Offstage in Nuala (The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Book 3)

by Harriet Steel

  She gave de Silva an imploring look. ‘Olive hasn’t been with me for very long, Inspector, but she’s a good woman in spite of her off-putting manner and I’ve grown to like her very much. I’m mystified, indeed horrified, by the idea that she wished my husband harm. She must have known the grief his death would cause me. Please find her. I’m sure there will be an innocent explanation for everything.’

  She put a slim hand to her throat. ‘What if she’s had an accident? She may be in desperate need of help.’

  De Silva didn’t have such faith in Olive Reilly’s innocence but he caught the glance Clutterbuck gave him and he kept his views to himself. On the other hand, he was inclined to believe Kathleen Danforth was telling the truth.

  ‘We’ll do our best, ma’am.’

  ‘Indeed we will. You must try not to worry,’ soothed Clutterbuck.

  ‘I can’t think how I’ll manage in the meantime,’ Kathleen said with a sigh. ‘At a time like this, I can’t bear anything else to go wrong.’

  ‘I’ll speak to the manager here and arrange for them to give you a maid to help out until she returns.’

  Kathleen gave him a wistful smile. ‘You’re very kind, my dear.’

  ‘Right, you’d better get straight onto it, de Silva,’ said Clutterbuck as they left the hotel. ‘Any help the Residence can give, you know you need only ask.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I’d be grateful if your driver would take a message to my men at the police station. I want to stop off at the hotel where the rest of the company are staying. It will be interesting to know when any of them last saw the missing ladies.’

  ‘Good plan, should’ve thought of that myself.’

  In the lobby, de Silva wrote a note to Prasanna and Nadar instructing them to begin a new search. As he licked the envelope and sealed it, he felt rather sorry for them both. They had worn out a lot of shoe leather over the last few days. Still, in his own early days in Colombo, coming home dusty and footsore hadn’t been an unusual occurrence.

  **

  The Nuala Hotel was a sprawling bungalow set in far more modest grounds than the Crown. It looked as if it might once have been the home of a planter. The front door was closed so de Silva pressed the bell and waited. Eventually, a servant came to the door and told him that Michael Morville was the only one in, and was in the garden.

  De Silva followed the servant’s directions along a weedy path that led round the side of the bungalow, past an ornamental pond where a pair of mallards drifted disconsolately between mats of water lilies, and onto an expanse of thirsty lawn. A lone flowerbed displayed spindly roses and, in the far left-hand corner, in the shade of a clump of banana trees, Michael Morville dozed in a deck chair. He wore a crumpled linen jacket and a panama hat tilted over his face. His legs were encased in a pair of ancient cricket flannels.

  A twig cracked under de Silva’s foot as he approached and Morville tipped up the brim of his hat, blinking in the sunshine. ‘Why Inspector! To what do I owe the pleasure?’

  De Silva decided to proceed with caution. ‘It’s a routine enquiry. I’d be grateful if you would tell me your movements in the last couple of days.’

  ‘Let me see… The day before yesterday I was here all day – the staff will vouch for that. Yesterday, I was here in the morning, but after lunch, I went to the barbers at the Crown.’ He rubbed a hand over his chin. ‘Afterwards, I took a rickshaw up to the theatre. I still had a few belongings there I wanted to collect. Not that I enjoy visiting the dismal place after what happened.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Does that help you, Inspector?’

  De Silva thanked him. The information would be easy enough to verify.

  ‘If you want to speak to the others, you’d do best to look for Sheridan and Raikes in town at the Nuala Club. It appears to have become their second home.’

  The place was known to de Silva. The Nuala Club was frequented by the lower echelons of colonial society who failed to gain entry to the hallowed portals of the Empire Club.

  ‘What about Mr Mayne?’

  ‘Propping up the bar there too, I expect.’

  Morville raised an eyebrow. ‘Although there’s not much love lost between him and the other two.’

  ‘And Mr Crichton?’

