by Tarquin Hall
Inside the courtroom, the gallery was packed with spectators, all of them sitting in silent, rapt attention to the cross-examination of Inspector Shekhawat by the defense counsel, Mr. K. P. Malhotra, who was living up to his reputation as a fearsome advocate.
"Inspector, you say you found bloodstains in the accused's Tata Sumo," he was saying. "But I put it to you that this blood could have come from anyone. Another passenger with a bleeding nose, perhaps."
"There is no doubt in my mind that the blood is the victim's," answered Shekhawat.
"Surely it is the responsibility of the police to offer proofs, is it not? Two and two should always equal four. Is that not correct, Inspector Shekhawat?"
"I can provide three witnesses who saw Ajay Kasliwal pull up in his Sumo and dump the servant girl's body on the Ajmer Road," he answered.
"We will come to that in a moment," said Malhotra. "But let us first consider these bloodstains. I put it to you…"
Malhotra lost his train of thought as he read the note Puri had managed to pass to him.
"Mr. Malhotra?" prompted the judge. "Are you with us?"
"My apologies, Your Honor," answered the lawyer, looking up from the note with a bewildered expression. "I have just been informed of what could well be an extremely dramatic breakthrough in my client's defense. Might I take a moment of the court's time to confer with one of my associates?"
"This is highly irregular, Mr. Malhotra, but I will grant you sixty seconds."
"Thank you, Your Honor."
Lawyer and detective exchanged a few quiet words and then Malhotra continued with the cross-examination, taking it in a new direction.
"Inspector Shekhawat, how can you be so sure that the Kasliwal family's maidservant Mary and the body found on the Ajmer Road are one and the same?" he asked.
"Two of her co-workers identified the victim from a photograph taken by the mortuary photographer. Three part-time employees at the house did the same."
"And if Mary was alive today-let us imagine she walked in here right now, for example-those same witnesses you mentioned would be able to identify her?"
Inspector Shekhawat replied confidently with an arrogant smirk. "Without doubt."
"I have no further questions for this witness," said Malhotra. "But I reserve the right to recall him."
Shekhawat was excused.
"Your Honor, I would like to call a new witness who, I feel confident, could save a great deal of the court's time," said Malhotra as the inspector resumed his seat in the gallery to watch the rest of the proceedings.
"It is teatime," grumbled the judge.
"Your Honor, if you will allow me five minutes, I believe we can clear up this whole matter."
The judge gave his consent.
"The defense calls Mary Murmu," announced Malhotra loudly.
"Who is Mary Murmu exactly?" asked the judge.
"Mary Murmu is the alleged victim, sir, the Kasliwal family's former maidservant," replied the lawyer nonchalantly.
Malhotra's answer elicited a collective gasp. Every head in the court turned to look at the main door.
In the dock, Ajay Kasliwal stood on his toes and craned his neck to see above the sea of heads.
The door opened again and Mary stepped through it, her head covered by her pallu and eyes cast down, with Mummy by her side. Together they walked slowly through the gallery until they reached the bench and the former maidservant was escorted to the witness stand.
"State your name for the record," she was told by Judge Madan in Hindi as Mummy took a seat nearby.
Mary mumbled a response.
"Speak up, girl, and show your face!" he ordered.
She stated her name again and pulled back her pallu.
"My name is Mary Murmu," she said clearly for all the court to hear.
"Liar!" screeched a woman's voice in the gallery.
Mrs. Kasliwal was standing, pointing an accusing finger at the witness.
"That's not her!" she screamed. And then she fainted and fell to the floor.
The courtroom descended into bedlam.
Twenty-Eight
Facecream was crouched behind a shrub in the back garden of Raj Kasliwal Bhavan. It was nearly eight o'clock and pitch dark. She had been there for over an hour keeping watch at the rear of the house in accordance with Puri's orders-delivered by Tubelight when the Kasliwals were still in court.
"Boss will arrive around eight," he'd explained. "Munnalal's murderer is still at large. He might try to take out Boss. So be on your guard."
Facecream's position to the right of the servant quarters provided a commanding view of the garden and the interior of the sitting room. The curtains had not been drawn, which was unusual. But then, today was proving to be anything but routine.
