The Case of the Missing Servant avpm-1

by Tarquin Hall

  "She was found on the Ajmer Road," he said.

  "Recently?"

  "No, no! Long time back. August, I think."

  Puri hung up and called Elizabeth Rani, who had access to the World Wide Web on what she called "whif-ee." She soon located a transcript of the comments Inspector Shekhawat had made to the press in front of Raj Kasliwal Bhavan minutes after the arrest. He'd claimed that the investigation into Mary's disappearance had been "of the utmost professionality." Furthermore, "substantive evidence" had been "unearthed by the use of modern detective methodology." Ajay Kasliwal was, according to the inspector, "a cold-blooded killer" who had "raped and strangled the maidservant girl until dead."

  When Inspector Shekhawat had been asked by a reporter about the motive for the murder, he'd replied, "Clearly, the accused and the victim were having intercourse of one sort or another-who is to say?-and he was endeavoring to conceal his misdeed."

  Elizabeth Rani also told Puri that the story was running number two (after India's comeback against the West Indies) on the bulletins of the 24-hour news channels. Evidently all of them had been tipped off about the arrest and dispatched live uplink trucks.

  "Sir, the scene was quite chaotic," said Elizabeth Rani.

  "Yes, I can well imagine," said the detective before hanging up.

  Puri had developed an intense disdain for India's news media. All that the burgeoning American-style news channels peddled was sensationalism. Standards in journalism had been thrown out the window; a new breed of editors would stop at nothing to attract "eyeballs."

  "The three Cs now dominate the news agenda," a senior commentator had written last month in a respectable news-magazine. "Crime, cricket and cinema."

  Recently, Puri had been watching one of the most popular channels in the middle of the afternoon and been shocked to see live pictures of a man committing suicide. He had jumped off the top of a building while journalists excitedly commentated below.

  Last week, another so-called award-winning news outfit had aired one of their "stings." They had placed hidden cameras in the office of a university professor and caught him canoodling one of his students.

  But nothing caught the headlines in India like murder in a middle-class family.

  Such cases-and the "National Crime Region" supplied a goodly number nowadays-became orgies of speculation.

  "Trial by media circus" was how the detective referred to it.

  Halfway to Jaipur, Puri stopped at a dhaba and ordered sweet chai and a gobi parantha. The TV was tuned to Action News and, just as the detective had feared, their mid-morning bulletin was dominated by what a computer-generated graphic described as the "Maidservant Murder."

  BREAKING NEWS…PINK CITY SHOCKED BY BRUTAL MURDER OF HELP…HIGH COURT LAWYER CHARGED…POLICE SAY VICTIM WAS FIRST RAPED…MOUNTAIN OF EVIDENCE AGAINST ACCUSED ran the ticker tape along the bottom of the screen.

  Simultaneously, the channel was running video of what an anchorman described as "chaotic scenes" outside Raj Kasliwal Bhavan during the arrest.

  It did indeed look like bedlam-but only because of the scrum of cameramen and reporters who mobbed the accused as he was led from his house. In the middle of the fray, Puri spotted his client being helped into the back of a Jeep. Cameramen surrounded the vehicle, trying to stick their lenses through the windows, but were repelled by the police. Then the Jeep sped away with some of the rabid pack chasing after it on foot.

  The report then cut to a close-up of a pretty young lady reporter whose urgent demeanor suggested that the world might be about to end.

  "The cops have intimated they've got a steel-tight case against High Court lawyer Ajay Kasliwal," she said in an adolescent, nasal voice. "Earlier today, he was taken from here under police escort to the local cop shop, where he'll be held until charge sheeting. Arun."

  A suave, urbane young man sitting in a slickly lit studio appeared and in a voice that sounded like an Indian version of an American game-show host said, "Extraordinary developments there in the Pink City, Savitri. Tell us what are the charges against Kasliwal exactly?"

  "Well, Arun, the High Court lawyer stands accused of raping and murdering his maidservant Mary. Her body was discovered in a ditch on the Ajmer Road. I understand her face was very badly beaten, so it took some time to identify her.

