Midnight at Malabar House (Inspector Wadia series)

by Khan, Vaseem

  She turned away and hurried back inside the church.

  Chapter 28

  They arrived one by one. The church had an annexe attached to its western flank, a small room designed for non-devotional meetings. The room, a functional space bathed in ribbons of light falling from a succession of ogival windows, contained a table and chairs. A filing cabinet lurked in one corner; above it a noticeboard plastered with pamphlets and papers.

  Robert Campbell was the first to arrive, with his daughter. He charged into the room, spotted Persis, and took five quick strides towards her, visibly shaking with anger. He flapped the note under her nose. ‘What the hell do you mean by this?’

  She was given no chance to reply. The door opened again and in came Madan Lal, Lalita Gupta, Adi Shankar and Meenakshi Rai, closely followed by Edmond de Vries. They stood there, looking from Persis to the Campbells and back again. Lal made as if to speak, but this time it was his turn to be interrupted, by the arrival of Archie Blackfinch and Roshan Seth.

  Seth wasted no time. He stalked over to Persis and pulled her to one side, lowering his voice and hissing, ‘You’ve gone too far.’

  ‘Sir, I asked Blackfinch to bring you here. If you give me just a little while, I will reveal to you Sir James’s true killer.’

  He looked at her as if stunned. ‘Do you understand what you are doing, Persis? The ADC is out there. Don’t you think he will hear of this? You’re throwing away your career.’

  ‘I don’t believe so,’ she said firmly. ‘The truth—’

  ‘The truth!’ he yelped. ‘Why does the damned truth matter so much to you?’

  She stared at him. ‘The question, sir, is when did it stop mattering to you?’

  It was as if she had slapped him. His mouth flapped open, but no words would come. He lowered his eyes. For a moment, she felt her future spin on its axis. And then Seth seemed to gather himself. ‘I have tried my best to protect you, Persis. But if this is truly the course of action you feel is right, then I will not stand in your way.’ As good as his word, he stepped aside and gave her the floor.

  Madan Lal took this as a signal. He brandished the chit Blackfinch had handed him. ‘I presume this came from you?’ he said. ‘It is simply outrageous. Your career is over, Inspector.’

  The others immediately launched into similar protests.

  Persis waited calmly for the baying to stop, then said, ‘Mr Lal, please read out what it says on your chit.’

  ‘I shall do no such thing.’

  She turned towards Elizabeth Campbell. ‘May I?’

  The young woman examined her face, then shrugged and handed over her slip of paper.

  Persis held it up. On it, in bold letters, it said:

  I KNOW YOU KILLED SIR JAMES.

  COME IMMEDIATELY TO THE

  CATHEDRAL’S WESTERN ANNEXE.

  ‘I apologise for bringing you here with this simple ruse,’ she said. ‘But I needed you all present. You see, it is my intention to reveal to you Sir James’s true killer.’

  ‘This is ludicrous,’ bellowed Robert Campbell. ‘James’s killer has confessed. Singh will be convicted and hanged, and it will be no more than he deserves.’

  ‘Maan Singh did not kill Sir James.’

  ‘Then why the hell did he confess?’ Campbell’s face was blotchy, his brows beetled in anger and confusion.

  ‘I will explain,’ said Persis. ‘But first, allow me to set the stage. We have just heard a great deal about Sir James Herriot. A consummate politician, a man of integrity and so forth. This is not quite the truth. Sir James had his faults and those faults led him ultimately to his death.’

  Lal stepped forward, something wild in his eyes. ‘I won’t stand here and listen to this.’

  Persis ignored him. ‘Sir James was living a lie on many fronts. His business ventures had bankrupted him. He was estranged from his son.’ She glanced at Edmond de Vries, who looked away quickly to his shoes. ‘He was a man faced with stark choices. And he made the wrong ones.

  ‘When I first arrived at the scene of his death there were a number of anomalies that bothered me. Aside from the fact that we couldn’t find the murder weapon, there was also the strangeness of his missing trousers. We now know that Sir James had an intimate encounter just prior to his death. In his study. That was why he’d taken off his trousers.’ She allowed that uncomfortable image to hang in the air. She turned towards Elizabeth Campbell. ‘Shall I tell them or would you like to?’

