He heard Kulkarni’s men enter the room, and he was glad for the interruption. He instructed them to take prints from the desk, the drawer, the windows and the main door to the room as well as taking the prints from all the staff and of course Mr Da Costa.
‘Do all staff have access to this room?’ Pankaj asked.
‘Mostly Ekanta and Fulki, but Ashok and Vaayu occasionally come up here to fix bits and bobs. You know, a broken drawer handle, etcetera. Only recently there was a broken wall light outside my office that needed fixing. Why?’
‘So we know whose prints to rule out.’
Mr Da Costa nodded. ‘Of course.’
Pankaj slowly walked around the room, hoping to find some sort of clue. The room was as he expected it to be. Clean and tidy, apart from some dust from the roof tiles that had fallen onto the floor. He looked up and back down again and saw Mr Da Costa giving him a severe look.
‘Bird,’ he said. ‘We have some nesting birds up there.’
‘What sort?’ Pankaj asked. The banded bay cuckoo with its brown and white feathers was often spotted in these parts in the monsoons. Lately, as more and more of their natural habitat was destroyed by hungry property developers, the birds had taken to nesting in roof spaces and exposed gaps in laterite stones.
Mr Da Costa shrugged so Pankaj moved on. He examined the desk and the drawer with gloved hands, looking for any sign of forced entry.
‘And you’re saying no one has access to this drawer. Only you have the key?’
Mr Da Costa nodded. ‘There’s a spare in my bedroom. It’s still there; I checked.’
‘Does anyone else know about this key?’
‘Only…’ Mr Da Costa started. ‘My mother and my wife, Officer.’ He folded his arms across his chest and stared at Pankaj.
‘Ah, and they are both in the UK.’
‘Neither of them have been in Goa in the last two years. They probably don’t even know where I keep those watches. And they have no reason to steal from me, do they?’
Pankaj agreed, although he didn’t quite believe it. There may well have been a motive; Mr Da Costa just didn’t know what that was. Chupplejeep often said that some people were so preoccupied with themselves they didn’t see the wider picture – the people they were offending, the people that harboured a grudge against them. In their eyes, they were perfect, and they couldn’t see anyone else’s point of view. Mr Da Costa was one of those people.
‘So?’ Mr Da Costa asked.
Pankaj looked up. Mr Da Costa was expecting to hear his theory. Instead he asked, ‘Do you have insurance for the time-pieces?’
Mr Da Costa shook his head. ‘Not worth it with the premiums they charge here.’
Pankaj didn’t know what insurance payments would be like on such expensive goods. The cost of one of the stolen watches was more than his yearly salary. He wasn’t surprised that someone had taken them. At least he could rule out insurance fraud as an option. He slipped his notepad into his trouser pocket. Before Mr Da Costa could ask him anything further, Pankaj said that he would be in touch after some further enquiries, and asked one of Kulkarni’s men to take Mr Da Costa’s prints immediately. And with that said, he made a quick exit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Chupplejeep disconnected his mobile phone and slipped it in his pocket. Dilip had given him the name of the local thug, and he was doing some investigating. After pulling in a few favours and asking about this Vadish character, Chupplejeep had good reason to believe that this gangster may well have been a hired hitman. Finally he was onto something, or so he thought. But when he spoke to Vadish, he confidently told him he was nowhere near Toem Place the night Jackpot died. He had an alibi, one that Chupplejeep was going to have to investigate quickly, because he had managed to persuade the goonda to meet him for an informal chat, off the record, of course.
The detective looked at himself in the three-quarter-length mirror in the bedroom of his villa and sighed. His stomach hung over the tight waistband of his khaki sweatpants like a cake spilling out of its tin. He tried tensing his muscles, but it made no difference. His only option was to turn away from the reflective glass and banish his rotund image from his mind.
As he walked in the direction of the retreat, he knew it was pointless deliberating his past diet failures and the size of his stomach. Instead he vowed to stay away from any biscuits on sale at the coffee shop and to only have a juice. One of those cleansing juices would be the start of his healthy eating regime. Experience told him it was better to look forward in situations like this.
