Barbara Cleverly - The Palace Tiger

Joe brushed aside his spluttered protests. ‘You get up into your tree, having had the forethought to take up there with you a pair of gloves and a blanket — standard issue on each of the hunt elephants — and immediately everyone is settled you climb down again armed with these bits of equipment and a knife of some sort — not the skinning knife from the howdah, I think — too broad. Then you weave your way, easy for a tracker like yourself to do (I believe even I could have managed), between the clumps of tall grasses back across the nullah. With everyone’s eyes glued to their own sector, you could have done it. Half an hour is plenty of time to get to Bahadur’s tree. You call up to him to come down on some pretext. He trusts you and comes down while Shubhada’s back is turned. Perhaps it’s your lucky day and you don’t even need to trick him into coming down; perhaps, nervously, like the rest of us, he becomes obsessed with the idea of having a pee and comes down for that purpose — ’

‘Joe, I won’t interrupt again but I have to say — there was a patch of damp soil near the body as though someone had done exactly that. I thought at the time it corroborated Shubhada’s story.’

‘So you were already thinking at that time that people’s stories might need corroboration, Edgar? That’s interesting.’

Edgar grunted in a non-committal way and Joe went on, ‘So, the kid is standing in the undergrowth with his back to you. With your gloves on and the blanket tucked in front of you to soak up any blood splashes, you aim to put a hand over his mouth and plunge the dagger into his neck. Aware at the last moment that something’s not right, the lad screams and tries — almost makes it — to pull the revolver out of his waistband. But you prevail. When you think he’s dead you roll up the blanket and gloves — if you’ve been careful you might not have needed them anyway — and, and what. .?’

‘Throw them away in the underbrush? No one searched the area more than ten feet away from the body and they were never going to — no reason. Stow them away on a tree, bundle them up, take them away with you and put them on the campfire? I’d have hidden them at the bottom of Bahadur’s funeral pyre,’ offered Edgar helpfully.

‘Yes, you would,’ said Joe. ‘And in London I’d have a squad of blokes checking whether those items went missing and whether any of the howdahs had traces of blood in them, but how the hell at this distance do we find out? The men will be half-way back to the palace or dismissed and gone home to their village. So little time at the crime scene because, as far as everyone’s concerned, it’s not a crime scene. Perhaps we should have made Ajit aware?’

‘I’m sure he never travels without his thumbscrews. You know very well why you didn’t tell Ajit!’

‘Yes. The murder was committed either by a European or by Ajit himself. An investigation likely to give even him pause! He might, for the sake of appearances, have aggressively interviewed a few beaters, roughed up a cook or two. . who knows?. . some poor sod might have been given a free one-way ticket to the capital.’

Edgar replied thoughtfully, ‘You underestimate Ajit. And that’s always a mistake. But let’s look again, shall we, from the obvious angle. Who had the opportunity?’

‘Anyone who was within a mile at the time,’ said Joe despondently. ‘So that’s the five people mounted on the machans, Colin who was roaming around. . Madeleine and Stuart? Where were they, by the way? Back in camp? If so, that rules them out.’

‘No. In fact, they came along too. I heard them arguing about it before we all climbed aboard our elephants. Stuart wanted to see the action and asked for another elephant to be brought round. Madeleine didn’t want to go but he was persuading her, I think, by the time we all set off. They could have been cruising about anywhere in the vicinity. A word to the mahout to let one or both of them down for a minute. . Problem — now why on earth would Stuart or Madeleine want Bahadur dead? Doubt they even knew him and they could in no way profit from his death.’

With vivid memories of his night with Madeleine, Joe was silent and it was a moment before he replied. ‘Of course, we’d know more if anyone had bothered to interview the mahouts. But how could you? This is Ajit’s territory and we were investigating a tiger slaying after all.’

Edgar asked thoughtfully, ‘And aren’t you inclined to think that’s exactly what we are dealing with? Joe, you don’t suppose the doc could have got this wrong, do you?’

It was with strong feelings of foreboding that Joe passed in the Dodge under the elephant gate and into the courtyard. Govind was waiting for him holding a slip of paper on a silver tray. A summons! Already! His heart sank.

‘A message, sahib, from Sir George Jardine. He has been trying to contact you by telephone and sends strict instructions that the moment you arrived back you were to speak to him on this number.’ Joe took the sheet of paper.

‘I’m coming with you,’ Edgar announced and, despite Joe’s objections, insisted on accompanying him.

They followed Govind to the communications room, where a telephone sat in splendour and state in the centre of a mahogany table. Govind pushed a chair towards Joe, found another for Edgar and bowed out of the room. Joe set out his police notebook and a pencil on the table, wiped his sweating palms on the knees of his trousers and picked up the handset. He asked the voice at the other end to connect him with the Simla number. Moments later Sir George’s voice erupted down the phone. Joe winced and held the receiver a little way from his ear. He wondered whether he would ever find the words to convince George that loud-hailer techniques were not necessary when using this modern equipment. He realized that Edgar would be able to hear every word.

‘There you are, my boy! Glad you could at last get yourself to a telephone. Now Edgar managed to find the ops room three days ago or I wouldn’t yet know that Prithvi Singh had all too literally bitten the dust.’

‘I’m sorry, sir, it’s been rather hectic over here. .’ Joe embarked on an embarrassed apology.

‘So I hear. Those chess moves tax a fellow’s stamina. Lucky that Edgar found the resilience and the time to file his report.’

‘Before we go any further, sir, I should perhaps tell you that Edgar is himself at my side as we speak.’

‘Well, that’s nothing but good news. Saves me making a further phone call. I’ll speak up. Now then, suddenly, this morning I find the news of Prithvi’s death presents me with rather a problem. A problem of etiquette.’

‘Etiquette?’ said Joe, startled. ‘We too have our problems not unconnected with Prithvi’s death, sir, but I wouldn’t have said that protocol featured particularly in our — ’

‘Yes, I’m sure, and you can tell me all about them in a moment. Now listen, Joe. On Tuesday night the good Edgar telephones me saying that the second heir to the throne has been killed. Now — not sure where you’ve got to down there but it’s Friday in Simla — yesterday, while you were all away chasing tigers, I received a missive from the maharaja. Sent, quite properly, by special messenger. It had been sealed and dispatched the day before Prithvi died. Quite extraordinary and — I’m sure you’ll agree — significant. It contained official advance notice of the betrothal of the prince’s second son Prithvi Singh to. . what’s the girl’s name. .’ Papers rustled and George began again, ‘Princess Nirmala, one of the daughters of Mewar state. Sensible move. An alliance between Ranipur and Mewar would, of course, always be interesting to His Majesty’s Government. Preliminary announcement and all that to assess our reaction to the forthcoming marriage. A fixture set for next month, I’m informed. Polite of him to let me know. . all very correct. . but you see my problem, Joe. Do I reply to this, causing hurt and offence, or do I tear it up and send my condolences on a death of which I have not yet been officially informed, possibly causing hurt and offence. Advise me.’