Up in Flames

by Evans, Geraldine

  Casey didn’t think such a situation would have suited Roop Bansi. He suspected that Chandra would have needed to recruit an entire court-ful of lawyers to get what was rightfully hers. From the little he had seen so far, he judged Roop Bansi capable of killing; her only difficulty would be finding the energy to heave her bulk from the sofa.

  But there were two sides to every story and now, in an attempt to right the balance, Casey said, ‘I understood your son, Magan, died in a car accident?’

  Roop Bansi’s small brown eyes were sunk into the flesh of her face, but still he couldn’t mistake the glint of malevolence in their kohl-ringed depths. ‘So? It was an accident that wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been driving that lazy wife of his to the shops to spend more of our money.’

  Casey nodded. Now he understood at least part of the cause of Mrs Bansi‘s anger. As both Catt and Shazia Singh had remarked, so many murders came down to money in the end. No doubt she had resented every penny spent by Chandra’s apparently besotted husband. At the risk of setting the jelly-flesh wobbling again, he asked, ‘You didn’t approve of your son’s wife?’

  She made a pshawing sound. ‘Approve, disapprove. She was not the girl she had been made out to be.’ She gave her husband a reproachful glance before turning back to Casey. ‘My husband arranged the marriage. He and Mr Khan are business acquaintances.’

  ‘Partners, now,’ her husband murmured beside her. ‘Since the marriage.’

  Mrs Bansi gave a less than delicate snort at this interruption and continued her condemnation of her daughter-in-law. ‘Even before the marriage I thought her too modern, too opinionated, too given to western ideas and the wearing of western clothes. I did my best to put a stop to that once they were married. A girl should be submissive to her husband’s parents.’

  Casey guessed that only one person in this house was entitled to voice opinions. It certainly wasn’t her husband, who seemed cowed by his forceful wife. He was surprised that Sanjit Bansi had been permitted to arrange the son’s wedding. But perhaps that, too, had come down to money. Financially, at least on the surface, Mr Bansi had made a good match for his son. No doubt that had appealed to Mrs Bansi at the time, which was why he had been allowed to get on with it. But maybe, as with the bride, doubts as to the ‘bargain’ made had begun to set in. It was only now, when all their hopes and dreams of the future affluence that should have flowed from the families’ union had ended, that she voiced her reproaches.

  It was interesting to learn the men had been business partners. Surely it would provide Mr Bansi - or his wife - with ample opportunity to get hold of the keys to Chandra’s flat and have them copied? They were even conveniently marked ‘flat - front door’ and ‘flat - back door’, as he had noticed when Rathi Khan had fumbled his car keys from the ring.

  But Mrs Bansi’s hearty condemnation of her dead daughter-in-law wasn’t indicative of guilt in her death; rather the opposite. Unless, of course, even the need for self-preservation was unable to curb her tongue.

  He guessed that, in Chandra, Mrs Bansi had got more than she had bargained for. She would have found her vivacious, westernised daughter-in-law no mean opponent. Chandra wouldn’t have let herself be crushed by this weighty human jelly without putting up a fight.

  Determined not to be crushed himself, Casey addressed his next remark to Mr Bansi. ‘And what about you, sir? How did you feel about Chandra?’

  Before he had a chance to open his mouth, his wife answered for him. ‘What should he feel? I tell you the girl was not the good bargain she had been held up to be. Her extravagance would have beggared us all in time. These young, westernised Asian women are all the same. None of them concern themselves with their duties. It is always the laughing and joking with them.’

  Casey thought it unlikely that Chandra would have had much opportunity for light-hearted behaviour in this house. Of course, he must remember they had lost their only son, a greatly beloved son if the number of photographs were any indication. But their personalities had been formed long before their son’s death. Mr Bansi wore the anxious look of one habitually in the wrong. Mrs Bansi‘s voice and manner were those of a bully who had had years to perfect her art.

