Cold Case in Nuala (The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Book 10) Page 5

‘Weeks old,’ he said. ‘Things look to be slack around here. Anything new to report?’

  ‘No, except for the fact the bones are up here now. When we get back to town, I’ll speak with the undertakers about collecting them, but before we leave, I think we ought to call the staff together. When Muttu returns from finding somewhere safe for the bones, I’ll tell him to organise it.’

  Archie stood up and went to one of the tall windows. De Silva joined him. The morning sun shone in, casting a pool of buttery light on the faded Indian rug that covered part of the parquet floor. Archie appeared to be scrutinising the view of the neglected garden with considerable intensity.

  ‘A pity the place hasn’t been better cared for,’ he remarked. ‘Marina Moncrieff would probably have done better to cut her losses and move on. But perhaps the property’s still in Moncrieff’s name. I can see that would be problematic.’

  De Silva dredged his memory for the legal principle he had learnt for the law paper in his police examinations. ‘If a person has not been heard of for seven years, I believe that a ruling may be obtained from the courts that they have died.’

  ‘Presumption of death,’ said Archie nodding. ‘But I think there’s a bit more to it than that. A judge would need to be satisfied that proper inquiries and attempts to find the person had been made. We’ve no information as to whether that’s been done.’

  He continued to look out at the garden. A flock of parrots had just descended on a climbing passion fruit plant that smothered a dilapidated arbour at the far side of the unkempt patch of lawn. With powerful beaks, they began to strip the fruit.

  There was the sound of footsteps on the parquet floor. De Silva turned and saw that a tall, lean European man had joined them. Tanned, with fair hair and blue eyes, he exuded the air of someone who lived the outdoor life.

  ‘Good morning, gentlemen. Can I help you?’

  Archie surveyed him. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Flint. Peter Flint. I run the plantation for Marina Moncrieff.’

  ‘Then perhaps you can tell us where she’s got to. Her staff seem to have no idea.’

  Flint frowned. ‘That’s strange. She doesn’t usually go far apart from the occasional shopping trip to Hatton, but that’s not likely as it’s a Sunday. She doesn’t keep up with many friends these days, but if she has gone visiting, I think she would have told one of the servants.’

  ‘Do you usually come up here on a Sunday morning, Mr Flint?’ asked de Silva.

  ‘Not often, but Marina contacted me to say she was having trouble with her car. It wouldn’t start and could I help. I was busy yesterday afternoon, so I said I’d look in this morning if there was still a problem. I was pretty sure it was just that she’d flooded the engine. She has a habit of over-choking it. This morning I didn’t hear from her, so I assumed the problem had sorted itself out, but I decided to come up anyway. She sounded very low yesterday. I’m afraid that she suffers from bouts of depression.’

  Flint broke off and his frown deepened. ‘Look, you ask a lot of questions, but you haven’t told me who you are, or more to the point, what you’re doing here.’

  Archie’s eyes glinted; he drew himself up to his full height. ‘Archibald Clutterbuck, Assistant Government Agent for the Nuala district.’

  Peter Flint had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. ‘My apologies, I didn’t recognise you.’

  ‘And this is my Chief of Police, Inspector de Silva.’

  Flint nodded to de Silva and murmured an acknowledgment.

  ‘We’re here to investigate an incident that was reported early this morning,’ Archie went on. ‘Last night, the skeleton of a man was discovered buried on this property.’

  ‘What? Where and by whom?’

  ‘You explain, de Silva.’

  Flint listened as de Silva explained about the visit of Perera and his friends and the circumstances that led to the discovery of the bones. For the moment, he didn’t voice his suspicion that they belonged to Donald Moncrieff. As he talked, he studied Flint’s expression but was unable to detect anything except concern and surprise. On the face of it, the whole business came as news to the manager. ‘We came up here hoping to find Mrs Moncrieff,’ he concluded. ‘She ought to be informed. She may even be able to throw some light on the affair.’

  ‘Now steady on,’ Flint said warily. ‘Marina wouldn’t hide something like this. You say the grave is in the area behind the garages. To the best of my knowledge, no one ever goes there, and it’s not been used for anything in my time. Anyone looking for a place to bury an inconvenient body might have trespassed on the property and found the spot.’

