After reading it, his attitude lightened. “You can open your notebook. I just want an assurance from you that you will tell the truth and accurately report on what I tell you. Many reporters have told me that, and then when the article appears, it is nothing but lies.”
“You have my word on it,” replied Emma.
“What is it you really want to know?”
“Who you are, your organization, what your goals are, how you plan on accomplishing your goals, and when you think your goals will be implemented. Why don’t we begin with who you are and how you became part of the Confederation of Indian Workers?”
Gurjar outlined for her how he was from Delhi and had come to Calcutta to organize workers, all workers, into a political party. Their movement was nationwide and growing in numbers. To him, labor was the only vehicle toward a truly unified India. Regardless of religion or caste, everyone had to work. To him it was the common denominator. Gurjar was very open with her about the ultimate goal being a free and independent India.
Emma looked at her watch and was surprised to see she had been there for over two hours. She was satisfied but had a few more questions. “If you are successful, and the British leave India, what role do you see the United States playing in India’s future?”
“When the British leave. They will leave, it is only a matter of time,” Gurjar stated emphatically. “Let me just say this about the United States. Like our relationship here today, we can both be a help to each other. But we do not want, nor do we need, the United States taking the place of Great Britain. One master this century has been enough.”
“How about the Soviet Union?” asked Emma.
“As with the United States, if our goals are the same, we have no problem working with them.”
“Is the Confederation of Indian Workers aligned in any way with the Communist Party?”
“Of course we have had discussions with them, but we are our own organization. Our purpose is a unified India and a decent wage for those who will be building the new India. Now I have a question for you, Miss Williams. How did you get my name and know to interview me. You have not been in India long.”
“A friend of mine used to work for the War Department. Blaine Phillips.”
“I remember him,” Gurjar laughed. “We debated economics for hours! We totally disagreed on everything, but I liked him. I have not heard from him in a while. Did he go back to the States? If he did, I wish he would have stopped by to see me before he left.”
“No, Mr. Gurjar. He was killed here in Calcutta. As far as the police know, it was a random crime.”
“That is very troubling. Did the police catch those responsible?”
“As far as I know, they did not,” replied Emma.
“Hopefully, they will. This news makes me very sad.”
Emma thanked him for his time, and on the way out of the office, she picked up one of the pamphlets lying on the table.
As she walked back to the car, Miller spotted her and by the time she arrived at the car, he had the engine running and was ready to go. “If you didn’t come back soon, I was going to start looking for you. How did it go?” he asked.
“It didn’t start off too well, but once we got over an initial hurdle, I couldn’t stop him. I know everything there is to know about the exploitation of the Indian worker. I really felt like I was at a rally, rather than an interview.”
Miller didn’t say much as they drove. Rather, he kept his eyes on traffic and kept to the task. Finally, he asked, “Do you think he or his organization had anything to do with Captain Blaine’s death?”
“Like all the rest I’ve interviewed, they’re not going to come right out and say they did it. But he seemed surprised when I told him Preston had been murdered.”
“Well, don’t look back, but we’re being followed.”
Emma fought back the urge to turn around. “We’re being followed?”
“The white car a few cars behind us. Noticed it a few blocks after we left. Don’t worry, I’ll lose them in a few minutes. Right now I’m just going to go on like nothing’s out of the ordinary.”
Miller turned the car onto Lindsay Street. Moments later Emma was taken with the smell of turmeric, ginger and frying foods.
“New Market, Emma. You can get anything you want here. Even fruit from Southern California. Today all we need is the congestion. We’ll lose our tail quickly in here.”
Emma looked out the window in amazement. People on foot, on bicycles, and in cars seemed to have come from nowhere. Shops were crowded with people buying and selling everything from rugs to cooked food. “I’d love to come back and look around, but for now, how are we doing with our friends?”
“Another minute and I’ll lose them, and they’ll never know we were on to them.” Miller turned the car down a side street then made a succession of quick turns. Content no one was following, he started heading in the direction of home. “They’re still back at the market,” he assured Emma. “Probably figured we parked the car, so they’re looking for us in there.”
“It’s a new development that we’ll have to get to the bottom of,” said Emma.
Early in the evening Bunnel was standing on the street eating a pastry not far from the café where Preston was to meet du Maurier. When LaCroix joined him, he offered him one.
“These are swell, Jimmy, what are they?”
“I bought them from the shop around the corner. I have no idea what they are or how to pronounce the name, but they’re wonderful. We’ll have to get a box to take home for Emma and Vern.”
“She’ll like that. They kind of remind me of a beignet from back home but with a lot more flavor,” remarked LaCroix as he took another bite. A few minutes later he was almost finished with his pastry when he saw a man across the street sweeping in front of a small store. “Jimmy, we haven’t talked to him yet,” he said, pointing to the man.
“Do you want me to go?” asked Bunnel.
“I’ll go. You finish your snack. Like the rest, it probably won’t turn into anything anyway.”
Bunnel watched as LaCroix approached the man, showed him Preston’s photograph, and began talking with him. A few minutes later he watched LaCroix wait for traffic to pass as he came back across the street.
