Jackpot Jetty

by Marissa de Luna

  ‘So the perpetrator was facing Jackpot when he strangled him.’

  ‘’Es. That’s correct.’

  ‘He watched his eyes bulge, the life drain out of his body?’ he asked, wincing.

  ‘He or she did, ’es. But I am glad you mentioned bulging eyes. Because it wasn’t just the bruising that pointed to death by strangulation. There is, of course, the possibility that someone may have attempted to strangle Jackpot and failed, and someone else could have turned up and killed him.’

  ‘Who’s the detective here?’ Chupplejeep asked.

  Kulkarni calmly put his beer bottle down by his feet and saluted Chupplejeep. ‘You, of course. But as medical examiner and forensic pathologist, I have to say what I think.’

  Chupplejeep smiled. ‘So what about the bulging eyes?’

  ‘I found petechial haemorrhages,’ Kulkarni said, raising his eyebrows. ‘Ruptured capillaries that haemorrhage in the eyes. Had you looked closely at the victim’s eyes, you would have seen red dots and streaks in Jackpot’s sclera.’

  ‘Is that why Jackpot’s face looked so swollen? The original autopsy cited bloating caused by decomposition.’

  ‘The body hadn’t been dead long enough for decomposition to set in to that extent. Not even in this heat,’ Kulkarni said, looking up at the fan. ‘I’d say Jackpot’s face was puffy due to strangulation.’

  ‘Aacha.’

  ‘And the lividity tells me that strangulation was most certainly the cause of death. The stagnant blood pooled in the deceased’s back was a dark purple, telling me it was starved of oxygen. What the original autopsy did get right, though, was the time of death.’

  Chupplejeep nodded. ‘It had to. Several people said they saw Jackpot at midnight, walking along the jetty, towards his boat.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did he often go there at that time?’

  Chupplejeep shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know that, but he was found at sunrise, so the time of death had to be within that timeframe.’

  ‘The way the blood had settled also tells me that Jackpot was killed in the boat. The body was not moved after death. My guess is that he was strangled and left to fall back into the boat. The assailant then took off.’

  ‘Any trace evidence?’

  ‘The medical examiner working on this case hasn’t paid much attention to this, because for him it’s an open and shut case. His conviction stays unperturbed. In his eyes, Jackpot died of a heart attack brought on by excessive drinking.’

  ‘His daughter said he had been listening to his doctor of late. That he’d stopped drinking so much.’

  ‘Eh, you know what these alcoholics are like. They can’t give up their vice just like that.’

  ‘But it wasn’t the alcohol that killed him.’

  ‘No, but he could well have been drunk, if the alcohol levels in his blood from this original report are to be believed.’

  ‘Or the bottles were planted in the boat by someone.’

  ‘I wouldn’t tell my daughter if I was continuing to drink despite a heart attack and warnings from my doctor. He probably lied to his daughter.’

  ‘Or someone planted the bottles of Old Monk in the boat. Even his wife hesitated when I asked her if he liked drinking rum.’

  ‘Drunkards drink anything. They’re not fussy.’

  ‘How can you say that? You know better than anyone that Jackpot did not die from a heart attack brought on by excessive drinking.’

  ‘I’m playing the devil’s advocate.’

  ‘When I spoke to Roshni, Jackpot’s daughter, she gave me the impression that her father wanted to turn things around, that something had changed.’ Chupplejeep looked at Kulkarni. ‘So no trace evidence was collected?’

  ‘None. There’s no hope of finding evidence on his clothes, and anything found on his body was contaminated by those charlies who removed the body and took it to the morgue, but…’ Kulkarni trailed off.

  ‘What?’ Chupplejeep asked, leaning forward.

  ‘I knew there’d be something under the man’s nails. So I did what I shouldn’t have done.’

  ‘You didn’t?’

  ‘Well, it was obvious the victim had been strangled, so I did what I had to do. You, Detective, are not the only one with a conscience.

  ‘I’ll let you know when I get the results back. There were definite skin cells in my scrapings. I had my contact send them directly to my lab.’