  Morville shrugged. ‘Who knows what poor old Charlie gets up to? He’s never fitted in really. It’s always surprised me that Alexander kept him on.’ He gave de Silva a penetrating look. ‘You mustn’t take too much notice of what he says, you know. Particularly about Raikes and Sheridan. Raikes enjoys baiting him and Sheridan’s never made a secret of the fact he’s got no time for him.’

  ‘One more thing. Have either Mrs Danforth’s maid or Miss Watson been here in the last few days?’

  ‘Olive?’ He chuckled. ‘I doubt she’d be interested in our company, nor would Miss Watson for that matter.’

  ‘Well, thank you, sir. If you should see either of them, I’d be grateful if you’d send word to the police station.’

  Morville frowned. ‘You have cause to be worried about them?’

  ‘Nothing’s certain yet, sir. There may be a simple explanation, but Olive Reilly’s not been seen for several days and Miss Watson missed a lunch and hasn’t been heard from. I would like to know their whereabouts.’

  **

  When he returned to the station, there was no sign of Prasanna or Nadar, presumably they were still busy searching. But there was a note from Prasanna that gave him a jolt. There was indeed a side door behind the foyer bar as the caretaker had said. It couldn’t be opened from the outside but inside, all that secured it were two strong bolts. With only a little more exploration of the area behind the bar, Prasanna had also found a passage that ran parallel to the auditorium stalls. At the end of it was another door, unlocked but opening only a few inches.

  Picturing his young sergeant’s earnest face, de Silva smiled as he read Prasanna’s account of how he’d had to speak firmly to the caretaker and old Prathiv before they would help. At last, with them all putting their shoulders to the door, the obstruction, which turned out to be a cupboard, moved and they found themselves in a storeroom. It was one of the ones adjacent to the men’s dressing rooms that de Silva and Nadar had already searched. It was only then that Prathiv remembered that the route had, in the old days, been used to take drinks to the actors in intervals.

  De Silva let out a low whistle, then scowled. Far from being the fount of all knowledge about the theatre he was touted as, that forgetful old fool Prathiv had been no help. He was cross with himself too. Admittedly, this case had been frustrating, and he’d been distracted by his suspicions about the British, but he shouldn’t have let that deflect him from observing his golden rule.

  ‘It does seem very strange, Olive Reilly disappearing like this,’ said Jane when he telephoned to fill her in on the latest developments and warn her he might be late home that evening. ‘Have you told anyone apart from Archie and Kathleen Danforth about the key?’

  ‘No. At the moment, I’m not sure who I can trust.’

  ‘Very wise, dear. This passage Prasanna’s discovered certainly opens up more possibilities, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Indeed it does.’

  ‘I expect Emerald Watson will turn up soon. Maybe she forgot the lunch appointment. I hope Doctor Hebden isn’t too anxious. I find it hard to credit that Emerald and Olive Reilly would be conspirators.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Peggy Appleby – you know she’s become very friendly with Emerald – told me Emerald wasn’t keen on Olive Reilly. Far too controlling and a bad influence on Kathleen Danforth.’

  ‘With respect to Mrs Appleby, she hasn’t known Miss Watson for long, and it’s possible she was being deliberately misled.’

  ‘I suppose that’s true, but until I see proof, I won’t believe it. She seems such a delightful young woman and that nice Doctor Hebden is so taken with her.’

  ‘I’ve gathered that, and I sincerely hope he won’t have to be disillusioned. Anywa
y, I’d better get on with the search. Don’t wait dinner for me.’

  **

  Jane had finished dinner and was reading in the drawing room by the time he returned home.

  ‘You poor thing, you must be ravenous,’ she said, putting down her book. ‘I told Cook to keep something warm for you.’

  He flopped into his chair. ‘No need, I ate at the Nuala Club when I went to look for the other men.’

  ‘Did you find them?’

  ‘Raikes and Mayne were there but no sign of Crichton or Sheridan. They said they hadn’t seen either of them recently.’

  Jane frowned. ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’

  ‘Neither do I, but I’ve called off the search for tonight. We start again first thing.’

  **

  The ringing of the telephone in the hall roused him from sleep. The bedroom was still in shadow but the rim of pale gold at the hem of the curtains showed it was after dawn. Beside him, Jane stirred. ‘What is it? Was that the telephone?’

