by David Smith
‘And is that when you pulled the revolver?’ Again the lawyer tried to stop Rohit saying any more but by now he was in full flow.
‘Inspector, I’ve already told you, I did not have the gun. It had been stolen from my room the night before.’
‘Well we’ll see about that. So what’s your story, what happened next?’
‘He suddenly went very pale and started clutching his chest. I realised almost immediately that he was having some sort of attack. I know I should really have called for an ambulance straight away, but I was so scared about what you would think if you found me there. So I got him off the settee on to the floor instead and loosened his clothing. I intended to make him comfortable while I went and called for an ambulance, but he seemed to be fading fast and I was afraid that it might already be too late. I felt his wrist, there was no pulse that I could detect and suddenly he wasn’t breathing properly either. He was losing consciousness rapidly. I tried CPR, I’ve done the training, but nothing happened. I must have tried for ten, fifteen minutes until I realised he was definitely dead. Then I really panicked, I pulled him back onto the settee, closed the curtains, unlocked and then left by the back doors into the garden. I did mean to call you and let you know about the body but I was so frightened I just rode off on my bike all the way back to Coventry and tried to forget the whole thing had happened.’
‘You expect me to believe all that?’ asked Hunter aggressively.
‘Inspector, it’s the truth, I was terrified.’
‘And what about the message?’
‘What message?
‘The ‘dancing men’ message?’
‘You found that?’
‘Yes, it was in the victim’s pocket.’
‘OK I didn’t put it there. It must have fallen out of my pocket but I certainly didn’t put it in Troyte’s pocket. I got the idea from that film crew, when I read up about what they were filming. It was just research for one of Baxter’s stupid assignments, just a joke. I never intended to give it to him.’
‘You really expect me to believe all this?’ said Hunter, shaking his head but quietly reforming again his view of the train of events that Sunday afternoon. ‘So how was Miss Taylor involved in all of this?’ Rohit looked aghast at the mention of her name.
‘How do you know about her?’ he asked.
‘Come on, do you take me for a fool?’
‘No, Inspector, of course not.’
‘I was wondering if you could tell me if you have another unbelievable explanation about how she came to know that Troyte was going to be in town this weekend. You tipped her off didn’t you?’
‘Maybe.’
‘So what’s the connection? This one is intriguing me more than anything.’
‘It was pure chance really; I came across her name when I was trying to find out about Mr Troyte. It was a magazine interview she did just after her mother’s death; she was talking about her search for her natural father. She did not use his name but referred to an American architect living in Michigan. The article came up when I was googling to research Troyte. It was a pure coincidence really, but I got in contact with her and she recognised the name. It must have been then that I mentioned to her that he was coming to England soon and she got very interested.’
‘You’ve really been very stupid, Rohit, and now you’re in a lot of trouble. We’ll have to keep you here while we check out this somewhat incredible story. And I need to know right now anything else you know about Miss Taylor’s background. Don’t withhold anything else from me or it will go badly for you.’
*
Some hours later, I returned in excitement from forensics.
‘So tell me, what have they found?’ Hunter asked, with a voice that indicated he probably knew already what I was about to say.
‘There are two matches on the DNA, and you’ll never guess…’
‘Actually I think I will.’
‘I think Pearl Taylor is actually Nariman’s daughter.’ I said triumphantly.
‘Yes, I had begun to suspect that, by an Afro-American woman called Esther, I believe. Detroit is really ‘de Troyte’ – that was the clue Esther left to posterity that nobody ever got.’
‘How on earth did you know that?’ I said, failing to hide my disappointment that he was ahead of me yet again.
‘The bit about Esther is on public record, the perplexing thing is why Miss Taylor was so sure that Troyte rather than Nariman was her father. That is still something I need to figure out.’
‘And what about Nadia’s mother?’
‘Presumably the daughter that Troyte thought he had from one of his other numerous liaisons.’
‘Yes, forensics thinks her grandmother was probably Native American.’
‘And she was possibly a cellist, too?’
