Club You to Death

by Anuja Chauhan

  ‘And in those thirty minutes of missing visuals, somebody walked in and set the stage to poison the man!’

  ‘Exactly, sir.’

  Bhavani gives a small, vexed snort. ‘So much for the finest club in Delhi!’

  ‘Er … yes, sir.’ Ram Palat is looking decidedly abashed. ‘And after that, apart from those loose balloons floating here and there a little, nothing else moves in the gym till Leo walked in this morning at five sharp!’

  Bhavani absorbs this, his face grim, then straightens up.

  ‘Let us go back to the crime scene.’

  Crossing under the yellow tape cordoning off the gym a little later, he looks about the space, breathing heavily. The team inspecting the area eyes him warily, but continues with its tasks, dusting all surfaces and bagging the evidence.

  ‘Four bunches of helium balloons with long trailing ribbons, tied at waist height, to the grills of the four windows, in the four corners of the gym. On the ceiling, in one of these corners, is the security camera! Only the bunch tied to the grill of the window below the security camera comes loose and floats up to the ceiling! How, bhai?’

  One of the men from the back-up team speaks up hesitantly. ‘Sa’ab, at the time of taking over of the crime scene, the glass shutter at that window was found shut. But not locked.’ He points at the window below the security camera.

  Bhavani goes very still. His eyes travel from the window grill, to the camera above it and back again, repeatedly.

  ‘So,’ he says softly, ‘anybody could have slid it open from the outside, reached in to loosen the ribbons securing the balloons, causing them to float up higher and cover the camera lens.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And once the job was done, he or she untied the balloons entirely so they floated off here and there on the ceiling!’ Bhavani turns to the inspector. ‘PK, we need to find out whose bright idea it was to have balloons as decorations at the Bumper Tambola.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘For the time being, it looks like this Mukesh Khurana is our most obvious suspect. Get him in here for questioning, and go through the CCTV footage with Ram Palat from the rest of the Club minutely. Gates, corridors, restroom, gardens. Prepare a list of everybody who was in the Club between eleven-forty-five and twelve-fifteen.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Bhavani heaves a dissatisfied sigh.

  ‘Somebody has been acting very, very over-smart. We will have to change gears to catch this one.’

  The Club president sticks his head into the gym, cocking it to one side like an inquisitive hen. ‘ACP!’

  Bhavani looks up.

  ‘Bhatti sir.’

  ‘So glad to catch you alone,’ Devendar Bhatti says as he enters the gym and looks around gingerly. ‘I’ve postponed the elections by a week. Hopefully, that should be sufficient time for this episode to die down! And I’ve ordered an excellent breakfast by Chef Suresh to be delivered to the Guest Cottage for you and your men. Bring me up to date, won’t you? I see the body’s gone.’

  ‘We don’t have good news, sir.’

  Bhatti, in the act of dropping into a chair, freezes, then nods quickly and sits. ‘Tell me,’ he says crisply.

  Bhavani Singh briefs him rapidly on his discoveries.

  Bhatti’s face sags slightly. ‘So it isn’t a bench press accident after all.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Pinko Hathni? What is it? It sounds vile.’

  ‘It’s a cocktail of ephedrine, heroin and fentanyl, sir. Hardcore stuff! They put in enough to kill an elephant. The protein shake masked its – very mild – taste.’

  Bhatti’s face lightens. ‘I see. So the fellow was taking it to enhance his performance and accidentally took too much. Well, that clears things up!’ He smiles at Bhavani, relieved. ‘You’ve done a good job, ACP. I’ll have good things to say about you to your chief today!’

  Bhavani smiles genially. ‘Thank you, sir … but we think you have nat fully understood.’

  He proceeds to tell him about Usain Bolt and the psychedelic gorilla sex. And the suspicious manner in which the CCTV footage seems to have been manipulated. But Bhatti shakes his head with stubborn hauteur.

  ‘You police chaps are too suspicious! He had a filthy drug habit and he probably diddled his dosage. The balloons are just a coincidence. Write out the report the way I want it written and go.’

  Ex-home secretary sa’ab believes he is still in office, Bhavani thinks sadly. Shooting out orders and expecting them to be followed. His kingdom has shrunk to thirty-two thankless acres and even that will be taken away from him the moment this election is held. After that it’s just memoir writing and lit-fests and funerals. Ah well, who are we to disillusion him?

