“What do you mean?”
“Regarding Tushar.”
“I’ve done what they wanted, and found the stalker. If they want more, they’ll have to ask.”
“Right. A relationship with a Kelon raises many issues for him, you realise. Especially a Kelon with your connections.”
“There is no relationship,” I snapped. “But if there was, then we’d deal with it. It’s none of your business.”
“It is if your relationship causes problems for my people, Javen.”
“It wouldn’t be the first one between our races. What’s the real issue? Are you jealous?”
He laughed in derision. “Of whom—Tushar?”
“No, me.” But what an interesting assumption. “Look, you’re making an ocean out of a kid pissing in a puddle. Nothing’s going on between us. Back off, Shardul.”
He swallowed the rest of his chai, and set the cup down with delicate precision. “I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’.”
“Fine.”
“And I have appointments.”
“I figured.”
He arched his eyebrow at my cold tone. “I’ll forward further media enquiries to you. I suggest you dissuade anyone from contacting me on this subject, if you have that power.”
I waved to indicate “Yeah, whatever.” “See you.”
“Perhaps. Good day, madam,” he said to the owner, and gave her a formal bow. She stared at him in horror as he walked out. Show-off.
What the hell was his problem, crapping at me over something that never happened and never would?
Better not happen, anyway. Sometimes I wondered if Shardul was an empath too. He was just a little too good at reading my real emotions and motives.
But he was wrong. I hadn’t slept with Tushar except in the purely literal sense, and even if I had, I wasn’t a complete fool. A bit of one for not thinking about the press interest but I’d spent years making people forget who my Dad was, and a lot of time I forgot myself. Especially now, when I was disowned in practice if not in law. Of course if the press found out about the estrangement, that would only make them more ravenous. Bloody reporters.
~~~~~~~~
The stupidity went on for a couple of days, fuelled by the announcement that an individual had been charged over Tushar’s attack. The involvement of the governor’s son in said arrest and charging had regrettably leaked out, and we’d had an uptick in enquiries, even a couple of genuine ones. Tushar bravely returning to the stage to sing, though not to dance. The news reports the next day were full of quotes from rapturous fans praising his courage, and saying how honoured they were that Tushar had made such an effort for them.
The irony of all this favourable commentary from Kelons being heaped on a member of the normally despised indigenous race wasn’t lost on me, and I doubted it had been lost on Shardul. I wished I knew for sure, but Shardul wasn’t talking to me. How did I know that? It was normal for days to pass without hearing from him, after all. But I just knew he wasn’t. Shardul’s shunning had a way of getting its point across without him doing anything at all.
Tushar had apologised very sweetly for all the trouble the mess had caused me, and ruefully asked if it meant I’d never come visit again. “Of course I will,” I assured him. “But later, when things are back to normal. How do you feel?”
“It’s still very painful, but the doctor put the synthaskin over the wound, just like you said, and gave me some pills for the shows. Those drugs are awful, though.”
“I know. Maybe it’d be better to take a week off performing.”
“I can’t. People have been so patient and kind. You should see the flowers they’ve sent, and the messages. I feel very loved.”
“Good, but I don’t think they’d want you in pain.”
“I’m a dancer. Pain is part of what we do. I’d like to dance for you again, Javen.”
It was like he had a voice-operated remote control that worked exclusively on my cock. He only had to drop his voice a little as he said my name, with that subtle hint of something lush and a little forbidden, and suddenly my underwear was too tight. “I, uh....” Now what could I say to that? “I could drop over and watch you from backstage.”
“Yes! Please, Javen, do that. The doctor says I can dance again in a week. So in one week, you come to the concert hall.”
“You’ll still be playing? That’s a hell of a run.”
“I know. Lalit booked three extra shows and they sold out in an hour. The press have been so kind to us, it’s amazing.”
“They can turn on you just like that. Especially—”
“On a Nihan? Yes, I know. Lalit says we have to use what we have now while we can. It’s not just me, you know. The dancers and musicians, they’re being booked and recording deals have been made. We’ve even had interest from Kelon. I have to make sure they have their chance too.”
