by Tara Haigh
‘Ah, Miss Kaltenbach,’ he crowed, after entering through a side door that led to a meeting room.
They were off to a good start. Marjory’s lines of communication were shorter than Ella had expected. Compton was already fully briefed.
‘I have been expecting you to visit. Would you like a cup of tea?’ he asked, politely gesturing for her to take a seat. He sat down himself, but Ella preferred to remain standing.
‘Very kind of you to offer, but no thank you. I’m here because I want to talk to you about a man whom your officers arrested today.’
‘I know, I know . . . But shouldn’t we state the facts as they really are?’ His smug grin was perfectly unbearable.
‘Amar,’ she replied.
‘Your soulmate. Or is he merely a lover?’ asked Compton, feigning disinterest. So he knew about that too. That was hardly surprising, for she had been at Mohan’s house when Amar was arrested – though Marjory might also have supplied him with that information in the meantime. At any rate, she no longer needed to make any excuses. Not that she would have, on principle.
‘The former.’ Ella made herself perfectly clear.
‘I wouldn’t proclaim that too loudly. Of course, as a German, you enjoy a very different status. You are a guest here – but you mustn’t overstep the mark. Otherwise you could very easily find yourself accused of being an accomplice.’ Compton smiled self-importantly.
‘But in that case, Amar would need to have committed a crime, don’t you think?’
‘We have conclusive evidence . . . And for that matter, I find myself wondering why it was that you were spotted at the scene of the attack on the prison wagon.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Do you really need to ask?’ Compton’s arrogant manner was repulsive.
‘Half of Johore was there. Everybody who heard the shots, at any rate.’ Ella tried to justify herself.
‘Perhaps . . . But if I can give you one piece of advice, Miss Kaltenbach: it would be better for you if you left the country. My goodwill is not boundless.’ Compton clearly enjoyed threatening her and acting the big man.
‘I hope you aren’t speaking out of wounded pride. That would be unbecoming for a man of your stature,’ Ella retorted. She knew how to deal with puffed-up men like this from her many battles with the demigods in white coats at the hospital. He was no different. ‘I also hope that defendants are given a fair trial in the British colonies. Anything else would be sheer barbarism,’ she continued.
‘But of course. We Brits are known throughout the world for our fairness. It’s in our blood,’ said Compton so cynically that Ella’s revulsion grew even more intense.
‘I thank you for your time.’ She gave up trying to coax information from him about the reasons behind the arrest. It was enough to know that he allegedly had proof. Besides, the battle lines had now been drawn. ‘Good day to you,’ she announced, though she privately wished plague and cholera upon him and damned him to hell. With men like him in charge of the country, it was no wonder that the native population rebelled against the Crown.
‘And to you,’ he replied.
Ella spun on her heels and marched out. She urgently needed to find out what evidence the authorities had against Amar. Until she knew that, there was no point in finding a lawyer to defend him in court.
When you had contacts who were willing to offer their help, it made sense to use them; Ella had learned that much during her time at the hospital. Amar was in jail, and the jail was run by the local police force. Hadn’t Officer Puteri said that she could turn to him for assistance whenever she needed it? He was also a bumiputra – in other words, one of Amar’s compatriots. Although politically speaking, the police were under the authority of the governor, Ella could well imagine that they would prefer to get rid of the British sooner rather than later, much like everyone else in the country seemed to.
The police station was just a short cart ride away from Compton’s palace, and as she expected, Puteri was willing to make time for her.
The small, plainly decorated side room contained only a cabinet, a table and two chairs, but Ella greatly preferred it to the opulence she had just experienced. That was mainly down to the warm smile with which Puteri welcomed her and gestured for her to take a seat.
‘You’re here because of the prisoner, Amar – am I right?’ he asked bluntly.
‘How do you know . . . ?’
Puteri smiled, but without the slightest trace of arrogance. ‘I have eyes, Miss Kaltenbach. He brought you to the harbour, didn’t he? We policemen never forget a face, and we have certain investigative instincts too.’
‘Investigative instincts?’ Ella asked. He seemed to already know a great deal about her personal circumstances.
‘You’re still here in Malacca, and the records state that you were present at Amar’s arrest. He also used to work at the Foster plantation . . .’ Puteri kept smiling his benevolent smile.
Ella sighed and nodded.
‘Don’t worry. He’s quite well. We’re keeping him in a private cell, and we treat our prisoners decently,’ he volunteered.
‘I am aware of the accusations against Amar, and I will try to find him a good lawyer – but to do that, I need to know what evidence there is against him.’
Puteri’s expression darkened. ‘I’m afraid that exceeds my authority,’ he admitted frankly.
‘But it’s completely absurd. Amar is a plantation worker. They’re accusing him of being the leader of the rebellion.’
‘Of course it’s absurd, for there is no rebellion. There are only individuals who have the courage to stand up to the British,’ said Puteri.
‘So why has he been arrested?’
‘From our point of view, it boils down to abetting the escape of a prisoner. I believe you know what I’m referring to.’ He was doubtless referring to his having spotted her on the scene shortly after the rescue attempt.
