Tarquin Hall - The Case of the Missing Servant

"But that can only mean…" said Kasliwal.

Bobby finished his sentence in a flat monotone. "Ma. It had to be Ma."

There was a long silence. Every pair of eyes in the room save Mrs. Kasliwal's were now riveted on the detective.

"The boy is correct: it was your wife, sir," said Puri. "She told Munnalal to take Mary to the Sunrise Clinic and asked her rakhi-brother, Dr. Chandran, to patch her up and send her on her way."

"Puri-ji, I've been married to this woman for twenty-nine years and I can't believe she'd do that." Turning to Dr. Chandran, he implored him, "Doctor-sahib, tell me this isn't true!"

"I tell you, Ajay-ji, every word is a filthy lie." The doctor sneered. "We should call Mr. Malhotra and ask him to come here immediat-"

"Dr. Chandran, your mobile phone records show you made four calls to Mrs. Kasliwal on the night Munnalal was murdered," interrupted Puri. "One was twenty-five minutes after he was killed."

"We've always talked a lot. She was having trouble sleeping and-"

"Oh, shut up!" broke in Ajay Kasliwal. "I want to hear the rest. Carry on, Puri-ji; tell us what happened."

The detective went on to explain that, minutes after his meeting with Munnalal, the former driver had called Mrs. Kasliwal. He'd asked for more money to buy Puri's silence. She in turn had asked him to come to the house after dark. That evening, he'd set off by auto. Following behind on his motorcycle was Bobby, who wanted to ask Munnalal if he knew of Mary's whereabouts.

"Bobby followed him all the way into the empty property behind the house only moments after Munnalal was murdered," said Puri. "Stumbling upon the body in the dark, he got blood on him and ran from the scene." Shocked and totally confused, Bobby passed the time since mostly in his room. Must be he was asking himself many unanswered questions about what all happened to Mary and why someone killed Munnalal. Also he was scared he'd get accused of doing the murder. But he was never Vish Puri's suspect."

"Well if it wasn't Bobby who murdered Munnalal, who was it?" demanded Shekhawat.

"From the wound, I could make out it was a professional. He surprised Munnalal from behind. One hand drove the knife into the neck, the other was placed over the mouth-hence there was so much of betel juice on Munnalal's lips and chin. Must be you came to the same conclusion, Inspector?"

"Yes, of course," lied Shekhawat, shifting uneasily. "It was obvious. But you assured me earlier today you knew the identity of the killer!"

"Most certainly I know, Inspector," said Puri. "He is one hit man called Babua."

Bobby piped up, "But, Uncle, are you saying Ma…she had…she had Munnalal… murdered …"

"It is hard to believe she could not have known. But there's no conclusive evidence connecting her to Babua. Dr. Chandran took out the contract. He made a number of calls to the killer in the hours before the murder."

"How do you know that?" asked Shekhawat.

Puri hesitated before answering. "We all have our ways and means, Inspector."

"But for God's sake, why?" broke in Kasliwal. He was gripping the back of the couch where his wife lay. "Why, Puri-ji? None of this makes any sense!"

"Unfortunately, it makes perfect sense, sir," answered the detective calmly. "An Indian mother will do almost anything to protect her son and his reputation."

There was another long silence. And then Bobby broke into deep, shameful sobs.

"Papa, I…I should have told you," he said. "But I…I didn't know what had happened. I…I never meant…for any of this…"

" What happened, Bobby? I want to hear it from you. Tell me once and for all," said Kasliwal, now standing over his son.

"Papa, I…"

"Out with it!"

The boy swallowed hard.

"It was this summer, before…before I went to London. Most days I…I was here alone in the house studying…and Mary…well, you see, Papa, sometimes we'd, um, talk. She was…so…so nice , Papa. And smart . We used to sit together…in my room. I…I was teaching her to read and write and we used to play Bagha-Chall. She always used to beat me."

Bobby's lower lip was trembling. "Well, one day…you see…I loved her, Papa…"

Ajay Kasliwal held up a hand to silence his son.

"I understand," he said. He turned and addressed the detective. "I take it my wife found out, Puri-ji."

"About a month after Bobby left for London, Mary discovered she was pregnant," said Puri.

"Pregnant?" exclaimed Bobby.

"Desperate, she went to Madam. But the idea of a servant-a dirty tribal being with her son disgusted her. She abused Mary verbally, threatened her and ordered her to leave the house immediately."

"…And so that poor girl took a knife from the kitchen, went to her room and cut her wrists," murmured Ajay Kasliwal.

Facecream watched the evening's events unfold through the French windows of the sitting room.

First Boss appeared with Inspector Shekhawat and Bobby. Then Boss gave one of those long-winded soliloquies he so enjoyed. And finally, Ajay Kasliwal broke down in tears and attacked the doctor, punching him in the face.

Bobby, Shekhawat and Boss tried to restrain him and in the confusion, the latter was knocked over.

Now, Facecream watched as the inspector clapped a pair of handcuffs on the doctor and led him away.

Puri came and stood silhouetted by the French windows nursing his bruised cheek, while Bobby sat with his distraught father.

Facecream decided to stay put. Munnalal's murderer was still at large, after all.

Another five minutes passed. Jaya appeared again in the kitchen, standing at the sink, her face framed in the window. Suddenly, in the quiet night, Facecream heard the sound of the bell tinkle inside her room.

Someone had come through the gap in the wall.

A twig snapped underfoot. And then a man of average height appeared around the corner of the servant quarters carrying something long and narrow in one hand. He stopped, looked furtively from left to right, and then set off across the garden, sticking to the shadows on the left side of the lawn.

Facecream sprang forward and raced after him, her bare feet moving nimbly and silently over the grass.

She covered the distance that separated the two of them in just a few seconds and tackled the man from behind. He went down flat on his face and, in a flash, she pinned him to the ground, pulling back one of his arms.

The intruder let out a cry of agony and begged to be let go. His pleas brought Jaya running from the kitchen.

"Seema, what are you doing?" she cried. "Have you gone mad? Let him go!"

"No, Jaya, stand back!" insisted Facecream. "This man is dangerous! He killed Munnalal!"

"Dangerous? That's Dubey! He's a rickshaw-wallah! He's my…friend."

"You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure! He wants to marry me."

Facecream released Dubey and the poor, shaken man stood up. He was still clutching a red rose that he'd brought for Jaya, but it had been badly crushed.

"I'm so sorry. I thought you were…" said Facecream.

But the rickshaw-wallah had taken to his heels with Jaya hurrying after him.

Ten minutes later, Puri stood with Shekhawat next to his Jeep in the driveway. On the backseat, in handcuffs, sat Dr. Chandran. He was glaring with venomous eyes at his captors through the window.

"You think he'll give her up?" asked the inspector.

"I doubt it," said Puri. "To do so would be to admit his guilt. He'll claim he's been framed, try to buy off or intimidate the witnesses. His trial will go on for years. It takes time to put away a man with his kind of connections."

"And her? She goes unpunished?"

"Oh no, Inspector. It is all over for her. She might have escaped prison, but no human being ever escapes punishment. One way or another, justice is always served. All of us must answer to the God eventually."