Vish Puri 02; The Case of the Man Who Died Laughing

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Vish Puri 02; The Case of the Man Who Died Laughing Page 23

by Tarquin Hall


  When it came to Bagga’s turn, he potted five pucks in a row; if there was one skill the man possessed, it was as a car-rom player.

  “You’ve still got it, sir-ji!” said Puri in Punjabi as he took his turn and, being out of practice, only managed to pot a single white.

  Bagga Uncle showed Puri his index finger.

  “This is one in a billion!” he declared.

  “Just like you, Bagga-ji!” bawled one of the opponents to roars of laughter.

  The banter, drinking and play went on. And after Bagga had won the game and declared himself ‘vorld champion!’ the detective told him there was something he wished to discuss.

  “Not for others’ ears,” he said.

  They went and sat to one side of the room against a wall that was decorated with red-brick wallpaper.

  By now Bagga’s eyes were bloodshot and he looked like he might pass out.

  “Sir-ji, I’ve been thinking,” said Puri.

  “Haa?”

  “Sir-ji, I’m talking to you.”

  “Haa.”

  “This business proposition of yours sounds like a sure thing.”

  “Huh?”

  “You said a construction company wants to build a mall on your land. It sounds like a very good thing!”

  “Oh yes, that! Well, it is!” declared Bagga Uncle, finally cottoning on. “Chubby, I will soon be the richest man in all Punjab! People will treat me with respect!”

  “You of all people deserve it, sir-ji. I have always thought you to be a canny fellow. You’ve just had bad luck, that’s all.”

  “Exactly! Unlucky, that is all!” agreed Bagga Uncle.

  He replenished their glasses.

  “Sir-ji, I want to make you a business proposition,” lied the detective. “I will loan you the one crore you need so that your deal goes through. In return, I want only two percent of the profit. And you can pay me back the money when you can. How does that sound?”

  Bagga Uncle stared at him blankly and blinked.

  “I could draw the money for you from the bank in the morning. No need to borrow from some stranger you don’t know and risk your house. Let me take care of it.”

  “You would do that for me?”

  “Of course, sir-ji!” The detective gave him a hearty slap on the back. “What is family for?”

  Tears formed in Bagga Uncle’s bloodshot eyes.

  “Mr. Sherluck, you are number one!”

  “So you accept?”

  They shook on it. More Aristocrat whisky was consumed. And then the detective said: “Sir-ji, there is one thing I don’t understand. Why do you need this money if you are selling your land?”

  Bagga Uncle leaned in. “You promise not to tell anyone?”

  “They would have to gouge out my eyes!”

  “I can trust you?” Bagga Uncle suddenly regarded Puri as if he were a stranger.

  “Have you ever had any reason not to?”

  “There was that one time you called me ‘saala’,” said Bagga Uncle with a wounded expression.

  “For that I apologize unreservedly, sir-ji. I was angry, but it was uncalled for. Besides, now we are business partners.”

  That seemed to do the trick.

  “OK, I’ll tell you. In order to build the mall, the developers need the land next to mine as well,” said Bagga Uncle. Go on.

  “That land is owned by that son-of-a-whore bastard motherf – ”

  “What’s his name, yaar?” interrupted Puri.

  “Jasbirjaggi.”

  “He does what exactly?”

  “He’s into transportation. Lives in a big farmhouse off Ferozepur Road. Laad sahib!”

  “And?”

  Bagga Uncle leaned in farther, looking pleased with himself.

  “See, Chubby… when the construction company approached me they mentioned they would need that other land as well.”

  “And?”

  “I told them I could get it for them. No need to talk to that son-of-a-whore bastard motherf – ”

  “And so you offered to buy it from this Jasbir Jaggi?”

  “Exactly!”

  Puri stood up abruptly and pushed back his chair.

  “Saala!” he roared, and stormed out, leaving Bagga Uncle staring after him in bewilderment.

  ∨ The Case of the Man Who Died Laughing ∧

  Twenty-Four

  Rumpi had a big lump in her throat as she sat in Mummy’s car across the street from the white villa in C Block, Greater Kailash Part One, in South Delhi.