‘Mohan,’ said Ella bluntly.
‘It seems they were close, and that friendship is now being held against Amar,’ the officer informed her.
‘Amar was his foreman. That was why he took care of Mohan when he was in hospital,’ Ella explained.
‘That isn’t the problem, though.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘The men who attacked the wagon concealed their faces, but one of them lost his mask. Amar was spotted and identified as one of the culprits.’
Ella couldn’t believe her ears. She knew that Amar hadn’t lost his mask. This proved Compton was trying to place the blame on him. But she couldn’t tell Puteri that without also admitting that she had discussed the rescue with Amar. She would incriminate both Amar and herself if she did that. But there was another way of sowing the seed of doubt in Puteri’s mind.
‘Who identified him? Not the man driving the prison wagon? Lieutenant Bennett?’ she asked.
Puteri nodded.
‘Bennett is a close associate of Compton’s, and I fear Compton has personal reasons for wanting to cause harm to Amar,’ Ella intimated.
Puteri seemed surprised at that. ‘What reasons might those be?’ he asked.
‘English men of his calibre suffer from extreme vanity. He made romantic overtures towards me, but I rebuffed him.’
Puteri raised an eyebrow. He didn’t seem to find the motive all that convincing.
‘When we met at the harbour, do you remember seeing a large coach standing by the side of the road as you drove back into town?’
He nodded.
‘That was Marjory Foster’s carriage,’ said Ella.
‘And what does that have to do with Compton or Amar?’
‘I don’t believe you are fully aware of my reasons for coming to Malacca,’ Ella added.
‘I’m listening,’ said Puteri, a little confused now.
‘I came here with Rudolf to search for my real parents, and I now have reason to believe that Richard Foster was my father. He was very likely the man who pa
id enormous sums of money to my adoptive family on a monthly basis. Rudolf must have realised the truth before I discovered it myself, and so he visited the Foster plantation. Rudolf was a gambler and needed money, and I fear he blackmailed Marjory. I confronted her over it at the harbour because I believe she had something to do with Rudolf’s death. She threatened me, in the same manner as Compton did when I saw him just now. He is a close friend of the Fosters. I would like to appeal to your – what were the words you used just now? Your investigative instincts.’
Puteri’s eyes had grown wider and wider as Ella spoke, and by the time she finished, his mouth was slightly agape. It took him a moment to compose himself.
‘Those . . . those are serious accusations you’re making!’
‘Marjory’s conduct suggests they are true,’ she assured him.
‘It’s plausible . . . very plausible . . . But how does it alter the fact that Amar was seen at the scene of the attack?’ Puteri wondered out loud.
Once again, Ella inwardly lamented not being able to simply tell him that Bennett could only have seen Bujang.
‘What will happen to him?’ she asked instead.
Puteri hesitated before answering. ‘He’ll face the firing squad.’ He looked at the floor.
Ella struggled to breathe.
‘The jurors may take a different view, however. There will be a trial,’ he added.
Ella didn’t hold out much hope for that, knowing the extent of Compton’s influence, and she searched desperately for a solution. She had always been able to rely on her gift for improvisation hitherto and there had to be some way of proving Amar’s innocence. Suddenly, she realised the answer was lying right in front of her, inside the open cabinet.
‘Is that the mask they found at the scene?’ she asked him.
‘I really shouldn’t have told you that,’ said Puteri.
‘You should be glad you did.’
The officer looked at her in confusion.
‘It’s a carved wooden mask, isn’t it?’
He nodded.
‘May I ask you to try it on?’ Ella requested.
Puteri hesitated, but she could tell he was curious to know what she was getting at.
He stood up, walked over to the cabinet and picked up the mask.
‘Go on,’ Ella urged.
Puteri attempted to put it on – but the attempt proved unsuccessful, for the mask didn’t fit. He tried again, but couldn’t find a way to see through it and breathe at the same time. He put it to one side and stared at her for a moment, before breaking out in a smile.
‘You have the heart of a lioness and a razor-sharp mind,’ he grinned. ‘I’ll make sure Amar tries this mask on too.’
‘I’m certain it won’t fit. That would prove Bennett submitted a false statement in order to make Amar a scapegoat – and that he did so for base motives and at Compton’s behest,’ Ella concluded.
‘I can’t make any public accusations against the governor,’ said Puteri.
‘Well, the officer could also have been mistaken in the heat of the moment. The sun was low in the sky – it might have dazzled him . . .’
Puteri smiled. He looked at her in admiration, but also seemed relieved that he could help one of his compatriots.
‘If I’m right, will he go free?’
He nodded. ‘I would even testify to that in court,’ he assured her.
‘But is the court impartial?’ Ella was worried – she knew how much influence the British wielded.
‘Amar is a civilian, so he comes under the jurisdiction of the local courts, and we are the ones leading the investigation. If he is proven innocent, the British will have no say in the matter. Not officially, anyway . . .’
‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Ella.
‘Do you think Compton will let him live? You should start planning your escape. You’ll have two days to make the necessary arrangements,’ he said.
‘Two days?’
