Singapore Sapphire

by A. M. Stuart

  Consignment 6: 5 March.

  5 March had been the day before Newbold had died. Lawson had worked for Newbold in Burma but there was nothing to link the two now . . . except that note.

  Aziz, carrying the folding typewriter, her father’s parting gift to her, returned from the school. She set the typewriter down on the table and went to work, plunging herself into Newbold’s dreary recitation of life in Rangoon.

  * * *

  * * *

  Harriet pushed the overcooked vegetables around her plate with her fork. Lokman had excelled himself with the awfulness of his cooking that night and all because Julian had expressed a desire for roast chicken.

  “Harriet, you can’t change the world,” Julian said at last.

  She looked up. “I’m not trying to. I just don’t think it’s fair that Will has to be punished for his father’s inadequacies.”

  “It’s John Lawson’s decision and he honestly believes he is doing the right thing by the boy. Plenty of English lads are sent back to England at a younger age than Will and they survive.”

  “Survive!” Harriet said. “Julian, you remember how you hated school . . . the bullying, the cold baths, the awful food . . . at least you could come home for the holidays. Will won’t even have that. He will be bundled off to an aunt and uncle he doesn’t even know.”

  “Harriet, it’s none of your business . . . Damn it . . . Who is that at the door?”

  Julian stood up, flinging his napkin onto the table. “Huo Jin, whoever that is . . .”

  “I’m sorry, Headmaster.” Pearson stood in the doorway, flushed and panting as if he had run from the school. Pearson, being of a corpulent build, never ran anywhere.

  Harriet rose to her feet and went to her brother’s side.

  “What is it, Pearson?” Julian’s clipped tone reflected the obvious urgency in Pearson’s demeanor.

  “One of the boys is missing.”

  “Who?” Julian and Harriet chorused.

  “Lawson. He didn’t come for dinner and at first I thought he may be sulking somewhere. He’s very upset by the news that he is being sent to England, but I didn’t think for a minute that he’d run away.”

  Harriet let out an involuntary cry. “Have you searched?” she demanded.

  Pearson turned a baleful gaze on her. “We’ve turned the school and the outbuildings inside out, Mrs. Gordon.”

  Julian glanced at his watch. “It’s eight thirty. When was he last seen?”

  “Prep.”

  “So, he’s been missing for three hours and nobody thought to tell me?” Julian’s normally imperturbable countenance flushed dark with anger.

  “I’m s-s-sorry, Headmaster,” Pearson stammered. “I honestly expected him to return.”

  “Harriet, ring the police,” Julian ordered. “I’m going back to the school.”

  Harriet telephoned the Central Police Station and asked to speak with Inspector Curran. To her immense relief she was connected to him.

  “You just caught me,” he said. “I was catching up on paperwork.”

  Harriet explained what had happened and Curran assured her he would come at once. She set the telephone down and a wave of unjustified relief washed through her. Curran was on his way. Surely now all would be well.

  On the chance that Will might be hiding somewhere around the house, she lit a lantern and with Aziz for company searched St. Tom’s House and the outbuildings, but they found no sign of the boy.

  There being nothing more she could do at the house, she hurried up to the school. Lights blazed from every window and lanterns bobbed in the jungle behind the school.

  She found Julian in the office, talking with the two junior masters.

  “Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

  Her brother glanced at her, the lines of his face tight with concern.

  “Can you help Mrs. Pearson and see if you can settle the boys down? They’re in a terrible state.”

  Harriet found the boarders gathered in the dining room with Mrs. Pearson. They all wore pajamas and several were crying. Mrs. Pearson had two of the younger boys on her knees, comforting their obvious distress.

  “Now, then, what’s this?” Harriet said. “It’s past bedtime and tomorrow is a school day. Mrs. Pearson, do you think you could rustle us up some cocoa and then we’ll get everyone into bed.”

  Mrs. Pearson set the two little boys down. One of them immediately ran to Harriet, wrapping his arms around her legs.

  “The bogeyman will come and get us,” he sobbed.

  Harriet disengaged the child and crouched down to his level. “Don’t be silly. There are no bogeymen. Go and sit next to Pritchard. Pritchard, make room.”

  “Have they found Lawson yet?” Simpson, one of the older boys, asked. He sat a little apart from the others, his hands moving restlessly along the well-worn tabletop.

  “Not yet, but he won’t have gone far,” Harriet said. “Here comes Mrs. Pearson with cocoa. Everyone, sit down at the table.”

  The boys brightened. Despite a climate that did not lend itself to the consumption of hot beverages, cocoa remained a perennial favorite and was allowed only as a very occasional treat at the school.

  “Can I speak with the boys?”

  At the sound of a now-familiar voice, with its cadences of a well-bred upbringing, Harriet turned to see Curran standing in the doorway. Relief washed through her. Curran was here and all would be right.

  “Boys, this is Inspector Curran. He’s a policeman.” She paused and added, conscious of a new realization, “And a friend.”

  “I’d like to ask you boys a couple of questions,” Curran said. “How about we put the chairs in a circle. It makes it easier for me to talk to you all.”

  As the boys obediently pulled up their chairs around him, Curran perched himself on the edge of the table.