‘Now you’re pulling my leg, Sir. How on earth could you possibly deduce that?’ I asked, quite astounded that he had worked that out as well.
‘I’ve just trained myself to expect the unexpected, I guess. And I have a suspect in our cells, who appears to be a better detective than all of us, someone who had worked most of this stuff out for himself a long time ago.’
‘So what are we going to do now?’ I asked, still somewhat deflated that he seemed to be one step ahead of me, even after I had made these breakthroughs in the case.
‘Well first of all we shouldn’t tell Miss Taylor or Lady Flyte about any of this. They don’t need to know and we don’t need to tell them, not yet at least. Secondly, we still have a murderer to catch.’
‘How do you mean, Sir? Khand is dead, isn’t he?’
‘He’s very dead, but it’s unfortunately a case of right nationality, wrong man.’
‘Rohit then?’ I asked. Hunter laughed.
‘No, Rohit, isn’t our man either, he’s both far too scared and far too clever to have killed someone.’
‘Pearl then?’
‘Yes, you never liked her did you? Now you are thinking more logically, but still not with quite the right instinct, I’m afraid. You are right that Miss Taylor had both the motivation to kill Troyte and the strength of character to carry it through. But I am pretty sure she has already exacted her intended revenge by humiliating him at that conference.’
‘Well who then?’ I asked, now getting frustrated that he would not get straight to the point as he obviously knew who the killer was.
‘We might never be able to prove it, but I am pretty sure Khand tried to murder Troyte because he thought he knew something about this Enigma contract. I expect he had concluded that the timing of Troyte’s visit to Leamington was no coincidence and must be connected. Why else would he have come over to meet with Nariman at this time? What I suspect that he hadn’t figured out though, was that when he snuck into Hawthorne House through the garden door to kill him, Troyte was already dead of a heart attack.’
‘And Winnie?’
‘I believe that was Khand too, trying to cover his tracks. Remember you told me that there were reports of an unidentified consultant in the home that Sunday morning? Someone had messed around with her drugs and they also found that white coat in the laundry. Well I think it was either Khand himself or at least one of his cronies. In any case, Khand must have got spooked when he heard that she had seen everything out in the street from her window. Interestingly, he didn’t go after our friend Professor Baxter, but then he did not have the same bird’s eye view of the murder that Winnie did. As Khand was clearly being fed information from our team, I suspect that he dismissed Baxter and the other witnesses like Hugh as not worth the risk of taking further action against.’
‘So who killed Nariman then, was that Khand as well?’
‘The confusing thing there is whether there were one, two or even three separate attempts made on his life that day. The knife attack is fairly clear. There’s no doubt Khand paid the Tamils to attack Nariman, they had clear motivation and Khand probably funded them to fly over. We’ve got the money recovered from the river by Dan and
Jack. Further as you told me that first morning, Hugh saw a package, which could have been the money being handed over to them in the car park by someone who matched Khand’s description. We might not have a bullet but we certainly have a smoking gun, so to speak.’
‘You said three attempts. I can only count two.’
‘What if the second possible murder attempt was the heavy metal poison they found in his body? As Alice told us, Nariman was dying anyway, of mercury poisoning. It seems pretty unlikely that that was naturally ingested given his strict religious diet. However, I’m still of the view that this was more likely the result of the medicinal herbs he was using, not a deliberate poison attempt. So at the moment, I don’t think there was any intentional poisoning. It is of course also possible that Khand substituted something in the herbal remedies that Nadia was using. Nadia clearly would not have done that deliberately, she loved him too much and she was the one in control of the herbs, and made his tea every morning.’
‘I suppose it could have been another member of Sir William’s household?’
‘I somehow doubt it, unless it was at Sir William’s instruction and, nasty piece of work as he is, I don’t think he is up to getting his hands dirty like that. He’s too much of a coward.’
‘OK, so murder attempt number three. What about the sniper? Who was he, Khand again?’
