A Murder on Malabar Hill

by Sujata Massey

  Perveen stared at the changing sky, trying to think of all the small pieces of information she’d read and heard. The answer to Mukri’s death was contained within a couple of pieces of this mosaic—and possibly, the answer to Amina’s disappearance too.

  But although she and Alice had dwelled for more than two hours on the plans, they couldn’t know anything more without going to the bungalow itself. That had been impossible, because Alice’s mother expected her to attend a cards party, and Perveen had promised her father she’d stay home.

  Lillian squawked from her cage, clearly aware of Perveen’s presence.

  ‘Go fly about the garden. There’s plenty of food to find; look how busy the other birds are,’ Perveen scolded.

  But Lillian remained, beating her wings to rise up a few inches and then come down hard on her perch bar. Over and over she did it, as if to irritate Perveen even further.

  The bird wanted her breakfast in a dish because she’d never developed the skills to hunt grubs or pick fruit.

  Perveen had once believed the Farid widows were similarly helpless, but she didn’t any more. It must have been maddening to have a household agent thrust into their world. Razia had the most powerful motivation against him: keeping her child from being married off. Sakina might have gone against Mukri because she hadn’t liked the way he’d threatened Razia, and she might have feared for the future well-being of her own daughters. And Mumtaz would have wished him gone if there was a chance that he could claim parental rights on her child.

  However, Perveen couldn’t see how the women could have been involved in her kidnapping. They knew their home and its secret places but not the vastness of Bombay.

  Thinking of this conundrum made her want to speak with her father, who had not arrived home by the time she’d fallen asleep. If she’d woken Lillian, she might as well wake her father.

  Tying a wrapper over her nightdress, Perveen walked the short length of the hall to her parents’ room. The door was ajar, and she saw her father was already dressed and standing in front of the mirrored almirah working on his cravat.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said, tugging at the edges of his bow tie. ‘You are awake early.’

  ‘And you are too. When did you arrive home yesterday?’

  ‘Well after you were asleep, and Mamma and I decided it was better to let you rest. Let us talk together while eating breakfast downstairs.’

  In the dining room, sun was slanting in from the eastern windows, casting a pattern across the mahogany table. As Perveen sat down, John brought coffee and toasted brun maska buns. This was a far cry from the large breakfast that would be served to the rest of the family at nine-thirty, but it was just right for the hour.

  ‘What did you do yesterday?’ Perveen yawned as she picked up her cup of coffee.

  ‘I went to Sea View Road,’ he said casually. ‘I wished to check on the welfare of Mumtaz-begum, who wasn’t observed by Gulnaz the other evening.’

  ‘And what about Amina?’ Perveen asked. ‘Were you permitted to go to the jali screen to speak through it to Razia-begum?’

  ‘Certainly,’ her father said, looking slightly affronted. It was surely a surprise to have her questioning his procedure. ‘Sub-inspector Singh was walking in, and I suggested that the two of us ask the young maid if all the women could come to their side of the jali screen for a conversation on the second floor. He didn’t think they would but when they heard I was your father, they agreed.’

  Perveen was too anxious to enjoy the pride she’d normally have felt in such a situation. ‘Did you mention Amina’s disappearance in front of the sub-inspector? The family doesn’t want a police investigation.’

  ‘I did not ask, although I am growing concerned that we should mention it. If the child has come to harm from a household member, I wouldn’t wish to be charged with aiding and abetting.’

  Perveen’s coffee went down the wrong way. Coughing out the fluid, she thought with horror about being charged for an offence when she’d thought she was in the right. Who knew? And say she wasn’t charged—how could she live with herself if Amina died?

  After looking at her reprovingly, Jamshedji spread more butter on his bun. ‘By the by, Mumtaz didn’t come with the other two women to speak at the jali screen. Razia-begum said it was due to not feeling well, and remembering what you told me about her pregnancy, I suggested to Singh that we let her rest.’

  Again, Perveen was worried about her father’s possible intrusion. ‘Please tell me you didn’t mention the pregnancy—’

  ‘Of course not,’ he said briskly. ‘However, Singh stated concern that she should perhaps consult a doctor if she could not come to the window with the others. Razia-begum said she would call the doctor, although she could not promise Mumtaz-begum would be willing to be seen.’