  She opened her mouth and was evidently about to begin another tirade, when her husband muttered something under his breath. Her gaze darted from Casey to Shazia Singh and back again and the expected tirade remained unspoken. Instead, she asked, ‘What for you are asking us these questions? She is dead and good riddance, but we had nothing to do with it. It is not for you to cross-question us when we are weak from grief from the loss of our son.’

  Mr Bansi was apparently not quite as ineffective as he appeared. For now he broke in. ‘My wife is distraught, Inspector. She doesn’t understand what she is saying.’

  Casey reminded himself that although Sanjit Bansi seemed a meek creature in the presence of his wife, he must be fairly shrewd as he ran what was by all accounts a very successful and profitable business importing traditional Indian artefacts, which found a ready market not only amongst Asians, but also among besotted returned western travellers. They even had a website to cater for far-flung customers and had a mail-order arm, too. It would be a mistake to underestimate him.

  Mr Bansi clasped his bony hands round his knees, darted a narrowed glance at his wife and told Casey, ‘I found Chandra a charming girl.’ Beside him the jelly set to wobbling again, but this time she kept silent. He gave them a dry little smile, as much as to say, see, I am master in my own home when it matters, and said, ‘Of course, I work long hours and saw little of the girl. She spent her time with my wife and the baby. No doubt she was a little headstrong.’ He shrugged. ‘But she was a good-looking girl and had been spoilt. Time and more children would have settled her down, persuaded her to give up modern western notions of what a wife’s role should be.’

  His eyes moistened. ‘Unfortunately, because of racist bigots, she was not given that time. I was pleased to learn that you have two white youths in custody. That is why my wife wonders that you are here, questioning us. Soon they will be charged, yes?’

  Casey wondered how they had learned about Gough and Linklater. But as this was the kind of case where he could expect news to leak, he simply drew a deep breath before advising them that at this stage the white youths were merely possible suspects helping them with their enquiries and had yet to be charged, which was why other aspects of the

  investigation were continuing. That was why he was now questioning them. Before his courage deserted him, he added that he would need alibis from them, too.

  This was greeted with a stunned silence. It didn’t last long.

  As expected, Mrs Bansi was outraged. ‘What for should I provide an alibi? Am I one of these fire-setters the papers write about? Better for you to be charging the real culprits, isn’t it, than hounding the bereaved.’ She nudged her husband in the side. ‘Tell him, Sanjit. What for you sit there while he insults your wife?’

  For a moment, Casey thought Sanjit Bansi had finally lost patience. As a little colour came into the fleshless cheeks his body quivered, in a delicate accompaniment to his wife’s more vigorous fortissimo flesh-rippling. But the moment passed. He muttered an aside in rapid Hindi to his wife, then demanded, ‘I do not understand why you need alibis from us. And what about these white boys? What for have you not charged them?’

  His fluent command of English was deteriorating. Before either of them could fling more questions at him, Casey told them, ‘A little matter of evidence, sir. There’s also the possibility that they may have alibis.’

  ‘Alibis? What alibis could they have? No doubt alibis supplied by their families.’ This from the intemperate Mrs Bansi.

  Her more self-controlled husband looked shocked. His cadaverous cheeks seemed to cave in a little more before he rallied. ‘But I understood they had made the confessions.’

  Casey blinked. This was a leak too far. How had they discovered that? Having felt doubts since the interviews
with Gough and Linklater he hadn’t released the news of their custody or confessions to the media. Had Brown-Smith, in spite of his promise to get an extension to their suspects’ custody, released it unofficially to one of his many Asian acquaintances in order to pressurise Casey into forgetting his doubts and pressing ahead with the charges? He wouldn’t put it past him.