  ‘Unlikely,’ said Archie. ‘Given this plantation’s isolation, I doubt anyone would do that unless they already knew it existed.’

  ‘Are you suggesting some of the servants are involved?’ asked Flint. ‘Do you want to question them?’

  ‘Yes. Muttu, who met us when we arrived, is finding a safe place for the bones but he should be back here soon,’ said de Silva. ‘We’ll speak to him about it then.’

  ‘I don’t have much to do with the household staff, but I can make a similar arrangement with the plantation workers if you think it’s necessary.’

  ‘Thank you. We’ll deal with them when we’ve spoken to the household staff. I can’t stress too strongly that none of them are to let it be known that they’ve been questioned as that might well prejudice my inquiries.’

  ‘Understood.’ Flint hesitated. ‘Have you any idea who the dead man was?’

  ‘That’s yet to be established. There is something that may help us with that, however. A doctor at the scene observed that, prior to death, the man’s left tibia had been broken in two places.’

  Once again, de Silva studied Peter Flint’s expression carefully. ‘I assume you’re aware of Donald Moncrieff’s racing career. Do you have any idea whether he suffered an injury to his left leg at any time?’

  ‘I don’t recall it being mentioned. I came here in ’28 when his father, Victor, was in failing health and unable to cope with the day-to-day running of the business. When he died two years later, Donald inherited, but I never knew him well. He didn’t spend a lot of time here. As you may know, he left Nuala years ago and hasn’t been heard from since.’

  ‘How would you describe his relationship with his wife, Marina?’

  ‘I didn’t often see them together, but from what I observed and heard from other people, it wasn’t a happy one. Isobel, his stepmother, often said she believed that Marina was far better off without him. For herself, Isobel certainly didn’t seem to regret his disappearance. She found him difficult to deal with and irresponsible where the plantation and the rest of his inheritance from his father were concerned.’

  ‘And how did you find him to work for?’

  Flint shrugged. ‘Not easy, I’m afraid. I frequently had the feeling he only disagreed with my ideas for the business for the sake of proving he was boss. His passion for racing didn’t help. I tried to persuade him that taking out so much of the profit was harmful to the business, but he wasn’t having any of it, and the place soon went downhill. It’s taking a long time to get it back to where it should be.’

  ‘Yet you stayed.’

  Flint grimaced. ‘I was looking around for another job, but then he left. Isobel and Marina needed help and wanted me to stay on. As you see, I’m still here.’ He shrugged. ‘One gets into a rut and sometimes it’s easier to remain in it.’

  Muttu came into the room. He didn’t seem surprised to see Peter Flint who nodded at him. ‘I hear we have an unpleasant situation.’

  ‘Yes, sahib.’ He turned to de Silva. ‘The bones are safe as you ordered, sahib. What shall I do now?’

  ‘I want you to collect the indoor and garden servants together.’

  Muttu looked uncertain.

  ‘On the forecourt will do.’

  **

  Nineteen staff including the three diggers that de Silva and Archie had already encountered awaited th
em on the gravel in front of the house. The low buzz of talk hushed as they emerged. De Silva presumed that the three diggers had already imparted news of the finds.

  ‘Can you all hear me?’ he began in a loud voice.

  There was a murmur of assent.

  ‘I want to know from each of you when you last saw the memsahib.’

  He pointed to the man closest to him on the left. One by one, each of the servants answered the same question. As Muttu had already said, the last person to see Marina Moncrieff had been her maid and that had been early in the evening.

  He went on to his next question. ‘I expect you know by now that human bones have been found buried in the area behind the garages. We’re not sure yet whose body this is, but if any of you know anything about it, anything at all, you must tell us. Do you understand?’

  Again there was a murmur of assent, but no one stepped forward.

  ‘Did any of you work here in the time of sahib Moncrieff?’

  Only six hands went up.

  ‘Then think back eight years to when he left the plantation.’

