‘So, are you suggesting that he and Marina might have been in contact shortly before the race? Could they have been romantically involved at some time? Perhaps he killed Donald Moncrieff at her bidding, but later she broke off the affair. He wanted to rekindle it and was rejected.’ She frowned. ‘Didn’t Archie say something about Perera making Donald Moncrieff an offer for his Bugatti and Moncrieff refusing him very rudely? As it’s such an expensive car, maybe Perera had the idea that if he could find it, he’d take it in revenge for being rejected.’
De Silva laughed. ‘No, my love, this isn’t a plot from one of your detective novels. My idea is this. What if Moncrieff owed Perera money and never repaid it before he disappeared? Perera assumed he’d never see Moncrieff again and sought the cash from Marina. Marina might reasonably have pleaded poverty so Perera might have wanted to verify that. He told her he would be in Nuala and would visit her on the evening of the race. She was suspicious and told him not to bother as she would be away. She then booked herself into a hotel somewhere, simply to avoid him.’
He paused and rubbed his chin. ‘Now, what if Perera came up with the idea that in view of Marina’s lack of co-operation, he would take the Bugatti in lieu of repayment? Possibly he lied to his friends about the visit to the plantation being a purely nostalgic one, or he may have intended to go alone, but fuelled by the party atmosphere, his friends insisted on being with him as a bit of an adventure. What then if he found that the Bugatti was no longer at the plantation? The discovery of the skeleton intervened and Perera concluded Marina must have done away with Moncrieff. He decided Marina was too dangerous to cross over a debt that had been outstanding for many years and he was best to forget it.’
He glanced at Jane who was laughing. ‘I see you’re not convinced.’
‘And you accuse me of borrowing theories from detective novels! In any case, mine is far more exciting.’
‘Mine may not be as exciting, my love, but some of it may be true. I’d need clear proof, of course, before taking on someone like Perera, but I can’t rule out him at least withholding evidence.’ He sighed. ‘Or maybe your theory is the right one, and Perera is our murderer. On the other hand, maybe I’m just tired…’
Jane looked at him affectionately. ‘No, dear, you are right to look at all options. What about Archie? Did he have anything helpful to tell you?’
‘There wasn’t much in the notes he made at the time. Apart from Isobel and Marina, neither of whom he appeared to question closely, he spoke with Isobel’s companion, a lady called Rosamund Collins, and a man named McTaggart who had business dealings with Donald.’ He recounted what they had both told Archie.
‘McTaggart?’ Jane reached to stroke Billy who had jumped on the back of the sofa and padded along it to nuzzle her ear. ‘His wife often comes to church events, but on her own. She’s a pleasant enough lady but a terrible gossip. I wonder how he knew Donald was missing. And if Archie was doing his best to keep that quiet, why did McTaggart go to him for information?’
‘Archie was rather vague about that, but he said McTaggart was trying to recover some money Donald owed him.’ He yawned. ‘I’ll go and change out of my uniform, then shall we have a drink before dinner?’
‘That would be lovely.’
When he returned, comfortable in loose white trousers and tunic, she had put away the box of oddments and the bag for Florence. De Silva poured their drinks, and they took them out to the verandah. It was a clear night, and the sky was full of stars.
‘I saw Charlie Frobisher and his friend Ruth at the bazaar this afternoon,’ he said when they had talked a little more about the case. ‘They’re off to Colombo tomorrow.’
‘I liked her very much. I’m so glad Charlie’s found such a nice girl. I do hope they stay together.’
De Silva smiled. ‘I agree they seem very well suited.’
But, he reflected, these were uncertain times. They might not have a choice. With a war on, either of them could be posted elsewhere at any time. Still, it didn’t do to spoil a beautiful evening dwelling on things one could do nothing about. It was enough for him trying to keep law and order in Nuala.
The clock in the drawing room struck eight. ‘Dinner should be ready soon,’ said Jane.
‘Good, I’m hungry. I only had a snack in the bazaar at lunchtime.’
