Murder at the Happy Home for the Aged

by Bulbul Sharma

  ‘I will tell you when we get home. Don’t be so impressed with this kind of showy wealth. A simple life is a noble life, remember,’ said Deven, not taking his eyes off the road. ‘I am okay with a simple life as long as I have five good friends and a giant TV,’ said Cyrilo.

  Soon they were near the lane that led to the Happy Home. A few small boys were playing cricket near the gate and shouted when they saw the van approaching. ‘Come and bowl for us, uncle,’ they shouted. Deven parked the car outside the gate and he and Cyrilo obediently joined the group of boys. They bowled a few times and then Deven said, ‘Okay, boys. Now my back is hurting. We will play a proper match tomorrow.’ The boys began complaining loudly but then soon went back to their game and forgot all about them. Their frequent excited cries of ‘Out’ reached the veranda and Cyrilo wanted to go back and join them again but his back was giving twinges of protest too.

  ‘I wish I was young and could play cricket all day long,’ he said with a sigh. He reluctantly turned to Deven and asked, ‘Maria said she saw photographs of the Russian girl Olga in the bedroom. How can that Olga live there? Doesn’t the man’s wife mind? My wife would have killed me if I brought a Russian doll home,’ he added.

  ‘My wife was a saint,’ said Deven.

  ‘So was mine. She prayed all the time but she would still have taken a knife to my throat if I brought another woman home,’ said Cyrilo. ‘Not that I ever wanted to. One wife is more than enough. It must be tough to keep them separate from each other.’

  ‘Wait till I show you what I found,’ said Deven.

  ‘What? What did you find? Diamonds?’ asked Cyrilo.

  ‘Just look in my jacket pocket,’ said Deven.

  Cyrilo slipped his hand in and pulled out a syringe. ‘Hey. Where did you get that? Have you got diabetes now?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. My blood sugar is perfect. I don’t drink or eat sweets. I found this under the sofa. It must have fallen out of Rana Hooda’s trouser pocket. This is the kind of syringe drug addicts use,’ said Deven.

  ‘Do you think he takes drugs? He’s so rich,’ asked Cyrilo, surprised.

  ‘You think rich people don’t take drugs?’ asked Deven. ‘You need to get your head examined. Either that man asleep on the sofa or someone in the house takes drugs. Serious drugs.’

  ‘Imagine having a TV that size and a fabulous bathroom and still wanting to take drugs. Some people are mad.’

  ‘While you people were busy admiring bathrooms, TVs, chandeliers and antique tables, I had a quick look around. There were a packet of letters in Russian and a Russian passport. I think it was that girl’s passport but I couldn’t get a good look because Bobby pushed us out,’ said Deven.

  ‘That Rana Hooda must be married to both of them; no wonder he takes drugs. Which man can remain sane with two wives squabbling over him?’ said Cyrilo. ‘Do you think we should show this syringe to Maria and Bobby?’

  ‘No, I want to do some thinking. When we have a meeting this evening I’ll show it to everyone.’ Deven started going upstairs.

  Cyrilo nodded his head and smiled. He knew that Deven wanted to show off, and why not? After all, he had found the syringe and not Maria or Bobby. Deven had sharp eyes and a very sharp brain and deserved all the praise he was longing for.

  Cyrilo turned to go to his room. Then he saw Rosie sitting alone in the veranda and went up to her. He sat down on the wooden bench and began telling her in great detail all that had happened that morning, adding his own bits and pieces to amuse her. They both laughed when he told her how keen Deven was to hold an evening session with his beloved blackboard.

  ‘He is probably longing to go back to his schooldays. That was the happiest time of our lives. I still think about my schooldays. I remember the name of every child in my class. Their faces often come to me in my dreams,’ said Rosie. She did not add that the faces of her dead husbands too floated around her as she lay awake at night.

