‘As far as I know, for many years.’
‘And had his parents been dead long?’
Claybourne frowned. ‘Several years, I think. Why do you ask?’
‘No particular reason.’
Interesting. If Claybourne was telling the truth, it didn’t tally with what Petrie had said about Wynne-Talbot’s mother’s recent deathbed revelations.
‘What about Mrs Wynne-Talbot? Do you have any idea how she felt about her husband’s friendship with this man?’
‘Helen? At first, she used to complain to me about him all the time. But it wasn’t long before I began to suspect that was just a smokescreen.’
Claybourne stubbed out the remains of his cigarette in the ashtray on de Silva’s desk. ‘I soon discovered I was right. They didn’t bother to keep their affair secret for long. Ralph tried to pretend it wasn’t happening but eventually he confronted Helen. She just laughed at him and refused to talk about it. Weeks turned into months and eventually Ralph confided in me. I tried to help, but there wasn’t much to be done. Helen and Johnny were behaving completely brazenly by then.’
‘Then why didn’t her husband leave her?’
‘He couldn’t bring himself to. Ralph adored Helen. Even when anyone could see it was hopeless, he still clung onto the hope she’d come back to him.’
There was a knock at the door and Nadar looked in. ‘Sir, excuse me, but you wanted me to remind you about that important meeting.’
De Silva waved a dismissive hand. ‘It’ll have to wait. Tell them I’ll telephone later.’
Nadar looked surprised but he nodded and closed the door.
‘It all came to a head at the end of ’33,’ Claybourne continued. ‘It was New Year’s Eve and the four of us had agreed to spend it together. Helen made up some story about a headache and wanting to rest first and said she’d join us later. Johnny also said he had business to attend to so Ralph and I should go on ahead. Ralph put a good face on it but he must have been suspicious. I wasn’t. It was clear as day they planned to go somewhere together and wouldn’t turn up.’
Claybourne fished the cigarette packet out of his pocket, extracted another one and lit it. De Silva was increasingly puzzled. By now the attention seekers he’d come across in Colombo had usually betrayed themselves with some wildly improbable claim or other. He remembered one who had been certain he had been visited by the ghost of Queen Victoria. Another had confided that the goddess Kali had entrusted him with the secret of a neighbour’s imagined crime and instructed him to see that the man was punished. This man’s speech and manner were, however, remarkably measured and calm.
‘It was getting late and Ralph could hardly get his head off the table for whisky. I decided it was time to call a halt and get him back to the place where we were living.’
Claybourne fell silent once again, his eyes blank as if he had forgotten where he was. De Silva hesitated to prompt him.
‘I don’t believe the earthquake was reported outside Australia,’ he continued at last. ‘Quakes aren’t an uncommon occurrence in the Western Territory. In any case,’ he added grimly, ‘the rest of the world tends not to take too much interest in what goes on down under.’
He paused again. The only sound in the room was the thrum of the ceiling fan blades chopping the heavy air. De Silva studied his silent visitor. What was he after? To discredit this Johnny Randall? If Wynne-Talbot really was dead and Randall was trying to usurp his life, unmasking him was going to be a very tricky task. Certainly not one to be undertaken lightly. Still, he’d give Claybourne a few more minutes. ‘At times, we feel much the same in Ceylon,’ he remarked. ‘Please, go on.’
‘As I said, Ralph was very drunk that night. I’m afraid that wasn’t unusual by then. We’d got back to the room and he was still sleeping it off when the earthquake struck. It was a big one, and the mining town was close to the epicentre. I’d never experienced anything like it before and I hope never to again. The flophouse we were in was intact one minute and heaving and cracking the next.
‘I managed to get Ralph up and drag him down the stairs. When we got outside, I vividly remember a big crack in the earth zigzagging along behind us as we ran down the street. Powerlines had ruptured and fires soon started to break out. Lethal when most of a town’s built of wood. The weather had been dry for weeks and the flames jumped easily from one building to another until half the place was alight. We had fire trucks, but it took a while before people sobered up and started to bring them to where they were needed.