After dinner, they settled down in the drawing room to read. De Silva had decided not to tackle another of Dickens’ novels just yet. He picked up the poetry anthology Jane had given him for Christmas. He had enjoyed the ones he’d read so far. He remembered learning some of them at school, but it had seemed rather a chore then. Perhaps poetry was something to be savoured later in life. He embarked on Shelley’s Ozymandias.
Chapter 7
The day had only just dawned, but although de Silva had passed a restless night, he didn’t want to go back to sleep. Stealthily, so as not to wake Jane, he climbed out of bed, put on his dressing gown and slippers, and crept out of the room. As he opened the door to the verandah, the drop in temperature outside made him shiver. Tendrils of mist curled around the trees and shrubs. Billy and Bella, who had joined him, slipped past into this ghostly world and melted into the milky air.
Leaving the verandah door ajar for them, he turned back into the drawing room and sat down in his favourite chair. The problem of identifying the human remains had preoccupied him in his wakeful hours. What if David Hebden didn’t come up with anything? Even though it wouldn’t be easy to explain how anyone other than Donald Moncrieff had been buried in that patch of wilderness, if he was to hold Archie to his promise to reopen the case, he would need to convince him Donald was dead.
Then there was Marina. Hopefully, one of the police stations whose help he had requested would have information for him today as to her whereabouts. He had stressed that the matter was urgent, but all the same, it might be worth making a few calls to keep his colleagues on their toes.
Bella sidled through the door from the verandah and came to jump on his lap; her fur smelled of damp grass. She regarded him with her jade-green eyes and miaowed. How pleasant to have nothing to think about except for how soon the next meal would arrive.
He returned to the problem in hand. The other job he must do today was pay a visit to Colonel McTaggart. He would call Archie’s secretary and ask for the address. Had Moncrieff owed him a lot of money? Most men had their pride and didn’t like to be made fools of, so it might be a delicate question. He’d have to approach it with care.
‘Ah, there you are. I was worried. Are you alright?’ Jane had come into the room.
He rolled his shoulders, easing the stiffness in them. ‘Yes, but I woke early and couldn’t get back to sleep. I didn’t want to disturb you.’
‘I suppose you were thinking about the case.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll visit this man Colonel McTaggart later. I’m hoping he’ll be able to tell me something about Moncrieff’s business interests. Isobel said he was generally unpopular, but she may not have been aware of whether he made any enemies in business.’ He sighed. ‘As for the rest, tracking down Marina Moncrieff is beginning to seem like finding a needle in a haystack. I suppose we should check local hotels and hospitals just in case, but this needs a far larger number of men than I have.’
He rubbed his eyes. ‘Perhaps breakfast will buck me up.’
**
After breakfast he telephoned the Residence for the address then set off to find the McTaggarts’ house. He noted it was in an area where the less affluent members of the British community lived.
The bungalow stood by itself at the end of a narrow track. It was small and rather drab looking, but it appeared to be surrounded by a fair amount of land, a considerable proportion of it still virgin jungle. De Silva noticed that the short drive leading up to it hadn’t received any attention for a long time. The gravel surface had worn thin and weeds encroached from the overgrown borders on either side. He parked the Morris then went to the front door and rang the bell.
Eventually, a servant arrived.
‘Is Colonel McTaggart at home? My name is Inspector de Silva and I’d like to speak with him.’
Before the servant had time to answer, de Silva heard the sound of a woman’s voice drifting from within. ‘Who is it, Gunadasa?’
The servant made a little bow. ‘Please wait a moment, sahib.’ He turned back into the hall and a short conversation ensued before a tiny, birdlike lady appeared.
‘Good morning, Inspector. I’m Mrs McTaggart. How can I help you?’
‘If it’s not inconvenient, ma’am, I’d like a word with your husband.’
Mrs McTaggart looked puzzled. ‘May I ask why?’
‘I hope he will be able to help with an inquiry I’m engaged on.’
‘Nothing serious, I hope.’
‘I think it will be more straightforward if I explain to him in person. Is he at home?’
A slight show of reluctance on her face, Mrs McTaggart stepped back to let him enter. ‘He’s in the garden. I’ll take you there.’