Chupplejeep passed Dilip’s house, waving to the maid cleaning the windows, and looked ahead to Jackpot’s villa. One of many, he mused. Jackpot had certainly won the jackpot again with his inheritance, but it wasn’t for long. Someone didn’t want him to have what was rightfully his, and they were willing to kill to make sure of it. ‘Perhaps whoever killed him felt they were just correcting an initial mistake,’ Christabel had said this morning after she emerged from the bathroom dressed in a green t-shirt and matching sweatpants. He had looked up at her from the bed and nodded in agreement, thinking about Mr Patel with his dark suit, thick moustache and deep-set eyes. Christabel didn’t often pass comment on motives, or any of his cases for that matter. It pleased him that she was taking an interest in Jackpot’s death.
As Chupplejeep thought about this, he noticed a figure on Jackpot’s veranda. It was Roshni, sitting on one of the cane chairs. Dressed in white, she looked cool and elegant and exuded a confidence he hadn’t noticed before. Her mother was also standing on the veranda, with a broom in hand. Both women were looking out towards the lake, concentrating on something in the distance. As Chupplejeep passed their villa, Roshni shifted her gaze towards him and gave him a smug smile. She lifted her legs ever so slightly as her mother too broke her concentration and swept under her daughter’s feet. Roshni looked self-assured. Of course she did; she had just inherited eight sought-after waterside properties. He wondered if Mr Patel had already approached her with a handsome offer.
A local villager he had run into yesterday had helpfully told him, without any prompting, that Jackpot’s wife Talika had known about the inheritance and she had been pleading with him to sell the properties.
‘She was desperate to be rich, that woman,’ the busybody told Chupplejeep. ‘She’s not at all like Jackpot. No, she wants the finer things in life.’
‘So Jackpot was approached to sell the properties?’
The busybody hesitated, fiddled with her hair and said, ‘Of course, of course. Everyone knows that developer needed the land to finish his hotel the way he wanted.’
Chupplejeep nodded but didn’t press her any further. The whole village had been talking about Jackpot’s inheritance, and now Roshni’s, making up their own version of events as they went. It would be hard to prove whether Mr Patel had approached Jackpot or not, and Chupplejeep had decided the only way to find out would be to go straight to the source. But so far, Mr Patel was proving tricky to get hold of. His assistant refused to put his calls through, citing one excuse after another. She also claimed to have no idea when Mr Patel would next be free and refused to set up a meeting.
The detective had walked past Roshni and her mother, but something made him stop. He looked at his watch. He wouldn’t get to the retreat on time, but it was important that he spoke to Jackpot’s daughter.
Chupplejeep took a deep breath and turned. ‘Roshni,’ he said. ‘Mind if I have a word?’ Jackpot’s daughter smirked. Talika disappeared with her broom into the villa. Roshni looked at the detective for a moment and then, with a slight nod of the head, she agreed. The detective made his way up the steps to the porch.
‘Good book?’ he asked, noticing the paperback in her lap. ‘The Tide,’ he said, reading the title out loud. ‘May I?’ Chupplejeep said, gesturing to take the novel.
Roshni passed it over. ‘Local author,’ she said.
Chupplejeep turned the book in his hands. ‘Arjun Chopra,’
he said, reading the author’s biography. ‘One brother, fitness guru… Interesting bio. I think I met him here by the lake. Handsome fellow,’ he said, examining the photograph and recalling what Dilip had told him. Colour rose to Roshni’s cheeks.
‘You’re a reader?’ he asked.
‘Occasional.’
Chupplejeep opened the book and noticed a personalised dedication from the author. Roshni reached for the book, taking it out of his hands, and she placed it on the floor beside her.
‘Sit,’ she said, motioning to the cane chair next to hers. Chupplejeep did so, and only as he sat down did he remember what a fool he looked in his tight sweatpants. No wonder she had grinned at him in that manner. He cleared his throat. ‘I’ve been thinking about your father’s death, and there are a couple of things I’m unclear about. I’ve heard about his inheritance, which I understand has now come to you.’