  The young woman flushed, but said nothing.

  ‘Elizabeth sought an affair with Sir James not because she loved or admired him, but because she wished to get back at her father. About a year ago Robert Campbell refused to allow her to marry the man she had fallen in love with, an Indian named Satyajit Sharma. Sharma was subsequently murdered. She suspected her father’s hand in his death.’

  Elizabeth spoke up, unable to hold herself in. ‘Satya was a gentle soul. Intelligent and kind. He was educated in England but he’d returned to India to help his country find its feet. We fell in love. He insisted on approaching my father to ask for my hand. I tried to talk him out of it but he wouldn’t listen.’ Her eyes smarted. ‘My father threatened him. When I found out I told him that I didn’t care what he thought. I’d run away with Satya.’ She stopped. ‘A week later he was dead. My father killed him. I know it. I don’t care how many times he denies it.’

  ‘For God’s sake!’ spluttered Robert Campbell.

  Persis took up the story. ‘On the night of his death, Elizabeth planned to seduce Sir James at the party and tell her father about it. In the end, she couldn’t go through with it. Nevertheless, she told her father that she had done so. They argued, before he charged off looking for Herriot, intent, I am certain, on murder.’

  All eyes turned to the Scotsman.

  Robert Campbell cleared his throat. ‘I didn’t kill James. I wanted to. Believe me, nothing would have given me greater pleasure.’ He glanced at his daughter. ‘After what had happened with her engineer, Elizabeth couldn’t forgive me. It’s true I warned him away from her, but I never laid a hand on that boy.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I think it was James who arranged for his murder. He was the one who’d got me the contract. He had a large commission due on the completion of that bridge. He was livid when I told him it was being delayed by a native. He told me he’d take care of it. I assumed he’d talk to some of his friends in the area, apply some pressure. But the next thing I knew the boy turned up dead.’

  Elizabeth stared at him in shock and loathing. ‘You knew?’ she whispered.

  ‘I wasn’t sure,’ said Campbell. ‘James never admitted any involvement. I’m sorry, I truly am.’ He returned his gaze to Persis. ‘Yes, Elizabeth lied to me that night. She told me that she and James . . . The red mist fell over my eyes. I went upstairs to his office and, heaven help me, I might have killed him. But I didn’t. I couldn’t have.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Persis.

  ‘Because he was already dead.’

  Another round of murmurs sprang up from the group like a flock of startled birds.

  ‘You found him dead and said nothing?’ Lal’s astonishment was mirrored around the room.

  Campbell sank into himself. ‘What should I have said? That I went up to throttle the man who I thought had seduced my daughter and found his corpse? That, for an instant, I thought – I thought that perhaps she had done it?’

  Persis turned to Elizabeth. ‘Did you kill Sir James?’

  ‘No! Of course not!’

  ‘No,’ echoed Persis. ‘I don’t believe you had anything to do with his death.’

  ‘Inspector, surely you have your murderer?’ said Adi Shankar, speaking for the first time. ‘Arrest him and let us be done with this.’

  ‘Not yet, Mr Shankar,’ said Persis calmly. ‘Robert Campbell isn’t the only one here with reason to have wished Sir James ill.’ She paused, waiting for them to settle down once more. ‘Maan Singh confessed to the killing. From the beginning, I
wasn’t certain of his guilt. Why hadn’t he confessed straight away? Why did he confess without protest when I confronted him about the missing trousers? Why did he keep the trousers at his home but not the knife? Why take the trousers at all? It made no sense. To find answers to these questions I travelled to his real home, in Amritsar, where I spoke to his wife. She told me some interesting facts about her husband.

