CHAPTER TWENTY
Vinod stared at the Bank Manager in frustration. "But surely a lawyer's letter should be proof enough that I am the sole heir?" he rasped.
The Manager's prim mouth folded in further. He looked with distaste at the young man almost bending over his desk in desperation.
"No control, these young people," he thought to himself disapprovingly. "No control at all! Just out for what they can get!" The Manager was old-fashioned. And Vinod had rubbed him up the wrong way. "I'm sorry Mr. Shahane, but this letter won't Do. Won't Do at all!" he pronounced ponderously. "The Bank will require Letters of Administration or a Succession Certificate from a Court of Law declaring you to be the sole heir of Mr. Prakash Sattar, before we can permit you to operate his accounts." He looked Vinod over with an air of having settled his hash to his satisfaction. His son, indeed! Even the surnames differed!
"Damn," muttered Vinod to himself, narrowly escaping an errant cyclist as he sped back to the hospital. Damn! He'd have to call up his lawyer and try to get an appointment for the next day again. "Hope the old bugger gives it," he said to himself. "I've got to get the dough in the next couple of weeks." Else he'd lose the premises. And the earnest money he had already paid.
* * * *
Mr. Alif Faiz-ud-din (he insisted on two hyphen marks) was a cadaverous old man with a lined, scholarly face. He was indeed a great scholar, an acknowledged authority on Mohammedan law. It was he who had advised Prakash Shahane. As he now advised his son, Vinod.
He had hemmed and hawed. Vinod had had an hour of his time just a day back! He had ultimately succumbed to his client's insistence and had given Vinod an appointment for 5.30 pm the next day. Then he had made another call from his direct line, not routing it through the operator.
Vinod kept his appointment punctually. The old bugger was a stickler for time, and he had no wish to irritate him unnecessarily, by being late. On the contrary he was prepared to expend both tact and flattery to get him to move as fast as possible and get those damn letters, whatever the hell they were!
He was ushered into Faiz-ud-din's cabin at the stroke of 5.30 by a clerk as ancient as Faiz-ud-din himself. Vinod took a step into the cabin and halted, his smile freezing on his lips, his outstretched arm faltering, his antennae warning him that something was wrong somewhere.
With her back to the door and consequently to Vinod, stood a tall figure clad in a black burqa.
Vinod was disturbed. Faiz-ud-din never overlapped his clients' timings. In fact, he scrupulously kept a proper gap between appointments! Then who the hell was this dame and what was she doing in the old man's cabin at the time allotted to him?
The old lawyer himself was on his feet. "Come in, Vinod, come in, boy," in a genial tone that immediately struck Vinod as being all wrong.
Faiz-ud-din had neVer been genial. Never called him 'boy'! It appeared he was trying to tell him something. To warn him.
"You are just in time to meet your step-mother," announced Faiz-ud-din.
Vinod's face was frozen expressionless. The old lawyer droned on. Vinod's numbed mind heard his next words through a kind of haze.
". . . married her in the U.A.E. on one of his visits there. . . she'd been staying there all this time . . . Mrs. Merunissa Prakash Sattar . . . your step-son, Madame: Vinod Shahane."
The sound of his name cut through the haze enveloping Vinod's dazed senses. And then another voice impinged. Her voice. She had lovely voice. Low, husky, distinct. Rather a young voice, his subconscious registered. Surely too young to have been his father's wife? Now his widow?
Vinod quelled the urge to break out into hysterical laughter. His old man seemed to have been a pretty rum fellow! Three wives, and God knows how many mistresses!
She was tall, and that was all he could tell about her. The thick heavy veil hung down almost to her waist. The slit for the eyes was extremely slight, and netted, into the bargain. He could make out neither the shape nor the colour of her eyes, through it.
She would be staying on in Bombay for some time, till she sorted out everything regarding her husband's Estate, Faiz-ud-din informed him.
The veiled lady nodded confirmation. She would be visiting Prakash's flat at Cuffe Parade shortly; but right now she was putting up at a hotel and getting her bearings. This was her first visit to Bombay, to India. And she had so many things to do . . . lawyers to see, business matters to clear up . . . her husband had died so suddenly . . . her voice broke.
Vinod asked her which hotel she was staying at. She told him, adding shyly that as he was Prakash's son, her step-son in fact, would he drop in and see her at her hotel sometime later that evening? She was totally alone, and she would so much appreciate the help of Prakash's son! Vinod pulled himself together, and promised to visit her that evening at around 7.30 . . . 8. She then took her leave.
No sooner had she left than Vinod almost rounded on Faiz-ud-din.
"Who the devil is she?"
"Exactly who she says she is! Your father's third wife," replied the old lawyer coldly. His demeanour underwent a lightning change.
Vinod flopped into a chair, ran his hand over his face in a gesture of despair. Then he asked Faiz-ud-din, "Where do I stand now?"
"Nowhere," was the unambiguous answer. "Merunissa Sattar is the sole heir."
"But don't I get anything as his son? Surely a son is entitled to inherit, along with the widow?"
"If your father had not converted, yes," replied the lawyer. "Or conversely, if you had converted along with him. As it is, he died a Muslim. And you are a Hindu."
"But I performed his last rites as per the Hindu religion, as you advised! He was born a Hindu. Doesn't that mean anything?"
Faiz-ud-din gave a wintry smile. "If this Muslim widow of his hadn't turned up, yes, you might have succeeded in inheriting his Estate. There would have been no one to challenge you then. Now there is! From what I have seen of the latest Mrs. Sattar, she'll put up a hell of a fight if you drive her to it. And she has the law on her side."
Vinod asked Faiz-ud-din suspiciously, "How did this woman come to you in the first place?"
Faiz-ud-din looked at him with deep reproach. "You shouldn't really be asking me such a question! You know quite well that your father was one of my clients. Who else would his widow turn to after his death, if not to me?"
"Did you know about his third marriage, then?" asked Vinod sceptically.
Faiz-ud-din looked reproachful again. "Of course not," he told Vinod. "But this woman must surely have known about me! That I was handling her husband's affairs!"
"Strange coincidence that she should have landed up just at the time of my appointment," murmured Vinod resentfully, still suspicious.
"Now there you are mistaken," said the old lawyer deliberately.
"Merunissa Sattar came to me a couple of days ago. I made a few inquiries with my contacts in the Gulf; ensured that she had indeed been married to your father. Then I deliberately called her today at this time, so that you could meet her in my office, in my presence."
"Damn the woman," Vinod muttered savagely. "How could. . .
how could Father have done this to me?" Just when everything was going so well, he thought to himself bitterly. Faiz-ud-din could at least have warned him! But he said nothing. He did not wish to offend the old lawyer. He still had need of him. Now, perhaps more than ever!
* * * *
While Vinod's world was collapsing about his ears, the veiled lady had taken a cab to one of the modest, inconspicuous three-star hotels at Juhu and gone up to the room she had booked the previous night. She showered, changed, had a snack, made two telephone calls, got into the burqa again, and waited.
At around 8.45 in the evening there was a knock on the door. She opened it to admit Vinod Shahane.
"Please come in," she said in her low, rather seductive voice.
Vinod felt a familiar stirring in his loins. He ruthlessly suppressed it. There was no time for anything but the business at hand. However, it was a pity! His warped mind regretted that he had to pass up a chance of enjoying sex with his 'step-mother'. Some instinct told him she'd be a bombshell, in bed!
His eyes followed her veiled figure as she went to the telephone and picking up the receiver asked him, "What will you have? Coffee? Tea? Cold drink? . . ."
He moved quickly and disconnected the telephone. "No nothing, thank you," he said, smiling down into her veiled face. He only had a few minutes, he explained, and then he had to leave. He had an important dinner engagement he just couldn't miss.
He quickly took in the layout of the room. The bed was at the far end. Close to the bathroom were the mandatory two chairs and a coffee table. He led her there and compelled her to occupy the chair closer to the bathroom, by the simple expedient of himself occupying the other.
"Pardon my asking," he began smoothly, "But when did you . . . er . . . marry my father?
"You see," he went on, as she remained silent, "it was quite sho . . . quite a surprise to me. Father had never said anything about you."
"How could he?" asked that low musical voice, a hint of pathos in it. "He felt it would upset Dina. And she had sacrificed so much for him."
"You knew about Dina?" "Of course!" The voice was a trifle impatient now. "I knew everything there was to know about your father." Was it his imagination, or was there a hint of contempt in her tone?
Vinod became restless. He had not wanted to get into an involved conversation with the lady. Might as well finish what he had come to do, and be done with it! No sense in wasting time with chit-chat. Her voice was really too sexy! But sex, right now, would be a dangerous indulgence! The sperm would be tested and from that the blood group determined and . . . no, he couldn't risk all that.
Also, the shorter the time he was in the hotel, the safer for him. He looked into the netted slit and asked, just the right amount of embarrassment in his voice, if he could use the bathroom.
"Certainly." slight surprise showed itself in her voice at that request. It had hardly been ten minutes since he had entered her room!
He stepped into the bathroom and locked the door. The bath-tub was curtained off. From his pockets Vinod pulled out a pair of fine, transparent surgeon's gloves and a thin cord about two feet long. He then sat down on the commode, drew on the gloves, flushed the toilet, concealed the cord in one of his gloved hands and softly opening the door, stepped out.
Stealthily stepping up to her chair, Vinod whipped the veil off her face from behind, slipped the cord round the slender neck and pulled.
*
Friday, February 27, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
The Turning - Chapter Nineteen
CHAPTER NINETEEN
She crumpled the umpteenth sheet of paper and flung it vaguely in the direction of the waste-paper basket beside Zerxes' chair. They were in his study in his flat. It was Sunday. The ball of paper fell onto his lap instead, for the umpteenth time. He rose and advanced towards her purposefully.
Abandoning any pretense of working, Scherezade surrendered. The couch was comfortable enough. And big enough. And they were acrobatic enough.
There was a discreet knock on the door just as they lay in each other arms, exhausted and replete. Zerxes frowned. Normally, Krishna knew better than to disturb him on a Sunday when he was working in his study. Especially if Scherezade too was there. Working with him.
"What is it?" he called out.
"Sorry to disturb you Sir, but Tagore Sahib is here and insists on meeting you and Madam," was the apologetic response.
Zerxes reluctantly let go of Scherezade, got off the couch and pulled on his clothes. Tagore here on a Sunday afternoon meant something urgent. Then he remembered. Sushil had been away for a week. He must have just about returned that morning. Zerxes wondered if he had managed to get any information. Seeing that Scherezade too had buttoned up her coat-dress, he opened the door and called out to Sushil to join them in the study.
"I think you're quite right," were Tagore's first words as soon as he walked into the study. "As you know, I've been away for a week. Just returned this morning. I've had a talk with Irani and Patil. The boys have information that he's just signed an agreement for some rather posh premises for a clinic on Pedder Road. Worth at least a couple of crores. Now he himself certainly doesn't have that kind of money!"
Zerxes said, "Then, Sushil, I don't see what further proof you need. I think you should detain him straightaway and question him."
"So one of you clever Johnnies at the Bar can get him off on some technicality later on? For lack of sufficient evidence? Dear boy, this is a murder rap we're talking about! And he's not from the run of the mill criminal classes." Tagore shook his head. "No, Zerxes. Your instinct seems to have been right. No doubt he is our man. But how the devil do we prove anything? And what about the girl's death?"
"I'11 need to think that one out. But he's killed them! He's killed both of them! But you're right. No way we can prove it, absolutely. No concrete evidence."
"Perhaps there is a way, darling. . ."
Both men turned to Scherezade.
*
She crumpled the umpteenth sheet of paper and flung it vaguely in the direction of the waste-paper basket beside Zerxes' chair. They were in his study in his flat. It was Sunday. The ball of paper fell onto his lap instead, for the umpteenth time. He rose and advanced towards her purposefully.
Abandoning any pretense of working, Scherezade surrendered. The couch was comfortable enough. And big enough. And they were acrobatic enough.
There was a discreet knock on the door just as they lay in each other arms, exhausted and replete. Zerxes frowned. Normally, Krishna knew better than to disturb him on a Sunday when he was working in his study. Especially if Scherezade too was there. Working with him.
"What is it?" he called out.
"Sorry to disturb you Sir, but Tagore Sahib is here and insists on meeting you and Madam," was the apologetic response.
Zerxes reluctantly let go of Scherezade, got off the couch and pulled on his clothes. Tagore here on a Sunday afternoon meant something urgent. Then he remembered. Sushil had been away for a week. He must have just about returned that morning. Zerxes wondered if he had managed to get any information. Seeing that Scherezade too had buttoned up her coat-dress, he opened the door and called out to Sushil to join them in the study.
"I think you're quite right," were Tagore's first words as soon as he walked into the study. "As you know, I've been away for a week. Just returned this morning. I've had a talk with Irani and Patil. The boys have information that he's just signed an agreement for some rather posh premises for a clinic on Pedder Road. Worth at least a couple of crores. Now he himself certainly doesn't have that kind of money!"
Zerxes said, "Then, Sushil, I don't see what further proof you need. I think you should detain him straightaway and question him."
"So one of you clever Johnnies at the Bar can get him off on some technicality later on? For lack of sufficient evidence? Dear boy, this is a murder rap we're talking about! And he's not from the run of the mill criminal classes." Tagore shook his head. "No, Zerxes. Your instinct seems to have been right. No doubt he is our man. But how the devil do we prove anything? And what about the girl's death?"
"I'11 need to think that one out. But he's killed them! He's killed both of them! But you're right. No way we can prove it, absolutely. No concrete evidence."
"Perhaps there is a way, darling. . ."
Both men turned to Scherezade.
*
The Turning - Chapter Eighteen
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was one O'clock at night. Zerxes flung down the book he was reading, yawned, stretched, and walked up to the window. It was a full moon night. He gazed unseeingly at the silver-dappled waves below, framed by the rectangular cleft window of his study.
What had he missed? What?
He racked the recesses of his memory. He must look up the treatise by Tyabjee. Could Sattar have been given a Hindu funeral? Why had he been given a Hindu funeral? Had there been any motive for that, apart from sentiment? Vinod Shahane did not appear to be unduly sentimental! What were the consequences of Sattar having been given a Hindu funeral?
His mind went back to his conversation with his father earlier on that night. . .
For once Sam Avari had paid more attention to his visitor than to his fish. And not entirely because the visitor had been his only son. He had heard Zerxes out in silence.
"So the police are inclined to accept that it was Nivedita Shahane who murdered Dina Sattar and then committed suicide," he had mused. "Are you?" he had suddenly shot at his son.
Zerxes had answered with a decisive negative. "It is perhaps the most convenient, almost the ideal solution," he had acknowledged wryly. "But I'm pretty sure it is not the correct one."
"Why do you say that?" Sam had asked his son.
"It's a bit too pat," Zerxes had answered. "Almost stage-managed. Besides, I can't get rid of the nagging feeling that even the police themselves are not quite sure that this is the right solution!"
His father had nodded in agreement. "I know Sushil well enough to realize that he has doubts on this one," he had acknowledged.
Zerxes had drained his coffee cup and placed it deliberately on the low stool next to the sofa, a frown creasing his dark brow.
Zerxes had looked at his father speculatively. "What do you think, Dad? What's your opinion?"
"My opinion my son is that the solution to the puzzle of the Dina Sattar murder may well be within the realm of your expertise. I suggest you brush up your Muslim personal law a bit. Unless I'm much mistaken, it all ties in with this conversion business. And once you have solved the case of Dina Sattar, the cause of Nivedita's death will be clear enough." . . .
And so Zerxes had been reading up his Muslim law. He glanced at the clock, and decided that he had read enough for the night.
Tomorrow, he'd pop over to old Faiz-ud-din and borrow some more tomes from him.
* * * *
Aliff Faiz-ud-din's office was barely a twenty-minute drive from Zerxes' flat. Zerxes drove himself there at about 10 in the morning. The old man hardly ever went to Court nowadays, but better to go early! One could hardly get any parking space in the cramped lane leading to his office.
He parked his car a little away from the decrepit old building housing Faiz-ud-din's office. About to get out of the car, his gaze was suddenly arrested by a figure coming out of the building.
Zerxes remade his plans rapidly, then turned the car around and sped off towards Crawford Market. To the office of DCP Sushildutt Tagore. Instead of going to Faiz-ud-din.
Tagore heard what Zerxes had to say without interrupting and surprised him by saying that Irani too was of that view. "You're probably right! We'll keep a watch on him," Tagore promised. "But we'll need something definite, soon," he warned.
*
It was one O'clock at night. Zerxes flung down the book he was reading, yawned, stretched, and walked up to the window. It was a full moon night. He gazed unseeingly at the silver-dappled waves below, framed by the rectangular cleft window of his study.
What had he missed? What?
He racked the recesses of his memory. He must look up the treatise by Tyabjee. Could Sattar have been given a Hindu funeral? Why had he been given a Hindu funeral? Had there been any motive for that, apart from sentiment? Vinod Shahane did not appear to be unduly sentimental! What were the consequences of Sattar having been given a Hindu funeral?
His mind went back to his conversation with his father earlier on that night. . .
For once Sam Avari had paid more attention to his visitor than to his fish. And not entirely because the visitor had been his only son. He had heard Zerxes out in silence.
"So the police are inclined to accept that it was Nivedita Shahane who murdered Dina Sattar and then committed suicide," he had mused. "Are you?" he had suddenly shot at his son.
Zerxes had answered with a decisive negative. "It is perhaps the most convenient, almost the ideal solution," he had acknowledged wryly. "But I'm pretty sure it is not the correct one."
"Why do you say that?" Sam had asked his son.
"It's a bit too pat," Zerxes had answered. "Almost stage-managed. Besides, I can't get rid of the nagging feeling that even the police themselves are not quite sure that this is the right solution!"
His father had nodded in agreement. "I know Sushil well enough to realize that he has doubts on this one," he had acknowledged.
Zerxes had drained his coffee cup and placed it deliberately on the low stool next to the sofa, a frown creasing his dark brow.
Zerxes had looked at his father speculatively. "What do you think, Dad? What's your opinion?"
"My opinion my son is that the solution to the puzzle of the Dina Sattar murder may well be within the realm of your expertise. I suggest you brush up your Muslim personal law a bit. Unless I'm much mistaken, it all ties in with this conversion business. And once you have solved the case of Dina Sattar, the cause of Nivedita's death will be clear enough." . . .
And so Zerxes had been reading up his Muslim law. He glanced at the clock, and decided that he had read enough for the night.
Tomorrow, he'd pop over to old Faiz-ud-din and borrow some more tomes from him.
* * * *
Aliff Faiz-ud-din's office was barely a twenty-minute drive from Zerxes' flat. Zerxes drove himself there at about 10 in the morning. The old man hardly ever went to Court nowadays, but better to go early! One could hardly get any parking space in the cramped lane leading to his office.
He parked his car a little away from the decrepit old building housing Faiz-ud-din's office. About to get out of the car, his gaze was suddenly arrested by a figure coming out of the building.
Zerxes remade his plans rapidly, then turned the car around and sped off towards Crawford Market. To the office of DCP Sushildutt Tagore. Instead of going to Faiz-ud-din.
Tagore heard what Zerxes had to say without interrupting and surprised him by saying that Irani too was of that view. "You're probably right! We'll keep a watch on him," Tagore promised. "But we'll need something definite, soon," he warned.
*
The Turning - Chapter Seventeen
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
On the day of Prakash Sattar's death, the sun rose languorously, reluctantly, as though unwilling to face yet one more death in the 'Sattar' family. Created by Prakash. And ending with him!
The monsoon clouds hung suspended in the gray sky, unwilling to let go of their burden. And so it remained throughout. An overcast sky, with not even a drizzle.
With no one to water her plants, and the rains playing truant oftener than not, Nivedita's garden was beginning to dry out. But the cacti in her rock garden flourished. It had completely destroyed the delicate Krishna Kamal creeper.
Vinod was delayed going to the hospital by the arrival of the Police. Irani himself stood at the door, accompanied by both Patil and Rodricks. A tottering Prakash joined them in the drawing room.
Kuntabai, on learning of the arrival of the Police, had retired into the kitchen. The Khannas were still in the room allotted to them.
"Now what is it, Inspector?" asked Vinod in an annoyed tone. "Why this intrusion so early?"
Ignoring Vinod and his irritation, Irani looked at Prakash and said, "We have your daughter's post-mortem report, Mr. Sattar. We thought you'd be interested in knowing the results."
Prakash nodded, unable to speak. His face had an ashen, unhealthy pallor. His eyes were dull and listless. Irani went on in a gentler tone. "The doctors are of the opinion that she committed suicide. Hers was not a case of post-mortem hanging."
Prakash gazed at them blankly, as though he hadn't heard. Vinod found his voice. "And that note you took for testing? Was that written by her?"
"Yes," answered Irani. He looked at Prakash again. "The handwriting on that note was definitely Miss Shahane's."
"So she did murder Dina!" Vinod blurted out before he could stop himself. He then tried to cover up, adding hastily, "But she was not responsible for her actions, Inspector!"
"That may well be academic, now. She herself is dead," the Inspector reminded him rather austerely. He looked at Vinod narrowly. "May I ask why you're so very sure that Nivedita killed Dina?" he asked.
