Cold Case in Nuala (The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Book 10) Page 8

  ‘In my early years in racing, Moncrieff was a regular fixture on the circuit, both here and in India,’ he said when de Silva asked the latter question. ‘Since the 1932 rally though, I’ve not come across either of the Moncrieffs anywhere. He was an abrasive fellow, not popular with other competitors, so he wasn’t missed. It was put about that he was running through money at a great rate. I think that if people thought about him at all, it was to assume that he’d run out of funds. There was even talk that he’d gone abroad to join a team as a driver.’

  ‘In your opinion, would that be likely?’

  Perera shrugged. ‘It’s possible, although it would involve a loss of face. The sport’s not exclusively the preserve of owners. There are some who like to own cars but prefer someone else to take the risks.’ He smiled. ‘My own father was eventually persuaded to accept his limitations, although he’s never lost his taste for the excitement, even if it has to be obtained vicariously.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. That’s very helpful.’ De Silva eyed the German Shepherd whose handler looked to be once again on the point of losing the battle. ‘I wish you a safe journey,’ he said quickly and returned to the Morris to continue on his way.

  So, he thought to himself, if Perera had, contrary to what he said, come across either Moncrieff or Marina in the last eight years, there would need to be strong evidence to prove it.

  **

  It was almost three o’clock. Archie’s siesta time should be over by now. He telephoned the Residence and waited while the servant who answered went to see if the assistant government agent was free to see him.

  Half an hour later, he parked the Morris in a patch of shade on the Residence’s drive. As the doorman let him into the entrance hall Florence Clutterbuck was coming down the stairs, her little household mop of a dog, Angel, tucked under one arm.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ she trilled. ‘It’s time for Angel’s afternoon walk, but I don’t know where the servant who usually takes him has got to. I rang the bell—’ She stopped, and a frosty expression came over her face. ‘Ah, there you are.’

  A servant came hurrying into the hall carrying a small red lead. Florence’s eyes fixed on his uniform tunic. ‘Buttons,’ she said sharply. The man fumbled to do up the top one, apologising hastily.

  De Silva felt sorry for him. It was a very hot afternoon and he had probably been snatching a surreptitious nap.

  Florence sniffed and put Angel down. ‘I trust I won’t need to remind you again.’

  Angel trotted over to the servant and sat at his feet. He bent down and clipped on the lead. As he set off with the little dog trotting at his heels, de Silva was sure he heard him mutter something under his breath. He thought of the protests in India that were often in the news. These days, obedience to the British was not as unquestioning as it had been when he was a young man.

  ‘I won’t keep you,’ said Florence as the Residence’s imposing front door closed behind the pair. ‘I expect you’ve come to see Archibald.’

  It always amused de Silva that Florence persisted in using his boss’s full name. It was rather a mouthful. He nodded and Florence came closer. ‘What an unfortunate business this Moncrieff affair is,’ she said sotto voce. ‘Poor Archibald has been very put out. I do hope it will be handled discreetly.’ She gave de Silva a meaningful look.

  ‘That is my hope too, ma’am.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it.’

  She glanced around, presumably to satisfy herself they were still alone. ‘Between ourselves, when Donald Moncrieff was in Nuala, there were rumours that he was violent towards his wife.’

  ‘Are you aware of the source of these rumours, ma’am?’

  Florence shook her head. ‘You know how people talk, especially in a small town.’

  De Silva knew very well. ‘I understand that Marina Moncrieff wasn’t very sociable, but did anyone try to befriend her?’

  ‘It was difficult. She showed little or no interest in joining our local activities. Her husband’s stepmother was much the same.’ Florence frowned, perhaps remembering the incident of the spilt drink and the chastened official. ‘I’m afraid I gave up after a while. I think most people did the same.’

