The Betel Nut Tree Mystery

by Ovidia Yu

  I found Kenneth’s Royal Portable in the dungeon and carried it to my desk. Some of his file folders were there too. But none of the research relating to his latest project had been found in his room, and the box file of notes that Parshanti had mentioned had disappeared.

  The compact black typewriter was a beauty and my fingers yearned to play with it and feel its satisfying click-clack. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I could tell Kenneth had cared for his machine. It had that well-loved typewriter smell, a combination of oil and ribbon ink. Despite the journeys and jobs it must have accompanied him on, it was still in good shape.

  I put the cover up. Parshanti said Kenneth had given her the ribbon from his typewriter as a pledge that he was giving up his gutter journalism. I believed her. This was a brand new bi-colour ribbon, hardly used and inserted upside down. Usually the black strip runs above the red strip so the default position produces black characters. If you wanted to make corrections in red you had to lock down the typewriter’s ‘correction’ lever while typing.

  Since the ribbon had been inserted upside down, that meant the whole suicide note had been typed while holding down the ‘correction’ lever. The words on the page were black, of course, but it was strange behaviour for a professional journalist on a familiar typewriter.

  Carefully I loosened and examined the ribbon. There had been several false starts where the red-inked fabric had been struck before the correction lever was found and applied.

  The suicide note might have been typed on this machine but I was sure Kenneth Mulliner had not written it.

  I poured myself a big drink from the jug of boiled water cooled to room temperature, then another. And I paid a quick visit to the outhouse. It was not as fancy as the WCs in the hotel and didn’t have a modern pulley flush like the one at the hospital, but there is something deeply comforting about your own familiar facilities. Especially now when everything else seemed to have turned upside down.

  My back was starting to hurt. The uneven length of my legs put stress on it when I walked too much. The pain reminded me that I was alive.

  What should I do now? Le Froy was still deep in the commission investigation and I could see that a reversed typewriter ribbon wouldn’t count for much as evidence.

  I wasn’t ready to go back out into the heavy heat that threatened to turn into a rainstorm soon but I couldn’t bear to sit around the Detective Shack waiting to learn whether it would be closed down. I decided to go to see Nicole Covington at the Farquhar and get her to admit she and Dr Covington had planned to sneak off the island later that day. Even in my current mood, the thought of Nicole with her fancy dresses spending three weeks in the damp hold of a cargo ship with rats and cockroaches made me smile. I would describe it to her and get her to tell me everything she knew about Kenneth’s death.

  I had just scribbled a summary of the typewriter-ribbon points and was leaving it with Sergeant de Souza for Le Froy when Dr Leask came in.

  ‘I’ve been up all night doing tests.’ Dr Leask’s face was grey with fatigue, but his eyes were bright with triumph. ‘Where is Le Froy?’

  ‘At the commission inquiry.’

  ‘It was faster this time because I knew what we were looking for. The poison that killed Kenneth Mulliner has a thallium base compounded with strychnine and brucine. It would be colourless, probably tasteless, and even slight contact with skin is dangerous.’

  Dr Leask held up a reddened swollen finger to prove it. He was flushed with the excitement of discovery and reminded me a little of Dr Shankar.

  ‘All indications suggest Mr Mulliner died from ingesting the same poison that killed Mr Victor Glossop and Miss Nakagawa Koto through skin contact.’

  ‘Miss . . .?’

  ‘The Japanese prostitute. The same poison was found in her lipstick.’

  Only I didn’t think it had been her lipstick, originally.

  ‘Would you say “a new lease of life” or “a new lease on life”?’ I asked Dr Leask, following that thought.

  ‘“Of”,’ Dr Leask said. ‘Why?’

  I couldn’t explain. It was just a vague idea I hadn’t shaped yet.

  ‘I’ll send a message to Le Froy,’ de Souza said. ‘He’ll want to know about this at once. If there is a common poison, there have been three murders.’ He looked pleased and I understood why. If Le Froy was in the middle of working a murder case, the inquiry might be postponed and hopefully dismissed.

  ‘And, yes,’ this to me, ‘I’ll mention the upside-down typewriter ribbon.’

  Last Article

  The door to Nicole’s suite was closed. As I stood there I heard the murmur of voices: Junior protesting and being hushed by Dr Covington. I didn’t hear Nicole.

