A Will to Kill

by RV Raman

  He waved his arm, gesturing to the tall bookshelves covering the walls of the library.

  ‘We still can,’ Athreya replied. ‘After this affair is resolved.’

  ‘I certainly hope so. But your visit to Greybrooke Manor is already serving another purpose, notwithstanding that oaf of an inspector. I must apologize for his behaviour–’

  ‘There is no need for you to apologize, Mr. Fernandez.’

  ‘He was pretty nasty the last time around too,’ Bhaskar went on as if Athreya hadn’t spoken. ‘The time when the intruder broke in and tried to kill me.’

  ‘That was what I wanted to speak to you about,’ Athreya cut in, seizing the chance. ‘Manu tells me that the dagger we found in the stream may be the same one the intruder had dropped when you shot him.’

  Bhaskar’s eyes flew open, and he sat up straight.

  ‘That’s right!’ he hissed. ‘Remember I told you that it looked vaguely familiar? That’s it! Manu has hit the nail on the head. The dagger you found in the stream looks very similar to the one the intruder had dropped.’

  ‘Are you sure, Mr. Fernandez?’

  ‘Hmm…am I sure?’ Bhaskar frowned deeply. ‘I think so. But will I swear to it? Probably not. You see, we didn’t pay much attention to the dagger that day. Murugan picked it up, and by the time we realized it, many sets of fingerprints were all over it. But after that day, I haven’t seen it. It’s been a while now, and I can’t be sure if this is the same dagger.’

  ‘Where was it kept after that day? Do you remember?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. Perhaps Murugan will know.’

  He reached out and pressed the button of a portable bell. Somewhere deep in the mansion a bell chirped. A minute later the door opened and Murugan came in.

  ‘Yes, sir?’ he asked.

  Bhaskar asked him about the dagger the intruder had dropped.

  ‘I remember putting it in the top drawer of the table that stands in the hall,’ he said slowly. ‘That was soon after I had picked it up and everyone had examined it. I didn’t see it after that.’

  ‘Go check the drawer, Murugan,’ Bhaskar growled.

  ‘See if it is still there.’

  Less than a minute later, Murugan was back, shaking his head. Sebastian trailed in behind him.

  ‘No, sir. It isn’t there.’

  ‘Was that the last time you saw it, Murugan?’ Bhaskar asked. ‘When you put it in the drawer?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Murugan had paled. He seemed to have made the connection. ‘The dagger that was found today, sir…it looks very similar to that one.’

  ‘Could it be the same dagger?’ Murugan nodded silently.

  ‘I think so too,’ Sebastian added quietly. ‘Murugan is right. We put it in the drawer and forgot about it.’

  ‘Then,’ Athreya said, ‘anyone could have taken it, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who all were at the mansion when the intruder broke in?’

  ‘Mr Fernandez, Manu and Mr Phillip. Apart from Murugan, the staff and me. Richie and Dora came the next day.’

  ‘And when did this intruder break in?’

  ‘Let’s see…about three months ago.’

  ‘There is something I haven’t told you about the intruder,’ Bhaskar said slowly. ‘When I described the man, Inspector Muthu seemed to recognize him. The intruder was a short, wiry man who moved about very rapidly and belligerently. I didn’t see his face, but his mannerisms reminded me of a small, pugnacious street dog.’

  Something stirred at the back of Athreya’s mind. Bhaskar’s description had reminded him of something he had heard recently. Very recently.

  ‘But we kept the description of the intruder a secret. Muthu’s boss—the assistant commissioner of police—had said that there was a known offender of that description who prowled across Tamil Nadu and Karnataka. Once every few months, he said, he was seen in these parts. They would apprehend him the next time they came across him. They wanted to question him on one or two other matters too. It was best not to put him on his guard by letting his description out.’

  ‘The ACP also said that this offender had a nickname,’ Sebastian added. ‘I don’t remember what it was.’

  ‘Mongrel,’ Bhaskar filled in. ‘He is known as the mongrel.’

  The penny dropped in Athreya’s mind—that was the term Mrs Carvallo had used. She had said that someone had overheard Phillip call someone a mongrel.

