Stephanie (34 page)

He tried the questions a dozen times more until he was word perfect, then took his second pill dutifully after breakfast. It crossed his mind to wonder what sort of justice there was in the world that the police authorities should have the freedom to administer pills that gave sleep and confidence, whereas he faced a prospect of fifteen years in prison for bringing in one of the likely ingredients.

But by the time the taxi came his mind had passed this by and confidence settled on him. As the car drove through the city suburbs and then into the green and lush and leafy countryside he compared it with the suburbs of the city he had left in India, his home and its surroundings. The everlasting smell of sweat and urine and stale cooking that came up from the flat below; the street outside down which he walked every morning to catch his train, the bolts of dyed cloth piled in an entrance, with bangles and cheap jewellery; the fruit stalls selling oranges and pomegranates and guava, the shoe stalls and food stalls; and children defecating in the gutter in the molten glare of the early sun, and further on the shacks and shanties, many of them made of packing cases and old sacks and all full of people in rags or naked, children waiting to beg, old men waiting to die. People, people everywhere, pullulating, multiplying faster than hunger and disease could take them off, all drifting into Bombay from some greater crisis of existence in the outer countryside.

A week or two ago Nari had longed to see the back of this cold orderly country, wanted to return to Bombay with all its faults and ugly memories. Now, with the prospect of a new identity and an opportunity to live here, his feelings were different. He was not unaware of the risks this interview might bring – he was not such a fool as to suppose it would all be as easy as the policemen pretended – but he knew also that if by some miracle he was found not guilty and allowed to return to Bombay he would not be permitted to resume his normal life, drab though that might be; he would still be in thrall to men like Mr Mohamed and Dr Arora. There had been a sentence he had half caught that horrible day when he had refused to swallow more than eighty of the packages. Someone had whispered: ‘Eighty's only just worth while,' and Arora had said: ‘It will do for a first time.' They had been talking in a dialect he only partly understood, and which they probably thought he did not understand at all, but during these last few days in prison the interchange surfaced and solidified in his mind. If he returned to India a free man,
that
might be waiting for him.

The taxi turned off down a side road, and Nari thought he had reached his destination. But not so. They came to a clearing in which was a caravan and a police car. Two men in the car, both strangers to him. When the taxi drew up one of the men got out and opened the door of the taxi. He smiled pleasantly.

‘Mr Nari Prasad. Could we trouble you for a minute or two?'

Nari edged his way out, was escorted across the grass, up the two steps and into the caravan, which had in it a table and three chairs and some radio apparatus. The other man from the car joined them.

‘Sit down, Mr Prasad,' said the first man genially. ‘ We just want to know if you can remember the statements you have to make. Shall we just go through them?'

They went through them three times, while the second man checked with what was typewritten on a sheet of paper.

‘That's good,' said the first man. ‘That's very good. Remember, not to get flustered. Give him time to answer. Put the questions
clearly
, then wait for the reply. See?'

‘I see,' said Nari.

‘Now then,' said the second man, getting up, ‘just put this round your neck, Mr Prasad.'

He was holding out something on a thin black tape like a necklace, like a medallion, no bigger than an old-fashioned watch, but flatter.

‘What's that?'

‘Just put it round your neck. See, like this, let me; if you put the cord under the collar of your shirt just like an extra tie, then the mike will lie comfortable, hidden by your shirt. No one can possibly see it.'

‘
Mike?
' said Nari.

‘Yes, it's just a body mike. Didn't they tell you about it? It's quite harmless; nobody'll know you've got it; but with it we'll be able to listen to the answers.'

‘I wish', said Nari, ‘to see Sir Peter Brune, please.'

A maid had come to the door, but a man hovered behind her in the shadow.

‘What name is it?'

‘Nari Prasad.'

‘Oh.' She half closed the door on him and could be heard whispering inside.

It was an impressive house, and some of Nari's Dutch courage had seeped away.

The door opened and a dark man stood there. ‘What is your business?'

‘Are you Sir Peter Brune?'