‘Ralph got it into his head that he must find Helen. He wanted to be sure she was safe. He wouldn’t listen to anything I said so all I could do was follow him. We ran into a few people we knew and one of them thought he’d seen Helen and Johnny going into the hotel where Johnny was staying. We got there to find there’d been a fire but it was mostly out and rescue workers were retrieving bodies. Johnny and Helen hadn’t yet been found.’
De Silva noticed that the hand holding the cigarette trembled; the index and third fingers were stained yellowish-brown.
‘Ralph grabbed one of the rescue workers and demanded to know if every floor had been searched. We knew Johnny and Helen had rooms on the top floor. The fellow said the staircase up to it was shot to pieces and they hadn’t been able to get there.’
Claybourne stood up and went to the window. From the set of his shoulders, de Silva guessed he was trying to master his emotions. At last he went on in a rasping voice. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget the stench in that building. Ralph dashed in before I had time to stop him. I followed, covering my face as well as I could to keep out the stink and the smoke, but my eyes were soon streaming. The wooden walls and beams were charred black and you couldn’t trust that any board you stepped on wouldn’t burn the shoes off your feet or give way under you and send you hurtling down to the floor below.
‘We got as far as the last flight of stairs to the top floor and I saw what the fireman meant. There was just a skeleton structure left. Ralph started to claw his way up but what was left of it gave way under his weight. As he fell, I rushed towards him and tried to grab him. There was a terrible creaking and cracking and a bang like a charge going off down the mine, then something came down on my head and knocked me unconscious.’
There was a long pause. De Silva wasn’t sure whether to believe a word of this, although if Claybourne was making it up, he had a vivid imagination and a knack for veracity. De Silva remembered a visit he’d once had to make to a crime scene in Colombo after an arson attack. Claybourne’s description brought the scene back and he had to control the sick feeling in his stomach the memory still had the power to arouse.
‘When I came round, I wasn’t sure where I was. There was still a lot of gritty smoke in the air and it wasn’t easy to see much. Something heavy lay across my back and my left leg, preventing me from moving. My head felt as if it would split, and something sticky, blood I suppose, trickled into my mouth. The pain was terrible, so bad it was hard to think about anything else. But I was aware of someone lying nearby. He was trapped under a pile of debris. It took me a while to realise who it was.’
‘The man you say was Ralph Wynne-Talbot?’
‘Yes,’ said Claybourne bleakly. ‘I wanted to call out to him, but when I tried to speak or move, the pain was too much. It was then I saw another man coming towards us. He was on his hands and knees, inching forward with great care. It was Johnny.’
He gave a harsh laugh. ‘If I’d been able to attract his attention, I doubt I’d be here today telling you this. It’s ironic that the pain I was in saved me. He got to Ralph and stopped but he didn’t speak. I saw one of Ralph’s hands lift a little and he made a low, guttural, moaning sound.’
He swallowed hard. De Silva watched the ash from the cigarette drop unheeded onto Claybourne’s khaki trousers. ‘What made me do it, I can’t say, but I lowered my eyelids so I could only just see out and stayed very still. If Johnny planned to rescue us, it seemed strange he didn’t
speak. Wouldn’t he want to know if we were alive before risking his own life? And if we were alive, wouldn’t he want to reassure us? Instead, he ripped a piece from Ralph’s shirt and I heard muffled sounds, as if Ralph was trying to speak. Then Johnny pressed the wad over Ralph’s nose and mouth. The sounds faded. He struggled for a few moments, then he lay still.’
Claybourne’s voice tailed away. The misery in his eyes stirred de Silva’s pity. Even if the allegation was a massive fiction, it was excruciatingly real to this man. De Silva couldn’t help shuddering himself at the thought of such a cold-blooded execution of a defenceless man.
‘Would you like me to call for some tea, sir?’ he asked quietly.