  "Now, sources inside the police department have told me"-for this read Inspector Shekhawat, Puri thought-"that a number of witnesses saw Ajay Kasliwal dump the body in the middle of the night. I've also been told that the police have impounded his Tata Sumo and they'll be carrying out tests on it today. Arun."

  The anchor in the studio, who shared the screen with a little box which replayed the pictures of the arrest on a continuous loop, said, "I take it the police wouldn't have made such a high-profile arrest if they weren't pretty sure they'd got their man. What was Ajay Kasliwal's response to the charges?"

  "Kasliwal refused to say anything at all when he was arrested this morning. Not one word left his mouth. I'm told he'll be held for twenty-four hours while the cops make further inquiries. They'll be focusing on his relationship with the maidservant Mary. What exactly went on between them? We should have more answers later today. Back to you in the studio, Arun."

  "Thanks Savitri. Savitri Ramanand there reporting live from the scene of the arrest of Jaipur High Court lawyer Ajay Kasliwal. We'll be bringing you more on the Maidservant Murder throughout the day. In the meantime let us know what you think. Email us at the usual address on the screen. We want to hear from you.

  "Next, the latest on Team India's triumph in the second test. We'll be back after these messages. Don't go away."

  Film star Shahrukh Khan then appeared on the screen, endorsing Fair and Handsome, one of the dozen or so different products he was currently advertising, and Puri, who had unconsciously been grinding his molars for the past five minutes, told the waiter to switch off the TV.

  Soon, the detective was enjoying his parantha and a fresh bowl of curd.

  He was almost finished when his private phone rang. It was Professor Rajesh Kumar at Delhi University calling.

  "Hello, sir! Haan-ji, sir! Tell me!" bellowed the detective.

  The pleasantries over, Professor Kumar informed Puri that he'd got the test results back on the stones from Mary's room.

  "There's something most unusual about them," he said. "Where did they come from?"

  "Jaipur, sir," Puri told him.

  "That's most peculiar," said the professor. "We found unusually high traces of uranium."

  "Did you say uranium?" asked Puri.

  "Yes, Chubby, that is exactly what I said."

  Fourteen

  The Jaipur police station where Ajay Kasliwal was being held was depressingly typical. The building was a concrete square, two floors high with steel supports jutting out of the roof in case a third floor was ever required.

  Red geraniums spilled onto the well-swept pathway but did little to soften its charmless architecture. Puri wondered how people elsewhere in the world could view police stations as sanctuaries. For Indians, they were lions' dens.

  Seeing a well-fed man in a smart grey safari suit, polished leather shoes and a Sandown cap, the duty officer immediately stood up from his chair, looking as alert as if the prime minister himself was making an impromptu visit.

  "How may I be of assistance?" he asked in Hindi with a convivial jiggle of the head.

  Puri explained his credentials and his purpose for visiting the station: he wanted to see Ajay Kasliwal.

  The duty officer took the detective's card and explained that he needed to refer the matter to his "senior," who was in the next room.

  A few minutes later the officer in question entered.

  "It will be our pleasure to help you in any way. Some cold drink? Some tea?" he asked.

  For the sake of diplomacy, Puri sat with the police-wallah for ten minutes, dropping a few names into the conversation and leaving him in no doubt that he was someone with contacts at the
pinnacle of power in Delhi. The detective also complimented the officer on the tidy appearance of the station.

  "Our Indian police are most cooperative," he said, in a deliberately loud voice with a grin.

  Such flattery always went down well. "Thank you, thank you, so kind of you, sir." The officer beamed.

  A stern-looking woman constable escorted Puri to the cells.

  They were at the back of the station, three in total, each twelve-feet square with a squat toilet positioned behind a low concrete wall that offered little privacy. There were no windows and no ventilation of any kind. The stench of sweat, piss and acrid bidi smoke hung heavily in the air. The bars and the doors were antiquated and the clunky locks required six-inch keys, which jingled from the constable's belt like reindeer bells.

  The first cell contained seven prisoners. They were racing captured cockroaches across the floor on a course delineated by empty cigarette boxes. Crouching over the contenders, the prisoners' voices alternated between cheers of encouragement, howls of disappointment and whoops of victory.