  ‘Good work,’ Chupplejeep said, thinking of the scratch on Talika’s neck.

  ‘The possessions on Jackpot’s person are being sent back to his wife. Do you have an inventory of what they are?’

  ‘I took a look at the list. Just clothes and some papers. They disposed of the Old Monk bottles for her.’

  ‘They didn’t take them to the toxicology lab to be analysed?’

  Kulkarni shook his head. ‘If any poisons were used, it will show up in his bloods.’

  ‘You’ve done a good job,’ Chupplejeep said. ‘I owe you one.’

  ‘Well, after all you have been through…’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘The wedding, the illness,’ Kulkarni said with a wry smile.

  Chupplejeep buried his head in his hands.

  ‘Never mind. This murder will take your mind off things.’

  ‘You’re certain it’s murder?’

  Kulkarni lifted the bottle of beer to his lips and drained its contents. He nodded. ‘Jackpot was murdered.’

  Chupplejeep looked up towards the still lake, the rickety wooden jetty and Jackpot’s boat. Detective Kumar hadn’t even arranged to have the boat removed and examined for evidence. It had been left on the water, so any evidence would be contaminated. What was Detective Kumar playing at? Kulkarni hadn’t mentioned the pink stone on the leather cord that he had seen. He wondered if it was still on the boat.

  ‘And what, Detective, are you going to do about it?’ Kulkarni asked.

  Chupplejeep looked straight at his friend. ‘I’m going to find out exactly who did this.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Talika stood at the entrance to her daughter’s room and watched her sleep. How peaceful she looked, as if butter wouldn’t melt. But she knew what the girl was capable of. She had kept secrets from her, secrets she had the right to know. She turned and closed the door behind her.

  Her daughter was angry with her. There was no other reason why she would contradict her in front of that off-duty detective – the one poking his nose where it didn’t belong. It was shameful, and Talika couldn’t ignore it. So she told her daughter exactly what she had thought of her outburst over a late lunch of grilled fish and fried breadfruit.

  ‘I was just saying what I know to be the truth,’ Roshni had said in response.

  ‘You made me out to be a liar in front of that detective. It’s not done. Never in public should you go against what your mother says, or for that matter what any family member says. You know that is the way here. I don’t know why you’re being like this.’

  ‘Mother, listen to yourself. We’re not living in the dark ages. Please don’t have such high expectations of me.’

  Talika wanted to cry. When had Roshni become this person? Was it something she had done? Had she not brought her up well? Roshni was her only daughter. She had wanted another child, but it wasn’t to be, and so she had poured everything she had into loving her. Their relationship had been strong, strong enough to withstand the worst of storms, but as Roshni got older, things began to change, and then her daughter had fallen in love, and somehow there arose this unspoken hostility between them, and it couldn’t be ignored. Talika felt it like a cube of ice sliding down her back. But she couldn’t think of that now.

  ‘You want to see the best in your father,’ she had said. ‘But look at the reality of the situation. You weren’t here most of the time. You didn’t have to witness his stumbling or slurring speeches. He had no shame, and he didn’t care about what he had become. I had to live with it.’
/>
  ‘I know what he told me. I believed him because…’

  ‘Because what?’ Talika said, staring at her daughter.

  ‘Never mind,’ Roshni said. But Talika did mind. It dawned on her then that her daughter knew Ranjit’s secret. Something that Talika had only recently discovered. She had been in the dark for most of her married life, but before her husband’s death she had found a letter, a letter that had changed everything. She had been a meek and faithful wife for so long, always in the shadow of her husband or daughter. After reading the contents of that letter, she realised that she had a way out of the life she had unintentionally fallen into. She no longer had to live in the shadows, but in order to shine, there were things she had to do.

  She touched the scratch on her neck. That detective had seen it, and then she had no choice but to agree to an autopsy. Did he know what she’d done? Had he suspected? She shook the thought away. There had been times yesterday when she had begun to regret what had happened that night, but listening to the way her daughter spoke to her, the way her daughter made her feel like an outsider in her own family, the way her daughter and her husband had kept a secret from her, she knew that what she had done was nothing for her to regret.

