‘Pushtu talking . . . couldn’t figure out a word . . . but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t understand some things.’
Joe waited and she went on, ‘It wasn’t exactly a lovers’ tiff but things did seem to turn a bit sour as they talked.’ Lily frowned in an effort to remember clearly her impressions. ‘Zeman sounded kind of light-hearted whereas Iskander was threatening him . . . telling him off? He was certainly hissing at him a bit. I’d say they’d started off their evening adventure in high spirits but finished off not too happy with each other. No idea why. But anyway, by the time they drifted off to their rooms it must have been gone one o’clock.
‘Iskander knows that his friend went to bed in perfectly good health just when the medical expert is saying that he died. He’s going to draw conclusions, has already drawn conclusions and I’m not happy when I think about them.’
The gravity of the implications had been creeping up on Joe as she had revealed her story. ‘Iskander seemed very prepared to accept Grace’s version of events, even to the extent of smoothing her path and having all verified as above board by his officers. I thought he was as concerned as we were that there should be no charge of foul play.’
‘He was,’ Lily confirmed. ‘I was watching him. He was happy with the decision and relieved, I think. But then, right at the end, he asked about the time of death and Grace’s reply blew the top off the jam jar. He gave her a chance to change her mind or adjust her finding but she stuck to what she’d said and that’s when his attitude changed.’
‘You seem to have been keeping a close eye on him?’
‘I spend a lot of time watching Iskander,’ said Lily.
‘So, where do we go from here? Shall I confide your evidence to James and question him on the stance he’s taken?’
‘You’re the detective, you tell me!’
‘Fine. Then this is what we’ll do. We’d better sort this out ourselves, Lily, and we must be circumspect. I think Iskander has been alerted to some sort of underhand shenanigans and since he’s not challenged James openly, I think he’s gone away to work it out for himself and plan his next action. It looks bad, I’m afraid. If he concludes that there’s been a lapse in the protection offered by the fort, if Zeman’s death should prove to have been intentional, then it will be incumbent on him to seek revenge. I think he will try to avoid this if he can but once he’s certain that an injustice has been done he’ll act. He’ll act swiftly, what’s more. He’s never likely to be offered such an opportunity again after all. He’s a welcome guest, the subject of much sympathy, free to go wherever he likes in the fort . . . the Trojan Horse who could let in thirty Afghan warriors screaming for badal. Oh, I can tell you, Lily, I don’t like to hear what I’m saying!’
‘We can’t do a thing until we find out what really happened. Come on, Joe, you say you’re from Scotland Yard – would you have been happy with the combined investigation and coroner’s court we’ve just been through?’
‘Good Lord, no! I know we haven’t got any of the facilities I would normally be able to call on but all the same there’s quite a bit more we could do.’
‘Where do we start?’ asked Lily eagerly.
‘I would have said with the body but they’ll have taken it off for burial by now. Even if they haven’t, a policeman poking about in the orifices wouldn’t exactly calm any Afghan suspicions.’ He considered for a moment and then asked, ‘Do you think we could find our way into the hospital without being observed?’
‘Sure. If we work around the wall instead of going straight down the main path we could do it. Together or separately?’
‘I’m supposed to be riding herd on you so on the whole I think less suspicious if we’re together.’
‘Fine. If anyone sees us, you’re bored out of your brains helping me look for that silver bracelet I dropped somewhere in the grounds this morning.’
A few minutes later they had slipped into the room where Zeman’s body had been laid out. The table on which it had lain was empty but Joe was looking for something else. He found it in a neat pile set by the door awaiting collection by the orderly. Locking the door, he picked up Zeman’s clothing and put it on the table.
‘And this is a bit odd, don’t you think so, Joe? He was wearing his uniform. When I saw him in the garden he was still wearing his evening dress – you know – the waistcoat, the blue turban, the whole outfit. Now why would he have put his uniform on to go to bed? Doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me! Don’t these fellers wear pyjamas?’