Vinod shrugged. "As you say, Nivedita is dead. Nothing can hurt her now. Come with me, Inspector."
He led them all to the terrace. To the rock garden. And lifted a few of the rocks. Among the rubble, among a misshapen lump of wax covered with pins, a fairly new-looking wax figurine depicting a female figure stuck with just one pin, and a lace-edged lady's handkerchief, lay a new, full bottle of 'Joy' perfume.
"When did you dis . . ." began Irani sharply, when a thud behind them made them all turn.
Prakash had followed them out. And had fallen on seeing what the rock garden contained.
Patil hurried over to him and felt for his pulse. Vinod raced to his room for his medical bag. Rodricks rushed to the telephone. Patil, his hand on the pulse, shook his head at Irani. There was no need for a Doctor. Prakash Shahane Sattar was dead.
Irani felt there was no sense in revealing to the bereaved family what else had been stated in the PM report: especially, that Nivedita Shahane was not virgo intacta.
* * * *
Insisting that his father had reconverted to Hinduism, Vinod arranged for Hindu funeral rites for his father. In this he was supported by Kuntabai. They had their way.
Vinod lit his father's funeral pyre on that dull gray evening, and watched the flames leaping towards the laden clouds.
The Home Secretary, after condoling with Kuntabai and Vinod, could not hide his relief as he shook hands with Tagore. Sensible chap, Sattar. To quietly pop it, himself! Even that dame. . . committing suicide like that! No prosecution necessary, thought the Minister to himself, thankfully. No need to drag up all that conversion business, where Sattar was concerned. The case could be wound up neatly. And the file buried in bureaucratic oblivion.
A little distance away, Zerxes Avari, dragged to the funeral by Scherezade, watching the Minister's mobile face, divined the thoughts going on in his mind, and smiled grimly to himself.
*
On the day of Prakash Sattar's death, the sun rose languorously, reluctantly, as though unwilling to face yet one more death in the 'Sattar' family. Created by Prakash. And ending with him!
The monsoon clouds hung suspended in the gray sky, unwilling to let go of their burden. And so it remained throughout. An overcast sky, with not even a drizzle.
With no one to water her plants, and the rains playing truant oftener than not, Nivedita's garden was beginning to dry out. But the cacti in her rock garden flourished. It had completely destroyed the delicate Krishna Kamal creeper.
Vinod was delayed going to the hospital by the arrival of the Police. Irani himself stood at the door, accompanied by both Patil and Rodricks. A tottering Prakash joined them in the drawing room.
Kuntabai, on learning of the arrival of the Police, had retired into the kitchen. The Khannas were still in the room allotted to them.
"Now what is it, Inspector?" asked Vinod in an annoyed tone. "Why this intrusion so early?"
Ignoring Vinod and his irritation, Irani looked at Prakash and said, "We have your daughter's post-mortem report, Mr. Sattar. We thought you'd be interested in knowing the results."
Prakash nodded, unable to speak. His face had an ashen, unhealthy pallor. His eyes were dull and listless. Irani went on in a gentler tone. "The doctors are of the opinion that she committed suicide. Hers was not a case of post-mortem hanging."
Prakash gazed at them blankly, as though he hadn't heard. Vinod found his voice. "And that note you took for testing? Was that written by her?"
"Yes," answered Irani. He looked at Prakash again. "The handwriting on that note was definitely Miss Shahane's."
"So she did murder Dina!" Vinod blurted out before he could stop himself. He then tried to cover up, adding hastily, "But she was not responsible for her actions, Inspector!"
"That may well be academic, now. She herself is dead," the Inspector reminded him rather austerely. He looked at Vinod narrowly. "May I ask why you're so very sure that Nivedita killed Dina?" he asked.
Vinod shrugged. "As you say, Nivedita is dead. Nothing can hurt her now. Come with me, Inspector."
He led them all to the terrace. To the rock garden. And lifted a few of the rocks. Among the rubble, among a misshapen lump of wax covered with pins, a fairly new-looking wax figurine depicting a female figure stuck with just one pin, and a lace-edged lady's handkerchief, lay a new, full bottle of 'Joy' perfume.
"When did you dis . . ." began Irani sharply, when a thud behind them made them all turn.
Prakash had followed them out. And had fallen on seeing what the rock garden contained.
Patil hurried over to him and felt for his pulse. Vinod raced to his room for his medical bag. Rodricks rushed to the telephone. Patil, his hand on the pulse, shook his head at Irani. There was no need for a Doctor. Prakash Shahane Sattar was dead.
Irani felt there was no sense in revealing to the bereaved family what else had been stated in the PM report: especially, that Nivedita Shahane was not virgo intacta.
* * * *
Insisting that his father had reconverted to Hinduism, Vinod arranged for Hindu funeral rites for his father. In this he was supported by Kuntabai. They had their way.
Vinod lit his father's funeral pyre on that dull gray evening, and watched the flames leaping towards the laden clouds.
The Home Secretary, after condoling with Kuntabai and Vinod, could not hide his relief as he shook hands with Tagore. Sensible chap, Sattar. To quietly pop it, himself! Even that dame. . . committing suicide like that! No prosecution necessary, thought the Minister to himself, thankfully. No need to drag up all that conversion business, where Sattar was concerned. The case could be wound up neatly. And the file buried in bureaucratic oblivion.
A little distance away, Zerxes Avari, dragged to the funeral by Scherezade, watching the Minister's mobile face, divined the thoughts going on in his mind, and smiled grimly to himself.
*
Sunday, February 15, 2009
The Turning - Chapter Sixteen
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
While his Superior and subordinate were at the Shahane residence, Patil was cooling his heels in the musty, ill-furnished waiting area (it could hardly be dignified by the word 'reception') in the office of Messrs. Kabraji, Kabraji and Desai, Advocates, Solicitors and Notary. Awaiting the pleasure of the senior-most partner, Gustad Kabraji, who saw no reason why he should not make a Police Officer wait for his turn like any other client.
Kabraji had grudgingly given Patil an appointment for 10.30 am. After a decent wait of about fifteen minutes, Kabraji rang the bell and ordered the aged peon to send 'that Policeman' in. After all, he reasoned, the chap was a public servant and shouldn't squander his time (paid for by the public) waiting about in Solicitors' offices. He had the true lawyer's capacity for appreciating all sides of a truth!
Patil entered a Chamber which appeared even shabbier than the waiting area outside. The immediate impression was one of chaos. Files, briefs and books littered the floor and occupied almost every inch of a huge wooden table, behind which stood a dried-up, irascible looking little man of around sixty or so, wearing round bifocals and a harassed expression.
"Come in, come in, Inspector. What's your name?" he peered at the card in his hand. "Shocking business, this! Shocking! Sit down, sir, sit down. Zerxes dikra, push those papers off that chair and let the Inspector sit down. You two know each other, don't you?" He paused, looking inquiringly from Patil to Zerxes Avari, who had now risen in his leisurely fashion from a low couch half-hidden by the side of Kabraji's piled-up table.
Patil held out his hand to Zerxes saying dryly, "Yes, I know him. And of late I seem to keep bumping into him!"
Zerxes gave his slow, disarming grin. "Shall I efface myself, Inspector? Would you like to have a private talk with Mr. Kabraji?"
"Nonsense, nonsense! Of course you can stay, dikra," decreed Kabraji before Patil could respond to Zerxes' offer. "The Inspector can have nothing private to say to me. Nothing at all! Besides, you're as much connected with Dina and her family which," he frowned shrewdly at Patil through his spectacles, "is what I imagine the Inspector has come to see me about."
"You are quite right, Sir," said Patil smoothly, deciding it would be better not to rub the acerbic old man the wrong way. Besides, he was bound to take Avari into his confidence later on. It might be better, in fact, if Avari did stay on. "1 have no objection whatsoever to Mr. Avari's presence."
"You can't have any," the Solicitor told him simply. "1 won't have the damn Police dictating who should be in my office, and who should not. And now, sir, what can I do for you?"
"I am informed you have been acting as Mrs. Dina Sattar's Solicitor, Sir," began Patil.
"Then let me tell you sir, that you are misinformed," snapped the old lawyer. Observing with satisfaction the surprise in Patil's face, and the knowing amusement in Zerxes', he went on, "I've acted for Dina Sooneji, as her Solicitor. Never for Dina Sattar. You must be precise, Inspector! Precise! Only thing, in Law! Make messes otherwise," he ended severely.
Patillooked at Zerxes helplessly. He had the feeling that unless he took a firm grip of the situation straightaway, this crabby old Solicitor would reduce him to the status of an Articled Clerk.
A futile effort! Patil was no match for wily old Kabraji, who leavened his eccentricities by a puckish sense of humour and real goodness of heart. He was the remnant of a fast-vanishing breed.
"Well Sir, Dina Sooneji," allowed Patil. "Same lady."
His error was pointed out to him again. "No sir, not the same lady! I believe, as Dina Sattar, she had changed beyond recognition. But get on with it, my good man, get on with it," he urged somewhat unfairly. Poor Patil was indeed itching to 'get on with it'. "I don't have the whole morning to waste on Policemen asking me damn foolish questions."
Patil swallowed. And was badgered into coming straight to the point.
Asked if he had ever drawn up a Will for Dina Sattar, Kabraji frowned and muttered, "Of course not! Dina never gave any instructions about any Will. Don't think she ever made one. Never one to listen to advice, that girl." He shook his head slowly, probably thinking of the amount of sound advice given by him and rejected by the ungrateful Dina.
"Well Sir, you may not have drawn it up, but Mrs. Sattar did leave behind a Will," Patil spoke almost apologetically, as though he had been the culprit who had dared to make a Will without Gustad Kabraji's permission, advice and guidance.
"What's this?" rapped out Kabraji, glaring now at Zerxes. "Dina died leaving a Will? You never mentioned anything about that to me," he said accusingly.
"I was coming to that, Gustad, when the Inspector sent in his card. I realized what he had come to see you about and felt it would be better to let the Inspector himself broach the topic to you, without my preempting him," Zerxes murmured.
"Pre-empting be damned! Where's the bloody thing?" barked Kabraji.
Zerxes took out the document from a folder lying on the couch beside him and gave it to the irate Solicitor. Kabraji glanced through it with surprising speed and flung it onto his over-burdened table. It floated to the floor, near the Inspector's feet. He bent and picked it up, glancing through it himself before handing it back to Avari.
"Call that a Will?" snapped Kabraji, glaring at Zerxes. "Stuff and nonsense! That woman must have gone mad! Makes her own legatees attest the Will! Bequeaths the whole of her Estate away from her legal heirs! As though she could! After she had converted! Bah!" He pushed his glasses, which had been sliding down, further up his nose and fumed on: "This is what happens when people decide that they know better than their lawyers! Decide to take things into their own hands! Make a mess of everything!" he snorted.
Patil, who had been listening interestedly to all this, asked, "Are you suggesting that most of the bequests are invalid, Sir?"
"Opining, not suggesting," Kabraji corrected him. "Anyone with a modicum of legal knowledge could see that they are invalid. And you're no fool Inspector, hey?" He suddenly changed his tone.
"Nor am I a Solicitor, Sir!" was the deprecating reply. "I'd be glad if you would explain just which part of the Will is invalid."
"Bequests to witnesses, null and void. Bequest of more than one-third of her Estate to her niece, who is a stranger, invalid," reeled off the lawyer.
"Pardon me, Sir," interrupted Patil, knitting his brows. "Why is her niece a stranger? And why is the bequest to her invalid?"
"The niece isn't a Muslim," was the grim reply. "So she's a stranger' in that sense. She's not an heir. Under the Muslim law, Inspector, the testator cannot bequeath more than one-third of the Estate away from the heirs as per Muslim Law, without their consent. As I understand the circumstances in this case, Dina's sole legal heir under the Muslim Law would be her Muslim husband. That Sattar fellow."
"Would Mr. Sattar inherit the entire Estate of his second wife, in the circumstances?" asked Patil.
"No no, of course not! Didn't you hear what I said?" frowned Kabraji irritably. "The bequests to the maid and to Banoo Kanga being void, would revert to the Estate. Scherezade presumably would inherit one-third of the Estate. Especially if Sattar doesn't contest that. The law is none too clear about a non-Muslim inheriting from a Muslim under a Will. Then Sattar would inherit the balance two-thirds."
Patil looked at Zerxes. "Was Sattar aware of his wife's Will?"
"Not before her death, I think," answered Zerxes, looking at the Inspector through slitted green eyes. "But yes, after her death he was aware that she had died leaving a Will, and that she had Willed her body to a teaching hospital for medical research. I don't think he was aware of the disposition of her Estate."
"So, before her death he was not aware that she had Willed away her body for medical research?" queried Patil.
"No. He was definitely surprised on finding that she had left a Will at all. And that he came to know after her death, and after the body had been sent to JJ Hospital," supplied Zerxes.
"Thank you very much, Gentlemen," said Patil. To Kabraji he added courteously, "I won't take up any more of your time Sir. Thank you for your cooperation."
"You are welcome, Inspector, you are welcome." said Kabraji cordially, rather to Patil's surprise. "An interesting change, I can't deny, from drawing up Wills and advising people on their marital problems."
Patil took his leave. Zerxes followed shortly and fell into step beside him.
"So, are you off to the Shahanes', Inspector?" asked Zerxes conversationally.
"To the Shahanes'?" echoed Patil. "Why? What's wrong?" he asked sharply, noting the look on Zerxes' face.
Zerxes told him.
"No I didn't know anything about that," said Patil sounding quite shocked. "I had left my house very early in the morning. I had some other business elsewhere, before my appointment with Kabraji. They wouldn't have been able to contact me from the Station. How did you come to know, Mr. Avari?"
Zerxes told him. Patillooked thoughtful. From a public call office, Patil called up the Cuffe Parade Police Station. His colleagues had returned. He was asked to go there directly.
Patil hesitantly requested A vari to come along too, if he could spare the time. DCP Tagore was also there.
"I think this business about the Will needs to be clarified," Patil said. "And you're definitely better equipped to do so than I am."
Zerxes agreed to accompany Patil without any demur. He had decided to let his legal practice take a back seat for some time, till this tangle was sorted out. The only problem was, thought Zerxes to himself moodily, that the case seemed to be getting more and more messy!
Was Nivedita's death suicide, or murder? The PM report should be out soon. He must have a talk with his father after that! Evidently, Tagore had got the old man interested. And involved. He glanced at his watch. Just around 11.40. Scherezade would be at work by now. She had insisted on resuming. And he had not really opposed, knowing that it would be better if she got back to her work. Gave her imaginative mind less time to brood! He'd call her up from the Station and pick her up for lunch.
At the Station, Patil reported his conversation with Kabraji, explaining why he had requested Zerxes to accompany him. Adding slyly that in this particular case, he hoped Mr. Avari would cooperate with the police instead of putting spokes in their way!
"Ah!" Tagore gave an exaggerated sigh. "That'll depend on whom we suspect, my dear Patil." Turning to Zerxes, he then asked seriously, "So to whom exactly does Dina Sattar's Estate go?"
"As Kabraji has opined, one-third of it could still be inherited by Scherezade, especially if Sattar does not contest that. The rest goes to Sattar himself."
"The Commander's been able to discover the name of the lady with whom Sattar was. . . er putting up at the Hotel Blue Diamond in Poona, Sir. Sonali Roy. Seems he's quite seriously involved with her! Been carrying on for quite some time. A youngish, rather attractive widow. She's a Doctor, and so's her son, Abhijeet. Abhijeet apparently works in the same hospital as Vinod Shahane and the two are quite friendly," Irani reported.
Tagore said quietly, "Then you'd better check up on the lady, Inspector. We must get her to confirm this. And inquire from her why Sattar delayed for so long in setting out for Bombay, after being informed that his wife was seriously ill."
"That gives the husband the motive all right," mused Patil.
Zerxes smiled. Noticing the smile, Irani asked shrewdly, "You don't agree with Inspector Patil, Mr. Avari?"
"Oh, he had a motive all right," answered Zerxes. "But motive enough for murder? A man in his circumstances? We must not forget the circumstances, Inspector. Sattar had not yet exhausted his quota of four wives. What do you think, Sushil?"
"I think I agree with you," replied Tagore. "Also, if it were Sattar who killed his wife, would he have been foolish enough to put the poison in the perfume he had himself presented to his wife, thereby nullifying the alibi created (if it was meant to be one), of being out of town when she died? He could have put the poison in a myriad other media.
"But he does remain a prime suspect, all the same. When it comes to murder, human beings are just as incalculable, as in anything else. And if the girl's death turns out to be murder, then probably he's our man. He was present in that house when she died. Probably he alone is the common factor in both the cases. In the meanwhile, let's keep our options open as far as the Dina Sattar case is concerned."
"I agree," said Irani. "What we are looking for," he went on, now addressing Patil and Rodricks rather than the others, "is someone who had a motive and the opportunity to slip the poison into the bottle of perfume as being the most convenient medium. So let's get cracking on that, boyos." he ordered crisply. "Till we get the PM report on Nivedita Shahane, we'll concentrate on the Sattar case, disregarding the second death."
"That makes sense," approved Tagore. "Nivedita's murder, if it turned out to be such, would be for one reason alone. That she knew something about Dina's murder. And the field of suspects would be far narrower. Very few people had the opportunity." Abruptly, he asked, "Has anything more been learnt about the mystery man who visited Dlna Sattar the night before she died?"
Zerxes raised a brow. "What's this?" he inquired.
"Dina was visited by somebody the night before she died?" "That's what the watchman on duty that night testified to. That a strange man had demanded to be allowed to visit Dina, claiming she had called him to check out her Television set. He was apparently some TV mechanic, or something, wasn't he, Patil?" "Yes Sir", replied Patil, adding, "and the watchman says Mrs. Sattar confirmed this, when she was contacted over the security intercom. Apparently, she was alone when he went up. Sattar had left for Poona, and even her maid had gone out for quite a while!
"Sounds promising," Tagore drawled. "You must have no doubt got the description from the watchman. Has his identity been established, as yet?"
"Not yet, Sir," answered Irani, a shade defensively. "The watchman's description is too vague and general. Could fit just about anyone who is short and slightly stocky, with a cocky air, moustache, and no glasses. The chaps are working on that.
"But in the meanwhile, Patil has discovered something interesting. He has visited Dina Sattar's Bank Manager and her bank statements, in her own individual account, show heavy cash withdrawals at periodic intervals. Now there's nothing to show that the lady has been buying any jewellery or expensive stuff of late. The money simply seems to have disappeared." He cocked a bushy eyebrow at the DCP. "I can sniff some blackmail here."
Tagore frowned. "Possibly. But in cases of blackmail it's normally the blackmailer who gets murdered, not the victim."
"Perhaps she refused to play ball any longer and threatened to go to the Police, or to inform her husband," hazarded Irani, refusing to be baulked of his theory so summarily.
"Yes, that's quite possible," conceded Tagore, adding dryly, "All the more reason we find the mystery visitor, as I imagine he's the one you suspect of being the blackmailer."
Zerxes rose and moved to the phone, dialling without seeking anyone's permission. "Ms. Scherezade Vatcha, please." He arranged to pick her up for lunch and left with Tagore.
After they had left, Rodricks turned to Irani and asked diffidently, "Do you think it's wise to take this A vari chap so much into our confidence, Sir? Considering his. . .er. . . relationship with one of the suspects?"
Irani exchanged an amused glance with Patil. "If, boyo, you seriously think Scherezade Vatcha murdered an aunt she evidently loved dearly, for the sake of some jewellery which she may not even get, I think it's time to retire you from the Force on the ground of an overactive imagination," he said with withering scorn.
Rodricks stood his ground. "It's not just the young lady, Sir. Even her father's been acting funnily. And there's been no love lost between him and the deceased for quite a few years."
"Yes, 'Drew, but why now, after so many years?" asked Irani patiently. "If Dina Sattar had been murdered shortly after her conversion and marriage to Sattar, I could have understood Fredun Vatcha committing murder in a fit of righteousness. As it is, our suspects seem narrowed down to the husband and to the mystery man. That is, if Nivedita Shahane's death turns out to be murder. If it is suicide, we don't have to look any further."
"You think she could have murdered Dina Sattar, Sir?" asked Patil.
Irani nodded. "Her mother's suicide could have triggered off her death wish for Dina into something more concrete. She had been to the house on the morning of her birthday. She knew it was her birthday. She was alone in the Hall, while Sattar and his wife were breakfasting. You both have seen the house. From the Hall, she could have easily slipped into Dina's bedroom, put the poison into the bottle of perfume, and slipped back into the Hall. Maybe," he said, remembering something he had read from both Prakash Sattar's and the maid's testimony, "that is why she did not wait to see Dina, but went off before Dina had finished her breakfast and come out to the Hall"
"But the poison? Where would a kid like that have got the poison from?" inquired Patil. "Something so unusual as Nitrobenzene, at that?"
"Ah! That's where we had a bit of good luck, when we questioned Suchitra Khanna," said Irani. "It appears that one of Nivedita's cousins, a chap named Sunil Shahane, has a workshop where he manufactures hair dye, quite close to the Shahane residence. This Sunil Shahane was present at Karuna's funeral. Now 'Drew has done a bit of research into this poison. Aniline, a product of Nitrobenzene, is used in the manufacture of hair dye, among other things. The cousin's workshop could well have been Nivedita's source."
