Seduced by Murder

by Saurbh Katyal

  Eight months later, I had travelled to Bhopal and sold my uncle’s property, returned to Bangalore, taken a small office on lease and started my own private detective agency with Pranay and Aarti. Things were running pretty much to my satisfaction. It was all fine, until Aditi called that Sunday afternoon.

  Lost in thought, I almost missed the yellow hoarding, where Aditi had told me to take a turn. I pushed the brakes hard. Pranay’s upper body merged with the dashboard.

  “Sorry, dude. You okay?”

  “No, I am not!” He put his hand over his heart, and breathed in dramatically, “I feel a faint pain. Right here!”

  Pranay suffered from a subdued form of hypochondria – courtesy his mother, who was some sort of quack, and owned a homeopathy clinic.

  “Just your heart fluttering. I don’t see anything.”

  “Uh … no, but it could be something internal. Feel this.” He put my hand on his chest, and looked at me in anticipation. “Do you feel this?”

  “Feels like a lump. Could be breast cancer.”

  The road was too narrow for a U-turn, so I reversed the vehicle into an arterial road next to the hoarding. Soon we arrived at a gate surrounded by a wall that was at least twenty feet high. The driveway took us past lawns and flower beds. I was soon in front of an enormous house that looked like it could house a family of two hundred.

  I parked my car behind a red Porsche. I pressed the horn to give the bereaved family notice of my arrival. The front door opened. It was Aditi.

  I got out of the car, and started walking towards the house. Each step was heavy, and my heartbeat had trebled. She looked different. She had let her hair grow, and had put on just the right amount of weight that accentuated her womanly curves. Her breasts were fuller, and hips rounder. The eyes were the same, black holes pulling me towards them.

  She nodded to me in her idiosyncratic style. No enthusiastic wave; no superficial hug. She was called the ice queen in college. To everyone else she seemed callous and emotionally undemonstrative, but I had experienced the passion that existed beneath that serene exterior. She was wearing a yellow diaphanous negligee that stuck to her tall and statuesque frame like second skin, and gave me a glimpse of her round breasts. Behind me, Pranay gasped audibly.

  I nodded back at her because I didn’t trust my voice. I saw she had been crying. The first and last time I had seen her cry was when her father had had a heart attack, just before we became lovers. Or rather, before she decided to take me as her lover.

  I felt angry at myself for falling victim to this recurrent nostalgia. She dumped you, you fool. Her shapely pink lips curved into a faint smile as she approached me. I took a deep breath and said in a matter of fact tone, “Hi. Tell me what happened.”

  She ushered me into the house. The grandeur of the hall made me feel under-dressed. The decor was obviously the work of a connoisseur, who knew how to achieve a pretentiously elegant effect.

  I observed the scene before me. The setting was one of obvious melancholy, with various people sobbing in varying degrees of sorrow. I was pleasantly surprised to see everyone weeping quite soberly. No one exceeded the decibel beyond which sorrow becomes hysteria. If I hadn’t known that a murder had been committed in that house, I would have thought they had just had a domestic squabble.

  The controlled sorrow had an air of inevitability about it, as if the death was brought about by old age, or a prolonged terminal disease. Not the kind of grief I would have expected in a household that was still coming to terms with the murder of a family member. Seated on the divan sobbing silently, was the father of the deceased, Paras Kapoor. Even in his grief he looked regal. Sunil sat next to his father, trying to comfort him. On seeing me, his surprise was evident.

  “Vishal?” he asked, stunned.

  Aditi rushed to him and whispered why I was there. If he was rattled, he didn’t show it. It struck me that Aditi had called me out of genuine panic, and hadn’t even bothered to consult her husband. It gave me a perverse kind of satisfaction to know that I was foremost on her mind for comfort when she was distressed. What sentimental creatures men are!

  I glanced cursorily at each person in the gathering. There were eight people in the room, including Aditi. Seven of them were family, or friends, and the eighth person standing in a corner was evidently a servant or caretaker, judging by his posture and attire. And, of course, a corpse somewhere in the house. So that made them nine in all.

  I felt awkward standing in the middle of the room. I caught Aditi’s eye, and gestured that I needed her to join me and Pranay in a corner. I asked her to tell me exactly what had taken place. She filled me in on the details.

  The Kapoor family had gone to the farmhouse the previous night to celebrate Paras Kapoor’s sixtieth birthday. The old man had wanted a quiet family affair over the weekend. They had started partying at nine the previous night, and had continued their merrymaking with drinks and games till about two in the morning. At two, all of them had retired to bed. Anil, the victim, had the habit of sleeping outside, in a hammock on the lawn, behind the building. He had adhered to his alfresco sleeping habit, and that was the last anyone had seen him alive.

  Expecting hangovers all around, and a late start to the day, the Kapoor family had instructed Ram, the caretaker of the farmhouse, a man in mid-forties, to come late the next morning. It was the unfortunate Ram who had discovered the body at ten thirty in the morning, while watering the garden.

