Frances smiled at him and took a bite of her food.
"On that Tuesday, the police had found six tickets scattered close to the scene where Mr. Meda was shot. I believe I mentioned this in passing to Sujay on Tuesday." Patel nodded politely. "I thought this to be quite helpful, if we could find out who the tickets belonged to, we might have some idea of potential suspects or at least witnesses."
"And were the police able to determine who the tickets belonged to?" asked Gandhi.
Frances nodded.
"They did, and this is where things became hopeful for me. On Monday when I was here last, you had mentioned to me, Sujay, those who had written threatening letters to Mohandas. You had also told me the names of the two men who had died from their injuries suffered at the hands of the British Police in India."
Patel nodded.
"To refresh our memories, or mine as the case may be, there were three names you offered me. If I recall correctly they were Parvez Dada, Pitambar Singh and Nathuram Godse."
Patel clapped his hands together in delight, and smiled at Frances.
"You have a great memory," he said. "Do you remember who the two men were who died at Dharasana."
Frances smiled at him.
"I do. They were Chetan Panchal and Ajit Pai. Ajit Pai was easier to remember because his name is similar to your son's, Amar."
Amar smiled at her.
"You will all remember that Mr. Meda's dying words to me were 'Indian p'. That got me to thinking that he was either trying to tell us his killer was an 'Indian person' or an Indian with a name starting with P. I liked the latter idea as it seemed more likely to me. And I thought, having spoken with Sujay, that we likely had two strong candidates, namely Parvez Dada or Pitambar Singh, as both of their first names started with P. I was quite confident that once we learned who those six tickets belonged to, that either or both of their names would be included in that list. Sadly, sometimes things are not that easy."
"None of them were on the list?" asked Amar, putting a forkful of food in his mouth.
Frances looked over at him and nodded.
"That's right. I was really expecting one of them at least, either Parvez Dada or Pitambar Singh to be one of the owners of one of the six tickets that were found. The good thing is that the Vegetarian Society kept excellent records about who bought what ticket. Inspector Davison was able to obtain those records, and when I visited him we looked at the six tickets."
"And none of them belonged to either Parvez or Pitambar?" asked Patel.
Frances nodded before taking another bite of food.
"Hmm," said Patel, "that is very interesting. I too would have thought they would be on that list."
Frances nodded.
"They weren't, and that's probably because, at least I assume, that they aren't in England. But there were three names out of the six that were attached to the tickets who had Ps in their names."
"Do tell?" asked Gita.
"An Irishman by the name of Patrick O'Malley. You might have known him as the man who was shouting unpleasant words before the gunshots came."
Frances paused and looked over at Sujay and Mohandas. They both nodded, remembering him.
"I remember him," said Gandhi, "though I don't remember seeing any gun on him."
"Because there wasn't," said Frances. "He might be a racialist, but he's not a murderer. We interviewed him yesterday. I thought he was a good prospect, but I wasn't convinced it would be him. Why create such a scene if you were intent on murdering someone. Didn't make sense to me, and as it turned out, he was offered a ticket by the men who did commit the murder, but that comes later. He was a pawn."
"Who were the other two?"
"This is where things got very interesting, and I really felt we were on the right path when we found this out. The two other men were Bijay Panchal and Amir Pai."
"The sons of Chetan and Ajit," said Gandhi, looking sadly at Frances. Frances noticed that he had not eaten much of his food. Frances nodded.
"Yes, unfortunately. However, from a police perspective, they too looked like decent suspects. They both had what I considered to be strong motives."
Gandhi shook his head sadly.
"They were angry the last time I visited them. I helped them find each other. I thought that through shared loss they might find space of healing, but their anger was strong."
Frances looked at him kindly and smiled, nodding her head softly.
"I know, this all came out during the interviews. We interviewed both of them, independently, on Wednesday. They explained that they had come to London to offer their forgiveness to you."
