The Turning - Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

Zerxes and Fredun drove off together to Zerxes' flat. Zerxes opened the latch with his key and led Fredun, visiting his home for the first time, into the cool, well-designed drawing room.

Fredun was struck by an immediate impression of space and harmony, though the room was not particularly large in size. The colour scheme was at once striking and restful. One wall was pearl gray, with a cubist mural on it in shades of bottle-green, amethyst, salmon and ivory. The two walls flanking it were painted ivory. The fourth space comprised almost totally of a huge bay window, barring a wide ledge at a height of about two feet from the floor, set with Dholpur stone, which served as a window seat. The window overlooked the expanse of the sea which right then was ablaze with the hues of the setting sun. The sliding glass panel was open, the sound of the surf bringing the ocean almost into the flat. Scherezade, who had a passion for the sea, teased Zerxes that she had initially fallen for his flat, before succumbing to his own charms!

The furniture was to the minimum. There were no curios, no photographs, no knick knacks. Just two triangular brackets set in the corners created by the gray and ivory walls, with three glass shelves, each holding one single, exquisite, piece of crystal. Pots of unusual plants and ferns were placed with cunning unconcern all over the room, giving an impression of uncultivated greenery. Fredun recognized his daughter's hand in this.

Fredun waited in the drawing room while Zerxes went to fetch Scherezade. She was in the study-cum-office, glancing idly through a paper Zerxes had been working on for a forthcoming conference. She looked up with a poignant smile as he entered.

The study was all leather and wood. Almost complete wood panelling on the walls, leather upholstery on the chairs and the couch conveniently placed next to the table. Plants had found their way into the study too, but here they submitted to the discipline of the Law.

One of the walls was completely given over to law books and reports, with a vertical, rectangular-shaped window cleft between the shelves, overlooking the sea. The half of one wall contained books on other subjects, including a few novels and books of poetry, with a sheet glass window on the top. A little away from his desk was a small conference area. The wall to the right held a unit containing a Television, a Video player and a Sansui music system, with racks full of cassettes and compact discs. Pink Floyd, Leonard Cohen and Jethro Tull rubbed jackets with Mozart, Bach and Debussy.

Scherezade had put on a CD of Chopin which she had found hiding forlornly among other less self-indulgent composers. It was the Preludes. The CD had reached No. 20, which she had designated the 'Funeral March Prelude'.

Zerxes smiled grimly as he entered the study, then his lips relaxed as he bent his head to kiss her.

"Where's your mother?" he asked.

"Oh, she saw that I was perfectly all right, and went back home. She'll have to make an evening snack for her darling son! He should be home any moment now."

Ignoring this reference to her brother, he asked, "And how are you really feeling, my love?"
"Really absolutely fine," she responded with feigned gaiety. Her face changed as she looked up into his. " Darling! What's wrong?" she asked.

"We had a visit from the police at Dina's. They say there's a possibility that she did not die of natural causes," said Zerxes quietly.

Scherezade's eyes widened. "You mean, she committed suicide?" she asked in a horrified whisper.

"The police rather seem to think she was murdered," answered Zerxes a shade dryly, caressing Scherezade's hair off her face.

"Murdered?" she echoed incredulously. "Rubbish," she went on in a brisk ~one, sounding more like her usual self. "Why should anyone want to murder her? Who would want to murder her? There's some mistake. It can't possibly be murder . . . can't." She trailed off rather uncertainly, not quite liking what the look on his face indicated. "Why, she was all alone in the. house! Except for Fatima. And surely Fatima would never. . ."

She searched his eyes for the reassurance he could not give. Then she buried her face in her hands and started sobbing. Zerxes pulled her up off the chair, enfolded her in his arms and held her while she ventilated her feelings into his sustaining shoulder. After a while he held her a little away from him, took out his handkerchief and gently wiped her wet cheeks. She smiled tremulously, the tears still spangling her curling lashes.

Zerxes smiled back, a teasing yet reassuring smile. "Crybaby," he mocked softly. "Come - your father will wonder what we're up to."

"Dad?" asked Scherezade amazed. "He's here?"

