by RV Raman
The mongrel’s face had turned ashen by now.
‘After they retired,’ Athreya went on, ‘you stayed. It was an ideal night for you to complete your unfinished business from three months ago. They had foolishly left doors open, and the thick mist had always been your ally.
‘You went to the back door of the mansion. Before doing anything else, you bolted the door of the staff quarters from the outside. If you had to leave in a hurry, you didn’t want Murugan, Gopal or any of the others cutting off your retreat.’
The little man’s eyes almost popped out of his head.
‘But just then,’ Athreya continued, ‘you saw a figure come out in the wheelchair. He had grizzled hair, a greying beard and powerful shoulders. You had no doubt in your mind that it was Bhaskar Fernandez, the man you had been hired to kill.
‘He drove the wheelchair along the walkway to the chapel and entered it. Your target was now alone, far away from anyone else; all alone in the chapel. A God-sent opportunity! It couldn’t have been easier. All you had to do was creep up behind him, and you were an expert at that.
‘You drew the same dagger you had dropped three months ago. Phillip had been kind enough to retrieve it for you. You went in and slit his throat. You ran out, threw the dagger into the stream and went back to the resort.
‘At the resort, you used the small side gate. You knew that it made a noise that would alert the guard. You lifted the latch slowly and let it down. You lifted the gate an inch or two so that it didn’t make any noise, and slowly opened it. Five minutes later, you were in your room, safe and sound.
‘But you were in for a shock the next day. The man you had killed was Phillip, not Bhaskar.’
Athreya stopped and watched the mongrel. He was terrified. Conflicting emotions flashed across his face even as his mouth fell open and his eyes darted about. His breathing had grown shallow, and his face was as white as a sheet.
‘This is the case against you,’ Athreya said. ‘A pretty strong one, don’t you think? What I’ve narrated is what Inspector Muthu believes happened. Of course, I have not given you the evidence; I’ve only outlined what the police think happened. They are convinced that you killed Phillip, mistaking him for Bhaskar.
‘Who saw you, who heard you, what others said about you—all that you will hear in court. Keep in mind, Ismail will sing like a canary. If he doesn’t, he will become an accessory to murder.’
‘I didn’t kill Phillip!’ the mongrel wailed. ‘You must believe me. I was there at Greybrooke Manor, but I didn’t kill him.’
Athreya remained silent, letting the man squirm and agonize.
‘I didn’t kill Phillip,’ he moaned again. ‘Yes, I locked the door of the staff quarters. Yes, I was near the chapel. Yes, I overheard Abbas and Murthy plotting. But I didn’t kill Phillip!’
The mongrel was breathing rapidly now, his breath rasping. The broken man was trembling and wringing his hyperactive hands. His beseeching eyes, bloodshot and haunted, were pleading with Athreya to believe him. When Athreya remained still and silent, a shuddering sob rose from the mongrel’s chest.
‘I…didn’t…kill…Phillip,’ he whimpered. At last, Athreya spoke.
‘I know.’
Chapter 19
The mongrel gaped at Athreya as if he couldn’t comprehend the simple two-word sentence. A look of utter bewilderment overtook his face. His eyes bulged and his jaw hung slack.
‘You know?’ he repeated. Athreya nodded. ‘You know that I didn’t kill Phillip?’ the mongrel’s eyes were searching Athreya’s face as the latter nodded again.
‘You know who killed Phillip?’
‘I do.’
‘Then?’ he asked. ‘Then…’ Words failed him.
‘You got it backwards, my friend,’ Athreya said. ‘You thought that I had come here to discuss the offer you made to Mr. Fernandez. You see, I have come to make you an offer of my own.’
‘Offer?’ The stupid look remained on the mongrel’s face. ‘What offer?’
‘I want you to tell me your story.’
‘Why?’
A shrewd look came to the mongrel’s face. He was getting back to his old self.
‘Because there are multiple crimes here. It’s not just the murder of Phillip. I want to expose all of them, and one way to do that is to use your testimony.’