‘State your business and I will see if he is in.'

‘I can only state my business to him, sir. That is what I was told.'

‘Who told you? Who are you from?'

‘I cannot say. I can only say it to Sir Peter Brune.'

John Peron stared at the young man and then beyond him to the waiting taxi.

‘I will see,' he said, and shut the door.

Nari stood on the top step, his kneecaps trembling. A shaft of sunlight among the clouds lit up the young beech trees with a rare brilliance. It was something that could not happen in India, the much paler sun illuminating the much brighter green. Nari was not conscious of it.

After waiting and waiting and waiting the maid opened the door. ‘Come in.'

A dark hall; Nari stumbled over a rug; a big, lighter room; at the other end of it an elderly man with greying hair, a deeply etched rather handsome face. The brighter light from the window behind him made his expression impossible to read.

‘What is it?' he said in a deep cultured English voice.

‘You are Sir – Sir Peter Brune?'

‘Yes.'

‘My name, sir, is Nari Prasad. I – I have come from – with a message from Arun Jiva.' Pause for reply. Could he remember anything else?

‘From Jiva? Surely he's not back in England?'

‘I would – like to speak to you privately – with absolute privacy, sir.'

Pause for reply. But there was no reply. After a brief silence Sir Peter Brune said: ‘ You may say anything you wish in front of my secretary.'

What now? Did he hold firm or did he give way?
The dark man said: ‘Come along, man, what is it you want?'
‘Did you know he was back in England?'
‘Who, Jiva?' Brune said. ‘No. What is it to me?'
Nari got on the rails again. ‘Arun Jiva has been arrested in

Oxford for smuggling drugs.'
A grandfather clock was ticking in the room. It was enormously

solemn.
‘The damned fool,' said the secretary. ‘What the hell did he come

back for? He was told to stay away!'
Peter Brune held up a hand to silence the other man. To Nari

he said: ‘I'm sorry to hear he's in trouble. I don't think I can help

him.'
‘He says you must help him now. Otherwise …'
Brune turned his back, looked out at the fitful sunshine. ‘I'm

sorry. I can provide him with a lawyer; nothing more.'
Now was the big one – the threat. Nari was overawed by this

elderly distinguished Englishman, by the big house, by the dark-faced

secretary standing arms folded by the door.
Nari stuttered and was hardly audible. ‘He says – he says if he

comes down you will come down.'
‘What do you say?' Brune demanded.
Nari stumbled through the words again, but more clearly.
Brune laughed. ‘I'd advise him to think again.'
Peron said sharply: ‘Weren't you remanded in custody? You were

in hospital and then in jail! How did you get out?'
Nari was almost on the point of collapse. He swallowed hard

and said in a voice made louder this time by his panic: ‘He says

– Arun Jiva says the police would like to know all he knows about

Stephanie Locke! …'
Brune turned back from the window. ‘ If he tells them what he

knows about Stephanie Locke he'll be in worse trouble than on a

drugs charge.'
Peron had come up behind Nari. ‘How did you get out? Who

sent you here? How did you ever see Arun Jiva if he's been arrested?' ‘I was released on bail, sir,' said Nari, and then remembered his last line. ‘Well, I have given you his message, sir. I can do no more.'

Peron grasped his arm. ‘ What the hell are you doing here? Tell me that? Who sent you?'

‘Arun Jiva,' said Nari, improvising. ‘I – I saw him in court … Sir, I will be going now. I have a waiting taxi at the door.'

The two men hesitated, looking at each other. Then Brune shrugged slightly and turned away.

‘Show this man out, John. He's wasting our time.'

‘If I may differ, sir,' said John Peron with a courtesy that did not ring true. ‘If I may differ, sir, I don't trust him. I suggest we take him upstairs, lock him in a room and ask him a few questions. He may well be working for the police.'

‘No, sir, not at all!' gasped Nari. ‘ I would never …'

The grip on his arm did not relax.

‘He may have been a police spy from the beginning; the way he turned up at Arun's door just as he was leaving; then conniving with the Locke man to refuse the ambulance.'

