Collecting his thoughts while Joe was speaking, he said slowly, ‘They do not think it is a coincidence.’
‘Well, if we dismiss the chance of coincidence, what alternatives have we?’
‘What is left is what you would call foul play.’
‘So they are saying openly that it was foul play?’
‘Sahib, you ask me what people are saying and I tell you what people are saying. But there is a third explanation which many people whisper. I do not want to appear an ignorant black man – “natives are so superstitious” – I think that is sometimes said?’
‘Yes, I’ve no doubt that is sometimes said. But remember, I’m an ignorant London policeman – you can say what you want to me.’
Naurung looked acutely embarrassed and it was some time before he replied, saying finally, ‘Sahib, do you know what I mean by a Churel? No? A Churel is the ghost of a woman who died in childbirth. She haunts rivers and fords. Her feet are turned backwards so that she can lead men to their destruction. I say this but I do not believe it. They are vengeful spirits. People will say that a Churel seeks to be revenged on the mems of the Bengal Greys because of something – perhaps a long time ago – that happened. Because of a grievance she carried to the grave. A grievance that has not yet worked itself out. I tell you this because you ask. Me, I dismiss it as idle gossip. If you listen to all the gossip you will never find your way to anything.’
‘Listen,’ said Joe, ‘I’ll tell you straight away – I don’t believe in your Churel.’
‘I tell you, sahib, neither do I. But all the same, there is a link to the Churel through water.’
‘Water?’
‘May I remind you, sahib, that Mrs Somersham died in her bath, Mrs Simms-Warburton was drowned crossing the river and Mrs Forbes fell over a precipice and died on a river bank. It is not much but is there another connection?’
Joe riffled through the bundle of yellowing papers on the table between them.
‘A connection. Yes, Naurung. A connection is what we have to find. If there is a thread, any thread at all connecting these five deaths, then I think we will have an idea of why the memsahibs died. We know how they died – though we are far from knowing how the deaths might have been brought about – but we do not know why. I was taught that if you know “how” and “why” you will soon know “who”.’
‘Yes,’ said Naurung, ‘my father also has said that.’
Joe reflected for a moment and said, ‘We must study the reports and find what these ladies had in common. How closely have you been involved with these cases?’
‘With the death last week of Mrs Somersham I was involved. I was here at the station and helped the Police Chief Bulstrode Sahib with the investigation. I was not allowed to witness the scene of the death… Later…’ Naurung hesitated.
‘I understand. Go on.’
Joe read his unspoken thoughts and cut short the explanation which Naurung would have found embarrassing to give. The sight of a naked Englishwoman in a bath full of blood would have been kept from native eyes.
‘You’ve seen the photographs? And come to your own conclusion?’ he pursued.
‘It was I who had them developed for Mrs Drummond. There is a sergeant in the Signals who can do this. Yes, I saw the photographs, sahib,’ Naurung muttered and looked uneasily away.
‘I would have shown them to you anyway,’ said Joe. ‘Here, look again. Tell me what strikes you as odd.’
Naurung approached the table and glanced diffidently at the black and white photographs. Joe stared, seeing more than his first cursory and polite glance in the Governor’s office had revealed.
‘I see much to make me unhappy, sahib. But perhaps you would like to tell me what an experienced London policeman sees?’
Pushing back his feelings of revulsion and his pity for the girl who lolled naked in her bath, full white breasts buoyed up and outlined by the blood-blackened water in which she lay, Joe tried to keep his mind on the even more disturbing elements in the hideous scene.
‘Firstly, Naurung, a few details to put me in the picture before we go to look at the bungalow. Tell me who discovered the body, at what time and so on.’
‘Somersham Sahib found her body. Poor man – he was at first crazy. His screaming brought his servants running. At seven in the evening. They were preparing to go out to dinner with friends and then to a dramatic performance. She had gone to have her bath at six. The bheesties who carried in the water and her ayah who poured the water confirm this. Somersham Sahib had been working in his study waiting until she had finished and he suddenly thought it was taking an unusually long time and went to the bathroom where he found her dead.’
‘What efforts did he make to seek help?’
‘Oh sir, he sent servants running everywhere. To the Collector, to Bulstrode Sahib, to Dr Halloran of course. But it was Memsahib Drummond who was the first to arrive.’
‘Did anyone apart from the ayah confirm when Mrs Somersham went to her bath?’
‘Memsahib Drummond took the temperature of the water – you will see this in your notes – and agrees that it would have been poured an hour before the body was discovered. The doctor, who arrived just before eight, confirms that she had been dead for less than two hours.’
‘And the knife wounds? What do you make of the knife wounds?’
‘Ah, sahib, I have discussed this with my uncle…’
‘Your uncle?’
‘He is a butcher, sahib, and his opinion is worth hearing.’
‘Yes, I expect it would be. Go on.’
‘As Memsahib Drummond says, and she has nursing experience I understand, these wounds could not have been both made by Mrs Somersham.’
He pointed to the cut wrists on the photograph and made explicit slashing movements with each hand in turn. ‘This is how it happened, you see. She could not have made these wounds herself. And if she did not, there is only one other explanation.’
‘And the weapon? I presume it was found at the scene?’
‘It was a razor. It was found at the bottom of the bath. Nothing unusual about the razor – the usual three and a half inch hollow ground blade that all the sahibs use. Bone handle.’
‘Was it identified?’
‘Oh yes. It belonged to Somersham Sahib. It was part of his shaving set. He keeps his razors in the bathroom in a mahogany box on his shaving stand.’
‘Could Somersham himself have done this?’
‘Of course. Apart from the servants he was the only person in the house. But, sahib, I interviewed all the servants and they swear he was in his study the whole time. His bearer was called several times by Somersham to bring tea and then pink gin and to tidy the room. He says the sahib was working at his desk and never left the room. So the ayah was the last person to see her alive and Mrs Somersham dismissed her at six.’
‘At six? How can she be so precise?’
‘The bugle from the infantry lines was blowing “Cookhouse”. It calls the men at six o’clock every evening.’
‘And did the ayah notice anything unusual in her mistress’s mood? Behaviour?’
‘She says the memsahib was happy, chattering and looking forward to her evening.’
‘I think it’s time we went to look at the scene of the death, Naurung.’
Joe picked up the key, the photographs and the folder of papers and they set off together, Naurung at times following three paces behind and at times hurrying ahead to point the way.
On arrival at the Somersham bungalow Naurung set the key in the lock and stood back. Across the door a careful hand had pinned a notice in three languages – ‘Crime Scene. No Entry.’ Naurung clicked his tongue disapprovingly. ‘This is not accurate. There is no proof that this is a crime scene.’
‘It’ll do,’ said Joe. ‘Suicide is a crime, after all.’
In two places there was a blob of sealing wax and as Joe looked round the outside of the bungalow, he noticed similar blobs on each window. ‘Good,’ said Joe. ‘A proper arrangement. Yours?’