ‘Then I’ll tell Leela she can clear away when we’ve finished our eggs.’

  Breakfast over, de Silva hurriedly donned his uniform. In the hall, Bella got out of her basket and came over to rub herself against his legs. He bent down to stroke her glossy black fur. It was a pity he’d have to disappoint her today. She loved to come with him into the garden, and her playful curiosity as she explored always made him smile. Any rustling and swaying amongst the giant, elephant-eared leaves of his rhubarb patch, or in the dense greenery of the flower borders, usually meant that she was about to emerge from some adventure. His only worry was that one day she might flush out something more dangerous than frogs and toads, but Jane assured him that cats had a strong instinct for self-preservation.

  ‘On your own?’ he asked. ‘Where’s that brother of yours got to? Not up to mischief, I hope.’

  Bella miaowed, and he smiled. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

  There was the sound of a car engine on the drive. He called goodbye to Jane and went to open the front door. Archie was driving himself in the rather elderly Hillman estate that de Silva had occasionally seen him use. He looked a good deal less smart than he had the previous day, in well-worn khaki trousers and jacket with a red and white check flannel shirt.

  ‘Mrs Clutterbuck has the official car taking her to church this morning,’ he said when de Silva went out to join him. ‘This will do a better job anyway. From what I remember of the Moncrieff place, the way up there’s pretty rough and ready.’

  He gestured to the pile of waterproof clothing on the passenger seat. ‘Just toss that lot in the back.’

  De Silva did so, where it joined various items of fishing tackle and a battered hat with olive-green and rust-red fishing flies tucked in the hatband. He was surprised that there was no sign of Darcy. Perhaps Archie had decided it was unwise to bring him in case Caesar was present.

  ‘I think it will just be this medic fellow up there to meet us.’ Archie raised his voice to be heard over the rattle of the Hillman’s engine. ‘He was the one who telephoned me this morning. Perera seems to have delegated responsibility for the affair to him. I expect Perera’s still in his suite at the Crown, sleeping off the effects of celebrating his victory.’

  ‘Is there still no news of Marina Moncrieff?’

  ‘No. This medic fellow thinks she must be away.’

  They soon left the town behind. On either side of the road, the green vista of the tea terraces that cloaked the gently rolling hills sparkled in the morning sun. A few fluffy clouds drifted across the periwinkle-blue sky.

  ‘Splendid day yesterday,’ remarked Archie. ‘Good to keep up traditions. Especially at a time like this.’

  De Silva took it that he meant the war.

  ‘Doubled my money too,’ Archie went on. ‘Just as well, or Mrs Clutterbuck would have had something to say about the folly of gambling.’ He swerved to avoid a pothole and drove on in silence. De Silva knew him well enough to realise that he was thinking carefully about how to frame his next remarks.

  ‘I promised to tell you more about Donald Moncrieff,’ he said eventually. ‘His father, Victor, came out to Ceylon as a young man and bought the tea plantation we’re going to. When Victor died, Donald inherited. He and his wife, Marina, were already married. Good-looking woman. She must be in her thirties by now. If I remember rightly, he’s older than her by about fifteen years.’

  ‘Do I take it that they’ve separated?’

  ‘I’ll come to that.’

  Archie pulled out to pass a bullock cart that had been lumbering along the road in front of them for the past few minutes. ‘By all accounts,’ he resumed when he had completed the manoeuvre, ‘Moncrieff wasn’t much of a success as a tea planter. His real interest lay in racing fast cars.’

  Strange, thought de Silva. He hadn’t noticed the name Moncrieff among the drivers yesterday. If the man was a car enthusiast, wouldn’t it be natural for him to participate in the Nuala rally?

  ‘I expect you’re wondering why he didn’t race yesterday,’ Archie went on. ‘He didn’t enter the previous rally in 1936 either, but he did take part in the 1932 event. Did pretty well as I recall, driving a Bugatti.’