  He leaned forward, his hands clasped. “Which one of you is Will Lawson’s best friend?”

  All eyes turned to Simpson.

  “I am, sir,” Simpson confirmed.

  Curran smiled. He had a good way with the children, Harriet thought. The boys had instantly relaxed with his air of calm authority.

  “Good lad, Simpson. Tell me, when did you last see Lawson?”

  “After prep, sir,” Simpson said. “We went outside to practice hitting a cricket ball around. Lawson was in a very bad mood.”

  “Why?”

  “He didn’t want to go to school in England,” Simpson replied.

  Curran shot a quick glance at Harriet.

  “His father has him booked to sail on the Europa on Thursday,” she said.

  Curran’s face betrayed nothing but she saw the flicker of interest in his eyes.

  He turned his attention back to Simpson. “So, the two of you were outside hitting a ball . . . What happened next?”

  “The man came . . .” Simpson began.

  Curran straightened.

  “The bogeyman,” one of the other boys said, and the littlest boy began to cry again.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Harriet said. “There is no such thing as a bogeyman.”

  “Well, there is,” David Allen, one of the older boys, always ready with a quick answer, interposed. “They are the Bugis pirates who roam these seas and steal small children and grind their bones for flour.”

  “That is enough, Allen!” Harriet said as a boy screamed and flung himself at Mrs. Pearson. “Boys, he is just trying to frighten you. The Bugis pirates are long gone. Inspector Curran?”

  He stared at her for a moment before guessing what she required of him. “Indeed, the Bugis are peaceful fishermen who cause me no trouble whatsoever.” He rose to his feet. “Mrs. Gordon, I think you and I should talk to Simpson in private.”

  Harriet nodded and turned to Mrs. Pearson.

  “Mrs
. Pearson, can you see the boys go back to bed?” Harriet said. She put her hand on Simpson’s shoulder. “I think we’ll be more comfortable in the headmaster’s office.”

  “Am I in trouble?” Simpson looked up at her with wide, worried eyes.

  Harriet shook her head. “Not at all.”

  They found Julian pacing his office, his hair sticking up on end as if he had been running his fingers through it. He whirled on his heel, his gaze traveling from Harriet to Curran and down to the boy between them.

  “Come in and sit down in that chair, Simpson,” Harriet said, pointing to the large overstuffed leather chair. “It’s Reverend Edwards’s favorite chair.”

  Simpson complied, even though the chair seemed to swallow him up and his feet didn’t touch the floor.

  Curran leaned his hip against Julian’s desk.

  “Now, Simpson, you were telling us that you were playing outside and a man approached Lawson.”

  Simpson nodded. “He had a note for Lawson.”

  “What did this man look like?”

  Simpson looked blank. “Just a native, sir.”

  “English, Chinese, Malay, Indian?”

  Simpson narrowed his eyes. “Not one of us and not a Malay or an Indian,” he concluded.

  “Chinese?”

  Simpson shrugged. “Anyway, he handed Lawson the note and went away.”

  “Did you see the note?”

  Simpson shook his head. “Lawson said it was from his father and his father was waiting for him and he had to go and see him now but he wasn’t to tell anyone.”

  The three adults in the room stiffened.

  “And?” Curran prompted.

  “The bell rang for washup. I said he should tell Mr. Pearson but Lawson told me to go inside and not tell anyone. He would see me later.”

  “And is that the last time you saw him?”

  Simpson nodded. “When I looked back he was walking across the cricket pitch to the jungle behind the school.” Simpson pointed in the general direction. “When I got upstairs I looked out of the window to see if I could see him but he’d gone.”

  Curran glanced at Julian. “What time would this be?”

  “Supper is at six. The bell for washup is rung at ten to six,” Julian said.

  Curran glanced at the clock on the table behind the headmaster’s desk. “So, he’s been gone over three hours?”

  “Did I do wrong, sir?” Simpson asked.

  Curran shook his head. “You did what your friend asked you. Now, go to bed and maybe we’ll have another chat in the morning. You might have remembered something else about the man who gave Lawson the note.”

  Simpson struggled out of the chair. At the door he turned around and looked back at the grown-ups. “I’m scared, sir.”

  Curran’s lips compressed. “There’ll be policemen here to keep guard, Simpson. You will be quite safe.”

  Simpson’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “Will he have a revolver, sir?”

  Curran nodded. “Yes.”

  Simpson slipped out of the room and Curran sat down in the nearest chair with his hands behind his head.

  “I’m missing something here. Who is this John Lawson?”

  “John Lawson manages a rubber plantation on the north of the island, near Kranji.” Julian said. “In fact Harriet and I went out to see him today. This decision to send his son away is very sudden and, quite frankly, Curran, he struck us both as a man under a great deal of pressure.”

  “Is it possible that Lawson could have taken his son?” Curran asked.

  Julian and Harriet exchanged glances. “No,” they chorused.

  Julian continued, “Why would he do that, when he was quite clear today that he had no intention of coming into town and he wanted the boy on the next ship to England?”

  Harriet sank back against her own desk. “I thought Lawson was frightened of something and we were left with the impression that he felt his son wasn’t safe at the school. He wanted the boy off the island. We promised . . .”

