A faint mist rolled from the bonnet into the front seats, making them both splutter. De Silva looked over his shoulder and saw the small herd of shaggy brown ponies, drowsing and flicking their tails in the middle of the road, sublimely unconcerned by the trouble they had caused.
Two sets of skid marks had cut deep grooves across the grass. One set ended at the Morris, the other at a coconut stall by the lakeshore. The owner was jumping up and down, gesticulating and shouting imprecations at the black Daimler that had careered on and come to rest a few yards into the lake. The water lapped at its front wheels; steam from its radiator drifted gently into the sky. Children ran to snatch the coconuts bobbing in the water.
De Silva and Prasanna leapt out of the Morris and raced to the driver’s side of Leung’s car. He was slumped over the wheel but at their approach, he jerked upright and made a lunge for the passenger door. Gasping for breath, De Silva put on a spurt and seized him by the collar of his immaculate jacket.
‘Oh no you don’t! David Leung, I’m arresting you for the murder of Charles Renshaw.’
Chapter 21
De Silva settled down in the First-Class carriage and prepared to enjoy the journey up to Nanu Oya. His two days in Colombo had been very satisfactory. Leung had been committed for trial for Renshaw’s murder and was now safely locked up in Colombo’s high security gaol.
De Silva’s old friend and colleague in the Colombo police force had unearthed the names of the men behind Asian Ventures, the company that was Renshaw’s principal creditor.
‘One of them is a man called Chiam See Tong,’ he said. ‘A Singapore Eurasian, better known to you as David Leung. Several others are suspected of having links to the Black Lotus gang.’
The Morris waited for him at Nanu Oya. As he drove the last few miles home, the afterglow of the setting sun was in the sky. Flocks of birds flying to their roosts made dark shapes against the fading red. He stood still for a moment in the drive at Sunnybank, listening to the geckos chirrup and smelling the perfume of his roses. Then he went inside.
Jane was in the drawing room, reading. She took off her spectacles and put the book in her lap. ‘I’m so glad you’re back, dear. I was beginning to worry. Was the train delayed?’
He bent down to kiss her cheek. ‘Yes, just outside Hatton. The driver and the guards had to stop for a herd of goats that had strayed onto the line.’
‘What a nuisance.’
She rang the small brass bell on the table at her elbow. ‘I’ll send for your whisky and soda, then you must tell me how it went. I want to know everything.’
He sank into his chair. ‘The trial went very well. The prosecuting counsel did a fine job and Leung confessed to the murder.’
‘Excellent.’
‘It turns out that he and Renshaw frequented many of the same gambling clubs in Colombo. Leung soon discovered that Renshaw was heavily in debt. He saw it as an opportunity to involve him in an extortion racket: one of the Black Lotus gang’s operations. An Englishman on the board of the company that fronted it was a useful smoke screen.’
One of the servants brought in his whisky and soda. He took a sip and sighed. ‘That’s better. Now where was I?’
‘The extortion racket.’
‘Ah yes. Renshaw had the sense to step away from that one before he was in too deep. Eventually, he inherited the plantation and left Colombo. He tried to make a success of it but, as we know, the place had been neglected and it was in a bad state. He borrowed money, but soon his bank wasn’t so willing to lend.
‘When he read in the papers about the Black Lotus gang arrests, but didn’t see Leung’s name, he made a shrewd guess that Leung might have been an informer. There was a lot of talk about insider leaks in the papers. He also banked on it that, if he was right, there would be underworld figures still out there who might be very interested in knowing about Leung’s activities.’
He drank some more whisky before continuing. ‘Renshaw contacted Leung to find out how things stood. At first Leung denied having anything to do with the leak but Renshaw didn’t give up. Leung lost his nerve and agreed to help him borrow money in return for keeping quiet.’
‘So Leung set up the loan from Asian Ventures?’