"I thought it best to bring him down here straight from Dina's. Your Jamshed Uncle took Banoo home. On the way here, I explained to Fredun that you had been here the entire night."

A gleam of mischief stole into her tawny eyes. "You did! And how did he take such a direct approach? Usually Dad deals mainly in euphemisms when it comes to subjects he'd rather avoid. Or realities he'd like to wish away," she added sarcastically.

Frowning admonitorily, he shook her a little and propelled her towards the drawing room, ordering Krishna, who had come out of the kitchen, to get some tea and snacks to the living room.

"Where's your mother?" was the first question her father asked her, adding awkwardly, "and how are you? Are you all right?"

"Mother's gone back home. And I'm fine. Perfectly all right."

Fredun looked from her tight, suddenly closed-in face to Zerxes and back. "I suppose he's told you what happened?" he asked, his tone a shade too casual.

"If you mean about Dina Fui possibly being murdered, yes he has," she replied shortly. "Though I can't imagine who would want to murder her, or why."

"No, it is somewhat inconceivable," agreed her father shortly. He rose from the divan. "Are you coming home with me?"

At that moment Krishna walked in, bearing the tea tray. Fredun reluctantly sat down again. Scherezade poured. Fredun thought to himself, almost resentfully, that she seemed more at home in Zerxes's flat than in her own house.

She had been going around with Zerxes for two years now. Ever since she had met him in Court while doing a bit of free-lance journalism, writing an article on that sensational rape case involving a socialite and the friend of her boyfriend . . .

. . . It had turned out to be a case of parental pressure pushing the girl into complaining about what had really been consensual intercourse. Scherezade had initially been all het up on behalf of the girl, furiously lashing out against the Counsel who appeared in Court for the accused. Until the girl's testimony under cross-examination convinced even the prejudiced Scherezade that the girl had been lying, and that for once the man was the victim.

She had been impressed by the handsome young lawyer's courtcraft and had requested him for an interview. The request for the interview had been declined, but an invitation to dinner had ensued.

Followed by several dinners. Music concerts. Long drives. Out of town trips. Days and nights spent together. Fredun and Rashna, initially protesting, had ultimately been compelled to accept their unconventional relationship by the unacknowledged fear that Sherrie might move in with 'that fellow', if they tried to pressurize her into anything, including marriage . . .

After tea, Fredun didn't bother to repeat his question as to whether Sherrie would be going home with him. He realized that she and Zerxes would have dinner together before he dropped her home, if at all! Reassured that she had recovered from whatever bout of illness that had apparently attacked her, Fredun left.

* * * *

In the meanwhile, Patil and Rodricks had returned to the Cuffe Parade Police Station.
Rodricks had as yet never been able to enter that Station without experiencing the feeling of being caught up in a grotesque fusion of the two utterly discordant realities of that double-faced city. The opulent affluence of the five star hotel and the World Trade Centre on one flank, representative of the world of the super-rich, bristling with unbridled consumerism; and the grim struggling existence of the garbage-strewn shanties on the other, just opposite the entrance of the Station, with halfnaked, rickety children running around, drooling saliva and snot. Their elders eking out a precarious living on the strength of their unreliable wits and by the grace of a grudging God. And the Police Station itself, nestling in the improbable setting of the verdant Colaba Woods which sprawled almost all round, nacreously struggling to smother an unseemly intrusion, but not quite succeeding.

They walked in to find Sheriyar Irani leaning on the jamb of the open door of his cabin, frowning over a document. He looked up as they neared and held it out to Patil. "Read that," he rapped out.

"The Coroner's report?" queried Patil.

"You'll have to get to work, boyos," Irani spoke with some relish, slapping his thigh. It was not often that he got the chance to investigate the murder of the second wife of a rich and influential businessman with high-level political connections.

"Yessir," he cried, once more slapping his stocky right flank resoundingly. "You'll have to get down to some real solid work. Real quick!" He looked at his two subordinates from under his remarkable brows, his small, beady black eyes looking quite fierce. "The boyos up at Sachivalaya won't like this. Won't like this at all!" he prophesied with unholy relish.