At breakfast, Madam had been in an uncommonly pleasant and buoyant mood, talking confidently on the phone about how Mr. Malhotra was going to make short work of Shekhawat's case.
"It will soon be over," Facecream had overheard her tell someone.
But at around 6:30 in the evening, when her freed husband had brought her back from the courts, Mrs. Kasliwal had been completely hysterical.
"Vish Puri will ruin us all!" she'd screamed. "Don't let him into the house!"
Shortly afterward, the family doctor had arrived and given Madam a sedative that had put her to sleep. His patient was not to be disturbed, he'd insisted. The arrest and trial had exhausted her.
In accordance with the doctor's instructions, Ajay Kasliwal had excused all the servants from their duties for the evening-apart from Jaya, who'd been told to make sure there was a ready supply of cold hand towels to cool Madam's forehead and ice for Sahib's whisky.
Facecream could see Jaya through the kitchen window now; she was taking something out of the fridge.
The other servants were all accounted for. Bablu had gone home. Kamat was in town watching a film. And the mali was stoned in his room, tendrils of sweet smoke drifting out of his open window.
Boss should be arriving any minute now, Facecream told herself.
If Munnalal's killer did make a play for him, he was likely to approach through the back way. But she was ready. Before taking up her position, she had checked her trip thread and it was still taut.
No one else had passed through the gap in the wall since Facecream had laid her trap and she was beginning to wonder if she would ever know the identity of the person who had tried her door that first night.
"Backside clear, over," she whispered into the minitransmitter Tubelight had smuggled into the grounds earlier along with the earpiece receiver.
"Frontside clear, also-over," responded Tubelight, who was loitering on the main road in front of the entrance to Raj Kasliwal Bhavan.
Puri's Ambassador pulled into the driveway at 8:10. Tires crunched on gravel as the vehicle came to a halt.
"Boss has made penetration, over," reported Tubelight.
The detective stepped up to the front door and paused to take a deep breath.
Rarely had he found himself in such an unenviable position.
True, he had accomplished what he had been hired to do: against all the odds, he had managed to track down the missing servant and ensure that the spurious, half-baked charges against Ajay Kasliwal had been dropped. By any standard, it had been a brilliant piece of detective work-one that would rank in Puri's self-congratulating oratory in the years ahead.
But a great injustice had been done-not to mention a gruesome, premeditated murder-and Puri could not see it go unpunished no matter how devastating the truth might prove for his client.
The detective patted the outside pocket of his jacket, reassured by the feeling of his trusty .32 IOF pistol, and pulled the bell chain.
Footsteps clipped and echoed down the corridor inside the house. A lock was unlatched. The door opened and Ajay Kasliwal's face appeared in the gap.
"Puri-ji! Thank God you're here!" said the lawyer.
"How is she?" asked Puri.
> "Sedated. The doctor's with her now. He says she's suffered some kind of mental breakdown. He's recommending she be kept here overnight and taken to his clinic in the morning for testing. She's been saying the craziest things, Puri-ji. Like you're out to ruin the family."
"I'm sorry it's come to this, sir," said the detective. "But I had to produce Mary in court. It was the only way."
"But I don't understand. Why did my wife insist it wasn't her?"
"I'll need to explain a few things," answered Puri. "But first things first. Something more urgent is there. Bobby has-"
"Yes, where is Bobby?" demanded Kasliwal, interjecting. "He was at the courthouse but disappeared. I couldn't find him anywhere and had to bring home his mother on my own. The media nearly ate us alive!"
"Sir, Bobby tried to-"
The detective's words were swallowed up by the sound of a vehicle tearing into the driveway and braking hard behind the Ambassador. It was a police Jeep. Inspector Shekhawat stepped out of it and opened one of the back doors. Bobby emerged into the light cast from the veranda.
"What's this?" exclaimed Kasliwal as the inspector led his handcuffed son to the door. "Bobby, are you all right? What's happened? Puri-ji, for God's sake, explain!"
"He was caught trying to enter Mary's room at the hotel where Mr. Puri and Mary are staying," butted in Shekhawat, officiously. "I was going to take him down to the station for questioning. But given Mr. Puri's cooperation in the past few hours, I agreed to do as the detective asked and bring him here first."