  ‘You know, Cyrilo, at our age, memories are like old friends. They cling to you, comfort you. They feel sad if you neglect them. Memories flow upon memories, a tall hill rises of our past life as we grow old,’ said Rosie. She was feeling happy now that Cyrilo had told her what he had done all day. Suddenly she felt a part of the group again and knew in her heart that tomorrow too would bring fresh memories for her to store and look at during the long, lonely nights. She patted Cyrilo’s hand and they sat together for a long time, chatting and watching the dragonflies chase each other all over the garden. It was good to feel a human presence next to you; to listen to another voice besides the one in your head. Even if you sat silently, it was so good to have a person by your side. She would never feel lonely in the Happy Home with Maria, Leela, Yuri, Cyrilo, Deven and even that sulky Prema around. She smiled at Cyrilo, feeling glad she had worn her best scarf today and dotted a tiny drop of her precious French perfume on her fragile wrists.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ‘THE TWO WIVES quarrelled, and that is why we were able to catch him, sir,’ said Robert, smiling proudly as he jabbed his stick into the man’s stomach.

  Inspector Chand looked at his fingernails. He had stopped biting them long ago but the scars remained. The IG’s visit had passed off well and now he could relax once more.

  There had been a case of robbery on the Vagator road that morning but they had caught the man before he could escape. He stood before them now, his hands tied behind his back.

  ‘How long have you been doing this?’ asked Inspector Chand. He was wondering if he should go to the Happy Home and tell them there was no further update on the case and they should stop their sleuthing. He was quite fed up with their questions.

  Inspector Chand gazed out of the window. Maria might ask him to stay for tea. He was quite sure that the IG was going to recommend him for a promotion and then he could ask Maria to marry him. Inspector Chand suddenly saw his mother’s face in his mind’s eye, her eyes blazing with anger. He quickly got his mind back to the present.

  ‘I started stealing only last month, sir. I was a shopkeeper before that but my wife said I could make more money this way. My second wife said that. My first wife was happy with the shop. We sold underwear and socks,’ said the man, rubbing his nose on his sleeve.

  ‘Is your second wife a thief too?’ asked Inspector Chand, quite interested now.

  ‘Yes, sir. She started with simple pickpocketing tricks and then got trained by a master robber to dupe tourists. He was arrested in Mumbai last month so she told me to take over.’

  ‘Take over his area?’ asked Robert.

  ‘No. His area is huge. She meant all the beaches in north Goa, sir. I cannot manage so much so I only took a part of Vagator beach. Easy stretch and I could finish work by 7 p.m. I don’t like working late.’

  ‘How much did you make every day?’ asked Inspector Chand.

  ‘On weekdays during the season we made almost a thousand a day and sometimes more. People drop wallets, watches, mobile phones and shoes on the beach. We did not have to steal them at all. I told the constable here that I never stole. Things just dropped into my hands from heaven. God’s gift to me,’ said the man and began to sob.

  ‘Should we bring his wife in, sir?’ asked Robert. ‘The second one, not the first. The first one is a god-fearing woman, I am told. The second wife is the main culprit. She cheats innocent women by asking them to show her their gold jewellery, pretending she wants to buy it. She takes them to a quiet place and then vanishes with the loot.’

  ‘I should never have married her, sir. My first wife is such a good woman, a better cook too. This one throws pots and pans at me if I say there is too much salt in the fish curry,’ said the man, sniffing. He tried to wipe his nose on his shirt but could not turn his head.

  ‘Untie his hands, Robert. Let him wipe his nose. You can go but if I catch you stealing again, I will send you off to Panjim jail at once. Understand?’ said Inspector Chand.

  ‘Yes, sir. God bless you, sir, and you too, Constable.
You are a great man.’ The man bowed to them as he rubbed his hands together.

  ‘I am going to the Happy Home to tell them that the case is closed and they should stop looking for a murderer. I should have a talk with that Russian too and ask him how he got the jewellery, but what is the point now? That fellow is half-mad. Anyway, we have closed the case. We will take the jeep and go along the river path and stop at the fish market. If they have fresh crab, I might get one for Miss Maria. She will make nice, spicy Goan crab curry for us,’ said Inspector Chand.

  * * *

  The twinkling lights danced like fireflies all over the garden and Olga, dressed in a long silver dress, sashayed about on the lawn like a mermaid. She was quite unsteady and drunk already, though the party had just begun. A few guests, not very important people according to her, had arrived early and were standing near the bar, clutching their glasses and talking self-consciously to each other. A tall, good-looking man was standing alone, talking on his phone. Olga walked towards him. ‘Hello. Have I not met you before?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice low in case Rana was around. She had slipped him some more intoxicants to keep him under control and he was still very confused about what had been going on.