  “You realize I have known this woman for near on twenty years?” she said to her mother-in-law. “Her children and mine used to play together. I was present at her son’s wedding. I still can’t believe she went and did this. What was she thinking? Now her whole reputation will lie in tatters.”

  “Some people are lacking in moral fibers, na,” said Mummy. “Rich or poor – doesn’t matter.”

  They sat in silence for a while, watching cars and auto rickshaws and the occasional bicycle rickshaw pass by in the gathering darkness.

  Majnu was restless in the front seat.

  “Madam, my duty is getting over,” he said grumpily.

  It was a quarter to six. But the driver had arrived an hour late for work, making some excuse about a headache, so by Mummy’s reckoning, he still owed her an hour and fifteen minutes.

  Weary of scolding him, she simply let out an irritated tut and then said to Rumpi: “It is nearly time, na? Think others are coming?”

  “I do hope so. It would be much better if we all confronted her at once.”

  Presently, Lily Arora’s Sumo turned into the space in front of Mummy’s Indica. Mrs. Shankar, who rode a scooter, was next. A minute later, Mrs. Bansal pulled up in her BMW.

  “I’m afraid Phoolan isn’t coming,” she called from her window with a long face. “Something about a root canal.”

  They gave it another five minutes and then gathered at the gate. There were three no-shows, bringing the total to nine plus Mummy.

  “Madam is expecting only myself,” Rumpi told the security guard. “So don’t tell her I have come with friends. Or you will ruin the surprise.”

  He wobbled his head in an understanding kind of way and stepped into his sentry box to use the intercom.

  When word came back that Rumpi was to be shown up, she led the way past the cars in the forecourt and into the house.

  Mrs. Nanda, as straight, tall and elegant as ever, was waiting in the sitting room. She stood to greet Puri’s wife with a smile and both hands held out in welcome.

  “What’s wrong, my dear?” was her reaction to Rumpi’s cold response. And then, still smiling: “What’s this? Ladies, what a surprise! How nice of you all to come. Please make yourselves comfortable. I’ll ask for more cups.”

  In silence, they all stood in a row just inside the room looking either pensive or embarrassed, and in Lily Arora’s case, enraged.

  Mummy, who had been elected by a quick vote at the gate as official spokeswoman, said: “We won’t be staying long, na. Just we came to say we have come to know everything.”

  Lily Arora suddenly interjected angrily, pointing a finger at Mrs. Nanda. “How could you have done this, Sona? You realize my poor baby’s lying in a coma? He might not live and the vet says even if he does he will probably never walk or talk!”

  “I’m sorry, Lily, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I – ”

  “Oh, don’t lie to us, Sona.” Lily Arora had her hands on her hips now. “That will only make it worse for you, believe me.”

  “Ladies, I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding,” said Mrs. Nanda calmly. “Are you suggesting I was involved in the robbery somehow? Is that it?”

  The silence answered well enough.

  “Well, that’s ridiculous!” She looked incredulous. “What reason would I have for doing something like that?”

  “Same reason anyone does dacoity, na,” said Mummy. “You needed paisa.”

&n
bsp; “Forgive me, Auntie-ji, but you obviously don’t know me very well. I can assure you I have no need of cash. My husband – ”

  “Is doing accounting. Yes, we’re aware. He’s a topper, handling so many of big companies. Thanks to that he’s getting information on stock market and takeovers and such.”

  “Insider information, which is illegal to share, by the way!” bawled Lily Arora.

  “Unbeknownst to him, you’ve been acting on what he’s told you and buying your own shares,” said Rumpi. “You did well at first, but then a couple of weeks ago, disaster struck. InfoSoft crashed and all your money was wiped out. You suddenly found yourself heavily in debt.”

  “Problem was, na, last person you could ask for help was your husband,” said Mummy. “So furious he would have been. Naturally selling your jewelry was out of the question, also. He would have noticed. That was when you decided to go the criminal way.”