Frances paused and looked at Gandhi. He held her gaze for a moment and then looked back down at his lap, nodding sadly.
"Forgiveness helps move past the suffering, at least in my experience," he said, softly.
"And I believe them. They both gave independent statements that were corroborated. They acknowledged feeling angry at you at first but came to appreciate what you had done for them. They have started a business together and with some of the profits they bought tickets to London to come and give you their forgiveness in person."
Gandhi looked back at Frances and smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
"I must make time to see them," he said to Patel, who nodded his head. "I am pleased that it was not them."
"I was too," said Frances, "I much prefer seeing men and women with significant pain taking the high road, but it left me in a dilemma. I no longer had a good grasp of who might have committed this heinous act."
"All the men with the letter P in their name were no longer viable suspects," said Amar.
Frances nodded.
"I was, and remain very eager to finish this case for you Mohandas, as I am appalled that a close friend and colleague of yours was brutally murdered in cold blood here on England's soil."
Gandhi looked at her and smiled.
"I knew that the first time we met by the questions you asked. I knew then, that Ravi's murderer would not go unfound."
"And yet, here I was without any further evidence to pursue. The other three names associated with the remaining tickets found at the scene didn't seem to be strong candidates. One was a woman, and I don't feel that this murder was committed by a woman, the other chap was an African, who we were going to interview before we found what we did earlier today."
"That would have been one of the South Africans talking to me at the time, I imagine," said Gandhi.
Frances nodded and sipped her drink.
"I can't see how it would have been either of them. They were both very close to me and I would have seen one of them pull a gun out if they were the shooters," said Gandhi. "They couldn't have done it. They were still gesticulating when I heard the gunshots and Ravi fall to the ground."
"That was my suspicion too, when I heard both Bijay and Amir state that very same thing. The third person was a man by the name of Ryan Webb, which I didn't give much thought to, until now. I think we'll be talking to him, as I'm sure he's the same Webb that I saw earlier today in a photograph, which I'll get to in a moment."
"Was there anything that was helpful from that list?" asked Patel.
Frances finished chewing a mouthful of food she had just taken. She nodded to buy herself some time.
"Nathuram Godse whom you spoke of on our first visit was also on the list of those who had bought tickets. His ticket wasn't found scattered at the scene, but he was in the registrar."
"Did he do it?" asked Patel.
Frances shook her head slowly.
"No. We interviewed him yesterday too, and we don't believe that he had anything to do with it. Naturally, as you know, he is not the biggest fan of Mohandas," she said, talking to Patel, "but there were no weapons found on him or where he lives. He said something else that was interesting, and this is where we start to narrow it down to the real suspects."
Frances paused to scrape another forkful of the delicious curries onto her fo
rk and put it into her mouth. Godse, confirmed what we had already heard from Bijay, Amir and Patrick, namely that they had all seen two men in long overcoats. They were an odd pair, because one of them was quite tall and the other was shorter than average. They also had the bearing and deportment of military men, and one of them had with him a long cane."
"But that by itself does not mean they are guilty of anything," said Amar.
Frances smiled and nodded.
"Quite right, Amar, but it was a start, and now it gets better. You see, the coroner, Dr. Williamson determined that Mr. Meda was shot with .38 Special caliber bullets. Not particularly large caliber but quite sufficient for murder as we know. .38 Specials are usually fired by revolvers and that was one conundrum that I hadn't quite figured out. We found no shell casings at the scene, which isn't surprising when you realize that Mr. Meda was shot with .38 Specials. After all, a revolver doesn't eject the shells. But my quandary was that the gunshots that I heard, sounded more muted or muffled than what I had come to expect from a revolver."
"So with what was he shot?" asked Gandhi.
"That is where it gets very interesting. He was shot with a rifle, or more accurately a modified cane that appears to act as a rifle, and that is why the gunshots sounded more muffled."
Gandhi nodded his head ruefully.