‘If you please, sir, that is not truth at all! I am terrified of the police. I will not go near them at any price! I am assuring you!'

Peter Brune was the coolest of the three. He came towards Nari, stared closely into his face. Nari smelt some antiseptic on his breath.

‘Tell me this, Prasad. Why were you given bail?'

‘I – don't know, sir.'

‘You were not discharged? You were given bail.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘After being two weeks in custody?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘On such a serious charge? Who is putting up the bail money?'

‘I am not knowing, sir. I must go now.'

Peron said to Brune: ‘He's a spy! Good God, it stands out a mile.'

‘I don't see it. No one would ever send him here – except Jiva. The police have no reason to suspect anyone in this house.'

‘Unless Jiva's talked.'

‘Nonsense, he wouldn't dare. But take this man upstairs if you want to. He doesn't look as if he would be difficult to break.'

‘Who
sent
you?' Peron demanded.

‘No one! I cannot stay! I have a taxi waiting!'

Brune's sardonic face creased again. ‘Ah yes. You have a taxi waiting … Tell Angie to go out and pay the taxi off, John. Say Mr Prasad has accepted an invitation to lunch and that we'll send him back in a car later. Give the taxi man ten pounds. There shouldn't be any difficulty then.'

‘Hell!' said the man in the radio car, parked in a lay-by where the road was not far from the house. ‘They're keeping him.'

‘Never mind,' said his companion. ‘He did well! We've got a fine tape. They'll be delighted.'

‘Leave it on,' said the first man. ‘There may be more transmitted before they discover he's wearing it.' After chewing on his thumb for a moment he added: ‘All the same, I feel sorry for the poor little bugger.'

The second man raised his binoculars. ‘ The maid's paying Joe off now. There's nothing he can do about it. There's nothing
we
can do about it – short of a search warrant, which we certainly haven't got. Too bad. Never mind, I'm not going to be a crybaby. He's fulfilled his purpose in life.'

The receiver crackled but so far there was no further speech.

The first man said: ‘I'll ring the station.'

‘They won't know the first thing about it,' said the second man. ‘Try this number. It's direct to Hampton.'

Detective Inspector Foulsham said: ‘Well, as I was in the area I thought I'd call and see you again, Mr Locke. I know I should have rung up, but after all the help you have been giving us …'

James said: ‘Sit down. Let me see, you take coffee, don't you?'

‘Very kind of you,' Foulsham said, as James pressed the bell. ‘Whenever I call here I always admire your garden.'

‘The weather's been pretty kind this year.'

Foulsham sat down. ‘That must have been an interesting trip to Corfu. Were you on holiday?'

‘It was just a long weekend.'

‘But with considerable results!'

‘Most of it was luck on the way home.'

‘That certainly! But your time in Corfu, I gather, was not ill-spent. At least according to your friend, Colonel Gaveston.'

‘Afraid I found nothing but rumour and counter-rumour.'

‘The police often work with that before they can collect the concrete evidence.'

At this stage Mary arrived with the coffee. James was glad of the interruption. He had, of course, been entirely frank with Henry, but neither he nor Henry could be entirely frank with the police. Especially there must be no possible mention of photographs.

‘Do stay if you'd like, Mary,' James said. ‘ I'm sure the Inspector and I have no secrets.'

‘Thank you, no,' she said, ‘if you've everything you want.'

‘Mrs Aldershot has just agreed to become my wife.'

‘Oh?' Inspector Foulsham's bright eyes went from one to the other. ‘May I congratulate you both!'

‘Thank you,' said Mary, who had coloured. She smiled stiffly and left them. James busied himself with the coffee.

‘Let me see, where were we now?' said Foulsham. ‘Oh, yes, your trip to Corfu, sir.'

‘Colonel Gaveston will have told you about it.'

‘Something, yes. But it's good to hear it in your own words.'

James cursed himself for not having prepared for this situation.

‘Oh, a few tongues wagged. But then they are always wagging – especially in such a small community.'