  ‘Maan Singh was the son of a soldier, one of the men who fired upon his fellow Indians at the behest of Brigadier Dyer at Jallianwala Bagh on April 13th, 1919. As a consequence Maan Singh grew up an outcast. His whole life he has wished for nothing more than to regain the honour that his father had squandered. Maan Singh has a sister. That sister moved to Bombay, married a soldier named Duleep, had a child. But then her husband died, killed in action at Imphal. He had served with Maan Singh and another man – Madan Lal.’ She turned to lock eyes with the aide. ‘During the action at Imphal, Lal killed three enemy soldiers after they had surrendered. He was due to be court-martialled, but was rescued by Sir James, an old acquaintance. After the war, Lal took up employment with Sir James, though I suspect he had little choice. He became Sir James’s aide, but, in truth, he was employed to carry out a host of unsavoury duties. He became a fixer, running errands for Sir James. I have no doubt that he disliked his new situation, but he was bound to the Englishman. The man had saved his life, after all.

  ‘At some point during his time at Laburnum House, Lal discovered – through Maan Singh – that their fallen comrade’s widow, Duleep’s wife – Maan Singh’s sister – was destitute and living in Bombay. And so he convinced Sir James to offer her employment.’ A pause. ‘Have I got this right so far, Mrs Gupta?’

  All eyes turned to the housekeeper. A woman used to blending into the background now found herself thrust into the limelight; she shrank visibly, unable to speak.

  ‘She has nothing to do with this,’ said Lal, stepping forward.

  Persis ignored him, continuing to look at Gupta. ‘When I spoke to you, you told me that you had a son. You said that Sir James had agreed to pay for his education. I found that unusual. After all, why would an Englishman agree to undertake such an expense for the child of a housekeeper? As we have discovered, Sir James’s greatness has been greatly exaggerated.’ She gave a mirthless smile. ‘We traced your son to the Heart of Mary School in Panvel. We discovered that it was Madan Lal who had enrolled him there, that he had lied to Sir James’s bookkeeper to organise the payment of your son’s fees. That, in fact, he stole the money from his employer.’ She switched her attention to Lal. ‘Sir James was informed of this fact on the evening he died. By Andrew Morgan, his bookkeeper. This led to an argument between you. My guess is that he was furious. Perhaps he threatened to sack Gupta. This you could not contemplate. Because, of course, you were in love with her.’

  It was Lal’s turn to become the object of scrutiny. He blinked behind his spectacles, then flashed a look of defiance. His hands clenched by his side.

  ‘Am I wrong?’ pushed Persis.

  ‘No,’ he said hoarsely. ‘You are not wrong.’ He stepped to Gupta’s side, a protective gesture. ‘Duleep was my friend. He saved my life that day, at Imphal. In saving me he lost his own life. I temporarily lost control of my senses. If I could take back what I did that day, in the jungle, I would.

  ‘James rescued me from spending the rest of my life in a military prison. I was indebted to him and so I agreed to work for him. I was glad to. He was a man I had always admired. But there is nothing so ruinous as discovering that your idols have feet of clay. James turned out to be an unscrupulous man. And in return for saving me, he took his pound of flesh.

  ‘A year after I joined Laburnum House, I found out from Maan Singh that Duleep’s wife had fallen on hard times in Bombay. I owed it to his memory to help. A debt of honour. I did the best I could for her and her child. I do not regret it. What later happened between Lalita and I was unexpected, unplanned.’

  ‘You were angry with Sir James. By now you were thoroughly disillusioned with him. And now he was threatening the woman you adored.’

  ‘I didn’t kill him.’

  ‘Yet killing is second nature to you, isn’t it?’ continued Persis. ‘You owed Sir James. But you were sick of it, sick of the things he was making you do. Yet you couldn’t very well do anything to the man. Not with your record. Suspicion would instantly fall on you. Isn’t that why you invited Maan Singh to Bombay?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Maan Singh’s wife told me that he received a call from you. That you invited him to work in Bombay. Why now? After years of nothing? You knew of his hatred of the English. You knew about his father. It had come out during your time together as soldiers. It was the reason Singh eventually quit the army. Word had got back of his father’s part in the Jallianwala Bagh massacre, of what Dyer had made him do. Singh couldn’t stand the idea of his comrades questioning his honour. And so he left.

  ‘You twisted that rage to your own purpose. You sacked Sir James’s driver, making up an excuse about theft. And you hired Singh in his place. You told him to gain Sir James’s trust. My guess is that at some point you planned to light the touch-paper and stand back to watch Singh explode. Finally, you would be free.’

