Tarquin Hall - The Case of the Missing Servant

"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.

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!"