  ‘What was it like speaking to them through a jali? Could you tell their voices apart?’

  ‘Of course. Razia-begum’s voice is lower and not as melodious as Sakina-begum’s.’

  ‘What else did you learn in the conversation?’

  ‘Singh questioned them about whether they had called you at Mistry House. Razia-begum said she hadn’t, and, in, fact did not have the business card any longer.’

  ‘If she looked for it, she might have thought of calling me.’

  ‘Sakina-begum denied ringing you. She and Razia agreed that Mumtaz was in her rooms all evening and did not call. This led to my asking whether they had any concerns for safety, and both agreed that they wished to have the durwan Mohsen continue guarding the gate.’

  ‘But will the police let him out?’ Perveen asked.

  ‘He’d been released and was on duty when I arrived.’

  So the police had acted on what she’d learnt about Mohsen. He was reunited with his children, and the gate was secure. Perveen felt a small bit of pride for her part in this.

  ‘You may recall that the Farid Fabrics office provided me the home address of Mrs Mukri,’ Jamshedji continued, starting in on a bowl of sliced papaya. ‘Before going to catch the train for Poona, I checked your briefcase and found all the widows’ natal addresses. I planned to call on the Mukri and Chivne households during my day trip. It wasn’t until I was settled on the train and looking through the papers that I realized the addresses for Mrs Mukri and Sakina-begum’s father were the same. I would be making a condolence call, and an investigatory call, at the same compound.’

  ‘But that’s remarkable! Are Mukri and Sakina-begum brother and sister?’

  Jamshedji dipped one corner of his brun maska in the coffee and ate at a leisurely pace. ‘No. The parents are siblings, which means Faisal Mukri and Sakina Chivne were first cousins. The house belongs to Sakina’s grandparents, but when Mrs Mukri became a widow in 1910, she and her children, including twelve-year-old Faisal, moved into the compound.’

  Perveen noted that her father had dropped the honorific for Sakina—he was scant on formality when they were in private conference. It felt as if the first important piece of the mysterious mosaic had emerged. The blood relationship was why Sakina had trusted Mr Mukri so absolutely, no matter how unpleasant he might have been to everyone else.

  ‘What was their relationship like as children?’ Perveen asked.

  ‘Mrs Mukri didn’t say anything, and as she is mourning for her son, I couldn’t press her. Sakina’s father, Mr Chivne, said they became close as brother and sister, and Sakina missed him very much when he went away to school. When I stopped to speak with Sakina’s younger brother, Adnan, whom I met in the garden when I was leaving, I was able to learn a bit more.’

  Perveen had a number of burning questions, but she kept still as she didn’t want another pause.

  ‘He said that when Faisal joined the household, he became the oldest boy in residence, and he attempted to gain the privileges that had been Adnan’s.’

  ‘What kind of privileges?’

  ‘Adnan chuckled about it, but I could tell, since he remembered so well, that it must have both
ered him greatly,’ Jamshedji said in the relaxed tone he used when reading aloud. ‘Adnan Chivne said that after his cousin Faisal arrived, he received less choice pieces of chicken and lamb, and he no longer received many new clothes every season. Now Faisal got these things, because he was the oldest. Faisal also charmed Sakina, who favoured him rather than her brother, to the point that their closeness became somewhat alarming to the family. Faisal officially left the zenana a year after he’d come to the household but instead of staying on the other side of the house and going to school in town, he was sent to live at a madrassa.’

  ‘A religious boarding school!’ Perveen said, thinking about the school Faisal Mukri had said he was going to build. Here was the root of his interest in such places.

  ‘Sakina was heartbroken when Faisal went away. During school breaks, when Faisal returned to the bungalow, he was allowed to visit the zenana to see his mother but wound up mostly with Sakina. Seeing that the affection between them was growing and might cause problems, Sakina’s father accepted the proposal of a wealthy man he heard was looking for a second wife. This was Mr Farid, who married her when he was thirty-nine and she was fifteen.’