  So, in addition to whatever she had suffered at her husband’s hands, Marina Moncrieff’s life must have been a lonely one. Perhaps that was often the case where a woman was trying to hide a bad marriage, whether it was out of fear or shame. He wondered to what extent she had been able to confide in Isobel Moncrieff. From his brief meeting with her, he’d received the impression they were friendly but not very close. It was clear that Isobel had no time for her stepson, but she seemed to be a strong character who would not let anyone undermine her. If Marina had been less sure of herself, might she have become desperate enough to choose murder as a way out?

  A servant entered the hall and came over to them. ‘There is a telephone call for you, memsahib. Mrs Peters asks if you have time to speak with her.’

  ‘Ah, the vicar’s wife. I expect it will be about the new rota for the church flowers. I’ll come.’ She bestowed a gracious smile on de Silva. ‘Goodbye, Inspector. I’m glad we had the opportunity for our little chat.’

  **

  Not needing to be shown the way, de Silva headed off in the direction of Archie’s study. As he walked along the familiar corridor lined with hunting prints, he wondered how much Archie had told Florence and how much she had divined from his behaviour. Wives had a way of reading one’s mind.

  He knocked on the study door and heard his boss call out for him to come in. When he did so, Darcy hauled himself up from his place beside Archie’s chair and ambled over to greet him. De Silva rubbed him behind the ears, and after a few moments, the elderly Labrador returned to Archie’s side and flopped down again with a grunt. The room gave off its usual aroma of tobacco and dog and was as untidy as ever. Was Archie going to tell him that he’d been unable to find anything about the Moncrieff case? He was mildly reassured when his boss pointed to a slim file.

  ‘Sit yourself down. All the information’s in there. You can take it away with you if you wish, but I suggest you take a look now in case you have any questions.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  It wasn’t a long read. Archie had located his papers concerning Donald Moncrieff’s disappearance and he had interviewed Isobel Moncrieff’s companion, Rosamund Collins, at the time. The information she had given back then matched what Isobel had told de Silva that morning. Archie didn’t appear to have asked searching questions though, and plenty came to mind. Had Rosamund Collins overheard Donald talking to his lover on more than one occasion? Was she able to give dates and approximate times? What had made her so sure it was a lover? Had she heard him use any endearments that indicated it was the case? Did she catch a name? From his manner, did she have the impression he was wary of being overheard? The notes didn’t answer any of these questions. It also occurred to de Silva that if Donald made the call or calls from his own home, as presumably he did, what was Rosamund Collins doing up there?

  ‘I must have asked that kind of thing at the time,’ said Archie when de Silva, trying to be as tactful as possible, raised some of the points. He frowned. ‘I believe it was only one occasion. And as to why she was there, there was something about returning a book for Isobel Moncrieff.’

  It wasn’t a very compelling explanation. The possibility crossed de Silva’s mind that the companion had jumped to conclusions. Or was there a more sinister reason? Clearly, she hadn’t been a favourite with Isobel, but had she known something of Marina’s plight and felt sorry for her? Did she think that the circumstances in which Donald disappeared were suspicious? In short, with or without Marina’s knowledge, had she lied to protect her? The need to find Rosamund Collins had just increased.

  ‘Did you also speak with Isobel Moncrieff at the time, sir?’

  ‘Naturally, but it was a dashed awkward business. None of us likes scandal attaching to our family name, but she made her distaste abundan
tly clear.’

  De Silva was sure that she had done. It can’t have been hard for a woman like Isobel to make use of Archie’s gentlemanly instincts to put him off. De Silva had observed that, with the possible exception of when they were in private with their closest relations – where he was in no position to vouch for it – the British men he had come across had difficulty dealing with the opposite sex on anything apart from a social level. It was no surprise that Archie had not taken any notes.

  ‘What about Marina Moncrieff?’ The file also contained very little about Archie’s interview with her. Again, the awkwardness of the British male in the face of strong emotions probably played a part in that.

  ‘She was understandably upset. I didn’t like to add to her distress with a lot of questions.’

  The suspicion might turn out to be unfair, but had Marina manipulated Archie?

  De Silva looked back at the file. ‘I see that a gentleman called Colonel McTaggart approached you.’