"So it all fits in . . . Nivedita poisoned Dina . . . and then committed suicide in a fit of remorse," said Patil slowly. "But why should she feel remorse?"
"That, Avinash, is human nature for you," said Irani, getting up and stretching himself. "And now, boyos, get the Commander to check out where Prakash Sattar bought that bottle of perfume and when. It shouldn't be too difficult. Most of these Johnnies have their favourite smugglers."
"What about the first husband?" asked Rodricks suddenly. "Are we eliminating him completely from any suspicion?"
"Oh, he remains a suspect all right," answered Irani carelessly. "But I don't fancy him much. No motive. In homicide, boyo, motive is everything. Unless it's a serial killer or some such weirdo. The motive may appear inadequate; it may appear stupid to a lot of people. But some motive must exist! And so far, I can't see the shadow of a motive where the first husband is concerned."
"What about Sattar's son, then? That Vinod fellow? Maybe he too has had resentment against Dina, as his sister had, and never showed it? After all, he's a Doctor. This esoteric poison may well point to someone with medical knowledge," suggested Rodricks.
"Yes, I'll be willing to examine that red herring, Andrew, if you show me one piece of evidence saying Vinod Shahane was anywhere near the Sattars' residence before Dina died," said Irani. "And as for the 'medical knowledge', I suggest you look up in some good medical dictionary: it'll tell you all you want to know about Nitrobenzene."
Rodricks was silenced. Apart from the sarcastic tone, the use of his full first name by Irani was enough to warn him that the Boss was getting impatient. This was a hint that he wanted more evidence, and quickly. Irani had set up a punishing pace for his 'boyos', and did not intend to let it slacken till the case was solved.
* * * *
Zerxes had fetched Scherezade from her office. He took her to Gaylord's for lunch. It was one of her favourites. Scherezade, normally a light luncher, decided to pig it out that day, startling Zerxes by ordering a Lobster Thermidor, Chicken Cecilia and two plates of garlic bread.
"You won't be able to work after all this," he protested.
"Don't intend to," flashed Scherezade, biting into a hot buttered roll of garlic bread. "What are your plans?"
"I've arranged to meet my father after lunch. There are certain points about the case I want to discuss with him."
"No Court?" she asked him.
Zerxes shrugged. "Rishad and Himanshu will manage, for today." He looked at her for a moment and then said deliberately, "In the morning, I'd gone over to meet old Kabraji. I met Patil there," Then he told her about the new development. About Nivedita.
The lobster turned in Scherezade's stomach. She shuddered, pushing her plate away.
"Hel-low, Zerxes!" The cheery voice seemed to sound just above her head. Scherezade looked up to find a striking young man standing there, vigorously pumping Zerxes' arm.
Zerxes pulled away his arm, grimacing. "Come off it, Abhijeet," he said mockingly. "you can't be all that glad to see me!" Noticing where Abhijeet's glance had been hovering, he introduced Scherezade. To Abhijeet Roy. Dr. Abhijeet Roy, he amended.
"What's the busy Counsel doing out of Court?" grinned Abhijeet.
Zerxes said deliberately, "I'm a bit busy with the Dina Sattar murder."
"Oh! And what's your interest in that murder?" asked Abhijeet curiously. "Has anyone been arrested? Are you representing any of the accused? Come on, spill the beans!"
"Why don't you join us for coffee?" offered Zerxes rather to Scherezade's astonishment, lifting a long forefinger to summon the waiter. A chair was promptly placed at their table, and Abhijeet plonked himself on to it, needing no further invitation.
"To get back to your question," continued Zerxes, "no, no one has been arrested as yet. Nor am I representing anyone as yet."
"Then what's your interest in it?" Abhijeet repeated the question.
Indicating Scherezade with a slight gesture, Zerxes replied, "Dina Sattar was her aunt."
"Oh! I'm dashed sorry. Awful thing to happen. Murder in the family and all that!"
The coffee was brought to their table. Stirring it, Abhijeet volunteered, "Even the old man doesn't have long to live, now." Looking into Scherezade's astonished eyes he nodded, saying simply, "Terminal."
"Prakash Sattar?" asked Scherezade unnecessarily.
Abhijeet nodded again, as though imparting momentous news. "His son's pretty upset about it. The old man hardly has a few months left." He suddenly looked at his watch and exclaimed, pushing back his chair and getting up jerkily, "Christ! Look at the time! Gotta rush. See y' guys around!" With an airy wave he was gone.
After he had left, Scherezade asked Zerxes, "For heaven's sake who was that? And how come he knows so much about Prakash Sattar?"
"Abhijeet, my love, is the son of Sonali Roy." Then, as she still looked blank, he continued, stretching out his hand across the table and holding both her hands in his strong, long-fingered clasp, "Sonali Roy is the lady with whom Prakash Sattar has been having an affair these last couple of years."
A spasm of pain crossed Scherezade's face. No wonder Dina Fui had not been looking too happy.
They finished their coffee in silence. Scherezade's face had a set look, making her look almost grim. Zerxes frowned, then asked her gently where she wanted to go for the rest of the afternoon.
"I've changed my mind," she said. "I'11 go back to the office, after all."
He nodded, relieved. "Better," he said. "But see if you can get away earlier than usual." Normally, she was in her office, and he at his Chambers till at least about 7 every evening. "I don't think I'll be with Dad for more than a couple of hours. It's 3, now. I'll pick you up at about 5, 5.30. That suit you?"
* * * *
He was prompt to the time he had promised. By 5.15, Scherezade was in the car with him.
To her surprise, he drove over to her parents' place. "1 want to have a word with your father," he explained.
The family was at home. Fredun had just returned from work. So had Firdauz. Fredun seemed both preoccupied and ill at ease. Rashna disappeared into the kitchen on their arrival, on the pretext of making some tea. Firdauz sat flipping desultorily through the latest copy of 'Glad Rags'. He was rather proud of his body!
Zerxes took Fredun aside and asked him without preamble, "Do you know of anything in Dina's past which could render her open to blackmail?" Fredun was stunned by the question, and looked it.
"Why? Was she being blackmailed?" he asked.
Zerxes shrugged. "That's a possibility the Police are examining. So if you do know of anything, I suggest you come out with it and let them know. It just might throw some light on who the murderer may be." As Fredun seemed to hesitate a bit, he added dryly, "Please appreciate, Fredun, that we all are, somehow, involved in this! It's in everyone's interest to at least try and ensure that the real murderer is caught. Otherwise," he met Fredun's eyes steadily, "some of us will remain under the shadow of suspicion unnecessarily, and all of us will spend the rest of our lives wondering who the murderer had been. Or who it could have been!"
Fredun looked at him with something very like horror in his eyes. This aspect of the matter had not previously occurred to him. He thought for a moment. "I don't know anything, but Banoo Maa just might. If there's anything to know, she's the one person who will know. Would you like to phone her?"
"I think it would be better if Scherezade and I went over to her place instead. Why don't you join us there, if you like?" suggested Zerxes. "If Rashna doesn't mind, of course!"
"Rashna won't mind. And yes, that's a good idea. I'll come along with you."
"Then you'd better take your vehicle," Zerxes suggested. "We may need to go somewhere else after seeing Banoo."
* * * *
"Blackmail?" echoed Banoo Maa, when the question was put to her by Zerxes. "Is that what you really suspect?" The old lady looked at him, seeming stricken. Then she turned away and said, "I suppose it will all have to come out, then! It can't remain hidden any longer."
"That's one of the attendant ills of a murder case," said Zerxes gently. "The investigation brooks no secrets. Relevant or not. That's because till the murderer is caught, very often the Police themselves can't be sure just what is relevant and what is not."
Banoo appeared to have hardly heard him. She began in a low toneless voice, "After she and Khurshed had divorced, Dina got involved with someone. He's dead now, so his name need not be dragged in. He was a no-good womanizer." She glanced fleetingly at Scherezade and swallowed, as though trying to digest something nasty all over a again.
Zerxes waited patiently, aware that it was best that the old lady be allowed to tell the story in her own way, at her own pace.
After what seemed a long moment, Banoo Maa continued, "Dina became pregnant with his child. He was not married. Dina was sure that once she was pregnant, he would marry her and they could have the child. She was so excited! She thought God had given her a second chance, after taking away little Hanoz from her. But that rascal never had any intention of marrying her! When he came to know she was pregnant, he disappeared. Dina had waited till it was too late for an abortion. She had the child. It was a lovely little girl. We had gone to Poona for the delivery, so no one in Bombay would know." Tears ran unchecked down the wrinkled old cheeks. Scherezade went up to her, put an arm round the frail old shoulders and gave them a comforting squeeze. Giving herself a visible shake, Banoo Maa went on.
"The child was given away in adoption almost immediately after her birth. It had all been arranged beforehand. A close friend of Dina was childless. She and her husband took the child away within a month of her birth and brought her up as their own. Dina used to visit them often. Of course, the child was never told anything about Dina being the real mother."
"Where do these people stay?" asked Zerxes. "In Poona?"
"No, they're from Bombay. They had come to Poona for the delivery. They took away the baby from Poona only. They're a very nice, very rich Parsee couple. Dina was keen that her child be adopted by Parsees only," she said, shaking her head at the inconsistency of human behaviour.
She then rose with some difficulty, and from her old roll-top table, pulled out a diary, opened it at a particular page and gave it to Zerxes.
"This is the name and address, Dikra. Do what you have to, but ask your DCP friend to be discreet. Let my poor Dina's memory not be tarnished any further!"
Fredun had sat all through this almost immobile. Now he got up with a jerk and started pacing about the room, as though sitting still had become a torture that could not be borne any longer.
Looking up at the hurt in his face, Banoo Maa almost forgot her own. Her straight-forward, unimaginative Fredun. How on earth was he going to take all these revelations about his once beloved sister?
With an effort, Fredun brought his features under control. He stopped pacing, and stared at Banoo Maa. Something had suddenly struck him. Still staring at Banoo Maa, he asked almost eagerly, "Maa, do you member Fatima's husband? That Makbul? He used to beat up Fatima get money out of her? That is why Dina persuaded Fatima to leave him and live with her and Khurshed in their house, full time. If I member correctly, he was quite a nosy chap. And even after Fatima left him, he used to suddenly land up at Khurshed and Dina's, to get some money out of Fatima, didn't he?"
Banoo Maa stared at him. "Yes, he did. But. . . do you think he's been visiting Dina's place even after her marriage to Prakash, and trying . blackmail her? No, Fredun, that sounds too far-fetched."
"Just a minute," broke in Zerxes. "Do any of you know what this Makbul fellow does for a living? If he does anything at all?"
"Well dear, he was working as a Television mechanic at one time, that much I do know. Now what he does, I haven't the faintest idea," replied Banoo Maa.
"Television mechanic, was he?" murmured Zerxes, a sudden gleam of interest showing in his green eyes, recalling what Patil had revealed at the Station. "Is he short and stocky, with a moustache?" he asked.
"Yes, I suppose that would be a good description of him," replied Banoo slowly, looking at Zerxes, puzzled.
Zerxes rose abruptly, stretching out his hand to Scherezade. "We'll pay Fatima a visit. Sattar's still at the Shahanes. Come, sweetheart."
From Banoo Maa's, Zerxes and Scherezade drove straight to Prakash's, leaving behind a mystified Fredun and Banoo Maa.
Fatima, when confronted by them, sobbingly admitted that her husband Makbul used to come to visit her off and on. But she insisted that he came to see her, not her Bibiji.
"He says bad things about Bibiji, Sherrie Baby," cried the maid, weeping and clinging to Scherezade's hands. "He tells me, Fatima, to leave Bibiji and go with him. He says Bibiji is bad woman. She has child she does not keep. The Chinoys, at Bandra, they keep Bibiji's child. He seen Bibiji there, when he go to make their Television allright. He heard them talk about baby. He knows!"
"Why did you allow him to come here, then?" demanded Scherezade.
Fatima sniffed and looked slyly at her. "What to do, Baby? I need a man sometime. I stay with Bibiji. But he comes here. To meet me, Fatima," she almost crowed triumphantly.
Over her head, Scherezade exchanged a glance with Zerxes. It seemed clear enough. There was nothing more they could say, or ask.
Zerxes' face signalled a message to her.
She asked Fatima, "Where does your husband stay, Fatima?" Then, as a wary look crept into the maid's eyes, she said firmly, "You must tell us, Fatima. If you loved your Bibiji. And if you don't want the Police landing up here."
Visibly alarmed at that, the maid told them. "But you don't tell police, no?"
Scherezade released her hands from the maid's clutching hold and followed Zerxes out of the house. "How could she?" she raged as soon they were out of the house. "After all my aunt had done for her. How could she even let him step inside the house?"
Zerxes drove swiftly to the slums along the sea-side at Cuffe Parade. He told Scherezade to remain in the car and got out himself to make the necessary inquiries.
The koli fishermen, suspicious and wary at first, ultimately succumbed to Zerxes' persuasive tongue. One lungi-clad figure called out to another, till quite a conclave had formed. Finally, one of them directed him to the hut where apparently Makbul had been living with a plump, comely fisherwoman.
She welcomed Zerxes coyly. Admitted that Makbul was her 'aadmi'. Spat out that he had disappeared. When? Oh, since the 28th of June.
The day after Dina Sattar's murder.
*
While his Superior and subordinate were at the Shahane residence, Patil was cooling his heels in the musty, ill-furnished waiting area (it could hardly be dignified by the word 'reception') in the office of Messrs. Kabraji, Kabraji and Desai, Advocates, Solicitors and Notary. Awaiting the pleasure of the senior-most partner, Gustad Kabraji, who saw no reason why he should not make a Police Officer wait for his turn like any other client.
Kabraji had grudgingly given Patil an appointment for 10.30 am. After a decent wait of about fifteen minutes, Kabraji rang the bell and ordered the aged peon to send 'that Policeman' in. After all, he reasoned, the chap was a public servant and shouldn't squander his time (paid for by the public) waiting about in Solicitors' offices. He had the true lawyer's capacity for appreciating all sides of a truth!
Patil entered a Chamber which appeared even shabbier than the waiting area outside. The immediate impression was one of chaos. Files, briefs and books littered the floor and occupied almost every inch of a huge wooden table, behind which stood a dried-up, irascible looking little man of around sixty or so, wearing round bifocals and a harassed expression.
"Come in, come in, Inspector. What's your name?" he peered at the card in his hand. "Shocking business, this! Shocking! Sit down, sir, sit down. Zerxes dikra, push those papers off that chair and let the Inspector sit down. You two know each other, don't you?" He paused, looking inquiringly from Patil to Zerxes Avari, who had now risen in his leisurely fashion from a low couch half-hidden by the side of Kabraji's piled-up table.
Patil held out his hand to Zerxes saying dryly, "Yes, I know him. And of late I seem to keep bumping into him!"
Zerxes gave his slow, disarming grin. "Shall I efface myself, Inspector? Would you like to have a private talk with Mr. Kabraji?"
"Nonsense, nonsense! Of course you can stay, dikra," decreed Kabraji before Patil could respond to Zerxes' offer. "The Inspector can have nothing private to say to me. Nothing at all! Besides, you're as much connected with Dina and her family which," he frowned shrewdly at Patil through his spectacles, "is what I imagine the Inspector has come to see me about."
"You are quite right, Sir," said Patil smoothly, deciding it would be better not to rub the acerbic old man the wrong way. Besides, he was bound to take Avari into his confidence later on. It might be better, in fact, if Avari did stay on. "1 have no objection whatsoever to Mr. Avari's presence."
"You can't have any," the Solicitor told him simply. "1 won't have the damn Police dictating who should be in my office, and who should not. And now, sir, what can I do for you?"
"I am informed you have been acting as Mrs. Dina Sattar's Solicitor, Sir," began Patil.
"Then let me tell you sir, that you are misinformed," snapped the old lawyer. Observing with satisfaction the surprise in Patil's face, and the knowing amusement in Zerxes', he went on, "I've acted for Dina Sooneji, as her Solicitor. Never for Dina Sattar. You must be precise, Inspector! Precise! Only thing, in Law! Make messes otherwise," he ended severely.
Patillooked at Zerxes helplessly. He had the feeling that unless he took a firm grip of the situation straightaway, this crabby old Solicitor would reduce him to the status of an Articled Clerk.
A futile effort! Patil was no match for wily old Kabraji, who leavened his eccentricities by a puckish sense of humour and real goodness of heart. He was the remnant of a fast-vanishing breed.
"Well Sir, Dina Sooneji," allowed Patil. "Same lady."
His error was pointed out to him again. "No sir, not the same lady! I believe, as Dina Sattar, she had changed beyond recognition. But get on with it, my good man, get on with it," he urged somewhat unfairly. Poor Patil was indeed itching to 'get on with it'. "I don't have the whole morning to waste on Policemen asking me damn foolish questions."
Patil swallowed. And was badgered into coming straight to the point.
Asked if he had ever drawn up a Will for Dina Sattar, Kabraji frowned and muttered, "Of course not! Dina never gave any instructions about any Will. Don't think she ever made one. Never one to listen to advice, that girl." He shook his head slowly, probably thinking of the amount of sound advice given by him and rejected by the ungrateful Dina.
"Well Sir, you may not have drawn it up, but Mrs. Sattar did leave behind a Will," Patil spoke almost apologetically, as though he had been the culprit who had dared to make a Will without Gustad Kabraji's permission, advice and guidance.
"What's this?" rapped out Kabraji, glaring now at Zerxes. "Dina died leaving a Will? You never mentioned anything about that to me," he said accusingly.
"I was coming to that, Gustad, when the Inspector sent in his card. I realized what he had come to see you about and felt it would be better to let the Inspector himself broach the topic to you, without my preempting him," Zerxes murmured.
"Pre-empting be damned! Where's the bloody thing?" barked Kabraji.
Zerxes took out the document from a folder lying on the couch beside him and gave it to the irate Solicitor. Kabraji glanced through it with surprising speed and flung it onto his over-burdened table. It floated to the floor, near the Inspector's feet. He bent and picked it up, glancing through it himself before handing it back to Avari.
"Call that a Will?" snapped Kabraji, glaring at Zerxes. "Stuff and nonsense! That woman must have gone mad! Makes her own legatees attest the Will! Bequeaths the whole of her Estate away from her legal heirs! As though she could! After she had converted! Bah!" He pushed his glasses, which had been sliding down, further up his nose and fumed on: "This is what happens when people decide that they know better than their lawyers! Decide to take things into their own hands! Make a mess of everything!" he snorted.
Patil, who had been listening interestedly to all this, asked, "Are you suggesting that most of the bequests are invalid, Sir?"
"Opining, not suggesting," Kabraji corrected him. "Anyone with a modicum of legal knowledge could see that they are invalid. And you're no fool Inspector, hey?" He suddenly changed his tone.
"Nor am I a Solicitor, Sir!" was the deprecating reply. "I'd be glad if you would explain just which part of the Will is invalid."
"Bequests to witnesses, null and void. Bequest of more than one-third of her Estate to her niece, who is a stranger, invalid," reeled off the lawyer.
"Pardon me, Sir," interrupted Patil, knitting his brows. "Why is her niece a stranger? And why is the bequest to her invalid?"
"The niece isn't a Muslim," was the grim reply. "So she's a stranger' in that sense. She's not an heir. Under the Muslim law, Inspector, the testator cannot bequeath more than one-third of the Estate away from the heirs as per Muslim Law, without their consent. As I understand the circumstances in this case, Dina's sole legal heir under the Muslim Law would be her Muslim husband. That Sattar fellow."
"Would Mr. Sattar inherit the entire Estate of his second wife, in the circumstances?" asked Patil.
"No no, of course not! Didn't you hear what I said?" frowned Kabraji irritably. "The bequests to the maid and to Banoo Kanga being void, would revert to the Estate. Scherezade presumably would inherit one-third of the Estate. Especially if Sattar doesn't contest that. The law is none too clear about a non-Muslim inheriting from a Muslim under a Will. Then Sattar would inherit the balance two-thirds."
Patil looked at Zerxes. "Was Sattar aware of his wife's Will?"
"Not before her death, I think," answered Zerxes, looking at the Inspector through slitted green eyes. "But yes, after her death he was aware that she had died leaving a Will, and that she had Willed her body to a teaching hospital for medical research. I don't think he was aware of the disposition of her Estate."
"So, before her death he was not aware that she had Willed away her body for medical research?" queried Patil.
"No. He was definitely surprised on finding that she had left a Will at all. And that he came to know after her death, and after the body had been sent to JJ Hospital," supplied Zerxes.
"Thank you very much, Gentlemen," said Patil. To Kabraji he added courteously, "I won't take up any more of your time Sir. Thank you for your cooperation."
"You are welcome, Inspector, you are welcome." said Kabraji cordially, rather to Patil's surprise. "An interesting change, I can't deny, from drawing up Wills and advising people on their marital problems."
Patil took his leave. Zerxes followed shortly and fell into step beside him.
