‘Yuri, you rest now. We will go to the villa and talk to Olga. Find out what she’s up to,’ said Deven.
Yuri shook his head and muttered something. His face was contorted with fear and his eyes began to water.
‘What is it?’ asked Rosie, gently touching his arm.
Yuri cried out, slapping his hand on the bed.
‘Police. I think he is trying to say police,’ said Rosie.
‘Don’t worry. We will tell the police. Now you sleep for a while,’ said Deven and covered Yuri’s feet with the blanket. They heard him whimpering and crying as they left the room.
Leela was racing upstairs just as Deven was pushing Rosie’s wheelchair down the ramp. ‘Deven, sir, please see this. I can’t find Maria. Alfie has found the dead woman’s phone. Tony brought it to show me.’
‘What! Give it to me.’ Deven quickly reached for it.
He tried to switch it on. ‘It might be locked and need a password,’ he said.
‘No, just press any button and it comes on,’ said Leela.
The woman’s photo stared up at them as soon as Deven pressed the main button.
‘That is her. The same woman. I can recognize her, though her face was all swollen when we saw her that day,’ said Rosie.
Deven pressed the message icon and began to read.
‘You bastard. You are a liar and a thief. I will tell the police about your shady deals in Russia. I know everything so don’t try any tricks.’
He read on.
‘I will never divorce you. I will never let you marry that cheap Russian tart. Over my dead body.’
Deven stopped and looked up.
‘He must have killed her because she would not agree to divorce him,’ he said.
‘No, wait. These are messages that were forwarded. Look at his sent messages,’ said Rosie.
‘Darling Olga. I cannot live without you. You see the mad woman I am married to. See how I suffer for your sake,’ read Deven.
‘What an idiotic man to forward his wife’s abusive messages to his girlfriend. What was he trying to do?’ asked Rosie.
‘See, here is her reply. “You are a stupid, weak man. I will fix your wife. Don’t worry, all will be well, my snowflake.”’ He scrolled down further.
Deven stared at the phone.
‘What does she mean? Fix her. How? We must go to the police at once. Come on. Call Cyrilo,’ he said.
‘He is not here. I forgot to tell you he has gone to the villa to meet Olga,’ said Prema.
‘Why did you let him go? It is not safe. That Olga is dangerous. We must rush there right away,’ shouted Deven.
‘How will you go? Cyrilo has taken the van,’ said Leela.
They all stared at the empty space where the van was usually parked. ‘You can go on the scooter. Miss Maria can take you, Deven sir. I will go and call her. Maybe she is in her room. Wait.’ Leela ran upstairs.
* * *
Cyrilo parked the van under the shade of the old banyan tree. Sunlight was dancing on the iron gates, making the gold paint shine, and the guard was fast asleep. Poor man. Must have had a late night, thought Cyrilo as he went in quietly. There was no one about. The door to the villa looked firmly locked. Cyrilo hesitated for a few moments and then walked through the garden, stepping carefully over the paving stones. He was heading towards the door at the back. He had seen it the last time they had come to this villa. That door was shut too. He stood on his toes and peered in through the kitchen window. Then he saw that the window was half open. He reached in to open it wider but his hands would not reach the latch. He looked around and spotted a large stone under the tree. He picked it up, groaning under his breath, and dragged it closer. He placed it right under the window, stepped on the stone and pulled himself up. He managed to slide his hand in and open the window. ‘Still quite agile, old man,’ he muttered to himself as he carefully entered the house. The muscles in his lower back gave a brief, complaining twinge but he ignored it.
Cyrilo slowly lowered himself on to the floor and wiped his hands on the seat of his pants. He was breathing quite heavily and he leaned against the wall to rest. He waited to hear if someone was in the house but he couldn’t hear a thing. He was feeling a bit dizzy but he willed himself on; he was going to solve this case without any help from Mr Smarty-pants Deven. He would prove to everyone that Cyrilo was not just a happy-go-lucky man, only good at playing merry tunes on the piano. He would show them that he had a sharp mind and a cunning brain, capable of solving all kinds of mysteries. He would confront this Olga woman and make her confess everything. They would all be so amazed. All of Trionim would applaud him and maybe the Goa police would give him a medal. Cyrilo shut his eyes and saw Inspector Chand’s face staring at him, his jaw dropping with surprise as the IG pinned a huge shiny gold medal on Cyrilo’s jacket. I must order a new suit at once. A dark-blue one and a new light-blue shirt to match. Maybe some new shoes too.