  Archie reached for the box on his desk, took out a cigarette and lit it. De Silva smelt a whiff of sulphur as he shook out the match. ‘Yes. I was rather surprised when he turned up and said he’d heard Moncrieff was missing. He was particularly keen to know what was being done to find him and to be kept in the picture.’

  ‘Did he give a reason for that?’

  ‘Something about Moncrieff owing him money. He seemed very put out about it. Understandable I suppose, but His Majesty’s government isn’t in the business of collecting private debts. I told him he’d be notified as a matter of courtesy if Moncrieff turned up, but that was all.’

  ‘Did anyone else come forward?’

  ‘Not that I recall.’

  ‘How did Colonel McTaggart hear that Donald Moncrieff had gone missing?’

  From the attitude of Moncrieff’s nearest and not very dearest, de Silva would have been surprised if they had reported his disappearance. Given the remoteness of the plantation, would there be neighbours to wonder why they hadn’t seen him for a while? Perhaps business contacts had queried his absence.

  ‘As I am now, I was then president of the Nuala branch of the Royal Automobile Association,’ said Archie. ‘Moncrieff was a committee member at the time, so when I became aware that he wasn’t attending meetings or answering letters, I told one of my staff to make enquiries, but he drew a blank. Perhaps there was something similar on McTaggart’s part, but I have no clear recollection.’

  He stubbed out his cigarette. ‘But we still don’t have conclusive proof that these remains are Moncrieff’s. Unless something’s happened since yesterday that you’re not telling me.’

  ‘There’s nothing, sir. I spoke with Doctor Hebden, and he doesn’t remember Moncrieff having an accident, but he promised to look through his predecessor’s notes in case there was a record of one before he came to Nuala.’

  ‘Ah yes, Doctor Lucas. Good chap – one of the old school. Always maintained there weren’t many things that fresh air and brisk exercise wouldn’t put right.’

  De Silva could understand how that attitude would appeal to Archie. He hoped Doctor Lucas wasn’t an advocate of cold baths as well.

  ‘Has Hebden come back to you yet?’ asked Archie.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘I assume you asked Isobel Moncrieff if she recalled her stepson having an accident.’

  ‘She told me she wasn’t aware of one.’

  ‘It strikes me Marina Moncrieff would be wise to sell the plantation and move on. If it turns out that these bones aren’t her husband’s, she could find a lawyer to investigate the presumption of death business on her behalf and try to resolve matters that way. She must still be a relatively young woman and a good-looking one as I recall. Even if the place hasn’t done well in the last few years, there’s a lot of land there. I expect it would easily fetch enough for her to set herself up in a smaller place. Maybe move to Kandy or even Colombo. She might marry again, but she certainly won’t find another husband if she carries on mouldering away in the middle of nowhere.’

  ‘At this stage, I don’t think we can rule out the possibility that she was involved, sir, and of course, the law cannot be used to allow a criminal to profit from his or her crime.’

  Archie looked irritable. ‘Naturally.’

  He stood up. ‘Well, if there’s nothing more I can help you with, I think I’ll finish up here and take this fellow for his walk now it’s cooler.’

  Darcy opened his eyes and scrambled to his feet.

  ‘I’d like to speak with Colonel McTaggart, sir. Do you know where he’s to be found?’

  ‘I expect one of the secretaries can give you the address.’

  **

  Back at the Morris, de Silva realised that he’d spent longer than he’d anticipated with Archie. Shadows stretched over the Residence’s manicured lawns and flowerbeds, and the sun was dipping towards the horizon. In the cooling air, a nearby bed of lilies gave off an intense fragrance. A vivid-green flock of parrots swooped down to roost in one of the trees, squabbling as they jostled for position.