‘I agree that that is the biggest open question. Who did fire the shot that actually killed Nariman? Rohit was clearly aggrieved but he had once loved Nariman like a father and had no gun until after the attack. The round was a .22LR calibre, which is commonplace so could have been fired from a number of different kinds of weapon. The Flyte’s possibly had motivation as well, and the weapons also, but none of them was there on Saturday morning and they are also not credible murderers in my estimation. Again, it could have been Khand himself, but I suspect given the distance that the shot was taken from that we are probably looking for a trained marksman. And then we have the statement from Mr Baxter about a turbaned man getting out of the cab and then being picked up by a similar vehicle a few minutes later. I think that was almost certainly our sniper…’
‘Someone local?’
‘Very.’
‘You know who?’
‘Yes, I believe so. We still have a Sikh marksman to find.’
‘The taxi driver, you mean?’
‘No, he’s a Sikh but he’s probably not our marksman as he must have been driving the cab at the time. I suspect that whole thing with the cab and the lamppost was just a nice diversion planned to put us off the scent.’
‘So, there is a second Sikh you mean?’
‘Yes and given the accuracy of the shot, he is probably a serving or ex-army or police officer as well. And unfortunately, I’m inclined to believe that he was more likely connected to the police given that we clearly have a mole in our team as well.’
‘My God,’ Alice said. ‘What about the officer who helped us at the traffic accident? Of course, he could have gotten out of the cab and taken the shot. Then while the cab waited for him he disposed of the gun in the cab, before joining us to help with the two motorcyclists. I wondered during the autopsy how that artery had been severed so neatly when he was hit by a blunt instrument like a car bonnet. He must have slit it with a knife while we were looking at the other guy.’
‘I think she’s after your job, Penny,’ exclaimed Hunter. ‘Alice, you’ve spent too long watching the team at work. exclaimed Hunter. ‘Get Sergeant Singh picked up, Penny. I am going to enjoy interrogating this one.’
It is no longer a violent, exceptional moment of life that passes before our eyes – it is life itself. Thousands and thousands of laws there are, mightier and more venerable than those of passion; but these laws are silent, and discreet, and slow-moving; and hence it is only in the twilight that they can be seen and heard, in the meditation that comes to us at the tranquil moments of life.
Maurice Maeterlinck (playwright quoted by Elgar when asked about the nature of the Enigma theme)
Chapter Twenty
Alice in Neverland – (Andante) Finale
‘The time has come,’ the Walrus said,
‘To talk of many things:
Of shoes – and ships – and sealing-wax –
Of cabbages – and kings –
And why the sea is boiling hot –
And whether pigs have wings.’
Lewis Carroll – Through the Looking-Glass
‘For heaven’s sake, Eddie Peterson, can’t I trust you for a minute?’ Alice demanded loudly as she entered the kitchen. She turned down the volume on the CD player and surveyed the mess covering the kitchen table. Carrie and Eddie had been making jam tarts while dancing wildly round the kitchen to the latest release from a well-known Swedish pop duo. She wished Eddie would not encourage Carrie like this; she was growing up quickly enough as it was. Alice was however relieved that he, for once, was dressed reasonably smartly in a tweed Burberry jacket, twill shirt, rolled-up green cavalry trousers and Converse trainers and had remarkably thought to wear an apron over his best clothes while preparing the tarts. She wasn’t sure but she could swear that he was wearing eyeliner too. Carrie, on the other hand, was wearing a scruffy T-shirt and jeans and was almost completely covered in flour; there was pastry, jam and orange marmalade all over the table and more flour on the floor. There was also the distinct smell of burning sugar from the oven. Alice opened the oven door, cursed and then quickly opened a window to allow the smoke to escape.
‘I think these might be done,’ she said ironically. Eddie, already wearing her pink oven gloves, snatched the tin away and took it over to rest on a tray by the sink, wildly waving the steam away from the tarts with his gloved hands.
‘The knave of hearts, he stole those tarts and took them quite away,’ said Alice, laughing.
‘Really, it’s not funny, they’re just nicely browned, that’s all,’ he replied.