"Those handcuffs aren't necessary," said Puri. "He's not going to abscond."
The police-wallah appraised the prisoner like a fisherman trying to decide whether or not to put his young catch back into the river.
"I suppose you're right," he said, although he didn't sound convinced. "But I'm only willing to play along a little longer, Mr. Puri. I want to know what's been going on here. If I don't get some answers soon, then we'll do things my way."
Shekhawat unlocked the cuffs and Ajay Kasliwal ushered the party down the corridor.
Entering the sitting room, they found Mrs. Kasliwal lying deeply sedated on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. Her doctor, a man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair, was sitting at her side monitoring her pulse. At the sight of them, he made an irritated gesture.
"What's this, Ajay-ji?" he hissed, standing up. "I said no visitors. She's not to be disturbed."
Walking around the couch, he addressed Puri and Shekhawat directly.
"You must leave immediately! She's extremely sick. Ajay-ji, I don't know who these gentlemen are…"
"I'm Inspector Rajendra Singh Shekhawat," said the inspector, flashing his badge. "And this is Vish Puri, a private detective. Who are you exactly?"
"I'm Dr. Chandran, Mrs. Kasliwal's personal physician," he answered haughtily.
"Dr. Sunil Chandran, is it?" asked Puri.
"Yes, that's right."
"I understand you are Madam Kasliwal's rakhi-brother. Is that so?"
"Yes, we grew up together. We're like brother and sister. Now, what's all this about?"
"There's been a murder and we're here to find out who did it," Shekhawat answered.
"Well, now's not the time. She's had a mental breakdown. I've seen it before. The stress causes a kind of brain fever. You'll have to come back another time."
"I'm afraid it won't wait," said Puri. "Why don't you pour yourself a drink, Doctor-sahib, and sit down? I'm glad to see you, actually. You've saved us time in coming here."
"But I'm finished here for the time being."
"You're finished , that is for sure, Doctor-ji," said Puri sternly. "Now sit down."
"I'll do nothing of the sort!" shouted the doctor. "Ajay-ji, I'm leaving. Take Savitri's temperature every hour and let me know of any change. You'll be able to reach me on my mobile."
Dr. Chandran gathered up his stethoscope and bag and made for the door. But he found his exit blocked by Shekhawat who had one hand on the revolver peeking out of his shoulder holster.
"Do as Mr. Puri says, Doctor-sahib," said the inspector, his muscular jaw rigid with determination.
Puri positioned himself by the fireplace. Bobby knelt next to his mother, a mixture of anger and anxiety clouding his young face. His father stood expectantly, looking at the detective for answers. The doctor was sitting involuntarily in one of the armchairs with his arms crossed in defiance. The inspector guarded the door.
"The case has been a complicated one and required all my skills as a detective, but fortunately I was up to the task," began Puri.
Shekhawat rolled his eyes and looked at his watch.
"Mr. Puri, please, I don't have all night," he interrupted impatiently. "Who killed Munnalal?"
The detective bristled at the younger man's impertinence. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was having people butt in while he was trying to conclude a case. This was his moment and he would not be rushed.
"During my many years of service and duty I have learned not to share information about ongoing cases with my clients," he went on. "Often it is important they remain in the dark. This gives the impression that I am sitting idle. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth. Vish Puri does not do meter down. Thus, on the very day Munnalal met his fate, I went to his residence."
Puri paused to clear his throat and then continued.
"An extremely unpleasant and most slippery fellow he was all round. There and then, I confronted him with certain evidence. Namely, I told him I knew it was he who carried Mary's body from her room and placed it in the back of Kasliwal-ji's Sumo on August twenty-first night."
"Mr. Puri, please," said Bobby, suddenly snapping out of his reverie. "What's this about Mary's body?"
"Allow me to explain. The maidservant Jaya saw Munnalal carrying Mary from her room to your father's vehicle and placing her inside. At the time, she assumed he had murdered her. Terrified, she told no one."
"But what happened to Mary?" asked Bobby.