“You’re a great kid, you know that? I’ll definitely be there next week.”
“And come back with me?”
“Maybe.” After all, the case was closed, Ursemin had paid our bill, and Tushar was no longer a client. And Shardul would have to deal.
“I’m looking forward to that, Javen. Spirit guide you,” he said, and closed the call.
Spirit be damned. My gonads were doing all the guiding right now.
~~~~~~~~
Eventually things got back to something approaching normal, for which Madan and I were grateful. We had things to do, and clients paying a lot more than what I’d charged Tushar. With the kids still on leave, and Devraj, the temp clerk, still finding his feet, I had to spend more time than I cared for just handling office crap.
After I’d gone through the morning’s messages, I took a call from one of our clients, Shrimati Reindi. She wasn’t happy, which surprised me because we’d proved her husband had a mistress, just as she thought. “But you didn’t find the other one!”
“The other? Shrimati Reindi, you didn’t mention he—”
“I didn’t know he had two!”
“I see. But surely—”
Our office crashed open, and a man mountain blocked the doorway, his broad face red, radiating rage. “Call you back, Shrimati Reindi,” I said, and closed the call. I stood. Madan was already on his feet. Devraj, eyes huge in terror, scooted out of his chair and bolted for the kitchen out back. Couldn’t blame him.
“Can I help you, sir?” I kept my voice level and calm, but my hand went to the butt of my gun in its holster.
“Which one of you is Ythen? I want him.”
I moved forward a little, giving Madan the cop signal for “call for help” behind my back. “That’s me. Who are you?”
“Phanindra Benay. You set me up!” He smashed his fist down on top of Devraj’s desk.
“And how did I do that, Sri Benay? Why don’t you take a—”
“I never hurt that boy! I’d never hurt anyone!”
“I’m sure—” I stopped, surprised. Under the rage was a burning sense of injustice. But the man had.... “You admitted sending threatening letters.” In the distance I heard sirens, hopefully coming towards the office.
“I...I sent some notes. But I never hurt him! I didn’t touch him. I never went near him!” He smashed his fist down again. “You told the police I had.”
“No, I didn’t. Now I need you to calm down, Sri Ben—”
He came around the desk, his meaty fists raised in intent. I drew my gun. “That’s far enough. Sit down!”
Madan approached, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw he had his gun out too. “Sri Benay, do as he says. Sit down, and then this won’t have to go any further.”
Benay’s eyes darted between the two of us. “I didn’t do it!”
“Okay, I believe you,” I said. “Now sit. Sit!”
He obeyed. The sirens were louder now. “I’d never hurt him,” he mumbled.
“Why aren’t you in custody?”
He looked up in surprise, as if he’d forgotten me. “Ba
il. Wearing a tag. It’s legal.”
If it was, he’d undoubtedly violated his bail conditions, but I was more interested in the man’s emotions. If he was lying, I couldn’t detect it, and if he was, I could see no point to him being here. “Why did you send the notes, Sri Benay?”
The angry flush on his face had faded, and he looked a good deal less insane. But the glint of madness still lurked in his watery eyes, so I kept my weapon handy. Madan didn’t move. “Answer me,” I said quietly.
“He’s a filthy slut. He should go back to his home, leave decent folk alone.”
“So you tried to scare him off, and when it didn’t work, you attacked him with the knife the police found on your property.”
“No!” His hands twisted as if he was in pain. “I’d never. I’ve never hurt—”
“You have a criminal record for assault, Sri Benay.”
“I was being picked on. Kids calling me stupid, fat. Slow old bugger, they said.”
I nodded. “Maybe you felt Sri Tushar was taunting you.”
“No! You don’t understand! I’d never hurt him! I....”
“You?”
He looked away. “I never did anything to him.”
Outside, a police auto had pulled up, and two officers approached. “Sri Benay, the police are here. You’re going to go with them without causing any trouble, or you’ll go back to jail. Do you understand?”
“You have to tell them I didn’t do it! I didn’t!”