  I glanced at Pranay, and was pleased to see him making notes in his illegible, microscopic handwriting. Those notes would be as helpful to me as a French poetry book, but at least it made us look professional. I asked Aditi to acquaint me with each person in the room. She obliged. I had already identified Paras and Sunil, the father and younger brother of the deceased respectively.

  A young man with features so similar to Paras, that they could only be justified by a common gene pool, was comforting an exquisite beauty. He was the youngest son, Vimal; and the grief-stricken lady he was comforting was his wife, Reena.

  Another attractive, swarthy lady was sobbing inconsolably into an elderly man’s arms. She was Shalini, the wife of the deceased, and was being comforted by her father, Mayank Tripathi. I caught the uncomfortable, blank look in Mayank’s eyes, and was puzzled by it. He was obviously feeling ill at ease. Shalini held on to the old man, oblivious to his discomfort.

  Aditi must have read my mind, for she came closer and whispered, “Mayank Uncle suffers from amnesia after his second heart attack. Doctors think it may be an advent of Alzheimer’s. You may find his actions strange.”

  I engraved the family tree in my mind.

  An engine spluttered and coughed outside, heralding the arrival of the police. I went out with Pranay, and filled the senior cop in with all that I had learnt from Aditi, the intent being to give him a head start. It was a wasted effort. The police inspector appeared amused on hearing who I was. He shook his head like a teacher addressing a toddler. He looked at his two subordinates, and deliberately repeated, ’Private detective’ as if it as endearing a term as ’Santa Claus’. The two subordinates laughed vigorously, as was expected.

  The inspector looked over his shoulder. “Is that your car, the white Honda City?”

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  “I should take you in for driving rashly on the road. You almost got us killed.”

  That was not correct. They had been at no risk, as I had overtaken their vehicle from the side overlooking the valley.

  I apologised sarcastically. “Emergency, sir. I was getting late for the matinee.”

  One thing I had learnt from my experiences was that the police would despise a private detective anyway, so it was better if you started throwing around some attitude right from the start. This would confuse them. The police inspector was a practitioner of the oldest intimidating tactic, intended to awe people – staring deep into your eyes, while caressing his moustache. He stared at me for an eternity and, when I didn’t flinch, tur
ned to Aditi asking for Sunil. His eyes latched on to her swaying hips as she led us to Sunil.

  The police inspector dutifully offered his condolences to Paras Kapoor. He was quite obsequious, acting more like a waiter wheedling to earn his tip, rather than a cop. I didn’t blame him. Paras Kapoor was a renowned real-estate developer, and would probably get a sympathy call from the police commissioner, and the chief minister. They would enquire if the inspector in charge was doing his job properly; not to forget the media coverage that the case would attract.

  It had been ten minutes since the police had arrived, and the inspector was still offering his condolences. I looked at his name inscribed in the plate on this shirt said impatiently, “Inspector Babu, I think we should examine the corpse.”

  “Oh, should we? You will tell us what to do now!” he replied with condescension. I was punished again with the accusatory stare. I was tempted to confess some past crime – maybe the time when I was four, and had deliberately peed in the pool when no one was watching.

  Inspector Babu turned his attention to the corpse, and followed Sunil with the confident gait of a man who knew what he was doing. Only Shalini and Reena, who were obviously still in shock, stayed back in the house.

  “Did he examine the corpse before we came?” Babu asked Sunil, pointing at me.

  “No, he didn’t.

  “Good. We don’t want amateurs spoiling the show.” He smiled sneeringly at me.

  Sunil ushered us through the hall, into the kitchen. The kitchen had sliding glass doors that opened into a lush lawn covered with grass similar to that on a golf course. The gardens extended to the south, with an artificial beach in the centre; and beyond that, a cerulean pool touched the twenty-foot high compound wall that ran along the perimeter of the property, and was, for all practical purposes, insurmountable.

  There were lights hanging between two trees on the right side of the beach, obviously for illuminating the beach and the whole garden. The dimensions of the rectangular beach, situated between the garden and the pool, must have been approximately thirty by forty feet. There were four pine trees exactly in the middle of the beach, and supported a hammock.

  Anil’s body was stretched out on the hammock. He was lying on his stomach. The outline of a wallet protruded from the trousers’ rear pocket. I bent and saw the black handle of a knife that had been plunged into his heart. The sand had absorbed most of the blood, judging by the dark patch beneath the hammock. I observed the various approaches to the hammock. With the pool blocking off access to the hammock from one side, there were two ways by which someone could have got on to the beach, to reach the hammock. Either someone could come en route from the kitchen of the bungalow, or walk from the direction perpendicular to the pool that led to the rear portion of the property. Was there an opening or a gate on the other side? I made a mental note to check that.

  I was lost in thought for a few minutes, studying the various approaches to the hammock. When I turned around, I saw to my dismay that Babu was lifting the corpse with the help of the two junior inspectors. The Kapoors were a handsome, well-built clan, and each brother was at least six feet tall if not more. Even with three of them at the task, they were struggling.

  I lost my temper.

  “Inspector, don’t you think it would be better to take some photographs for records before you begin your investigation?”

  He was stupefied for a change, and replied meekly, “I was trying to see the weapon.”