  Perveen was trying to put together a timeline in her mind. ‘When was Faisal Mukri hired by Mr Farid?’

  ‘Three years after he’d married Sakina.’

  ‘Sakina-begum would have been eighteen, and she’d already delivered Nasreen and Shireen. Faisal Mukri would have been nineteen years old.’ Perveen thought some more about it. ‘I wonder if Sakina-begum suggested to her husband that he hire her cousin. It’s an ordinary enough request.’

  ‘It’s likely. As I’ve mentioned, the Farid Fabrics accounting supervisor thought Mukri was a relative of Mr Farid’s.’

  Perveen remembered Sakina’s steadfast support of the proposition that she turn her personal wealth over to the wakf. Mukri could have promised her that in exchange they’d live their lives in luxury, and perhaps without the others. Mukri had the power to arrange marriages for the other widows; the household could have been stripped of everyone except for the two of them and Sakina’s own children.

  If Razia knew all of this, she might have realized Mukri was a threat to the household’s existence. Would she feel the same way about Sakina—or would she continue to tolerate the second wife?

  The only way Perveen could understand the truth of whether Razia had killed Mukri was by going directly to the women. ‘Pappa, I know you’ve been worried about me. I stayed home quietly yesterday and went to bed very early. I feel revived. I’d like to do some interviewing at the Farid bungalow today.’

  Jamshedji drained the last of his coffee and then looked at her. ‘I would be glad to accompany you, but I’ve got Mr Reddy’s trial today. Therefore, office work would be best for you.’

  Perveen swallowed hard. After leaving Calcutta, she had pledged to herself not to disrespect her father. He’d taken her back without question, paid for her to study in England, and hired her as his employee when no other law firm in Bombay would. Jamshedji had delivered her second act.

  But in her second act, she was a solicitor duty-bound to do the best thing for her client, Razia Farid. Perveen looked her father in the eye. ‘While your work in Poona has brought out some great information, your experience speaking through a jali has not yielded information we need to ensure the widows’ safety. I am the only one who can speak to Sakina privately about her relationship with Mr Mukri and also to Razia and Mumtaz to determine if they knew about the family ties.’

  ‘That could be done another day, when I’m able to accompany you.’ Jamshedji laid his napkin aside, a subtle indication to Perveen that he was readying himself to move on to court. She was losing advantage.

  ‘Another reason I wish to visit Sea View Road is to establish whether there’s private access between the master bedroom and any of the wives’ chambers. That’s something that would be improper for you to try.’

  Jamshedji’s grey eyebrows drew together in concern. ‘What is this about private access?’

  Perveen decided to speak boldly, as if her actions of the day before were entirely natural. ‘Remember my request for the architectural drawings? I asked Alice to look at the plans with me. She noticed some inconsistencies and raised the possibility of a hidden passage, although it could also be a very thick wall.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have expected you’d show Miss Hobson-Jones the drawings.’ Jamshedji’s voice was stiff with disapproval.

  ‘I contracted her services as a temporary employee.’ In response to her father’s incredulous look, she said, ‘I paid her a sovereign and took a receipt. I knew Alice’s mathematical acumen would be helpful with regard to the plans.’

  ‘Her father is the governor’s councillor!’ Jamshedji sputtered. ‘Didn’t you think she might tell him about this and cause all manner of havoc?’

  ‘Alice advised me she would not divulge a bit of it, and since she’s our employee now, the court can’t make her say anything.’

  Jamshedji was silent for a long moment. ‘As long as the police are still at the compound, you may visit. But don’t go alone.’

  Perveen was flooded with relief—not just at being allowed to go, but also at his tacit suggestion that Alice be included. ‘Thank you very much for the permission, Pappa. And is there anything more I should know?’

  ‘The autopsy was released. Sub-inspector Singh informed me that Mukri’s death was caused by a violent severing of his spinal cord.’

  ‘The back-of-the-neck wound,’ Perveen said, suppressing a brief rush of nausea as she recalled the scene. ‘I guessed that was the cause, because of all the blood and the fact that the letter opener was still there.’

  ‘Ah, but the coroner didn’t say the letter opener was the weapon. He suggested a stiletto-type item was used, although none was found on the scene.’