  Curran straightened, every inch the policeman. “Does this Lawson have a telephone?”

  Harriet shook her head. “No. That was why we went to see him in person.”

  Curran glanced at his watch. “I’m going to telephone the Kranji police post and send them out to the plantation. Meanwhile I’ve mobilized a search party for the boy and they’ll do what they can tonight, but other than that I don’t think there’s much else we can do before daylight.”

  Harriet ran her hand across her eyes, hoping the men could not see the tears that had gathered and threatened to betray her. She took a deep breath and looked from Julian to Curran. “I have a terrible feeling, Curran.”

  Curran met her gaze, his expression revealing nothing. “Mrs. Gordon, Reverend Edwards, I suggest you go home and get some sleep. I’ll return first thing in the morning.”

  Harriet glanced at her brother. “He’s right, Julian. Let’s go home.”

  Julian shook his head and indicated the sofa. “I’ll sleep here, Harriet. You go home. No point in both of us staying here. Curran, do you mind walking Harriet back to the house?”

  Harriet opened her mouth to protest but common sense prevailed. Even though it was just a few hundred yards, with a possible kidnapper lurking in the shadows, she really did not want to walk by herself or, if she was honest, be at home alone.

  “I’ll put a police guard on the house tonight,” Curran said, as if he had read her thoughts.

  Julian nodded. “Much appreciated, Curran. Try to sleep, Harri. I am sure it will all look less bleak in the daylight.”

  Curran replaced his hat and held the door open for Harriet.

  As they crossed the sports field, lights bobbed in the jungle behind the school and voices called the child’s name. Harriet wrapped her arms around herself, as if a chill breeze blew across the field.

  “My brother is an eternal optimist. It won’t be better in the morning. He’s gone, isn’t he?”

  Curran drew in a deep, audible breath. “I fear so.”

  Those maddening, betraying tears threatened again as she thought of Will alone and terrified. If he was still alive . . .

  “Poor boy. He must be so scared. Why would anyone take him?”

  Curran cleared his throat. “Tell me more about John Lawson.”

  “I don’t really know him as anything more than a parent I’ve met on a couple of occasions. In fact, I only saw him last Tuesday—he came to pay the outstanding school fees.” She paused. “That’s an odd thing. He not only paid the outstanding fees but also the fees for next term. That’s why I don’t understand this sudden haste to remove William.”

  “Interesting,” Curran said. “Had he come to town on that errand?”

  “No. He said there had been a meeting of the board that own the rubber plantation he manages. I wouldn’t be surprised if the board were less than happy. Even I could see that his plantation is in an appalling state but then I don’t suppose he knew much about rubber planting. He was a mine engineer.”

  Curran stopped. “A mine engineer? Where?”

  Harriet turned to face him. Although his features were shadowed in the dark, the fingers of his right hand tensed around the strap of his Sam Browne.

  Her own voice sounded small and tight in the echoing cavern of the night. “He worked for Newbold on the Mogok mine.”

  Curran huffed out a breath as if he had been holding it in anticipation.

  “He worked for Newbold,” he mused. “What brought him to Singapore?”

  “They lost a child and his wife insisted they move, so they compromised and came to Singapore a few years ago. Is this significant?”

  Curran started walking again, his pace lengthening so that Harriet had to scurry to catch up with him.

  “Two, possibly three, people with a c
onnection to the Burmese Ruby Syndicate are dead and the child of another has been kidnapped. I think that is significant, don’t you, Mrs. Gordon?”

  “As soon as he told me he had worked for Newbold I had a feeling there had to be a connection.”

  Curran turned to her and in the dark she sensed, rather than saw, the quirk of his eyebrow. “Do you get these feelings often?”

  She allowed herself a smile. “Call it woman’s intuition, Inspector. Now everything else makes sense. Lawson told us that he was frightened of something happening to Will. He covered it with his own tragic history—losing three children and his wife to disease—but do you think someone may have threatened the child directly? Do you think Lawson had something that Newbold’s murderer wants?” She stopped, her hand seeking out the comfort of the brooch at her throat. “Do you think they will harm Will?”

  Curran opened the gate in the hedge, which squeaked on its protesting hinges, and let Harriet pass through. “Unlike you I do not have the luxury of jumping to conclusions,” he said. “But what is clear is that we are looking at something far deeper and more complex than we first thought.”

  He walked her up to the house, where Huo Jin waited.

  “I’ll send a constable around to watch the house tonight,” he said.

  “Thank you. I’ll sleep better for knowing we have a guard.” Harriet managed a humorless laugh. “At least I have no connection with the Burmese Ruby Syndicate.”

  Curran cast her a glance, unreadable in the dark, tipped his fingers to his hat and turned back toward the school.

  Harriet stood on the verandah and watched him until the black, unforgiving night swallowed him and she heard the squeak of the gate. Cold fingers of fear ran down her spine. Only ten days ago she had no connection with Burma or rubies, but it seemed like a vortex had sprung up that threatened to drag her down into its depths. The deaths and the disappearance of Will had shaken her. Particularly the latter. That touched her heart.