‘What’s in it for me?’
‘For one, if you become the state’s witness, your sentence will be much lighter. Second, the murder charge that is hanging over your head will disappear. Third, Mr. Fernandez could consider dropping charges against you. I don’t know if he will, but it is a possibility.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘I walk out of here. I will leave you to your fate and at Muthu’s mercy.’
‘You will let an innocent man rot in jail for the rest of his life?’ the mongrel demanded.
‘Innocent?’ Athreya asked, raising his eyebrows theatrically. ‘Show me one innocent man in this room other than me.’
‘You said there were multiple crimes here other than Phillip’s murder. What crimes?’
‘I’m not going to tell you. You confess completely, and answer all my questions truthfully. Only then does my offer stand. If you play games with me, you will end up in the gutter.’
‘How do I know you will keep your word? How do I know you will not cheat me after I confess?’
‘You don’t,’ Athreya said evenly. ‘But you have no choice but to trust me.’
‘Give me five minutes,’ the mongrel muttered and turned away.
Athreya rose and went out of the cell. He asked a sub-inspector to prepare to record the mongrel’s confession. When he returned to the cell ten minutes later, the mongrel was ready.
‘I’m going to trust you,’ he said. ‘I will tell you everything. You must keep your end of the bargain.’
‘My end of the bargain is this: If you confess and turn state witness, I will make Inspector Muthu drop the murder charges, and ask the prosecutor to recommend a lighter sentence for you. Whether Mr. Fernandez chooses to drop his charges of attempted assault is up to him.’
The mongrel nodded slowly and began his story.
‘I followed Murthy on Friday night to Greybrooke Manor, just as you said. Ismail had not told me who had commissioned the contract, but it hadn’t taken me long to find out. I already knew that it must be Abbas or Murthy. But Murthy had no money, and he was in no position to put out a contract. So it had to be Abbas.
‘But why was Abbas doing it? What did he stand to gain by having Fernandez killed? All it took was some snooping and eavesdropping. I found out that Abbas had struck a deal with Murthy. The property that would come to Michelle after Fernandez’s death would be merged with Abbas’s resort.’
‘Did Michelle know about the contract?’ Athreya asked.
‘No. She was kept in the dark. Murthy had beaten and slapped her into submission. He had made her sign an agreement with Abbas, promising to merge her inherited property with Abbas’s resort.
‘As I said, I followed Murthy to Greybrooke on Friday night. The fog was so thick that I could easily remain concealed, and my ability to move without making noise allowed me to get close to people. It was just as you said, I walked around and overheard conversations. Dora and Manu, Michelle and Abbas, Michelle pestering the lawyer about the contents of the second will. And the very interesting conversation between Abbas and Murthy, in which they talked openly about Fernandez’s imminent death.
‘By about 1 a.m., most people had returned to their rooms. Only Abbas and Murthy remained, but they were sitting at the rock garden and smoking. I moved towards the mansion.
‘The first thing I did was to lock the door to the staff quarters. I didn’t want any of them coming out and getting in my way. I was planning to enter through the back door, as that was the shortest way to Fernandez’s room.
‘But before I could go in, I heard someone come down the walkwa
y. He must have come out of the front door, and was going towards the chapel. I ran to the trees behind the mansion and hid there, watching. As I watched him enter the chapel, I recognized him. You know who it was?’
Athreya nodded. ‘Richie.’
‘Yes…Richie. I crept up close to the chapel, wondering what Richie was doing there in the middle of the night. I had just walked around to the building, when I saw someone in a gown come down the path from Sunset Deck.
‘I stood flat against the chapel wall and watched. To my surprise, it was a woman in a nightgown—the major’s wife. She passed within ten feet of me, and entered the chapel through a window. I needed no imagination to know what was going on.
‘With two people inside the chapel, it would be risky for me to attempt my work. I decided to wait. Just then, I saw yet another person, again dressed in a gown. I was too far away to make out who it was, and even to make out whether it was a man or a woman.