  Before he could voice his thought, the library door flew open and Inspector Muthu walked in. He seemed pleased with himself, and was bursting to share some news.

  ‘Guess whom we found at the Misty Valley Resort?’ he asked. ‘The mongrel! He was hanging around with Ismail, one of the resort staff.’ His face split into a wide grin as he regarded Bhaskar and Sebastian. ‘And you know what? His left thigh has a recent bullet wound.’

  ‘Who is this mongrel, Inspector?’ Athreya asked.

  ‘He is many things, sir.’ Athreya noticed the change in how the inspector was addressing him. ‘We don’t have proof to nail him, but we know that he is a thief. And, more importantly, he is a blade for hire.’

  ‘Then,’ Sebastian said his eyes ablaze with fury, ‘anyone could have hired him to kill Mr. Fernandez. Anyone.’

  * * *

  Meanwhile, as Athreya was talking to Bhaskar, Dora had gone to the service area adjoining the kitchen to carry out the assignment Athreya had given her. This was the time when a lot of the ironing would be done. While the cook and her girls were busy preparing dinner in the kitchen, the boys would be busy ironing clothes in the service area. A perfect time to do a little snooping.

  She sauntered into the kitchen as she often did, and began chatting with the staff. She was very well liked by them, and they took the liberty to joke with her in a way they did with none of the other residents.

  As she chatted with them, she found her way to the service area where two boys were ironing clothes. They had just begun and were indulging in small talk to lighten their chore. She joined in as they talked about daggers in general and the one they had retrieved from the stream in particular. One of them was talking about how tribals around his village made their own weapons for hunting, including daggers, bows and arrows.

  Keeping up the banter, Dora went through the heap of un-ironed clothes, looking for something made of thickish dark-blue cloth. She found three candidates, and picked up each of them in turn and held them up to study the fabric.

  Unsure, she dropped them and sauntered away, pushing her hands into her pockets. From her left pocket, she pulled out the scrap of cloth Athreya had given her and studied it. She put it back in her pocket and ambled back to the pile of clothes. Athreya had told her to identify the apparel from which it had been torn, but not why. Nor had he told her where he had found the scrap of cloth.

  She then reexamined the three pieces that were dark blue in colour. One of them, a shirt, was made of cloth that was much thinner than the scrap. She discarded it.

  The second was a pair of trousers made of a thick material, but seemed to be cotton or linen, and it lacked gloss. The scrap she had in her pocket was clearly synthetic.

  The third turned out to be the one closest to what she was looking for. But by this time, Bhuvana was looking at her suspiciously. There was no point in being surreptitious any longer. Boldness was the only way forward.

  ‘Hey, this is a nice piece,’ she exclaimed and picked up the garment. ‘I haven’t seen one like this in a while.’

  It turned out to be a night gown with embroidery at the hem and the lapels. It was indeed a striking gown. As she held it up, she noticed a tear about a foot and a half from the hem. It was an inch-long rip, into which the scrap in her pocket would have fitted well.

  ‘Whose is it?’ she asked casually.

  ‘Don’t know,’ one of the ironing boys said. ‘Look at the room number mentioned in the tag. Here, show it to me.’

  He str
aightened the tag attached to one of the buttonholes and peered at it.

  ‘Room number three,’ he said presently, and began to iron the nightgown.

  ‘Three?’ Dora repeated. ‘Can’t be. That’s the room Phillip was staying in.’

  ‘Not upstairs, Dora,’ Bhuvana said, still eyeing her.

  ‘Room number three in the annex.’

  Dora was about to ask who was occupying the room, when she decided against it. That was a piece of information she could easily obtain, and Bhuvana was looking at her more and more doubtfully.

  Dora seemed to lose interest in the dark-blue night gown and shifted the conversation to what was being prepared for dinner. Ten minutes later, she walked out of the kitchen.

  * * *

  Athreya hurried out of the library and into the drawing room, where the other residents were to gather before dinner. There, he buttonholed Ganesh and strolled out through one of the French windows with him and Jilsy.

  ‘You had an altercation with Phillip on Thursday,’ he said quietly once they were out of earshot. ‘Can you tell me about it?’

