Jackpot Jetty

by Marissa de Luna

  ‘Correct.’

  Chupplejeep walked out of the villa onto the veranda, hoping it would be cooler outside. It wasn’t. There was no difference in temperature from inside the house. He looked up to the sky, willing it to rain.

  ‘Talika’s daughter Roshni is another suspicious one,’ he said into his phone. ‘I overheard her talking with a man by the lake. She insinuated that I was a problem, interfering in the case when Kumar was doing his job. And Kumar isn’t doing his job.’

  ‘So Kumar is in on it,’ Pankaj said

  ‘It’s possible. The man is completely uninterested in solving this blatant crime. Is it just this case or any case? And what’s his motive?’

  ‘Jackpot could have known something he shouldn’t, sir. Something that would not let the detective retire with a clean record. Maybe he was threatening Kumar with exposure. Or maybe Kumar was bribed to turn a blind eye by Roshni or someone else.’

  ‘Or he’s just lazy,’ Chupplejeep said.

  ‘So lazy that the residents of Toem Place are taking matters into their own hands.’

  ‘You think the murder of Jackpot was some sort of revenge? A justice that wasn’t served by the law?’

  ‘Did Jackpot have enemies?’ Pankaj asked.

  ‘None that I know of. It sounds like he was well liked, but the burglary at his humble villa, the fight with the developer and his wife were so out of character for him it suggests that something was amiss. Talika said some jewellery was taken, which she did not report. But I don’t think the perpetrator took any jewellery. I think they were looking for something else.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ Chupplejeep said, picking up a newspaper from the coffee table and fanning himself with it.

  ‘Do you think they found what they were looking for?’

  ‘No idea, but I’m going to find out, and I know just the person to ask.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Pankaj disconnected the call and looked at his case notes on the desk in front of him. His eyes hovered over the value of the two watches that Mr Da Costa had claimed were missing. Why would someone pay so much for an instrument to tell the time? What was the difference between an expensive watch like Da Costa’s and his own Casio? He looked at his timepiece and furrowed his brow. Time was precious, but having an expensive watch didn’t make it go any slower.

  He flicked over to a picture of the watches Mr Da Costa had downloaded from the Internet. They were gaudy, what his girlfriend Shwetika would refer to as very ‘Dubai’. He smiled thinking about her now – the way she touched her cheek when she was considering something, her brown eyes concentrating on the task in hand. He missed her. He had seen her two days ago, but forty-eight hours without her was too long. If it were up to him, he would make the relationship known to her parents and let matters progress from there. But Shwetty wasn’t keen.

  ‘They won’t understand,’ she had complained, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘They’ll make a big thing of it.’

  ‘So let them,’ Pankaj had said, keen to declare his love for her to the world.

  ‘They’ll want a quick engagement and marriage ceremony,’ she said. Pankaj couldn’t see the problem with that. He was beginning to realise he wanted that too. At first he had understood the need for secrecy. He hadn’t wanted undue pressure from her parents or his. His friends had said that dating in secret was a must – it meant that he had all the time in the world to decide whether Shwetika was the one rather than being pushed into it. They had congratulated him when he told them that Shwetty liked the idea. He didn’t tell them that she had been the one to bring it up. Most of his friends’ girlfriends were keen to make their relationships known to their parents so that they could get a ring on their finger, a mangal sutra around their necks. Life as a fiancée would be different to that of a daughter – more freedom, no strict curfews – but Shwetty was reluctant to make their relationship known to those around her.

  Some of her friends didn’t even know about their relationship, and it was beginning to worry him. He had sleepless nights wondering whether she actually wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. Was she just waiting to see if she got a better offer? He had heard of girls like this, but he didn’t think Shwetty was one of them. When he first saw her many moons ago, she was so shy he didn’t think that she was capable of such deception, but yesterday she said she couldn’t meet him because she was catching up with a friend, and when he asked if he could pop by and say hello to the friend, she was very short with him, told him her mother was calling her as something needed doing in the kitchen. She didn’t give him an answer but simply said good-bye and disconnected. Now he was beginning to wonder if she had lost interest in him.