"So, are you off to the Shahanes', Inspector?" asked Zerxes conversationally.
"To the Shahanes'?" echoed Patil. "Why? What's wrong?" he asked sharply, noting the look on Zerxes' face.
Zerxes told him.
"No I didn't know anything about that," said Patil sounding quite shocked. "I had left my house very early in the morning. I had some other business elsewhere, before my appointment with Kabraji. They wouldn't have been able to contact me from the Station. How did you come to know, Mr. Avari?"
Zerxes told him. Patillooked thoughtful. From a public call office, Patil called up the Cuffe Parade Police Station. His colleagues had returned. He was asked to go there directly.
Patil hesitantly requested A vari to come along too, if he could spare the time. DCP Tagore was also there.
"I think this business about the Will needs to be clarified," Patil said. "And you're definitely better equipped to do so than I am."
Zerxes agreed to accompany Patil without any demur. He had decided to let his legal practice take a back seat for some time, till this tangle was sorted out. The only problem was, thought Zerxes to himself moodily, that the case seemed to be getting more and more messy!
Was Nivedita's death suicide, or murder? The PM report should be out soon. He must have a talk with his father after that! Evidently, Tagore had got the old man interested. And involved. He glanced at his watch. Just around 11.40. Scherezade would be at work by now. She had insisted on resuming. And he had not really opposed, knowing that it would be better if she got back to her work. Gave her imaginative mind less time to brood! He'd call her up from the Station and pick her up for lunch.
At the Station, Patil reported his conversation with Kabraji, explaining why he had requested Zerxes to accompany him. Adding slyly that in this particular case, he hoped Mr. Avari would cooperate with the police instead of putting spokes in their way!
"Ah!" Tagore gave an exaggerated sigh. "That'll depend on whom we suspect, my dear Patil." Turning to Zerxes, he then asked seriously, "So to whom exactly does Dina Sattar's Estate go?"
"As Kabraji has opined, one-third of it could still be inherited by Scherezade, especially if Sattar does not contest that. The rest goes to Sattar himself."
"The Commander's been able to discover the name of the lady with whom Sattar was. . . er putting up at the Hotel Blue Diamond in Poona, Sir. Sonali Roy. Seems he's quite seriously involved with her! Been carrying on for quite some time. A youngish, rather attractive widow. She's a Doctor, and so's her son, Abhijeet. Abhijeet apparently works in the same hospital as Vinod Shahane and the two are quite friendly," Irani reported.
Tagore said quietly, "Then you'd better check up on the lady, Inspector. We must get her to confirm this. And inquire from her why Sattar delayed for so long in setting out for Bombay, after being informed that his wife was seriously ill."
"That gives the husband the motive all right," mused Patil.
Zerxes smiled. Noticing the smile, Irani asked shrewdly, "You don't agree with Inspector Patil, Mr. Avari?"
"Oh, he had a motive all right," answered Zerxes. "But motive enough for murder? A man in his circumstances? We must not forget the circumstances, Inspector. Sattar had not yet exhausted his quota of four wives. What do you think, Sushil?"
"I think I agree with you," replied Tagore. "Also, if it were Sattar who killed his wife, would he have been foolish enough to put the poison in the perfume he had himself presented to his wife, thereby nullifying the alibi created (if it was meant to be one), of being out of town when she died? He could have put the poison in a myriad other media.
"But he does remain a prime suspect, all the same. When it comes to murder, human beings are just as incalculable, as in anything else. And if the girl's death turns out to be murder, then probably he's our man. He was present in that house when she died. Probably he alone is the common factor in both the cases. In the meanwhile, let's keep our options open as far as the Dina Sattar case is concerned."
"I agree," said Irani. "What we are looking for," he went on, now addressing Patil and Rodricks rather than the others, "is someone who had a motive and the opportunity to slip the poison into the bottle of perfume as being the most convenient medium. So let's get cracking on that, boyos." he ordered crisply. "Till we get the PM report on Nivedita Shahane, we'll concentrate on the Sattar case, disregarding the second death."
"That makes sense," approved Tagore. "Nivedita's murder, if it turned out to be such, would be for one reason alone. That she knew something about Dina's murder. And the field of suspects would be far narrower. Very few people had the opportunity." Abruptly, he asked, "Has anything more been learnt about the mystery man who visited Dlna Sattar the night before she died?"
Zerxes raised a brow. "What's this?" he inquired.
"Dina was visited by somebody the night before she died?" "That's what the watchman on duty that night testified to. That a strange man had demanded to be allowed to visit Dina, claiming she had called him to check out her Television set. He was apparently some TV mechanic, or something, wasn't he, Patil?" "Yes Sir", replied Patil, adding, "and the watchman says Mrs. Sattar confirmed this, when she was contacted over the security intercom. Apparently, she was alone when he went up. Sattar had left for Poona, and even her maid had gone out for quite a while!
"Sounds promising," Tagore drawled. "You must have no doubt got the description from the watchman. Has his identity been established, as yet?"
"Not yet, Sir," answered Irani, a shade defensively. "The watchman's description is too vague and general. Could fit just about anyone who is short and slightly stocky, with a cocky air, moustache, and no glasses. The chaps are working on that.
"But in the meanwhile, Patil has discovered something interesting. He has visited Dina Sattar's Bank Manager and her bank statements, in her own individual account, show heavy cash withdrawals at periodic intervals. Now there's nothing to show that the lady has been buying any jewellery or expensive stuff of late. The money simply seems to have disappeared." He cocked a bushy eyebrow at the DCP. "I can sniff some blackmail here."
Tagore frowned. "Possibly. But in cases of blackmail it's normally the blackmailer who gets murdered, not the victim."
"Perhaps she refused to play ball any longer and threatened to go to the Police, or to inform her husband," hazarded Irani, refusing to be baulked of his theory so summarily.
"Yes, that's quite possible," conceded Tagore, adding dryly, "All the more reason we find the mystery visitor, as I imagine he's the one you suspect of being the blackmailer."
Zerxes rose and moved to the phone, dialling without seeking anyone's permission. "Ms. Scherezade Vatcha, please." He arranged to pick her up for lunch and left with Tagore.
After they had left, Rodricks turned to Irani and asked diffidently, "Do you think it's wise to take this A vari chap so much into our confidence, Sir? Considering his. . .er. . . relationship with one of the suspects?"
Irani exchanged an amused glance with Patil. "If, boyo, you seriously think Scherezade Vatcha murdered an aunt she evidently loved dearly, for the sake of some jewellery which she may not even get, I think it's time to retire you from the Force on the ground of an overactive imagination," he said with withering scorn.
Rodricks stood his ground. "It's not just the young lady, Sir. Even her father's been acting funnily. And there's been no love lost between him and the deceased for quite a few years."
"Yes, 'Drew, but why now, after so many years?" asked Irani patiently. "If Dina Sattar had been murdered shortly after her conversion and marriage to Sattar, I could have understood Fredun Vatcha committing murder in a fit of righteousness. As it is, our suspects seem narrowed down to the husband and to the mystery man. That is, if Nivedita Shahane's death turns out to be murder. If it is suicide, we don't have to look any further."
"You think she could have murdered Dina Sattar, Sir?" asked Patil.
Irani nodded. "Her mother's suicide could have triggered off her death wish for Dina into something more concrete. She had been to the house on the morning of her birthday. She knew it was her birthday. She was alone in the Hall, while Sattar and his wife were breakfasting. You both have seen the house. From the Hall, she could have easily slipped into Dina's bedroom, put the poison into the bottle of perfume, and slipped back into the Hall. Maybe," he said, remembering something he had read from both Prakash Sattar's and the maid's testimony, "that is why she did not wait to see Dina, but went off before Dina had finished her breakfast and come out to the Hall"
"But the poison? Where would a kid like that have got the poison from?" inquired Patil. "Something so unusual as Nitrobenzene, at that?"
"Ah! That's where we had a bit of good luck, when we questioned Suchitra Khanna," said Irani. "It appears that one of Nivedita's cousins, a chap named Sunil Shahane, has a workshop where he manufactures hair dye, quite close to the Shahane residence. This Sunil Shahane was present at Karuna's funeral. Now 'Drew has done a bit of research into this poison. Aniline, a product of Nitrobenzene, is used in the manufacture of hair dye, among other things. The cousin's workshop could well have been Nivedita's source."
"So it all fits in . . . Nivedita poisoned Dina . . . and then committed suicide in a fit of remorse," said Patil slowly. "But why should she feel remorse?"
"That, Avinash, is human nature for you," said Irani, getting up and stretching himself. "And now, boyos, get the Commander to check out where Prakash Sattar bought that bottle of perfume and when. It shouldn't be too difficult. Most of these Johnnies have their favourite smugglers."
"What about the first husband?" asked Rodricks suddenly. "Are we eliminating him completely from any suspicion?"
"Oh, he remains a suspect all right," answered Irani carelessly. "But I don't fancy him much. No motive. In homicide, boyo, motive is everything. Unless it's a serial killer or some such weirdo. The motive may appear inadequate; it may appear stupid to a lot of people. But some motive must exist! And so far, I can't see the shadow of a motive where the first husband is concerned."
"What about Sattar's son, then? That Vinod fellow? Maybe he too has had resentment against Dina, as his sister had, and never showed it? After all, he's a Doctor. This esoteric poison may well point to someone with medical knowledge," suggested Rodricks.
"Yes, I'll be willing to examine that red herring, Andrew, if you show me one piece of evidence saying Vinod Shahane was anywhere near the Sattars' residence before Dina died," said Irani. "And as for the 'medical knowledge', I suggest you look up in some good medical dictionary: it'll tell you all you want to know about Nitrobenzene."
Rodricks was silenced. Apart from the sarcastic tone, the use of his full first name by Irani was enough to warn him that the Boss was getting impatient. This was a hint that he wanted more evidence, and quickly. Irani had set up a punishing pace for his 'boyos', and did not intend to let it slacken till the case was solved.
* * * *
Zerxes had fetched Scherezade from her office. He took her to Gaylord's for lunch. It was one of her favourites. Scherezade, normally a light luncher, decided to pig it out that day, startling Zerxes by ordering a Lobster Thermidor, Chicken Cecilia and two plates of garlic bread.
"You won't be able to work after all this," he protested.
"Don't intend to," flashed Scherezade, biting into a hot buttered roll of garlic bread. "What are your plans?"
"I've arranged to meet my father after lunch. There are certain points about the case I want to discuss with him."
"No Court?" she asked him.
Zerxes shrugged. "Rishad and Himanshu will manage, for today." He looked at her for a moment and then said deliberately, "In the morning, I'd gone over to meet old Kabraji. I met Patil there," Then he told her about the new development. About Nivedita.
The lobster turned in Scherezade's stomach. She shuddered, pushing her plate away.
"Hel-low, Zerxes!" The cheery voice seemed to sound just above her head. Scherezade looked up to find a striking young man standing there, vigorously pumping Zerxes' arm.
Zerxes pulled away his arm, grimacing. "Come off it, Abhijeet," he said mockingly. "you can't be all that glad to see me!" Noticing where Abhijeet's glance had been hovering, he introduced Scherezade. To Abhijeet Roy. Dr. Abhijeet Roy, he amended.
"What's the busy Counsel doing out of Court?" grinned Abhijeet.
Zerxes said deliberately, "I'm a bit busy with the Dina Sattar murder."
"Oh! And what's your interest in that murder?" asked Abhijeet curiously. "Has anyone been arrested? Are you representing any of the accused? Come on, spill the beans!"
"Why don't you join us for coffee?" offered Zerxes rather to Scherezade's astonishment, lifting a long forefinger to summon the waiter. A chair was promptly placed at their table, and Abhijeet plonked himself on to it, needing no further invitation.
"To get back to your question," continued Zerxes, "no, no one has been arrested as yet. Nor am I representing anyone as yet."
"Then what's your interest in it?" Abhijeet repeated the question.
Indicating Scherezade with a slight gesture, Zerxes replied, "Dina Sattar was her aunt."
"Oh! I'm dashed sorry. Awful thing to happen. Murder in the family and all that!"
The coffee was brought to their table. Stirring it, Abhijeet volunteered, "Even the old man doesn't have long to live, now." Looking into Scherezade's astonished eyes he nodded, saying simply, "Terminal."
"Prakash Sattar?" asked Scherezade unnecessarily.
Abhijeet nodded again, as though imparting momentous news. "His son's pretty upset about it. The old man hardly has a few months left." He suddenly looked at his watch and exclaimed, pushing back his chair and getting up jerkily, "Christ! Look at the time! Gotta rush. See y' guys around!" With an airy wave he was gone.
After he had left, Scherezade asked Zerxes, "For heaven's sake who was that? And how come he knows so much about Prakash Sattar?"
"Abhijeet, my love, is the son of Sonali Roy." Then, as she still looked blank, he continued, stretching out his hand across the table and holding both her hands in his strong, long-fingered clasp, "Sonali Roy is the lady with whom Prakash Sattar has been having an affair these last couple of years."
A spasm of pain crossed Scherezade's face. No wonder Dina Fui had not been looking too happy.
They finished their coffee in silence. Scherezade's face had a set look, making her look almost grim. Zerxes frowned, then asked her gently where she wanted to go for the rest of the afternoon.
"I've changed my mind," she said. "I'11 go back to the office, after all."
He nodded, relieved. "Better," he said. "But see if you can get away earlier than usual." Normally, she was in her office, and he at his Chambers till at least about 7 every evening. "I don't think I'll be with Dad for more than a couple of hours. It's 3, now. I'll pick you up at about 5, 5.30. That suit you?"
* * * *
He was prompt to the time he had promised. By 5.15, Scherezade was in the car with him.
To her surprise, he drove over to her parents' place. "1 want to have a word with your father," he explained.
The family was at home. Fredun had just returned from work. So had Firdauz. Fredun seemed both preoccupied and ill at ease. Rashna disappeared into the kitchen on their arrival, on the pretext of making some tea. Firdauz sat flipping desultorily through the latest copy of 'Glad Rags'. He was rather proud of his body!
Zerxes took Fredun aside and asked him without preamble, "Do you know of anything in Dina's past which could render her open to blackmail?" Fredun was stunned by the question, and looked it.
"Why? Was she being blackmailed?" he asked.
Zerxes shrugged. "That's a possibility the Police are examining. So if you do know of anything, I suggest you come out with it and let them know. It just might throw some light on who the murderer may be." As Fredun seemed to hesitate a bit, he added dryly, "Please appreciate, Fredun, that we all are, somehow, involved in this! It's in everyone's interest to at least try and ensure that the real murderer is caught. Otherwise," he met Fredun's eyes steadily, "some of us will remain under the shadow of suspicion unnecessarily, and all of us will spend the rest of our lives wondering who the murderer had been. Or who it could have been!"
Fredun looked at him with something very like horror in his eyes. This aspect of the matter had not previously occurred to him. He thought for a moment. "I don't know anything, but Banoo Maa just might. If there's anything to know, she's the one person who will know. Would you like to phone her?"
"I think it would be better if Scherezade and I went over to her place instead. Why don't you join us there, if you like?" suggested Zerxes. "If Rashna doesn't mind, of course!"
"Rashna won't mind. And yes, that's a good idea. I'll come along with you."
"Then you'd better take your vehicle," Zerxes suggested. "We may need to go somewhere else after seeing Banoo."
* * * *
"Blackmail?" echoed Banoo Maa, when the question was put to her by Zerxes. "Is that what you really suspect?" The old lady looked at him, seeming stricken. Then she turned away and said, "I suppose it will all have to come out, then! It can't remain hidden any longer."
"That's one of the attendant ills of a murder case," said Zerxes gently. "The investigation brooks no secrets. Relevant or not. That's because till the murderer is caught, very often the Police themselves can't be sure just what is relevant and what is not."
Banoo appeared to have hardly heard him. She began in a low toneless voice, "After she and Khurshed had divorced, Dina got involved with someone. He's dead now, so his name need not be dragged in. He was a no-good womanizer." She glanced fleetingly at Scherezade and swallowed, as though trying to digest something nasty all over a again.
Zerxes waited patiently, aware that it was best that the old lady be allowed to tell the story in her own way, at her own pace.
After what seemed a long moment, Banoo Maa continued, "Dina became pregnant with his child. He was not married. Dina was sure that once she was pregnant, he would marry her and they could have the child. She was so excited! She thought God had given her a second chance, after taking away little Hanoz from her. But that rascal never had any intention of marrying her! When he came to know she was pregnant, he disappeared. Dina had waited till it was too late for an abortion. She had the child. It was a lovely little girl. We had gone to Poona for the delivery, so no one in Bombay would know." Tears ran unchecked down the wrinkled old cheeks. Scherezade went up to her, put an arm round the frail old shoulders and gave them a comforting squeeze. Giving herself a visible shake, Banoo Maa went on.
"The child was given away in adoption almost immediately after her birth. It had all been arranged beforehand. A close friend of Dina was childless. She and her husband took the child away within a month of her birth and brought her up as their own. Dina used to visit them often. Of course, the child was never told anything about Dina being the real mother."
"Where do these people stay?" asked Zerxes. "In Poona?"
"No, they're from Bombay. They had come to Poona for the delivery. They took away the baby from Poona only. They're a very nice, very rich Parsee couple. Dina was keen that her child be adopted by Parsees only," she said, shaking her head at the inconsistency of human behaviour.
She then rose with some difficulty, and from her old roll-top table, pulled out a diary, opened it at a particular page and gave it to Zerxes.
"This is the name and address, Dikra. Do what you have to, but ask your DCP friend to be discreet. Let my poor Dina's memory not be tarnished any further!"
Fredun had sat all through this almost immobile. Now he got up with a jerk and started pacing about the room, as though sitting still had become a torture that could not be borne any longer.
Looking up at the hurt in his face, Banoo Maa almost forgot her own. Her straight-forward, unimaginative Fredun. How on earth was he going to take all these revelations about his once beloved sister?
With an effort, Fredun brought his features under control. He stopped pacing, and stared at Banoo Maa. Something had suddenly struck him. Still staring at Banoo Maa, he asked almost eagerly, "Maa, do you member Fatima's husband? That Makbul? He used to beat up Fatima get money out of her? That is why Dina persuaded Fatima to leave him and live with her and Khurshed in their house, full time. If I member correctly, he was quite a nosy chap. And even after Fatima left him, he used to suddenly land up at Khurshed and Dina's, to get some money out of Fatima, didn't he?"
Banoo Maa stared at him. "Yes, he did. But. . . do you think he's been visiting Dina's place even after her marriage to Prakash, and trying . blackmail her? No, Fredun, that sounds too far-fetched."
"Just a minute," broke in Zerxes. "Do any of you know what this Makbul fellow does for a living? If he does anything at all?"
"Well dear, he was working as a Television mechanic at one time, that much I do know. Now what he does, I haven't the faintest idea," replied Banoo Maa.
"Television mechanic, was he?" murmured Zerxes, a sudden gleam of interest showing in his green eyes, recalling what Patil had revealed at the Station. "Is he short and stocky, with a moustache?" he asked.
"Yes, I suppose that would be a good description of him," replied Banoo slowly, looking at Zerxes, puzzled.
Zerxes rose abruptly, stretching out his hand to Scherezade. "We'll pay Fatima a visit. Sattar's still at the Shahanes. Come, sweetheart."
From Banoo Maa's, Zerxes and Scherezade drove straight to Prakash's, leaving behind a mystified Fredun and Banoo Maa.
Fatima, when confronted by them, sobbingly admitted that her husband Makbul used to come to visit her off and on. But she insisted that he came to see her, not her Bibiji.
"He says bad things about Bibiji, Sherrie Baby," cried the maid, weeping and clinging to Scherezade's hands. "He tells me, Fatima, to leave Bibiji and go with him. He says Bibiji is bad woman. She has child she does not keep. The Chinoys, at Bandra, they keep Bibiji's child. He seen Bibiji there, when he go to make their Television allright. He heard them talk about baby. He knows!"
"Why did you allow him to come here, then?" demanded Scherezade.
Fatima sniffed and looked slyly at her. "What to do, Baby? I need a man sometime. I stay with Bibiji. But he comes here. To meet me, Fatima," she almost crowed triumphantly.
Over her head, Scherezade exchanged a glance with Zerxes. It seemed clear enough. There was nothing more they could say, or ask.
Zerxes' face signalled a message to her.
She asked Fatima, "Where does your husband stay, Fatima?" Then, as a wary look crept into the maid's eyes, she said firmly, "You must tell us, Fatima. If you loved your Bibiji. And if you don't want the Police landing up here."
Visibly alarmed at that, the maid told them. "But you don't tell police, no?"
Scherezade released her hands from the maid's clutching hold and followed Zerxes out of the house. "How could she?" she raged as soon they were out of the house. "After all my aunt had done for her. How could she even let him step inside the house?"
Zerxes drove swiftly to the slums along the sea-side at Cuffe Parade. He told Scherezade to remain in the car and got out himself to make the necessary inquiries.
The koli fishermen, suspicious and wary at first, ultimately succumbed to Zerxes' persuasive tongue. One lungi-clad figure called out to another, till quite a conclave had formed. Finally, one of them directed him to the hut where apparently Makbul had been living with a plump, comely fisherwoman.
