by Pawan Mishra
The three women of the house followed him immediately.
“I understand that there is a lot we need to complete before visitors start coming—but first things first. Nothing is more important right now than for all of us to understand exactly what happened in every detail and account for every bit of the time, right from when you guys left for the party till now.”
Everyone was in agreement.
“Could one of you tell me from the beginning,” Coinman asked, “the exact sequence of the events of yesterday night?”
“It was around six thirty when I served him dinner,” Shimla volunteered, “and half an hour later, we left for the wedding.”
“We locked the house from outside, as usual, so he wouldn’t be able to open the house for strangers or just walk outside,” Kasturi added.
“Do you remember,” Coinman asked, “what happened between six thirty and seven?”
“Nothing much. After serving him dinner in his room at six thirty, we continued to get ready in Imli’s room. We left the house at seven.”
“Did you check on him at all between serving him dinner at six thirty and leaving the house at seven?”
“No. We were running late already.”
“What happened after you left?”
“We were at the wedding till very late,” Shimla said. “We left there around three o’clock in the morning, and got home around four. As we came in, I went straight to check on him. I saw him lying motionless with the syringe still stuck in his arm. There was also a small bottle of poison on the floor.”
“What happened after that?”
“In my stupor I pulled the syringe out of his arm and had a good look at it.”
“Do you think you left your fingerprints on the syringe?”
“I am sure I did. Such a fool I was to do it.”
“What happened after that?”
“I started wailing, and Imli and Mother came rushing in. We all started to cry.”
“Did any of you try to reach me?”
“How could we?” Imli intervened this time. “You don’t carry a cell, and we did not have Funda’s number.”
“That’s fine,” Coinman said. “I am just ensuring we ask all possible questions and have all the answers consistently understood among the three of us.”
“That’s very important. We don’t have Daulat’s fingerprints on the syringe. We are likely going to face a deep inquiry,” Kasturi added.
“What happened after that?”
“After hearing from Shimla about her fingerprints,” Kasturi said, “I picked up the syringe and the first-aid box in a clean cloth and carefully moved them to another location.”
“What happened between then and when I came back?”
“Nothing much. We have mostly been crying.”
“All right. So first, we need to bring the syringe and the box back to his room and leave it on the floor.
“Do we leave Shimla’s prints on it?” Imli asked.
“Yes, we will have to leave them as is,” Coinman responded.
“Shimla should not get in any trouble,” Kasturi protested.
“She will not,” Coinman said reassuringly. “With all that you have said, it’s very clear that the old man killed himself between six thirty in the evening and four o’clock in the morning. I am sure a postmortem report will be able to provide an accurate time when he consumed the poison. And we have alibis for that time—the folks at the wedding for you, and Funda’s family for me. So we can prove that when the old man was poisoned, none of us was in the house.”
Kasturi was very proud of Coinman.
“We have a small issue, though,” he said.
“What’s that?” Imli asked.
“The only shady part is the period between six thirty and seven o’clock. I am doubtful this will be a problem—but just for the sake of argument, if the postmortem report shows that poison was consumed during that half hour, it would mean that you three were still in the house, and that would completely make our argument futile.”
“So what do we do then?” Kasturi asked.
“Sometimes life plans unbelievable coincidences,” Coinman said, like a philosopher. “In some context, Funda’s mother said yesterday night that a lie for a good reason is better than a truth that destroys. I couldn’t have imagined then that she was giving a way out of this strenuous situation.”
“Don’t puzzle around, Son. My heart can’t take it,” Kasturi said.
“Yes, exactly, what do you mean by that?” Imli put in.
“It means that we will tell a lie. You need to forget that you had left the house at seven o’clock. You need to tell yourselves that you served him dinner at six o’clock and left at six thirty, without checking on him.”
“And this is because there is a possibility he may have consumed the poison before we left?” Shimla wanted to confirm.
“That’s exactly why we need to do this.” Coinman took a deep breath. “Are there any other questions?”
“I think we are good,” Kasturi replied.
“Then let’s all get back to work again,” Coinman said. “There is so much to be done today. Damn those dark clouds gathering above us—I sincerely hope it doesn’t rain.”
The cops arrived later in the day and, looking at the conditions present at the time of death, ordered a post mortem on the body. The family spent most of the day on mourning with the visitors.
The family could go to bed only around midnight. At their bed, Coinman almost whispered to Imli, “Do you remember my dreams where I have been chasing a black cobra to every corner in the house for the past year? I can probably interpret those dreams now. It seems it was nothing but a symbol of death hovering over our family.”
“We would know. You have had that dream every night.”
“I would say about three times a week. You’re right. We would know.”
“How are you holding up?” Imli asked.
“I am doing all right. I just can’t get him out of my eyes. Moments spent with him that I thought I did not remember have suddenly become alive. The times when he took care of me as a small kid while Mother was away from the house flash more often than any other times.”