  At the back of the second cell, a half-naked sadhu with dreadlocks sat in apparent comfort on the hard concrete floor, while two old men with long white beards passed the time over a game of cards. Another man with a cadaverous appearance leaned up against the bars, staring through them with a blank, melancholy expression.

  Ajay Kasliwal had the last cell to himself. It was devoid of furniture and proper lighting. He was sitting in the semidarkness against the back wall with his face buried in his hands.

  When he looked up, Puri was shocked to see how exhausted he appeared. Deep creases had developed along his forehead. Bags the color of storm clouds had gathered beneath his eyes.

  "Thank God!" he exclaimed. Standing up, he rushed to the front of the cell and clasped the detective's hands. "Thank you for coming, Puri-ji! I'm going out of my mind!"

  For a moment, it seemed as if the lawyer would break down in tears, but he managed to regain his composure.

  "I tell you, I never laid a finger on that poor girl," he said, his grip still tight. "You do believe me, don't you, Puri-ji? These charges are bogus. I'm a gentle giant, actually. Ask anyone and they'll tell you the same. Ajay Kasliwal could not and would not hurt a fly. I'm a Jain, for heaven's sake! We people don't like to kill anything, not even insects."

  The lady constable, who had been standing behind Puri, interrupted. "Ten minutes only," she said coldly and withdrew farther down the corridor.

  "Of course I believe you, sir," said the detective. "One way or other, we'll get you out of this pickle. You have Vish Puri's word on that."

  He let go of Kasliwal's hands and reached into his trouser pockets, taking out a packet of Gold Flake cigarettes.

  "These are for you," he said, passing them through the bars.

  Kasliwal thanked him, tore into one of the packets and, with trembling hands and fumbling fingers, put a cigarette to his lips. Puri lit a match and Kasliwal pushed the end of the cigarette into the flame. The detective surveyed his client's features in the flickering light, searching for clues to his mental state. He was concerned to see that he had developed a tic above his left eye. Such a spasm could be the first indicator of more serious problems to come. The detective had seen other men-confident, successful men like Kasliwal-reduced to blubbering wrecks after being put behind bars.

  Ashok Sharma, the "Bra Raja," who had hired Puri to investigate the bizarre set of events that had led to the death of his brother (the Case of the Laughing Peacock), had suffered a nervous breakdown after spending just one night in Delhi's notorious Tihar jail.

  Of course, Kasliwal's cell was positively five-star compared to Tihar. But tomorrow morning, he had a date in front of a magistrate at the District and Sessions Court, where he would be charge sheeted. And if bail was denied-and in the case of a "heinous crime" it often was-he would be remanded into judicial custody and sent to the Central Jail. There, Kasliwal would be forced to share a dormitory with twenty convicted men. If he wished to remain un molested, he would have to pay them protection money.

  "The first thing I must know, sir, is who is representing you?" asked Puri.

  "My wife was here two hours back and says K. P. Malhotra has agreed to take the case. I haven't talked to him yet; my mobile ran out. He's meant to come this afternoon."

  "He's someone you trust?"

  "Absolutely. We've known each other for twenty-odd years. He's a good attacker and adept at defending his wicket, also."

  "Badiya-that's good to hear," said Puri. "But, sir, if I'm to continue, there can be no other private detective. It will make things too hot in the kitchen."

  Kasliwal stole a furtive glance at him; Puri guessed that the lawyer's wife had already sown the seeds of doubt about the detective's abilities.

  "You're not satisfied with my work, is it?" he prompted.

  "Well, Puri-ji, frankly speaking, so far I've not seen much evidence of progress," admitted Kasliwal. "Now I'm behind bars charged with rape and murder. Can you blame me for shopping elsewhere? My life and reputation are at stake."

  "Sir, I assure you everything and anything is being done. But my methods are my business. It is for the client to place his trust in my hands. Not once I have failed in a case and I'm not about to start now. Equally, Rome wasn't built in the afternoon. These things can't be rushed."

  Kasliwal pursed his lips as he weighed his options over the last of the cigarette.

  "I'll make sure you're the only one on the case, Puri-ji," he said eventually.