He was quite right. In the corridors of power, the wires had already started humming. More than a few brows were creased in worry among the top echelons of the Administration. The Finance Secretary buzzed the Home Secretary who, in turn, was waiting to get the connection to the Law Secretary, who was out of station in some God-forsaken place where there were no STD lines.
The buzzing graduated to the Ministers and ultimately the CM himself who picked up his telephone and asked for Prakash Sattar.

He put down the receiver after a brief, terse conversation, apparently satisfied. He was a little taken aback though, at what Sattar had to tell him. Poor chap, he thought to himself, ringing for a second cup of coffee.

It was a good thing, he told himself, that that fellow Irani was in charge of the Cuffe Parade Police Station. A bit of a rough diamond, but he normally delivered the goods. And was quite a popular figure! Moved in fairly high social circles himself. Rich wife. Lots of chickoo farms at Dahanu and all that! Knew how to handle the better placed witnesses and suspects, as well as the run-of-the-mill criminals. And probably, they'd call the DCP in. Yes, that would be a good idea!

He wrinkled his bulbous nose in an effort of memory. Let's see now, that zone meant Tagore would be the DCP concerned. The stiffrumped stickler that he was, Tagore wouldn't like it if he spoke to him directly. Tagore did not brook political interference in his work. No! Better get on to the Commissioner himself. Get him to ask Tagore to oversee the investigation.

'Oversee the investigation'! That had a nice ring to it! Gulping down his coffee, he lifted his receiver again and asked for the Commissioner of Police. Then he stared at his empty coffee cup broodingly. He didn't like the smell of this business. And Sattar was a close-mouthed bastard. One never could tell with him, he thought, suddenly a bit uneasy. Even the good Lord didn't quite know what a murder investigation might throw up! And the elections so close! He sighed and ordered another cup of coffee.

While the most important man in the State sat thus, drinking coffee and brooding over a malignant Fate, a different kind of unease had gripped Jamshed and Banoo Maa.

Jamshed had persuaded Banoo Maa to have dinner with him and Shirin that night. Tehmul was dining out with an old school friend who had come over from Canada. Even Shirin's notions of propriety had not been offended by her son having a private dinner with an old school friend. That could not be termed 'dining out', she made the nice distinction in her mind.

Banoo Maa's tired mind had rebelled at the thought of having dinner that night of all nights, in Shirin's company. She did not mind Jamshed so much. Then she was guiltily ashamed of such thoughts. Shirin, irritating though she was, meant well. Banoo Maa felt guilty enough to accept the invitation.

Jamshed opened the door with his latch-key, ushered the old lady in, and called out to his wife. There was no response. Thinking she was in the kitchen, Jamshed made his way there, calling out her name again.

To get to the kitchen, he had to cross the passage past their bedroom. They had only one bedroom. Tehmul slept in the living room, converting the sofa there into a bed at night. The bedroom door was open, and through the bead curtain, a legacy from his wife's grandmother to all her grandchildren, he saw Shirin in front of the dressing table.

She seemed to have slumped on the chair, her head resting on the table against the tall mirror. Jamshed hurried in, calling out to Banoo Maa who followed him, alarmed at his tone. Shirin was semi-conscious, rambling incoherently. Banoo Maa caught something about 'a terrible headache'. Something about 'not a nice scent'. Whatever that meant!

Jamshed half carried, half dragged his wife gently onto the bed. He found Banoo Maa staring thoughtfully at the dressing table. His eyes followed her gaze, and frowned at what he saw. He shrugged, exchanged a rueful glance with her and went to the bedside cabinet to get some Eau de Cologne.

"I think I'll see if we can get hold of Dr. Dhondy," he told Banoo Maa, sprinkling the Cologne liberally on Shirin's forehead.

Banoo Maa did not answer. She had come to a quick decision. She rang up Fredun's place and asked to speak to Sherrie. She wanted Zerxes Avari's telephone number.

Rashna, who answered the telephone, informed her that Sherrie was still at Zerxes' and gave her the number. "What's up?" she asked casually.

"Shirin seems to be a bit unwell," replied Banoo.