  ‘Yes, I’d better get up.’

  He swung his legs out of bed and pushed his feet into his slippers. He was reaching for his paisley robe when there was a soft knock at the door. He hurried to open it. The servant who greeted him looked half asleep. ‘A call from Doctor Hebden, sahib.’

  De Silva strode past him and went to the telephone. He listened for a few moments and gave a short reply then put down the receiver.

  ‘Shanti? What’s happened?’ Jane had donned her dressing gown and come into the hall.

  ‘A body’s been found in the town lake. A couple of local men notified Hebden, and Archie Clutterbuck’s also been told.’

  ‘Oh my goodness!’

  ‘I’d better get down there straight away.’

  Chapter 20

  With very little traffic on the road, he reached the lake in record time. Its silky waters were like liquid mother-of-pearl in the early morning light. As the noise of the Morris’s engine broke the stillness, a purple heron rose from the reeds and flapped away on its huge wings.

  De Silva scanned the grassy banks and saw a huddle of people at the end of the lake. He put the Morris into low gear and drove slowly towards them. As he came near, he glimpsed one of the official cars from the Residence, almost hidden by a clump of trees, and beside it, the dark-red Austin 7 belonging to David Hebden. Small colourful boats, their prows painted with the magic eye to ward off evil, were drawn up on the bank. Coconut-fibre baskets shimmered with the night’s scaly, iridescent catch.

  Clutterbuck and Hebden looked up as he approached. The fishermen with them muttered among themselves. In the centre of the circle lay the body of a woman: Olive Reilly. Water from her heavy black clothes pooled around her; her sodden hair hung limply to her shoulders. Her face, already showing signs of bloating, was as white as blanched almonds, but there were livid patches on her sharp cheekbones as if she had clumsily applied rouge before she died.

  ‘These men say they saw nothing,’ said Hebden. ‘They were fishing out in the middle of the lake most of the night. I don’t think she’s been in the water long, maybe only a few hours. The body had almost come to the surface when the men saw it, but then it wouldn’t take long for the gases to build up in this warm water.’

  ‘It’s shallow here too,’ added Clutterbuck.

  ‘Do you think she was murdered, Doctor Hebden?’

  Hebden shook his head. ‘It looks more like suicide. There were no bruises or other signs of blows on the body.’

  De Silva knelt beside the motionless figure. The skin on the palms of her hands and her fingertips was already wrinkled but they weren’t scratched and there was no mud or water weed under her fingernails. Olive Reilly hadn’t fought for her life as its end approached.

  He stood up and spoke to the men in Tamil. ‘You’re sure you saw nothing? Don’t be afraid to tell me. You won’t be in any trouble.’

  The only response was a series of shaken heads.

  ‘We’re wasting time,’ growled Clutterbuck. ‘We won’t learn anything here. Hebden, you’d better arrange for the body to be removed to the hospital morgue. Will you travel with me, de Silva? I’m afraid we’ll have to take on the unpleasant duty of breaking the news to Kathleen Danforth.’

  A few moments later, the official car drew away. Archie was right that it would be an unpleasant task, but at least, de Silva reflected, they were getting somewhere.

  **

  When they were shown into Kathleen Danforth’s suite at the Crown, however, it was immediately apparent that their job was already half done.

  She held out the letter she had been reading. ‘It’s from Olive.’ There was a catch in her voice. ‘I presume you’ve come to tell me she’s dead.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, Kathleen.’ Clutterbuck went over to her and took her hands. ‘I wish I could have spared you another shock.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  ‘May I see the letter, ma’am?’ asked de Silva.

  Wordlessly, she gave him the piece of paper.

  ‘As you’ll see, Inspector, it was Frank Sheridan who killed my poor husband and Olive helped him. I never realised she even liked Frank, let alone loved him. She says she would have done anything for him, but then he betrayed her.’

  Clutterbuck looked bemused. ‘But why would Sheridan want your husband dead? I thought they were old friends.’