  ‘Yes, you have. I am Francis. We met at the casino last month,’ said Francis, smiling and crinkling his eyes. He knew women could not resist his smile and he often practised it at home in front of the mirror to keep it in good condition.

  ‘You have such healthy white teeth,’ said Olga, leaning towards him. Francis smelt the wine on her breath. He wondered what to say to her. He was not sure if she or Rana Hooda’s wife was the hostess tonight. He decided to play it safe and said, ‘It is quite cool this evening though the monsoon has just ended.’

  ‘Oh no. Not another monsoon freak. Why must you Indian men only talk of the monsoon?’ she cried, slapping her head with her hands. Francis stepped back. She looked very drunk and he did not want to cause a scene. Rana Hooda was watching them, he noticed, from the corner of the garden. Francis turned to go away but Olga put her arm out and caught his sleeve. ‘Hey. Where are you going? Have a drink with me,’ said Olga in a whiny voice. The image of the beautiful mermaid disappeared. Francis, feeling trapped, tried to free his arm and then saw Rana walking towards them, a glowering, dark look on his face. The music suddenly became very loud and Olga put her hands on her ears and began to sing loudly as she swayed to the music. A few other Russians appeared from the shadows and began to dance with her, laughing and slapping each other like playful children. They were all very drunk.

  Just then, the lights went out inside the house and the twinkling fairy lights faded into darkness. The music stopped and the garden now only had the light of the moon. Only Olga’s golden hair glowed like a flame, surrounded by fireflies.

  * * *

  Minutes earlier, Maria, uncomfortable in her tight black dress and frilly white apron, moved towards the bar with a loaded tray of empty glasses. Her legs were already aching. Guests were still streaming in. She had never known that so many rich and famous people lived in Goa. She had already served drinks to three minor Bollywood movie stars, four models, two designers and a famous man whom she often saw on television, though she was not sure what his name was. Bobby, dressed in a black suit, was hiding behind the bar, pretending he was washing glasses. Maria filled up her tray with several glasses of wine and turned carefully. She was not used to carrying such heavy trays.

  As soon as she turned, she saw Francis. She did not want to go up to him in case he began to question her disguise. She was surprised to see him here. He looked so smart in his designer jacket and gelled hair. He seemed to know everyone. Maria wondered if he had brought Tina the bitch with him. I will make sure to spill a glass of wine over her, thought Maria, turning her face away. Not that I care any more who he is dating.

  ‘Maria. Maria. Hi,’ cried a shrill voice. Maria turned. Tina was right behind her, waving her hands. ‘What are you doing here? Why are you dressed like this? Did the invite say fancy dress? Come here, Francis. Look, Maria is here.’ Tina had a kilo of make-up on her face. The diamonds in her ears flashed like searchlights and Maria blinked. She saw Francis walking up to them and her heart began to beat very fast. What would she say to him? Why was she here? She could not tell him that she was playing detective and trying to spy on Rana Hooda’s Russian girlfriend. The tray in Maria’s hand shook and the glasses clinked in protest as she tried to move but her heels sank deeper into the grass and she stood frozen.

  Then the lights went out and she dropped the tray. Maria watched with horror as the glasses shattered with a loud crash on the stone table. She tried to move her arm to pick them up. Just then, Rana Hooda began to shout. Maria looked up. He was holding his face and running towards the house. His nose was bleeding and his white shirt was already stained red. People stopped talking and stared at him but nobody moved. He stumbled over the garden steps and a woman tried to help him but he pushed her away, groaning loudly. Olga was nowhere to be seen. Maria looked around helplessly, trying to pull her shoe out of the lawn, a pile of broken glass all around her feet and on the table.

  Bobby called out her name and she quickly left her shoes and ran towards the bar. He was crouching behind the table. He pointed to the window of the bedroom upstairs. Maria looked up. It was the same bedroom she had been standing in this morning.

  The moon suddenly came out from behind the clouds and they saw Olga standing in the room, a lit cigarette in her hand. She seemed to be looking right at them, her blue eyes narrow and sharp, as if she knew what they were up to.