  ‘Is there any particular reason why he missed the rally this year?’

  Archie squinted into the sun, frowning. ‘Fact is, he disappeared shortly after the 1932 rally and no one’s heard of him since.’

  ‘Not even his wife?’

  ‘Not a word. She’s as much in the dark as anyone.’

  ‘So, who has been running the plantation?’

  ‘She has a manager, and from what I hear the place ticks over, although Moncrieff didn’t leave it in good shape.’

  Absorbing the information, de Silva felt a rush of annoyance. He had been in Nuala in 1932, admittedly new to the job, but then as now, the head of the local police. Surely, he should at least have been informed of such an abrupt and mysterious disappearance.

  ‘What inquiries were made about Mr Moncrieff’s disappearance at the time?’ he asked.

  A flush crept up Archie’s neck, and a furrow appeared between his eyebrows. He made a great business of edging out to try to pass another bullock cart, but there was a car coming in the other direction and he fell back. ‘I decided not many were necessary,’ he said at last. ‘Moncrieff’s other interest, aside from cars, was in the ladies – if you take my meaning. Apparently, he wasn’t averse to a bit of dalliance.’

  ‘Do you think his wife was aware of that?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but there was always a fair amount of gossip. Around the time of the 1932 event there were rumours that the latest one was more serious than usual. When Moncrieff disappeared, it stood to reason that they’d absconded together.’

  Stood to reason? On the basis of rumours, was that a deduction that could be made beyond all reasonable doubt? De Silva thought not, but he didn’t comment. He waited for Archie to speak again, but the silence lengthened so eventually he decided to be the one to break it.

  ‘If the plantation wasn’t successful, how did Donald Moncrieff manage to indulge his passion for fast cars?’

  Archie shrugged. ‘I presume there was other family money.’

  ‘Did his wife say anything about that at the time he disappeared?’

  ‘No. She claimed he always kept financial matters close to his chest, but at the rate he spent on cars, and allegedly these lady friends, it must have been considerable. Victor Moncrieff, the father, married again after Donald’s mother died. According to Mrs Clutterbuck, the lady in question lives in some style too.’

  ‘Does she live in Nuala?’

  ‘Yes, in a house on the plantation. Her name’s Isobel. She never married again after Victor died.’

  Archie wound down his window and ran a finger between his neck and the collar of his shirt as if he felt the heat. He speeded up a little.

  ‘You say there were rumours that Donald Moncrieff was seeing a lady with whom it was presumed he later absconded,’ said de Silva. ‘Could you tell me more about these rumours? Was it ever ascertained where they originated?’

  No answer. With the increased noise in the car, de Silva wondered if Archie had heard him. Either that, or he was suspiciously forgetful. He raised his voice and repeated the question.

  ‘I heard you the first time
, de Silva,’ his boss said testily. ‘I forget the exact circumstances. I believe there were people who backed up the story. Eight years is a long time.’

  There was another pause. ‘I may have kept my notes,’ he added grudgingly. ‘I’ll see what I can look out. I do recall Moncrieff’s stepmother, Isobel, telling me that she’d given up all hope of talking sense into him. She’d tried on many occasions, but he refused to mend his ways. She was convinced he’d run off with someone, and her attitude was one of good riddance. The wife was in no hurry to find him either. She didn’t have much to say, but I gathered from Isobel that in addition to being unfaithful, he bullied her, and she was better off without him. In fact, he had a talent for getting up other people’s noses, and very publicly too. I remember an incident at a formal dinner my wife and I gave after the 1932 rally that involved Moncrieff and yesterday’s winner, Perera, who by the way seems a thoroughly decent chap. He said something complimentary about Moncrieff’s Bugatti and, half joking, made him an offer for it. Instead of answering in kind, Moncrieff was churlish to the point of being insulting. Probably because Perera is a native Ceylonese. I could see Perera was extremely annoyed.’