  Unlike his friends’ girlfriends, Shwetty hadn’t asked if they were exclusive, but the last time they met, Pankaj had made a point of mentioning that they were, and everyone knew that meant you couldn’t casually date anyone else. He had stated the fact and she had asked, ‘Who else would I date?’ laughing and playfully hitting him on the shoulder, but she had averted her gaze when she said this, and he didn’t like that. He’d opened his mouth to ask her if she was serious about him, about their relationship, when she said, ‘Don’t get all possessive on me. I couldn’t handle another one of those.’

  And with those words he had closed his mouth. Not only did he not want to come across as possessive – that was never a good look – but he had no idea she had been in another relationship. When he thought about it, it made sense. Of course she would have had a boyfriend or two before him; she was twenty-one. But he hadn’t thought about it before now, and the realisation of her past stung, because Shwetika was his first girlfriend, and he hoped she would be his last.

  ‘Officer, is there anything you want me to do?’ Manju asked, waking Pankaj from his thoughts. The new office assistant grinned, pencil poised in his hand, sketching something. He was always sketching – sketching and smiling; he wasn’t sure what else the boy did. He was a curious fellow, a mass of dark curls atop his head, with light skin and greenish eyes. He wondered about his parentage but hadn’t yet asked.

  Pankaj smiled back at Manju; he couldn’t help it despite his mood – the boy’s smile was infectious. Pankaj began to shake his head, but then he remembered what Chupplejeep said about idle hands. He doubted that Manju’s were capable of doing anything wicked, but that was another thing Chupplejeep had once told him: that everyone was capable of evil if the right set of circumstances presented themselves. Pankaj’s eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, and he noticed that a painting he had recently been given was hanging right next to the clock. When had that been put up? He and Chupplejeep had decided that it would remain in the storeroom wrapped in brown paper so that he never had to see it again.

  ‘You!’ he said, pointing at the painting and looking at Manju.

  ‘An Advani original, Officer. I saw it in the storeroom gathering dust and I thought, arrey wah, we must display this.’

  ‘You did, did you?’

  Manju nodded eagerly. ‘You know how much this painting is worth.’

  ‘I’m well aware, but it can’t be displayed here, opposite my desk. Do you know what those red and black lines represent?’

  Manju shook his head. ‘What?’

  ‘Never mind,’ Pankaj said, his cheeks colouring. He didn’t know how to say they represented mutilated female parts – he didn’t want to think about it. ‘How do you know about this artist?’ he asked instead.

  ‘I love art. I do my own sketches too.’

  ‘I’ve noticed,’ Pankaj said. Chupplejeep was right: he needed to give the boy something to do. It was cruel to keep him so idle. ‘Firstly, take that painting down and put it back exactly as you found it,’ he said, shuddering. He had grown to love the artist he had helped late last year, but he couldn’t get over the subject of the painting he had been given. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want to hang something like that in their house.


  He looked back at the pictures of the two gold watches and took it out of the file. ‘Then take these. Here,’ he said, holding the piece of paper towards Manju. ‘See if you can find out if anyone is selling two watches like these.’

  Manju’s jaw dropped open. ‘But I’m only an administrative assistant, not a detective or an officer like your good self.’

  Pankaj considered what Manju had said. He was right, but how boring would it be to work at a police station and just file all day. Chupplejeep and he were a team; they shared all the work. Manju was now part of their team – it made sense to distribute the work, plus he could do with the help while Chupplejeep was on leave. He thought about what Chupplejeep would say, then he spoke.

  ‘Would you like to be involved with this investigation? It seems to me it’ll be more fun than filing all day. We can’t pay you any extra, but if you are interested then you can help out here and there on cases, providing all the administrative work is up to date.’

