“I was looking into the symptoms of mercury poisoning most of last night. Everything fits.” Sameer gestured at Mahesh. “Especially the pink lips and fingers.”
Mahesh held out his hands and spread his fingers so that they could all see the highlighted extremities.
“And the behaviour of the rats too,” added Sameer.
“Rats?” It was Jesvinder who whispered the question. The peculiarity of the subject matter had pierced her veil of misery.
“They’ve been acting strange.”
“Dancing,” explained Mahesh, grinning impetuously.
Singh decided to ignore this detour into performing animals. “Mercury from the factory?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s just rubbish,” barked Tanvir. “None of our products carry mercury.”
“Not officially,” said Sameer. “That’s why I couldn’t find any compounds that matched the symptoms.”
“But?” asked Singh. There was clearly a ‘but’ here.
“But I now know that the factory’s best-selling product – the skin-whitening cream – contains mercury,” replied Sameer.
Fifteen
“Adding mercury was illegal,” added Sameer. “Someone pretty high up in the company – like Tara Singh – would have had to be behind it.”
“I have no idea what you’re going on about,” said Tanvir in a biting tone, “but you need to think hard before making accusations against my company.”
My company? The heir really wasn’t letting the grass grow under his feet. His grandfather’s body was barely cold.
“What are you going to do? Have me beaten up again?” demanded Sameer.
An expression of pure satisfaction crossed Tanvir’s face as he looked at Sameer whose bruises had lost their purple intensity but were clearly of fairly recent origin. If Singh had ever been in any doubt, he was now certain that Tanvir was behind the attack on Sameer.
“How did you find out – about the mercury, I mean?” asked Singh.
“Last night, I was at the factory, researching the various compounds used on the production line.”
“Looking for a needle in a haystack,” muttered Tanvir.
Sameer didn’t deny it. He just carried on with his tale in a determined manner, jaw thrust forward as if inviting contradiction. Or a punch.
“I wasn’t having much success. Anyway, I heard a car pull up outside. I had a look and saw it was Tyler. I wasn’t sure why he’d come to the factory so late at night but guessed – hoped – that it was something to do with the poisoning. Otherwise, why the secrecy? I decided to hide in his office to see what he was doing.” Sameer spoke as if spying on the boss in the middle of the night was par for the course for an employee at Bharat Chemicals.
“Hide in his office?” asked Singh.
“Yes, behind a couch.”
The inspector rolled his eyes at Patel. “So what did he do? What did Tyler do?”
“Well, not very much that I could see – he just spent a long time at his computer.”
“And?” demanded Patel, unusually brief in his curiosity.
“And eventually he got up and left.”
“That’s it?” asked Ranjit. “That’s all you’ve got?”
“Once he was gone – I had a look at his desktop. I thought I might be able to break into his computer.”
“That’s password-protected,” pointed out Tanvir.
“The password was taped to his keyboard,” replied Sameer, grinning suddenly.
Singh looked at him with interest. This was Sameer’s moment of triumph as far as the chemical poisoning was concerned. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d just lost the woman he loved and, despite his denials, quite possibly a child too. He seemed remarkably cheerful in the circumstances, standing there, legs slightly apart, one careless and yet protective hand on Mahesh’s shoulder. Was Mrs. Singh right? Were the affections of men that transient? Was Ashu already in the past or did revenge leaven sorrow? He would have to remember that prescription for future emergencies.
“And?” asked Patel.
“And there were some interesting insights into the chemical composition of our skin-whitening cream. When I realised there was mercury content, I did a bit more research. Symptoms of poisoning at the slum are similar to a catastrophe in Japan in the seventies.”
“There’s no proof that any of it has leaked,” pointed out Singh.