‘What should I say to the Russian girl?’ he whispered to himself. ‘I must be very, very careful of what I say or else she’ll suspect something fishy and not fall into my trap. I have to get her to spill the beans. I must remember to switch the phone on to record when she starts talking.’ He felt a nervous rumble in his stomach and his hands began to sweat. Would he be able to do that? Which button did he have to press on the phone to switch on the recording? Leela had shown it to him the other day but he had not practised it on his own ever. What if he pressed the music button by mistake? What if Olga caught him recording her?
Cyrilo’s mouth suddenly felt very dry and he could hear his heart beating very fast. Why had he come alone? What if the police were watching the house? They would think he was trying to steal. Now it was too late. He might as well see if the Russian girl was here and confront her. You want to be a hero so you’d better go out and be a hero, Cyrilo. This is your only chance, man.
The shimmering chandelier winked at him a hundred times as he looked up and Cyrilo touched the phone in his pocket nervously. Though he could not see anyone in the room, there was a strong scent of perfume and marijuana in the air. Cyrilo wiped his hands again and tried to breathe slowly. He hoped his blood pressure was not going through the roof.
He suddenly spied golden curls cascading all over a cushion and almost tripped. Olga lay on the sofa with her thin, languid arm stretched out, holding an unlit cigarette.
‘What do you want, Cyrilo? Do you have a match?’ she asked in a girlish, nasal voice.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Olga.’ Cyrilo was surprised she knew his name.
‘You are Yuri’s best friend. Aren’t you, Cyrilo? He always says you are the kindest, cleverest man in Trionim.’ She did not lift her head as Cyrilo went closer. He found a matchbox on the table and leaned forward to light her cigarette. He saw that her eyes were red as if she had been crying.
‘You know my husband is dead? Poor man. We were hardly married for a week. I brought him bad luck it seems,’ she whispered and began to laugh. ‘He brought me lots of good luck, though. I say a big thank you to you, Rana.’ She pointed to the ceiling, as if her late husband was hovering above, watching her. ‘This is all mine now. I am Mrs Rana Hooda. I own everything now. Can you imagine?’
‘You are really lucky. I wish I had a rich wife too,’ said Cyrilo. He wondered if that was the right thing to say.
‘That is the trick. You are a clever man. Yuri was right. You see, Rana had a rich wife but she died and now he has a rich wife again. Simple as that.’ She giggled and waved her hands about.
‘I must congratulate you,’ he said and smiled, anxiously checking the phone in his pocket. He pressed what he hoped was the record button.
‘Why are you grinning at me like an idiot? You think it was easy for me to get here? You think all this just dropped in my lap?’ said Olga, suddenly getting up from the sofa. She was dressed in a thin, crumpled nightdress stained with red wine. She took one step forward unsteadily and sat down on a chair.
Cyrilo saw at once
that she was quite drunk. He hoped she had not seen him pressing buttons on his phone.
‘I worked hard for this. I planned for months, almost two years. I knew I could get away with it but then that moron Ziriko almost blew it. He got jealous and tried to ruin everything. Men are so stupid,’ she said, pouting like a child.
‘He attacked Yuri, didn’t he? He came to the Happy Home and tried to strangle him,’ said Cyrilo. He was making a wild guess but he had to keep Olga talking. He prayed that the phone was recording her voice but he did not dare check it.
‘Yuri. Poor, silly Yuri. He fell in love with me. I like him but he’s so poor and so old. Maybe now I will keep him with me. He will be useful to have around the house.’
‘Won’t Ziriko mind that?’
‘Ziriko is my pet dog . . . he does what I order him to.’
‘Did you order him to get rid of Rana’s wife?’ asked Cyrilo, his heart racing now. Olga turned to look at him. Her blue eyes were like two pieces of broken glass. She threw her cigarette on the floor and came towards him.