She welcomed Zerxes coyly. Admitted that Makbul was her 'aadmi'. Spat out that he had disappeared. When? Oh, since the 28th of June.
The day after Dina Sattar's murder.
*
Saturday, February 14, 2009
The Turning - Chapter Fifteen
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Prakash was awakened by Vinod, who was shaking him by the shoulder. He was standing by the twin bed, fully dressed. "Come, Father," he said. "Get up. At least let's have coffee together, before I go off to the hospital!"
Prakash peered at his watch which was lying on the bedside table. It was 7.30 in the morning. He rose, and within about fifteen minutes was at the breakfast table. Everyone else was at the table. Except Nivedita. But then that was hardly surprising any more.
"Shantabai has gone to clean the child's room," said Kuntabai, as though reading her son's thoughts. "She'll have her out of bed soon enough. High time the girl stopped mooning around and got herself something to do. We'd better start looking for a nice boy for her, Beta," she said, casting an almost accusing glance at Prakash.
At that moment they heard a high-pitched wail coming from the direction of Nivedita's room. Followed by a frenzied: "Baba, oh Vinod Baba, come . . . come soon . . . oyee maa . . . a . . . a . . . "
Prakash and Vinod were out of their chairs almost simultaneously, racing towards Nivedita's room. Arun too followed, casting his wife a puzzled glance. Kuntabai sat as though frozen to her chair.
Vinod reached his sister's room first. Shantabai was beating her chest and wailing. Vinod tried to prevent his father from entering the room, but was too late. Prakash took one look inside the door and quietly crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.
The sight of his daughter's body, hanging grotesquely at the end of a sheet from the rod of the ceiling fan above her bed was too much for him.
Arun by now had reached Nivedita's room. He stood, shocked and undecided between the apparently dead daughter and the prostrate father. Vinod, who seemed to have himself well in hand, after one glance at his sister, did not have any trouble deciding his priorities. Nivedita seemed too far gone. But his father required urgent attention. He set about quickly trying to revive him.
Arun led the sobbing Shantabai out of the door, then informed the ladies (who by now had had the premonition of disaster) as to what had happened, and went back hurriedly to his niece's room.
Prakash's eyes were just beginning to flicker as Arun entered the room again. With some difficulty, between the two of them, he and Vinod managed to get Prakash to Vinod's room where they laid him out on the bed. Then Vinod telephoned his father's personal physician. And also their own family Doctor. A death certificate would be required for Nivedita. He himself would rather not sign one!
The family Doctor, however, insisted on calling in the Police, and himself rang up Gamdevi Police Station. Dina Sattar's case had made headlines, after all. Prakash Sattar was a prominent figure in the city. And the Doctor was well aware of the malicious gossip in medical circles concerning poor Dr. Dhondy. This girl appeared to have hanged herself all right, but he had no wish to take any chances!
The Senior Police Inspector in charge of Gamdevi Police Station was a man both cautious and perceptive. On hearing the news of Nivedita Shahane's apparent suicide, he called up the Cuffe Parade Police Station and conveyed the news to his counterpart there.
"Hell, Akshay, are you sure it's not some kind of hoax?" demanded an incredulous Sheriyar Irani at the other end of the wire. He had thought there was nothing that could shock him any more, after his twenty years in the Force. He had not bargained for such wholesale deaths one after the other, all connected to one family! First wife, second wife, now daughter, thought the Inspector to himself.
He buzzed Rodricks on the intercom. Patil was coming in late. He had an appointment with that Sattar dame's Solicitor, remembered Irani, who kept a track of his officers. He'd better go over himself with Rodricks, thought Irani. Akshay Varma of Gamdevi and he got along well together. This may be connected to the Sattar murder. Or it may not. But it had to be investigated.
Then he called up Sushildutt Tagore. Who on a sudden impulse called up Zerxes Avari, catching him just as he was about to leave his flat to join Scherezade for a quick breakfast at the Sea Lounge, before his appointment with Gustad Kabraji.
By the time Irani and Rodricks reached the Shahane residence, at around 8.30 or so, Akshay Varma was already there with his team. The family Doctor had now retired into the background, allowing the Police Doctor to take over. The photographers had finished their job, and two constables brought the body down. There was no doubt about it. She was dead.
The Police Doctor examined the noose, the area around the neck, the eyes, the lips, the face, and went into a huddle with the two Senior Inspectors. They heard him out in silence. Irani frowned a little, then slapped his thigh as though coming to a decision, and nodded to Varma.
"I think we'd better have the post-mortem done, in the circumstances," said Irani. "Rodricks has discovered that Sattar's daughter had visited Dina Sattar on the day before her murder, which also happened to be her birthday. Only on that day! She had never been there before. And she hated Dina, by all accounts. My chaps hadn't got around to questioning the girl as yet. They'd have done that today. If this is suicide, she's picked a damned convenient time! If not, someone else has panicked a bit. Which means she knew something!"
Then he and Varma went in search of Vinod. In the living-cum dining room, the family Doctor was trying to persuade Kuntabai to go to her room and relax. The old lady still sat at the table, chanting some verses like an automaton, paying no heed to anyone or anything around her. Suchitra Khanna had an arm around her, but didn't seem to know quite what to do.
Irani found Vinod and Arun Khanna in Vinod's room, trying to persuade a now fully conscious Prakash that it would be best if he got admitted into a hospital for some time. Prakash's personal physician was there too, trying to lend the weight of his authority. Prakash was resisting feebly. He seemed to have hardly any will left. Irani thought he had never seen anyone age so fast. Varma's Sub-Inspector came tentatively to the door, and signalled to his Superior to come out. Both he and Irani went over.
"What's up, Rafik?" Varma asked abruptly. Rafik Merchant, the SI at the Gamdevi Police Station held out a piece of paper which appeared to have been tom from a notebook. "It's been dusted for fingerprints, Sir," he said. "We found it on the bed, under her pillow." The note contained a scrawl in childish, rather ill-formed handwriting. The message was brief and rather stilted:
"I am sorry I did that. I just had to!
Don't be angry with me, Papa. I love you."
"Well, I suppose that's clear enough," said Varma.
"Hmmm . . ." Irani seemed lost in thought. His eyebrows snapped together, giving him a ferocious look. He looked up at Varma. "The PM will tell!"
"You don't believe this is suicide?" asked Varma.
Irani shrugged his bulky shoulders. "You heard what the Doc said. No saliva dribbling. Hardly any petechial haemorrhage around the ligature. That's fishy! Of course, these signs are not conclusive. But this could well be a case of poshnortem hanging."
"You think someone killed her first and then strung her up to give an impression of suicide?"
"We can't rule out that possibility," said Irani thoughtfully.
"Besides, I've got a nasty feeling in my gut. In fact, Akshay, I'm wondering whether we should review the case of Karuna Shahane."
"By God, Sheriyar! You don't think Sattar himself is responsible?" Varma sounded sceptical.
"It's too early to rule out anybody. And there's a lot about Mr. Prakash Shahane Sattar that won't bear close scrutiny, I assure you," replied Irani dryly.
"What about this note?" asked Varma.
Irani looked at him with a slight, grim smile. "Under the circumstances, what message does the note convey to you?" he asked.
Varma looked at his colleague, a slight frown in his eyes. "It seems as though this dame was responsible for Dina Sattar's murder, and then committed suicide in a fit of guilt or remorse!" he said.
Irani's smile broadened. "That, my friend, is exactly the message someone wants us to get! We'll know whether that is true or not, once we get the results of the PM."
They went back to Nivedita's room, to find that the Police Doctor was packing up his instruments.
"What, according to your estimate would be the time of death, Doctor?" asked Varma.
"She's not been dead too long," said the Doctor. "Rigor mortis has commenced, but is not as yet completely established in the entire body. I'd say not more than six hours, seven at the most. He looked at his watch. "It's about 9, now. I'd say she died some time around 2 to 4 this morning, on a rough estimate."
Varma gave the note back to Merchant. "Get the experts on to it. Apart from the fingerprint chaps. Handwriting analysis, chemical testing, the works. Get samples of the deceased's handwriting from the brother. And ask our chaps if they can estimate when the note was written. It's written in ink, so that may help a bit."
The SI seemed to hesitate a bit. "Do we take the fingerprints of everyone in the house, Sir?" he asked.
"Yes dammit," replied his Senior irritably. "We can't afford to take any chances this time," he snapped out, wincing a little as he recalled the readiness with which they had accepted Karuna Shahane's death as suicide. Of course, it still could be suicide, and everything that followed could have nothing to do with her death.
Both Senior Inspectors were well aware that if Nivedita Shahane's death turned out to be murder, the suspects were all within the four walls of that house. All her closest family: father, brother, grandmother, uncle and aunt. There were no signs of anyone having broken into the flat. In fact, there was no question of anyone having been able to break into the flat. The flat was on the 5th floor. The windows all had secure decorative grills fixed on them. On the door of the main entrance was a sophisticated Yale latch. Everything was intact. No, no one had broken in.
And if Nivedita had been murdered, it could only be because she knew something or had discovered something about Dina Sattar's murder, Irani opined, in a hurried conference with Varma. There was hardly any other motive for killing the girl And that made Prakash Sattar the hottest suspect! Prakash Sattar, who had had both the motive and the means to murder his wife. And who had been present under this roof last night. Who had been alienated from his children for so long. After all, Irani had known of cases where fathers had coldbloodedly murdered their own children. As had mothers!
After Nivedita's body had been taken away, Sheriyar Irani looked inquiringly at Varma. Varma understood, and nodded his acquiescence.
"Yes, I don't mind if you do the questioning," he said genially, realizing full well that whether this turned out to be murder or not, Irani was at least as concerned as he himself, in the investigations. If not more.
Besides, Irani knew all about the circumstances concerning Dina Sattar's death. Varma, as yet, knew next to nothing. Irani would know better what line of questioning to take with these people.
They weren't going to be easy to interrogate, Varma thought to himself, noting the taut, angry look that came into the face of Vinod Shahane, who had come into the room and heard what he had said to Irani.
"Now look here," began Vinod belligerently, "My sister's just killed herself. My father's prostrate. My grandmother is in a state of shock. You can't do any questioning now. Besides, what's there to question?"
"We are still not absolutely sure that your sister did kill herself," Irani said quietly.
"Then wait till you are sure, before you start badgering us at such a time!" replied Vinod rudely.
Irani looked at him stonily. "Your father had used some very similar words when Dina Sattar died," he said, a hint of steel in his tone. "If you absolutely insist, we shall defer the questioning till we get the PM results. But are you sure you want to insist?"
Vinod looked sulky. "Very well," he conceded with ill grace. "But I'd be obliged if you could spare my father and grandmother, at least."
"We'll be very gentle with them," promised Irani, willfully misunderstanding the stiffly mouthed request.
There was a small study just next to Vinod's room, which Irani and Varma decided to use for interrogation. The Police Stenographer was installed at a table. Vinod shouted to Shantabai to get some tea. Shantabai, still weeping, resentfully declared herself unable to do any work.
"I'll make the tea," offered Suchitra Khanna quietly and went to the kitchen, sweeping the muttering maidservant with her.
Arun came in quickly to join his nephew in the study. He was asked to wait outside. "We'll see everybody, one by one," said Varma firmly, closing the door on him before he could protest.
"Now, Mr. Shahane," began lrani. "Could you please first give us the names of all the persons who were in this house last night?" "My grandmother, Kuntabai Shahane, my uncle and aunt, Arun and Suchitra Khanna, . . ."
"Do they normally stay hete? interrupted Varma.
"No, they are from Calcutta. They came over when my mother died. Arun's her brother. They were to go back to Calcutta yesterday." He suddenly broke off, as though realizing the significance of what he had just said.
"Indeed," said Irani. "And why did they delay their departure?"
"That has nothing to do with the Police," muttered Vinod sullenly.
"You will allow us to be the best judge of that, Mr. Shahane," Irani's voice hardened almost imperceptibly. "Kindly answer the question."
Vinod shrugged resignedly and said, "They decided to stay a bit longer in view of Dina Sattar's death."
"But Dina Sattar died three days ago. And yet they were to leave yesterday."
"Well," Vinod said helplessly, "They postponed their departure again on knowing that she was murdered."
Both Inspectors frowned. "Why should the discovery that Dina Sattar had been murdered make your mother's brother and his wife delay their departure to Calcutta?" asked Irani.
Vinod seemed to swallow. He looked embarrassed. Irani waited patiently. Ultimately Vinod looked up, met Irani's eyes fleetingly and said, "Because my sister was very badly affected by that news."
"Why should she be?" asked Irani with the air of one genuinely seeking enlightenment.
Vinod swallowed some more, stared at the floor for a while, and then abruptly looked up as though he had come to a rather painful decision.
"You see," he said, "my sister has always hated Dina. She blamed her for everything, including our mother's death. And for many years, she has wished Dina dead. More so after our mother died." He sighed, and said, "You might as well know. you're bound to, sooner or later."
"Know what?" asked Varma.
"Nivedita actually used to pray for Dina's death," he said in an unhappy whisper.
"Since how long?" asked Irani sharply.
Vinod shrugged helplessly. "Ever since my father got married to Dina," he said. "Nivedita never forgave Dina for taking him away from my mother, from us."
"Did you or your sister ever visit your father at his Cuffe Parade residence?" asked Irani.
"No, never," replied Vinod, surprised at the question.
"Did he ever come here?"
"Only on the day my mother died. I thought it was necessary to let him know. He came here just before the body was taken to the crematorium."
"Do you mean to tell me your father had not bothered to see you and your sister for over ten years?" Irani deliberately let the contempt and incredulity show in his voice.
"Nivedita was pathological where Dina was concerned," was the defensive reply. "And some of that hatred initially transmitted itself to Father also. In fact, she kicked up quite a rumpus in public, at the funeral."
"And you?" asked Irani quietly.
"I used to be in touch with him a bit, over the telephone. But not much. I did not wish to upset my mother, you see," he explained ruefully.
"If your sister was so much against Dina Sattar," said Irani casually, "then why did she go to visit her at her residence on the day of her birthday? In fact, the day before she died?"
Even to both the Inspectors' suspicious, trained eyes, the surprise on Vinod Shahane's face was absolutely genuine. He obviously knew nothing about his sister's little visit!
"You're joking," he ejaculated, looking at Irani blankly. "No way would Nivedita have gone there, ever!"
"Would she have known it was her birthday, that day? Did you?" inquired Irani.
Vinod frowned.
"No, I don't think she would have known that. I certainly did not. Father never mentioned it to me, at least."
"How did your sister seem yesterday, Mr. Shahane? Did she seem depressed or morose?" asked Varma.
Vinod said, frankly, "As I've told you, Inspector, she's not been herself for quite some time. She's . . . for the last few years she's been displaying the symptoms of acute depressive neuroses. She's often had bouts of hysteria. And she's always had an obsessional phobia where Dina was concerned. I think," he added carefully, "she had got to a stage where she had ceased to be fully responsible for her actions."
"What are you trying to suggest, Mr. Shahane?" asked Irani quietly.
Vinod seemed taken aback. "1 am not suggesting anything, Inspector," he said. "1 am merely giving you my opinion of my sister's mental and psychological condition."
"Ah yes, you are a Doctor, aren't you? And where do you practise, Dr. Shahane?"
"I'm attached to a hospital, right now," answered Vinod shortly, adding, as though he couldn't help himself, "But I'll be setting up my own Consultancy soon."
"Your father seems to have stayed here last night?" Irani asked, veering from the earlier topic suddenly.
"Yes. My grandmother suggested he do so."
"Is this the first time he's stayed here for the night, after his second marriage?"
"No, he had stayed over the night before my mother's twelfth day ceremonies. "
"Your mother's twelfth day would have been. . . let's see. . . the day before Dina Sattar's birthday? Two days before she was murdered?"
"Yes," said Vinod, adding stiffly, "but I don't see the connection."
"We are just ascertaining the facts, Dr. Shahane," said Irani mildly.
Changing the tack of his inquiry, Irani asked him rather formally, "Can you give us the details of your movements since you last saw your sister, Dr. Shahane?"
Vinod's lips twisted in the semblance of a smile. "There's hardly anything to tell about my 'movements', as you put it, Inspector! My sister came down to dinner. My grandmother insisted on that."
"Insisted?" prompted Irani gently.
"Nivedita had retired to bed with a headache. At dinner time, after my father had come over, Dadi insisted that I call Nivedita to the dining table. I did so. We all had dinner together. My father, grandmother, Arun maama, Suchitra maami, Nivedita and I."
"Any servants?"
"There is a woman who comes part-time in the evenings to prepare the chapattis, heat the food, lay it out, and then clear up. But we always serve ourselves. I don't like servants hovering around while we are dining."
"Quite. What time did this part-time servant leave?"
"Around 9.30. Her husband, who is a chauffeur for one of our neighbours, also finishes his duty generally around that time."
"After the servant left, did you all retire immediately to bed?"
"Nivedita did, pleading a headache. Come to think of it, she really seemed to be in a queer mood yesterday," said Vinod, wrinkling his brow in an effort of concentration.
"Queer? In what way?" asked Irani.
"Even more morose and depressed than usual. Totally disinclined to talk. Even to Dadi, whom she adored. Come to think of it, she appeared to have something weighing on her mind rather heavily."
"Did she say anything to anyone before retiring to her room?"
"No, she just sort of looked around wildly at everyone on the table, blurted out that she had a headache, and then ran off as though the devil himself was after her."
"She never came out of her room afterwards?"
"Not to my knowledge," replied Vinod. Then he furrowed his brow. "Wait a minute - Yes, she did. She came to borrow Crocin from me. Then she went back to her room. Arun maama and Suchitramaami retired shortly after Nivedita."
"Which room are they occupying?" inquired Irani.
"The spare guest room. That's next to my room, which I was sharing with my father last night."
"And your grandmother?"
"The one next to Nivedita. My mother's old room," answered Vinod.
"Are you and your father both heavy sleepers?"
"I am. I am not so sure of my father's sleeping habits, after all these years," answered Vinod a trifle dryly.
"And what time did the two of you retire? And your grandmother?"
"Dadi, Father and I more or less retired for the night together. Maybe around 11 or so. Father came with me to the room, then went out for a short while to telephone his servant at his place that he wouldn't be going there for the night, and then to borrow pajamas from Anm Maama."
"Did you have any alcoholic drink before retiring?"
"Yes. Father felt like a drink. We both had whisky."
"Both of you had the same whisky?" queried Irani.
Vinod answered stiffly, "It was from the same bottle, if that's what you mean." "Did you or your father get up for anything during the night?"
"As I said, I'm a heavy sleeper."
"So you didn't get up. Hear anything at all?"
"No," answered Vinod rather sharply, adding,
"I did not get up till about 6.30 in the morning. I took in the milk and the morning papers, then shaved, showered and dressed for the hospital. Dadi was up before me, praying on the terrace."
"Does she normally do that?" asked Varma.
"No, but I guess this morning it was quite bright, so she felt tempted to go out for a while," Vinod answered somewhat lamely.
"What happened after you showered and changed?"
"I woke my father at about 7.30. I have to be at the hospital by 8.30 am."
"Who found your sister?"
"The servant. The other top-work woman who comes in the mornings. Shantabai. She's been with us for years. Acted as a nanny to Nivedita when she was small,"
"What time does she come in?"
"Normally at around 6.30. Today she was about five-ten minutes late. She went to do Nivedita's room at around 7.45, after doing all the other rooms. All the others were at the table for breakfast. Today Suchitra maami had prepared it. Shantabai went to Nivedita's room and let out a scream. We - my father and I rushed to her room. Arun maama followed. And we found her," he ended, shuddering slightly.
"The door of her room wasn't locked?" queried Varma.
"Obviously not," answered Vinod, a touch of scorn in his voice. "Otherwise Shantabai wouldn't have been able to get in." "Obviously," repeated Irani, rising and holding out his hand.
"Thank you for your co-operation, Dr. Shahane. And now, we'll ask your father just a few questions, if Dr. Bidwai has no objection."
"I'11 go and ascertain from him," offered Varma, forestalling Vinod's protest and going quickly out of the room, before him.
Dr. Bidwai did not object. Prakash seemed to have made a rather quick recovery. But he cautioned Varma that his patient mustn't be tired out or asked too many questions. And at the slightest sign of flagging, they should immediately call him. Both Inspectors readily promised to do so, and shut the door on both him and Vinod, who was trying to get an edge in.
Prakash Sattar was sitting up in bed, propped up by pillows, the blanket now pulled down to his knees. On seeing Irani, he essayed a smile that was ghastly to behold, so pathetic was the attempt! "This time I shan't ask you to await the autopsy results before answering your questions, Inspector," he said weakly.
Irani smiled back bracingly. "And just to take us cops down a peg or two, this will turn out to be just what it seems," he said.
Sattar winced. Irani, a decent soul with some sensitivity, for all his bluff heartiness, said quietly, "I'm sorry Mr. Sattar. This is a very bad time for you. But we have to clear up a few things. Where only you can help us."
Sattar spread out his hands in a futile gesture. "Ask me what you will, Inspector. I'll answer the best I can."
"Thank you. We understand it was your wife's birthday, the day before she died?"