  Aloud, he says patiently, ‘Sir, that is nat the way.’

  Bhatti’s nostrils flare. Now looking like a haughty hen, he says, ‘Don’t tell me what to do in my own club, sir!’

  Bhavani sighs gustily. ‘No, sir.’

  There is a long, tense pause. Which the old policeman spends hunkered silently in his chair, staring down at his rather knobbly knuckles, radiating calm and sympathy in waves. It works. It always does. If Bhavani Singh were an Avenger, radiating calm and sympathy would’ve been his superpower.

  ‘The government is at our throat, Bhavani,’ Bhatti says finally, his watery eyes anxious. ‘You must have read about it in the newspapers. They resent everything that existed in this ancient, cultured city before they came in from dhokla-land and conquered it. They want to tear all of it down and replace it with a shiny, new New Delhi!’ He gives a short, indignant laugh. ‘New New Delhi! Like Shri Shri Ravi Shankar! With no history or culture apart from their own crude version of it! Typical nouveau ruler mentality! Naturally our club, with its traditional ties with the older regime, its illustrious members, and its traditions of independent intellectual thinking is high on their hit-list! They’ve got their eye on our land – which is not owned by us but only leased to us by the city corporation – and they want to throw us out. A messy murder on the premises will give them the perfect excuse. Do look at the bigger picture here!’

  Bhavani, who had thought much the same thing on his morning drive to the Club, allows his expression to grow implacable.

  ‘Sir, we are a small man and we can look only at the small picture. A murder has been committed and a murderer has to be caught. The forensic report has already been filed. It says poisoning. Please cooperate with us.’

  Bhatti glares angrily at him. Bhavani gazes back doggedly. Finally, the older man mutters a peevish imprecation and flounces out of the room.

  Well, we’ve certainly ruffled his feathers! Bhavani thinks, unperturbed, as he rises to his feet and sets off for Guest Cottage No. 5. He wonders if the offer of an excellent breakfast by Chef Suresh is still standing …

  He needn’t have worried.

  When he walks into the cottage, he finds a fluffy masala omelette, six fat, crispy heart-shaped cutlets, a rack of thick, well-buttered slices of toast and a consignment of steaming hot idli-sambhar are all laid out in the DTC’s monogrammed blue-and-white crockery on the coffee table. And Kashi Dogra lifting the lid off a tureen of creamy honey-laced oatmeal with every sign of great anticipation.

  He looks up sheepishly when Bhavani enters the room.

  ‘Just taking a peek,’ he says apologetically. ‘I recommend the oatmeal porridge. They do a great job of it here.’

  And Bhavani recalls that he had told the young lawyer to wait for him.

  Hmmmm. He has just been thinking that he needs to enlist an insider in this investigation. Somebody who understands the complicated ecosystem of the DTC. This intelligent young fellow, with his easy, friendly manner, his three weeks off and his link to the victim seems like a natural choice. The same members who would close ranks snobbishly when questioned by a Bhavani Singh, may open up to an Akash Dogra. He can be useful.
>
  Bhavani smiles warmly. ‘Please join us, vakeel sa’ab! There is enough for five people, we think so!’

  Kashi’s face lights up at once. ‘I’d love to.’

  They sit down at the table together.

  ‘So who was bullying Leo yesterday?’ Bhavani asks chattily as he spoons porridge into his bowl. ‘What exactly was the jhagda-shagda about?’

  Kashi looks up quickly, his gaze keenly appraising. ‘Wasn’t it an accident, then?’

  Bhavani is impressed. The pleasant young man doesn’t miss much.

  He sighs and stirs his porridge. ‘He was murdered,’ he says bluntly. ‘Poisoned.’

  ‘What!’ Kashi’s face pales. ‘Murdered? Are you sure? Why?’

  Bhavani gets in two spoonfuls of porridge before he speaks. The lawyer is right. It is excellent.

  ‘O yes, we are sure,’ he says finally. ‘And it has all been very over-smartly planned and thought through.’

  Kashi leans forward. ‘Tell me.’

  But why are you so interested, vakeel sa’ab? Bhavani muses as he stirs his porridge again. Could you have more to do with this situation than you say?

