“It almost forms an echo chamber, wouldn’t you say? This closed cul-de-sac between buildings?” I felt in dire need of a pipe and a deerstalker cap.
I turned to the lady. “Who lives beneath you, ma’am?”
“A family moved in about two months ago, but the sounds don’t come from there.” She insisted.
“I have a feeling the sounds do emanate from there. And acoustics are doing the rest. But who and why so late?”
As if in answer, another muted bump echoed in Ravi’s room.
The woman nodded, “Yes, its definitely not here.” She went to her son and slung him around her like a rag doll. “Let’s go.”
“Um,” Ravi said, “perhaps your husband would like to join us, I’m sure your child would rather sleep in its bed.”
“He, not it,” she glared at him and walked out, only waiting at the lift to see if either of us followed. Ravi and I joined her.
And then, to cut a long story short. We rang the bell of 204, and guess what? We are greeted at the door by a young couple, looking nervous and guilty.
Vedika―as we discovered her name was by the end of this episode, she’s actually quite nice―barked at them until they looked like a couple of chastened puppies. It turns out they have moved in lately, and are in the process of setting up their home. They have recently arrived from the US and are very much into DIY projects.’
‘Aaah!’ Ira exhaled.
‘Yes,’ Ayan continued without missing a beat, ‘and have been putting up their cabinets and what have you whenever they get the time. This, they apologised profusely, was only when they both came back from office; and because they had no neighbour in the immediate vicinity and had received no complaints so far, they thought they would continue their work as and when they got the time. Assumed the place was better soundproofed than it was. The couple had been working in fits and starts through some evenings, and were just trying to finish the kitchen off last night with an extra hour’s push.’
‘And then the neighbourhood watch turned up!’ chuckled Ira.
‘The woman totally threw her husband under the bus at one point. “Karan dropped the planks today a couple of times. I told him he would bring the neighbours down on us but he just told me to relax.” Never ask a woman to relax,’ laughed Ayan. ‘Phew! Anyway, they apologised in such an abject manner that we saw no reason to prolong the conversation. Vedika warned them against doing it after 8 pm―by then it was 11.45―gave her child an extra heave onto her shoulder and left. We said goodnight to the miserable-looking couple and followed suit.’
Ira laughed. ‘You tell a good story. You should have been a writer.’
‘Trust me, I would have if my parents didn’t threaten to disown me altogether. Maybe once I’ve earned enough to buy myself some freedom.’
They finished the last of their meal in companionable silence. ‘Well, that’s one mystery solved.’ Ira said, dropping her half of the bill onto the plate of saunf. ‘I’ll tell Aditi and Jayashree if I run into them.’
‘Why would you do that to them, Ira? I reckon they’re happier thinking our flat is haunted.’
*****
Kushal had come home early. And while Nandana had defrosted the chicken and cut up all the vegetables required for dinner, her husband had made them some tea and was now frying up some phulkopi bhaja as an evening snack. ‘Just an additional little treat for the kids,’ he explained, when Nandana raised her eyebrows.
They had then worked in tandem in the kitchen, moving around the tiny space with a practised ease that Nandana had thought lost since their first years as a young working couple. Back then, they had done everything together, before the ‘primary parent’ and ‘sole breadwinner’ roles prompted extreme divisions of labour. Kushal picked up a piece of phulkopi bhaja and blew on it. He offered a bite to Nandana and she ate it smiling.
Once everything was done, they took a liberally heaped plate and replenished cups of tea to their tiny, plant-filled balcony, and sat down on moras. The sun had set and the cicadas had set up a racket.
‘Will there be any left for the kids?’ worried Nandana, her hand hovering over the plate in indecision.
‘Just eat it, they won’t starve with all those pots bubbling away in the kitchen now. We’ll simply pretend we didn’t make any,’ Kushal winked conspiratorially.
Nandana chuckled and picked up another floret of besan-fried cauliflower.
‘Perfect evening,’ she mumbled with her mouth full.
‘Yup!’ Kushal wiped his oily hands on his track pants and stretched.
