The Atlas Murders (15 page)

Chapter Twenty

It was almost high noon when
they docked in Bombay. Henry was expecting to hear from his contact, but exactly
who it would be and when it would happen, he didn’t know.

The ship’s agent was on board
and before long Henry heard a shout from the officer’s alleyway, ‘mail up’. He
had two letters both with London postmarks. He recognized the one with the
small neat handwriting as Vera’s. The crew took their mail and most disappeared
into their cabins to read in private. Some ventured out onto deck and sat in
the shade reading the flimsy pages of news; the only contact from their loved
ones for some weeks. Gary Conrad was in the cabin with three letters on his
bunk and not in too much of a hurry to open them. He was changing his cloths to
go serve the saloon for lunch and threw the letters under his pillow. “They can
wait until later. Probably nothing very interesting in them anyway,” he
remarked, as he walked out the cabin with a disgruntled look on his face.

Henry started to open the
letter from Vera and then he suddenly remembered that because the ship was in
port and there would be additional diners, he would be required to help Gary
with the pantry duties. In the saloon he heard Gary ask the senior steward for
soup for the ship’s agent, a colonial Brit and his Indian assistant who were at
the captain’s table. Henry wondered as he looked around saloon where his
contact would come from.

By now the ship was awash
with various locals; there were dockers, supply merchants, custom officials and
a number of ‘representatives’ from local bars and nightclubs.

Henry was returning to his
cabin after lunch when he was approached in the alleyway by a big Indian man.
He was in his early thirties, sporting a black beard and thick eyebrows, his
turban was spotlessly white but he wore a western style suit. When he spoke his
teeth were pearly white and his smile was all-encompassing.

“You are assistant steward on
ship?”

“Yes I am.”

 “I see, you like to know
where good bar in town, nice clean young ladies, good drink, you have plenty
nice time. My name is Tutul. You, what your name?”

 “I’m Henry.”

 “Ah Henry first name, you have
second name also?”

 “Tyler is my second name.”

 “I see Henry Tyler, take
this, all you need know.”

 He handed Henry an envelope
just as Gary Conrad came into the alleyway. The Indian man walked up to him and
began to engage him in conversation giving him a card of the bar he should
visit for some ‘nice fresh young girls and good time’. Henry stood watching him
holding
Conrad
in talk, almost blocking his passage in the alleyway. It became obvious to
Henry that he was buying time for him so he could conceal the envelope.

Henry found a quiet corner of
the ship, opened the envelope and pulled out a small slip of paper with a typed
telephone number and a note that read, ‘ask for Wolff’. The word, ‘destroy’ was
written underneath. He memorized the five digit number, tore the message into
tiny pieces and threw the fragments into the sea.

Conrad was reading when he
came into the cabin. ”What did you think of that Indian tout, did you get a
card from him?”

“No, he mustn’t have thought
me a likely customer.”

“The Blue Orchid is his
recommended watering hole and sex shop. The card is there.”

 Henry picked up the little
blue card with the poor quality print and on the reverse a map showing the way
to the bar. “We could try it, might be ok.”

Conrad didn’t answer him, he
was reading a letter and had his face turned to the bulkhead.

Henry jumped into his bunk
and took out Vera’s letter. The warning came midway down the first page:

Oswyn’s father, Lord
Welland will arrive in Bombay and he will take his son to their tea plantation
about one hundred miles away. They have nothing good afoot and by Oswyn being
away there can be no suspicion on him for any foul deed committed during the
ship’s stay. Be warned Henry, and have no doubt your life is, and will be in
danger.

He felt a cold shiver run up
his spine. He would have to be very careful, a murder in this state wouldn’t
cause a ripple in a local police station - even that of a foreign crewman. She
warned of hired men from the plantation who for a paltry sum would
unquestionably do their master’s bidding, even resorting to murder. They can
then disappear on the sub-continent and prove impossible to track down:

 You must remember that Oswyn
is an only child and heir to the family estates and fortune, so anything preventing
this will be resisted and the full use of their power and money will be used to
protect him and his future title. Believe me on this one, I know.

I long for your return and
a repeat of our trysts to unashamedly quench the flames of passion the thoughts
of which still moisten my eroticism.

Write soon Henry and don’t
forget to destroy this letter.

Love,

Vera.

He felt a stirring in his
loins as he remembered the wonderful evenings with her and her wantonly
graceful appetite that could devour a legion.

He put this into his pocket
and opened Vincent’s letter. Inside was another envelope addressed to Vincent’s
home. This he knew was from Denis.

 Henry, I hate to be the
one to have to tell you this terrible news. I know that wherever you are you
are doing your best to find the killer of our little girl, and now Katherine
has left us to join Shirley. The past four weeks were a living nightmare. The
doctor wanted to have her committed to a mental institution but I took time off
work and stayed at home with her. She was a totally different person. She spoke
of Shirley and how happy she was. She said she spoke to her every day. I would
find her rambling round the house at all hours of night. She would often go
into the garden at three or four in the morning and sit in her night cloths
talking and praying to herself and Shirley.

The end came when one
night I realized she was not in bed and I ran to the garden, but she wasn’t
there. I thought she must have gone out on the street. It was three thirty in
the morning. I searched for an hour and then I went to the police. I got home
at five thirty and when I went to the bathroom the door was locked. I had to
break down the door and there was our beautiful Katherine, drowned in the bath.
This is so hard for you Henry, as you cannot grieve with your family. Please
write and let me know you are all right. I believe Katherine and Shirley will
look after us from their place in heaven. All my thoughts are with you at this
sad time.