‘Why are you such a nosy man? You people at the Happy Home have made things really difficult for me. I hate old people. Always snooping around. You just get out now before I set my dog Ziriko on you. I will call the police and get them to lock you all up. I am Mrs Rana Hooda and they will listen to me,’ she screamed, slapping her hand on the sofa. A diamond ring flew off her finger and she quickly ran to retrieve it from underneath the sofa, muttering abuses in Russian.
Cyrilo suddenly wanted to use the bathroom desperately and ran to the first door he saw. He heard a soft whine and as his eyes adjusted to the dark he could make out a white shape. The whining became louder and the shape rose in a weird, distorted way. It started moving towards him. Cyrilo froze in terror and opened his mouth to scream. He did not see the fist coming at him but he did feel the blinding pain as his head hit the floor. A red curled claw was going for his throat and Cyrilo tried to push it away with all his strength but he felt his hand slipping over cold flesh. It felt like a giant fish was attacking him. A wet hand clamped on his mouth. He began to choke and slowly sank into the quiet darkness.
* * *
Deven sat precariously behind Maria on the scooter, trying to hold on to the rack behind him. His arms had a painful cramp but he hung on, craning his neck forward to keep his balance. He did not want to put his arms around Maria’s waist. ‘Hold on to me, Deven. I don’t want you to fall off,’ shouted Maria as she went headlong into the traffic. The scooter jumped over a few potholes and turned sharply, and Deven had no choice but to put his arms gingerly around Maria’s waist. She is like my daughter. She won’t mind, he thought. Aloud, he said, ‘Why has that stupid Cyrilo gone on his own to Rana Hooda’s villa? What is he trying to do?’ Deven felt a pang of fear jolt him and he almost slid off the scooter. What if something happened to Cyrilo? As the dark thoughts rushed into his head Deven could hardly breathe. What if that woman kills him? No. No. That can’t happen. Cyrilo is the only friend I have in this world. He is the kindest, most honest man but he is too trusting. He does not know how wicked and cruel this world is. That evil woman will destroy him like she destroyed two men. Yuri has still not recovered and Rana Hooda is dead. Cyrilo has gone willingly into a snake’s pit. Why? Why did he do such a foolish thing? Why did he not wait for me?
As Maria took a sharp left turn, Deven shut his eyes and began to pray. The last time he had prayed was more than sixty years ago when he was a child and had gone to the temple with his mother. He could not remember if god had heard his prayers then. ‘I am praying to you after sixty years and I will not ask for another sixty years of life. Please keep my friend Cyrilo safe,’ he muttered. ‘What?’ shouted Maria, slowing down. They had almost reached the lane outside the villa. Maria stopped the scooter in a shady spot under a tree. They stepped off and walked towards the gate. Deven’s knees felt stiff but he forced himself to walk fast. The guard was talking on his phone and when he saw them he lifted his hand to wave them away.
‘I am working here. Madam Olga has asked me to come today to clean,’ said Maria.
‘But she did not tell me anything,’ said the guard, spitting a stream of betel juice on the ground.
Deven stepped forward and said to the guard in a curt voice, ‘I know you are from Balia. You should not talk on the phone while on duty. Miss Olga will not like it,’ he added in the chaste dialect of the region. The guard broke into a nervous smile and bowed. He thumped his chest proudly and began talking very fast as Deven opened the gate and Maria slipped in. After Deven spoke a few more words to the guard he ran forward to open the main door.
The drawing room was empty except for a tiny dog running around in circles. It did not bark when they walked in and instead came running up to Maria and tried to lick her hand. ‘Shhhh. My friend,’ she whispered. Maria heard someone coming down the stairs and quickly hid behind a carved wooden screen. Deven crouched near the window, pulling the curtains around himself.
‘The old creep will be out for some time. Get rid of him. Do it fast. Don’t go loitering on the beach with your dopehead friends. We still have work to do. I have to collect my London ticket today,’ said Olga.
‘You have already booked your ticket? You said we would have to go to Mumbai and fly from there. Safer that way, you said,’ a man’s voice replied. Deven could not see him but he guessed it must be Ziriko.
‘What do you mean we?’ said Olga, raising her voice.
‘You and me,’ said Ziriko.