  Before going home, he stopped off at the station. Prasanna and Nadar had dealt with the posters and were in the public room, talking with a man who had come to report that his neighbour’s goats had trespassed on his vegetable patch and eaten their way through his crops. The neighbour had already removed the goats but was refusing to repair the fence on the grounds that he had no money to do so. De Silva was pleased to see that his officers, particularly Prasanna, seemed to be doing a good job of taking charge of the situation. They had already promised that the neighbour would receive a visit in the morning and be ordered to do the work. If he had no money, he could find fallen wood in the jungle or sell one of his own goats and buy it. Reasonably mollified, the man left.

  De Silva filled them in on the information he’d received from Archie. ‘When you’ve dealt with these troublesome goats,’ he finished, ‘I want one of you to contact the post office in Ella. It should be possible to telephone there. I want to trace this lady, Rosamund Collins. She was last heard of working for a family called Pelham. Find out where they live and get me the details. If we’re lucky, she’ll still be with them, but if not, they should know the address she went on to.’

  ‘Do you want us to contact them straight away, sir?’ asked Prasanna.

  ‘Just their address will be enough for the moment. After that, if there’s nothing urgent on your desks, you may go home.’

  **

  By the time he reached Sunnybank it was dark. Jane was in the drawing room sorting through a box of oddments. She offered her cheek for him to kiss.

  ‘What are you up to there?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, only picking out a few things to donate to the jumble sale Florence is planning. She’s raising money for one of her good causes.’

  De Silva had to admit that although Florence was bossy, her charitable activities had to be admired.

  ‘I saw her this afternoon when I went up to the Residence to speak to Archie. She collar-held me in the hall as I went in.’

  ‘It’s collared or buttonholed, dear.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘About this Moncrieff business, I suppose.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  Jane held up a skein of pale pink wool. ‘I think there’s enough here to make something small for the jumble sale. A baby’s cardigan perhaps.’ She rolled it into a ball and added it to the wool already in the bag at her feet. ‘There, I think that’s enough wool. I’m sure I can find some books we’re not likely to reread. What did Florence have to say about the case?’

  ‘She wanted me to be aware that Archie’s troubled by it, and it needs to be handled discreetly.’

  Jane snorted. ‘As if you’d do anything else, but then one can’t blame her for being loyal to him.’

  ‘I suppose not.’ He looked around. ‘Where have Billy and Bella got to?’

  ‘They went to the kitchen for their tea. Cook is a little late with it today. I expect they’ll be back
soon.’

  He had to admit to feeling rather put out. Since the cats had arrived in their lives, he had grown accustomed to a welcoming committee. As if on cue, Bella trotted in and weaved herself around his legs, purring. He bent down to pick her up. There were a few tiny flecks of milk on her whiskers, and a faint smell of fish rose to his nostrils. A moment later Billy arrived too.

  ‘So, tell me what else happened today,’ said Jane.

  He described his visit to Isobel Moncrieff’s house and his impression that she had been glad to see the back of her stepson.

  ‘How sad it is when families don’t get on,’ said Jane. ‘But it might have been hard for Donald to accept a new woman in his father’s life. Particularly if he was very fond of his mother. I forget who told me, but I believe she died when he was quite young.’

  ‘If a name comes back to you, let me know. It might be important. I’d like to interview anyone who was close to the family. Although I’d be surprised if there are many of those about,’ he added.

  ‘What did she have to say about Marina’s disappearance?’

  ‘She refused to believe Marina killed Donald. Interestingly, she told me she thought Marina still cared for him despite his infidelity. Apparently, she was training to be a doctor when they met, and she gave it all up to marry him and come out to Ceylon.’

  ‘It sounds very romantic. How sad it ended so badly.’

  ‘Yes, though it’s possible things may have got even more complicated since.’ He had been thinking more about how Perera might be involved in the crime.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Perera took a considerable risk that he would be found by Marina at the plantation on Saturday night. He might have had difficulty explaining to her what he was doing there. On reflection, the business about wanting to revisit his old home and hoping to see at least one of Moncrieff’s collection of cars sounds rather lame to me. Who does that kind of thing in the middle of the night, especially uninvited? But what if Marina wasn’t there in the first place and Perera knew she wouldn’t be? There would be no risk of an awkward encounter with her.’