Denis.

Henry closed his eyes and tried to focus his thoughts.
The black birds of despair were hovering around in circles above him. He tried
to change them to doves but to no avail, they persisted in their dark and
ominous cloud. The four men passed across his vision like a film screen; his
hatred for them was palpable. He felt like jumping down and grabbing Conrad by
the throat and making him confess. He remembered the senior tutor at the police
training college emphasizing their behavior at times like this. Then his
professionalism clicked in. One silly act he thought could blow the whole
operation. There’s too much involved and a support team working so diligently
to protect and assist him. He saw Oswyn’s handsome face, his superior attitude
like a blood horse refined and honed by generations of carefully chosen
breeding. He was Vera’s choice, but he had to remember she had her own agenda.
Then he saw the pale freckled face of Sweeney with his shifty eye movements and
the flicking back of his red hair from across his forehead, his suspicious glances
especially at strangers. This timid fear gave Henry the feeling it could be
turned to hatred and violence if a situation arose to suit. He saw the dark smoldering
eyes of Tukola, a formidable man who seemed to possess an agility that could be
lethal if the need arose to unleash it. A man he could fear.

 He closed his eyes; he was
slipping in and out of sleep, pondering the tragic news and feeling the grip of
despair as the magnitude of sorrow was weighing on him. He was lost in time
when he was brought back to reality.

 ”Come on, we’re on duty.”

 He pushed the letters into
his pocket and followed
Conrad to the pantry to serve dinner. He noticed Oswyn
was missing from the apprentices table and as he served them their first course,
he asked an apprentice, “Will mister Oswyn be in for dinner?”

“No, lucky bugger, he’s gone
with his father to one of their tea plantations for a break. He won’t be back
until the day of sailing.”

 “I’ll inform the steward not
to include him for meals.”

 “You do that steward,” the
young apprentice chirruped in his west county accent, “but I’ll have his
desserts if you don’t mind.”

 Henry moved to the officers’
table and again encountered the quick wary glance from Sweeney.

“Coffee, he asked him.”

 “Yes please.”

 He noticed Sweeney was in
his shore going clothes. He’s not wasting much time. I’d like to follow him and
see just where a person like him would go - especially on his own, Henry mused.

 After dinner Henry went on
deck to read Vincent’s letter. It started on a cheerful note. He wished him
well and gave him regards from Tom and Vincent’s wife sent her best. He
informed him how they hadn’t turned up anything new at their end but they still
kept an open mind on the case. He warned Henry to be patient and if possible
not to move against the suspect when he was sure of who it was until the ship
was in port and he could call on backup. He re-read both letters and tore them
up and flushed them down the nearest lavatory.

When he returned to the cabin
Conrad was there.

 “I have been to pick up my
sub (local spending money). You better go and get yours.”

 “Ok.”

After collecting his sub he
went out on deck with his Rupees and stood in the shade. It was very hot. Even
in the semi-cool of the alleyway he was still sweating profusely. He saw
Sweeney heading off ashore; he was the only one on the ship with no duty now.
The radio operators had relatively little or nothing to do when the ship
docked. That meant it would be impossible to keep comprehensive tabs on Sweeney.
Henry would have to have as much time off as Sweeney if he wanted to follow him
all the time.

It was seven o’clock that
evening when he and Gary Conrad headed ashore. He had the small card the Indian
man left with directions on it to The Blue Orchid.

“What do you suggest Henry,
should we try this Blue Orchid joint?”

 Henry’s thoughts were on his
surroundings and the places on the dock to avoid on his way back later that
night. He noticed as they left the big open shed where there were thousands of
bales of jute stacked. The dirt roadway snaked away dotted with wooden and
corrugated iron roofed shacks on both sides stretching almost half a mile. “Yes,
we might as well have a look and see what the scene is.” He looked around and
noticed there was no lighting of any kind - an ideal place for an attacker to
work. He’d have to be very careful coming back, and every other night he’s
ashore.

“Ah, good,” exclaimed
Conrad, “transport
at last.”

 There were four rickshaw
boys parked waiting for customers. They got into one and Conrad asked the boy
to take them to The Blue Orchid.

“Yes Sahib, I know, very good
place, nice girls, my sister she work there.”

 “There now,” said Conrad turning
to Henry and beaming with mirth, “we’re getting to know the family already. The
mother’s probably organizing the quickies!”

 “Wouldn’t surprise me. But I
hope at the very least, they have cool beer.”

 The traffic now was
absolutely chaotic; the boy was weaving in and out of other rickshaws and old
beaten up trucks beeping their horns, cows wandering through the streets, some
lying on the roadway. There were people in colorful garments laden down with
all manner of produce in bulging cloth bags, trudging along, dodging the
traffic. The sun was setting in a fiery crimson on this bustling city, casting
a warm pink glow with scarlet shafts of insect laden rays shooting through
streets and over rooftops like some cosmic cabaret show.

 The rickshaw came to a
sudden stop. The Blue Orchid was painted in several shades of peeling paint on
a fascia over a facade of distressed timber the windows dusty and shaded by
faded blinds were like two large eyes and an open door, a boxer’s nose. Conrad paid
the somewhat exhausted boy and turned to Henry. “Come on me hearty, this is it.”

The interior was in semi
darkness, a few dim lights over the bar and tables with candles sitting in
bowls of melted wax. The customers were scarce; a few seafarers sitting at
tables conversing in a language that was not English. Henry thought they were
Russian. Conrad broached the counter and came to a table with two pints of cold
beer. “Well what do you think, worth the wait”?