“There will be though. I’ve made a report to the various municipal authorities. They can’t ignore it now. I took blood and tissue samples from the residents and passed it to them. I think they will show elevated levels of mercury. And I had a look around the place – the stuff is leaking out of some old pipes into the ground before it gets to the containment and disposal tanks. It’s possible that mercury vapour from the leaks is also being emitted through the air-conditioning ducts – the vents face out towards the dwellings. Probably a combination of these factors – and it’s been going on for a while since the residents are showing chronic poisoning symptoms.”
“Will they get better?” asked Mrs. Singh, her eyes drawn to the small boy clutching Sameer’s hand tightly.
Singh had a sudden insight into how lonely his childless wife had been all these years while he furiously pursued murderers. The inspector focused his gaze on Mahesh. He was certainly a boy to tug at the heartstrings. The irrepressible smile, the combative air and now the shaking limbs.
“I hope so,” said Sameer, meeting her eyes and matching her worried expression. “But it’s too late for the children who’ve been born with deformities.” He reached into his pocket and flung a photo down on the table. It showed a mother holding a small baby. The mother’s face was turned away, her head covered in what looked like a floral shawl, probably the end of her sari. The child’s eyes were closed, he or she peacefully asleep, but one small hand stuck out of the swaddling cloth and it was twisted and gnarled like the limb of an ancient and arthritic man rather than a newborn. It was good to know there was hope for Mahesh but Singh’s eyes were drawn to the unnatural horror of that small hand. The crooked limb beckoned to him, demanding his attention, defying him to look and be unmoved.
The inspector cleared his throat. “None of this explains why you’re here looking for Tara Singh.”
“I think he knew.”
“About the mercury?” The man had been an old-fashioned tyrant, but surely not irresponsible towards his fellow citizens? Besides, Singh had brought up Ashu’s theories with him and he’d been dismissive. The policeman hadn’t picked up any hint of a guilty conscience.
“I think he knew that the source of the outbreak was the factory and decided to keep quiet about it. After all, he must have okayed the addition of the mercury. He was looking at a long jail term if word got out.”
“How did you find out he knew?” asked Ranjit.
Singh immediately picked up on the slight emphasis. He turned to confront the young man. “You believe the same thing?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You asked Sameer how he found out about the cover-up…but you weren’t surprised about the accusation. Was it something Ashu said?”
“I just knew Tara Baba – what he was capable of doing – that’s all,” mumbled Ranjit. “If he thought adding mercury to skin-whitening cream would sell more tubs, he’d do it…”
“And you?” Singh addressed his question to Sameer.
“It had to be him – who else had the authority?” he replied.
“Is that what Ashu believed – that Tara Baba knew?” It was her mother with the question.
Sameer shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “I don’t know,” he answered at last.
Singh wondered about the hesitation. And what was the implication of Tara Singh knowing? Would he have killed his own granddaughter to stop her destroying his reputation, his empire? Surely it would have been best to accept the suicide theory if that was the case? Why ask Singh to look into the death i
f he himself was responsible?
“What about Tyler?” asked Singh.
“The police are looking for him.” Sameer added angrily, “They can’t find him. He’s made a run for it – like Warren Anderson.”
Singh’s expression of puzzlement provoked Sameer to snap, “The CEO of Union Carbide – during the Bhopal disaster.”
The inspector nodded slowly, his mind whirring quicker than a high-speed fan.
“If Tyler is doing his very best to escape, it means he’s more likely to be doing the mercury poisoning than Tara Singh.” It was Patel, trying, no doubt, to protect the reputation of a leading Indian entrepeneur.
“I doubt Tyler cared enough about the company to try and boost sales by illegal means,” said Singh. “He was just waiting for his retirement.”
“He knew though – if it was on his computer,” said Sameer. “And that’s why he’s gone…”
“So why are you wanting to see Tara Singh?” It was Patel with the question, directed at Sameer. It indicated that, of all those present including his Singaporean counterpart, he was the only one to whom the murder of Tara Singh was a priority.
“I want to show him what he’s done!”
“He’s dead,” said Jesvinder quietly.
“What?”