Claybourne shook his head. ‘There’s no need.’ He moistened his dry lips with his tongue. ‘People talk about being sick with fear and I never knew how that felt until that night. I waited to see what Johnny would do next. Even though the windows had been blown out with the heat, there wasn’t much light, but if he saw me, I knew I was a dead man.’ He gave a bitter smile. ‘Some people might say what happened next was a stroke of luck and, in a way, I suppose it was. There was another creak and the floor moved. Johnny let out a yell and slid backwards. I heard other voices shouting to us, then I was falling, and again I lost consciousness.’
De Silva cleared his throat. He needed to bring the interview to a close and think this new information through.
‘It seems you are lucky to be alive, Mr Claybourne, but you’ve told me you were in terrible pain and it was hard to see what was going on around you. Are you absolutely sure about what you think you saw?’
‘I don’t think, Inspector. I know what I saw.’
De Silva felt a wave of anger roll towards him from the other side of the desk but he was determined not to back down. Slowly, Claybourne mastered himself. ‘I don’t blame you for being sceptical. It’s an extraordinary story.’ His shoulders slumped and the next words were barely audible. ‘All I ask is that you hear me out.’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you.’ Mechanically, he rubbed his left leg. ‘I was taken to hospital,’ he went on. ‘Later I learnt that I had suffered a severe concussion, which explained why for a long time I remembered nothing, not even my own name. It was only after my memory started to return that everything that happened that night came back to me. I—’
A paroxysm of coughing prevented him from continuing. De Silva went to the door and called Nadar to bring some water. Claybourne gulped it gratefully. ‘The smoke,’ he said at last. ‘The doctors told me my lungs would never be the same.’
No doubt the cigarettes didn’t help, thought de Silva. ‘So where did you go after your recovery?’ he asked.
‘When I left hospital, I was sent to convalesce at a place near Perth. Several months passed before I was fit enough to leave, but when I was, I learnt from police records that Ralph was dead. I’d also been recorded missing, presumed dead; a misconception I didn’t chose to correct for a time.’
‘What about Randall?’
‘I could find no evidence of his death.’
‘So, to sum up, you believe you saw him kill Mr Wynne-Talbot that night? Mr Claybourne, you’re making a very serious accusation.’
‘I appreciate that.’
‘Putting it aside, if the man who claims to be Ralph Wynne-Talbot is Johnny Randall, how did you track him down to Ceylon?’
‘When I’d fully recovered, I didn’t want to stay in Australia but I wasn’t sure I wanted to return to England either. The British government was advertising for engineers to work on the roads here and that seemed to be the answer. I work mostly in the north of the country but I happened to be down in Colombo for a meeting when the Colombo Times reported the arrival of Ralph Wynne-Talbot and his wife. One look at the photograph on the front page and I realised what Johnny was up to. It wasn’t enough for him to step into Ralph’s shoes with Helen, he wanted everything that was Ralph’s by right.’
‘Mr Claybourne, say you’re right about this, and I’m afraid it will take more than your word alone to convince me, what do you believe Helen Wynne-Talbot knew about her husband’s death?’
‘She probably wasn’t aware that Johnny’s responsible, although of course she must have colluded with his impersonating Ralph. Helen was always the nervy type and pretty neurotic. I doubt Johnny would entrust her with his biggest secret. Even she might find it too much to stomach,’ he added sourly.
De Silva’s mind whirred. Was this story the truth or a carefully concocted pack of lies? For the moment, he could think of no more questions that might be useful – except perhaps one.
‘Has engineering always been your field, Mr Claybourne?’
Claybourne’s forehead puckered. ‘Yes, but I’m puzzled as to why you ask.’
‘No particular reason, sir. I’m just curious. Do I take it that the man you refer to as Ralph Wynne-Talbot had less experience than you?’
Claybourne looked faintly irritated. ‘It stands to reason as Ralph was my junior. But don’t misunderstand me, Inspector, he was a very capable engineer and loved his work. It was in his private life that he failed to succeed and that was through no fault of his own.’
De Silva rose to his feet. ‘I’m afraid I must bring our discussion to a close for the moment, Mr Claybourne. I have other business to attend to. But please feel free to come back if you have anything further to tell me.’
He saw Claybourne’s knuckles blanch. ‘Do I understand you correctly? You have no intention of taking this matter any further? Are you satisfied that an innocent man is dead and the man who committed the crime can look forward to a life of wealth and privilege?’
