Tarquin Hall - The Case of the Man Who Died Laughing

“Something we’ve overlooked is there, na,” she’d told Rumpi in the evening. “One lady is hiding something, that is for sure.”

Rumpi had reminded her mother-in-law that she was no longer involved in the investigation.

Now she had to backtrack.

“I think I know who it is,” she said. “Last night I was watching the news and there was a story about how an accountant who audits several big companies has been accused of profiting from insider information. Then this morning something Uma told me the other day suddenly clicked.”

“It came to you while cooking, is it?” asked Mummy.

“While I was preparing the paranthas.”

“That is always the way.”

Uma lived in Chhatarpur, a vast warren of three-story apartment blocks. Although ‘completed’ in the past three years, they looked half-finished – bare brickwork, missing window frames, loose cinder blocks in place of missing steps leading up to missing front entrances. The heat, humidity, pollution and monsoon rains, together with the streaks of paan spit and urine on the walls, also conspired to make the buildings look twenty years older.

Twenty-five hundred rupees a month, almost half her monthly salary, rented Uma three small rooms. The living room – all often feet across – doubled as a bedroom for her husband, herself and their three children. The kitchen was half that size and comprised a two-ring stove and a fridge that stood idle because the electricity supply was too sporadic and too expensive. There was also a toilet and a small washing area, but water had to be brought from a bore well in the street, which was shared by three buildings – twenty-seven families altogether.

The rooms, though, were clean, with the TV lovingly draped in a piece of fabric to keep off the dust and the family’s shoes stacked on a rack next to the door.

A metal cabinet with glass doors contained a few effigies and her three children’s school textbooks. Pride of place was given to a china tea set, a Diwali gift from a nice Swiss client who had been going to Arti’s Beauty Parlor for years.

As Mummy and Rumpi sat squeezed together on the two-seater settee, Uma carefully retrieved the teapot and, cradling it in one arm, carried it into the kitchen.

When she returned, the spout was steaming and she filled three cups with hot milky chai. A plate of biscuits was also placed on the small coffee table.

Uma sat down on a stool, making all sorts of apologies for not having something more substantial to serve them, or more comfortable furniture for them to sit on, and for how hot it was (the family relied on an overhead fan, which thankfully was on).

Recognizing Uma’s embarrassment and awkwardness at having to entertain well-to-do guests, Rumpi and Mummy sought to put her at ease, admiring the cups and saucers, complimenting the tea and repeating that it was they who were sorry for imposing upon her on her one day off.

Small chat ensued. Where are the kids? Off at school. Is that Doll in the picture? Yes, she’s already nine and very bright; recently she came in at the top of her class in English. How is the rest of the family? Everyone is well. And work? Ticking along.

But Uma was not her normal relaxed, chatty self. Clients never came to visit her at home. It had to be serious for one of them to suddenly turn up like this.

“Madam, I was very surprised to receive your call this morning,” she said in Hindi with a nervous giggle, replenishing their cups.

“The reason I came is because I believe you might be able to help us,” replied Rumpi.

“Of course, if there’s anything I can do…”

“We need some information,” said Mummy in Hindi. “It’s about one of your clients.”

“Uma, before we ask, I want you to understand that anything you tell us will remain” – here she used the English – “top secret,” added Rumpi. “We would never reveal you as our source of information. Please understand we don’t want to get you into trouble. You can trust us.”

“Our lips will remain totally sealed,” added Mummy in English.

By now, the beautician was looking extremely worried. “Did someone make a complaint about me?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” said Mummy with a reassuring smile. “Everyone is very satisfied with your work.”

Uma’s eyes widened as a thought suddenly occurred to her. “Then it must be about her I ” she declared. “Now I understand. Well, I don’t mind telling you that everyone’s been saying the same thing. That she was behind it. You are talking about the kitty robbery, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but – ”

“Arti said that it seemed strange she had all that money in her handbag. Big wads of notes and all five hundreds.”

“Who?” asked Rumpi.

Before Uma could answer, there was a loud knock on the door and a man’s gruff voice said: “Open up! I’m hungry!”

“My husband,” Uma said apologetically, getting up from her stool. “He’s working as an overnight security guard. His shift finished at seven.”

The beautician opened the door a crack, explaining to him in a whisper that she had guests and telling him to go and have breakfast at the dhaba.

Rumpi caught a fleeting glimpse of his unshaven face and bleary eyes and then the door was closed.

“So sorry,” said Uma.

“There was really no need to send him away,” said Rumpi. “The poor man must be tired and needs his sleep.”

“Oh, don’t worry about him,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure he got plenty last night.” Uma offered them the biscuits. “Now where were we?”

“You were saying you thought you knew who was behind the robbery,” said Mummy.

“Oh yes, Bansal Madam. So what’s going to happen to her? Are you going to call the police?”

“Uma, Mrs. Bansal was not behind the robbery.”

“You’re sure, madam?”

“Quite sure,” said Mummy in English.

The beautician looked disappointed. “Then what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Your share dealing,” answered Rumpi. “I think one of the ladies has been giving you stock market tips. Or perhaps you’ve overheard her talking on her portable device. Either way, you have done extremely well out of it. And who can blame you? Believe me, I would have done the same. But while you have been sensible and not gambled all your winnings, greed has got the better of your client. She owned stock in InfoSoft – must have been a considerable amount – and as you told me during my last treatment, the company recently crashed.”

Rumpi took a sip of tea. Uma could not decide where to look.

“The lady in question is married to a senior accountant – he audits a number of big corporations, including InfoSoft, as I confirmed earlier this morning,” continued Puri’s wife. “So, she’s getting her insider information from him – possibly without him realizing. Perhaps he leaves his papers lying around or talks in his sleep. Who knows? The point is that after this lady lost so much, she could not go to him and confess. She had to find a way to cover her losses but without letting anyone know.”

There was a brief silence.

“Now, Uma, I’m going to say this lady’s name, and if I’m right and she is the one who has been giving you tips, I would like you to nod your head.”

Rumpi named the woman in question, but the beautician neither confirmed nor denied her theory. She sat staring at the wall in stunned silence, as if something terrible had just occurred to her.

Puri reached the DIRE bungalow in Nizamuddin West at ten o’clock. It was the earliest he could expect Ms. Ruchi to come to work under the circumstances.