"Oh! Fredun's not back, yet. Shall I ask him to come over, when he gets back?"

"No, but I'll let you know if it's anything serious. It may be nothing more than just a very severe headache." When she spoke to Zerxes, however, Banoo Maa did not try to hide her apprehension. She requested Zerxes to rush over, if he could. Fredun had just left from Zerxes' to go home.

Zerxes and Scherezade were over at Jamshed's within twenty minutes. Before leaving, he had called for an ambulance with directions to Jamshed's flat, overriding Scherezade's protests that they should at least have a look at Shirin Fui, before rushing the poor thing to a hospital. "She's a bit of a hypochondriac as well," she had ended.

"As well as what?" Zerxes had asked, looking at her narrowly. His 'cross-examining' look, as she called it!

Scherezade had hesitated. "Well, I'm not absolutely certain, but at times both Firdauz and I have felt she's a bit of a kleptomaniac. Nothing very serious, but she does pinch small things which catch her fancy. From people's homes."

"I see," Zerxes had looked thoughtful. "I think darling, let's not take any chances. In any case, at the hospital they'll give her a thorough check up, which can't do her any harm. Especially at her age. I'll see if I can get hold of Subhash again."

Fortunately, he could. Zerxes had requested him to come over to the Parsee General Hospital directly. "Be there at the reception. We may need you to get her admitted."

"I'll speak to the RMO beforehand," Sub hash had promised. "What's the lady's name, again?"

As soon as they reached the Dumasia residence, Zerxes explained what he had arranged. Jamshed was too bemused to protest. Scherezade went into the bedroom and sat next to Banoo Maa, on Shirin's bed. Shirin was beginning to turn blue. She was now glad that Zerxes had overridden her protests and called for the ambulance. Her gaze idly swept the dressing table, and she suddenly stiffened, catching sight of the bottle.

She remembered Dina Fui wearing 'Joy' perfume on her birthday. "A birthday gift from Prakash", Dina had said carelessly.

Noticing the direction of her gaze, Banoo Maa chuckled grimly. "Yes, she could not resist it! What use is perfume to Dina, now? It seems to be a new bottle too! She must have picked it up when she went into her room alone. Poor Shirin!" sighed the old lady. "I've tried so hard to cure her of that habit!"

Zerxes and Jamshed came into the bedroom. Banoo Maa rose, asked Jamshed for a bag, and started packing a few of Shirin's clothes and essentials into it. Jamshed too packed a small bag for himself. He'd be staying at the hospital, at least that first night.

Scherezade told Zerxes, in a whisper, about Shirin having pinched Dina's perfume bottle. The expression in his face gave nothing away, but she did not miss the sudden gleam of interest in his generally hard green eyes. Underneath that casual, almost indifferent exterior, Zerxes was thinking to himself, "Dammitall, there's no way I can stay clear of this, now! I'll have to take a hand in it. Maybe get Dad to give his opinion." His eyes met Scherezade's, looking up into his face, puzzled. He brushed a stray tendril off her forehead. The simple gesture seemed toreassure her. His touch had that effect on her. It was a balm as well as a stimulant.

Zerxes went up to the dressing table, unscrewed the bottle of 'Joy' and took a swift, tentative sniff before screwing on the top again. Watching him, Scherezade's eyes widened in horror. "Zerx . . . you don't think. . . it isn't possible. . .?"

"Hush, foolish child," laying a finger against her lips. "We'll talk about it later."

She caught his hand in both her small ones, giving it a tight squeeze. Her mind went back to Dina's saree. The one she had buried her face in, before she suddenly felt ill. That had reeked of 'Joy' perfume! Her eyes went again to the bottle of 'Joy' on Shirin's cluttered dressing table, among bottles of different brands of face cream and rather grimy looking lipsticks.

The ambulance and Dr. Dhondy arrived together. Peeved at being pre-empted, Dhondy allowed himself to be soothed by Scherezade's charming flattery. Jamshed and Banoo Maa went in the ambulance with Shirin. Jamshed had given the house-keys to Zerxes to lock up. Zerxes called up Fredun. Then, after Dhondy had taken himself off, he telephoned the Cuffe Parade Police Station. As he had expected, Patil and Rodricks were still there.