  "Good," said the detective. "Now let us waste no more time. Tell me exactly and precisely what occurred when you were brought in. Inspector Shekhawat read you the riot act, is it?"

  "He says he's got witnesses who saw me dump the body."

  "Police-wallahs can always find witnesses," said Puri. "A good lawyer will deal with them in court. What else?"

  "He says a former servant is ready to testify that I raped her."

  "Who is she?"

  "How should I know, Puri-ji? I kept quiet during the interview, refused to say a word, so naturally I didn't ask who this woman is."

  "Did Shekhawat mention any hard evidence?"

  "No, but I'm sure he must be searching for something to spring tomorrow."

  Kasliwal took a last drag on his cigarette, let the stub fall on the floor and ground it under his heel.

  "Tell me one thing, Puri-ji. In your opinion, the girl they found on the side of the road…she is Mary?"

  "Seems that's what your Inspector Shekhawat is intimating."

  Kasliwal's chin sank to his chest. "So, someone murdered her after all," he sighed. "But who?"

  "You have some idea?" asked the detective.

  "No, Puri-ji, none."

  "What about Kamat? Your wife told me he's a drunkard and was having relations with the female. It's true?"

  "I've no idea."

  "Tell me about your movements the night that body was discovered. August twenty-second. Can you recall?"

  "I was in court come the afternoon. In the evening, I freshened up at home and…" Kasliwal flushed with embarrassment. Puri could guess what he had been up to.

  "You had 'takeout,' is it?"

  The lawyer nodded. "My usual order."

  Howls of excitement came from the first cell. Evidently another cockroach race was reaching a thrilling climax. When the noise had died down, Puri asked about Kasliwal's hearing.

  "It's set for tomorrow at eleven o'clock," he told the detective. "I'm trying to get it heard by one of the few honest judges. But seems no one's willing to lift a finger to help. My enemies have made sure of that."

  Kasliwal cast a look over his shoulder.

  "Looks like I'll be spending a night in the penthouse suite, huh." He laughed sardonically. "Thank God there's a couple of cops in here I helped out some years back, so I shouldn't be facing harassment. But, Puri-ji, a few hundred bucks wouldn't go amiss. That way at least I can get some outside food brought in."


  "You'll find five hundred stuffed inside the cigarette packet, sir," whispered Puri.

  Kasliwal nodded gratefully as the woman constable called out, "Time's getting over!"

  The two men shook hands.

  "I'll be in court tomorrow for sure," said the detective. "In meantime, don't do tension, sir. Rest assured, everything is being done to secure your release. The responsibility is on my head. Already some very promising clues are there. Now take rest."

  As Puri was making his way out of the station, the duty officer informed him that Inspector Shekhawat wanted "a word."

  "By all means," said the detective, who was anxious to get the measure of his adversary.

  Puri was led upstairs straight into his office.

  Shekhawat was in his late thirties, stocky, well built, with a thick head of black hair, an equally thick moustache and dark, deep-set eyes. He was the embodiment of the supremely confident Indian male who is taught self-assurance within the extended family from day one. The kundan studs in his ears did not indicate a hip, arty or effeminate man; he was a Rajput of the Kshatriya or warrior caste.

  "Sir, it's a great honor to meet you," he said in Hindi in a deep, booming voice. Shekhawat offered Puri his hand with a big politician's grin. "I've been an admirer of yours for quite some time. Thank you for taking the time to see me. I know that you are a busy and important man."

  Puri was not altogether immune to flattery, but he doubted Shekhawat's sincerity. Behind the smile and friendly handshake, he sensed a calculating individual who had invited him into his office with the sole purpose of ascertaining whether he posed a threat.

  "I was hoping we would meet," said Puri, replying in Hindi, his tone perfectly amicable. "It seems we're working on the same case but from different ends. We might be able to help each other."

  Shekhawat seemed bemused by this suggestion. He smiled with slow deliberation as he resumed his place behind his desk and Puri sat down in a chair opposite him.

  "It's my understanding that Ajay Kasliwal is your client, is that correct?" asked the inspector.

  "That's right."