  Suddenly I knew why Dr Covington had asked for two tickets.

  ‘Go and tell Van Dijk to call the police,’ I hissed to the cleaner, who had stopped to stare at me standing with my ear pressed to the door of a guest room. The man scuttled off. It didn’t matter whether he did as I asked or reported me as long as he got to Van Dijk. Van Dijk would call the Detective Shack, even if only to complain.

  Now all I had to do was find out if I was already too late.

  ‘Nicole? It’s Su Lin. I know you’re in there! Nicole!’ I made sure I was noisy enough that they would come to shut me up even if they didn’t want to let me in.

  It was Junior who opened the door. Inside I found Dr Covington standing over a groggy Nicole slumped in an armchair. She was wearing a party frock but was without her usual make-up.

  ‘What do you want?’

  I looked past Dr Covington to Nicole. ‘Nicole? Are you all right?’

  She opened her eyes and looked at me, frowning as though trying to remember me. Junior went to her and leaned on the back of her chair. She closed her eyes.

  ‘Get out,’ Dr Covington said. ‘You’re not wanted here.’

  ‘So that you can sweep what happened to Victor and Kenneth under the “rug”? That’s what showed it was you, sir. One of you Americans.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Dr Covington glanced at Junior, who was staring at me. ‘Junior, go to the bathroom. Lock yourself in until I come get you.’

  ‘Bathroom, sir? Do you want him to take a bath? Here and in England we call it the lavatory or the WC. Just like you sweep things under the rug in America but an Englishman like Kenneth would have swept them under the carpet. You wrote that Pip’s Squeaks piece on Le Froy, didn’t you? You stole Kenneth’s notes and put together a piece pretending it was from him. That was why he was so angry that last day!’

  Nicole had opened her eyes again. ‘Hey there, Suzy-Q,’ she said. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’

  ‘Did you mean to frame Le Froy for Kenneth’s death? You were going to kill Kenneth because he knew too much about you. He found out why you had to stop Victor marrying Nicole. Anyone marrying Nicole would discover how much of her money you’ve stolen over the years.’

  ‘It’s not her money. It was my son’s money. Now it’s my grandson’s money. Girl, you don’t seem to know who you’re dealing with here. If we were back home, I’d have you whipped and strung up for your insolence. You can tell that cowardly boss of yours that hiding in your knickers isn’t going to save him. After this, even if he stays out of jail, he’s never going to work again. I know people, important people. I’ll have the governor run him off the island.’

  At least he wasn’t attacking me physically, I thought. Things were coming together in my head so fast I felt dizzy. I had assumed Nicole was planning to run away, but when had she ever made any plans for herself?

  ‘Kenneth Mulliner wrote everything down, you know.’

  ‘Kenneth Mulliner was a fool. No one is going to believe anything he wrote,’ Dr Covington said. ‘He was a fool and a liar!’ He splashed whisky into a glass and drank it. ‘And he’s dead. I’ll sue any paper that prints his garbage. And I’ll make sure you rot in prison for the rest of your life. Any money left is
Junior’s. Nicole is mentally unstable and a danger to him so I’m taking over. He prefers me, anyway. Don’t you, Junior? Junior, who’s my best man?’

  The child brightened. This was clearly a routine he was used to. ‘I’m your best man, Grandpa. Are we going on the boat now?’

  ‘Soon, boy. Grandpa has to deal with something here first. Go wait in the bathroom – go read a book or something. Go!’

  The boy hesitated. He looked at Nicole, and when she gave him a shaky smile, he went over to sit beside her. Dr Covington clearly didn’t like this. He held out a commanding hand and Junior automatically rose to his feet. But Nicole put a hand on his arm and he stayed where he was, leaning against his mother’s knees.

  ‘Junior!’

  ‘I want Mama to come too,’ Junior said. ‘She’s awake now. We don’t have to leave her.’ He took Nicole’s hand and tugged at it. ‘Come on, Mama. It’s time to go.’

  ‘Go where?’ Nicole looked awake but she didn’t seem to know what was going on. ‘My head hurts. Oh, I’m so tired.’

  ‘Nicole?’ I bent over her. The pupils of her eyes were dilated and her skin was hot and clammy when I took her arm. Her fingers had a bluish tinge. She squinted at me as though trying to recognize me.