Roshni nodded, touching her neck as she looked at the detective. She was still playing the grieving daughter.
‘Life will be different for you now then,’ he prompted.
‘I suppose,’ she said.
‘Will you sell the properties? I didn’t know your father well, but from what I’ve heard, he was against the hotel, despite the business it would have brought him,’ the detective said, remembering what he had overheard in the village supermarket the day after he arrived at Toem Place. ‘You said yourself that your father didn’t like change.’
‘I haven’t decided what to do, but it would make sense to sell them,’ Roshni said, offering nothing more.
‘Yes, everyone knows that the developer needs those properties to complete his full vision for the hotel. Without demolition of those villas, his hotel will be half what he had hoped. You could get ten times what those properties are worth because of that. That hotel, once complete, will be a goldmine. Everybody knows that tourism in Goa is moving away from the beaches and inland towards the rural areas.’
Roshni couldn’t help but smile, but she soon regained her composure. ‘I guess,’ she said.
‘It wouldn’t surprise me if the developer had already approached you. I hear he was at the reading of the will.’
Roshni nodded. ‘Hmm, that was strange. But he didn’t approach me, no. I noticed him walk into the room; we all did. He stood at the back as if observing the proceedings and then, when it was over, by the time I stood up and turned to leave, he wasn’t there anymore. He had left.’
‘I’m sure he’s just biding his time. It won’t be long before he approaches you.’
Roshni nodded again. ‘It’s early days though, and I’m still grieving.’
‘Of course,’ Chupplejeep said, but her initial smile had told him another story. Roshni had made up her mind: she was selling those properties. She was young; she probably wanted to see the world, not protect the settlement like her father had wanted. With the money, she could live a life without ever having to work, possibly share the money with her mother, although he somehow doubted she would.
‘It was a shock to me when I heard that Jackpot had inherited the eight villas. I can imagine it was a shock to you also. Do you know who left the properties to your father?’
‘We didn’t know about the inheritance,’ she said quickly. ‘Father kept it to himself.’
‘He was paying for your tuition fees at college. Didn’t you wonder how he managed to afford it all?’
Roshni shifted in her chair. ‘I was just happy they were being paid. I wasn’t a dutiful daughter. I didn’t concern myself with how they were being paid. Only that they were being paid. I suppose I should have thought about it, but I didn’t. What can I say, Detective? I was selfish.’
She stood up and walked over to the edge of the porch, folding her arms across her chest. She looked visibly irked. Chupplejeep had touched a nerve. Roshni knew about her father’s inheritance before the reading of the will, before Jackpot died. Talika had previously said that Roshni could do no wrong in Jackpot’s eyes. It was possible that the boatwalla told his daughter and not his wife, especially if he and Talika were having issues. And if Roshni had known about the inheritance, if she had known that she was going to inherit the properties if her father died, well, that was motive for murder.
‘So when did you find out about it?’
She looked into the distance, towards the lake. ‘After his death. There was a letter,’ she said, touching her lips.
‘A letter? So how did you come to know about this letter?’ he asked.
She was hesitant with her answer. ‘I-I heard about it.’
‘From whom? Your mother?’
‘No,’ she said, looking towards the door of the villa expectantly.
‘Who told you about the letter?’ he pressed. She was showing no interest in helping catch her father’s killer like she had done previously. Now she seemed aligned with her mother in wanting to believe that her father had died of natural causes.
‘The solicitor,’ Roshni said, after careful thought. ‘My father’s solicitor,’ she said again, as if confirming this information to herself. ‘He told me about the letter.’
‘Did you see it?’
Roshni shook her head and sat back down. ‘He didn’t have it. He said my father had told him about it, but he didn’t know why the properties were left to him. He asked my father, but he didn’t want to say. Typical of Daddy, really.’
