“Why shouldn’t Eleanor have an affair? It seems like you’ve had many of them and were even carrying on with the woman who was here just a minute ago. Until she found out you weren’t divorced,” Marlee spat.
“For your information, she is a graduate student new to our program this semester. I was showing her around campus. We have a professional relationship, and that is all. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“You’re absolutely right, Crispin. It isn’t any of my business that you’re having affairs and sexually harassing women on campus. It’s none of my concern. What is my business though is who killed Raj. And I think you’re behind the beatings he sustained. Obviously, you couldn’t do it yourself. Raj was young and in good shape. You’re middle aged and… not in shape,” Marlee said gesturing to his portly waist line. “But you could have easily hired some of your students to do it for you.”
Crispin threw his head back and laughed heartily. “You have quite the imagination. I think you’ve been watching too many of your American action films. I’m British and would never have the inclination to hire someone, a student nonetheless, to assault another person. Honestly, how did you ever come up with this theory?”
“I don’t know what being British has to do with getting a student to do your dirty work. You’ve demonstrated on multiple occasions that you’re a rotten pig, so it’s not that much of a stretch to believe you had Raj beaten up. Maybe your intention wasn’t for him to die, but that was the end result. Now I don’t know much about the laws here in India, but I’m betting there’s quite a bit of prison time associated with murder.”
“You wait one minute! I will not stand here and listen to these unfounded accusations. You have accused me of murder, of infidelity, and of sexual harassment. What have I done to cause such rage? Are you feeling well? I heard about a recent study that shows over half of Americans, mostly women, are suffering from mental illness,” Crispin said with fake sincerity in his voice.
“Piss off, Crispin! There’s nothing wrong with me. You’re the one who has the problems. And I’m going to do everything in my power while I’m here to see that everyone sees what a worm you are!” Marlee turned and briskly walked toward her apartment, glad to be done talking to one of the biggest weasels she’d ever met.
So much for clearing her head with a walk! She stomped up to her apartment, not noticing her surroundings which had already become familiar in the short time that she’d made it her home. When she reached the front door, she found it ajar. Oh my God! Somebody’s been in my apartment! Marlee thought as she gently pushed the door open.
Any water in the desert will do.
Indian proverb
Chapter 27
She peered in, squinting to see if anyone was still inside. Marlee didn’t see anyone, but what she did see was disarray. Her chair was tipped over, the bedcovers had been pulled down, and the dresser drawers were all open with clothing and personal items hanging out.
Marlee waited outside for a moment to see if someone exited the bathroom. When she couldn’t take it any longer, she went inside. Her clothes in the closet were all on the floor, a few of the hangers still on the railing. She stepped over clothes and shoes and peeked inside the bathroom. No one was there, but her towels were all on the floor, and the toiletries were tipped over and some had toppled into the sink.
The only things of actual monetary value she had with her were cash and her laptop. She always carried her purse with her when she left, and her laptop was in her office on campus. Nothing seemed to be missing, but all of her possessions had been rifled through and were in a jumble. It was doubtful that anyone would break in unless they suspected she had items of value in the apartment. Since she arrived in India, people seemed to think she was wealthy, so maybe the burglars thought there would be cash, jewelry, or electronics in the apartment that were easy to grab.
Marlee wasn’t sure what to do next. She toyed with the idea of calling the police, but what would they do? Nothing was taken, so it would be a low priority case for them. After her arrest and detention at the jail, she didn’t dare involve the police in anything. They’ll probably arrest me for ransacking my own apartment, she thought.
Swallowing her pride, she called Barry. There was no answer, so she called someone else who might know what to do in this type of situation – Dax.
“Yes, of course. I will be right over,” Dax assured her. “Lock your door and do not let anyone inside.”
While Marlee waited for Dax, she wondered if she knew the person who broke into her home. She knew she locked the door behind her when she left earlier. She’d been upset after her talk with Barry but was confident she had locked the door. It was her regular habit to always lock doors behind her, regardless of whether she was going inside or outside.
Whoever broke in here either has a key or knows how to pick locks, she thought. Since the apartment and the others adjoining it were part of the university, any number of people could have access to the keys. For all she knew, they were hanging on a bulletin board in full view of anyone. But why would they want inside my home?
A soft knock on the door startled Marlee back into reality. She peered through the window beside the door and saw that it was Dax. After Marlee opened the door and let him inside, he grabbed her, his arms engulfing her body.
“Dax, let me go! I’m fine. I just wanted to talk to you about the break in and see what you thought about it.” Marlee wriggled free from his bear hug and took two giant steps away from him. She wasn’t a hugger and didn’t want to encourage this type of behavior.
“When you called, I was so worried. I kept thinking someone might be hiding in your room, waiting to attack you. Or that he might come back and break in again,” Dax said, pacing back and forth.
“No, I’m okay. Why would someone would break into my apartment? It had to happen between 5:45 and 7:00 this evening. I don’t think anything was taken, but I didn’t bring many valuables with me to India. My purse was with me, and I keep my laptop at my office, so other than clothes and personal items, there was nothing to take. Do you think the burglar was looking for valuables or were they looking to assault me?” Marlee asked, wondering for the first time what would have happened if she’d been home when the intruder broke in.