LaCroix was excited. “Jimmy, come over here with me. You have to talk to this man. You’re not going to believe what he has to say!”
Conrad Kruger patiently waited in a residential area of Calcutta near Edwin Tillerman’s bus stop. He felt he had given Tillerman more than enough time to gather the information he wanted. He vowed to himself that if Tillerman didn’t come through for him tonight, it would be the last day Tillerman spent on the earth, and in the process, it would be a day that would make him wish he had never been born. As a bus departed he saw Tillerman and made his move. Coming directly to the point, he asked, “Did you get the information I wanted?”
Tillerman reached into his coat pocket, produced an envelope, and quickly gave it to Kruger. “Everything you wanted to know is written down for you.”
Kruger quickly scanned the handwritten pages inside the envelope.
“This will take care of everything? As you promised, my debt will go away?” asked Tillerman.
“Not so fast, Edwin. Who else knows about this?”
“No one. I did exactly as you asked, and I didn’t tell anyone. I swear,” replied Tillerman, his body shaking as his startled eyes scanned the street.
“How this is going to work is, you and I are going to become partners for a while. I will continue to make your payments for you after I’m satisfied the information you have given me is accurate and you haven’t set a trap for me. If I find out anything different, or if I find out you contacted the police, the deal is off and heaven help you. Are we clear on this?”
“But I thought …”
“You thought what? That you were going to give me an envelope with a couple of pieces of paper in it, and that would be the end of it? No wonder you’re in th
e trouble you’re in. I’m surprised you’re not in deeper than you already are. Just so you know, I guess now’s as good a time as any to lay our cards on the table. I own your debt. I bought it from the gangsters you’ve been dealing with. Now you are indebted to me. If you’ve lied to me in any way, or the police just happen to get involved, you and I will talk again.”
Tillerman stepped back and put up his hands as if to shield himself. “How long are we going to be partners?”
“Until you work off your debt, and I decide when that is. For now, you belong to me. Just remember what I’ve told you.”
Emma and Miller were sitting in the living room talking when she heard the back door open. She instinctively slipped her hand into her purse and gripped her Colt revolver, but she relaxed when LaCroix announced it was just him and Bunnel.
Bunnel took off his sport coat, hung it in the closet, and loosened his tie. “Why don’t we all go in the kitchen? He suggested. “Vern, what do you think about building us all some of your famous gin and tonics?”
“Be happy to, Jimmy.”
“While you’re at it, make mine a double,” said LaCroix from the kitchen.
“Make them all doubles,” said Bunnel.
“Has it been that bad of a day?” asked Emma.
“I don’t know about your day, Emma. But we’ve interviewed hundreds of people and nothing is turning into a solid lead.” He took his usual seat at the table and set his lighter and package of Pall Mall cigarettes in front of him. LaCroix was already seated and waiting for Emma.
“What did you find out, Jimmy?” she asked.
“I think I better let Henri tell you. He’s the one who found it.”
“Okay. Henri, what’s going on?” Emma asked.
“Jimmy and I were interviewing people near the café when I saw an old man sweeping in front of his store. I hadn’t talked to him before and showed him Captain Preston’s photograph. He doesn’t remember Preston, but he does remember du Maurier and his wife.”
“Go on,” encouraged Emma.
“He told me he had just finished sweeping the sidewalk when up pulls this car and parks in front of his store. He watched from inside his store and saw a man and a woman in the car talking. He remembered because he watched her crush her cigarette out in the ashtray of the car and then toss the butt onto the sidewalk. The sidewalk he had just finished sweeping. She made him mad because he likes to keep the area around his place clean.” LaCroix paused to take a large swallow of his gin and tonic before continuing. “He was going to go outside and pick it up and give it back to her, but about that time the two got out of the car and another man came up to them. The three of them talked for a minute. But unfortunately, that’s all he remembers, and he couldn’t identify Preston. He was upset with the woman and stayed inside until they left. I think he was afraid of a confrontation with them and, being Indian, probably thought it better to let the situation pass. Not worth going to jail over a cigarette butt in the street.”
“Did the man remember anything else?” asked Emma.
“The woman had long black hair,” said LaCroix. “We know the du Mauriers were there. The woman from the café confirms it. It’s too bad the man couldn’t identify Preston.
“Vern, where did the police find Preston’s car?” asked Emma.
“Miles from the café.”
“Do you want us to start interviewing people where the car was found?” asked LaCroix.
“That won’t take long and will probably lead nowhere,” said Miller.
“How so, Vern?” asked Emma.
“The car was found by the docks in an open field. I went by there and there isn’t much going on, and it’s not the kind of place like where Henri and Jimmy have been looking. It’s more industrial, not commercial or residential. Especially at night, and I’m assuming the car was put there after dark. We might find a lone person on a bicycle, but that’s going to be about it.”
“Has this man you talked to today been interviewed by the police?” asked Emma.
“I asked him if the police had been by asking any questions and he said no,” said Bunnel.