“I’ll speak to them, but only if you cooperate. Start being violent, start yelling again, and I’ll do nothing. You keep away from this office and my people. This isn’t their concern. Do you understand me?”
“But—”
I slapped the desk between us. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” he said sullenly. “But I never did it.”
The two cops entered the office. “Sri Ythen, Sri Dhruv,” Constable Satol said, nodding to us both. “Having a bit of a problem, I see.”
I put my weapon away. “Sri Benay came to...discuss the charges against him, regarding Sri Tushar. I’ve told him I don’t want him to return here, and that if he does, his bail may be withdrawn.”
A smart woman, Constable Satol didn’t need more of a hint than that. “Indeed. Sri Benay, come with us, please.”
“I won’t go back to jail!”
“No, we just want to have a little chat and then we’ll take you home. Sri Ythen wants you to leave.”
Benay hunched over in the chair. “I didn’t do it.”
“I believe you,” I said.
“You do?”
“Yes, I do.”
He blinked up at me, his slow mind taking it in. “Will you help me?”
“If you go quietly, yes.”
He stood. “I didn’t hurt them,” he said to Satol.
“I can see that, sir. Come along now.”
Once they cleared the office, I locked the door behind them, and exhaled noisily. “Sainted reason.”
“Yeah,” Madan said, holstering his weapon and falling onto a chair. “What in the name of the Spirit was that all about? Of course he’s the one who attacked Tushar. They found the knife.”
“No prints. Madan, he was telling the truth. He didn’t do it. At least he believes he didn’t.”
“Delusional?”
“Maybe. Or maybe he was set up, just like he thought.”
Madan lifted his eyebrows. “Your empathy’s not admissible.”
“No, but I can hardly stand by and let an innocent man go to prison.”
“He’s not innocent. He did send threats.”
“It’s been a while since I was on the force, but I seem to remember something...oh what was it? Oh, that’s right. Innocent until proven guilty?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, grinning reluctantly. “What will you do?”
“Have a chat with Lieutenant Mahre for a start. And warn Tushar and Sri Ursemin the real attacker is on the loose.”
“May be on the loose. Personally, my money’s on Benay being out of his mind.”
“He’s still on the loose. I didn’t know he’d made bail.”
“No fingerprints on the knife, circumstantial evidence, you know that’s S.O.P. if there’s no confession.”
“And the victim’s indigenous.”
“I don’t think the lieutenant would let that influence him,” Madan said. “Strikes me as a fair sort.”
“Might not have been up to him.” I wiped my face. “Devraj? It’s over. Come on out.”
The lad emerged, but headed straight to the door. “I’m not putting up with this kind of thing, Sri Ythen. I’ll let the agency know you need someone else. I’m sorry.” He tugged on the door, and panicked when he found it locked. I stepped up and unlocked it, and he bolted before I could wish him luck.
“Terrific. At least Vik and Prachi missed it.”
Madan grinned. “You know, I think they’ll be disappointed. They don’t scare easily.”
I jerked my thumb in the direction of the departing Devraj. “Not that easily, anyway. Damn it. Another temp or do we muddle through until the end of the week?”
“Muddle. Breaking another one will be too much work.”
“You mean, ‘breaking in’, surely.”
“Oh, didn’t I say that?”
I shook my head at him. “Come on, if we’re going to be short a clerk, you’ll have to help me with the files.”
But once I’d shovelled a healthy pile of work Madan’s way, I made two calls. One to Lieutenant Mahre, asking for a meeting, and the other to Lalit Ursemin, saying I needed to speak to the two of them. “Come for late supper at my house,” he suggested. “After Tushar’s show.”
“You still have reporters?”
“Yes, unfortunately. Only a couple but they’re persistent.”
“Then I’ll meet you at the concert hall. You can smuggle me into the house.”
He laughed. “Oh, Tushar will love that. See you at nine, Javen.”