De Silva nodded. ‘He had an interest in the company and a pretty shady outfit it is. The Colombo force are convinced it has links to Black Lotus. For a while, Renshaw kept quiet and Leung thought he’d got away scot free. However it was never going to be as easy as that. It wasn’t long before Renshaw wanted more money. He was struggling to pay the interest on the loans he’d already taken out, and Leung said no chance - Asian Ventures would never agree - but Renshaw wasn’t prepared to take no for an answer. He told Leung he’d have to lend him money personally, and get him out of the Asian Ventures debt.’
‘Gracious.’
‘That was when Leung decided Renshaw needed silencing - permanently. On the evening after the cricket match, he left Renshaw at midnight as he claimed. What he didn’t admit to was that he came back and broke into the factory soon afterwards. He prepared the tea, put a lethal dose of cyanide in it and moved the hands of the office clock forward to fool Renshaw it was early morning. Then he woke Renshaw, pretended he’d come back to see if he was alright, and persuaded him to drink the tea. The poison worked almost instantly. All he had to do then was drag the body to the withering room and haul it into one of the tanks.’
‘It was clever of you to work out that Leung hadn’t really had a puncture and he’d lied about spending time changing his wheel on the way home.’
De Silva smiled. ‘Thank you, my dear. Yes, he deliberately damaged his spare and later took it to be mended at the garage to make his story about being delayed by a puncture convincing. He was lucky too that Hebden put the time of death when he did. That helped to make Leung’s story more credible. Of course, I’d never have guessed he was lying about the puncture if it hadn’t been for those bent spokes. Luckily, even he can make a mistake. I must have caught him off guard when I asked which tyre had punctured and he forgot them. If he’d remembered, he would have told me a different one and I’d have been none the wiser. But he did make another slip.’
‘What was that?’
‘He didn’t put the time on the clock right before he left the plantation. That was done later.’
‘Just an oversight?’
‘I imagine so. He must have been pretty weary by then. Renshaw was a big man to lift into that tank.’
‘I was always sure Mr Tagore’s name would be cleared,’ Jane said happily. ‘And I’m so glad that he and Madeleine have nothing standing in their way now.’
‘I suppose that’s true.’
‘Do they know everything that happened?’
‘Tagore was down in Colombo and he asked to meet me. We made our peace and I filled him in. I’ve left it to him what he tells Madeleine.’
De Silva thought briefly of the bloodstained shirt. He’d never mentioned it to Jane in case it upset her and he wouldn’t now. Tagore had been red-faced when it turned out to be David Leung who had arranged for it to be sent to him anonymously to add drama to the information about Gooptu. A clever touch that Leung had rightly expected would strengthened the trail to the dismissed worker.
Leung also guessed that de Silva would find out about Tagore and Madeleine eventually and might alternatively suspect it was one or both of them who had plotted Renshaw’s murder. If de Silva worked out that the shirt was a fake, he might conclude that Tagore was using it to deflect attention from their crime.
As it turned out, shortly after Leung had been captured, Van Bruyn’s laboratory gave their opinion that the blood wasn’t even human. They’d passed the shirt to the government veterinary department who thought it might be from a rabbit. Although he had warmed to the young lawyer by then, de Silva had experienced considerable satisfaction in telling Tagore that and teaching him a lesson about being too trusting. Perhaps the charitable view was that love had clouded his judgement.
<
br /> ‘Why do you think David Leung stayed in Nuala? Wouldn’t it have been better to get as far away as possible?’ asked Jane.
De Silva shook his head. ‘He needed to make sure that Madeleine agreed to let him sell the plantation on her behalf, so he had to stay to keep up the pressure on her. The money Leung gave to Renshaw to keep him quiet was in fact stolen from Asian Ventures. The company had no idea it had gone and Leung wanted to get it back into their bank as soon as possible with no questions asked.’
‘What do you think will happen to Leung?’
De Silva shrugged. ‘He’s offering the Colombo police more information in exchange for a pardon but I doubt it will save him this time.’
Jane smiled. ‘I’m very proud of you, dear. I hope you know that.’
‘Thank you, my love.’
He squeezed her hand and chuckled. ‘Although I fear your Miss Marple would probably have solved the crime faster.’
‘Surely not.’