  ‘This I do not understand,’ Sanjit Bansi protested. ‘This will cause a great agitation in my community. We all feared there would be a whitewash and now we see-’

  Casey, well aware of the rising tensions in the Asian community and worried that any demonstrations would bring a violent backlash, was quick to reassure Mr Bansi. ‘I promise you, there will be no whitewash. As yet there is insufficient evidence to charge these youths. Someone has been a little premature in releasing the news. We have charged no one. Two white youths have been questioned extensively, but their claims are still being checked out. I hope you will take my word for that and spread it among your community. It will help no one if this case inflames prejudices on either side. Let me assure you that the police service is taking this matter extremely seriously. We have now received the forensic reports on the samples removed from your daughter-in-law’s flat. There is little doubt that we are now investigating a double murder.’ Casey didn’t mention the other possibility - that Gwyn Owen was right and that Chandra had committed sati. Besides, he didn’t believe it. He preferred to concentrate on the facts of the case, such as the discarded vacuum flask with its petrol dregs. ‘That being so, the investigation into your daughter-in-law’s death and that of her baby will not lack resources. Every aspect of her life will be examined for clues to the person or persons responsible. We will find whoever murdered them Mr Bansi, Mrs Bansi, let me assure you of that. And when we do and they are judged guilty in a court of law they will suffer the full rigour of that law.’

  As he watched, Mr and Mrs Bansi exchanged involuntary glances, in which anxiety was writ large. Could they be worried that the digging into Chandra’s life would reveal more than the less than kind treatment they had meted out to her and their grandchild?

  He paused for several seconds to let them consider their position, before again asking for their whereabouts at the relevant time, adding quickly, that it was merely routine, before Mrs Bansi could make any further protests. ‘Chandra’s family will also be asked to supply alibis. I’m sure they will be only too happy to do so if it means we don’t waste time and resources that should be used on finding the real culprits.’ He hoped they would be, anyway.

  Roop Bansi was evidently little mollified on learning this. Obviously, being involved in something as common as a police investigation was little to her taste. Still, she provided the answer to Casey’s question.

  ‘I was at home, of course. Where else is it a good wife would be at lunchtime but at home preparing her husband’s meal?’

  ‘And that would cover what times exactly?’

  Eventually, after much scowling and tutting and mutterings in Hindi, she told him, ‘All morning I was here, isn’t it? My husband he come in from his work at twenty to one. He leave about twenty, twenty-five to two. I went out on the dot of two to do my shopping for the evening meal. Twice a day I buy the fresh food. I am a dutiful wife as my husband will tell you. He is served none of that expensive frozen muck in this house. He is served only the best.’

  Casey wondered at the man’s thinness if that was the case. Wisely, he kept the thought to himself.

  Getting Mr Bansi‘s alibi was an easier matter and five minutes later, he and Shazia Khan were outside on the pavement wearing matching expressions of relief. As they climbed into the car, Casey asked, ‘How would you fancy her for a mother-in-law?’

  Shazia gave a delicate shudder. ‘I wouldn’t. Fortunately, my parents are more enlightened, more modern than Chandra’s family seem to be. They are quite happy for me to have a career. They have even agreed to let me choose my own husband as long as they can pretend to the community that it was their choice. It’s all about keeping ‘face’, Inspector. The Japanese could learn a thing or two about ‘face’ from Asians.’

  Casey, with his own difficulties about ‘face’ should the existence of his hippie, drug-taking parents become common knowledge, gave a sympathetic nod.

  They got in the car and he asked. ‘Did you manage to catch any of those mutterings in Hindi?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. But I can tell you what Mrs Bansi called her daughter-in-law.’

  Shazia Singh must have been a lover of Bollywood films; certainly, she understood the importance of the dramatic moment, as, before she made her revelation she busied herself in doing up her seatbelt and adjusting her uniform, rising the tension nicely.

  ‘The Hindi word, randi means ‘widow’.’

  Casey frowned. ‘I don’t understand. Why would calling her daughter-in-law a widow shock you? It was what she was, after all.’

  ‘Because of the other meaning it has come to have. Historically, Hindu widows were often forced to have sex with other men in their husbands’ families or to sell sex.’ Shazia’s delicate features were demure as she explained, ‘The practise was once so widespread that the Hindi word for widow - randi - has become synonymous with prostitute. That is what she called her daughter-in-law. A prostitute.’