  Studying the men who had raised their hands, de Silva estimated that at least two of them would have been in their teens then, but perhaps the older ones would have taken an interest in the goings-on of the Britishers and remembered something useful. ‘What do you remember about that time? Was there anything that made you think the sahib might leave? Or did you have any reason to think someone wanted to harm him?’

  He waited, surveying faces whose expressions ranged from blank to suspicious. He feared this was going to get him nowhere, but he had to try. There was a chance one of these people had overheard a conversation or seen something that might shed light on what really happened all those years ago.

  ‘You need not say anything now,’ he said after a minute had passed. ‘If you have something to tell me, you may do so in private. Speak to Muttu and he will arrange it. One last thing: there is to be no talk about this meeting to anyone who was not here and if there is, the culprit will be in serious trouble.’

  ‘Shall I dismiss them, sahib?’ asked Muttu.

  De Silva glanced at Archie. ‘May as well,’ Archie grunted. ‘No help there.’ As the servants dispersed, he turned to Muttu. ‘Any sign of the lady’s car yet?’

  ‘No, sahib. Do you need me for something else, sahib?’

  Archie shook his head. ‘I think that will do for the moment, don’t you agree, de Silva?’

  ‘Do you still want to speak to the plantation staff?’ asked Flint as Muttu disappeared into the house.

  ‘No harm I suppose,’ said Archie. ‘But we’ll keep it short, eh, de Silva?’

  ‘The main drying shed should be the best place,’ said Flint. ‘There’s no work going on there today. It’s too far to walk, so if you gentlemen would like to come in your car, I’ll lead the way.’

  **

  The air in the main drying shed was perfumed with the aroma of tea. In the half-light filtering through the small windows, de Silva saw a cavernous, low-roofed space that contained five rows of long metal troughs. Whatever Flint said about Donald Moncrieff’s bad management, the operation didn’t look too shabby now, presumably thanks to Flint.

  ‘If you’ll wait here,’ he said, ‘I’ll fetch the workers.’

  After Flint left them, Archie ambled between the rows of troughs, apparently deep in thought. De Silva left him alone for a while then went to join him.

  ‘It occurs to me, sir, that it would be strange if Donald Moncrieff didn’t have some of his money in a Ceylon bank. What happened to it may give us a lead. Would you make enquiries? I think a request for information might come better from you than from me.’

  Archie rubbed his chin. ‘Hmm, good point. I suppose I could make a few calls and see what I can find out.’ He looked a little sheepish. ‘Unfortunately, quite a few years have passed.’

  ‘There’s still a chance that we might be able to establish where the money ended up,’ said de Silva tactfully.

  Archie raised an eyebrow. ‘You mean if Moncrieff’s not spending it, who is?’

  ‘Exactly, sir.’

  Peter Flint reappeared, bringing a group of women and a smaller one of men with him. It was a common division of labour on tea estates. With their nimbler fingers, the women did the more labour-intensive plucking of the leaves and sorting of the tips that were used to make tea, while men did the packing and lifting. The workers looked nervous, and he did his best to reassure them that they were in no trouble. It didn’t take long, however, to establish that there was even less chance of enlightenment here than there had been with the domestic staff.

  ‘Much obliged for your help, Flint,’ said Archie as the workers filed out of the shed.

  ‘I’m afraid it didn’t amount to much.’

  ‘Can’t be helped. So, the question of Marina Moncrieff’s whereabouts is still up in the air.’

  ‘I’m sure there’ll be an innocent explanation for where she’s gone,’ Flint said firmly. ‘I can’t believe she had anything to do with this business.’

  ‘All the same, when she returns, I want you to contact me or Inspector de Silva immediately.’

  They left Flint at the plantation and returned to the house.

  ‘You’d better circulate a description of Marina Moncrieff,’ said Archie on the way. ‘Hopefully, there’ll be a suitable photograph at the house that you can use. If she’s travelling alone, that would be quite unusual for a British lady and someone may spot her.’

  ‘I’ll do that, sir, and I’d like to have a look around the place generally. There may be something that provides a clue as to her whereabouts.’