  There’s no trace of these thoughts on his face as he brings Kashi up to date on his findings. The younger man listens intently, food forgotten, nodding now and then, his brown eyes kindling with fierce sympathy for the dead man.

  ‘I’m not surprised actually,’ Kashi says when Bhavani is done, ‘that he got killed here. This place is toxic. And crawling with entitled snobs. They’re all just so … smug and superior and … and … insulated from the real world somehow! You should have seen the hostility Leo was facing from the crowd yesterday. He was trying so hard to be helpful and charming, but the women were treating him like a decorative object, and the men just seemed to despise him. Khurana actually called him “hired help”. That’s why I went up there to defend him. Christ, what a bunch of bloodsuckers!’

  His indignant outpouring seems sincere enough. Bhavani hears him out, then pushes his bowl away.

  ‘We are worried they will now close ranks to hush the whole thing up. The gourmint is anyway trying to shut them down …’

  ‘Oh, the government’s just as bad,’ Kashi agrees unhesitatingly. ‘Gagan Ruia’s triggered because he wanted an out-turn membership and Bhatti was too much of a snob to give it to him! Now Ruia wants the place shut down out of sheer spite. That’s why he showed up here in a pair of pompommed juttis and manufactured a controversy!’

  Bhavani nods. ‘Yes, vakeel sa’ab, and because Bhatti sa’ab is worried that this murder may give Ruia and party the perfect excuse to take over the Club, he wants our report to say that Leo had a drug habit and took an overdose accidentally!’

  Kashi’s eyes flash with anger. ‘That’s character assassination. And obstruction of justice. And also, just morally wrong. I’ll file a public interest litigation demanding a probe if he does. And raise a huge stink. Tell him that!’

  ‘We will,’ Bhavani replies vigorously. ‘Or better still, we will ask our chief to tell him!’

  ‘Awesome!’ Kashi says strongly.

  Bhavani continues slowly, obeying a nascent, nebulous hunch. ‘After that, will you help us, vakeel sa’ab? You have rightly observed that the members of this club are very snobbish. If you sit in on our interviews with them, they are likely to share information with us much more openly!’

  ‘Oh!’ Kashi looks slightly taken aback. ‘Really? You think they’d talk to me?’

  ‘Maybe your lady friend can also help from time to time,’ Bhavani adds smoothly.

  ‘Oh!’ The hesitation on the lawyer’s transparent young face clears up at once. ‘Yes! Actually, that’s a great idea! Bambi’s the ultimate DTC insider – she knows everybody here. And she lives right next door!’

  The old ACP smiles. ‘Excellent.’

  Inspector Padam Kumar peers into the doorway on Guest Cottage No. 5 to find Bhavani and Kashi seated quite companionably behind the study table.

  ‘Sir, we have located Mrs Roshni Aggarwal and Mrs Cookie Katoch. They were in the Anchor bar.’

  ‘Drinking?’ Bhavani raises his eyebrows and glances at his watch.

  Padam’s face is carefully non-judgemental. ‘I er … think so … yes, sir.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Bhavani beams. ‘Bring them in, PK!’

  ‘Uh, testimonies extracted under the influence of intoxicants are not admissible as proof in a court of law,’ Kashi says, as PK exits.

  ‘Yes, vakeel sa’ab, but this is just an informal chat,’ Bhavani replies cosily. ‘Right now, they are unguarded and talkative and might point our nose in the right direction. That’s all we need! Once they sober up and go home and speak to their husbands, they may button up and give us nothing at all!’

  Presently, the two older women enter the room, walking slightly unsteadily, still in their gym clothes. Kashi jumps up to settle them into their chairs.

  ‘You’re Balbir’s son, aren’t you?’ Cookie asks.

  Kashi grins. ‘Yes, auntie.’

  ‘And Leo’s lawyer too,’ says Roshni. ‘I saw you with him yesterday.’

  Kashi nods. ‘That’s right, auntie.’

  Bhavani clears his throat. The eyes of the two women swivel to him, apprehensively.

  ‘We are very sad to say that your instructor was murdered, madams,’ he says impressively.

  The reaction he gets is most gratifying. They gasp; Cookie gives a little scream and Roshni flops into an almost-faint. Kashi makes solicitous noises and pours out glasses of water. Presently Roshni is sufficiently recovered to look Bhavani in the eye.