I mentally considered the logistics of what I’d arranged, and what disguises I could quickly assemble, but then my thoughts turned back to Phanindra Benay. I realised now the slight nagging doubt that the real attacker had been found wasn’t just general paranoia, but because the story didn’t fit. The knife with Tushar’s blood had been found in a refuse bin at the front of Benay’s property—accessible to any passerby. Logic said Benay was the most likely person to have put it there—but the knife had either been wiped clean of prints, or the attacker had worn gloves. So why would Benay then drop the knife, along with the incriminating blood, into a bin at his own home? The man wasn’t very bright or particularly devious. That he would have thought of fingerprints at all, had surprised me at the time. If he hadn’t done it, the lack of prints made more sense.
But that also meant someone wanted Benay to take the blame. It also meant someone knew Benay was the one sending threats to Tushar. This case was suddenly a lot more complicated than I thought.
This fact didn’t brighten Lieutenant Mahre’s day when I shared my observations and thoughts with him that afternoon. “Empathy’s not admissible,” he said, right on cue.
I rolled my eyes. “Lieutenant....”
“Okay, you know that. But give me something, sergeant. I can’t drop the charges based on evidence I can’t present.”
“If his lawyer’s doing his job, he’ll tear your case apart over the knife anyway. I’m just telling you that if he does, maybe you shouldn’t fight too hard—and that you still have an attacker to find.”
He groaned. “The trail’s cold.”
“Not quite. Someone knew about Benay’s little obsession. There can’t be many people who did. But you have another problem—Benay’s resentment’s likely to explode again, and I wouldn’t like to be the one in the path of it this time.”
He wrinkled his nose in irritation. “Any more good news you want to drop on me, sergeant?”
“No, that’s it. I’ll warn Tushar. The rest, I
leave with you. Keep Benay away from me and my client.”
“Do my best. Sanity, the prosecutor will have my head for this.”
I shrugged in sympathy. “Better than an innocent man being punished.”
“If he’s innocent. I want a psychiatric review before I do anything.”
I left it with him. Honestly, I didn’t know if Benay had blanked out the attack, but if I had to make a bet, I’d say he hadn’t. The knife didn’t fit. Mahre was a good cop, and now I’d pointed out the anomaly, he’d be no more able to rest until he resolved it than I would have been. Only now it was his job, not mine.
The events of the day left me snarly and unsettled but the prospect of seeing Tushar, even to give him bad news, was a bright spot to aim for. I guess I’d already decided before I set out for the theatre that I’d spend the night with him, Shardul’s objections be damned. That was why I didn’t tell Shardul about Benay. After all, there wasn’t anything he could do that he wasn’t already doing to keep Tushar safe, and more than that, wasn’t any of his bloody business. If Shardul wasn’t interested in my Kelon arse, then he could keep his opinion about who was interested to himself.
Why was I even justifying myself to myself?
“Javen, you look like you’ve just eaten girkel fruit without honey.”
I looked over at Madan, regarding me with his usual wry smile. “I wish that was all it was. Just to let you know, I plan to let Tushar have his wicked way with me tonight if he chooses.”
He held his hands up. “Do not want to know, partner. You’re the ethics expert.”
“And Tushar’s not my client any more. Ursemin is, if anyone still is, and I’m not planning to sleep with him.”
“Please, stop with the disturbing images. That man frightens me.”
I snorted at the idea of Madan being frightened by anything. “He’s not my type for sure. I wanted to give you a head’s up in case the press get wind of it. Which they won’t, if I’m careful.”
“Please be careful then. My wife’s been quite rude about the repeated images of my fleeing back she sees on the news channels.”
Yashi and Tara hadn’t commented, but then both of them had become used to the occasional unwanted eruptions of press interest because of Dad. But thinking of them reminded me that I needed to get on with finding other accommodation. Should I speak to Shardul’s cousin or not? Right now I didn’t think it such a good idea to have him so closely associated with my arrangements, but I’d get over it, probably, and he’d spoken very highly of his cousin’s abilities. After the weekend, I thought. I’d look for land, and then speak to his cousin next week. There. A decision and procrastination. Something to suit the whole family.
Different Senses Page 32
