A Bali Conspiracy Most Foul by Shamini Flint Page B

here?’
    â€˜Back to the widow, I guess,’ said Bronwyn.
    â€˜And we need to bully Wayan.’
    â€˜I’ll leave that to you,’ replied Bronwyn.
    â€˜The Bali police should have collected all Richard Crouch’s possessions by now. We’ll have to go through that.’
    Bronwyn was impressed. ‘When did you arrange that?’

    â€˜I told them to do it last night – but I said to wait somewhere till after we’d broken the news to the widow and then follow us in. I saw two coppers walk in as we got into the car.’
    â€˜Why did you want them to wait?’
    â€˜In case she made a mad dash to destroy any incriminating evidence. That would have incriminated her .’
    â€˜This murder stuff is quite complicated, isn’t it?’ said Bronwyn, patting her mouth with a napkin.
    Singh shook his head. ‘No. Actually it’s the simplest of crimes. Murder is such an extreme, absolute step that there are only a very few people capable of it. And of those few, an even smaller subsection will ever find themselves in a situation where killing another person seems like the appropriate solution.’
    â€˜You really believe that? You don’t think that we’re all capable of murder given the right circumstances?’
    The Singaporean inspector said, ‘I’m talking about premeditated murder. In a fit of rage, in self-defence, to protect loved ones – we might all be able to kill a fellow human being. But to plan, to think, to decide in cold blood that murder fits the needs of a given situation best? I believe that very few people could do that.’
    â€˜Inspector Singh, I do believe you’re a romantic!’
    The policeman scowled at the grinning Australian. ‘What do you mean?’
    â€˜You wander around with a long face hunting murderers but you’re convinced of the essential goodness of human nature.’
    Singh stood up, dropped a fistful of crumpled rupiah on the table – inflation was such that it took a lot of paper money to pay for things in Indonesia – and said curtly, ‘Let’s get back to the widow.’
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    The widow of Richard Crouch was composed. She sat primly, like an extra from a Jane Austen television drama, with her knees together and her hands folded on her lap. She had even smoothed her skirt after sitting down to make sure her knees were covered.
    She asked, as if it was a social visit or – perhaps on the evidence of the cold formality – a business meeting, ‘What can I do for you now?’
    â€˜Help us find your husband’s murderer!’
    â€˜Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll do everything I can. I’m just not sure what use I can be.’
    â€˜Tell us about him,’ interjected Bronwyn.
    â€˜Richard? There’s not an awful lot to tell. He is … was an only child. His parents are both dead – they died in a car crash a few years back.’
    â€˜Was he close to them?’
    Sarah looked at Singh in surprise. ‘I guess so. I met him for the first time about six months after the accident.’
    â€˜And you got married – when?’
    â€˜About six months after that – two and a half years ago.’
    â€˜A whirlwind romance,’ remarked Singh.
    She said, ‘Looking back, I think maybe he was looking for a family to replace the one he lost.’
    â€˜That implies that all was not well with your relationship,’ pointed out Singh.
    She glared at him, a crack in the ice, swirling cold dark waters underneath. She said, ‘We were fine – there were a few issues, there always are. This move to Bali was a way for us to iron out some of our difficulties – get away from it all.’
    â€˜Sounds to me like he spent most of the time – before he was killed, that is – getting away from you.’
    â€˜That’s nonsense!’ Her voice was uneven, but it was anger, not sadness, that