  ‘Suzy-Q! Are we going to your house by the sea?’

  ‘Nicole, can you stand up? We’re going downstairs to wait for the police. They’re on the way.’

  Nicole stared at me, biting her lip. Then suddenly she threw her head back and sang, ‘I had a dream the other night, when everything was still;/I thought I saw Susanna dear, a-comin’ down the hill!’ then collapsed into a breathless fit of giggles.

  ‘I love hills. I love the prairies and the plains. I love dancing. Nobody wants to take me dancing here. I love dancing and shopping and going to fine restaurants. But I forgot. You can’t do any of those things, can you? You’re a cripple. And you’re a Chink. You’re not allowed inside fine restaurants. Oh, that’s so sad!’ Tears welled in Nicole’s eyes and ran down her cheeks. ‘You poor Susanna. I’ll cry for you.’

  It was the drugs in her talking, I thought. I couldn’t get her out of there alone and I couldn’t leave her.

  Dr Covington looked disgusted. He turned on me. ‘Get out. Now. Or you’ll be sorry.’

  The jumbled facts in my head sorted themselves into sense as they came out of me: ‘You wrote the suicide note on Kenneth’s typewriter. Only you had to put the spare ribbon in first. And you had to figure how to change the ink from red to black.’

  ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

  I felt as though Kenneth Mulliner was speaking through me. ‘Kenneth would have written “new lease of life” not “new lease on life”. Yes, small things, but they add up. Now, though, I’m going to read you something bigger.’

  Dr Covington’s eyes locked on the typewritten sheets I took out of my bag. ‘Kenneth left these with Parshanti Shankar. There are carbon copies,’ I warned. ‘The carbons are at Robinson Road, in a police evidence box with the rest of Kenneth’s things.’

  Dr Covington barked a laugh, shaking his head. He would have dismissed me but I suspect he saw Kenneth’s handwriting on the margins because his eyes stayed fixed on them.

  ‘This was going to be his last Pip’s Squeaks article,’ I said. ‘When you hear it, you’ll understand why. These are just his notes.’

  I started reading. I thought it sounded quite close to the jaunty, sneering tone Kenneth had always used, even if it was a rough draft he hadn’t had time to polish before he was killed.

  ‘“As this is my last article, I’ve decided to take off the beard and the Santa Claus hat and the fat belly . . . not my fat belly. Today our hero is Dr Taylor Covington. And he’s a real Santa Claus who dotes on his grandson.

  ‘“The greatest joke, of course, is that Radley Covington Junior is not a Covington,’ I read woodenly, keeping my eyes on the sheet of paper, as though I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. ‘Radley Covington Junior is really the son of the late Eric Schumer, his mother’s old beau, who came back into her life after her husband’s death.”’

  Whose Son?

  ‘That little bastard!’ Dr Covington stared in shock. ‘Lies! I’ll sue the pants off him!’

  Nicole stirred enough to giggle. ‘Kenneth’s dead. Sue him in Hell. But I bet it’s all true.’

  Mrs McPherson’s sources had described it as a common rumour.

  Nicole struggled to sit upright. ‘The money’s all gone. The cops think I took it. I didn’t.’ She looked at Dr Covington. ‘You took it, didn’t you? I should have known it was you all along.’

  ‘Junior? Eric Schumer’s son?’ I don’t think Dr Covington had heard anything after that. He was frozen, only his eyes moving between Nicole and Junior. ‘Eric Schumer’s son?’

  Between saving a child’s innocence and his mother’s life, which would you have picked?

  Dr Covington swore. The words sounded more frightening spoken low with menace than shouted on the street by good-natured workmen. ‘Impossible!’ His face was red, his eyes wild. He turned back to Nicole. ‘Tell her! You never had anything to do with that Jew boy until after my Radley died. Defiling my son and my grandson. You should have died, not my Radley!’

  Nicole smiled vaguely at him and closed her eyes again.

  ‘Oh, damnation and tarnation!’

  Dr Covington grabbed his bag. I darted forward, afraid he might have a gun or a knife in there, but he shook it out over the low side table and picked up a small rectangular case and a dark green bottle. There was a glass and a brass hypodermic syringe in the box, which he used to draw fluid out of the bottle.

  ‘What’s that?’ I stayed between him and Nicole.

  ‘Ephedrine. To wake her up. She has to tell me the truth. Move aside, girl!’