  Mrs. Nanda shook her head testily. “Ladies, I’m shocked you think that I would be capable of such a thing. I have considered some of you friends for many years.”

  “Oh, shut up, Sona, you’re not going to talk your way out of this! We know all about that security guard!” shouted Lily Arora.

  “What security guard?”

  “The nighttime security guard you got to do the robbery, of course!”

  Mummy had been hoping to play their trump card at a more opportune moment. But now she had no choice but to identify the thieves.

  “One month back, only, you gave Kishan, the husband of Uma from Arti’s Beauty Parlor, one job as nighttime chowkidar,” she said. “Later you requested him to do robbery of our kitty party. Being totally lacking in moral fibers, he complied. Unfortunately, he brought along his nephew of fourteen years.”

  “Kishan was behind it? I had no idea!” declared an apparently shocked Mrs. Nanda. “He must have overheard me talking about the kitty party on the phone. Or perhaps some of the other servants told them. We should call the police!”

  “Police can certainly be called. But these two” – Mummy was referring to Uma’s husband and his nephew – “will say they were working for you, na?”

  “Well, that’s a lie! I had nothing to do with this.”

  Mummy paused before saying with an edge of triumphant power: “That is strange, na? Earlier, we got him to do a call to you and recorded every last word.”

  Mrs. Nanda froze.

  “There’s no getting away with this, Sona,” said Rumpi. “Now here’s what we’re going to do…”

  They did not plan to involve the police for the nephew’s sake, she went on to explain, but they had made sure Lily Arora’s servants and Bappi the physical trainer were in the clear. Mummy had spoken with the boy and found him to be decent and repentant. Kishan had surrendered his weapon, which had been thrown into the Yamuna, and then Uma had kicked him out of the house.

  “And as for you, Sona,” Lily Arora cut in again, “we want our money back! So if you’re not going to tell your husband, we will!”

  “You have until this time tomorrow to deliver the total amount or we will have no choice but to go to the police,” said Rumpi.

  Slowly Mrs. Nanda sat back down on her couch. She looked as if she was in a trance.

  “That is all, na?” said Mummy to the other ladies. “Challo?”

  “Challo,” they replied.

  One by one, they all filed out of the room. All apart from Lily Arora, who took a final parting shot.

  “Sona, I want you to know one other thing,” she said. “I’m going to make sure you can never join another kitty again. I’m going to make sure everyone knows what you did. You have broken the sacred trust upon which kitties were founded! Consider your face blackened!”

  ♦

  Mummy and Rumpi were soon on their way to Gurgaon.

  “You don’t think she’ll do something to herself, do you? Something rash? It seemed like she went into shock.”

  “Not a chance,” answered Mummy. “That one is hard, na? Hard as marble.”

  “But she’ll never be able to show her face anywhere in Delhi again. Lily will see to it, that’s for sure.”

  They both got lost in their own thoughts for a few minutes and then Rumpi asked: “Mummy-ji, do you think we should do something about her husband? If we’re right and he’s sharing insider information, then we should tell someone.”

  “Definitely it is our duty to report our suspicions. Problem is: Why proper authorities should listen to us two? Who are we, after all?”

  “Just a couple of housewives,” said Rumpi.

  “Exactly. What is required is proof…”

  “Oh no, Mummy-ji, now I’m going to have to stop you there. We’ve done what we needed to do.”

  “But it’s our duty, na?”

  “We have plenty of other responsibilities as well. And chasing after a crooked accountant is not one of them. Don’t worry, he’ll get unstuck eventually. It’s not for us to deal with.”

  Mummy looked disappointed but conceded.

  “You are right,” she said. “So many things I have to do, actually. But we made a good team, na?”

  Rumpi laughed. “Yes, Mummy-ji, we made a good team. You know something? I didn’t think I had much of a brain for mysteries. How would Chubby put it? I amazed even myself!”