Dax didn’t speak but continued to pace around the small apartment, looking at Marlee’s items in disarray. She took two Kingfisher beers from the mini fridge, opened them, and handed one to Dax. He turned the chair upright and sat down and Marlee sat on the unmade bed. “You didn’t call the police?” he asked.
“No. After my previous arrest, I have a hard time trusting the police here. Besides that, what would they do? In the United States, burglaries are hard to solve and get low priority by the police. I assume it’s similar here. And since nothing was taken, I doubt there’s much they could do even if they wanted to,” Marlee said.
He nodded before taking a swig of beer. “I wonder if the person or persons who broke in thought you had items of value.”
“I thought about that too. Since I arrived here, I’ve had several comments about being wealthy enough to travel to India by myself. I don’t know what they were hoping to find in here. I’m not wealthy by any means, and I didn’t bring anything with me with much value.”
“To many people here, you are wealthy,” Dax said pointedly.
“Yes, of course. I understand,” Marlee said, remembering all the emaciated people in the streets wearing thread-bare clothes, begging for money and food. “I know I’m much better off than many people in India. What I meant to say is that I don’t think I have much here in this room that would entice someone to break in. My clothing would be too large for most of the women I’ve seen here.”
“But you are assuming the burglar was someone who knew you or was watching you. What if it was a random break-in?” Dax asked.
“Why my apartment and not my neighbors’ apartments?” Marlee asked, realizing she didn’t know for sure if her neighbors had brea
k-ins. In fact, she hadn’t taken the time to even introduce herself to her neighbors so far.
Marlee and Dax canvassed the one-story apartment complex, knocking on doors and asking about burglaries. None of them had experienced a break-in nor had they seen any strange people lurking around earlier that evening. Two neighbors, however, commented that a few nights ago some men were yelling and pounding on doors. That must have been the evening Raj’s brothers were over here demanding to know his whereabouts.
They went back to the apartment and sat down, racking their brains trying to figure out who would break into Marlee’s apartment and what they were hoping to find. A thought popped into Marlee’s head. Maybe they were looking for something that was here, but I took with me. Like Professor Patel’s personnel file. But no one other than Meena knew that I had it.
“Dax, I found out some damning information about a professor in the Sociology Department. I can’t tell you how I got my information, but Raj was blackmailing him. This afternoon, I was able to find out some background on Professor Patel, including talking to one of the professors who taught him at University of Mumbai.”
“And?” Dax raised his eyebrows waiting for the rest of the story.
“And she called Patel a sociopath and a manipulator. Professor Kommala also thinks his interview methods for his dissertation were flawed and that he falsified his data. She couldn’t prove it, and Patel was allowed to graduate. For some odd reason, Patel listed her as one of his references when he applied at Delhi University. Of course, she gave him a bad reference, but he was hired anyway. And get this, a fellow graduate student was listed as a reference and when he was contacted, he gave Professor Patel a glowing recommendation. But he died the January before he was supposed to graduate. Professor Kommala believes Patel had a hand in his death, although it was officially ruled a suicide. He fell or jumped from the top floor of a building.”
“How did you discover who to talk to?” asked Dax.
“Can’t tell you how it all came to be because I don’t want to get anyone into trouble. What I can say is that I have copies of Patel’s personnel file. This isn’t exactly ethical, so please don’t say anything to anyone,” Marlee cautioned, really hoping she was making a wise choice by placing her trust in Dax.
He held up his hands and waved them around which Marlee hoped was a sign that he would keep her secrets. “Do you think Patel found out you had his personnel file and broke in looking for it?”
“How would he know it was gone? Most employees don’t have access to their personnel files back home.” Marlee recalled faculty personnel files at MSU inside a locked cabinet inside the dean’s locked office. “I’m not sure how it is here.”
“Similar, I suppose,” Dax said. “Is there anyone else who might think you had information or documents about them? If so, that might be a reason for someone else to break in.”
“No, none that I can think of,” Marlee said. “The only unauthorized documents I have are the copies of Patel’s personnel file. In fact, I didn’t finish looking through it this afternoon. I made copies and then didn’t get it returned until after 5:00. There are several pages of documentation that I haven’t seen yet.” She pulled the papers from her tote bag and placed them on the bed. Rifling through them, she found where she left off earlier that day.
“After I called Patel’s former professor, I realized I’d run out of time. Here’s where I need to start,” she said more to herself than anyone else. She handed the documents she’d already perused over to Dax.
As she rifled through the file, she remembered the student evaluations. “Almost all of his evaluations done by the students were positive except for one semester. That semester most students rated him negatively. I see by the date that that was the semester that Hanish Kale, his fellow grad student died. Professor Kommala believed Patel had something to do with Kale’s death. Whether Patel caused his death or not, I can see why he would have difficulties in his teaching that semester.”
“Was it his last semester in the graduate program?” Dax enquired.