‘You are staying here. Someone has to look after this house.’ Olga had reached the drawing room. Her heels clicked noisily on the floor and Maria held her breath. She was so close that Maria could smell strong perfume and marijuana on her. She hoped the dog would not come to her again.
‘Olga. You promised me. You said when all this was over we would go to London and live there together,’ said Ziriko.
‘Me live with a junkie like you? Are you mad? They are very strict in the UK. They will throw you in jail at once. You are not going anywhere. You must stay here and look after this house. Keep an eye on the construction work too. There is a lot of money to be made there. I need you to manage it if you can stay off your magic juice. Go get me some cold tea,’ she said, lighting a cigarette. ‘Go on. Don’t stand there like a moron. Get rid of that old man too while he is still unconscious,’ she shouted, blowing smoke out through her mouth and coughing.
The smoke began to irritate Deven’s throat and he stifled a cough. He wondered exactly where Maria was hiding. He could only make out blurred shapes through the curtain. He saw Ziriko pick up a heavy vase. ‘You lying bitch. I did all your dirty work and now you think you own me. You will listen to me now. I am not staying here. I am coming to London with you,’ he shouted, his voice shaking with rage.
‘Put that vase down, you idiot. It cost a fortune. You did my work and you got paid for it. You made a mess by hanging that woman on the tree dressed up in Rana’s clothes. “It will look like suicide,” you said. You are a crazy fool. You should have dumped her in the sea like I told you to. Now get lost or I’ll call the police and tell them who you are and what you did. Get out of my sight, you dirty, stinking swine,’ said Olga, throwing her shoe at Ziriko. Maria and Deven heard a strange whining noise. Ziriko lifted the glass vase high in the air and smashed it on the floor, narrowly missing Olga’s foot. ‘I can fix you too. I can talk to the police. Tell them things about you. I can break your pretty neck in one second,’ he shouted.
Olga ignored him. She picked up a shard of the broken vase and waved it in front of Ziriko’s face. ‘You come near me and I will cut your throat. Don’t think I am afraid of you. I don’t need you any more. Get out.’ She screamed so loudly that Deven could feel his ears hurting.
While Olga’s face was turned Maria quickly crawled out from her hiding place and, staying low on the floor, slid under a table near the window. The tablecloth with its long tassels hid her from view and she could see Deven’
s feet peeping out under the curtain right next to her. ‘We should get out of here while they are busy fighting. It’s our only chance,’ she whispered.
Ziriko began to upturn all the tables and chairs. ‘You bitch. I will call the police right now and tell them what you did. You killed Rana. You gave him an overdose and pushed him into the pool. I saw you. I will call the police right now.’ He took his phone out of his shirt pocket and suddenly dropped it and began to tremble. As he stood glaring at Olga, his eyes began to blink and he shook his head from side to side. His arms were twitching frantically. He groaned and slid to the floor.
Deven moved the curtains aside and Maria put her head out from under the table. She crawled swiftly to Deven behind the curtain. ‘He is having a fit. Let’s make a dash for the front door while Olga is still distracted,’ she whispered.
Olga leapt up on the sofa, the sharp piece of broken glass in her hand, and yelled at Ziriko. ‘Go on, tell them. I don’t care. Who will believe you? Call the police from your phone. By the way, I sent Rana text messages from his wife from your phone. They will pounce on you at once. They will throw you in jail and forget about you for the next fifty years. That is how it works here. I just have to give the right amount to the right person. So stop talking shit and go get rid of that old man. Then I will get you your fix. You are beginning to fall apart, you dopehead. Get out of my sight,’ shouted Olga, picking up the broken vase and throwing it at the wall. It missed Ziriko by an inch and shattered into pieces above his head but he ignored it. He was shaking badly now, his body rocking. As Deven and Maria watched, Ziriko’s tall figure crumpled and he collapsed on the floor. Olga gave an angry shout and got up from the sofa.
‘I can smell something strange in this room; a woman’s perfume. Have you been bringing women here, you creep?’ Olga kicked Ziriko. He gave a loud moan, curled up and hid his head in his hands.
‘Oh, you are useless. I will have to deal with that old fellow,’ said Olga and began walking towards the dining room.
Murder at the Happy Home for the Aged Page 20