‘This person was about to enter through the chapel door when muted sounds came from inside. The woman’s giggling carried far in the night air. They stopped and went to the trees behind the mansion and stood there, waiting for Richie and the woman to finish and leave. I could no longer see them.
‘We must have waited for half an hour or forty-five minutes. At last, the woman left the way she had come, and Richie slipped out through the door and returned to the mansion. The person then waited for five more minutes before entering the chapel.
‘A minute later, I heard a loud gasp from the chapel, as if the person had seen something surprising and terrible.
The next moment, I saw the figure run out of the chapel and down the walkway, past the mansion.
‘By this time, I was getting jittery. I had encountered too many unexpected hurdles. It was not my lucky night. Experience had taught me not to carry out my work when luck was not with me. I aborted my mission and returned to the Misty Valley Resort.
‘The next day, I heard about Phillip’s death and thanked my stars for having aborted my mission. That, sir, is my whole story. I have left out nothing.’
‘Okay,’ Athreya nodded slowly. ‘But you know more about Abbas than you have told me.’
‘About the murder?’ the mongrel asked. ‘No, there is nothing more.’
‘Not about the murder…but about something else. About Abbas’s business.’
‘I know nothing about his resort.’
‘Not the resort, my friend. His other business. The one that brings him money by the truckload. The one he runs across the Western Ghats.’
The mongrel blanched. He looked away, muttering, ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Oh, you do,’ Athreya disputed. ‘You have been here long enough to know what I am talking about.’
‘I…I have nothing to do with it. It is not something I touch even with a pole. It’s a dirty business… I’ve seen what it does to young men and women. It converts boys into thieves and makes girls sell their bodies. I’ve seen how addicts die… My father was one. I don’t touch it.’
‘I am not saying you touch it. I’m saying that you know something about Abbas’s drug business. You are a man who watches, a man who listens. The resort has been raided several times, but nothing has ever been found. The stock is being stored somewhere not far from here.’
The mongrel licked his lips and remained silent.
‘An anti-drug team is in town now,’ Athreya persisted softly, trying to persuade him. ‘If you help them crack the case, the police and the judge will count it in your favour.’ The mongrel hesitated. He was in two minds. Athreya knew what he was thinking.
This was an opportunity for him to play his card for his own benefit. Abbas was already neck-deep in trouble by having put out a contract on Bhaskar. Milking him now would be difficult. On the other hand, what Athreya had said was true—the police and the courts tended to look favourably upon those who helped fight drugs.
The mongrel looked up.
‘Abbas has a hidden cellar at the Misty Valley Resort,’ he said. ‘And there is this shack in Coonoor…’
* * *
The shack turned out to be one among a dozen that stood scattered on a slope beside a potholed lane on the outskirts of Coonoor. A hundred feet below was a black-topped road that ran north from the town towards the valley that housed Greybrooke Manor and the Misty Valley Resort.
Near the shacks was a tea shop that doubled as a small restaurant, and a cigarette stall. A clutch of idle men loitered around, smoking and sipping tea.
Half an hour after Athreya spoke to the mongrel, a man who appeared to be a daily-wage worker sauntered in and struck up conversation with the cigarette-stall owner. Another man wandered into the crowd near the tea shop.
A little later, they had learnt that three men visited the shack after dark a few days a week, but always separately. One was Ismail from the Misty Valley Resort and another was a man who worked at a restaurant near the bus stand at Coonoor. The third name came as a surprise to the anti- drug team.
When a lorry blocked the view from the tea shop and the cigarette stall, a man materialized in front of the shack. Within thirty seconds, the lock was open. He stepped in and closed the door behind him. Inside, he found unquestionable evidence of drug trafficking.
The shack was put under round-the-clock surveillance. Before the next day dawned, the three men who frequented the shack would have been apprehended.
Once the shack had been searched, the team prepared to raid the Misty Valley Resort. Their primary target was the hidden cellar under Abbas’s office that was accessible only through a trapdoor concealed under a thick rug behind his desk.