“He won’t be talking to the police,” Miller stated.
“How do you know?” asked Emma.
“Per Colonel Wyman’s orders. He wanted to find out who was responsible, not the local police. All I told the police was that Captain Preston didn’t come back that night.”
“Jimmy, are you up to paying another visit to Monsieur du Maurier tomorrow?”
“Sure, Emma, why?”
“We don’t have anything else to go on. Maybe there’s something else that du Maurier can tell you and, for some reason, hasn’t. The only thing that’s happened so far is that Vern and I were followed leaving Gurjar’s office. He knew Preston and claimed to have liked him. The man who followed us was probably the man who left Gurjar’s office just as I was going in. It could be he’s just being overly cautious about an American reporter.”
“I’ll visit du Maurier in the morning,” Bunnel promised.
“Then what?” asked Miller.
“I want to get a good look at him. Then I want us to split up and follow du Maurier and his associate Chevalier for a few days, see what they do. That will give us a bit of time to see what happens, and it’ll give us a chance to see if we’re followed again,” said Emma.
The next morning Bunnel once again climbed the stairs to du Maurier’s office, introduced himself to the receptionist, and asked to see Jacques du Maurier. This time he took a seat in the waiting room and positioned himself so he could see down the hallway. Scanning the passageway over the top of a trade magazine, he could see his presence had created a flurry of activity. Bunnel watched as du Maurier emerged from another office with a distressed look on his face. A couple of minutes later, the receptionist escorted him to du Maurier’s office.
“This is a surprise, Mr. Ferguson,” du Maurier said, motioning for Bunnel to sit. “How can I help you today?”
“Do you mind if I smoke?” asked Bunnel.
“Please do.”
Bunnel unbuttoned his suit coat to retrieve his cigarettes from the inside pocket. In the process he made sure du Maurier could see the Colt .45 automatic hanging in the holster under his left arm. Bunnel lit his cigarette and thought for a moment before speaking. “Is my presence here making you uncomfortable?” he asked.
“Not at all, should it?” du Maurier replied, lighting a cigarette of his own.
“Well, it might and it might not. That depends on you. You see, in my spare time I’ve been going over what you told me and it doesn’t seem to be adding up.”
“How so?”
“Well, it wasn’t like my friend Blaine to be late for anything. He was always on time. That’s just the way he was. If he told you he was going to meet you for dinner, then come hell or high water, he would be there. If something had come up and he had to cancel, he would have gotten word to you. Even if he had to send a messenger to the café, he would have let you know that he wasn’t coming. He would have considered it rude to stand you up. That’s why what you told me doesn’t make sense to me.”
“I really don’t know any more than what I told you. Have you talked to the police?”
Bunnel took a final drag on his cigarette and forcefully crushed out the remainder in the ashtray on du Maurier’s desk. “Sure, and they’re no help. No help at all. That’s why I’m here.”
“Are you a detective, Mr. Ferguson?”
Bunnel laughed. “Me? No. I’m just a fella that should be back in Washington dating secretaries, but since Blaine was killed, I’ve been sent here to take over his job. Lucky me. When I’m not working, I have a lot of spare time on my hands. What the hell else am I going to do, go to the opera? Heck, the other day I saw a woman trying to make a living selling shit out of a basket. So, I’m using any free time I have to find out what happened to my friend. Like I said, what the hell else do I have to do.”
“I see,” said du Maurier.
“Have you talked to the café owner?” du Maurier asked. “Maybe your friend came in later, after we left.”
“I went there when I left here. She didn’t know anything and didn’t seem to care.”
“I can understand your frustration.” du Maurier paused for a moment. “I have an idea. Today is Friday and my weekend is full.” He reached into his desk drawer, retrieved a business card, and handed it to Bunnel. “What do you say you give me a ring early next week? Say Monday or Tuesday? One day next week after work we can meet at the café and talk to the owner together. If we both go, she might see how important it is and might want, and be able, to help.”
“You’d be willing to do that?” asked Bunnel.
“Of course I would. I also liked Blaine, and as you said, the police haven’t been much help. Maybe the café owner thinks you’re a policeman. Most Indians distrust the authorities.”
“That could be. With you along, she’ll know we’re not English.”
Bunnel rose to his feet and extended his hand to du Maurier. “I’ll call you Monday or Tuesday. That’ll work out perfectly. Somehow I’ve pulled the weekend shifts and will be working all weekend.”
“Please do get in touch,” said du Maurier.
As Bunnel slowly walked down the hall, he glanced into Chevalier’s office and memorized his face.
Chevalier joined du Maurier in du Maurier’s office and together they watched Bunnel walk across the street and then turn the corner.
Chevalier spoke first. “What do you think Phillips was working on that was important enough to send someone half way around the world to investigate his death?”
“I have no idea, but one thing is certain, Ferguson isn’t going to go away until he finds out. And he isn’t like Phillips. He was wearing a small cannon under his coat and made sure I saw it.”
“Then we go ahead with our plan and get in contact with the Russian.”
Operation Blue Sapphire Page 12
