Tarquin Hall - The Case of the Missing Servant

"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."

"Then I'm not sure how we can help each other, sir. I want to see Kasliwal convicted; you on the other hand want to see him walk free. There is no middle ground."

One of the phones on the inspector's tidy desk rang. He picked up the receiver. Hearing the voice on the other end prompted a subtle change in the man's bearing. He stiffened and his eyebrows slowly slid together until they were almost joined.

"Sir," he said. There was a pause as he listened. Then he said again, "Sir." He met Puri's gaze, held it for a second and then looked down. "Sir," he repeated.

While the detective waited, he looked up at the photographs and certificates that hung on the wall behind the desk. From these he was able to piece together much of Shekhawat's life. He'd gone to a government school in Jaipur, where he'd been a hockey champion. He'd married extremely young; his wife could not have been a day over sixteen. They'd had four children together. He'd attended the Sardar Vallabhai Patel National Police Academy in Hyderabad and studied to be an officer. Three years ago, he'd been awarded a Police Medal for Meritorious Service.

"Must have been for a big case," said Puri when Shekhawat hung up the phone after a final "Sir." "The Meritorious Service award, I mean."

"I caught the dacoit, Sheshnag," he bragged. "He'd eluded our forces for thirteen years but I personally tracked him down to his hideout and arrested him."

"I read about it in the papers. So you were the one," said Puri. "Many congratulations, Inspector! It was a fine piece of detective work. Must have been very satisfying."

"Yes, it was. But frankly, sir, I take far greater satisfaction from arresting a man like Ajay Kasliwal. He is the worst kind of criminal. For too long, men like him have roamed free. Money and influence have kept them safe from prosecution. But thankfully times are changing. Now the big cats must face justice for their crimes like all the animals in the jungle. We are living in a new India."

"I admire your principles," said Puri. "I'm all for evenhandedness. But my client is a good man and he's innocent."

"Sir, with respect, Kasliwal is as guilty as Ravan," said Shekhawat with an arrogant smirk. "I have all the evidence I need to put him away forever. He raped and murdered that young woman."

"You're certainly confident," said Puri, hoping to coax the inspector into showing all of his hand.

"I've three witnesses who saw Mr. Kasliwal dump the body by the roadside."

"So I understand, but why was no charge brought against my client for two months?"

Shekhawat answered decisively. "The witnesses took time to come forward because they were scared of intimidation from the client, who threatened them at the scene."