  ‘It was really nothing, Mr. Athreya,’ Ganesh replied guardedly. He shot an annoyed glance at his wife. ‘Just some silly misunderstanding. It was sorted out and forgotten.’

  ‘That’s good. But I’d still like to hear about it.’

  ‘Really, Mr. Athreya, it’s nothing,’ Jilsy pleaded. ‘It’s got nothing to do with Phillip’s death. It’s not really a fight between Ganesh and Phillip. We were very good friends with him.’

  ‘At this point,’ Athreya countered firmly, ‘we can’t tell if it had anything to do with Phillip’s death or not. We just don’t know enough about his death to tell what may be related to it and what may not be. However, if you fear I am suggesting that the altercation pins a motive on you, rest easy. My intention in asking this question is something else.’

  Relief flooded Jilsy’s pretty face. The tension slipped out of Ganesh’s bearing too.

  ‘You are a good man, Mr. Athreya,’ he said.

  ‘Now,’ Athreya persisted, ‘will you tell me about it?’

  ‘Well, it was like this,’ Ganesh began. ‘Phillip’s gate and our gate are side by side, and our cottages are adjacent to each other. I was entering through my gate when I overheard Phillip say, “the mongrel is here”. At that point, I didn’t think much of it. But within the next ten minutes, Jilsy, who was out in the garden, heard the term “the mongrel” repeated twice.

  ‘There was no doubt that Phillip was referring to someone. Each time the context was such that Jilsy thought that he was referring to me. Upset, she came and told me what she had heard. I recalled him saying “the mongrel is here” minutes earlier when I entered my gate.

  ‘I put two and two together, and concluded that he was insulting me. I went over to his cottage immediately and confronted him. He seemed a little shocked that I had heard him use that derogatory term, but denied that he was referring to me. When I asked him whom else he could have been referring to, he had no satisfactory answer.

  ‘But he insisted—pleaded, rather—to forget what I had heard. It was not me he was talking about when he used the derogatory term, he repeated. He then cooked up a cock and bull story about someone who was visiting a servant at the resort and whose nickname was “the mongrel”. But the man seemed so sincere that I decided to let it go.’

  ‘Did he say that the servant’s name was Ismail?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Ganesh exclaimed in surprise. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘This was on Thursday?’ Athreya asked.

  ‘Yes. The day before we gathered here. Jilsy and I decided to forget about it once and for all.’

  ‘Do you know who Phillip was talking to when he said “the mongrel” thrice?’

  ‘Er…’ Ganesh began uncertainly.

  ‘I know,’ Jilsy cut in. ‘He was talking to two men in his cottage. A pretty serious discussion, I would say, from the sound of it. You remember I was in the garden when I overheard Phillip? I saw them leave shortly after the conversation. That’s how I know who he was talking to.’

  ‘Who?’ Athreya asked.

  ‘Abbas and Murthy.’

  Athreya stopped, and turned to face Ganesh and Jilsy.

  ‘Don’t speak of this to anyone,’ he said in an undertone.

  ‘We don’t know if it is relevant. But if it is, such information can be dangerous.’

  ‘You mean–’ Jilsy began but broke off. She had turned pale.

  ‘There is a killer around. It’s best to play safe.’

  Chapter 14

  The next day dawned foggy and dim, but it was not as murky as it had been on Athreya’s first morning at Greybrooke Manor. As had been the case the past two mornings, Athreya was among the first to rise. Ten minutes later, he was out in the garden, jogging along the walkways. While the past two days had seen a lot of activity, he hadn’t got the exercise his body demanded. This was an excellent time to remedy that.

  Looking back, Athreya was a little surprised at how much had happened in one day. The first twenty-four to forty-eight hours after a murder were always critical, but yesterday had been highly productive by any standard. It felt as if he had discovered the murder a long time ago, not just twenty-fours before. Today too would be crucial. He was hoping that new evidence would emerge, and that his enquiries would bear fruit.

  Fifteen minutes into his jog, his phone rang. It was Rajan calling from Coonoor. He had made enquiries of the kind Athreya had requested, and was calling to share his findings.