  I walked towards the corpse and lay under the hammock, still staring at the inspector in disbelief. The murderer had aimed the knife for Anil’s heart, and had hit the bull’s eye. Anil had been stabbed once. I examined the corpse for a few more minutes. Rigor mortis had set in, making the face stiff. He had a Rolex on his wrist. I noticed that it had stopped at 3.30. The deceased had a gold chain around the neck.

  Inspector Babu joined me beneath the hammock, and started scrutinising the wound with adroitness that would have given a complex to the most accomplished surgeon.

  Sunil spoke. “Inspector, there is one more thing. Ram found that the lock of the back gate had been broken. I think someone from the village committed the murder … Ram, get the lock.”

  Sunil pointed towards a place perpendicular to the pool. That confirmed my doubts about an entry from the rear side of the property.

  I stood up, and saw Babu struggling to do the same, thanks to a tub of wobbling jelly for a stomach. I extended my hand for support. He ignored it, and signalled the junior cops to help him get up. Ram rushed back with the fresh piece of evidence and handed it to Babu. I stood patiently while Babu held the lock and looked at it from all angles.

  I requested Ram to lead me to the back gate. With the front gate locked, and a twenty-foot wall running along the perimeter of the bungalow, this was the only other route that could have given access to an outsider. I requested everyone to get off the beach at once.

  Paras looked surprised and asked me why.

  “I will tell you in a moment,” I said.

  The back gate was open, implying that the intruder had broken the lock from outside, entered, murdered Anil, and then made his or her escape. I went to the gate, and tried to fit the broken lock into the latch. This was getting more and more interesting.

  When I returned to the garden, Inspector Babu was speaking on the phone. “Yes, send the van right away. We need to get the body to Mr Kapoor’s house in the city. Also send a convoy of ten men or more. Yes, we know who did it. Someone from the village.”

  Everyone had been summoned to the garden, and Babu was reassuring a distraught Paras.

  “Don’t worry, sir. As soon as the backup arrives, I will head to the village with Ram, and round up the ruffians. Third-degree treatment, and all of them will be owning up to their crimes in this life as well as their past lives.”

  I stood at a distance. I wanted to be away from the family while I observed them, lest the murderer saw the shock on my face, that hadn’t melted away since I uncovered some new facts.

  I walked towards the inspector and spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “Inspector, I just heard you speaking on the phone. Do you think there are no other investigations required?”

  Babu stared at me like a spider would stare at a fly before devouring it.

  “Of course not! The case is solved. You can go home. We will take it forward from here … kid.”

  “Please let me hear your thoughts about the murder.”

  Everyone was audience to my conversation with the inspector. That served my purpose well, as I wanted to observe everyone’s expression.

  The inspector felt his moustache confidently, and began. “It’s an open and shut case. Some drunken fool from the village was attracted by the music playing through the night. When the lights were switched off, he broke the lock with the intention of stealing whatever he could lay his hands on. Paras Sir was just telling me that his son liked to have a few drinks lying in the hammock, before falling asleep.

  “The thief would have been startled by Anil, who was evidently awake, and there might have been a scuffle. Unfortunately, the thief stabbed Anil. I will catch the rascal, don’t worry.”

  “So the intent of the murderer was to steal?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he steal?”

  “What?”

  “Anil’s wallet, gold chain, and diamond-studded watch are intact. What did he steal?”

  Babu thought for a moment, turned to Paras, and asked, “What was stolen, Sir?”

  There was a flurry of activity as Paras, Sunil, and Vimal looked at the body.

  Vimal said, “He is right. Nothing is missing!”

  Babu said, “Well, maybe the thief got scared, and ran away.”

  “Scared of what?” I enquired.

  He must have known how silly he sounded, for his voice faltered when he said, “Scared of the murder that he had committed.”

  “So he entered the premises with the intent to steal, murdered
Anil in cold blood, and then got frightened?”

  Babu looked ill at ease, and said, “What’s your point?”

  “I don’t think the intent was to steal.”

  “Then why would someone break in?” asked Paras, visibly appalled.

  I decided it was time to tell them about the clues I had found. I looked at the crowd around me, and requested all of them to pay attention.

  “I need some more information before I tell you my version.”

  I instinctively turned to Aditi. I wanted every chance to stare at that beautiful face.

  “So the facts, I understand, are these. All of you reached here yesterday evening to celebrate Mr Kapoor’s birthday. The party began at nine in the night, and ended at around two in the morning. All of you retired to your bedrooms, and Anil slept outside. I have some questions.”

  I was met with silent acquiescence. Pranay was standing right in the middle of the group. I touched my earlobe. That was our signal for him to hit the record button of the recorder he was carrying. I pulled my earlobe again. That was our signal for him to check that he had indeed pushed the record button, and not the rewind button, as he had done a few times before.

  I directed the first question at everyone in general.

  “Between nine and two, was the party restricted indoors? Did anyone venture out to the beach, or maybe to the pool?”

  Paras replied after a moment’s silence. “We wanted to come out to the pool side around midnight. But it was quite chilly outside, and Reena had been running a fever. So we dropped the idea, and stayed indoors.”