  ‘Why are you so keen to convince everyone that Daddy was a drunk?’ Roshni said, reminding Talika she was still at the table.

  Talika should have fought back, but she didn’t. She was flustered, her misdeeds running through her mind. So instead of standing her ground, she stormed out of the room without finishing her last piece of kingfish.

  What other secrets was her daughter keeping from her? Talika walked to the dresser and felt for the letter Ranjit had taped to the underside of the right drawer. He had been smart that way and had even managed to fool the goondas who had broken into their villa. She wondered now if that meddling detective knew about the robbery. If he didn’t, then she would tell him. It would keep him occupied.

  She took the letter from its hiding place and held it to her chest. Taking a deep breath, she smiled before safely tucking it away again. She had been married to that drunk for too long. Now she could do what she liked with whomever she liked. This was her ticket to a new life.

  Talika looked at her watch. She needed to get ready. The reading of the will was taking place later today. After that, she would be free.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sneha sat on her yoga mat in the lotus position and closed her eyes. Her special students, the ones she had handpicked for the class, would be arriving soon, and she needed to be calm and focused. As she tried to find her centre, her mind began to drift back to her meeting with Vadish. He had wanted to see her, he had wanted her to do him another favour, and of course she had to. He knew too much; he knew her past. He was an angry man, and she could see why. Jackpot was dead, and it wasn’t his doing.

  She took a deep breath as she heard the first of her students filter in. Her eyes remained closed but she could tell by the shuffling it was Radhika and Chamanlal, a misguided couple uncertain of their way in this world. She knew Chamanlal would be wearing ivory linen harem pants and a loose-fitting t-shirt, his beard well groomed into a point, his moustache thick and curled at each end. Radhika would be in a similar outfit, her hair oiled and pinned back. If you passed them on the street, you wouldn’t think they were one of the wealthiest nouveau riche families in Goa. Sneha knew the moment they booked onto the yoga course that she could help them, and before they arrived she had realised what it was that was holding them back. She would share with them in good time what she already knew. She made it part of her job to know everything about her clients; it was just part of what she did.

  As she sensed them stretching on their mats, she took a breath and smelt Bhumika’s signature perfume. Bhumika, round like a gulab jamun and just as saccharine, was only here because of her husband. Nilesh had wanted her out of the way. Sneha was certain that her new friend, the detective’s girlfriend Christabel, was with her. Bhumika knew people, powerful people, and she liked talking, talking to anyone who would listen. Christabel was the perfect partner for Bhumika – quiet and eager to listen. By inviting them both to the group, Sneha could keep an eye on both of them, which was exactly what she needed to do.

  Sneha opened her eyes just as her final two students entered the classroom. Tim and Erik, two tourists – one in harem pants and the other in peculiar leggings – who had booked onto the retreat, no doubt whilst they were stoned in a beach shack in Calangute or Anjuna. Neither of them was particularly good-looking, especially not the skinny Scandinavian one, but still, there was something quite fascinating about him despite his eyes. They were a pale blue, almost grey, and they looked vacant, devoid of any emotion. Something she almost found attractive, but didn’t quite. Yesterday, as she returned from her meeting with Vadish, she had spotted him in the gardens, kissing one of the waitresses from the coffee shop at the retreat. If she remembered correctly, this woman had a boyfriend, but who was she to judge. Erik seemed to be intelligent and alluring; she had overheard the eloquent way he had described the intricacies of Indian politics to another student, a hand gently placed on her thigh, his gaze intent on his victim. She was sure he could charm his way into anyone’s underwear. His friend with the brown dreadlocks was the opposite; his eyes were full of life. The man was warm, genuine and a little shy, and he always wore leggings, which was a little odd, but then everyone was a little odd at her retreat. And he was always looking at his horrid sandals whenever she walked past him. She would never have teamed him up with the Scandinavian he was travelling with, but that was what happened when you travelled: you spent time with people you wouldn’t ordinarily. Looking at the two travellers, now sitting still on their mats, she focused in on one of them. He would be the chosen one.