  ‘We should have never come here. It was my stupid idea. Sorry, Bobby. I dragged you into this,’ said Maria as tears welled up in her eyes. They took advantage of the commotion and ran to the car.

  ‘Hey, don’t get so upset. We were trying to find out who this Olga really is. Why did she try to frame Yuri? We were just curious. No need to get so agitated,’ said Bobby, driving away quickly. They were soon back at the Happy Home. He parked the car outside the gate. They could see the lights on in the kitchen. The residents of the Happy Home were still awake, probably waiting for them, but he needed to talk to her. He knew this was the right time. He must seize his chance, otherwise all would be lost. The stars in the sky were in his favour and he had to speak to her now.

  ‘Are you upset because Francis was there with his fiancée?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Fiancée . . . Tina is his fiancée?’ cried Maria and then burst into tears.

  ‘I thought you knew. Everyone in Trionim knows. The wedding is next month. Sorry. I did not think you would get so upset,’ he said.

  ‘I am not upset. I do not care. I was just surprised, that’s all. I left my shoes behind.’ Maria wiped her nose on the handkerchief Bobby had given her. After she blew her nose a few times and wiped her face, she waited for her anger to abate. How dare he get engaged to Tina and not even tell her about it. Maria suddenly found she really did not care. She could not believe that she no longer felt any pain jabbing at her heart. She was free of him. Francis with his smart designer suits and sweet talk did not matter to her any more. He was like a bit of fluff that the wind had blown away . . . forever. He was a liar and a smooth-talking philanderer and she hoped Tina would give him a rough time. Her rich father would set his goons on him if he tried to cheat on her. Maria suddenly thought of Rana Hooda.

  ‘Bobby, that Rana Hooda’s face was covered in blood,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I saw that. He had a severe nosebleed. I’m sure he’s a cocaine addict,’ said Bobby, looking at her nervously. He reached for his handkerchief and when their hands touched he looked away. ‘Here, I picked up your shoes.’ He bent down in the dark to put them on her feet. His hands touched her ankles and lingered gently for a few fleeting seconds.

  Maria gave his handkerchief back to him, laughed and said, ‘You are the only man I know who still uses a fine cotton handkerchief with your initials on it.’ Bobby turned to her, his eyes twinkling so
ftly with a strange look, and she felt her heart jump.

  ‘I am old-fashioned, Maria. I am boring and I am dull but I love you very much. I have loved you since we were in school. I remember when I saw you the first time swinging in the school garden, your hair tied with a blue ribbon, and I decided then I wanted to marry you some day. I know I have nothing much to offer but I love you more than anyone else in this world. Will you marry me?’ said Bobby in a rush and held his breath. The trees swayed in the darkness and the cicadas began to call. Far away, an owl hooted. Bobby wondered if it was a lucky omen. A strong scent of frangipani floated into the car. He could hear his own heart thumping so loudly that he was sure Maria could hear it too.

  Why didn’t she say something? Did it take so long to say no? She would say no. He was sure of that. She would never say yes because she was still in love with that creep Francis. Rich, smart and clever Francis who had stolen his bike in school; Francis with his perfect white teeth and the sly smile that all girls loved.

  The moon looked down on them as Bobby waited. His entire life seemed to be on hold. Then he took his courage in his hands and turned his face to look at Maria. Her eyes were sparkling. Tears ran down her cheeks.

  ‘Yes, Bobby. Yes, I will marry you,’ she whispered.

  * * *

  The house was in darkness when Maria finally came into the living room and took her shoes off. She heard Bobby’s car drive away and wished she had asked him to stay. They could have celebrated with a glass of wine. But it was very late and she knew he had to wake up very early to attend to his plants at the spice farm. She could see Rosie was still awake because a faint light was shining under the door. Maria wanted to rush to her and tell her what had happened. She had to share her news with someone and Rosie was the only person she could trust. She did not want to tell the rest yet because then the entire village of Trionim would come to know. She wanted this murder mystery solved and then she would tell everyone. It was terrible to have the shadow of death hanging over the house. It was like a dark cloud weighing them down, trying to choke them with poisonous fumes.