Tarquin Hall - The Case of the Missing Servant

"Have they a body?" asked Puri calmly.

"They're saying she and the bashed-up girl in your photograph are one and the same. But it's not her. I know it."

"Forgive me, madam, but you were not so certain when I showed it to you before," said Puri.

Mrs. Kasliwal tutted again. "Most certainly I was!" she said. "I told you categorically it was not Mary. Your memory is faulty. Now, I'm going to ask K. P. Malhotra to represent Chippy. They are old friends and he's one of the best lawyers in India. He'll get him off for sure. The charges are all spurious. I'll talk to him about whether your services are still required. It could be he has his own detective."

Puri kept the phone up to his ear, saying, "Hello, Hello," but realized she had hung up and that the dial pad of his mobile was now covered in shaving foam.

The detective hastily finished his ablutions and got dressed.

Had he let his client down, he wondered? Should he have seen this development coming?

Puri searched his conscience and found it clear. It was quite normal for people to lose confidence in his abilities in the middle of an investigation. To be fair, their lack of faith was understandable.

From the Kasliwals' perspective, Puri appeared to be doing nothing. They hadn't seen him down on his hands and knees scrutinizing the floors with a magnifying glass. He hadn't threatened and cajoled the servants as most other private investigators and police detectives would have done. He hadn't even stuck around in Jaipur.

But Puri's methodology, suited as it was to the Indian social environment, had always proven infallible. And it could not be rushed. As he often told his young proteges, "You cannot boil an egg in three minutes, no?"

Nonetheless, the situation was urgent. If convicted, Kasliwal would face life imprisonment.

The detective considered an air-dash to Jaipur, but given his fear of flying and the fact that it would gain him at the most an hour, he opted instead for the "highway."

By eight o'clock, he and Handbrake were on the road again.

Puri sat on the backseat calling his contacts to find out more on the charges brought against his client.

A source inside the Chief Prosecutor's Office (one of his uncle's daughter's husband's brothers) told him that the arresting police officer was called Rajendra Singh Shekhawat.

Shekhawat was a "topper"-one of the most successful detectives in the state. He was said to be young, bright, ambitious and highly adept at keeping his superiors happy.

"So where did he find the body?" Puri asked his uncle's daughter's husband's brother.

"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."