De Silva maintained an impassive expression, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘I’ll make some enquiries,’ he said, ignoring the fact that he hadn’t the glimmer of an idea in what direction they might usefully lie.
‘Ah, enquiries.’
‘Yes. Is there somewhere I can reach you if I need to speak to you about the results?’
Claybourne got to his feet. ‘Oh, I’ll find you, Inspector. Rest assured of that.’
Chapter 24
The door closed and de Silva inhaled deeply then exhaled in a long, slow sigh. This was a development he could well have done without, but instinct told him he would be wrong to dismiss it out of hand. He remembered his motto: no stone unturned.
He looked at his watch. He knew Jane wasn’t at home for lunch so he’d planned to ask Prasanna or Nadar to fetch him some food from one of the stalls in the bazaar, but now he changed his mind. A drive in the Morris always helped to clear his head; he’d go down to the lake for an hour. There were always plenty of food vendors there and after the long meeting he was hungry.
The calm waters of the town’s large lake sparkled in the sunshine. It was a fine asset to Nuala and one the inhabitants didn’t need to thank the British for. Like the majority of Ceylon’s numerous lakes, it had been constructed in the time of the kings to conserve the precious water that reached the island twice a year in the form of the monsoons.
He parked the Morris at the edge of the grassy shore and pulled up the hood. There were several stalls nearby doing brisk business as well as vendors weaving among the groups of people who had, like himself, decided to spend their lunchtime by the lake. He purchased a round of naan bread, some dahl and a vegetable curry and found somewhere to sit.
Although he always teased Jane about her British addiction to travelling rugs, it might have been good to have one today. In spite of the recent rain, the ground was dry and dusty.
He took off his jacket and sat down. Breaking the naan into pieces, he used it to scoop the dahl and curry into his mouth. As he ate, he went over the conversation with Claybourne. Now that the man was no longer in front of him, his doubts increased, but what if the story was true? The implications were tremendous. He would have a murder case on his hands that threatened to shake British society in Ceylon and abroad.
His stomach gave a lurch. There was
also the matter of Helen Wynne-Talbot. If there was murder involved, had she been an accomplice? Had her guilt become too much for her? Did it explain why she jumped? He would have to watch his step. It was all too easy to imagine how outraged Archie Clutterbuck would be if he made allegations that proved to be untrue, to say nothing of William Petrie…
A crow landed next to him, cocking its head and fixing its beady eyes on the remains of his lunch. De Silva wiped up the last of the curry and dahl but kept back a piece of naan before signalling to the vendor who waited nearby to take back the bowls. He stood up and stretched, then crumbled the remains of the naan and threw it for the crow. By the time he reached the Morris, a small flock had descended and were squabbling over the crumbs. Like the British would be over his carcass if he got this one wrong.
On his return to the station, he found the public room deserted. He picked up the bell on the counter and rang it briskly. A moment later, Constable Nadar appeared from the back looking flustered.
‘Forgive me, sir, I wasn’t gone for long.’
‘I should hope not. Where’s Prasanna?’
‘In the backyard, sir.’
‘What’s he doing there?’
Nadar shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘I’m not sure I should say, sir.’
De Silva’s forehead puckered. ‘You make it sound very serious, Constable.’
‘It is, sir,’ said Nadar unhappily, ‘but I do not have any business telling you. Prasanna will be doing that himself.’
Mystified, de Silva walked down the short corridor that led to the backyard. As he drew near, a monotonous thumping noise reached him, coming at regular intervals, as if someone was hammering a piece of wood.
In the sunny yard, Prasanna was throwing a cricket ball hard against one of the walls then catching it on the rebound and hurling it again. De Silva watched him for a few throws before loudly clearing his throat. The ball fell to the ground and rolled away.
Prasanna’s expression combined dejection and defiance; de Silva felt a prickle of disquiet. What had the young man been up to? He didn’t speak, so de Silva was forced to break the silence.
Dark Clouds Over Nuala (The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Book 2) Page 14