  Once more, Archie eased his collar with a finger then cast de Silva a sideways glance. ‘Going back to the family, why wash the dirty linen in public and cause more distress, eh?’

  And why not keep your new chief of police’s nose out of the matter into the bargain? Clearly, as head of the British community, Archie had chosen to avoid a formal missing person investigation that might have caused a scandal and embarrassed the British.

  ‘I’m sure no one would want to cause unnecessary distress, sir, but all the same, I’d be glad if you would look out your notes.’

  Archie scowled. ‘Are you jumping to conclusions, de Silva? Just because some remains have been found at the plantation, it doesn’t prove a mistake was made in Moncrieff’s case. It could be anyone. This medic chap may even have got the wrong end of the stick. It might turn out these are the bones of some animal one of the servants butchered for their own use then buried.’

  From what he’d heard so far, reflected de Silva, that seemed unlikely, but he restrained himself from saying so. Annoyed as he was, he decided it was best not to be openly critical. Archie usually responded better to suggestions, especially if they were framed in a way that allowed him to think the ideas were his own.

  ‘I merely suggest that we don’t rule out anything at present, sir.’

  ‘Damn and blast!’

  The car rounded a bend and narrowly avoided an old truck that had overturned in the middle of the road. Archie slammed on the brakes and the Hillman jolted to a stop. Most of the truck’s load, including numerous wooden crates, was scattered in their path. Some of the crates had broken open disgorging their cargo of chickens. In a flurry of dust and squawking, the creatures were frantically running in all directions. With little success, two men, presumably the truck driver and his companion, were trying to round them up.

  ‘You’d better get out and take charge, de Silva,’ said Archie. ‘Or we’ll be here all day.’

  As he climbed out of the car and went to join the fray, de Silva guessed that his boss was glad of the distraction.

  The Kandy road was a busy one, even on a Sunday, and soon several other trucks and carts had joined in the traffic jam. De Silva organised their drivers into a more effective chicken capturing party, and twenty minutes later the fowls had been deprived of their freedom once more and replaced in their crates where they poked their beady-eyed heads through the crooked wooden bars, clucking in incensed tones.

  After the rest of the truck’s cargo had been reloaded and roped down more securely than it had originally been, he went back to the Hillman and climbed in. Archie made to set off, but with a jerk, the Hillman stalled. De Silva heard another muttered expletive as his boss turned the engine on again, this time getting into first gear without mishap. They drove on for a few minutes before he ventured his next question.

  ‘Were statements taken from the Moncrieffs’ servants at the time of the disappearance?’

  Archie growled something incomprehensible.

  ‘They may have seen Donald Moncrieff with a lady,’ de Silva persisted. ‘They might even have overheard them making plans.’ Sadly, it was not uncommon for certain types of Britisher to view their Ceylonese staff as no more sentient than the furniture in their comfortable colonial homes.

  ‘Look, de Silva.’ Archie cleared his throat. ‘You may as well come out and say what you’re obviously thinking. In hindsight, I accept it might have been advisable to be more thorough, but at the time I did what I thought was right.’

  ‘I appreciate that, sir. And more searching inquiries might not have produced a different result, but I think we need to be aware that Mr Moncrieff may not have left Nuala after all. With or without a companion.’

  Archie grunted. ‘If you think it’s necessary, we’ll have to look at reopening the matter. The Moncrieffs never took much part in Nuala society,’ he continued after another pause. ‘I expect most people forgot about the whole business, if they’d even been aware of it in the first place. I presume that these days Marina Moncrieff spends her time at the plantation. Mrs Clutterbuck tells me that she never comes across her at social events. These days the stepmother keeps to herself too.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘I do remember that Isobel Moncrieff is a formidable lady. Before she went into her self-imposed retreat, she had a reputation for not suffering fools gladly. This morning my wife reminded me of an occasion at a garden party at the Residence where a junior member of my staff had the bad luck to spill a drink and splash her dress. She skewered him with such an arctic look that the poor fellow was a gibbering wreck for the rest of the afternoon.’