"But there were many men at the lecture with canes. I saw them myself," said Patel.
Frances nodded and cleared her throat and then took a sip from her drink.
"I know, but what happened this morning was another murder. And this murder is associated with Mr. Meda's murder. We know this, because the coroner has confirmed that today's victim, a Mr. Trafford Leak, was shot with .38 Specials, that Dr. Williamson strongly believes were delivered by the same weapon as that which shot Mr. Meda."
Patel nodded.
"That is indeed, very good news," he said.
"It is, and it gets better. Mr. Trafford Leak, it appears, from correspondence found at the scene, was recently dishonorably discharged from the British Indian Police. We're just waiting for confirmation as to why, but my suspicion is that this will be related to the Dharasana Salt Works incident. And if it is, then we're looking for his accomplice who is either an R. Webb, who I believe to be Ryan Webb or a K. Hudnall."
"Why those two exactly?" asked Amar.
"A photograph as I mentioned earlier, was found in Mr. Leak's bedroom. It was a group photograph of police officers wearing Indian police uniforms. Mr. Leak, who is shorter than average can be seen in the foreground. In the background, the tallest two are the men I just mentioned."
Frances went back to eating a bit of food while she let that bit of information settle into the minds of her listeners.
"That is fascinating. Is there anything else you have?" asked Patel.
Frances nodded.
"That whistle I found," she said, and Patel nodded. "Inspector Davison finally got around to investigating it. It doesn't belong to anyone at Scotland Yard, in fact it is a slightly different shape. And from preliminary inquiries at the Foreign Office, it appears to be British Indian Police issue. We're waiting to hear back from them as to who it belongs to. If I were to bet, I'd suggest it belongs either to Webb or Hudnall, and if it does, that is terrific news. It puts them at the scene of Mr. Meda's murder."
"Thank you, Frances," said Gandhi. "You have put great effort into this and it inspires my confidence."
"Thank you, Mohandas. There is one last item. A witness observed a tall man leave Mr. Leak's home, wearing an overcoat and cane, shortly after she heard some soft and muted bangs that sounded like gunshots. She's certain that she will be able to recognize him if required, for she has seen him often at Mr. Leak's house as he appears to be a friend of the deceased."
"This does look good for not only finding the shooter, but also having him charged and found guilty," said Amar.
Frances nodded.
"This is the tall man that we've been searching for. Why he shot and killed his friend is not something I understand yet, unless his friend was going to talk to Scotland Yard. Nevertheless, I am sure if we find him, we'll find the cane and that will be his nail in the coffin."
Mohandas smiled at Frances, and they all got back to eating their food. The mood was lighter and more playful the rest of the evening as they all rested a little easier in the knowledge that Ravi's death would not go unanswered.
Just after Lady Marmalade had finished her first cup to tea and was about to entertain a second cup, a knock on the door indicated that Alfred was here to pick her up.
TWENTY-FOUR
Chapter 24
IT was just before eleven in the morning when Lady Marmalade had received the phone call from Sergeant Pearce of Scotland Yard. He had told her they had some very good news, and that they had just picked up Detective Constable Ryan Webb and were going to interview him if Lady Marmalade would like to attend, and indeed she would. Alfred had driven her to Scotland Yard, leaving Ginny in the house alone as Eric and Declan had gone out to enjoy a game of golf with some clients.
At just after eleven, Frances found herself sitting down in Inspector Davison's office for what seemed like the umpteenth time. Next to her was Alfred, and in front of her sat a happy looking Davison. He smiled at her.
"We're this close, Frances," he said to her, bringing his thumb and forefinger within an inch of each other.
"I have heard, Inspector," she replied, "you chaps have done such a thorough and marvelous job of this case."
And what she wanted to add but didn't say, was that it was only because she had to encourage them in the right direction. Or perhaps even had to lead them really.
To the left of Davison was an envelope that he slid under his arms and opened up. He pulled out a few sheets of paper.
