Ellis Peters - George Felse 11 - Death To The Landlords (6 page)

‘Naxalites?’ Dominic looked up at him sharply. ‘You really think they could be in it? Here?’

‘Here and anywhere. They may have originated in Bengal, they certainly have not stayed there, though they are less organised elsewhere. One of their weaknesses, indeed, is that the strings have almost always to be pulled from Bengal. But they extend everywhere, from Darjeeling to the Cape. “Death to the landlords!” is as valid a rallying-cry in the south as in the north.’

There was more than that; Dominic could tell by something withdrawn and watchful in the deep-set grey eyes. They had recovered part of the mechanism – the strings were almost always being pulled from Bengal – there could be ways of identifying where that bomb had been manufactured, perhaps even by whom.

‘Then the probability,’ he said slowly, ‘is that we have an agent from the north working here – not necessarily a Bengali, but sent from there. And you, I think, were already looking for him before this happened.’

The inspector smiled. ‘Mr Felse, you will do well not to enlist in our police, and not to learn any more.’

Dominic smiled, too. ‘I’m halfway there, as luck will have it. My father is a detective-inspector in England, I grew up in the tradition, even if I didn’t join the force. I grudge it that the lunatic Left, in any country, should discredit the legitimate Left by trying to turn killing into an approved weapon, and I hate it when their phoney grievances alienate sympathy from the genuine grievances that are there all the time, and need to be noticed and taken seriously. I don’t say even Bakhle was expendable – but surely Ajit Ghose wasn’t. One more life, a perfectly innocent one, is all in the day’s work, it seems.’

‘One or a hundred, I assure you. It’s all right – in this room we are quite private, I have seen to that, and Sergeant Gokhale here, though an impudent and insubordinate young man, is perfectly discreet.’ Sergeant Gokhale cocked one dark eye at his superior and smiled faintly, undisturbed at being discussed in this manner; they had evidently worked together amicably for some time. ‘But I should not theorise outside this room, not even among your friends. Here you may.’

‘I was thinking of the bomb,’ Dominic said. ‘If it was set to go off at five, then it was planted – or at least activated – since five this morning. I don’t know if the boat was used yesterday…’

‘It was, both morning and evening. And in the evening it was refuelled and serviced by the head boat-boy here, who is absolutely reliable – a local man who has worked here for many years. No, I think we can ignore the possibility that someone affixed that device at one visit, and then came back today to set it. We can concentrate on the time since five this morning…’

‘Then who had access? Judging by the time when we met Bakhle’s boat this morning, it was rather late in leaving…’

‘You are right, it did not leave until well after seven, and it came back about eleven. So from five until seven-twenty-five it was at the landing-stage, and again from eleven until three-fifteen. During the first period access would be very easy for anyone connected with the boat service or the hotel. Possibly even for outsiders. During the second there would be quite a number of people around, and though access would be easily possible, it would also be risky, since anyone unauthorised might very well be challenged if he approached the boat, and would in any case run the risk of being noticed, remembered and identified afterwards. One would choose the early morning in preference, I think. And then there were the morning guests, Mr and Mrs Mani and their servant. I shall be seeing them, of course. They are from Bengal…’ He let that tail away gently into silence, one eye on Dominic. He didn’t believe in it very seriously, but he had an open mind.

‘They were very flattered and excited about having an introduction to Mr Bakhle,’ Dominic said. ‘But I suppose that would be the line to take if they wanted the introduction and the invitation for a special purpose. Not very likely Naxalites, on the face of it, they have a lot to lose, and nothing to gain, which is usually the determining factor. Though not always, I suppose. But more important, all the letters of introduction in the world couldn’t have
guaranteed
them an invitation to share his boat.’

‘That is true. Also terrorist agents do not commonly proceed in threes, and for one to be such an agent without the risk of being suspected by the others might be difficult. Still, there could be vital secrets even between husband and wife, much more between master and servant. And as for possessions – have you noticed that the tenets of a creed are sometimes religiously observed by the rank-and-file adherent, but do not seem to be binding on the leaders of the cult? There are Naxalite bosses who are themselves greedy and tenacious landlords. Well – and you cannot think of anyone else who had ample opportunity, and was also from Bengal?’

