Barbara Cleverly - The Palace Tiger

‘Four people. I would, of course. My sister Madeleine. Ahmed, the engineer you saw just now. And Ahmed’s brother Ali.’

‘This may sound ridiculous but I leave nothing to chance. . Prithvi himself? Would he have had the knowledge?’

Stuart snorted at the deviousness of the question and considered his answer.

‘No, I don’t believe he would. He’d have been able to tell you what the elevator did because he used it but he probably thought it started and ended with the joy stick. I could never get him interested in the mechanics of the planes. For him, airplanes were like horses — you climbed aboard and rode ’em. You didn’t concern yourself too much with the feeding and watering and the state of their teeth and tack. But I see what you mean. . a sort of suicidal last grand gesture. Cocking a snook at his papa? “Here’s how much I think of your state — I’ll splat myself all over it.”’

He shook his head, still thoughtful. ‘Naw! That wasn’t Prithvi. He could be a bit of a jerk but underneath he was all Rajput. A scrapper. I admired him. He took on his father and his uncle and faced them both down. I’m talking about his marriage now. He stood by Madeleine in the face of a lot of opposition. He had guts. The arm-twisting went on right from the moment they were married. First off Prithvi was told not to get involved with an American girl and when he took no notice and did and was rash enough to bring his bride home with him, well, you can imagine, the reception was not exactly warm. They never let up on the pressure to get him to marry some respectable Indian girl of their choice. I lost count of the princesses that were dangled before him — they were still trying right up to his death. He rejected a daughter of the house of Jodhpur only last month. All out of loyalty to Madeleine. She’s a tough girl, my sister, and she knows what she wants. Made Prithvi swear she’d be the only wife. Maddy’s not one to play second fiddle to anyone. Prithvi was as good as his word. And he was more than half-way to becoming a good pilot.’

Joe looked around the small airfield. ‘I don’t see. . Ali — did you say?’

‘No one sees Ali,’ said Stuart bodefully. ‘Guy’s disappeared. He worked on the planes with his brother. Ali was my rigger and Ahmed my fitter. I’ve questioned Ahmed. First thing I did! You bet! No one’s seen Ali since yesterday morning. Early. He was working on the plane as normal and then just lit out. No one saw him go. Ahmed turned up to check the engine before the flight.’

‘And Ahmed failed to notice the cables?’

Stuart’s jaw tightened and he squinted into the distance, unable to hold Joe’s gaze. ‘He didn’t notice. But why the hell should he? His responsibility was the engine. He assumed his brother had left the plane ready for flight. He always had. That’s what always happened. If I’d taken the flight instead of Prithvi, I might have noticed. But, Joe, I can’t be certain.

‘Those cables are fine — from a few feet away you can hardly see them and the saboteur had a little trick up his sleeve.’

He gestured to the hangar. ‘Come and have a look.’

Coiled on a work bench were the blackened remains of the lethal cable. Joe picked up the raw edge and ran a finger over it. He considered the smear of thick black engine oil on his hand.

‘Right,’ said Stuart. ‘He put that stuff over the cut strands so’s there’d be no shine of freshly sawn metal to give him away. And I’ll tell you something else. When you line this up in the position it would have occupied — and I already have — you’ll see that the frayed part is right over the dark-painted part of the fuselage. Just where it doesn’t show. Camouflage. Careful type.’

‘Careful. Yes. And what else can we infer? What’s your opinion of the man who did this?’

‘Someone who knows planes, that’s for sure. Someone who knew exactly how many threads to cut through. Someone like Ali.’

‘Ali is your rigger, you say?’

‘Yes. It’s a vital job. These crates are held together with not much more than wire, string and glue and they get buffeted out of shape in the air. As soon as they land, your rigger gets going with his spanners and his levels and he trues it all up again ready for the next flight. It’s a skilled job. Ahmed’s taken over his brother’s duties.’

‘Who would have the clout to put pressure on Ali to sabotage the plane and then make sure he wasn’t around to tell anyone?’

Stuart spread his hands in a hopeless gesture. ‘Dozens of people. The pressure could be money or it could be favours owed or promised. Society here is very. .’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘. . seigneurial. Family, tribe — it works through a hierarchy with the maharaja at the top of the pile. Everyone owes allegiance to someone above in the pecking order. Ali was quite low down the ladder and there must be, as I say, dozens of guys who could give him the run-around. And that’s not counting the women! First Her Highness would certainly not have been displeased to see Prithvi plummet to the ground!’

‘This is bringing us now to the question of who exactly was the intended victim. From your last remark I take it that you assume the intended victim died as planned?’

‘I’ve given it a lot of thought and, really, in the end, I’m wondering why anyone would want to kill me. Madeleine, perhaps — they can’t stand her — but me? I’m just a flying chauffeur. Not important. But Prithvi — coming so soon after Bishan and in the context of the ruler’s terminal illness. . You’d say there was a pattern to it even Dr Watson might spot, wouldn’t you?’

‘Tell me how Prithvi came to be at the controls. How did the switch occur?’

‘We’d planned the reception display flight a couple of days back when Claude told us you were coming. Everyone knew about it. I was tempted to sell tickets! You may be wondering,’ he said with a wry smile, ‘how you come to merit such a salute?’

‘It had crossed my mind that Edgar and I aren’t exactly in the same league as the Prince of Wales!’

‘Boredom! Day follows day out here and they’re all the same. Hot, uncomfortable, predictable. You’ll do anything to break the routine and if a half-way decent excuse for taking off and stunting about for a while presents itself, you take it.’

‘Glad to oblige,’ said Joe drily.

‘It was a diversion, a distraction, an exercise. We worked on it together but it was always going to be my flight. So, figure my surprise, when, leaving my quarters to head for the hangar, I saw the Jenny taking off. A good five minutes ahead of schedule. I hurried over and grabbed Ahmed and asked him what the hell was going on. Well, you can question him yourself if you want to. . He said Prithvi came over all geared up for a flight and told him he’d decided to take the Jenny up himself. You don’t argue with the heir to the throne so Ahmed spun the propeller and sent him on his way. . with an unwanted passenger aboard.’

Stuart fell silent, fighting down a shudder. His horror was felt by Joe who remembered the cartoon that had passed from hand to hand along the front line: a young aviator, jaw jutting into the air stream, going gallantly forward unconscious of the grey-shrouded figure he carried in the passenger seat.

‘Death,’ murmured Joe.

Stuart didn’t answer. He was reliving, Joe supposed, the vital five minutes that had separated him from a premature and inexplicable death.

‘And this Ali had every opportunity before the fatal flight to cut the wires?’

‘Oh, yes. Anyone observing him, myself included, wouldn’t have suspected a thing. To all appearances, he would just have been carrying out routine checks and refurbishment. That’s how I’d have done it. .’ Stuart said, brow creased in thought. ‘Yes. I’d have brought out a set of pre-cut elevator cables and fitted them in place of the existing ones. Then no one gets to hear a saw hacking away at wires just before a flight. He could have done his preparation work well away from the plane in the workshop at any time that suited him.’