* * * *

Seated behind his large desk in his spartan office, Patil had read the PM report through and passed it over to Rodricks who glanced through it speedily and looked back at Patil, eyebrows raised, an expression of almost comical dismay on his face.

"Well!" he breathed exaggeratedly. "Talk about a high class, recondite murder! Aniline . . . benzene . . . nitrobenzene . . . what the hell is this stuff?"

A hint of amusement crept into Patil's normally austere eyes. "1 thought you were looking for something unusual, Drew," he remarked, a touch of malice edging his carefully bland tone.

Unlike the phlegmatic Avinash Patil, Andrew Rodricks had had dreams of entangling with desperate terrorists and matching wits with ingenious murderers, when he had stunned his family by joining the Police Force a couple of years ago, after his post-graduation in psychology. He had not really expected to realize his ambition of getting his teeth into a 'real killer of a murder case', as he put it, so early in his career! And he was to be the Investigating Officer!
Aniline. . . benzene. . . nitro-benzene. . . !

"Parsley sage, rosemary and thyme," he hummed inappositely, the half forgotten song of his college days coming back to him rather inappropriately at that moment. Now why the hell should he suddenly think of that?

It was at that moment, that the telephone bell shrilled.

Patil picked up the receiver and spoke into it. A lazy, distinctive voice floated down the wire. "Inspector Patil? So glad to have caught you in, Inspector. Are you in the mood to take a trip?"

* * * *

On the way to Jamshed Dumasia's house in the police jeep, Patil's mind went back to certain paragraphs of the report, now suddenly intelligible in the light of what Avari had briefly told him over the telephone.

"There are traces of aniline in the brain, and in the blood," he had read in the autopsy report. "There has been clear formation of methaemoglobin in the blood, pointing to the possibility of some form of benzene poisoning. Could be benzene, could be nitrobenzene, could be aniline. The poison was not ingested by the deceased. It was absorbed through the skin, and by inhalation of vapour containing the toxic substance. The vapour of all the three substances mentioned earlier is extremely toxic and noxious. Also, it can be absorbed through the skin, causing cyanosis due to the deoxygenation of the haemoglobin in the blood, so that oxygen is no longer transported to the vital organs of the body, resulting in respiratory failure, and ultimately death."

In such a case, normally, the medium through which the poison had been administered would have been almost impossible to trace, mused Patil. This was almost certainly a case of chronic poisoning. Such cases were the nightmare of the investigating agencies: not only the medium, even the time of the actual poisoning was impossible to fix, rendering every alibi suspect! According to the Docs, the time taken by benzene or nitrobenzene, or aniline (which was a product of nitrobenzene, formed by chemical reaction), to cause death differed from person to person, depending upon individual metabolism, the amount imbibed, the level of dilution, etc. . . it could take a few hours, or even a few days!

Patil admitted to Rodricks that they might well have cause to be thankful to Avari! "Normally, he's busy getting in our way, criticizing our procedure and getting the blokes off in Court. This time, it appears at least that he's trying to help us. I wonder why!"

"I wouldn't trust him an inch," muttered Rodricks darkly."Reminds me of a cobra. All coiled, and ready to strike! Green eyed too," he added, with a prejudice strange in one normally so liberalminded.

Zerxes and Scherezade had waited until Patil and Rodricks arrived at the Dumasias' flat and picked up the bottle of 'Joy' perfume for analysis. Then they had raced over to the hospital. Shirin was showing signs of improvement. They'd taken a sample of her blood for chemical and spectroscopic examination, at Dr. Subhash Chitaley's insistence. Which had been prompted by Zerxes.

* * * *

Zerxes' guess was proved to be correct, the next day. Laboratory analysis showed that the poison was in the bottle of 'Joy' perfume. And it was nitrobenzene.

As to the presence of that bottle in Shirin Dumasia's bedroom, well, Avari and Scherezade Vatcha both had given the explanation for that. But they'd have to question Shirin Dumasia herself and also her husband, later on.

But now, for Mr. Prakash Sattar!


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