“Tara Baba is dead. He must have had a heart attack last night – after the cremation.” She turned to Patel for confirmation but the policeman was not looking at her. His eyes were scanning the occupants of the room, looking, guessed Singh, for a nervous twitch that signalled guilt.
Sameer’s eyebrows were raised, his brow furrowed like a smallholding at harvest time. Was he acting? It was difficult to tell. None of the others were manifesting any sign of shock, but they knew, of course, that Tara was dead. That was not news. Only the manner of his death remained hidden.
Sameer sat down suddenly on the long sofa. His elbows were resting on his thighs and his hands hanging down between his legs.
“Do you think Tara Baba had something to do with Ashu’s death?” asked the inspector’s wife. The words were squeezed past a constricted throat.
Singh felt a moment of sharp pride. That was the exact question at the exact moment that he would have chosen.
“What do you mean?” asked Jesvinder. The mother of the girl looked faint. There had been too many revelations, heaped upon tragedy, for her fragile state.
“If he knew about the poisoning and didn’t do anything about it – well, he needed Ashu to keep his secret,” said the inspector.
“If she refused?” It was Patel with the question.
Singh’s eyes were trained on Mahesh. For some reason, the boy was smiling – a mischievous, misplaced expression. He hoped it wasn’t a symptom of further mercury-induced degeneration. But it didn’t look like an involuntary facial spasm. Singh would have bet his last beer that there was real glee in the buck-toothed grin.
“If she refused, I believe he would have killed her,” said Ranjit, staring defiantly at his mother and brother.
“Ranjit, how can you say such a thing?” The voice of protest was from Jesvinder.
Tanvir walked over to his brother and grabbed him by his shirt front. “Listen, you little fool. Just because Tara Baba knew you for a weakling and despised you – that’s no reason to accuse him of murder.” He laughed but there was no humour in it. “If we’d cremated you yesterday, Tara Baba might have been a credible suspect.”
“There’s no need to be so cruel, Tanvir.”
The man turned to face his mother.
“Mata, he should not say such things about Tara Baba,” he explained.
“I agree, Tanvir. But we are still one family – what’s left of us.”
Singh looked around at his wife’s numerous relatives. He would have been lying to say that he was impressed. There was Jesvinder, her cousin, who had stood by while her daughter was railroaded into marriage. Jesvinder’s son, Tanvir, grasping for power and wealth with greedy fingers, and her other boy, Ranjit, wearing a hairshirt of half-truths and lies. He had taken a fancy to Sameer but if he’d really loved the girl, he should have put his foot down and insisted on marriage. And wasn’t he a trifle too cheerful for someone who had just lost ‘everything’? Unless it was Kirpal who had slain the golden goose. Surely the MBA was not that much of a fool? And what about Tara Baba?
The fact remained that one of them had killed Ashu – or at the very least, driven her to her death.
Singh inched forward so that he was sitting on the edge of the seat. “How did you know?” he demanded, reverting to his earlier question. The inspector was looking at Ranjit as he asked the question. “About the cover-up?”
Patel was confused. “You are speaking of the mercury poisoning?”
Singh nodded curtly but didn’t take his eyes off Ranjit.
“She told me,” he said sullenly. “That afternoon when I picked her up – Ashu told me. She didn’t know it was mercury, of course – just that there was something poisoning the slum.”
“What made her think that Tara was hiding evidence?”
“She went to see Tyler Junior that morning. They had an argument.”
Singh nodded. He had Mrs. Bannerjee to thank for information on that quarrel.
“Tyler told her that Tara Baba knew that the factory was the likely cause of the outbreak at the settlement.” Ranjit laughed bitterly. “Ashu was shocked. I told her it was nothing more or less than I would have expected of the old man.”
“She didn’t tell me that!” exclaimed Sameer.
“Tara Baba wasn’t your favourite person. She didn’t want to give you any further reason to hate him until she got to the bottom of things.”
“What did she plan to do with the information that Tara Baba knew about the poisoning?” asked Singh.