Nandana didn’t even wince.
There was a pounding of excited footsteps as their son tore in. He shot across the hallway to his bedroom and re-emerged purposefully with a bat tucked under his arm.
‘Ei ei, where are you taking your new bat? We agreed to save it up till your old bat was unusable.’
‘No, Baba, it’s not for me. Arun-da has lost his bat, so he needs mine for today’s match.’
‘A likely story!’ Kushal rolled his eyes at Nandana, but cast an indulgent smile at his son. ‘Okay, but I want to see it look as good as new when you bring it back tonight.’
‘Thanks, Baba!’ The boy grinned and raced away before anyone changed their minds. Adults were notoriously fickle that way.
Nandana smiled. ‘You spoil them.’
‘Yes, because…why should you be the only one?’ He grinned the impish grin that had snared Nandana’s heart all those years ago.
She smacked him on the shoulder.
He leant over and kissed her in response.
‘It’s time I spoiled you a bit, too. You deserve it far more than those two bratty ingrates.’
*****
18
Thursday, 20th September 2014
Ira seemed incapable of doing anything normal and routine this week. Her book lay neglected, and she hadn’t Facebooked all week, which was frankly always a good thing. Any desire to go out for a movie or shopping or the usual day-off outing had all but evaporated.
Ayan had messaged asking about lunch and she’d said yes. It was sweet that he still asked and didn’t assume her attendance.
After an indifferent breakfast of cornflakes (without sugar, because she’d run out), Ira came to a decision. It was obvious what she had to do next, wasn’t it? She would speak to Mrs Nandana Roy’s neighbours, of the nightcrawling infamy. It sounded like a better lead than an eighty-year-old woman’s claim of poisoning a man who had been bludgeoned to death.
Half an hour later, Ira marched up to the door of flat 403 in her wing, knowing she was about to have a profoundly awkward conversation. But someone had to do it. She wondered how the police conversation had gone. Ah, if only she could have had access to their investigation; it would all have been much simpler. Such was life; they had the tools to solve this murder but no apparent desire to do so, while here she was groping around in the dark. Now that the time of murder had shifted to when she was surrounded by her co-workers―her self-defence excuse behind digging up information had worn thin.
She, however, hadn’t publicised this happy development at all. She would continue to trot out the excuse of needing to be exonerated, should her neighbours question her right to ask them questions. Why did she, though? Perhaps because people continued to bring bits and pieces of the puzzle to her; combined with her natural nosiness that meant she couldn’t rest until she got to the bottom of the mystery.
She was aware that if Dilip was a 9-to-7 office-going bloke, which most of the resident males of employable age were; he probably had an alibi as well. She and Ayan had that in common with all the working people in the building, compared to the old or retired people and housewives. All of the latter group could be placed at the scene of the murder, in most cases without alibis, since 2 to 5 pm was the Kolkata siesta hour. Again, she wondered what the police had found. They had talked to most people in the building, what conclusions had they drawn?
Well, she would just have to find out the hard way and do so
me asking of her own.
Ira hovered near the door, a ludicrously decorated rectangle of wood festooned with everything its magpie owners could lay their hands upon, it appeared. There was some kind of beaded and mirrored tapestry hanging from the top, then a brass thingummy set where the peephole should have been―a little askew, she noted with amusement. Then there was a knocker of some other kind of metal beneath it and a crystal glass doorknob. The occupants had shopped for Chittor fort, but had made the most of a 1,000 sq ft, west-facing flat in stolidly affordable Panorama Apartments instead.
Ira stood there, still indecisive.
She’d forgotten to ask Mrs Roy if she’d confronted the man or any of his family after that night at all. The conversation had swung away into mutual accusations.
Ira’s finger hovered over the doorbell.
There was the sound of a door opening nearby. Ira felt disoriented because the door she was looking at remained shut.
‘What are you doing?’
Ira shied nervously before turning around to face a red-faced Mrs Roy. ‘Er….’
‘You promised!’
