Tarquin Hall - The Case of the Man Who Died Laughing

“Is doing accounting. Yes, we’re aware. He’s a topper, handling so many of big companies. Thanks to that he’s getting information on stock market and takeovers and such.”

“Insider information, which is illegal to share, by the way!” bawled Lily Arora.

“Unbeknownst to him, you’ve been acting on what he’s told you and buying your own shares,” said Rumpi. “You did well at first, but then a couple of weeks ago, disaster struck. InfoSoft crashed and all your money was wiped out. You suddenly found yourself heavily in debt.”

“Problem was, na, last person you could ask for help was your husband,” said Mummy. “So furious he would have been. Naturally selling your jewelry was out of the question, also. He would have noticed. That was when you decided to go the criminal way.”

Mrs. Nanda shook her head testily. “Ladies, I’m shocked you think that I would be capable of such a thing. I have considered some of you friends for many years.”

“Oh, shut up, Sona, you’re not going to talk your way out of this! We know all about that security guard!” shouted Lily Arora.

“What security guard?”

“The nighttime security guard you got to do the robbery, of course!”

Mummy had been hoping to play their trump card at a more opportune moment. But now she had no choice but to identify the thieves.

“One month back, only, you gave Kishan, the husband of Uma from Arti’s Beauty Parlor, one job as nighttime chowkidar,” she said. “Later you requested him to do robbery of our kitty party. Being totally lacking in moral fibers, he complied. Unfortunately, he brought along his nephew of fourteen years.”

“Kishan was behind it? I had no idea!” declared an apparently shocked Mrs. Nanda. “He must have overheard me talking about the kitty party on the phone. Or perhaps some of the other servants told them. We should call the police!”

“Police can certainly be called. But these two” – Mummy was referring to Uma’s husband and his nephew – “will say they were working for you, na?”

“Well, that’s a lie! I had nothing to do with this.”

Mummy paused before saying with an edge of triumphant power: “That is strange, na? Earlier, we got him to do a call to you and recorded every last word.”

Mrs. Nanda froze.

“There’s no getting away with this, Sona,” said Rumpi. “Now here’s what we’re going to do…”

They did not plan to involve the police for the nephew’s sake, she went on to explain, but they had made sure Lily Arora’s servants and Bappi the physical trainer were in the clear. Mummy had spoken with the boy and found him to be decent and repentant. Kishan had surrendered his weapon, which had been thrown into the Yamuna, and then Uma had kicked him out of the house.

“And as for you, Sona ,” Lily Arora cut in again, “we want our money back! So if you’re not going to tell your husband, we will!”

“You have until this time tomorrow to deliver the total amount or we will have no choice but to go to the police,” said Rumpi.

Slowly Mrs. Nanda sat back down on her couch. She looked as if she was in a trance.

“That is all, na?” said Mummy to the other ladies. “Challo?”

“Challo,” they replied.

One by one, they all filed out of the room. All apart from Lily Arora, who took a final parting shot.

“Sona, I want you to know one other thing,” she said. “I’m going to make sure you can never join another kitty again. I’m going to make sure everyone knows what you did. You have broken the sacred trust upon which kitties were founded! Consider your face blackened!”

Mummy and Rumpi were soon on their way to Gurgaon.

“You don’t think she’ll do something to herself, do you? Something rash? It seemed like she went into shock.”

“Not a chance,” answered Mummy. “That one is hard, na? Hard as marble.”

“But she’ll never be able to show her face anywhere in Delhi again. Lily will see to it, that’s for sure.”

They both got lost in their own thoughts for a few minutes and then Rumpi asked: “Mummy-ji, do you think we should do something about her husband? If we’re right and he’s sharing insider information, then we should tell someone.”

“Definitely it is our duty to report our suspicions. Problem is: Why proper authorities should listen to us two? Who are we, after all?”

“Just a couple of housewives,” said Rumpi.

“Exactly. What is required is proof…”

“Oh no, Mummy-ji, now I’m going to have to stop you there. We’ve done what we needed to do.”

“But it’s our duty, na?”

“We have plenty of other responsibilities as well. And chasing after a crooked accountant is not one of them. Don’t worry, he’ll get unstuck eventually. It’s not for us to deal with.”

Mummy looked disappointed but conceded.

“You are right,” she said. “So many things I have to do, actually. But we made a good team, na?”

Rumpi laughed. “Yes, Mummy-ji, we made a good team. You know something? I didn’t think I had much of a brain for mysteries. How would Chubby put it? I amazed even myself!”

Puri entered St. Stephens hospital through a back door and climbed the emergency stairs. By the time he reached the fourth floor, where Inspector Singh was waiting for him, he was out of breath and his face was glistening with sweat.

“Did anyone see you arrive, sir?” asked the police wallah.

The detective was unable to answer straightaway.

“I… I… don’t… believe so,” he panted. “Coast was… clear.”

“Sir, what is that you’ve brought with you?” Singh pointed at the plastic bag Puri was carrying. “It’s not takeaway, is it?”

The detective held up a hand to indicate that he needed a minute. When he had recovered his breath, he said: “Might be we will be here until the wee hours. Hunger could definitely set in.”

“With respect, sir, this is hardly the time to be thinking about your stomach.”

“Don’t worry, Inspector,” said Puri. “There will be no thinking involved.”

Singh cracked open the door that led from the emergency stairs onto the ward and peeked through the gap. The corridor beyond was busy – patients, nurses, a couple of doctors coming and going.

“Sir, your man is positioned in the second room on the left,” the inspector explained over his shoulder. “I have arranged for us to be in the first room, which has a connecting door to the second. But I can foresee one problem. The murderer could easily be here already, out there in the corridor, and is watching to see who comes and goes.”

“Might be he’ll recognize me when we cross the corridor,” agreed Puri.

“Exactly, sir.”

“So, what all you’re proposing?”

“Here, I brought a doctor’s coat for you to put on,” said Singh, who had changed into civilian clothes himself.

“Very good, Inspector,” said the detective, donning the white coat over his safari suit.

“You might like to wear this, also,” said Singh, who, knowing that Puri never took off his Sandown cap (at least not in public) had brought along a surgeon’s elasticized cap to put over it.

Without a word, the detective slipped it on.

The room where Singh had arranged for them to hole up was large enough for a bed, a side table and a cupboard. It had bare, damp-stained walls, an overhead fan and a naked bulb hanging by a wire from the ceiling.

Puri looked into the second room through the connecting door and could see that it was similarly basic, except there were two beds and one of these – the one farthest from the door near the window – had a privacy curtain drawn around it.