"I got this from my colleague at the Foreign Office first thing this morning."
"That's kind of him for sending it in on a Saturday," she said.
Davison smiled wryly.
"It is a capital murder case, Frances, time doesn't wait on these sorts of things."
Frances smiled at him thinly. He was a difficult, self important and bumptious man at the best of times. Hard to like, but not outside of Lady Marmalade's abilities to appease, though she much preferred his Sergeant. Pearce was a genuinely warm and amiable man, and dare she say, likely as good, if not a better investigator.
Davison looked down at the first sheet of paper.
"This here is the correspondence I received from him related to the whistle. The whistle, as it turns out belongs to the deceased Mr. Leak. Why he was carrying it, we have no idea, but it's his most certainly."
"That's good news," said Frances, "that confirms that he was there, just as the eye witnesses said. It also gives greater credence to the idea that Webb or Hudnall were there too, whoever turns out to be Mr. Leak's co-conspirator."
"It most certainly does. Additionally, as Pearce likely told you, we've picked up Detective Constable Ryan Webb just a little while ago. He's living with his mother in Bromley. It seems he's had some misfortune lately."
Davison looked shuffled the papers around and picked up a different one from the first.
"What's that, Inspector?" asked Frances.
"This is part of Sergeant Webb's personnel file."
"I thought he was a detective constable?"
"Yes, quite. He is a detective constable right now, but that's because he was demoted and sent back here to work in the Foreign Office. Last year, he was a young up and coming sergeant with the British Indian Police, and you can guess where this is going."
Davison looked up at Frances and raised an eyebrow.
"He was in charge of the Dharasana contingent of police officers."
"Quite correct, Frances," said Davison, smiling at her. "He was the sergeant in charge on the 21st of May, 1930 when Chetan Panchal and Ajit Pai died at the Dharasana Salt Works."
Frances nodded. This did not surprise her. Davison looked at the paper in front of
him.
"This is the interesting part. All eye witness accounts name and point to Constables Hudnall and Leak as the two men responsible for the deaths of those two Indians I just previously mentioned."
"That is interesting. Tell me Inspector, have you cross referenced Hudnall and Leak with the registry of the Vegetarian Society for Mr. Gandhi's lecture?" asked Frances.
Davison nodded.
"That's a bit of a puzzle you see. Ryan Webb's name is on that list with ticket…"
Davison opened up his drawer and pulled out a copy of the registry for the lecture. Attached to it was a sheet of paper with names and ticket numbers of suspects who had attended. He looked at it for a moment.
"Ah, here it is. Ryan Webb had ticket number 0245, but there are no Hudnalls or Leaks on here at all."
Davison looked up at Frances for her response.
"Interesting indeed, Inspector. But we know these men to have carefully planned this. They used Mr. O'Malley as a red herring, and perhaps the same with Constable Webb. It would not surprise me if they used pseudonyms for themselves."
"You are very astute, Frances, I'll give you that. That is exactly what they have done. Or at least it is exactly what Hudnall has done, and we assume so did Leak."
"What name do you believe Mr. Hudnall is using?" asked Frances.
"Well, that's the thing. We didn't know, and we didn't know how to find him. The only evidence of him being in England comes from the Foreign Office which put him landing ashore on HMS John Huffam on the 12th of September, 1930…"
"A year ago today," said Frances.
Davison looked up at her quizzically before realizing she was right. Then he nodded his head.
"Yes, a year ago today. Both Hudnall and Leak arrived at the same time. As I said, we didn't know how to find him, but Sergeant Pearce here thought we might as well show the photograph around town, and he thought we should start with the Bare Knuckles pub."
Frances turned to look at Pearce and smiled at him while nodding her head in admiration.
"That sounds very logical," she said.
"Well, it was," continued Davison, "because as it turned out, the proprietor of the Bare Knuckles knew Hudnall from the photograph that Pearce showed him."
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