Chapter 22
It was a glorious afternoon for Florence Clutterbuck’s annual garden party. The sunshine sparkled on the trumpets and horns of the brass band she had hired for the occasion. In the Residence’s cool, spacious dining room, white-gloved servants dispensed tea, fruit punch, savouries and cakes.
Wherever the British went, de Silva mused, they had the knack of recreating a little corner of England. One day, they would leave and give Ceylon back to her people but, for the moment, the tendency had a certain charm.
He and Jane strolled around the luxuriant garden, admiring the plants and chatting to friends and acquaintances. It seemed everyone wanted to congratulate him.
All at once, the brass band struck up a rousing tune and an anticipatory hush fell. ‘Look,’ said Jane. ‘The government agent and his wife are arriving. Florence was so thrilled they’ve come up from Kandy for the occasion.’
The official car bearing Mr William and Lady Caroline Petrie, a titled lady in her own right as the daughter of the Earl of Axford, glided to a halt. Archie in tow, Florence Clutterbuck hurried to greet the honoured guests and a polite murmur of clapping rippled over the lawn.
Florence began to shepherd the Petries around those favoured enough to have a few remarks bestowed on them. General conversation resumed and de Silva saw Madeleine and Tagore coming in their direction.
Madeleine and Jane hugged. ‘Such wonderful news!’ Jane beamed. ‘Have you set the date yet?’
‘Yes, three weeks from tomorrow. The formalities will be at the Town Hall and then a small gathering at Ravi’s mother’s bungalow. We do so want you both to be with us. Please say you’ll come?’
Tagore shook de Silva’s hand. ‘I second that.’
‘In fact,’ Madeleine added, ‘I insist on it. We’re so grateful to you, aren’t we, Ravi? Jane for all her kindness and you, Inspector, for bringing us together.’
De Silva laughed. ‘In a roundabout way, I suppose I did.’
‘Will you stay on in Nuala afterwards?’ asked Jane.
‘Ravi needs to be back in Colombo for his work but I hope we’ll be able to come back here often. We plan to keep Ravi’s mother’s bungalow on. I love it already.’
‘Will you sell the plantation?’
‘I’ll have to with all the debts that need settling, but I don’t care.’ She shivered. ‘I’ll be glad when it’s gone and I can forget that horrible time.’
Happy barking made them all look round. Hamish’s new puppy was trying to persuade Darcy to play with him but the older dog wasn’t showing any interest. Hamish scooped the puppy up and carried him over. ‘Hello, Mrs de Silva, would you like to meet Freddy?’
‘Very much. He’s gorgeous.’ The black Labrador puppy was quite an armful already, all dangling paws and melting-chocolate eyes. He nuzzled Jane’s outstretched hand with his damp nose.
‘They’ve got ice cream inside,’ Hamish said hopefully. ‘Can we go and have some, Mamma?’
‘Of course.’
They made their farewells and Jane and de Silva watched them walk away together in the direction of the house.
‘I’m so happy for them,’ she said. ‘I know they’ll have to weather a few storms but we’ve always managed, haven’t we?’
He nodded. ‘And there’s a lot more steel behind that pretty face of Madeleine Renshaw’s than you might suppose.’
They noticed the Clutterbucks coming in their direction with the Petries. ‘Oh goodness,’ Jane whispered. ‘We must be on our best behaviour, Shanti.’
But the government agent and his lady had friendly smiles on their aristocratic faces. Florence made the introductions and they all shook hands. ‘Congratulations, Inspector,’ said William Petrie. ‘Gratifying to show the boys in Colombo that you can cut the mustard up here, eh?’
De Silva thanked him and after a few more moments of talk, the Petries moved on. Another expression he’d not heard before, thought de Silva, but he understood the general drift.
‘What a lovely dress Lady Caroline’s wearing,’ Jane whispered. ‘And those diamonds! They must be worth a fortune.’
‘I’d buy you even bigger ones if I could.’
She tucked her arm into his. ‘That’s very sweet but I’m perfectly content without them.’
‘Thank you, my love. You know, if Ravindra Tagore is half as happy as I am, he’ll be a very lucky man.’