  Perveen thought this through. ‘Was the letter opener placed there after the fact?’

  ‘No comment was made on that, but it surely must be the case.’ He put down his cup heavily. ‘For all we know, someone other than the killer came along after the deed was done and placed the letter opener there.’

  ‘It would be a way to throw suspicion on Razia-begum or Amina.’ Perveen was unable to sit any longer and got up to look out the window. ‘I feel we must investigate the past relationship between Sakina-begum and Faisal Mukri.’

  ‘You must be very careful when you speak to her, and any of the other wives,’ Jamshedji said. ‘Get the information, and get out.’

  Perveen hugged her father tightly at the door. He had given her his blessing to continue with the case. It was hard to express to him how happy that made her, even at a very difficult time.

  Gruffly, he said, ‘This is a grand farewell for an ordinary morning in court.’

  ‘I’m only wishing you the best of luck. You are defending Mr Reddy’s sweetshop, which is one of my favourite places.’

  That brought a chuckle. ‘If we prevail there won’t be much of a fee, but I expect a big pan of boorelu.’

  ‘We will celebrate with sweets tonight,’ Perveen pledged, hoping that it would be a celebration of her work as well as his.

  31

  LEFT HANGING

  Bombay, February 1921

  ‘Hobson-Jones residence,’ Alice answered cheerily on the second ring.

  ‘It’s Perveen. Are you up for work today?’

  ‘Certainly. I’ve been hanging near the telephone all morning hoping you’d call.’

  Perveen wasn’t surprised that the energy that had woken her stretched all the way to Malabar Hill. ‘You can’t imagine what I’ve learnt from my father in the last half hour. I’m starting to put together the pieces—’

  ‘I’d like to finish that puzzle we began at your house last night. One thousand pieces, wasn’t it?’ Alice spoke brightly, and Perveen suddenly realized that the councillor’s telephone line was hardly confidential.

  ‘Actually, I’d like to show you the Hanging Gardens. If
it gets too hot, we can come back here and finish that puzzle.’

  ‘I’ll come for you in the Crossley. No, it’s not an imposition. Mummy has plans with Lady Lloyd and would much rather ride with her in the Silver Ghost.’

  Alice arrived in the elegant blue car shortly after nine. As Perveen rushed to enter the car, several neighbourhood boys waved in recognition to the large fair-haired visitor. Perveen ran past Camellia, explaining that she had to show Alice the Hanging Gardens before the midday sun rose.

  ‘Good idea. She must not burn her skin. Take a parasol,’ Camellia said.

  Perveen had not wanted to tell her mother about her visit to the Malabar Hill bungalow; while Jamshedji had authorized the trip, her mother would worry far too much.

  Because the Hobson-Joneses’ chauffeur, Sirjit, spoke excellent English, she knew not to talk about anything in the car. She did ask for a stop at the Hanging Gardens. There, the two strolled far away from the memsahibs chatting together while ayahs trundled their babies. The two went through the little paths lined by roses and topiaries. At the park’s far side, a stone wall bordered a steep drop. It was there that Perveen explained about the close relationship of Sakina and Faisal Mukri. Perveen also told Alice of her intent in exploring the passageway.

  Alice’s eyes glittered with excitement. ‘How shall we manage all of this? Do you think they’ll just let us look?’

  Perveen shook her head. ‘You shall be my decoy. What if you appeared at the door of the zenana hawking yourself as an English governess? Even if they say no, you can keep talking, and they’ll not have the nerve to send an Englishwoman away.’

  ‘And where will you be?’ Alice said as the two of them turned to walk back to the waiting car.

  ‘Walking into the other side of the house and taking the exploratory route from Mr Farid’s room. Or should I say Mukri’s lair?’ she added with a grimace.

  ‘But aren’t there going to be police present?’ Alice said as they passed through the garden’s gateway to the street.

  ‘I’m not sure, because I heard Mohsen’s back on the job. In any case, if the police are present, we’ll tell them you’re paying a social call, and they will think your mother sent you. They already know I’m the family lawyer and have good reason to be at the property.’