‘Amar’s trial is in three days’ time. Compton evidently wants to secure a quick conviction.’ Puteri toyed pensively with the mask in his hand. ‘If it doesn’t fit him – yes, a conviction will be out of the question,’ he said once more, almost with amusement. He seemed to enjoy the prospect of humiliating Compton in court.
‘You’ll need to find a lawyer. The public defender here tends to avoid ruffling any feathers,’ Puteri advised her.
‘Can you recommend anybody?’
‘There’s a firm at the end of the market. Sulung bin Osman is a good lawyer. Whether he would be willing to take on a case like this, I can’t say. But I wish you the best of luck.’
Ella was so touched at his willingness to save Amar’s life that she reached for his hand and clasped it in her own – a gesture of gratitude that visibly moved him.
‘A man fortunate enough to have a woman like you by his side can’t be a bad person. You wouldn’t love him otherwise,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’ Ella hoped Puteri would keep his promise.
Puteri’s fears that no local lawyers would be keen to personally oppose the governor proved accurate. Ella had already received her first rejection. Sulung bin Osman had been happy enough to receive her on Officer Puteri’s recommendation, but was currently too busy to represent Amar in court. Although his excuse was plausible at such short notice, Ella had realised as soon as she mentioned the governor’s name that bin Osman had no intention of getting his hands dirty. He recommended two other lawyers to her, who both turned her down for the same reasons, but the second firm she visited gave her some useful advice: an international law firm that also represented British and foreign clients would be more likely to take Amar’s case because they wouldn’t fear any repercussions. They didn’t mention any names, however. The only one of her acquaintances who might know which firms were involved in ‘big business’ – or who would at least be able to find out for her – was Otto.
Ella had waited for him at Lee’s boarding house for two full hours in order to tell him everything that had happened. The wait had proven worthwhile.
Just like her, Otto saw a link between Marjory’s threat and Amar’s arrest, and he made it a priority to help her. He also explained to her why international law firms would have nothing to fear.
‘When it comes to the real money, everybody has something to hide. Lawyers have a duty of confidentiality, of course, but nobody would ever dare to oppose a lawyer who knows about matters that border on the edge of legality. Nobody wants any trouble, you see,’ he said, before taking a sip of the rice wine he had ordered on Ella’s recommendation. They were sitting in the small restaurant close to Lee’s boarding house.
‘And do you have a particular lawyer in mind?’ she asked.
‘I’ll get in touch with Henry Jones this afternoon. He handles all my contracts, and he has offices in London and Singapore. He also represents everyone who’s anyone around here. And he owes me a favour,’ Otto answered.
Ella looked at him in surprise.
‘I scratch his back, and he scratches mine. His son is in the tin business and wants to get established in the German market,’ he explained with a crafty smile.
‘And you helped him?’
‘Of course. It all greases the wheels – and in your case, it might even save Amar’s life,’ Otto pointed out.
‘Officer Puteri thinks we won’t be safe even if Amar is acquitted. He advised me to leave the country.’
‘That would be very wise, as long as Compton remains the governor here, at least,’ said Otto.
‘But how should I go about it?’
He gave a calm smile and placidly sipped his wine. ‘You’re doubtless already aware that you need to get to politically neutral territory as quickly as possible,’ he said.
‘I’ve given that some thought already – but for one thing, the German packet boat doesn’t stop at Singapore every day, and for another, I assume that Compton’s influence extends as far as Singapore anyway.’
‘That’s q
uite correct.’
‘So what do you suggest?’
‘The east coast, my dear. Plain and simple.’
‘What do you mean?’ Ella asked.
‘German freighters stop at a small fishing port called Mersing to pick up raw materials and food, which they then transport to German New Guinea. You’ll be able to get back to Hamburg from there. The northeast corner of the island is not called Kaiser-Wilhelmsland for nothing, you know. You’ll be safe once you get there.’
The way Otto put it made it all sound so straightforward. That reassured Ella – but it also raised new questions. ‘And how do we get to Mersing?’
‘The roads are decent, but there are checkpoints. Compton is a clever man. He knows now that you’re German, and that you might come up with the bold idea of striking out for the east coast – but there might be a way to put him off the scent,’ said Otto, who seemed to enjoy the prospect of playing a trick on the British.
‘By travelling on rougher roads?’ Ella reasoned.
‘That’s part of the answer. You’ll certainly need to do that to avoid the checkpoints, anyway. But first, you need to lay a false trail.’
Try as she might, Ella couldn’t see what Otto was driving at.
He sensed her confusion. ‘The next packet ship back to Germany departs in five days. Book two tickets in your name. That will be the first place Compton’s people will look, and he’ll assume that you intend to leave Malacca via that route.’
She was dumbfounded. Otto was revealing himself to be a born tactician, and he seemed to play the part with relish.
‘I’ll draw the routes through the jungle for you on a map. I know the area – I’ve travelled that way myself several times before, and I know what you need to watch out for. You’ll get clean away, you’ll see.’ Then he raised his glass towards her. Ella hadn’t managed to drink a drop yet. What if it was bad luck to toast their success already? Yet Otto’s unshakeable confidence overcame her reservations.