  ∨ The Case of the Man Who Died Laughing ∧

  Twenty-Five

  Puri entered St. Stephens hospital through a back door and climbed the emergency stairs. By the time he reached the fourth floor, where Inspector Singh was waiting for him, he was out of breath and his face was glistening with sweat.

  “Did anyone see you arrive, sir?” asked the police wallah.

  The detective was unable to answer straightaway.

  “I… I… don’t… believe so,” he panted. “Coast was… clear.”

  “Sir, what is that you’ve brought with you?” Singh pointed at the plastic bag Puri was carrying. “It’s not takeaway, is it?”

  The detective held up a hand to indicate that he needed a minute. When he had recovered his breath, he said: “Might be we will be here until the wee hours. Hunger could definitely set in.”

  “With respect, sir, this is hardly the time to be thinking about your stomach.”

  “Don’t worry, Inspector,” said Puri. “There will be no thinking involved.”

  Singh cracked open the door that led from the emergency stairs onto the ward and peeked through the gap. The corridor beyond was busy – patients, nurses, a couple of doctors coming and going.

  “Sir, your man is positioned in the second room on the left,” the inspector explained over his shoulder. “I have arranged for us to be in the first room, which has a connecting door to the second. But I can foresee one problem. The murderer could easily be here already, out there in the corridor, and is watching to see who comes and goes.”

  “Might be he’ll recognize me when we cross the corridor,” agreed Puri.

  “Exactly, sir.”

  “So, what all you’re proposing?”

  “Here, I brought a doctor’s coat for you to put on,” said Singh, who had changed into civilian clothes himself.

  “Very good, Inspector,” said the detective, donning the white coat over his safari suit.

  “You might like to wear this, also,” said Singh, who, knowing that Puri never took off his Sandown cap (at least not in public) had brought along a surgeon’s elasticized cap to put over it.

  Without a word, the detective slipped it on.

  The room where Singh had arranged for them to hole up was large enough for a bed, a side table and a cupboard. It had bare, damp-stained walls, an overhead fan and a naked bulb hanging by a wire from the ceiling.

  Puri looked into the second room through the connecting door and could see that it was similarly basic, except there were two beds and one of these – the one farthest from the door near the window – had a privacy curtain drawn around it.

  “Baldev, you’re there?” whispered Puri.<
br />
  “Yes, Boss,” answered Tubelight.

  “You’re fine?”

  “I’m getting hungry.”

  “You didn’t eat, is it?”

  “There wasn’t time.”

  “Then let us hope the wait is not long.”

  “Yes, Boss.”

  Puri pulled away from the door, leaving it open a fraction.

  “How we’ll know when the murderer arrives?” he asked Singh.

  “I propose we keep the light off and position a chair here by this connecting door. If we leave it open a little, we can take turns keeping vigil.”

  The detective, who had brought along his .32 IOF pistol, agreed to this plan and asked that the inspector take the first watch – “Otherwise my food will be getting cold.”

  By the moonlight coming in through the window, Puri then went about unpacking his takeaway on the side table next to the bed. Soon the room – and no doubt the room beyond – was filled with the heady aroma of Hyderabadi biryani and the sounds of his munching.

  ♦

  It was ten past eight when Puri’s mobile phone, which was on silent mode, vibrated inside his pocket. He looked at the screen. Zia.

  “Ji?” answered Puri in a whisper.

  “Fossil has left home, Boss. We’re in pursuit,” reported Zia, who watched a lot of American cop shows and liked to use the lingo. ‘Fossil’ was code for Shivraj Sharma.

  “Very good, send update,” was all the detective said before ending the call.

  “Who was that?” whispered Inspector Singh, who was still keeping vigil.

  “Some of my boys,” said Puri, sitting down on a chair next to him.

  “And?”

  “They’re following one suspect.”

  “A suspect in the Jha-Pandey murder?”

  “Correct, but I am doubtful he’s the one.”

  “When were you going to tell me about him?”

  “Inspector, you know me, huh. I don’t like to declare before end of innings.”

  For a couple of minutes, the only sounds came from the squeaking fan overhead and the beeping of the ECG in Tubelight’s room.

 

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