Prakash frowned. "That's true. But what's that got to do with her death? Or my daughter's, for that matter?"
"I didn't say that it had," said Irani mildly. "But we can't rule out the possibility of some connection between the two deaths."
Prakash's face seemed to take on an even grayer tinge. His conscience was playing havoc within himself. In a fit of unaccustomed fancy, he could almost feel his past rise up in retribution against him . . . the tide of his fortune turning. Turning to devour him . . . and his!
Resolutely, Prakash pulled himself together. Tried to attend to what Irani was saying.
"Can you tell us how you and your wife celebrated her birthday?" repeated Irani.
Prakash recovered his astringency. "It was my wife's forty-ninth birthday, Inspector," he answered dryly. "Hardly a birthday she'd want to celebrate with a lot of fuss!"
"I believe you left town that evening itself?" Irani did not bother to prevent the tinge of malice from entering his voice.
"I had some urgent business in Poona," said Prakash, adding, "As I said, the birthday was no big deal for my wife. Anyway, we'd invited her family over for lunch."
"Just who was present at this lunch?" Prakash told him. On further questioning as to the timings of the arrival and departure of the various relatives, he confessed to being a little hazy. But they all had left almost together, by around 3 pm.
"Did anyone else come to visit her?" Prakash looked at both of them in turn, as though trying to assess how much they already knew. Ultimately deciding not to take any chances, he said reluctantly, "My daughter had come over. But she did not meet Dina."
"How so?" asked Varma.
Prakash ran a tired hand over his drawn face. "As you are probably aware, Nivedita hated Dina. For a long time, she refused to meet her or have anything to do with her. Even with me, as a matter of fact. We re-established contact after her mother - my first wife - died. Nivedita seemed to have had second thoughts about Dina then and expressed a desire to meet her." His lips twisted. "Maybe the loss of her own mother brought about that change of heart. I don't know. I just don't know!"
"Didn't you find that rather peculiar, Mr. Sattar? Normally, wouldn't her mother's death have strengthened your daughter's hatred for your second wife?"
Prakash looked at Irani with rather a sad smile. "Who can tell with women, Inspector? Can you always predict how your wife will react?"
Thinking of his no-nonsense, sharp-tongued wife, Irani smiled. "More or less."
Prakash sighed. "I envy you, Inspector. But, to come back to Nivedita, you must remember that she was not quite. . . rational when it came to Dina." He smiled a grimace. "Vinod insists she had an obsessive compulsion to hate Dina. Who knows? Maybe that compulsion reversed itself." He shrugged. "I was too thankful at the change in her attitude to think of analyzing it. Even if I could!"
"Was your daughter aware that it was Mrs. Sattar's birthday, when she came to visit her?"
"Yes," replied Sattar heavily. "She was. I had told her so."
"In what context?" was the inevitable query.
"When she told me she wanted to meet Dina, I suggested she could come over on her birthday. In fact, I would have preferred some other time, but I was going away to Poona and wasn't scheduled to be back for a week or so. Nivedita did not want to wait that long."
Irani's shaggy brows rose. "She was in that much of a hurry to meet your second wife, then?"
"Possibly she wanted to do it before her own mood changed," said Prakash irritably. "Anyway, what does that matter, now? What are you trying to imply, Inspector?"
Ignoring these questions, Irani rapped out, "Did your daughter give Mrs. Sattar any present?"
"As I was telling you, Inspector, ultimately my daughter changed her mind and left without meeting Dina."
"Where were you and Mrs. Sattar when your daughter came in?"
"Both Dina and I were having breakfast in the dining room. Our maid showed her into the Hall. I went out to the Hall first and asked her if she wanted me to be present when she met Dina. She declined, so I went into my room. Dina told me later, that Nivedita had left the house without seeing her. Must have been nervous, I suppose," he hazarded.
"How long was your daughter alone in the Hal1?"
"I really can't say. Passage of time can be quite deceptive. May have been five minutes - may have been fifteen!"
"Did you give your wife any present, Mr. Sattar?" Irani wondered if it was his imagination, or whether there was really a flicker of apprehension in Sattar's eyes, for a moment.
Ultimately he said in a blustering tone, "Of course I did."
"And what was the present?"
"A bottle of perfume. My wife loves perfume. I have been giving her perfume for her birthday for the last couple of years."
"What perfume was it?"
"'Joy'."
Irani thought for a moment. Then he said deliberately, his eyes on Prakash's face, "I must inform you Mr. Sattar, that the poison which killed your wife was put into the bottle of 'Joy' perfume."
Prakash was startled into saying, "So that's . . ." He caught himself, and closed his eyes. He appeared to struggle with his breathing. After a few moments, his agitation quietened down. He opened his eyes and looked at Irani. "I did not put any poison in the bottle of perfume, I assure you Inspector. I do not know who did or how it got there, but I did not! I had no reason to kill my wife. I am genuinely upset by her death."
"I'm sure you are," Irani said sardonically.
Despite feeling sorry for him, Irani had taken a dislike to Sattar. But he was too seasoned a Policeman to allow that to affect his professional judgment. He knew well, with his years of experience, that the twinge of apprehension which showed in Sattar's eyes could well mean anything. Apparently, he had noticed the disappearance of the bottle,and had been worried about it.
Irani recalled the telephone call that had come in from Poona just last night. That Sattar had been staying at the Hotel Blue Diamond with his 'wife'. The telephone call from Fredun Vatcha had been received by a male receptionist, while Sattar himself was out. The message had been given to this 'Mrs. Sattar', whoever she may be. Wouldn't take his boyos too long to find out! If Sattar was carrying on with another woman, thought Irani to himself, he definitely had a motive to get rid of Dina. From what Irani could gather, Sattar's business and political connections would not take kindly to him divorcing her, considering the manner in which he had married her, in the first place!
He turned to Sattar again. Better finish with the chap, and get out before Doc Bidwai decided to throw them out. Sattar was looking none too well!
"What did you do last night, after your daughter retired for the night with a headache?"
"We stayed and talked in the living room for a while. My mother, my son, and I. My brother-in-law and his wife had retired shortly after Nivedita. Then, after my mother too had retired, my son and I went to his room. I then remembered I had not yet phoned my maid and told her I'd not be going to Cuffe Parade that night. I also had to get pajamas from Arun. I did that, and then joined Vinod again. Vinod suggested a drink - I had about three pegs of whisky. Then we went to bed."
"Did Vinod have a drink too?"
"Yes, he too had whisky. But just one peg. My son is not too fond of alcohol, Inspector."
"Are you a light sleeper Mr. Sattar?" asked Irani.
"No Inspector. I'm normally dead to the world when I sleep. And with three whiskies inside me, definitely so!"
"S0 you did not get up at all, during the night?" Sattar seemed to hesitate, frowning a bit. Then he said, "Come to think, I did get up once. Just once. To go to the bathroom."
"Any idea of the time?"
"I do not look at the clock every time I relieve myself, Inspector," Prakash essayed a grim attempt at humour, "Especially in the dead of the night. . . or . . . maybe it was very early morning. I'm not too sure."
"And did your 'going to the bathroom' disturb your son, at al1?" suggested Irani smoothly.
"Vinod was awake when I got back to the room," answered Prakash.
"Got back to the room?" repeated Irani. "Isn't there an attached bathroom in the bedroom you were sharing with your son?"
Prakash snapped irritably, "Yes, there is. But I was more likely to awaken Vinod if I used the attached bathroom. Or so I thought, anyway. So I went to the common bathroom."
"And where is that situated?"
"Just off the living room."
"Do you have to pass Nivedita's bedroom, to reach there from Vinod's room?"
"Yes." the tone was choleric, now. "And I may tell you, Inspector, that you had better have a care. You are overstepping your limits. I did not," he went on, cutting off Irani's exclamation, "go into my daughter's room, nor did I even open the door. If that is what you are implying."
"I have not implied anything of the sort, Mr. Sattar," answered Irani levelly. "What I would like to know if you can think coolly, is, did you hear any sound at all when you passed your daughter's room? Did any light show from under the door? Did you notice anything at all unusual?"
"No. No to all your questions. In fact, there was pin-drop silence. And no light showing from anywhere. Except the lamp my mother had lit, in the living room. In the Pooja alcove." Prakash lay back against the pillows. He seemed exhausted, his brief burst of anger having spent itself.
Irani looked at him consideringly, and decided it was time to leave. He did not want to precipitate a heart attack in Sattar.
"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Sattar. We'll let you know if we need anything further from you."
"Inspector!" The urgent plea in Sattar's voice arrested both the men as they were almost out of the door.
"Inspector," rasped out Sattar. He had half raised himself. "She couldn't possibly have killed Dina, could she?"
Despite his dislike for the man, an unaccustomed feeling of pity assailed Irani. "Don't you anticipate our investigation, Mr. Sattar," he said in a rallying tone, adding in a softer voice, "Don't worry, we'll do our best to solve the case as soon as possible. No sense in imagining things in the meanwhile."
*
Prakash was awakened by Vinod, who was shaking him by the shoulder. He was standing by the twin bed, fully dressed. "Come, Father," he said. "Get up. At least let's have coffee together, before I go off to the hospital!"
Prakash peered at his watch which was lying on the bedside table. It was 7.30 in the morning. He rose, and within about fifteen minutes was at the breakfast table. Everyone else was at the table. Except Nivedita. But then that was hardly surprising any more.
"Shantabai has gone to clean the child's room," said Kuntabai, as though reading her son's thoughts. "She'll have her out of bed soon enough. High time the girl stopped mooning around and got herself something to do. We'd better start looking for a nice boy for her, Beta," she said, casting an almost accusing glance at Prakash.
At that moment they heard a high-pitched wail coming from the direction of Nivedita's room. Followed by a frenzied: "Baba, oh Vinod Baba, come . . . come soon . . . oyee maa . . . a . . . a . . . "
Prakash and Vinod were out of their chairs almost simultaneously, racing towards Nivedita's room. Arun too followed, casting his wife a puzzled glance. Kuntabai sat as though frozen to her chair.
Vinod reached his sister's room first. Shantabai was beating her chest and wailing. Vinod tried to prevent his father from entering the room, but was too late. Prakash took one look inside the door and quietly crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.
The sight of his daughter's body, hanging grotesquely at the end of a sheet from the rod of the ceiling fan above her bed was too much for him.
Arun by now had reached Nivedita's room. He stood, shocked and undecided between the apparently dead daughter and the prostrate father. Vinod, who seemed to have himself well in hand, after one glance at his sister, did not have any trouble deciding his priorities. Nivedita seemed too far gone. But his father required urgent attention. He set about quickly trying to revive him.
Arun led the sobbing Shantabai out of the door, then informed the ladies (who by now had had the premonition of disaster) as to what had happened, and went back hurriedly to his niece's room.
Prakash's eyes were just beginning to flicker as Arun entered the room again. With some difficulty, between the two of them, he and Vinod managed to get Prakash to Vinod's room where they laid him out on the bed. Then Vinod telephoned his father's personal physician. And also their own family Doctor. A death certificate would be required for Nivedita. He himself would rather not sign one!
The family Doctor, however, insisted on calling in the Police, and himself rang up Gamdevi Police Station. Dina Sattar's case had made headlines, after all. Prakash Sattar was a prominent figure in the city. And the Doctor was well aware of the malicious gossip in medical circles concerning poor Dr. Dhondy. This girl appeared to have hanged herself all right, but he had no wish to take any chances!
The Senior Police Inspector in charge of Gamdevi Police Station was a man both cautious and perceptive. On hearing the news of Nivedita Shahane's apparent suicide, he called up the Cuffe Parade Police Station and conveyed the news to his counterpart there.
"Hell, Akshay, are you sure it's not some kind of hoax?" demanded an incredulous Sheriyar Irani at the other end of the wire. He had thought there was nothing that could shock him any more, after his twenty years in the Force. He had not bargained for such wholesale deaths one after the other, all connected to one family! First wife, second wife, now daughter, thought the Inspector to himself.
He buzzed Rodricks on the intercom. Patil was coming in late. He had an appointment with that Sattar dame's Solicitor, remembered Irani, who kept a track of his officers. He'd better go over himself with Rodricks, thought Irani. Akshay Varma of Gamdevi and he got along well together. This may be connected to the Sattar murder. Or it may not. But it had to be investigated.
Then he called up Sushildutt Tagore. Who on a sudden impulse called up Zerxes Avari, catching him just as he was about to leave his flat to join Scherezade for a quick breakfast at the Sea Lounge, before his appointment with Gustad Kabraji.
By the time Irani and Rodricks reached the Shahane residence, at around 8.30 or so, Akshay Varma was already there with his team. The family Doctor had now retired into the background, allowing the Police Doctor to take over. The photographers had finished their job, and two constables brought the body down. There was no doubt about it. She was dead.
The Police Doctor examined the noose, the area around the neck, the eyes, the lips, the face, and went into a huddle with the two Senior Inspectors. They heard him out in silence. Irani frowned a little, then slapped his thigh as though coming to a decision, and nodded to Varma.
"I think we'd better have the post-mortem done, in the circumstances," said Irani. "Rodricks has discovered that Sattar's daughter had visited Dina Sattar on the day before her murder, which also happened to be her birthday. Only on that day! She had never been there before. And she hated Dina, by all accounts. My chaps hadn't got around to questioning the girl as yet. They'd have done that today. If this is suicide, she's picked a damned convenient time! If not, someone else has panicked a bit. Which means she knew something!"
Then he and Varma went in search of Vinod. In the living-cum dining room, the family Doctor was trying to persuade Kuntabai to go to her room and relax. The old lady still sat at the table, chanting some verses like an automaton, paying no heed to anyone or anything around her. Suchitra Khanna had an arm around her, but didn't seem to know quite what to do.
Irani found Vinod and Arun Khanna in Vinod's room, trying to persuade a now fully conscious Prakash that it would be best if he got admitted into a hospital for some time. Prakash's personal physician was there too, trying to lend the weight of his authority. Prakash was resisting feebly. He seemed to have hardly any will left. Irani thought he had never seen anyone age so fast. Varma's Sub-Inspector came tentatively to the door, and signalled to his Superior to come out. Both he and Irani went over.
"What's up, Rafik?" Varma asked abruptly. Rafik Merchant, the SI at the Gamdevi Police Station held out a piece of paper which appeared to have been tom from a notebook. "It's been dusted for fingerprints, Sir," he said. "We found it on the bed, under her pillow." The note contained a scrawl in childish, rather ill-formed handwriting. The message was brief and rather stilted:
"I am sorry I did that. I just had to!
Don't be angry with me, Papa. I love you."
"Well, I suppose that's clear enough," said Varma.
"Hmmm . . ." Irani seemed lost in thought. His eyebrows snapped together, giving him a ferocious look. He looked up at Varma. "The PM will tell!"
"You don't believe this is suicide?" asked Varma.
Irani shrugged his bulky shoulders. "You heard what the Doc said. No saliva dribbling. Hardly any petechial haemorrhage around the ligature. That's fishy! Of course, these signs are not conclusive. But this could well be a case of poshnortem hanging."
"You think someone killed her first and then strung her up to give an impression of suicide?"
"We can't rule out that possibility," said Irani thoughtfully.
"Besides, I've got a nasty feeling in my gut. In fact, Akshay, I'm wondering whether we should review the case of Karuna Shahane."
"By God, Sheriyar! You don't think Sattar himself is responsible?" Varma sounded sceptical.
"It's too early to rule out anybody. And there's a lot about Mr. Prakash Shahane Sattar that won't bear close scrutiny, I assure you," replied Irani dryly.
"What about this note?" asked Varma.
Irani looked at him with a slight, grim smile. "Under the circumstances, what message does the note convey to you?" he asked.
Varma looked at his colleague, a slight frown in his eyes. "It seems as though this dame was responsible for Dina Sattar's murder, and then committed suicide in a fit of guilt or remorse!" he said.
Irani's smile broadened. "That, my friend, is exactly the message someone wants us to get! We'll know whether that is true or not, once we get the results of the PM."
They went back to Nivedita's room, to find that the Police Doctor was packing up his instruments.
"What, according to your estimate would be the time of death, Doctor?" asked Varma.
"She's not been dead too long," said the Doctor. "Rigor mortis has commenced, but is not as yet completely established in the entire body. I'd say not more than six hours, seven at the most. He looked at his watch. "It's about 9, now. I'd say she died some time around 2 to 4 this morning, on a rough estimate."
Varma gave the note back to Merchant. "Get the experts on to it. Apart from the fingerprint chaps. Handwriting analysis, chemical testing, the works. Get samples of the deceased's handwriting from the brother. And ask our chaps if they can estimate when the note was written. It's written in ink, so that may help a bit."
The SI seemed to hesitate a bit. "Do we take the fingerprints of everyone in the house, Sir?" he asked.
"Yes dammit," replied his Senior irritably. "We can't afford to take any chances this time," he snapped out, wincing a little as he recalled the readiness with which they had accepted Karuna Shahane's death as suicide. Of course, it still could be suicide, and everything that followed could have nothing to do with her death.
Both Senior Inspectors were well aware that if Nivedita Shahane's death turned out to be murder, the suspects were all within the four walls of that house. All her closest family: father, brother, grandmother, uncle and aunt. There were no signs of anyone having broken into the flat. In fact, there was no question of anyone having been able to break into the flat. The flat was on the 5th floor. The windows all had secure decorative grills fixed on them. On the door of the main entrance was a sophisticated Yale latch. Everything was intact. No, no one had broken in.
And if Nivedita had been murdered, it could only be because she knew something or had discovered something about Dina Sattar's murder, Irani opined, in a hurried conference with Varma. There was hardly any other motive for killing the girl And that made Prakash Sattar the hottest suspect! Prakash Sattar, who had had both the motive and the means to murder his wife. And who had been present under this roof last night. Who had been alienated from his children for so long. After all, Irani had known of cases where fathers had coldbloodedly murdered their own children. As had mothers!
After Nivedita's body had been taken away, Sheriyar Irani looked inquiringly at Varma. Varma understood, and nodded his acquiescence.
"Yes, I don't mind if you do the questioning," he said genially, realizing full well that whether this turned out to be murder or not, Irani was at least as concerned as he himself, in the investigations. If not more.
Besides, Irani knew all about the circumstances concerning Dina Sattar's death. Varma, as yet, knew next to nothing. Irani would know better what line of questioning to take with these people.
They weren't going to be easy to interrogate, Varma thought to himself, noting the taut, angry look that came into the face of Vinod Shahane, who had come into the room and heard what he had said to Irani.
"Now look here," began Vinod belligerently, "My sister's just killed herself. My father's prostrate. My grandmother is in a state of shock. You can't do any questioning now. Besides, what's there to question?"
"We are still not absolutely sure that your sister did kill herself," Irani said quietly.
"Then wait till you are sure, before you start badgering us at such a time!" replied Vinod rudely.
Irani looked at him stonily. "Your father had used some very similar words when Dina Sattar died," he said, a hint of steel in his tone. "If you absolutely insist, we shall defer the questioning till we get the PM results. But are you sure you want to insist?"
Vinod looked sulky. "Very well," he conceded with ill grace. "But I'd be obliged if you could spare my father and grandmother, at least."
"We'll be very gentle with them," promised Irani, willfully misunderstanding the stiffly mouthed request.
There was a small study just next to Vinod's room, which Irani and Varma decided to use for interrogation. The Police Stenographer was installed at a table. Vinod shouted to Shantabai to get some tea. Shantabai, still weeping, resentfully declared herself unable to do any work.
"I'll make the tea," offered Suchitra Khanna quietly and went to the kitchen, sweeping the muttering maidservant with her.
Arun came in quickly to join his nephew in the study. He was asked to wait outside. "We'll see everybody, one by one," said Varma firmly, closing the door on him before he could protest.
"Now, Mr. Shahane," began lrani. "Could you please first give us the names of all the persons who were in this house last night?" "My grandmother, Kuntabai Shahane, my uncle and aunt, Arun and Suchitra Khanna, . . ."
"Do they normally stay hete? interrupted Varma.
"No, they are from Calcutta. They came over when my mother died. Arun's her brother. They were to go back to Calcutta yesterday." He suddenly broke off, as though realizing the significance of what he had just said.
"Indeed," said Irani. "And why did they delay their departure?"
"That has nothing to do with the Police," muttered Vinod sullenly.
"You will allow us to be the best judge of that, Mr. Shahane," Irani's voice hardened almost imperceptibly. "Kindly answer the question."
Vinod shrugged resignedly and said, "They decided to stay a bit longer in view of Dina Sattar's death."
"But Dina Sattar died three days ago. And yet they were to leave yesterday."
"Well," Vinod said helplessly, "They postponed their departure again on knowing that she was murdered."
Both Inspectors frowned. "Why should the discovery that Dina Sattar had been murdered make your mother's brother and his wife delay their departure to Calcutta?" asked Irani.
Vinod seemed to swallow. He looked embarrassed. Irani waited patiently. Ultimately Vinod looked up, met Irani's eyes fleetingly and said, "Because my sister was very badly affected by that news."
"Why should she be?" asked Irani with the air of one genuinely seeking enlightenment.
