The Redhead of Rajastan: Chapter 6, The Case of Count Davidoff

“Please tell me what happened,” Chief Constable McGregor asked in English.

“When Count Davidoff and I returned to our table, our drinks were waiting for us. Mal was there, adding a lime wedge the bartender had forgotten to my drink.”

“Your drink or the count’s drink? You said you traded drinks,” the chief constable reminded her.

“It would have been mine originally, but Nikolai drank most of it.”

“Since when do you address the customers by their given names?” Patel asked in Urdu, in a disapproving tone.

“Count Davidoff and I were close,” Jasmine insisted coquetteishly, “very close.”

“Mind your manners,” Patel reminded her. “McGregor-sahib understands Urdu, and he will not want to hear your cheek.”

Jasmine muttered the equivalent of ‘Uncle Tom’ or ‘Malinche’ too quietly for McGregor to hear.

“I think it is important that I speak to Malachi Ford,” McGregor announced.

“Shall I fetch him for you, Uncle Angus?” Duncan asked.

“Thank you for the offer, lad, but I think that would be a better job for P. C. Aravind.” He nodded a dismissal to the constable, who left without a word.

“I’m sorry, Miss Jackson, but things do not look good for your Mr. Ford,” McGregor said.

Cynthia said nothing, but she’d read enough Agatha Christie stories to realize the chief constable was right.

#*#*#* #*

Aravind recited, “ You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

“Ford. The police surgeon will conduct an autopsy on Count Davidoff. The laboratory will analyze the liquid left in his drink and Miss Jasmine’s drink. Would you like to save our lab technicians some time and effort by telling me what they will find other than rum, Coca-Cola, and lime juice?”

“No, sir, I have nothing to say.”

“Well, it would have made my job easier, but you’re probably sensible,” McGregor acknowledged.