As she spoke, Chupplejeep couldn’t help but think that it was Jackpot who told his daughter about the letter and not his solicitor like she was claiming, but it was becoming apparent that Jackpot had hidden from his daughter the reason why he had been left the properties. What was he ashamed of?
‘Do you know the Ajuha family?’ he asked, recalling what Pankaj had told him. Roshni shook her head. Chupplejeep was silent for a moment while he considered the matriarch of the large white house that overlooked the lake and her reasons for leaving Jackpot the eight villas. ‘You’ve never heard the name before?’
‘Never,’ she said, and he believed her. ‘Why?’ she asked.
Chupplejeep ignored her question. ‘If your father had been sent a letter and the solicitor doesn’t have it, then the letter must be in the house somewhere.’
‘Unless it’s already been taken,’ she said. ‘Or disposed of,’ she quickly added. ‘It would be just like my father to burn it if he didn’t want people to know its entire contents. He was that type; he paid no attention to the consequences of his actions.’
Just then, Talika strode out onto the veranda, her cold, dark eyes looking straight at the detective. The atmosphere darkened with her appearance.
‘What a fine morning it is,’ Chupplejeep said, trying to loosen the tension in the air. The sun was high in the sky now.
‘It’s too hot,’ Talika said. ‘We need the weather to break. We need a storm.’
‘The monsoons are far off. It’s unlikely there will be a storm before then,’ Roshni said.
Chupplejeep sniffed the air. It was close. It felt like a storm would be coming sooner than Roshni expected. He looked at his watch again. He had most definitely missed the early yoga session Sneha Dhanjwant had suggested. He didn’t want to seem like a flake to the yoga retreat owner, especially when he had so many questions for her. Christabel would be silently cursing him too for not walking to the retreat with her this morning. Never mind; he would attend the next class.
‘I don’t suppose you remember what jewellery was taken from your house, do you?’ he asked Talika.
Talika furrowed her brow and then immediately relaxed as realisation dawned upon her. ‘A-ah, yes, Detective, I do.’
Chupplejeep leaned forward, eager to hear what Talika had to say, for he was certain now that the main purpose of the break-in had been to find the letter Roshni had mentioned.
‘A rose quartz pendant,’ she said.
‘The same one Jackpot was seen to be wearing in the days leading to his death?’ Despite what Dilip had said about Jackpot not knowing what jewellery was, he had heard sev
eral locals talking about the pink stone Jackpot had taken to wearing just days before he was found dead in his boat. ‘He wouldn’t let anyone touch it,’ one local had said, cementing the fact that the necklace had been Jackpot’s and not his wife’s.
Talika coughed. Was this just a simple lie to cover her first one when she claimed that jewellery was taken from her house? To cover the fact she knew about the letter her husband had received informing him about his inheritance? A letter she read and concealed to hide her motive for murder?
‘They are just rumours, Detective,’ Talika said. ‘That necklace was mine.’
Chupplejeep sighed. The necklace was in his possession. He had taken it from the boat because he was certain it was of some significance. It was wrong of him to tamper with a crime scene, he knew that, but Detective Kumar had left it on Jackpot’s boat, and the boat was free to anyone to access. He wasn’t going to hand it to a detective who was quite blatantly covering up a murder.
Roshni let out a deep laugh, but when Chupplejeep turned to her, she just shrugged. He stood up and said goodbye to the two women, noticing as he turned that they shared a conspiratorial look between them. One that said, you keep my secret and I’ll keep yours. He wasn’t going to get anything more from them, but there was no harm in ruffling a few feathers. He looked at Talika.
‘Did you argue at all with your husband, that day, before he died?’ he asked.
Talika, reflexively, touched the faint mark on her neck. The scratch she claimed to have received from the rose bush was healing quickly.
‘We may have,’ she said. ‘You have a partner. Don’t you fight?’
Chupplejeep nodded. He and Christabel fought, they often did, but in their case both of them were alive. ‘Talika, were you at home the night your husband –’
‘What are you trying to say, Detective? Of course, I was at home, alone, waiting for him.’
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