“You’ll be fine. I hope you get some sleep. With the body coming back from post mortem, tomorrow is going to be a big day. We have to finish the rest of the planning for cremation.” Saying this, Imli kissed him on his forehead and turned to the right side of the bed to turn off the bedside lamp.
25. The Investigation
In the first days after Daulat’s death, without his existence, the house felt like a pair of ice jaws.
They had figured it out. It was a case where the idea of an existence was more important than the existence itself.
The existence wasn’t acknowledged much until it perished, and its absence received an acute emotional reception, as though the world would have sacrificed anything to have it back again.
On a lazy Sunday afternoon, a week after Daulat’s passing, when the family was sitting in the drawing room together, a visitor rang the doorbell.
“I’ve got it,” Coinman said, running to the door.
“Is this Mr. Coinman’s house?” a stout man wearing a sky-blue shirt and black pants asked, as soon as Coinman unbolted the door.
“Who are you?” Coinman demanded.
“I asked my question before you did. Isn’t that a good enough reason to get an answer first?”
“How can I help you?”
“That’s your question number two, quite ridiculously, that you have asked with a perfect disregard to not only my question but also to your own previous question!” The visitor was speaking louder now. “For your convenience I’ll repeat my question again. Is this Mr. Coinman’s house?”
“May I ask you keep your voice low, mister? My family is trying to unwind a bit—we have had a kind of a bumpy ride recently.”
“Humble soul that I am, I give up on my right. I am here to salute Mr. Coinman, even to
uch his feet to offer my respect, if he allows me to do that,” the visitor said sarcastically. “Do I now deserve to meet His Majesty, Mr. Coinman?”
“I am he.”
“Phew!” The visitor feigned relief. “Do you always twist your arm behind your neck in order to touch your nose?”
“Let’s focus on why you are here.”
“Mind if I am honest with you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“It was not my goal to come here.”
“Someone else sent you here?”
“No, that’s not what I mean. And please, give me time to breathe next time before you contemplate jumping in.” The visitor continued, “I was actually chasing a terrible trouble for days before it led its way to your house. Trailing behind her, I had to knock at your door.”
“I would highly appreciate if you could rein in your failed attempts at wit. You are not sounding funny at all. At least not to me, with what I have gone through recently.”
“Let’s cut to the chase.” The visitor seemed slightly insulted. “I am Patil. Police Inspector K. C. Patil.”
“Mr. Patil, I apologize for the confusion. I was making sure that a tramp wasn’t trying to burgle us. Why are you still standing here? Please come inside.” Coinman guided Patil to the drawing room and ushered him to the couch, but Patil chose not to sit. The three women abruptly left the room after exchanging a greeting nod with Patil.
“What can I do for you, sir?” Coinman asked.
“I am investigating Daulat’s murder case.”
“It wasn’t a murder.”
“Let’s not hurry to any conclusions. That’s my job, anyway, not yours, to decide if it was a murder or not.”
“I am only telling you the truth. We told it to the vigilant officers as well when they took Daulat’s body for postmortem. They thoroughly recorded our statements about the poison and the syringe. Have you had any chance to look at the report?”
“Are you suggesting to me how I should go about my business?” Patil was vexed by this.
“Not at all, sir. I am only trying to save your important time.”
“How exactly are you trying to save my time?”
“By reminding you to consider our earlier statements to save you from asking too many questions.”
“Are you assuming now that I don’t prefer asking too many questions?”
“No. I may, however, have assumed that you may not like to ask the same question twice.”
“I love asking the same question over and over again a thousand times. I had a murderer in the trial room yesterday, and I don’t even remember how many times I asked him, ‘How did you kill the dumbass?’”
“Look, I apologize. It’s not easy to win with you.”
“You need to be my wife to win with me,” Patil said, and laughed uproariously at his own sense of humor. He then slipped his right hand in his shirt pocket and took out a receipt. “Do you recognize the purchase of a first-aid kit last week, Coinman?”
“Yes, I do. But let me first call the three women here. You may need them as well.”
“OK. Let’s call them.”
Coinman introduced them once they were in the drawing room. “This is my mother, Kasturi; my wife, Imli; and Shimla.”
“Who did you say Shimla was?”
“She is our distant relative.”
“And she is the one who had fingerprints on the syringe that vigilant officers had collected?”
“That’s right. But she did not kill my father. We have it all detailed in the report that I talked about earlier.”
“Let’s get this straight.” Patil’s whole body vibrated in sudden anger. “You mention that freaking report one more time, and I am taking all three of you into overnight custody. Am I here to play ‘pass the parcel’ with my balls? I might as well have rolled the report in a thin tube and shoved it up my ass!”
The faces of Coinman and the three women turned red in embarrassment.