  Manju stood up and scuttled around his desk over to Pankaj’s. He took the piece of paper and pushed his curly hair behind his ears. ‘Really? I could help?’ he asked. At around five foot four, he looked up at Pankaj, excitement in his eyes.

  Pankaj nodded.

  ‘Leave it with me,’ Manju said. Taking the photo, he dashed out of the office before Pankaj had the chance to tell him that his investigative work needed to be desk-based only. Pankaj looked at his watch. How long would Manju be? Instead of going back to the Da Costa house like he had planned, he would have to do some desktop investigating of his own.

  ~

  Pankaj chewed his bottom lip as he considered the case. It was like he had told Detective Chupplejeep – a case of two stolen watches, but what he hadn’t told his superior was the odd circumstances of the burglary.

  Mr Da Costa had claimed that he had seen both watches at ten o’clock on Saturday morning. He didn’t believe it could be any of the staff, and he told Pankaj his reasons why. One of their two live-in staff was on leave. Vaayu, a skinny fellow, had gone back to his village some thirty miles away. The other, Ashok, was in the garden, watering the plants. From where he was standing, he could see him at the time. The two day staff, Ekanta and Fulki, were at the market by the bridge, looking for some fresh fish for Mr Da Costa’s lunch.

  ‘But perhaps Ekanta and Fulki didn’t go into town like they were supposed to,’ Pankaj had said. ‘Perhaps they just pretended to go and actually stayed behind. Then when you were out they snuck into your office and took the watches.’

  ‘There are several flaws with your deductions,’ Mr Da Costa said in a superior tone, pushing back the bridge of his black-rimmed glasses with his index finger.

  Pankaj had smarted at that, but had swallowed his pride and asked why.

  ‘Well, firstly, I know Ekanta and Fulki went somewhere because they returned with fresh fish.’

  Pankaj wondered if Mr Da Costa had ever been shopping in the market to know how to tell whether a fish was fresh or not. He must have made a face because Mr Da Costa quelled his concerns before he raised them.

  ‘My father used to take me to the market when I was young, so I know how to tell if a fish is fresh. A fresh fish has bright red gills and clear glassy eyes, not cloudy like Limca. These fish were fresh – they shone like polished knives.’

  Pankaj nodded.

  ‘Also,’ he continued, ‘the two maids dislike each other, so much so that they would tell on the other if they did not do what they said they were doing. Sometimes that is a hindrance in this house – one always telling on the other, one refusing to do the other’s work. But at the same time this distrust they have of one another is helpful. I don’t need to keep an eye on them, you see; they keep an eye on each other for me!’ Mr Da Costa said with pride. Pankaj made a note of this, although he saw no need to question it. It was a common occurrence amongst house staff; they always had their own set of politics going on.

  ‘And finally, the final error, and you could not see this because you do not yet know, but I was outside the room while the watches were taken.’

  ‘You were?’ Pankaj asked.

  ‘And before you ask anything, there’s only one entrance to that room, and I was standing outside it. As I said, I saw the watches at ten that morning. At eleven fifty-five, I took a call on my cell and wandered out onto the balcony because the reception is better there. The door closed behind me as it would, given it is on a spring closer.’

  ‘A spring closer?’ Pankaj asked, thinking that was odd to have in a residential home. Houses in the village were built to remain fluid, doors open to remain cool in the hot season. Nobody wanted doors to close, making the air inside stale.

  ‘My back was to the closed door as I spoke on my cell, watching Ashok water the plants in the garden.’

  ‘And windows? Are there any windows in the room?’

  ‘Of course there are windows,’ Mr Da Costa said, smoothing down his moustache with his fingers. ‘You think I work in a prison cell?’

  ‘Could someone have accessed the room via the windows?’

  ‘Impossible,’ Mr Da Costa said. ‘There are fixed grilles on each window.’

  ‘I would like to have a look at the room, if I may,’ Pankaj said.

  ‘And you’ll need to take fingerprints, no?’

  Pankaj gritted his teeth. ‘Has the room been cleaned?’