‘Are you ready to go out, Mummy?’ asked Carrie, jumping up and down in excitement and smiling up at her adoringly. ‘You look so pretty in that dress.’
Eddie nodded in agreement. He returned to the table, held her by the waist and gave her a big sloppy kiss. ‘You certainly do, Ms Roberts. Maybe we’ll forget the surprise and just stay in for the night,’ he teased.
‘Get your floury hands off my lovely new dress, Eddie. For heaven’s sake, you two, this kitchen is like a bombsite,’ she said, brushing herself off and turning to Carrie. ‘And if you think I’ve spent all day getting ready just to stay in then you’ve got another thing coming. I hope you’re planning to clear this mess up when we’re gone, young lady?’
*
It was October 9th, Alice’s fortieth birthday. Earlier, while Alice was safely out of the house, Carrie and Eddie had spent most of the day secretively putting the finishing touches to the surprise that they had been plotting for months. At Eddie’s insistence and to create the necessary diversion, Alice’s sister had been drafted in to take her to the local spa for a facial, hot-stone massage, and a mani-pedi followed by a trip to the local salon to have her hair done, abandoning her normal hippie-mummy mop for a smart 1940s style, her hair swept up and sideways over her forehead in a single large wave that crested above the crown of her head.
She finally returned home at 5pm for a luxurious bath in the evening primrose oils that Carrie had given her for her birthday. She was almost exhausted after all this pampering, but had spent the last hour getting ready, squeezing into the little blue and white flowered dress that had been waiting for her, laid out on the bed when she returned. It had the shortest hemline and was accompanied by the most flattering underwear she had worn in fifteen years; a silk and taffeta birthday surprise from her favourite Park Street shop – she still could not quite believe that Eddie actually knew her dress size – and as for the underwear, her mind had been well and truly boggled by his selection. She suspected he must have had some female help. She had tied a little blue silk bow in her hair to complement th
e dress.
‘I guess I brush up pretty well,’ she said, pouting admiringly at her reflection in the looking glass in the hall.
‘Mummy, please do tell me where Daddy’s taking you,’ asked Carrie, jumping up and down again like a little rabbit.
‘I’ve no idea, darling, really this is all still a terribly big secret that your dad’s arranged.’
They heard the bell ring. Carrie ran to the front door and shouted, ‘It’s Penny!’ She let her in and then in her quietest voice whispered to Penny, ‘she still doesn’t know, you know.’
‘Well let’s keep it that way, shall we?’ whispered Penny in reply, putting her fingers to her lips to emphasise the need for secrecy. ‘You’d better run off and get ready hadn’t you? But don’t let your mum see your costume.’
As Penny entered the kitchen, she whistled, taken aback for a second by the sight of Alice in her finery.
‘Wow Alice, you look absolutely spectacular,’ she said.
Eddie greeted Penny and then pulled her aside, whispering into her ear, ‘Everything ready upstairs?’
Penny nodded quickly and then turned to Alice. ‘So tell me, where is Eddie taking you, Alice?’ she asked, teasing her further. Eddie dug Penny in the ribs and she giggled.
‘I’ve no idea. This major league rat still won’t tell me anything,’ she said, looking at Eddie and Penny somewhat suspiciously. She was now sure they were up to something; the knowing glances and the blush on Penny’s face were dead giveaways. She decided however to play along innocently for a while and see where this was going.
‘Eddie, is it time to go yet? I’m beginning to get really excited,’ asked Alice, looking up at the clock.
‘Nearly, darling, but before we go I do have one more birthday present for you,’ said Eddie, holding out a pretty little glass bottle. Round the neck of the bottle was a paper label, with the words DRINK ME beautifully printed on it in large letters.
‘Drink me?’ asked Alice. ‘Is this a clue?’
‘No, I’ll look first,’ she said, ‘and see whether it’s marked ‘poison’ or not!’ Alice ventured to taste it, and finding it very nice, (it had, in fact, a sort of mixed flavour of cherry-tart, custard, pine-apple, roast turkey, toffee, and hot buttered toast,) she very soon finished it off.