‘Yes,’ said Dominic, after a long pause during which they looked each other measuringly in the eye, with a degree of wonder and curiosity. ‘Only it makes no sense. Yes, I didn’t miss the connection. Nobody had more opportunity than Ajit Ghose, nobody could hop in and out of that boat with as obvious a right as he could. For him it would have been easy, he was taking out that boat today, nobody would think of questioning him. And he comes from Bengal, and he’s been here only a short time. Romesh told us. And he told us more – that originally
he
was down as Bakhle’s boat-boy for today, and Ghose contrived to have the duties changed, so that the job went to him instead. I haven’t forgotten. But it would be crazy! He stood to blow himself up, too.
If
he did it, he
did
blow himself up.’

‘He may not have intended any such development. Terrorists have died by their own bombs before now.’

‘Not with that much room to manoeuvre. He could have fixed it to go off when he wasn’t aboard —’

‘How? You think a man like Bakhle would ever go aboard first and wait for his boatman? At the landing-stage, whatever pretext he might have made to absent himself, it would not have been a practical proposition. He would have been under suspicion immediately. No, if it was to happen in the boat, it had to be well out on the water, and therefore he had to be there. But don’t forget the circumstances. They were close to shore, and it would appear that Bakhle himself was at the wheel at the time, apparently quite a frequent habit of his, and perhaps not difficult to contrive more or less at will. Thus Ghose would be behind him, while Bakhle’s attention would be focused ahead. I have already confirmed that Ghose is a strong swimmer. May he not have intended to slip overboard shortly before the hour, and swim ashore? The boat was to founder. What would the boatman be then but a lucky survivor who happened to be blown overboard, and had no chance to help his passenger? If he wished to continue here and behave as an innocent victim, I think his chance of success would be pretty good. If he wished to disappear, having accomplished his immediate mission, that, too, would be easy.
But
…’

‘But,’ said Dominic flatly, ‘the timing mechanism was faulty, and the bomb went off ten minutes early.’

‘It is possible. I don’t say more. We shall be examining his belongings, and tracing his antecedents. As we shall in the case of everyone else concerned.’ He rose to indicate that the interview was over. ‘Meantime, remember only that your position, and that of your friends, just
may
be a slightly exposed one, if someone fears that you may have noticed too much and too accurately.’ And he added: ‘A last point – your really devoted Naxalite might well contemplate the sacrifice of his own life with equanimity, if it was a necessary risk in the cause of taking Bakhle’s. I don’t say he would surrender it gladly, or refrain from all possible precautions; but he would not let that consideration stop him. As usual, it is only among the top ranks of the hierarchy that total cynicism prevails. The rank-and-file can be truly dedicated.’

Dominic was halfway to the door when he halted and looked back. ‘But if you’re right, then the terrorist is already
hors de combat -
even if he’s still alive.’

‘So?’

‘So there seems no continuing threat to any of us.’

Inspector Raju said gently: ‘It is not yet certain that the solution I have outlined is the correct one. But even if it is… Mr Felse, Ajit Ghose, though literate, is almost without education. He may have planted the bomb – he certainly did not make it. Someone supplied him with it, and taught him all he needed to know to make it effective. Someone, somewhere, will be busy observing the results.’

Patti came out of her sedated sleep reluctantly and sluggishly, to sense the white of day outside her eyelids; and for a while she lay without opening them, unwilling to face the world. But even inside her own closed mind she could still see the obscene horror of abrupt death, the mangled body stirring rhythmically and helplesssly in the water, the upturned face with blood and mud for eyes. A man who, according to Romesh, had hired thugs to attack and kill, simply to suppress a demand for better pay. Remember that, too… This is a dirty world, and nothing is ever simple. But to kill that way, from a safe distance, and not caring in the least about the wretched, innocent boat-boy, who had never hired thugs to kill anyone, and owned no land. There are things which can never be justified…

She knew she would have to open her eyes at last, and get up and dress, but she waited until she heard the soft rustle of Priya’s cotton sari, and knew that her friend was already up and busy, and maintaining this considerate silence only on her account. Then she lifted her lids resolutely, and sat up in bed. Priya was standing in front of the mirror, braiding her long black hair. She had on a low-necked white blouse and an amber-and-gold sari this morning; and the soiled sari she must have washed last night, and draped in the shower-room to dry. She turned quickly at the slight sound, and smiled at her room-mate composedly, if a little anxiously.