  ‘No one has entered the room since the incident. I’m not stupid; I want any evidence to be preserved.’

  ‘Good. Then I’ll attend with our forensics guy, survey the room and take any evidence and prints required.’

  ‘You won’t see anything else of note in the room. I keep my office very tidy, and I’ve told you everything. But you’d better come to take the prints.’

  ‘Yes, the prints, you mentioned before,’ Pankaj said. Mr Da Costa handed over the pictures of the watches and wrote the value of each behind each one. Pankaj had to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from gasping. Instead he asked, ‘What time did you return to the room?’

  ‘About half an hour later.’

  ‘And can I ask who you were talking to?’

  Mr Da Costa stared at him for a little longer than was comfortable. ‘How is that relevant to this case?’

  ‘It may be, sir,’ Pankaj said, holding his ground, although he wasn’t quite sure how significant this detail was.

  Mr Da Costa looked away. ‘I was speaking to my mother, Officer. My mother.’

  Pankaj wanted to ask Mr Da Costa what his mother had called about, but he held his tongue. It was not appropriate, and Detective Chupplejeep was always reminding him to keep his questioning confined to the case and not to veer off. He saw no reason why Mr Da Costa should be embarrassed to be talking to his mother. Mothers called for all sorts of reasons. His mother often called him to find out how his day was going, or to tell him what she was preparing for dinner. Sometimes he enjoyed the calls; other times they irritated him. But there was nothing he could do about that – that was simply how mothers were.

  ‘When I returned to the room, I carried on with my work, and then ten minutes later I checked the drawer for the watches,’ Mr Da Costa stuttered. ‘I-I wanted to check the exact colour of the leather…as a friend was asking. That is when I discovered that they were not in the drawer.’

  ‘The drawer was locked?’

  Mr Da Costa had nodded. ‘There are two keys. One is always in my room, and the other is with me at all times. After I saw that the watches were missing, I checked my room for the other key. It was there.’

  Pankaj reviewed his notes; he had what he needed. ‘That’s great,’ he said, standing up, hoping Mr Da Costa would have no choice but to do the same and then leave the station. He found his presence overbearing. His action had the desired effect, and Mr Da Costa left immediately, reminding him once more about the fingerprints.

  On reflection, it seemed to him that Mr Da Costa wanted to be a detective himself. He had done his own investigating and kn
ew that his staff were blameless. Pankaj didn’t like the man who had looked down his nose at him, but he had to respect him. Mr Da Costa was no fool – he knew what was going on around him. He admired this so much he even forgave him for spending such an extortionate amount of money on two watches that he was clearly besotted with.

  But maybe it was Mr Da Costa’s suspicious nature that had drawn this particular thief into his home. Pankaj smiled. The thief was smart; he wanted to confuse Mr Da Costa and get one up on him. Pankaj was sure that whoever took the watches knew Mr Da Costa’s nature and engineered it so that Mr Da Costa was in the house, outside the very room, when the watches were taken.

  So it seemed that the watches had just vanished into thin air, but Pankaj knew that this could not be the case. Someone was behind this burglary, and it was his job to find the culprit. He wished Chupplejeep was here to help him, because this was a very mysterious case indeed, and he wasn’t quite sure where to start.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Chupplejeep was glad he had spoken to Pankaj. There was nothing like discussing suitable theories with the young police officer. Pankaj was a quick learner too, and he had already seen an improvement in the boy in the short time that they had worked together. Recently Pankaj had impressed him in solving a perilous blackmail case, and in doing so the boy had won over a well renowned artist, restoring his faith in the police system. Pankaj had a way with people Chupplejeep didn’t have. People liked him, and when people liked you, they talked. Pankaj was a good listener; that’s what drew people to him. Chupplejeep knew listening wasn’t his strong point, but he made a point of holding his tongue at the right time, and he had been policing for long enough to know when exactly that time was. What he had to work at came naturally to Pankaj, and that he admired. Pankaj Dhespande was going to go far.