She led him along a narrow hallway that, like the drive, looked as if it hadn’t been given any attention for many years. The paintwork was scuffed and apart from a few framed prints depicting ruined castles and lakes surrounded by brooding pines, there was no furniture except for a small table and a hat stand both made of darkly varnished wood. The drawing room Mrs McTaggart led de Silva into was equally dispiriting. As they emerged onto the verandah, a loud crack rent the air. Recognising gunshot, de Silva tensed and froze, but although she winced, he was surprised to see that Mrs McTaggart showed no sign of alarm.
‘My husband likes to practise his aim in the mornings. Fortunately, we have no close neighbours.’
Another report was followed by a tirade of angry noises. De Silva became increasingly apprehensive then jumped back as a small troop of langur monkeys raced into sight. Their eyes bulged and they were chattering furiously. Not slowing pace, they hurtled into a nearby grove of trees and swarmed up to shelter in the branches.
‘Hamish!’ Mrs McTaggart paused then called out again, this time louder.
‘What is it, woman?’ The voice had a strong accent that de Silva recognised as Scottish. Its owner rounded the corner from another part of the garden, red-faced and scowling, a shotgun in the crook of his arm. De Silva was relieved to see that he carried it with the action open. If shooting was one of his regular activities, it was no wonder his wife hadn’t seemed to turn a hair.
‘This is Inspector de Silva, Hamish. He would like to have a word with you about an inquiry he’s pursuing.’
McTaggart’s scowl deepened as he stared at de Silva. ‘Can’t think what it can be, but no doubt you’ll enlighten me.’ He gestured to the bungalow. ‘I think we’ll go to my study.’
In the study, a rattan chair with a faded paisley cushion on the seat creaked under de Silva’s weight as he sat down. He waited while McTaggart carefully stowed the shotgun in a gun rack and placed a belt containing unused cartridges on the shelf below the racking. The rack contained several more guns that, unlike the other contents of the house de Silva had seen, were polished and gleaming.
McTaggart sat down behind his desk. ‘Now, what’s this about?’
‘I believe you were acquainted with Donald Moncrieff.’
The Scotsman’s gruff expression turned thunderous. ‘As ill luck would have it, I was. But he’s been gone from Nuala for years. Ran off with some woman, I was told. Not been heard of since. Why do you ask about him now?’
‘A skeleton has been found buried in an unfrequented area of the plantation where he lived. There’s a possibility that it’s his.’
McTaggart frowned. ‘You mean you suspect he was murdered?’
De Silva nodded. ‘I understand you went to Mr Clutterbuck shortly after Mr Moncrieff disappeared following the 1932 Hill Country Challenge and asked what efforts were being made to trace him. You were anxious to be informed of his whereabouts if he was found.’
‘I was.’ The scowl returned. ‘Clutterbuck wasn’t much help.’
‘Why were you so keen to find Mr Moncrieff, sir?’
‘He’d borrowed money off me and kept refusing to repay it.’
‘May I ask what kind of sum was involved?’
McTaggart was silent for a few moments, then he glanced at the study door, stood up, and went over to close it before sitting down again. ‘I suppose I may as well tell you the whole truth. Better you hear it from me. Donald Moncrieff persuaded me into an investment that turned out to be a swindle. To this day, I’m convinced he knew it was much riskier than he revealed but he needed backers. My parents had recently died, and I inherited what one might call “a substantial sum”. I should never have let him talk me into it,’ he added bitterly. ‘It’s not a mistake I’ll make twice. To this day, I’m convinced that he made money, even if investors like myself didn’t. My wife only knows the half of it. I told her I’d lent Moncrieff a small amount because he’d come to me saying he was temporarily in difficulty, and he hadn’t repaid me. I’d be grateful if you would keep the true position to yourself.’
‘Of course. Was there anyone else involved?’
‘Several people. I can tell you their names if you wish.’
De Silva pulled out his notebook and jotted down the names McTaggart gave him.
‘Do you happen to have addresses for any of these gentlemen?’ he asked.
McTaggart opened the desk drawer to his right and pulled out a leather-bound book. ‘I’ll give you the ones I’ve got written down here. But since I retired, I’ve lost touch with a lot of people, and their addresses may have changed.’