‘Good morning! How do you feel today?’

‘Doped,’ said Patti truthfully. But not, she thought, heavily enough; I can still see him. ‘And stupid. And ashamed. I’m sorry I was such a dead liability yesterday. But I’d never seen – never imagined – anything like that. Even if you tried to describe it, to someone who’d never actually seen such a thing, it wouldn’t mean anything. But when you run your nose right into it…’

‘I know,’ said Priya warmly. ‘It was not your fault at all. Don’t think about it any more – at least
try
not to think about it.’

‘It’ll be a long time before I stop,’ Patti said wryly. ‘Priya – how do you ever manage? I mean, in a casualty department, when these things are brought in – hit-and-run victims, gang killings, knifings in fights – all that… How do you set about keeping your cool? Or do you just get used to it in time?’

‘No, you do not get used to it,’ Priya said almost with asperity. ‘Or rather, perhaps you do and you don’t, because if you don’t – in one way – you can’t bear to go on being a nurse, and if you do – in the other way – you had much better stop, because you’re not fit to be a nurse. Your mind gets used to it, and then you can use your faculties to try and combat it. But your heart never gets used to it, and you never stop being hurt.’ She added deprecatingly, suddenly aware of her own warmth: ‘It is not for everyone, of course, why should it be?’

‘Not for me,’ said Patti with decision. She swung her feet to the floor, and sat on the edge of her bed. In the corner of the ceiling a tiny jade-green gecko clung upside-down, motionless but for the slow lift and fall of transparent eyelids, and the pulse in his throat, which vibrated almost too rapidly to be seen. Harmless, mysterious, jewel-like little things. The more I see of men, the more I like animals! But we’re all caught, aren’t we? You can’t resign, once you’re born.

‘He seems to have been guilty of some deaths himself,’ Priya said, attempting comfort that seemed to her quite irrelevant, but might make a difference for Patti. ‘It is not only Romesh, I have been asking. Everyone knows the story, and most people believe it was he who was responsible for that attack. And it was a very bad case – one family was burned in its hut. But the raiders got away, and no one can prove anything.’

‘No,’ Patti agreed, reviving, ‘I gathered he wasn’t a very nice man.’ She got up and pattered across barefoot to the shower-room, suddenly brisk and resolute, as if she had made up her mind about facing both today and yesterday, and had to take the plunge now, and violently, or lose the initiative altogether. ‘Do you suppose Inspector Raju’s still here? I’ve got to see him…’

‘Just a minute,’ Priya called back from the bedroom. “There’s someone at the door. ‘ And she went to open it, to find herself confronting a sleepy but still debonair Sergeant Gokhale. Even after a sleepless night he was not so tired that he could not take pleasure in the sight of a good-looking girl fresh and spruce from her morning toilet, and not so devoted to duty that he could not make use of his eyes and his smile to convey his pleasure.

‘I hope I’m not disturbing you too soon, Miss Madhavan. Inspector Raju would like to speak to you in his office – the room he was using last night. But at your convenience, there is no hurry.’

‘Thank you, it’s quite convenient now. I will come.’ And she called towards the shower-room: ‘The inspector wants to see me. I won’t be long. Do take down that sari, if it’s in your way.’

‘I already have. All right,’ said Patti’s voice, half-resigned and half-relieved, ‘after you!’