  ‘Say swear.’

  ‘Swear,’ he responds gravely, his hand rising to pinch his Adam’s apple. He then proceeds to share all the details, concluding smoothly with, ‘Do you have any idea who it could be?’

  ‘Mukki,’ says little Cookie Katoch, then hiccups loudly.

  Midway through Bhavani’s narration, she had wandered off to the coffee table, helped herself to a large serving of the breakfast leftovers, and had been polishing them off with single-minded concentration. Her eyes widen when she feels everybody looking at her.

  ‘These are really very good,’ she says indistinctly through a mouth full of heart-shaped cutlet. ‘You should try some, Ro.’

  ‘You’re supposed to be off carbs, Cookie,’ bony Roshni reminds her pudgy friend. ‘You’re cheating!’

  Cookie deposits another piece of cutlet into her mouth. ‘I’ve had a terrible shock,’ she says indistinctly, waving her fork about in a dreamy manner. ‘A terrible, terrible shock. My body … needs carbs, ACP Brownie.’

  Bhavani looks at her just a little reproachfully.

  Cookie is immediately apologetic. ‘I’m so sorry – but you do look so square, and chocolatey and walnutty and dense. I meant it in the nicest possible way!’

  He smiles at her through the wafting scent of Bombay Sapphire. ‘Please take all the carbs you need, madam!’

  ‘Did you even hear what the ACP said?’ Roshni demands of her friend. ‘Leo’s accident wasn’t an accident – somebody murdered him!’

  Cookie hiccups again. ‘Mukki.’

  Roshni gives a little scream. ‘Stop saying that, Cookie!’

  ‘Ooopsies.’ Cookie covers her mouth. ‘Sorry.’

  She reaches for the ketchup in a vague sort of way. Kashi takes it from her and uncaps it, then pours a generous amount onto her plate.

  ‘Why do you say that, auntie? That Mukki uncle did it?’

  ‘Well!’ She puts down her plate. ‘For one thing, yesterday, at the tambola, when Mukki said, “I don’t share. I’ve never shared anything”, Leo sort of sneered and replied – “That’s what you think!”’

  ‘And that meant?’ Kashi asks, being deliberately obtuse.

  ‘That meant that Leo had been sharing Mukki’s wife, of course!’ Roshni sounds cross at having to explain
. ‘The implication’s obvious!’

  Cookie picks up the narrative again. ‘And then Mukki gave a little scream and tried to hit Leo and missed, and Leo planted a big fat mukka on Mukki’s face and Mukki collapsed like a bouncy castle when the electricity goes.’

  ‘Very well explained, madam, very well explained.’ Bhavani re-enters the conversation. ‘Understood … and so these two people – your friend Urvashi, and the Zumba trainer – they were having an affair?’

  Roshni licks her nude-lipstick-ed lips and giggles. ‘Everybody says so!’

  Cookie pushes away her empty plate. ‘Well, I hope she is!’ she says staunchly. ‘She needs some fun in her life, poor Urvashi!’

  Bhavani tilts his head slightly. ‘Why is she poor Urvashi?’ he enquires. ‘Is her poverty material – or spiritual?’

  ‘Ah!’ Roshni Aggarwal is surprised. ‘What an intelligent man you are!’

  ‘Thank you.’ He beams. ‘So, Urvashi is poor because …?’

  Cookie holds up one clarifying hand. ‘Please don’t misunderstand. Urvashi Khurana is our hero. Years ago, we were all in the same boat – more or less newly married – dropping our kids off to the same playschool, struggling to lose our post-pregnancy fat and regain our looks, homesick for our mothers’ cooking and bitching about our mothers-in-law! We met for coffee and croissants every week and talked about starting our own businesses, and rising above being just Missus So-and-So, but Urvi was the only one who really managed to do it.’

  ‘That’s not true, Cooks,’ Roshni interjects loyally. ‘You have ShivBling!’ She turns to face Bhavani. ‘She’s an artist, inspector, she makes these glorious, anatomically-exact Shivlings out of stone, metal and glass!’

  ‘Her work’s amazing, ACP!’ Kashi chimes in. ‘I’ve seen it!’

  Cookie blushes. ‘I think your parents won one of my pieces in the Diwali raffle draw a couple of years ago? I contribute one piece every year.’