“That’s the last time you are swearing here.” Coinman found his courage. “If you do it again, I will forget that you are a police officer.”
“What will you do if I swear again?”
“Not much. I will just make a call to our relatives in the ministry.” Coinman had just in time remembered Funda’s mention of his relative working there.
“That wouldn’t help. We get these calls all the time.”
“Well, it’s up to you. At least I know what I am doing if you swear one more time.”
“Let’s go back to the Shimla conversation,” Patil suggested. “I am going to fast-forward a bit now because you have wasted quite a bit of my time here. Because of the time crunch, I am going to be going by the story in the rotten report. I do have few questions on that.”
“We are ready for your questions.”
Patil now sat on the couch.
“Do you know what was uncovered in the postmortem report?”
“No.”
“How could you still maintain that the old man killed himself without even knowing the time of his death?”
“He was alive when the ladies here left, but was found dead when they came back.”
“Where were you during all this time?”
“I was at my friend’s house the whole night. I went there directly from my office.”
“How many days a month do you guys all remain outside your house? And what’s your friend’s name?”
“His name is Funda.”
“How often do you visit him?”
“I hadn’t visited him for several years.”
“Why would you suddenly decide to visit a friend on the night your father was getting killed?”
“I didn’t know about that when I decided to visit Funda.”
“Give me Funda’s address and phone number.”
Coinman wrote it quickly on a piece of paper and handed it over. “Here.”
“Thank you!” Patil nodded. “Now listen carefully. The postmortem report suggested that the poison was consumed around eight o’clock in the evening, and death occurred within five minutes.”
“The ladies left at half past six,” Coinman said. “That should lead you to conclude that my father killed himself.”
“We don’t have any evidence yet to prove that you all were elsewhere at eight o’clock. Specifically, I would need an alibi for Shimla.”
“Let me write the names and numbers of the people we were with during the wedding at that time,” Kasturi said. “You can talk to them. These names are also in the report we talked about earlier.”
“That would be helpful. I will go talk to these people tomorrow.”
“Is there anything else we can do to help you?” Imli asked Patil.
“No. I have all I need. I will get going.”
“What should we expect as the next steps?” Kasturi asked.
“I will speak to these people you have mentioned, and based on that, I will prepare my report. On the basis of the report, my department will make a decision whether the case can be dropped here without further processing or if a trial will be needed.”
“What could possibly lead to a trial?”
“I can’t say.”
“Any rough guesses?”
“If your alibis’ accounts of the events don’t match, we would go a more rigorous route, that of a trial, to get the investigation going.”
“That explanation helps,” Coinman said.
“Is there no way to avoid a trial? Whatever it takes, we can talk about it right now,” Kasturi almost implored.
“Are you hinting at bribing me?” Patil said.
“I can’t even do that in my dreams,” Kasturi said.
“And that’s why you want to do it in reality? Well, bad joke, I was trying to raise your spirits a bit. On a serious note, I think you guys don’t have to worry if you have told me the truth, because you all had other people with you elsewhere at the time of the crime. However, the process has to take its course. If everyone is innocent,
I have faith in the judiciary system that everyone will come out as innocent. Unfortunately, there is no way to avoid the pain you might go through as part of the process.”
“That’s understood.” Kasturi nodded.
“Look, I really need to get going. I have to visit another family before my day is over.” Patil turned to Coinman with a half smile. “I understand I can’t swear here, but can I call you later today and let out on you what I had to suppress?”
Both of them laughed.
Patil shook hands with everyone and left. He’d barely gone when the family jumped on the phone and called those who could corroborate their alibis, one after another. Everyone took a deep breath after they had briefed all their relatives on what had happened and explained what was expected from them all.
“How many times can one have a heart attack within a week?” Coinman asked a question that had no better response than silence. And everyone responded perfectly.
26. The Unsought Date
“I am not sure if I can survive this deep sea of anxiety in the pit of my stomach any longer,” Tulsi muttered to herself, biting her lip, while coming down in the elevator of her apartment building. “No one knows what I am up against today.”
She realized that in her mental turbulence she had come down a little early to wait for the company cab. She walked to a bench by the side of the road and sat down, but she just couldn’t take her mind off the meeting with ABC that she had to attend in an hour. Her palms became sweaty, her heart raced faster, and her ears filled with white noise.
The office cab showed up on time.
“Hi! It’s probably too early for you?” Tulsi greeted the driver as he got out of the car to open the door for her.
She did not receive a response.
“So you work with our company? I don’t think I have ever seen you.” She had another question for the driver as they drove to the office. It seemed that her anxiety was making her unusually talkative.
“No.”
The short answer wasn’t enough to tamp down the effects of her anxiety.
“So they hire you for every pickup?”
He did not respond. Tulsi hummed a song to herself, continuously drying her palms with her handkerchief and dabbing her forehead.