She was dressing when Priya came back. She came in very softly and quietly, as was her way, and began to collect up her night things without a word, her hands competent and quick as ever; and it took Patti several minutes to realise that there was a different quality about this silence, a private tension, not at all out of hand – she had never seen any emotion get out of hand in Priya so far – but nevertheless troublous and dismaying. Then, looking up with carefully screened attention through the drift of her fair hair as she brushed it, she saw tears overflow slowly from the dark eyes. She dropped her brush and was across the room in an instant.

‘Priya, what is it, what’s the matter? What did he want with you?’ She flung an arm round the slender, straight shoulders, and then, in terror that her touch was too familiar and would be unwelcome even in these circumstances, snatched it away again. And Priya smiled faintly but genuinely, and smudged the tears away again. No new ones followed them.

‘It’s all right – that is, it isn’t anything unexpected. I didn’t look for anything else. But I told you, it never gets any more bearable when you lose one…’

‘But what’s that inspector been doing to you?’

‘He is very kind, and it was nice of him to think of telling me. Of course he knew it was what I really expected, but how did he know, then, that it still mattered so much?’

‘But what did he say to you?’ Patti persisted furiously.

‘He sent for me to tell me that Ajit Ghose is dead.’

‘Oh,
no
!’ Patti whispered.

‘But of course! It was foolish to consider any other possibility, because practically speaking there
was
no other possibility. But still one tries. He died on the operating table. They got him so far alive.’

‘Then he never spoke? He never had the chance to tell them anything?’

‘He never recovered consciousness at all.’ She went on assembling her belongings in a neat pile, and looked round the room to make sure nothing had been forgotten. ‘After breakfast I think he means to let us all leave. I mean the inspector, of course. He was most kind. He tried to comfort me by telling me something more – that it is perhaps as well that Ajit Ghose died. He said I could also tell you, if I thought it would help to compose your mind.’

‘I shall be seeing him,’ Patti said, staring sombrely into her own thoughts.

‘He says it isn’t necessary, unless you wish it. Besides, it really does seem unnecessary now. He told me that Ajit Ghose came from Bengal only a month or so ago, just as Romesh told us, and it was true that he asked for the duties to be changed so that he could go with Mr Bakhle’s boat. Romesh thought it was for the sake of a big tip, but now it seems he may have had other reasons.’

Patti’s eyes changed their focus, stared at the incredible idea, and turned then to stare at Priya. ‘You mean that
he
planted…? The boat-boy himself? Of course I see he was the only one who could do it without any difficulty or risk at all, but then…
No risk
! My God, I’m crazy! Why, it would be suicide!’

‘Well, not quite, as they see it. Though if they’re right he must have been willing to accept the risk of suicide. They say he was a fine swimmer, he may have intended to slip overboard and swim clear before the explosion, but he would need to leave it until the last few minutes, you see. And as it turns out, the bomb was a little faulty. It went off ten minutes before time.’

Patti pondered, wide-eyed, wringing her hands restlessly in the lap of her demure shirt-dress. Her face was quite blank, her pale pupils fixed. ‘But they must have more than that, to be so sure. There must be something else they know.’

‘Yes, there is. They’ve been going through his things. People like Ajit don’t have much – a few clothes, a blanket, a bed-roll, maybe a pot or two, a few books if they’re literate. He was – barely, but he had one or two books. One was “Shakuntala” – you know it? In among the pages they found several Naxalite leaflets and some Maoist literature. It is what they expected. What they were looking for.’

Patti sat quite still and silent, gazing before her. ‘And you think,’ she said, ‘that it’s really true? They’re sure of it? He threw his own life away to make sure of taking Bakhle’s life? Then he wasn’t just the pathetic, innocent victim I thought he was? My God!’ she said, more to herself than to Priya, ‘It’s terrifying!’

‘He thought it would put my mind at rest,’ Priya said with a rueful smile. ‘The inspector, I mean. So that I should know that, too – that he wasn’t just an innocent victim, that he died as the result of his own act. He thought it would make a difference!’

‘Doesn’t it?’ demanded Patti, astonished. ‘It does to me.’