  ‘All those vitamins and tonics you give Nicole, you’ve been drugging her. That’s why she has bad dreams and forgets things.’

  ‘She is a bad mother. I manage everything for Junior. She was never interested in him, anyway. That Schumer was a troublemaker, asking about her investments and wanting her to go for medical tests, to take her to Europe. He brought it on himself.’

  I moved and watched him slide the needle into her arm. He was not going to kill Nicole now, not before he got the answer he wanted from her. Whatever he had dosed her with earlier, counteracting it had to be good.

  ‘Nicole! Tell this person you lied to her!’

  At least I had been elevated to ‘person’.

  Nicole opened her eyes, looking surprised. ‘I don’t tell lies. It’s bad to tell lies.’

  ‘You lied about that Jew bastard, didn’t you? Say it!’

  I remembered how Nicole had looked when she told me about Eric Schumer. I had thought her crazy for believing Eric had died because she loved him. But she had been right all along. He had been murdered because she loved him.

  ‘You killed Eric Schumer too, didn’t you?’ I said.

  ‘Eric?’ Nicole looked around. There was no mistaking the hope in her eyes.

  ‘He’s dead and good riddance. Ran him over using Nicole’s car. Nicole passed out and didn’t remember a thing, of course. Did it for my boy, Radley. Radley, the father of my man Junior here. Say it, woman!’

  ‘But that wasn’t the end of it, was it? You got Nicole and your grandson out of America and the next thing you knew she was settling to marry Victor Glossop. Victor might have been a gadfly but his family would look into his new wife’s finances.’

  ‘She attracts men like rotten meat attracts flies.’ Dr Covington shook Nicole by the shoulder. Not very hard, but she whimpered and tried to pull away. ‘It’s useless. Anyway, nothing she says will stand up in court.’ He stepped back. ‘I don’t believe any of it. Lies and slander, that’s all.’

  I moved so she could see my face. ‘Nicole, listen to me. Taylor is taking Junior away from you. Tell him Junior isn’t his grandson. Then he won’t want him and will leave you two alone.’

  ‘As if I w
ouldn’t know my own grandson. She’s a bad mother. She can’t even take care of herself!’

  ‘Are you angry with Mama because of the lipstick you gave her? Mama didn’t lose it. I borrowed it,’ Junior said. ‘To use for colouring. I was going to give it back but Uncle Victor took it.’

  ‘No!’ Dr Covington was clearly shocked. ‘Dear God in Heaven. Come, Junior. We’re getting out of here. Now.’

  Something stirred inside Nicole. ‘Junior is Eric’s son,’ she said. ‘Eric the Jew. He gave me a ring the night I told him.’

  ‘Bullshit! Junior is the image of Radley at that age!’

  ‘He has curly hair, like Eric’s,’ Nicole said. ‘No one in your family has curly hair.’

  Dr Covington moved fast. He grabbed Nicole before I could react and slapped her. ‘You will never tell your lies again. And you,’ he turned on me, ‘this is all your fault. You’ll die here with her.’ He pushed me onto the upright chair by Nicole’s sofa.

  Moaning, Nicole tried to sit up but Covington backhanded her.

  ‘Mama!’ cried Junior.

  ‘Get out!’ Covington said. ‘Shut the door! And stand against it till I come.’

  ‘Don’t hit Mama,’ Junior said, staying put. ‘I want to stay with Mama.’

  ‘Oh, Raddy,’ Nicole said, ‘do you really?’

  ‘Shut your mouth!’ Covington shouted. ‘Junior! Mind what I say. She’s not your mama. She’s nothing but a common slut and a whore. I’m your grandfather and I’ll look after you. We don’t need her.’

  Junior trembled but did not move away. He cowered when Dr Covington put a large hand on his shoulder. That was when Nicole pulled something about a foot long from the gap at the back of the sofa cushion. I saw it was Kaeseven’s missing wooden butter stick, when she threw it at Dr Covington. It spun and caught him on his right shoulder and bounced off.

  It was such a joke of a throw I almost laughed. I won’t say Nicole threw like a girl because I am a girl and I throw rocks accurately enough to scare off wild pigs and stray dog packs. But the great thing about Nicole’s throw was where the makkhana phirni rolled after hitting the wall. Right at my feet.