“Yes, he graduated that spring with his Ph.D.,” Marlee answered. “Kommala was strongly opposed because of what she said were faulty research methods and falsification of data. After Kommala made this claim, Patel lodged complaints against her and a lengthy investigation ensued. She was removed from Patel’s committee since Patel had filed a complaint against her. The administration deemed it to be conflict of interest. Kommala is still trying to regain her reputation even though Professor Patel’s accusations were deemed false. He apparently had pissed off most of the rest of the faculty too.”
Dax took another long swig of beer, taking in everything he just heard. “Were you able to verify Kommala’s statements? From what she told you, she sounds almost as unbalanced as Patel.”
“I hadn’t even thought of that. For some reason, I just took her at her word. Tomorrow, I’ll look up her colleagues on the university website and give one or two of them a call to see what they think of her claims. Of course, they might not be as anxious to talk to me as she was. Kommala had a major axe to grind and would’ve talked to anyone who called asking about Manu Patel,” Marlee said.
“All you can do is try. Have you really thought about what you are doing? I hope this scheme of yours does not come back to haunt you.” Dax looked at forlornly, as if her expatriation to the United States was already a done deal.
“I’ve thought about the risks, Dax. If I get caught, I could be relieved of my teaching duties here and sent back home. Of course, I would be disgraced back at Midwestern State University if that happened, and it could negatively impact my chances for further promotions,” Marlee said, not fully understanding all the negative consequences of being caught until she voiced them to Dax.
“Why take such a risk?”
“Because I think there’s a strong possibility that Patel had something to do with Raj’s death, and I think information in his background will show that conclusively,” Marlee said.
“Are you sure? I wonder if the real goal is getting Professor Patel reprimanded or even terminated.” Dax didn’t mince words when he made a point.
“It wouldn’t break my heart if Patel was thrown out of here on his ear. His treatment of me is terrible, and we haven’t even started classes yet. If a fraction of what Kommala said about him is true, then Patel truly is a vile human being. All that aside, my main focus is to find out who killed Raj and have them brought to justice. If that turns out to be Patel, then fine. But if it’s someone else, and Professor Patel is innocent, then I will let the rest of the matter drop,” Marlee said, not completely sure that she even believed it herself. If Patel had nothing to do with Raj’s death, she would certainly dig around some more to see if he had any involvement in the death of his grad school colleague and if he had obtained his Ph.D. through false data.
Dax gave a small smile, not believing her either, but too much of a gentleman to call her a liar right to her face. “Why do I sense that you will always be asking questions about one type of malfeasance or another while you are here in Delhi?”
She grinned and shrugged her shoulders. “Are you hungry? Would you like to accompany me to the cafeteria? When I walked by earlier, I saw they were serving pumpkin curry and dal makhani.”
Half an hour later, Marlee and Dax were seated at the end of a long table. They went through the buffet line, helping themselves to the food they desired. In front of each dish stood a placard with the name of the food in several languages and a designation of the heat level. Dax explained that a fair number of students came from other parts of India as well as other countries, so many could not name a dish just by looking at it. The heat level of a dish varied by region and by country as well, so it served everyone to know the hotness of the food.
The cafeteria was about half full, some students still had not yet arrived on campus, and those who were there may have eaten earlier or planned to come later. Marlee was surprised by the number of non-students sea
ted among the students.
“Many of the faculty and staff members, especially those who are single or whose families live abroad eat their meals here,” Dax said. “Indian food can take time to make, and most recipes are for full-sized families. Someone living alone would find it more convenient to come to the cafeteria or go to a restaurant rather than prepare a huge meal just for themselves at home.”
Marlee nodded. As a single person, she was well aware of the cooking conundrum. She loved preparing meals, but it seemed like a bit of a waste to make an elaborate meal just for herself. And if she cooked, she needed to be really hungry for that particular food because she would be eating the same thing over and over for the rest of the week.
“Do you eat here very often?” Marlee asked. So far, the food tasted great, and she could envision herself dining here multiple times each week.
“Alas, yes, I do. Since I am single and cannot cook, I take most of my meals out of the home. Of course, I can always visit one of my many, many relatives and receive an invitation to dine with them. I do that on occasion but try not to take advantage. Besides, they always have too many nosey questions. Sometimes it is just easier to dine alone here or at a nearby restaurant.”
No one else was sitting at their long table, and the dining room had nearly cleared out by the time Dax and Marlee were finished eating. She reached into her book bag and pulled out the copied documents from Professor Patel’s file. Knowing if her apartment had been burgled once, it could happen again, so she wasn’t about to leave any important documents lying around in her room when she wasn’t there.
“Do you think it is wise to look at these papers here?” Dax looked around the room, seeing if he recognized anyone. “Someone here is sure to know Patel or someone else from the Sociology Department.”
“We’ll keep our voices down and try not to mention his name.” Marlee handed the stack of papers to Dax that she’d read and sifted through the remaining documents. In the hours already spent looking through Professor Patel’s personnel file, she still hadn’t found one important thing she was looking for – the name of the search committee member who contacted his personal references by phone. On the next to last page of the file she found it. Professor Eleanor Appleton was the person who contacted the references regarding her colleague.
Blood Feud Page 22