‘It doesn’t to me, not very much. I told you, you never get used to losing one. What he may have done doesn’t make much difference. Except that he might have lived to die a worse way. Shouldn’t we go and see if the men are up? They were going to sleep in the Land-Rover – there weren’t enough rooms.’

Patti rose slowly, like one still in a dream. ‘You are incredible! I’m frightened of you, and I envy you, you know that? I can believe in
you
dying for a cause – without any heroics, either, just in cold blood – like Ajit Ghose!’ A sudden thought struck her, and she halted with her hand on the handle of the door. ‘He was telling you quite a lot, wasn’t he, this inspector! Do you think he’s going to let everybody know? That his case is successfully closed already?’

‘I think,’ said Priya, considering, ‘that he may. Perhaps for a reason of his own.’

‘Oh? What do you mean by that?’

‘I think,’ she said carefully, ‘that Inspector Raju has his reservations. Yes, he surely believes that this is the truth about Mr Bakhle’s assassination. There seems no doubt about that. But not the whole truth. You see, this was only a half-educated man, however intelligent he may have been…’

‘And however fanatically devoted. Yes, I see that. It takes specialist knowledge to make bombs.’

‘Yes. Could Ajit Ghose have done all this quite alone? So by letting it be known that the case is closed, I think Inspector Raju is setting out to put someone else at his ease, too – and off his guard.’

At breakfast in the hotel dining-room, when most of the delayed travellers were already present, Inspector Raju made his announcement. First in Tamil, then in English, for the benefit of the foreign element, which even included a couple of innocent Germans, late arrivals and pathetically ignorant of all that was going on. In halting German Larry translated for the hapless engineers from some northern hydro-electric undertaking:

‘Everyone present is now at liberty to proceed, subject to leaving with the police particulars of exactly where he can be contacted in the new few days, if it should be necessary. The case is now satisfactorily concluded, but we may need to get in touch with certain witnesses in connection with the detailed documentation of the events of yesterday. Will everyone who is ready to leave please report first to the police office on the premises. Thank you!’

Madame Bessancourt, without a word, rolled up her knitting and put it away in the capacious black bag that never left her side. Monsieur Bessancourt, with the same deliberation, picked up his Panama hat in one band and their overnight portmanteau in the other, and they were ready. The first to be ready, as they had been the most patient and imperturbable during the delay. Police matters were to be accepted and respected in every country, but no need to waste time once the release was given. They passed by the table where Larry’s party sat at breakfast, and performed their ritual bow as gravely as always.

‘Are you heading back towards Madurai?’ Larry asked, by way of making conversation in passing.

‘No, we are going on to Kottayam, and then down the coast to Quilon and Trivandrum.’ Monsieur Bessancourt glanced down at the folded map in his breast pocket as if for confirmation. ‘And on to the Cape afterwards. And you?’

‘The other way. We go back on our tracks nearly to Madurai, then south towards Tirunelveli. Later we shall be going on to the Cape, too.’

‘Then perhaps we may meet there,’ said Madame graciously. Inevitably, Dominic thought. Nobody is going to be touring this near to Cape Comorin, and not go the rest of the way, and by any route the distance is much the same. The odds are we shall all meet there.

‘We must go and tell our plans to the inspector. It is tragic that this beautiful place had to be spoiled by such an act. And for your so terrible experience I am sorry. I hope you can forget what you could not help.
Au ’voir, messieurs – mesdames
!’

They all murmured their thanks and appreciation, and wished the departing travellers: ‘
Bon voyage
!’ And the indomitable pair disappeared duly into the little office, recorded their time-table, walked out to their battered blue Ford and drove away.

The Manis had come in too late to hear the announcement; only Sushil Dastur, fussing anxiously about their table and exerting himself to make sure the tea and eggs should be just as they preferred them, listened with patent relief and gratitude, glad to have good news to relay to his employers as soon as they appeared. Theirs, after all, had been the worst situation; had they not spent the entire morning in the boat in which the bomb had been planted? Naturally they had all protested their horrified innocence, and exonerated one another, but all the same they must have spent an acutely uneasy night.