‘And if Madeleine is half as happy as me, she’ll be very lucky too.’
****
Thank you for reading this book, I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please see below for information about the next book in the series and a sample.
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Coming Soon
Double Trouble
The arrival in Nuala of the heir to an English earldom signals more trouble for the hapless Inspector de Silva and a new mystery to solve. Throw in a mega-rich Romanian count, his glamorous countess and an enigmatic British army officer and the scene is set for another entertaining mystery. Double Trouble will be published in early 2017 but you can read the opening chapters now:
Chapter 1
New Year’s Eve 1933
Western Australia.
As the minutes to midnight ticked away, ever greater numbers of revellers crowded into the noisy bar. The dark-haired man limped back to his table with a glass of beer in his hand. Halfway there, someone knocked into him and he stumbled, lurching into a burly miner and slopping some of the beer down the fellow’s jacket. As the miner jerked round, he waited for a blow but, to his relief, all that came was a gust of hot, whisky breath and a muttered curse.
The young man waiting for him at the table was on his own now. ‘They’ve gone,’ he said. His expression was wretched and his voice full of misery. He raked one hand through his fair hair.
What answer was there to give? It was impossible to put things right. ‘Drink up,’ the dark-haired man said, trying for a cheerful tone. ‘I expect they’ll be back soon.’
But they both knew that wasn’t likely to be the case.
Morosely, the young man reached for the bottle of whisky on the table and poured a shot into his glass. His forehead glistened and his skin had a greenish hue. He drained the whisky in one gulp and reached for the bottle again but the dark-haired man pushed it out of his reach.
‘Enough, we’re getting out of here.’
The young man glowered; he tried to get to his feet and staggered. The table rocked dangerously as he grabbed the edge and the bottle and glasses slid off, smashing into pieces on the stone floor. He stared bleakly at the shards glinting in the puddle of whisky and beer, then almost toppled into the lap of the heavily rouged and powdered woman who sat at the tab
le next door. He clutched at her dress to steady himself and dislodged the neckline.
‘You’ll have to pay if you want to look down there, sweetheart,’ she laughed, shoving him off and rearranging her cleavage. Her scowling companion started from his seat. He wore a red kerchief and an open-necked shirt with rolled up sleeves. The muscles in his forearms swelled as he clenched his fists; the sinews in his thick neck bulged.
The dark-haired man pulled a couple of dollar bills out of his pocket and pushed them across the table. ‘Sorry about my friend. He’s had a few too many tonight and some bad news. Please, have a drink on us. Happy New Year.’
The woman’s companion hesitated then shrugged and sat down again. ‘Happy New Year, mate. No hard feelings.’
Outside, the temperature had dropped since the sun went down. The young man took a gulp of night air and doubled over. His companion helped him to the side of the dirt road and looked away as he vomited bile and alcohol. When it was over, he handed the young man a handkerchief. ‘Here, use this to mop your face.’
The streets grew quieter as they neared the hotel. In the lobby, the woman behind the desk glared as the dark-haired man helped his young friend to the stairs and started to manoeuvre him up.
‘I hope there’s going to be no extra laundry. We charge double, you know,’ the woman snorted. ‘New Year’s Eve or not.’
A narrow landing with walls papered a drab shade of brown led to a series of doors. They stopped at the last one; it was unlocked. Inside the pokey room, a lightbulb enclosed by an opaque shade spattered with the corpses of years of dead flies cast a glaucous light over an ugly table and chair and a bed covered with a faded red counterpane. The young man crumpled onto it and turned his face to the wall.
The window was shut so the dark-haired man went over and struggled with the sash. After a few moments, it yielded and air crept into the stuffy room. Distant cheers and shouts drifted from the centre of town then a million shooting stars and fountains of light: red, blue, green, silver and gold, split the night sky. As the first round of fireworks faded, welcoming in 1934, a succession of others took its place, each one crackling and fizzing before it died, until a pall of smoke lay over the rooftops.
Trouble in Nuala (The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Book 1) Page 15