  When they rang the bell, Muttu answered the door and let them in. He followed them from room to room as they opened drawers and cupboards. They found nothing in the way of business correspondence or other paperwork; everything appertaining to the running of the plantation must be kept elsewhere. From what he saw, de Silva got the impression that either Marina Moncrieff lived very quietly, or she never kept anything. There were no private papers or letters, only a few receipted bills for supplies of household essentials and for occasional purchases of clothes and shoes from the ladies’ shops in Hatton. Entries in a notebook recorded the names of the inside and outside staff and the dates and amounts of the wages they were paid.

  The furniture in the main rooms looked to be of good quality, but there were very few ornaments or pictures to give the place a personal touch and an air of comfort. The books on the shelves were a random collection of historical novels, mysteries, and romances. De Silva ran his finger along the tops of the volumes, and it came away with a light coating of dust. If Marina Moncrieff had been reading the previous evening, it didn’t appear to be a regular activity. By all accounts, she didn’t join in with the local social activities either. From the unloved look of the house and its grounds, she wasn’t interested in gardening, wasn’t particularly house-proud and left the running of the plantation to Peter Flint. De Silva wondered what she did do to pass the time.

  ‘Depressing place,’ muttered Archie. ‘I suppose when Moncrieff left, she lost heart.’

  Or had already lost it, thought de Silva. This wasn’t the house of a happily married couple.

  The task of examining the bedroom accommodation didn’t take long. Only the bedroom that Marina Moncrieff occupied had much in it.

  ‘Dashed uncomfortable going through a lady’s things,’ Archie soon said. ‘You’d better finish off, de Silva. I’ll see you back in the drawing room.’

  De Silva checked the last of the drawers and then the cupboards. There was nothing that he would not have expected to find. Muttu watched from the doorway as he picked up a silver-framed photograph from the dressing table. It showed a couple, presumably Donald and Marina Moncrieff standing by a silver Bugatti. Both were casually dressed and wore dark glasses. His arm was around her shoulders and they were smiling. At least there had been some happy moments. The dark glasses made the photograph less than i
deal for identification purposes, but he hadn’t seen a better one.

  ‘I need to take this,’ he said to Muttu. The servant nodded unwillingly.

  They returned to the drawing room where Archie was waiting. ‘Ah, good man, you found a photograph.’ Archie studied it. ‘Not the clearest likeness but it will have to do. We may as well be getting along.’ He turned to Muttu. ‘Do you have a telephone here?’

  Muttu nodded.

  ‘If your mistress returns, you’re to call the police station, and if that’s closed the Residence, straight away. Do you understand?’

  ‘I understand, sahib. But what will I tell the memsahib?’

  ‘Nothing. After you’ve done that, the inspector and I will deal with the rest.’

  Chapter 4

  Archie drove off after dropping him home to Sunnybank and de Silva let himself into the bungalow. A black furry form emerged from the shadows of the cool hallway to greet him. He bent down to pick her up. ‘Hello, Bella. Are you on your own?’

  She replied with a plaintive miaow. Still carrying her, he strolled into the drawing room. It was empty and there was no sign of Jane on the verandah either, although Billy was curled up asleep on her chair. He went back into the hall and called out. A moment later one of the servants appeared.

  ‘Where is the memsahib?’ de Silva asked.

  ‘She has gone to have lunch with Doctor Hebden and Mrs Hebden, sahib. She was not sure when you would be back, but I can bring food for you if you wish.’

  ‘Thank you, I’ve had no lunch and I’m ravenous. Call me when it’s ready. I’ll be on the verandah.’

  Half an hour later, he was just finishing his solitary meal when the telephone rang. Pushing away his plate, he put his crumpled napkin on the table, got up and went into the hall.

  ‘Have you been home for long?’ asked Jane from the other end of the line.

  ‘An hour or so. I hear you’ve been having lunch with the Hebdens.’

  ‘Yes, it was a last-minute invitation. Emerald telephoned to ask if I was going to church. She wasn’t feeling up to it herself but had a book she wanted returning to the vicar’s wife. As I had already decided not to go, I offered to take it another time, but when I told her you’d gone out and I wasn’t sure when you’d be back, she invited me over for lunch. David very kindly came to fetch me.’