  De Silva didn’t comment. It still rankled that he had been passed over. He wondered if the same thing would happen today if something came up that Archie would prefer to keep quiet. He hoped not, and that his eight years in Nuala would prove that he knew how to handle sensitive situations with discretion. He glanced at Archie and was surprised to see that the expression on his face might reasonably be described as apologetic.

  ‘I know, I know. With hindsight, the matter could have been better handled.’

  It was the nearest de Silva reckoned Archie would get to an apology, and it clearly wasn’t easy for him.

  ‘Very few people can look back and think that there’s nothing in their lives they would have done differently,’ de Silva said, slightly mollified.

  ‘Thank you. I’m loath to open a can of worms, but if it seems unavoidable, naturally I’ll support you.’

  ‘That’s good of you, sir.’

  Archie frowned. ‘But I’ll want some pretty persuasive evidence that it’s the case,’ he added.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’m not keen to dredge up things that are best forgotten.’

  He slowed the car and turned onto a narrow track. ‘Almost there. Hopefully, this will turn out to be a storm in a teacup and we can be on our way back to town in no time. I don’t know about you, de Silva, but this wasn’t the way I intended to spend my Sunday.’

  **

  They drove up to the front door of a house that didn’t quite match the Residence in size but was nonetheless a large one. It was for the most part built in the Portuguese style. De Silva noticed that the paint on the window frames had worn in many places, revealing dry, cracked wood underneath. The whitewashed walls would have benefited from a coat of paint and there were several places on the roof where tiles had slipped or broken. From what he could see of the garden, it looked as if no one took much interest in it.

  A car was already on the drive. Its driver got out and came over to greet them. ‘Good morning.’ He held out a hand to shake Archie’s. ‘I take it you’re Mr Clutterbuck.’

  ‘Yes, and this is Inspector de Silva, our local chief of police.’

  The man gave de Silva a nod. ‘I’m Doctor Michael Rudd. Johnny
Perera asked me to deal with this nasty business. He was extremely shocked by what we found.’

  De Silva wondered whether Rudd really believed that it was shock that made Perera want to stay away. He doubted that a man like him, who presumably had the nerves of steel needed to drive in the Nuala rally, would be overwhelmed by the discovery of some old bones. More likely he was just accustomed to having someone else to do anything he found uncongenial or inconvenient. A comfortable bed and an excellent breakfast at the Crown were probably far more appealing than an excursion back to the plantation. The next minute, however, he reprimanded himself for the ungenerous thought. Being a racing driver didn’t inevitably render a man insensitive. In view of the risks he ran, Perera might have a horror of being reminded of death.

  Archie’s voice intruded on his thoughts. ‘Well, I suppose we’d better get on with what we came here for. Will you show the way, Rudd?’

  They set off along a path that took them around the left-hand side of the building. It led to a courtyard where weeds sprouted from the cracks between the stone flags. There were garages on three sides of it. The doors of one were open. At first, after the brightness of the sunshine outside, de Silva found it hard to see what it contained, but when his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he noticed that there was an inspection pit at one end, and a variety of automobile spare parts were shelved around the walls.

  ‘Did Mr Perera have a particular reason for wanting to come up here last night?’ he asked. ‘Was he looking for something?’

  Rudd paused and turned to him. ‘Nothing specific, but I think he hoped that at least one of Donald Moncrieff’s racing cars might still be here; it’s well known that he amassed a good collection, in particular a Bugatti. And as I told Mr Clutterbuck, Johnny also wanted to revisit the place for old times’ sake.’

  ‘How long has it been since he lived here?’

  Rudd thought for a moment before answering. ‘It must be around twenty years since his father sold the place. Johnny told me he was in his mid-teens.’ De Silva noted the absence of any explanation of how Perera had got into the garage.