"This same question I put to Munnalal. He did not deny taking her away. But he denied totally murdering the girl. He said she attempted suicide only. Afterward he drove her to the Sunrise Clinic."
At the mention of the clinic's name, Bobby and his father both turned and stared hard at Dr. Chandran. "That's your place, Doctor-sahib," said the elder Kasliwal.
"I'm well aware of that," replied the doctor. "But I don't remember any girl. Clearly, this Munnalal was lying. The detective himself called him a 'slippery fellow.'"
"Munnalal was a first-class Charlie, that is for sure," said Puri. "But for once, he was not lying. Your night security guard remembers Mary most clearly, Doctor-sahib. He says after her admittance, you returned to the clinic. Must have been around midnight. Thus it seems you cared for her yourself."
"I've no idea what you're talking about," said the doctor dismissively.
"Then why is it, the following night, you took Mary by taxi to the train station?" he said. "Knowing full well she was too weak to make the journey and might easily die along the way, you bought her a ticket on a local train to Ranchi. A coolie identified you at the scene."
By now Bobby was glaring at Dr. Chandran contemptuously. "Uncle is…is this true?" he asked him.
"Not one word of it, beta. Don't listen to him. He's trying to blacken the family name, divide and conquer like the British."
"He's doing nothing of the sort," snapped Kasliwal. "But what I don't understand is how a maidservant tried killing herself in my own home and I knew nothing about it?"
"Sir, you are never around. Your work keeps you at the office, and at night you are out a good deal. You're a very sociable individual, we can say. Running of the house, with servants and all, is Madam's responsibility. Thus the facts were kept secret from you.
"But to continue," added Puri, urgently, before anyone else could get a word in, "after dropping Mary at Sunrise Clinic, Munnalal returned here to Raj Kasliwal Bhavan. In the wee hours, Mary's blood was
washed away and her possessions taken. The kitchen knife she used Munnalal threw over the back wall from where it was recovered and is now in my possession. Only things left behind were two wall posters and a few stones."
Puri modestly revealed his foresight in having Mary's stones analyzed and how they had led him to Jadugoda. But his client could not have been less interested.
"What about Munnalal? Why was he murdered?" Kasliwal asked.
"Just I was coming to that, sir. You see, he was an instrument only. Some other person did direction of his actions. When he found Mary bleeding to death in her room, he called that person to ask what to do. Thus he was ordered to rush the girl to the hospital. But along the way Munnalal got thinking. For him, Mary's suicide attempt was a golden egg. Such a man knows many secrets. He stores gossip for rainy days. Thus he understood why Mary tried the suicide and why it had to be hushed up. Next day, he demanded compensation to the tune of many lakhs."
"But that can only mean…" said Kasliwal.
Bobby finished his sentence in a flat monotone. "Ma. It had to be Ma."
There was a long silence. Every pair of eyes in the room save Mrs. Kasliwal's were now riveted on the detective.
"The boy is correct: it was your wife, sir," said Puri. "She told Munnalal to take Mary to the Sunrise Clinic and asked her rakhi-brother, Dr. Chandran, to patch her up and send her on her way."
"Puri-ji, I've been married to this woman for twenty-nine years and I can't believe she'd do that." Turning to Dr. Chandran, he implored him, "Doctor-sahib, tell me this isn't true!"
"I tell you, Ajay-ji, every word is a filthy lie." The doctor sneered. "We should call Mr. Malhotra and ask him to come here immediat-"
"Dr. Chandran, your mobile phone records show you made four calls to Mrs. Kasliwal on the night Munnalal was murdered," interrupted Puri. "One was twenty-five minutes after he was killed."
"We've always talked a lot. She was having trouble sleeping and-"
"Oh, shut up!" broke in Ajay Kasliwal. "I want to hear the rest. Carry on, Puri-ji; tell us what happened."
The detective went on to explain that, minutes after his meeting with Munnalal, the former driver had called Mrs. Kasliwal. He'd asked for more money to buy Puri's silence. She in turn had asked him to come to the house after dark. That evening, he'd set off by auto. Following behind on his motorcycle was Bobby, who wanted to ask Munnalal if he knew of Mary's whereabouts.