“Confront him,” was the brief response. “Give him an opportunity to explain.”
“And did she?”
“I think so.” Ranjit shrugged and the sharp points of his shoulders were etched against his t-shirt. “I drove her to Tara Baba’s office. She wouldn’t let me come in with her. She said she’d speak to him – didn’t want me there because I always put him in a bad mood. She told me to go home and wait – she’d tell me what happened the moment she could.” He paused for a moment and wiped a hand over his face.
“Well, carry on,” said Singh irritably.
“That was the last time I saw her…”
“So you don’t know for a fact that she ever saw him?”
“Of course she did!” shouted Ranjit, spittle running down his chin. “She saw him and told him what she knew and he killed her. Surely that’s obvious?”
There was a pause while they all absorbed the certainty of his belief that Tara Singh had killed his beloved grandaughter. Singh gritted his teeth so hard, he felt as if they might splinter into a thousand shards. He didn’t buy it. The grandfather’s pain at Ashu’s death had been genuine. The policeman reminded himself that sorrow and guilt were not mutually exclusive.
“Well, I haven’t got time to listen to my idiot brother make unfounded accusations against my grandfather or his business interests. I have an appointment with a friend so if you’ll excuse me, I need to get going,” said Tanvir.
“No one is leaving the premises until I say so,” said Singh, propelling himself to his feet by dint of yanking on the armrests.
“And who left you in charge?” Tanvir was dismissive as he marched to the front door.
“Inspector Singh is very right,” interjected Patel. “No one is leaving.”
Tanvir stopped in his tracks abruptly. “And if I insist?”
“My man at front door will arrest you right away.”
“But why?” demanded Tanvir in a voice that suggested his control over his temper was tenuous at best. “Why must I stay here? Even if this chemical poisoning nonsense is true, and I don’t believe it, it has nothing to do with me.”
“Because,” explained the Indian policeman, “Tara Singh was mur
dered!”
“I don’t believe you,” whispered Tanvir.
Patel shrugged. “It’s not at all important what you believe.”
“How?” breathed Jesvinder.
“Clubbed to death with his own walking stick.”
“But…who…who did it?” Sameer stammered like a teenager on his first date.
“I have my suspicions,” said Singh.
“You think it has something to with Ashu’s death?” asked Tanvir.
“How many enemies does your family have exactly?”
“But you don’t even really know – whatever Ranjit says – that Ashu’s death was murder.”
“That may be so – but I’m sure that someone of your sister’s personality was highly unlikely to have killed herself – and in such a way – and I stand by that conclusion.”
“Anyway,” interrupted Patel quickly, “we are most certainly having a murder now.”
Singh pulled a face. There was a certain irony that he’d been investigating a death for days without any concrete evidence that it had actually been a murder only to be offered a fresh body in these latter stages.
The fat man sank into a sofa and picked up the photo of the slum child again. He flipped open Ashu’s album and looked at the chubby smiling black and white baby pictures of the heiress. In India, without any genuine social mobility, the conditions of birth pretty much determined the trajectory of each life. But the baby with the misshapen hand and the heiress’s path had crossed in this most unlikely way. He turned the pages until he was staring at the most recent shot of Ashu – hand outstretched as the bangles were placed on her arm – and then turned his attention to the gnarled hand of the other. There would be no expensive, grandfather-funded wedding for this small child. He didn’t need a crystal ball to read that into her future.
“Is that an album of Ashu?” asked Sameer, sitting down next to Singh. He stared at the picture of the choora ceremony and winced but otherwise didn’t acknowledge that it was an occasion that could give him no pleasure.
The inspector looked at the photo for a while, contemplating the short and eventful life that had been Ashu’s. Especially contemplating the end of it – by fire. In many ways, that was the single greatest impediment to a theory of murder – the manner of death. In the absence of narcotics in the blood stream and any visible evidence of a blow, it was hard to see why any murderer would have chosen such a method. Tara’s death left no such doubt.
A Curious Indian Cadaver Page 21