When de Silva had finished writing down the addresses, he looked up to find that McTaggart was watching him warily. ‘If they are Moncrieff’s remains you’ve found, I hope you’re not suggesting I had a hand in his death.’
‘At the moment, I’m only trying to build up a picture of events around the time he disappeared.’
McTaggart grunted. ‘All I can tell you is that I’d been pressing for information, in the hope I’d get back at least some of the money the wretched bounder persuaded me to invest.’
‘Did you speak with anyone else who had invested?’
‘A few, but it was awkward.’
That was understandable. Admitting to what had happened must have cost McTaggart himself a considerable amount in loss of pride.
‘Incidentally, how did you find out that he was missing?’
‘My wife heard it from Moncrieff’s stepmother, Isobel.’
‘Were they friendly?’
‘They were at one time, but you’d better ask my wife about that.’
‘Thank you, I will. How would you describe your relations with Mr Moncrieff?’
McTaggart let out a harsh bark of laughter. ‘Before he revealed his true colours, do you mean? I suppose I thought him a pleasant enough chap. He had an expensive lifestyle, but I assumed the profits from the plantation and whatever else he inherited from his father funded that. I found out the hard way that his finances were less straightforward. And after he disappeared, I learned through a variety of channels that he had plenty of enemies.’
‘Can you give me any names?’ asked de Silva, pencil poised over his notebook.
McTaggart shrugged. ‘My fellow investors, of course.’
‘May I ask where you were around the time of the 1932 rally?’
‘Here in Nuala. My wife and I travelled a great deal during my days in the army. Since I retired, we’ve been happy to stay put.’ He paused. ‘If you’ve no more questions, I’ll take you to see my wife.’
**
Mrs McTaggart was still in the garden speaking with one of her servants. Nearby, a target had been set up on the lawn. Presumably, it was the one McTaggart used to practise his shooting. De Silva was relieved to see there were no langur monkey corpses in evidence.
‘Margaret!’
Mrs McTaggart looked up then hastily dismissed the servant.
‘Th
e inspector has a question for you,’ said McTaggart, striding over to her. ‘He’s investigating a murder.’
Margaret McTaggart looked alarmed. ‘Who has been murdered?’
‘We’re not sure yet, ma’am,’ said de Silva calmly. ‘But a skeleton has been found that may be that of Donald Moncrieff. Your husband tells me that back in 1932, after the Nuala car rally, you heard it from his stepmother Isobel that he had disappeared.’
‘I did.’ She looked anxious. ‘She told me in confidence, but I didn’t think it would do any harm to tell Hamish. Isobel was anxious to keep the matter quiet. She wanted to avoid a scandal, not just on her own account but also for Marina. Until she told me, I hadn’t realised what a wretched marriage the poor girl had been forced to endure. Isobel said most of Donald’s flings with other women hadn’t lasted long, but this time she believed it was more serious. It would take Marina time to recover her self-respect, and she might never do so completely, but Isobel really believed it would be for the best if Donald stayed away for good.’
‘Was Mrs Moncrieff in the habit of confiding in you?’
A look of sadness came over Margaret McTaggart’s face. ‘At one time I would have said so. I thought we were good friends. But after Donald disappeared, I began to notice a change. It happened quite slowly, but she withdrew into herself. Marina was the same. I wondered if they found it easier to cope with life that way. No one likes to be pitied, do they, Inspector? News eventually got around that Donald had left.’ She flushed. ‘I hope Isobel and Marina didn’t think I had anything to do with it.’
De Silva didn’t like to pursue the point. Jane had indicated that Mrs McTaggart was a gossip, but whether she had been the one to spread the story was not very important to know. The interesting piece of information was that Isobel Moncrieff had confided in her. If he were to be asked to name a lady who was unlikely to entrust her family’s secrets to a friend, it would be Isobel Moncrieff. Had she chosen Margaret McTaggart precisely because she expected that the lady wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation to divulge them to others? Was this proof that Isobel had been exerting herself to protect Marina?
Cold Case in Nuala (The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Book 10) Page 9