  ‘No!’ protested Gupta. ‘He wouldn’t have done that. He – he called Maan to Bombay because of me.’

  ‘Don’t say another word,’ interrupted Lal.

  Gupta gave him a sad look. ‘It’s time to tell the truth, Madan.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Sir James assaulted me. A month ago. He was drunk and I managed to fight him off. Afterwards, he pretended nothing had happened. But I could sense him watching me. I knew it was only a matter of time before he tried again. I’d observed him at close quarters for years. The way he was with women. He’d left me alone until then, but . . . I was afraid. And so I told Madan; I shouldn’t have. He became wild with anger, ready to confront Sir James, but I calmed him down. I knew that if Sir James wished it he could have thrown us both into the street, made life impossible for us. I have been destitute before, after my husband died. It is not something I wish ever to experience again. But more importantly, it would have meant my son suffering with me. Expelled from his school, doomed through no fault of his own. This I could not permit.’

  ‘For a while I thought you were the mystery woman in his study on the night of his death. I thought that perhaps, after discovering Lal’s duplicity, Sir James had blackmailed you into giving in to his demands. That, perhaps, you had complied to protect your son,’ said Persis.

  ‘No! Never.’

  ‘Did you kill him?’

  ‘No.’

  Persis looked back at Lal. ‘Did you plan for Maan Singh to murder Sir James that night?’

  ‘I tell you harming Sir James was never my intention.’ Lal looked desperately around him. ‘You have to believe me.’

  ‘Then what was?’

  ‘I – I just wanted Maan here to protect Lalita. I couldn’t be by her side all the time. But by placing Maan next to Sir James I could ensure that he was constantly watched. I had to do something, don’t you see? The man was a jackal. I’d seen him destroy the lives of a dozen women. Because of his wealth, his reputation, he was untouchable. Any woman who raised a fuss, it was my job to make the problem go away.’ He shuddered, reliving the life of petty thuggery that Sir James had imposed upon him.

  Persis supposed this was not what Lal had expected when he had agreed to work for the Englishman; but once he was ensnared, once Gupta and her son became part of the equation, he could not leave. She had no doubt that Sir James had gone out of his way to rescue Lal at Imphal, precisely so that he might bind him to himself.

  ‘After you argued that evening, you believed that Sir James intended to dismiss Gupta, perhaps dismiss you both. He would have ruined you. He had said as much to his bookkeeper. He demanded you return the money you had stolen. You became desperate. I ask again: did you send Maan Singh up to Sir James’s s
tudy with the intention of killing him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why did Maan Singh confess to the murder?’

  ‘I – I don’t know.’

  ‘Do you believe that he killed Sir James?’

  He blinked. ‘It’s possible.’

  Beside him, Gupta began to weep.

  Persis continued to hold him with her gaze, but he did not flinch. ‘There is more to this story. I have come to believe that the last few months of Sir James’s life have a direct bearing on his death. Sir James had been engaged by the Indian government to investigate crimes committed during Partition. Our government is determined to show that history cannot shield those who took advantage of the chaos. They provided Sir James with a list of reported atrocities to investigate. One of these alleged crimes took him to Punjab, to a village called Jalanpur, where the local landowner, a Nawab Sikandar Ali Mumtaz, and his entire family – men, women, children – died in a fire that burned their ancestral home to the ground. The local police reported it as an accident, but an eyewitness account reached New Delhi claiming that there might have been more to it.

  ‘I followed Sir James’s trail to Jalanpur. I spoke with the man who had witnessed the incident. He confirmed that the nawab and his family had been murdered, and he told me why.

  ‘The nawab had been attempting to sell his land and move to Pakistan. In doing so he was making many of his oldest tenants destitute. He was a Muslim; his tenants were largely Sikh and Hindu. With Partition as the backdrop, it was inevitable that conflict would ensue.

  ‘The eyewitness identified a man named Surat Bakshi, the son of a local tenant, as the ringleader behind the murders. He believed that Bakshi had an ulterior motive – he witnessed him loot the nawab’s residence of its ancestral treasure, treasure that included many priceless items of jewellery.