Ira recovered and waved a finger to emphasise her point. ‘Strictly speaking, I hadn’t; and even if I had you weren’t helpful at all, so er…promise nullified.’
Ira felt a twinge of guilt. But wouldn’t it have been the silliest, most wussy thing in the world to just go about her life, with that information burning a hole through her brain? Her childish reverence for the word ‘promise’ had significantly weakened at least a decade ago, once she realised grown-ups nearly always rationalised their way out of one if they wanted to. Well I’m a grown up now, that’s what we do.
Nandana grabbed her by the arm and pulled.
‘Hey!’ Ira protested.
‘You get in here.’ Nandana whispered fiercely, looking in alarm at the door opposite.
Ira shook her hand off and walked into the older woman’s house, secretly relieved that the awkward interview with the family opposite had been postponed.
Once she closed the door, Nandana rounded on her. ‘What…was…that?’
Ira took a step back, alarmed at the woman’s vehemence.
‘I needed to know where he went that night! What he did! Surely that’s reasonable?’
‘Look, you don’t know these people. They’re…well, they’re toxic.’
‘Aren’t they your friends?’
Nandana looked uncomfortable. ‘Yes, but that has nothing to do with it. I asked her, okay. I asked Pallabi, and she just went into full “offence-is-the-best-defence” mode and wouldn’t even admit to or deny anything. I just noticed that she didn’t look surprised by the accusation.’
‘And her husband?’
‘Well, I didn’t ask him. Getting past his pet tiger would have been a job. For all I know they were in cahoots and murdered him together that night.’
Ira suppressed the urge to tell Nandana she was wrong, that she had heard the murder hadn’t happened at night. Yet, it didn’t change anything much. The couple could very well have been sneaking around at that time to dispose of the body. Not yet. If life and detective novels had taught her anything, it was that some cards needed to be held close to one’s chest. Ira said instead, ‘So many of you dashing around the building and you didn’t bump into anyone but the dead guy?’
‘So many of us,’ Nandana said, with a malicious twinkle. ‘You don’t get to play Sherlock Holmes. You’re very much a part of that night.’
‘Yes, okay. Us. And because I was also up and about, I can say I’m mystified that I only met you and nobody else.’
Ira had said it out of malice―this woman got on her nerves. She had a whiny, put-upon quality, yet a mulish streak that was annoying because it was unexpected. The irritation one would feel, she imagined, if one looked forward to a restful trot atop a docile pony but is jogged about and bitten at instead. You respect it in a stallion, but itch to beat it out of a meeker breed.
In the lengthening silence, Ira realised with a jolt that what she had just blurted out to Nandana was completely true.
Every time she spoke to her, the woman seemed to add another character creeping around the building at night. There was absolutely no proof that the couple in question had not been fast asleep in their beds at the time.
Nandana looked contemptuous. ‘You sound defensive. Perhaps the police are on the right track after all.’
Ira’s eyes widened; she could cheerfully have punched Nandana in that pursed-up mouth. She went to the door to let herself out.
‘I thought you were different, Mrs Roy. By the way,’ she said as a parting shot over her shoulder, ‘the police have said the murder didn’t happen that night. It was committed in the afternoon when I was away. I’m guessing we can’t say the same about you, Mrs Roy?’ she noted the older woman’s stunned face with satisfaction, and left, making yet another acrimonious exit from a neighbour’s house that week.
*****
Ira, on her way down to the second floor, mused on how one man’s death seemed to have liberated people from their polite masks. They now shouted and raged and slammed doors. They spoke their minds, revealing themselves as the small and toxic things they were; instead of dealing in the usual discreet, sugar-coated sniping and innuendo..
Ira approved. It was all very cathartic. A grand-aunt of hers was said to have perished from a case of suppressed rage. She had simply dropped dead from a forty-year-long, unhappy marriage. Though this was an accepted legend in the family, they were also united in the belief that this was a preferable end to one where the grand-aunt had died; alone (and perhaps, Ira thought, happy) somewhere.