  Casey fastened his own seatbelt. Lips pursed in contemplation, he drove slowly back to the station while he considered what he had learned. Had Roop Bansi thought she had reason for calling her daughter-in-law a prostitute? Had Chandra had an affair with Mark Farrell or some other unsuitable man and been found out? Farrell had denied there was any romantic attachment between them. Had he lied to them about the kind of relationship he had with Chandra? And if he had successfully pursued the desired affair with Chandra Bansi had it been before or after she was widowed?

  Far from Mrs Bansi protesting that she could not have had anything to do with Chandra’s death, it turned out that as the only alibi each had was supplied by the other, this meant that in reality neither of the Bansis had an alibi worthy of the name for the relevant time. It was only a couple of miles from their house to Chandra’s flat. And provided the petrol was ready to hand, it would be the work of moments to splash it in the back room and throw a match at it - and Chandra.

  Poor girl. How had she borne living with her uncongenial mother-in-law? With a husband who was overly-possessive and who allowed her little privacy? Casey, mostly used to his own space and the freedom to do as he pleased with that space, would have felt suffocated. As it was he was finding sharing his home with his parents a daily endurance and stayed out of the house as much as possible. With a constantly crying baby who would only earn her more criticism from her mother-in-law, Chandra must have been truly desperate.

  After the initial shock of losing her husband so suddenly and then being thrown out of the house by her in-laws, she must surely have found the peace and freedom of her little flat a paradise in comparison. Okay, the baby still cried, but at least her cries were no longer accompanied by constant carping. Loneliness, too, could be borne; how much more lonely would she have been in her unhappy marriage?

  Chandra’s brother and Mark Farrell had both said she had been depressed. Her younger sister had said she was lonely - yet she admitted she hadn’t seen her so how could she know? Angela Neerey, who had seen her had told him that Chandra had been trying to get her life together. After the early, disastrous marriage, she had wisely refused to attempt a second and had been sensibly considering her future and finding out about college courses. Who knew what she might have made of the rest of her life? What a tragedy that her first tentative steps towards that future had ended so abruptly. Two young lives, with all the promise that future might bring snuffed out in a few tortuous moments. The little paradise of her flat turning into the entrance to another and altogether premature Paradise.

  Who among his crop of suspects could have done such a thing? It would be easy - too easy - to cling hopefully to their two earliest suspects,
Gough and Linklater. And with the information Catt had supplied concerning Gough, though as yet unsubstantiated, Casey had begun to believe the pair had claimed the Chandra Bansi arson out of mindless braggadocio, two deaths being two up on what they had previously achieved. He seriously doubted that either of the two confessions would turn out to be viable. In the hope that he would get firm evidence one way or the other he had put off breaking the news to Superintendent Brown-Smith. But it couldn’t be put off much longer. Privileges of rank, indeed.

  And as for the Bansis, though Casey thought it unlikely that Mr Bansi alone would be capable of setting the fire - unless it was one under his own wife - he was also without an alibi. Besides, who knew what his wife might goad him to? And after what Shazia had told him about Mrs Bansi‘s name-calling of Chandra, he felt justified in adding them both to the growing array of potential suspects.

  It was turning into quite a list. Casey was beginning to feel seriously bogged down by the size of it. He decided he needed some time away from the investigation if he wasn’t to become seriously snowed under with the ever-growing possibilities. He had yet to make time to speak to Tara Tompkins, Wayne Gough’s girlfriend. The vicar she had claimed as her witness was still away and it seemed the case was going nowhere. His daily sessions with Superintendent Brown-Smith were becoming more heated; in spite of his agreement to the extension to the detention while further enquiries were made the super was champing at the bit to get the pair charged. Of course, he was under pressure himself.

  Racist attacks had become something of a political football and this was one that the entire team wanted a kick at.