Vinod swallowed some more, stared at the floor for a while, and then abruptly looked up as though he had come to a rather painful decision.
"You see," he said, "my sister has always hated Dina. She blamed her for everything, including our mother's death. And for many years, she has wished Dina dead. More so after our mother died." He sighed, and said, "You might as well know. you're bound to, sooner or later."
"Know what?" asked Varma.
"Nivedita actually used to pray for Dina's death," he said in an unhappy whisper.
"Since how long?" asked Irani sharply.
Vinod shrugged helplessly. "Ever since my father got married to Dina," he said. "Nivedita never forgave Dina for taking him away from my mother, from us."
"Did you or your sister ever visit your father at his Cuffe Parade residence?" asked Irani.
"No, never," replied Vinod, surprised at the question.
"Did he ever come here?"
"Only on the day my mother died. I thought it was necessary to let him know. He came here just before the body was taken to the crematorium."
"Do you mean to tell me your father had not bothered to see you and your sister for over ten years?" Irani deliberately let the contempt and incredulity show in his voice.
"Nivedita was pathological where Dina was concerned," was the defensive reply. "And some of that hatred initially transmitted itself to Father also. In fact, she kicked up quite a rumpus in public, at the funeral."
"And you?" asked Irani quietly.
"I used to be in touch with him a bit, over the telephone. But not much. I did not wish to upset my mother, you see," he explained ruefully.
"If your sister was so much against Dina Sattar," said Irani casually, "then why did she go to visit her at her residence on the day of her birthday? In fact, the day before she died?"
Even to both the Inspectors' suspicious, trained eyes, the surprise on Vinod Shahane's face was absolutely genuine. He obviously knew nothing about his sister's little visit!
"You're joking," he ejaculated, looking at Irani blankly. "No way would Nivedita have gone there, ever!"
"Would she have known it was her birthday, that day? Did you?" inquired Irani.
Vinod frowned.
"No, I don't think she would have known that. I certainly did not. Father never mentioned it to me, at least."
"How did your sister seem yesterday, Mr. Shahane? Did she seem depressed or morose?" asked Varma.
Vinod said, frankly, "As I've told you, Inspector, she's not been herself for quite some time. She's . . . for the last few years she's been displaying the symptoms of acute depressive neuroses. She's often had bouts of hysteria. And she's always had an obsessional phobia where Dina was concerned. I think," he added carefully, "she had got to a stage where she had ceased to be fully responsible for her actions."
"What are you trying to suggest, Mr. Shahane?" asked Irani quietly.
Vinod seemed taken aback. "1 am not suggesting anything, Inspector," he said. "1 am merely giving you my opinion of my sister's mental and psychological condition."
"Ah yes, you are a Doctor, aren't you? And where do you practise, Dr. Shahane?"
"I'm attached to a hospital, right now," answered Vinod shortly, adding, as though he couldn't help himself, "But I'll be setting up my own Consultancy soon."
"Your father seems to have stayed here last night?" Irani asked, veering from the earlier topic suddenly.
"Yes. My grandmother suggested he do so."
"Is this the first time he's stayed here for the night, after his second marriage?"
"No, he had stayed over the night before my mother's twelfth day ceremonies. "
"Your mother's twelfth day would have been. . . let's see. . . the day before Dina Sattar's birthday? Two days before she was murdered?"
"Yes," said Vinod, adding stiffly, "but I don't see the connection."
"We are just ascertaining the facts, Dr. Shahane," said Irani mildly.
Changing the tack of his inquiry, Irani asked him rather formally, "Can you give us the details of your movements since you last saw your sister, Dr. Shahane?"
Vinod's lips twisted in the semblance of a smile. "There's hardly anything to tell about my 'movements', as you put it, Inspector! My sister came down to dinner. My grandmother insisted on that."
"Insisted?" prompted Irani gently.
"Nivedita had retired to bed with a headache. At dinner time, after my father had come over, Dadi insisted that I call Nivedita to the dining table. I did so. We all had dinner together. My father, grandmother, Arun maama, Suchitra maami, Nivedita and I."
"Any servants?"
"There is a woman who comes part-time in the evenings to prepare the chapattis, heat the food, lay it out, and then clear up. But we always serve ourselves. I don't like servants hovering around while we are dining."
"Quite. What time did this part-time servant leave?"
"Around 9.30. Her husband, who is a chauffeur for one of our neighbours, also finishes his duty generally around that time."
"After the servant left, did you all retire immediately to bed?"
"Nivedita did, pleading a headache. Come to think of it, she really seemed to be in a queer mood yesterday," said Vinod, wrinkling his brow in an effort of concentration.
"Queer? In what way?" asked Irani.
"Even more morose and depressed than usual. Totally disinclined to talk. Even to Dadi, whom she adored. Come to think of it, she appeared to have something weighing on her mind rather heavily."
"Did she say anything to anyone before retiring to her room?"
"No, she just sort of looked around wildly at everyone on the table, blurted out that she had a headache, and then ran off as though the devil himself was after her."
"She never came out of her room afterwards?"
"Not to my knowledge," replied Vinod. Then he furrowed his brow. "Wait a minute - Yes, she did. She came to borrow Crocin from me. Then she went back to her room. Arun maama and Suchitramaami retired shortly after Nivedita."
"Which room are they occupying?" inquired Irani.
"The spare guest room. That's next to my room, which I was sharing with my father last night."
"And your grandmother?"
"The one next to Nivedita. My mother's old room," answered Vinod.
"Are you and your father both heavy sleepers?"
"I am. I am not so sure of my father's sleeping habits, after all these years," answered Vinod a trifle dryly.
"And what time did the two of you retire? And your grandmother?"
"Dadi, Father and I more or less retired for the night together. Maybe around 11 or so. Father came with me to the room, then went out for a short while to telephone his servant at his place that he wouldn't be going there for the night, and then to borrow pajamas from Anm Maama."
"Did you have any alcoholic drink before retiring?"
"Yes. Father felt like a drink. We both had whisky."
"Both of you had the same whisky?" queried Irani.
Vinod answered stiffly, "It was from the same bottle, if that's what you mean." "Did you or your father get up for anything during the night?"
"As I said, I'm a heavy sleeper."
"So you didn't get up. Hear anything at all?"
"No," answered Vinod rather sharply, adding,
"I did not get up till about 6.30 in the morning. I took in the milk and the morning papers, then shaved, showered and dressed for the hospital. Dadi was up before me, praying on the terrace."
"Does she normally do that?" asked Varma.
"No, but I guess this morning it was quite bright, so she felt tempted to go out for a while," Vinod answered somewhat lamely.
"What happened after you showered and changed?"
"I woke my father at about 7.30. I have to be at the hospital by 8.30 am."
"Who found your sister?"
"The servant. The other top-work woman who comes in the mornings. Shantabai. She's been with us for years. Acted as a nanny to Nivedita when she was small,"
"What time does she come in?"
"Normally at around 6.30. Today she was about five-ten minutes late. She went to do Nivedita's room at around 7.45, after doing all the other rooms. All the others were at the table for breakfast. Today Suchitra maami had prepared it. Shantabai went to Nivedita's room and let out a scream. We - my father and I rushed to her room. Arun maama followed. And we found her," he ended, shuddering slightly.
"The door of her room wasn't locked?" queried Varma.
"Obviously not," answered Vinod, a touch of scorn in his voice. "Otherwise Shantabai wouldn't have been able to get in." "Obviously," repeated Irani, rising and holding out his hand.
"Thank you for your co-operation, Dr. Shahane. And now, we'll ask your father just a few questions, if Dr. Bidwai has no objection."
"I'11 go and ascertain from him," offered Varma, forestalling Vinod's protest and going quickly out of the room, before him.
Dr. Bidwai did not object. Prakash seemed to have made a rather quick recovery. But he cautioned Varma that his patient mustn't be tired out or asked too many questions. And at the slightest sign of flagging, they should immediately call him. Both Inspectors readily promised to do so, and shut the door on both him and Vinod, who was trying to get an edge in.
Prakash Sattar was sitting up in bed, propped up by pillows, the blanket now pulled down to his knees. On seeing Irani, he essayed a smile that was ghastly to behold, so pathetic was the attempt! "This time I shan't ask you to await the autopsy results before answering your questions, Inspector," he said weakly.
Irani smiled back bracingly. "And just to take us cops down a peg or two, this will turn out to be just what it seems," he said.
Sattar winced. Irani, a decent soul with some sensitivity, for all his bluff heartiness, said quietly, "I'm sorry Mr. Sattar. This is a very bad time for you. But we have to clear up a few things. Where only you can help us."
Sattar spread out his hands in a futile gesture. "Ask me what you will, Inspector. I'll answer the best I can."
"Thank you. We understand it was your wife's birthday, the day before she died?"
Prakash frowned. "That's true. But what's that got to do with her death? Or my daughter's, for that matter?"
"I didn't say that it had," said Irani mildly. "But we can't rule out the possibility of some connection between the two deaths."
Prakash's face seemed to take on an even grayer tinge. His conscience was playing havoc within himself. In a fit of unaccustomed fancy, he could almost feel his past rise up in retribution against him . . . the tide of his fortune turning. Turning to devour him . . . and his!
Resolutely, Prakash pulled himself together. Tried to attend to what Irani was saying.
"Can you tell us how you and your wife celebrated her birthday?" repeated Irani.
Prakash recovered his astringency. "It was my wife's forty-ninth birthday, Inspector," he answered dryly. "Hardly a birthday she'd want to celebrate with a lot of fuss!"
"I believe you left town that evening itself?" Irani did not bother to prevent the tinge of malice from entering his voice.
"I had some urgent business in Poona," said Prakash, adding, "As I said, the birthday was no big deal for my wife. Anyway, we'd invited her family over for lunch."
"Just who was present at this lunch?" Prakash told him. On further questioning as to the timings of the arrival and departure of the various relatives, he confessed to being a little hazy. But they all had left almost together, by around 3 pm.
"Did anyone else come to visit her?" Prakash looked at both of them in turn, as though trying to assess how much they already knew. Ultimately deciding not to take any chances, he said reluctantly, "My daughter had come over. But she did not meet Dina."
"How so?" asked Varma.
Prakash ran a tired hand over his drawn face. "As you are probably aware, Nivedita hated Dina. For a long time, she refused to meet her or have anything to do with her. Even with me, as a matter of fact. We re-established contact after her mother - my first wife - died. Nivedita seemed to have had second thoughts about Dina then and expressed a desire to meet her." His lips twisted. "Maybe the loss of her own mother brought about that change of heart. I don't know. I just don't know!"
"Didn't you find that rather peculiar, Mr. Sattar? Normally, wouldn't her mother's death have strengthened your daughter's hatred for your second wife?"
Prakash looked at Irani with rather a sad smile. "Who can tell with women, Inspector? Can you always predict how your wife will react?"
Thinking of his no-nonsense, sharp-tongued wife, Irani smiled. "More or less."
Prakash sighed. "I envy you, Inspector. But, to come back to Nivedita, you must remember that she was not quite. . . rational when it came to Dina." He smiled a grimace. "Vinod insists she had an obsessive compulsion to hate Dina. Who knows? Maybe that compulsion reversed itself." He shrugged. "I was too thankful at the change in her attitude to think of analyzing it. Even if I could!"
"Was your daughter aware that it was Mrs. Sattar's birthday, when she came to visit her?"
"Yes," replied Sattar heavily. "She was. I had told her so."
"In what context?" was the inevitable query.
"When she told me she wanted to meet Dina, I suggested she could come over on her birthday. In fact, I would have preferred some other time, but I was going away to Poona and wasn't scheduled to be back for a week or so. Nivedita did not want to wait that long."
Irani's shaggy brows rose. "She was in that much of a hurry to meet your second wife, then?"
"Possibly she wanted to do it before her own mood changed," said Prakash irritably. "Anyway, what does that matter, now? What are you trying to imply, Inspector?"
Ignoring these questions, Irani rapped out, "Did your daughter give Mrs. Sattar any present?"
"As I was telling you, Inspector, ultimately my daughter changed her mind and left without meeting Dina."
"Where were you and Mrs. Sattar when your daughter came in?"
"Both Dina and I were having breakfast in the dining room. Our maid showed her into the Hall. I went out to the Hall first and asked her if she wanted me to be present when she met Dina. She declined, so I went into my room. Dina told me later, that Nivedita had left the house without seeing her. Must have been nervous, I suppose," he hazarded.
"How long was your daughter alone in the Hal1?"
"I really can't say. Passage of time can be quite deceptive. May have been five minutes - may have been fifteen!"
"Did you give your wife any present, Mr. Sattar?" Irani wondered if it was his imagination, or whether there was really a flicker of apprehension in Sattar's eyes, for a moment.
Ultimately he said in a blustering tone, "Of course I did."
"And what was the present?"
"A bottle of perfume. My wife loves perfume. I have been giving her perfume for her birthday for the last couple of years."
"What perfume was it?"
"'Joy'."
Irani thought for a moment. Then he said deliberately, his eyes on Prakash's face, "I must inform you Mr. Sattar, that the poison which killed your wife was put into the bottle of 'Joy' perfume."
Prakash was startled into saying, "So that's . . ." He caught himself, and closed his eyes. He appeared to struggle with his breathing. After a few moments, his agitation quietened down. He opened his eyes and looked at Irani. "I did not put any poison in the bottle of perfume, I assure you Inspector. I do not know who did or how it got there, but I did not! I had no reason to kill my wife. I am genuinely upset by her death."
"I'm sure you are," Irani said sardonically.
Despite feeling sorry for him, Irani had taken a dislike to Sattar. But he was too seasoned a Policeman to allow that to affect his professional judgment. He knew well, with his years of experience, that the twinge of apprehension which showed in Sattar's eyes could well mean anything. Apparently, he had noticed the disappearance of the bottle,and had been worried about it.
Irani recalled the telephone call that had come in from Poona just last night. That Sattar had been staying at the Hotel Blue Diamond with his 'wife'. The telephone call from Fredun Vatcha had been received by a male receptionist, while Sattar himself was out. The message had been given to this 'Mrs. Sattar', whoever she may be. Wouldn't take his boyos too long to find out! If Sattar was carrying on with another woman, thought Irani to himself, he definitely had a motive to get rid of Dina. From what Irani could gather, Sattar's business and political connections would not take kindly to him divorcing her, considering the manner in which he had married her, in the first place!
He turned to Sattar again. Better finish with the chap, and get out before Doc Bidwai decided to throw them out. Sattar was looking none too well!
"What did you do last night, after your daughter retired for the night with a headache?"
"We stayed and talked in the living room for a while. My mother, my son, and I. My brother-in-law and his wife had retired shortly after Nivedita. Then, after my mother too had retired, my son and I went to his room. I then remembered I had not yet phoned my maid and told her I'd not be going to Cuffe Parade that night. I also had to get pajamas from Arun. I did that, and then joined Vinod again. Vinod suggested a drink - I had about three pegs of whisky. Then we went to bed."
"Did Vinod have a drink too?"
"Yes, he too had whisky. But just one peg. My son is not too fond of alcohol, Inspector."
"Are you a light sleeper Mr. Sattar?" asked Irani.
"No Inspector. I'm normally dead to the world when I sleep. And with three whiskies inside me, definitely so!"
"S0 you did not get up at all, during the night?" Sattar seemed to hesitate, frowning a bit. Then he said, "Come to think, I did get up once. Just once. To go to the bathroom."
"Any idea of the time?"
"I do not look at the clock every time I relieve myself, Inspector," Prakash essayed a grim attempt at humour, "Especially in the dead of the night. . . or . . . maybe it was very early morning. I'm not too sure."
"And did your 'going to the bathroom' disturb your son, at al1?" suggested Irani smoothly.
"Vinod was awake when I got back to the room," answered Prakash.
"Got back to the room?" repeated Irani. "Isn't there an attached bathroom in the bedroom you were sharing with your son?"
Prakash snapped irritably, "Yes, there is. But I was more likely to awaken Vinod if I used the attached bathroom. Or so I thought, anyway. So I went to the common bathroom."
"And where is that situated?"
"Just off the living room."
"Do you have to pass Nivedita's bedroom, to reach there from Vinod's room?"
"Yes." the tone was choleric, now. "And I may tell you, Inspector, that you had better have a care. You are overstepping your limits. I did not," he went on, cutting off Irani's exclamation, "go into my daughter's room, nor did I even open the door. If that is what you are implying."
"I have not implied anything of the sort, Mr. Sattar," answered Irani levelly. "What I would like to know if you can think coolly, is, did you hear any sound at all when you passed your daughter's room? Did any light show from under the door? Did you notice anything at all unusual?"
"No. No to all your questions. In fact, there was pin-drop silence. And no light showing from anywhere. Except the lamp my mother had lit, in the living room. In the Pooja alcove." Prakash lay back against the pillows. He seemed exhausted, his brief burst of anger having spent itself.
Irani looked at him consideringly, and decided it was time to leave. He did not want to precipitate a heart attack in Sattar.
"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Sattar. We'll let you know if we need anything further from you."
"Inspector!" The urgent plea in Sattar's voice arrested both the men as they were almost out of the door.
"Inspector," rasped out Sattar. He had half raised himself. "She couldn't possibly have killed Dina, could she?"
Despite his dislike for the man, an unaccustomed feeling of pity assailed Irani. "Don't you anticipate our investigation, Mr. Sattar," he said in a rallying tone, adding in a softer voice, "Don't worry, we'll do our best to solve the case as soon as possible. No sense in imagining things in the meanwhile."
*
Saturday, February 7, 2009
The Turning - Chapter Fourteen
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
At the Shahane residence, the table was being laid for dinner. Everyone except Nivedita was in the dining room. The Khannas condoled with Prakash, looking embarrassed. Kuntabai asked Vinod to go and fetch Nivedita from her room. "And don't you listen to any excuses Beta," called the old lady after him, as he rose to go. "You make sure she comes to the dining table."
To everybody's surprise, Nivedita came without demur. Apart from her red, swollen eyes, she seemed quite normal. She even offered a feeble 'hello' to her father.
Well into his second roti, Arun Khanna judged it seemly to ask Prakash, "Have the police found out anything?"
"Nothing much really, except that she was poisoned," answered Prakash dully, adding that the poison used was an unusual one. "Some form of benzene, or so the doctors believe."
"And how was she given the poison?" persisted Arun, again.
"The Doctors aren't sure about that. "
"Poor lady," said Vinod. "Just after her birthday, too!"
"Yes," sighed Prakash heavily. "And there's another funny thing. The bottle of perfume I gave her as a birthday present seems to be missing from her dressing table."
"What do you mean Papa? 'Missing'?" That was Nivedita, showing curiosity about Dina's murder for the first time.
"Just that, darling," answered her father. "It's not there on her dressing table any more. I can't imagine where it has disappeared. Unless Dina herself broke it, and got the glass cleared up."
"Have you informed the police about it?" asked Vinod casually.
Prakash frowned. "I don't think it concerns them in any way. They have to investigate what they think is a murder, not bother about missing perfume bottles," he said rather disagreeably.
Kuntabai broke into the conversation. "Now that's quite enough talk about deaths and murders," she said decisively, her eyes covertly watching her son's gray, drawn face. They softened. "Beta," she said in a tone she had not used to him for over ten years, "you had better sleep here tonight, instead of staying alone in that place. Better still, stay here for a few days. The change will do you good."
Prakash smiled, his face brightening at her tone. "I don't know about a 'few days' maa," he said, "but I think I will stay over, tonight. I'll ring up Fatima and tell her I'm not coming home."
"That's a good idea," said Vinod. "I think Arun Maama's night clothes should do for you," anticipating an offer to that effect from the rather reluctant Arun.
After dinner, while the family had gathered together in the living room, Nivedita once more pleaded a headache, and went off to her room.
It was not an excuse. She really had a splitting headache, and the dinner seemed to have made it worse. After tossing and turning in agony for some time, she went to her dressing table pulled open the overstuffed drawer, and fumbled for the strip of Crocin she kept there. The strip had no tablets in it. All of them had been squeezed out.
Damn! Then she remembered. Vinod always kept some, in his bathroom cabinet. She padded over to his room. It was empty. And in darkness. He must still be in the living room, she thought.
She went into the bathroom, switched on the lamp there and opened the cabinet. She had to stand slightly on tiptoe to do so. She fumbled for the strip, knocking down a bottle in the process. She righted it automatically, then left the room, clutching the strip of Crocin in her hand.
She passed Vinod and her father, both going into Vinod's room just as she was leaving it. She tried to catch Vinod's eye. He was staring at the strip of Crocin in her hand. She informed him that she had a headache and stalked off to her room.
Prakash hesitated at the door, then told Vinod that he'd be along in a few minutes. He had forgotten to telephone Fatima, and to get some night-clothes from Arun.
Vinod got a bottle of whisky and two glasses. The ice bucket was already placed in his room.
* * * *
Kuntabai's sleep was disturbed, a little past midnight. Her eyelids fluttered. Always a light sleeper, of late she seemed to have become positively insomniac.
She knit her brow in the darkness, puzzled. Was it her imagination, or was she really hearing sounds? Strange sounds. As though someone were enjoying a particularly strenuous coupling!