  ‘By all accounts, Ganesh Raj seems to be a harmless fellow,’ he said. ‘He is on the denser side, but people seem to like him. An ex-army man who has seen a lot of action on the line of duty. Twice, he was wounded badly, but went back to the front line each time. He has a reputation for being courageous and dependable in action. Known as a doer rather than a thinker. A genuine guy, whom his colleagues recall with fondness.

  ‘But being a bit of a dullard, he was overlooked for promotion several times. Lacked the intelligence and tact to rise very high, it seems. But when it comes to integrity and honesty, he is top-notch. Not the slightest blemish on that account in his entire career. A very forthright person, he is, if sometimes tactless. Gets into altercations sometimes for calling a spade a spade.

  ‘Now, his wife seems to be a different sort. A bit of a flirt who is not averse to having a quick fling when her husband is not looking. She is seventeen years his junior, and seems bored out of her skull in this middle- of-nowhere valley that Ganesh picked as his post- retirement home. Poor girl, it’s not been a great marriage for her.

  ‘I’m told that she spends a lot of time at Greybrooke Manor, more out of nothing else to do, I suppose. Bhaskar humours her and tolerates her feigned interest in his library. But she is also known to make eyes at Manu, who probably ignores her.’

  ‘That’s useful, Rajan. It fits in well with what I have observed. What about Abbas?’

  ‘He’s an interesting bloke. There seems to be little doubt that he is a crook of some sort. But what sort is the question. The police have been keeping an eye on him, but have not been able to lay their hands on anything to corner him. His resort loses money hand over fist, but he still runs it. Keeps a staff of about fifteen people, despite having very few visitors. Always deals in cash, it appears, and is never short of it. Something smells fishy there, for sure.’

  ‘Any talk of drugs?’ Athreya asked, and went on to narrate what he had overheard.

  ‘Bhaskar may have something there,’ Rajan said slowly.

  ‘They don’t say anything openly, but what you say seems consistent with the local police’s reactions when asked about Abbas. The resort may well be a cover for shady activities.’

  ‘Anything on Murthy and the folks here at Greybrooke Manor?’

  ‘Nothing much other than Murthy and Richie being unsavoury characters. The locals talk highly of Manu and Bhaskar’s
nieces. Bit of sympathy for Michelle due to her rotten husband. Huge respect for Bhaskar. Huge. And for Sebastian too, but Bhaskar is placed on a pedestal.’

  ‘And the staff at the mansion?’

  ‘Only positive feelings for them. The cook is reputed to have a sharp tongue but a heart of gold. Runs the place like an overbearing matron, it seems. What with having young women under her wing, along with some young men? Bit of a disciplinarian.’

  ‘The priest? Father Tobias?’

  ‘Harmless, abstracted bloke. Poor as a church mouse, I’m told. His family has been around in the Western Ghats for a couple of generations. Has a brother in Madikeri.’

  ‘And finally the victim? Phillip?’

  ‘You’ll be surprised at how little the locals know about him. His presence doesn’t seem to have registered around here. In fact, some of those I spoke to asked, “Who is Phillip?” when I brought him up. Rarely comes to town, I believe.’

  Hardly had Athreya thanked Rajan and hung up when his phone rang again. It was the fingerprinting man. Athreya sat down on a bench at Sunset Deck and took the call. This was going to be important.

  ‘Thought I’d give you whatever information I have at this point,’ he said. ‘There are several prints on the candlesticks on the altar, but they are not from the night of the murder. The prints of Sebastian, Dora and Murugan are all over them, but dust has settled on top of them in most cases. The same is the case with the altar.

  ‘But there is a funny thing about the altar. Judging by how dust has been disturbed or rubbed off, I think it has been handled extensively. However, there are no fresh prints.’

  ‘Gloves?’ Athreya asked.

  ‘Gloves,’ the fingerprinting man concurred. ‘And did you know that the altar top is not made of a single piece of stone? It is made of three separate slabs that fit neatly into each other.’

  ‘But isn’t that how it always is? Marble, granite and other stones come in slabs of fixed dimensions. They are cut and glued together during installation. That’s the case with all countertops—kitchens, offices or altars.’