  De Silva looked up from reading the letter. ‘According to Reilly, it wasn’t as simple as that, sir. Sheridan told her he’d lent Mr Danforth a large sum of money when the company started out. He trusted him to return it if ever he asked for it, and he did on several occasions, but Mr Danforth always said it was the wrong time.’

  Kathleen Danforth made an impatient gesture. ‘I don’t believe a word of that. Alexander never mentioned it and I expect Frank had a grossly inflated idea of how much he was owed if anything at all.’

  ‘Your husband may have kept money troubles from you, ma’am. Not wanting to worry you.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Kathleen said acerbically. ‘Olive says there that Frank spun her a story about becoming suspicious Alexander was cheating him. He persuaded her it had to be true with the money Alexander was spending, especially the air fare to England for Emerald’s twenty-first birthday celebration. Not that either of them knew that was the reason for the journey.’

  De Silva nodded. ‘It must have cost a large amount.’

  ‘It did. I should know as I paid for it.’

  Clutterbuck and de Silva looked at her with surprise.

  ‘Alexander never had any money,’ she went on. ‘Whenever the company was in trouble, I bailed him out.’

  She paced to the window and swung round sharply; the light falling on her hair turned it to fire. ‘I only wanted Alexander to be happy. How was I to know that buying him the ticket to England would precipitate disaster? Or that Olive would help Frank Sheridan to steal from us? Damn him. No wonder he came on to her for months. He could never have done it without her.’

  ‘How much did they take?’ asked Clutterbuck frowning.

  ‘Thousands of pounds. In bearer bonds.’

  De Silva recalled a case he had worked on in Colombo that had involved the theft of bearer bonds. The financial instruments had the advantage that they could be easily cashed anywhere in the world. Obviously, that would suit the Danforths on their travels, but the disadvantage was that as the bonds were issued in the name of no specific person, they were like cash and vulnerable to theft and fraud, as had been the problem in the Colombo affair.

  Clutterbuck grimaced. ‘I’ll move heaven and earth if I have to and we’ll get them back.’

  ‘If only you could bring Alexander back as well. And poor Olive. She’s more to be pitied than blamed. It was cruel the way Frank Sheridan deceived her.’ Her voice caught in her throat and she stepped out onto the balcony. Both men left her alone to recover her composure.

  De Silva reached the end of the letter and spoke quietly to Clutterbuck. ‘Reilly write
s that Sheridan begged her to help him get his revenge on Danforth. He also told her he wanted the money back so they could go away together and have a good life. He persuaded her it was best not to reveal their relationship. He said Danforth would try to have her dismissed for sure before they could carry out their plan. He wouldn’t want her to be in Sheridan’s confidence when she was becoming closer to Mrs Danforth. At first, Reilly only agreed to help him steal the bonds, but, in the end, he convinced her that they should kill Danforth as well or they’d never be free of him.’

  Kathleen returned, in control of herself again. ‘When it was over, she realised the full horror of what she’d helped him do but she knew she had to hold her nerve. She planned for them to stay in Nuala, hoping the fuss would die down and they could make their escape undetected. That was when Frank told her she’d served her purpose. She was distraught.’

  She paused. ‘Poor Olive decided the only thing to do was to end her life,’ she finished quietly.

  And, thought de Silva, she would also have realised that in exposing Sheridan’s crime, she would incriminate herself as his accomplice and probably hang anyway.

  He folded the letter. ‘May I take this, ma’am? It will be needed in evidence.’

  ‘Of course, Inspector. Where will you look for Frank?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet, ma’am, but I’ll do my utmost to find him.’

  ‘What about Emerald?’

  ‘We’ve no evidence she had any part in all this,’ said Clutterbuck. ‘I’m sure she’ll turn up soon.’

  Kathleen nodded but de Silva was less sure. He didn’t like coincidences and he had a nasty feeling that Emerald Watson was in danger. He also had a feeling there was more to this than the letter had revealed.

  **

  ‘I didn’t want to cause Kathleen any more distress by prolonging the interview, so you’d better tell me now what else was in the letter,’ said Clutterbuck. ‘Does it explain how they did it?’