* * *
Meanwhile, at the Coonoor town police station, an officer had been busy on the phone, calling nearby hotels and resorts in the hope of finding a man whose name he had been given by Athreya. He started with hotels in the heart of town, and slowly moved outwards.
The first hour had been fruitless as none of the hotels reported having hosted anyone by that name. After all, it was an uncommon name in this part of the world. Each call took several minutes. First, he had to get to the manager or his representative. Then, he had to convince the person that he was indeed a policeman calling from the station. And finally, he had to wait for the person to go through the guest register and report back.
By the end of the hour, he was growing frustrated. He had called twenty-odd hotels without success. An hour later, his hopes were fading. All the hotels in and around the town, including the few that were close to Wellington, had not hosted the man. Athreya’s hopes were also fading, but he insisted that they go over the entire list, and call all hotels and resorts.
Suddenly, the officer hit pay dirt. When he called a high-end resort to the south-east of Coonoor, he had a pleasant surprise waiting for him.
‘Yes,’ the hotel manager said. ‘We have a Mr. Enrico staying with us. He checked in on Saturday, and is expected to be here for two more days.’
Enrico, the art valuer, had come to Coonoor after all. Disregarding his growling stomach, Athreya jumped into a police vehicle and hastened to the resort, which was half an hour away.
‘Mr. Enrico?’ he asked when he met the surprised foreigner. ‘I have come from Greybrooke Manor. I want to speak to you about some paintings’
‘What paintings?’ Enrico asked.
‘The Balsano landscapes.’
* * *
Back in Coonoor, a ravenous Athreya sat down to eat lunch with Rajan. News of the anti-drug team’s discovery at the shack had come in, delighting Rajan and the local police. If Rajan had been expecting Athreya to be surprised at any of the three names that had emerged in relation to the shack, he was disappointed. In fact, the third name, which had surprised everyone, was the very one Athreya had asked Rajan to enquire about in Coorg.
Rajan’s contact in Coorg called when they were in the midst of lunch. He had completed the enquiries, and found out something that left
Rajan astonished.
‘The person you asked me to find out about is dead,’ the man said. ‘Died ten years ago.’
‘You were right,’ Rajan said once he had hung up.
‘Things are falling into place. We now have enough evidence for a conviction. In addition, Abbas, Murthy, Ismail and a few others will also see jail terms.
‘The local police are thrilled that they have finally been able to nail Abbas. They have been after him for a few years now, and suspected that he was somehow involved in the drug trade. But they had nothing definite. Now, they have him.’
‘Bhaskar Fernandez, too, suspected that Abbas was in the drug trade,’ Athreya said. ‘In fact, he was very sure of it. It was his conviction that set me onto Abbas. A very sharp man, Bhaskar. He will be delighted to hear this news.’
‘That’s all fine,’ Rajan said with a frown. ‘But how does all this fit in with the murders at Greybrooke Manor? Why was Phillip killed? We know that he was involved in the attempts on Bhaskar’s life. But who killed him? And Sebastian? I suppose he surprised someone at the chapel last night and paid the price for it.’
‘That is what I am waiting for,’ Athreya replied. ‘The last piece of the puzzle. The final piece of evidence that links the residents of the valley to art-related crimes in Europe.’
‘What kind of evidence?’ Rajan asked.
‘Fingerprints. I expect one set of prints from here to find a match in the Viennese police records.’
As if on cue, Athreya’s phone rang. It was the man from Delhi. He sounded excited.
‘We have a match!’ he exclaimed. ‘We finally have a match.’
Chapter 21
Back at Greybrooke Manor, Athreya was standing over Bhaskar, who was seated in his wheelchair in the study. Sebastian’s murder had broken him. He sat slumped now, pale and drawn, his eyes deep-set and empty. Without Sebastian standing behind him, Bhaskar somehow looked lonely. It was no secret that Sebastian had been like a son to him.