Rather incongruous in this household, surely! Or was it? she wondered, troubled. There! There was that distinct 'thump', again! Followed by a quickly smothered squeal. A vague uneasiness gripped her. Then she pulled herself together and shrugged herself mentally into a fitful sleep.
Just as Kuntabai had finally fallen asleep, Vinod stirred restlessly. A glance at his bedside clock showed 4 in the morning. He sat up in bed, and stretched his arms overhead. Then he frowned.
The bedroom door was ajar! And the bed next to him empty!
Wondering what had happened to Prakash, he got out of bed and made for the door - only to collide into Prakash, as he entered.
"Did I disturb you? I'm sorry," he said, with a slightly selfconscious laugh. "My bladder's getting weak! And I'm getting old," he mumbled, sitting down heavily on the bed. "Good night," he said to Vinod, who was still standing uncertainly by the door, and lay down, pulling the sheet over him.
*
At the Shahane residence, the table was being laid for dinner. Everyone except Nivedita was in the dining room. The Khannas condoled with Prakash, looking embarrassed. Kuntabai asked Vinod to go and fetch Nivedita from her room. "And don't you listen to any excuses Beta," called the old lady after him, as he rose to go. "You make sure she comes to the dining table."
To everybody's surprise, Nivedita came without demur. Apart from her red, swollen eyes, she seemed quite normal. She even offered a feeble 'hello' to her father.
Well into his second roti, Arun Khanna judged it seemly to ask Prakash, "Have the police found out anything?"
"Nothing much really, except that she was poisoned," answered Prakash dully, adding that the poison used was an unusual one. "Some form of benzene, or so the doctors believe."
"And how was she given the poison?" persisted Arun, again.
"The Doctors aren't sure about that. "
"Poor lady," said Vinod. "Just after her birthday, too!"
"Yes," sighed Prakash heavily. "And there's another funny thing. The bottle of perfume I gave her as a birthday present seems to be missing from her dressing table."
"What do you mean Papa? 'Missing'?" That was Nivedita, showing curiosity about Dina's murder for the first time.
"Just that, darling," answered her father. "It's not there on her dressing table any more. I can't imagine where it has disappeared. Unless Dina herself broke it, and got the glass cleared up."
"Have you informed the police about it?" asked Vinod casually.
Prakash frowned. "I don't think it concerns them in any way. They have to investigate what they think is a murder, not bother about missing perfume bottles," he said rather disagreeably.
Kuntabai broke into the conversation. "Now that's quite enough talk about deaths and murders," she said decisively, her eyes covertly watching her son's gray, drawn face. They softened. "Beta," she said in a tone she had not used to him for over ten years, "you had better sleep here tonight, instead of staying alone in that place. Better still, stay here for a few days. The change will do you good."
Prakash smiled, his face brightening at her tone. "I don't know about a 'few days' maa," he said, "but I think I will stay over, tonight. I'll ring up Fatima and tell her I'm not coming home."
"That's a good idea," said Vinod. "I think Arun Maama's night clothes should do for you," anticipating an offer to that effect from the rather reluctant Arun.
After dinner, while the family had gathered together in the living room, Nivedita once more pleaded a headache, and went off to her room.
It was not an excuse. She really had a splitting headache, and the dinner seemed to have made it worse. After tossing and turning in agony for some time, she went to her dressing table pulled open the overstuffed drawer, and fumbled for the strip of Crocin she kept there. The strip had no tablets in it. All of them had been squeezed out.
Damn! Then she remembered. Vinod always kept some, in his bathroom cabinet. She padded over to his room. It was empty. And in darkness. He must still be in the living room, she thought.
She went into the bathroom, switched on the lamp there and opened the cabinet. She had to stand slightly on tiptoe to do so. She fumbled for the strip, knocking down a bottle in the process. She righted it automatically, then left the room, clutching the strip of Crocin in her hand.
She passed Vinod and her father, both going into Vinod's room just as she was leaving it. She tried to catch Vinod's eye. He was staring at the strip of Crocin in her hand. She informed him that she had a headache and stalked off to her room.
Prakash hesitated at the door, then told Vinod that he'd be along in a few minutes. He had forgotten to telephone Fatima, and to get some night-clothes from Arun.
Vinod got a bottle of whisky and two glasses. The ice bucket was already placed in his room.
* * * *
Kuntabai's sleep was disturbed, a little past midnight. Her eyelids fluttered. Always a light sleeper, of late she seemed to have become positively insomniac.
She knit her brow in the darkness, puzzled. Was it her imagination, or was she really hearing sounds? Strange sounds. As though someone were enjoying a particularly strenuous coupling!
Rather incongruous in this household, surely! Or was it? she wondered, troubled. There! There was that distinct 'thump', again! Followed by a quickly smothered squeal. A vague uneasiness gripped her. Then she pulled herself together and shrugged herself mentally into a fitful sleep.
Just as Kuntabai had finally fallen asleep, Vinod stirred restlessly. A glance at his bedside clock showed 4 in the morning. He sat up in bed, and stretched his arms overhead. Then he frowned.
The bedroom door was ajar! And the bed next to him empty!
Wondering what had happened to Prakash, he got out of bed and made for the door - only to collide into Prakash, as he entered.
"Did I disturb you? I'm sorry," he said, with a slightly selfconscious laugh. "My bladder's getting weak! And I'm getting old," he mumbled, sitting down heavily on the bed. "Good night," he said to Vinod, who was still standing uncertainly by the door, and lay down, pulling the sheet over him.
*
The Turning - Chapter Thirteen
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Khurshed Sooneji looked resigned. He let Rodricks in, raising no objection about the late hour the policeman had chosen to visit him. It was a little past 10 at night. He himself had just returned from the club with. . . Khurshed's voice trailed off. However, it was not with a view to withhold information. It was just that he did not think the Inspector would want to know anything about Porus. The Inspector however, had other ideas.
"If your brother is staying here with you, Mr. Sooneji, I'd like to know a few things from him, also," said Rodricks firmly.
Khurshed went to a closed door and shouted through it. He came back and informed Rodricks that his brother would be out shortly.
"Had you been in touch with Mrs. Sattar after your divorce?" asked Rodricks.
"Not immediately. But after a couple of years, yes, we did come across one another again, sometimes."
"She was a member of the same clubs as you, perhaps?"
"Yes. That is, Sattar was. I mean. . . is. He's a member of quite a few. I hold memberships in about a couple, myself."
"Do you know how relations were, between herself and Mr. Sattar?"
"Good God, Inspector, what do you imagine I am? Some kind of a voyeur?" asked Khurshed, roused to unaccustomed fury.
Rodricks made soothing noises.
Ignoring them, Khurshed went on. "Our conversation, Inspector, was general. I was not in the habit of asking her any questions regarding her. . . second marriage or . . . or Sattar."
"You may not have asked questions, Mr. Sooneji," said Rodricks mildly. "But you knew her for so long. And so well. Perhaps you realized whether she was happy or not, in her new marriage?"
Khurshed's spurt of anger evaporated. "I don't think she was too happy," he answered shortly, adding fairly, "But I'm not sure if Sattar had anything to do with that."
"You think it was something she herself was responsible for?" Rodricks asked, trying to lead up to the delicate subject of her conversion.
"She herself was responsible for everything."
They turned at the sound of this new voice. Porus Sooneji stood leaning against the bedroom door, staring at Rodricks intensely. He was in his pajamas, with a shirt flung over his Sudreh.
He came forward slowly. Khurshed introduced him, once more resigning himself. He made no effort to check his brother's eloquence. After all, what did it matter, now? Nothing mattered, Khurshed told himself wearily. Ever since her murder had been discovered by the Press, Dina's life was being commented upon and judged daily in the newspapers with all the exaggeration journalists felt they could get away with.
Murder did not allow for discretion or decorum.
With an effort, Khurshed tried to concentrate on what Porus was saying.
Porus was well into his stride, now that he had an uncensorious audience. He vomitted out the grievances that had been gnawing at him for years. . . Khurshed wouldn't listen to a word against Dina. Aftab himself had too many grievances to ventilate, to listen patiently to anybody else's. But this Inspector chappie would listen! That's what he had come for, after all. To dig up the dirt about Dina!
"She ruined my brother's life, Inspector! She made a mockery of her own religion! Converted merely so she could marry that bastard. And then, when that went bust, ran crying to my brother again. To get him in her clutches again. A thoroughly selfish woman, Inspector. And a hypocrite of the first order. Always pretending to be holier-than-thou! Trying to make a show of being generous and doing things for the sake of other people, all the while scheming for herself!" Viciously, he went on, "!' d never liked her! Told my brother so. But he was besotted! Never saw her for what she really was!"
Rodricks listened to this illuminating diatribe, deeply interested. He felt he was hearing a side of Dina Sattar which had not so far been revealed by anyone. And his instinct told him that there was more truth in this rather unbalanced fellow's version of the murdered woman's character than he would be given credit for. Dina Sattar selfish and hypocritical. . . yes, she probably was that!
"What made you believe that Dina was trying to get your brother in 'her clutches', as you put it, again?" Rodricks asked Porus.
Porus' reply now was not quite so forthcoming. He said vaguely, "Our sister Meher had warned me over the telephone. So I came down."
"Came down?"
"My brother lives in Hong Kong, Inspector," supplied Khurshed.
"You came down from Hong Kong merely because your sister told you that your brother had been seeing his ex-wife again?" Rodricks asked Porus.
"Of course!" It seemed quite natural to Porus. "I had no other reason to come down at this time!"
"When did you actually come down, Mr. Sooneji?"
"The same day that I went to Dina's place and found Khurshed there. I landed in the morning." He turned round in surprise as Khurshed coughed. A patently artificial cough.
"What day was that, sir?" asked Rodricks casually.
"The day. . . the day. . ." Porus looked uncertainly from Rodricks to Khurshed, and back again. "Damn you," he suddenly burst out angrily. "Are you trying to trap me or something?"
"No, Mr. Sooneji. I am merely eliciting information. What day was that, please?"
It was again Khurshed who answered, his voice sounding tired. "It was the 27th of June, Inspector. The day Dina died."
"Thank you." Rodricks turned to Porus again. "Did you go to your brother's house first, straight from the airport?"
"No," Porus sounded a trifle sulky now. He glanced sideways at Khurshed. "I first went to Meher's place."
"No doubt to hear all about what I had been doing, from her." Khurshed cut in sarcastically.
Porus shrugged, suddenly peevish. "Do you want to ask me anything else, Inspector?" he asked irritably. "I'm feeling rather sleepy."
Rodricks had no further questions to ask of him, and did not detain him. On the contrary, he had been wondering how to get rid of Porus, noW that he had got whatever he wanted from him. He wanted to question Khurshed further. Alone.
After Porus had disappeared, Khurshed asked Rodricks if he'd like some tea or coffee. Rodricks declined.
"Not while you're on duty, I suppose," smiled Khurshed, just a tinge of satire in his voice.
"Mr. Sooneji, I just have a few more questions to ask you. When you met Mrs. Sattar on the day of her death, did you notice anything strange in her behaviour?"
"Strange. . . in what way?"
"Physically. Did she appear to be hung over? Was she feeling dizzy? Was her speech slurred?"
Khurshed frowned. "Frankly, Inspector, I was with her for a very, very short while, before we were interrupted by my brother, as you seem to be aware. And most of the time, I'm afraid I did not pay much attention to Dina. I was rather preoccupied, myself."
"What were you preoccupied about, Mr. Sooneji?"
Khurshed cursed himself. One had to be careful what one said to these blokes. This fellow was damn sharp! He gave Rodricks a frank look. "Can you be discreet, Inspector?"
"We try to be," assured Rodricks.
Khurshed shrugged. "God alone knows, everything's been tomtommed in the papers enough! To answer your question. About my preoccupation. Well, I'd had a call from my cousin, who's a priest, a couple of days before I met Dina . . . last. He was all het up."
"What about?" prompted Rodricks, as Khurshed appeared to be in danger of lapsing into a long silence.
"About the fact that Dina seemed to be visiting the Fire Temple." He looked up. "My cousin is a priest, Inspector. Rabidly orthodox. He did not feel it right that Dina should visit the Fire Temple any longer, after she had converted to Islam. For whatever reason."
"Did you agree with him, Mr. Sooneji?" asked Rodricks curiously.
Khurshed seemed to examine the floor."
"I'm afraid I did, Inspector," he said in a low voice.
So that was that, mused Rodricks. Dina Sattar seemed to have forfeited the good opinion of those who had loved her once. Casually he asked Khurshed, "While you were with Mrs. Sattar at her residence, were you in the drawing room throughout?"
"Of course," replied Khurshed coldly. "where else do you imagine I'd be?"
"It's not for me to imagine things, Mr. Sooneji," Rodricks replied genially. "I'm merely trying to ascertain facts. And your brother?"
"My brother was at Dina's for no more than fifteen minutes, if that long. And he too was in the drawing room, all the while." He gave a bitter smile. "None of us ever entered Dina's bedroom, if that's what you are getting at, Inspector!"
Rodricks noted the irony in Khurshed's tone. He rose. "Now, if you'll just give me the name and address of this cousin of yours, Mr. Sooneji, I'll not trouble you any further."
Khurshed looked up, frowning. "Do you really need to question him? He could have had nothing to do with all this."
"Maybe, maybe not," said Rodricks. "We'll see if we need to question him. But I need the name and address, just in case."
*
Khurshed Sooneji looked resigned. He let Rodricks in, raising no objection about the late hour the policeman had chosen to visit him. It was a little past 10 at night. He himself had just returned from the club with. . . Khurshed's voice trailed off. However, it was not with a view to withhold information. It was just that he did not think the Inspector would want to know anything about Porus. The Inspector however, had other ideas.
"If your brother is staying here with you, Mr. Sooneji, I'd like to know a few things from him, also," said Rodricks firmly.
Khurshed went to a closed door and shouted through it. He came back and informed Rodricks that his brother would be out shortly.
"Had you been in touch with Mrs. Sattar after your divorce?" asked Rodricks.
"Not immediately. But after a couple of years, yes, we did come across one another again, sometimes."
"She was a member of the same clubs as you, perhaps?"
"Yes. That is, Sattar was. I mean. . . is. He's a member of quite a few. I hold memberships in about a couple, myself."
"Do you know how relations were, between herself and Mr. Sattar?"
"Good God, Inspector, what do you imagine I am? Some kind of a voyeur?" asked Khurshed, roused to unaccustomed fury.
Rodricks made soothing noises.
Ignoring them, Khurshed went on. "Our conversation, Inspector, was general. I was not in the habit of asking her any questions regarding her. . . second marriage or . . . or Sattar."
"You may not have asked questions, Mr. Sooneji," said Rodricks mildly. "But you knew her for so long. And so well. Perhaps you realized whether she was happy or not, in her new marriage?"
Khurshed's spurt of anger evaporated. "I don't think she was too happy," he answered shortly, adding fairly, "But I'm not sure if Sattar had anything to do with that."
"You think it was something she herself was responsible for?" Rodricks asked, trying to lead up to the delicate subject of her conversion.
"She herself was responsible for everything."
They turned at the sound of this new voice. Porus Sooneji stood leaning against the bedroom door, staring at Rodricks intensely. He was in his pajamas, with a shirt flung over his Sudreh.
He came forward slowly. Khurshed introduced him, once more resigning himself. He made no effort to check his brother's eloquence. After all, what did it matter, now? Nothing mattered, Khurshed told himself wearily. Ever since her murder had been discovered by the Press, Dina's life was being commented upon and judged daily in the newspapers with all the exaggeration journalists felt they could get away with.
Murder did not allow for discretion or decorum.
With an effort, Khurshed tried to concentrate on what Porus was saying.
Porus was well into his stride, now that he had an uncensorious audience. He vomitted out the grievances that had been gnawing at him for years. . . Khurshed wouldn't listen to a word against Dina. Aftab himself had too many grievances to ventilate, to listen patiently to anybody else's. But this Inspector chappie would listen! That's what he had come for, after all. To dig up the dirt about Dina!
"She ruined my brother's life, Inspector! She made a mockery of her own religion! Converted merely so she could marry that bastard. And then, when that went bust, ran crying to my brother again. To get him in her clutches again. A thoroughly selfish woman, Inspector. And a hypocrite of the first order. Always pretending to be holier-than-thou! Trying to make a show of being generous and doing things for the sake of other people, all the while scheming for herself!" Viciously, he went on, "!' d never liked her! Told my brother so. But he was besotted! Never saw her for what she really was!"
Rodricks listened to this illuminating diatribe, deeply interested. He felt he was hearing a side of Dina Sattar which had not so far been revealed by anyone. And his instinct told him that there was more truth in this rather unbalanced fellow's version of the murdered woman's character than he would be given credit for. Dina Sattar selfish and hypocritical. . . yes, she probably was that!
"What made you believe that Dina was trying to get your brother in 'her clutches', as you put it, again?" Rodricks asked Porus.
Porus' reply now was not quite so forthcoming. He said vaguely, "Our sister Meher had warned me over the telephone. So I came down."
"Came down?"
"My brother lives in Hong Kong, Inspector," supplied Khurshed.
"You came down from Hong Kong merely because your sister told you that your brother had been seeing his ex-wife again?" Rodricks asked Porus.
"Of course!" It seemed quite natural to Porus. "I had no other reason to come down at this time!"
"When did you actually come down, Mr. Sooneji?"
"The same day that I went to Dina's place and found Khurshed there. I landed in the morning." He turned round in surprise as Khurshed coughed. A patently artificial cough.
"What day was that, sir?" asked Rodricks casually.
"The day. . . the day. . ." Porus looked uncertainly from Rodricks to Khurshed, and back again. "Damn you," he suddenly burst out angrily. "Are you trying to trap me or something?"
"No, Mr. Sooneji. I am merely eliciting information. What day was that, please?"
It was again Khurshed who answered, his voice sounding tired. "It was the 27th of June, Inspector. The day Dina died."
"Thank you." Rodricks turned to Porus again. "Did you go to your brother's house first, straight from the airport?"
"No," Porus sounded a trifle sulky now. He glanced sideways at Khurshed. "I first went to Meher's place."
"No doubt to hear all about what I had been doing, from her." Khurshed cut in sarcastically.
Porus shrugged, suddenly peevish. "Do you want to ask me anything else, Inspector?" he asked irritably. "I'm feeling rather sleepy."
Rodricks had no further questions to ask of him, and did not detain him. On the contrary, he had been wondering how to get rid of Porus, noW that he had got whatever he wanted from him. He wanted to question Khurshed further. Alone.
After Porus had disappeared, Khurshed asked Rodricks if he'd like some tea or coffee. Rodricks declined.
"Not while you're on duty, I suppose," smiled Khurshed, just a tinge of satire in his voice.
"Mr. Sooneji, I just have a few more questions to ask you. When you met Mrs. Sattar on the day of her death, did you notice anything strange in her behaviour?"
"Strange. . . in what way?"
"Physically. Did she appear to be hung over? Was she feeling dizzy? Was her speech slurred?"
Khurshed frowned. "Frankly, Inspector, I was with her for a very, very short while, before we were interrupted by my brother, as you seem to be aware. And most of the time, I'm afraid I did not pay much attention to Dina. I was rather preoccupied, myself."
"What were you preoccupied about, Mr. Sooneji?"
Khurshed cursed himself. One had to be careful what one said to these blokes. This fellow was damn sharp! He gave Rodricks a frank look. "Can you be discreet, Inspector?"
"We try to be," assured Rodricks.
Khurshed shrugged. "God alone knows, everything's been tomtommed in the papers enough! To answer your question. About my preoccupation. Well, I'd had a call from my cousin, who's a priest, a couple of days before I met Dina . . . last. He was all het up."
"What about?" prompted Rodricks, as Khurshed appeared to be in danger of lapsing into a long silence.
"About the fact that Dina seemed to be visiting the Fire Temple." He looked up. "My cousin is a priest, Inspector. Rabidly orthodox. He did not feel it right that Dina should visit the Fire Temple any longer, after she had converted to Islam. For whatever reason."
"Did you agree with him, Mr. Sooneji?" asked Rodricks curiously.
Khurshed seemed to examine the floor."
"I'm afraid I did, Inspector," he said in a low voice.
So that was that, mused Rodricks. Dina Sattar seemed to have forfeited the good opinion of those who had loved her once. Casually he asked Khurshed, "While you were with Mrs. Sattar at her residence, were you in the drawing room throughout?"
"Of course," replied Khurshed coldly. "where else do you imagine I'd be?"
"It's not for me to imagine things, Mr. Sooneji," Rodricks replied genially. "I'm merely trying to ascertain facts. And your brother?"
"My brother was at Dina's for no more than fifteen minutes, if that long. And he too was in the drawing room, all the while." He gave a bitter smile. "None of us ever entered Dina's bedroom, if that's what you are getting at, Inspector!"
Rodricks noted the irony in Khurshed's tone. He rose. "Now, if you'll just give me the name and address of this cousin of yours, Mr. Sooneji, I'll not trouble you any further."
Khurshed looked up, frowning. "Do you really need to question him? He could have had nothing to do with all this."
"Maybe, maybe not," said Rodricks. "We'll see if we need to question him. But I need the name and address, just in case."
*
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