  ‘Great, you’re all here,’ she said, looking at each student in turn. Sneha studied their features. She read the anticipation and excitement in their faces. She had done her research, she knew what made these people tick, but over the next week she would get to know these six people very well.

  ~

  Christabel had positioned herself at the back of the class; this way the men in the group would not have the opportunity to look at her behind. She strode past Bhumika as they entered the classroom and laid down her mat. Had she let her friend lead the way, they would have been sitting in the front. She wasn’t as flexible as Bhumika; she had to protect her dignity.

  She turned to her friend, who was sitting still. She called to her, but Bhumika seemed to have not heard. She leaned in closer and realised that her friend was emitting a low hum. Christabel glanced over to the wall clock. It was exactly eleven o’clock; the class would soon start. She decided to have a go at meditating herself. Just yesterday she had learned how to be present in her mind, to focus on her breathing and on the cool air as it entered and left her nostrils.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to concentrate on her breath, but instead she was drawn to the conversation between the two hippies, Erik and Tim. Bhumika had introduced them yesterday, in the café. Bhumika made it her business to know everything. The two men had met in Mumbai airport, on their way to Goa. They had decided to travel together, both men running away from their boring lives at home. Tim, the chubby one in the leggings, wanted more than just a boring nine-to-five desk job selling insurance in England, and Erik had slept with his best friend’s wife back in Stockholm. Ashamed, he too felt the need to get away. They spent a month lounging and smoking hashish on the beach and unsurprisingly failed to find themselves there. So they had retreated inland, hoping yoga and meditation would bring some structure to their search for enlightenment. Good luck to them, Christabel thought as Bhumika relayed their story to her between mouthfuls of halwa. She was surprised Sneha had picked the unlikely pair to attend her special class.

  ‘She’s hot, don’t you think?’ she heard Tim say; she could tell it was Tim by his accent. It wasn’t quite Downton Abbey, which had recently been aired on television, but he was well-spoken
. Christabel blushed. Were they referring to her? She was desperate to open her eyes, but she couldn’t. It would be too obvious, especially if they were looking in her direction. No, she told herself. It could not be her. It must be another woman in the class. Not Bhumika; she was far too wide. Possibly Radhika or Sneha; both were tall and slim. They looked after their appearance. There was no denying it: they were both good-looking. But Radhika was clearly in love with her husband. In fact, she had never seen her without her beloved Chamanlal. What was the point in talking about the hotness of a happily married woman? Sneha, on the other hand, was free. There was no wedding band on her finger, or a symbolic mangal sutra around her neck. She was single, but something in her manner told Christabel she liked it that way. She was a thoroughly modern Indian woman. Christabel knew such a fiercely independent woman scared men, especially Indian men. But foreigners, maybe they found it attractive?

  ‘Nah. I do not think so,’ Erik said. Well, thought Christabel, fidgeting on her mat, her eyes still closed, she didn’t think much of that skinny one either.

  ‘I like her,’ Tim said, so softly Christabel had to strain her ears to hear him. ‘I really like her.’

  Christabel felt blood rush to her cheeks. She had caught Tim looking at her after the last class they had together. From the little she had seen of him, she could tell that he was sweet and kind, holding doors open for women, and despite the garish leggings, he was good-looking in a boyish sort of way. He would certainly give Arthur a run for his money. She felt a little jolt inside her, an electric charge that made her sit up straighter.

  She opened her eyes and looked up. Tim was looking directly at her. He quickly turned back to the front of the class, and she was sure he was blushing. She smiled, confident now that it was her he had been talking about. Tim was young though. He must have been in his late twenties. She would have to let him down gently. But it was nice to be fancied by someone other than Arthur. It was then that an idea came to her. Maybe, she mused, this is what she needed to get Arthur to commit. She could use Tim to make him jealous. When he saw someone like Tim fancied her, he would soon realise that he needed to set a new wedding date. It was the perfect plan.