Ira’s mind turned back to Nandana. There was something so persecuted, so beaten about her, like she was put upon by the world, an unsung martyr to the altar of domesticity. Who in God’s name was asking her to be that way? Why didn’t she get a life of her own, if living for others wasn’t her cup of tea? Ira made a mental note to shoot herself if she ever got that way.
And then, when you least expected it, came a flash of confidence, an aggressive I-won’t-stand-for-your-bullshit tone; and for all Ira’s dislike of Nandana’s passivity, this show of spirit irked her even more. Ponies and stallions.
Two floors above, Nandana sat herself down on the sofa and stared into space. She regretted having said what she had to the girl, but how young and brash she was…accusing people and expecting them to take it lying down. And ‘promise nullified’…what was she, eight?
This new piece of information Ira had dropped in her own defence and in accusation of her…was it true? That changed matters quite a bit! She massaged her forehead. Uff, let the police take care of it, she had had enough. Plus, she had the day’s cooking to be done in the next hour and a half. In a moment of energy and optimism she had resolved to make shukto today; a recipe she never looked forward to executing. One worry at a time.
*****
Later that day, as Nandana ushered her children home from the bus stop, she spotted Pallabi bearing down on her. God no, not in front of the kids!
‘Hello, Pallabi.’ She willed her neighbour to walk on without dragging her into a messy public confrontation.
‘Yes, hello,’ Pallabi’s tone was chilly, ‘I want to speak to you.’
Ugh this woman, she turned to the children. ‘Run along upstairs, the door’s unlocked.’
Pallabi raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘Still unlocked? Not worried that someone will sneak in?’
Nandana gasped at her audacity.
Instead she said, ‘What is it, Pallabi? I have to give the kids their meal.’
Pallabi’s tone suddenly switched, it became eager, confidential.
‘I…I… Dare I hope you haven’t spoken to anyone about this? About what you said that day?’
Nandana felt uncomfortable. ‘I told the police, I’m sorry―it was my duty.’ She omitted the fact that she’d told nosy Nancy Drew from the second floor as well.
‘Um…yes, we know, the police came b
y and asked us this morning, before Dilip went to office. But I’m asking if you told our friends.’
Nandana was relieved by the question, she could truthfully say no. But wait, who was Pallabi to demand she keep quiet?
‘I…’ Nandana girded her proverbial loins, ‘Pallabi, I don’t see why I should have kept quiet, you definitely didn’t confide in me at all. You ranted and shrieked and broke my teacup and….’
‘Okay, okay, I’ll tell you now. Come, let’s keep walking. Act normal, okay?’
Nandana fell into step with Pallabi, for all the world like they were exchanging panchmeshali torkari recipes.
‘Alright, I’ll tell you the truth.’
Nandana nearly laughed out loud, but had to admit to herself she was intrigued.
‘Dilip…Dilip has done it. Yes, he’s done it a few times. Most recently at your house but earlier at some other flats. Five or six times. It’s because of his medication, see? He…sleepwalks.’
Nandana stopped dead. ‘Wait, what?’
‘He takes medication, I’m telling you, it makes him sleepwalk.’
‘You expect me to believe that? He was wide awake when I saw him that night in my hallway.’
‘So, what do you think a sleepwalker looks like? They hold their arms out like a zombie and keep their eyes closed like in cartoons?’ She mimed what she described, throwing in some eye rolls and groans. Pallabi dropped the act abruptly and tittered and shook her head like she couldn’t believe Nandana’s stupidity.
Nandana’s fingers itched to claw the smile off her face. ‘Why don’t you tell me, since you’ve done your research.’
‘There is no need for sarcasm...’ Pallabi’s expression had shifted again, she was now on the verge of tears, ‘…when the whole family is struggling with the effects of this.’
Nandana struggled but couldn’t help it. ‘Really? But why? Didn’t he ever sleepwalk before?’
‘That’s what! He was prescribed these drugs in December. I got the shock of my life when I realised he had been getting up and leaving the apartment at night. He dreams that it’s daytime, and he’s walking around. It’s the side effect of the medicines he is talking.’
A Killer Among Us Page 16
