by RV Raman
‘That’s right, but that’s not what I am saying. The three pieces here are not glued together. They just fit precisely next to each other.’
‘Why would they do that?’
‘I’m not sure. But there is something else too. The wheelchair.’
‘Go on.’
‘Parts of the wheelchair had been rubbed down after it was wheeled into the corner. There are two handles at the rear of the wheelchair, which are used to push or pull it. If there was one place that should have had prints, it is these handles. But they have no prints. Zilch!’
‘Not even old or smudged prints?’
‘None. The handles have been wiped clean.’
‘If the handles have been wiped clean, it’s possible that they were handled by someone without gloves. Then, after the job was done, that person wiped the handles.’
‘Exactly!’
‘The hands that touched the altar wore gloves, but the ones that wheeled the wheelchair didn’t. That’s interesting.’
‘There’s more. Parts of the armrests had been wiped clean too. The armrest is full of Bhaskar’s prints, as can be expected. But there are some that belong to Phillip, too. The parts that have been wiped clean are probably the ones someone would hold on to if they were moving the wheelchair.
‘The other interesting aspect is the prints on the console and the joystick assembly. What is intriguing is that here, there are no prints at all—not even Bhaskar’s. Again, zilch. Wiped clean. I don’t think blood spilled on to the console and the joystick. Some traces would still be there if it had, especially in the natural cracks on the leather covering of the joystick.’
Holding his phone in his left hand, Athreya was listening intently. His right hand was drawing invisible figures and words with its index finger on the stone bench—a sign that the owner’s mind was working in high gear.
‘One of the staff members says she heard the whir of the wheelchair at night,’ Athreya said slowly. ‘If that is true, someone drove it. The console and the joystick were used, presumably just before the murder. But later, it was wheeled into the corner and rubbed down. There just may have been a pattern here.’
‘If there is a pattern, sir, I don’t see it,’ the fingerprinting man said.
‘Thanks for this,’ Athreya said. ‘It’s very useful. By the way, did you do the last piece of work I’d requested?’
‘Yes, sir. We’ll know the results tomorrow.’
After the call, Athreya sat still as stone at Sunset Deck. For fifteen minutes, he didn’t move. The only movement came from two fingers of his right hand as they furiously scribbled invisible words and phrases on the bench. Athreya’s erstwhile colleagues used to joke that they would have cracked most cases sooner had they known of a way to decipher the invisible shapes Athreya’s fingers made when his mind was working hard.
At length, he stirred. He had decided what he needed to do next. He had to spend some time alone in the chapel. Just as he rose, his phone rang for the third time. It was the police doctor. He had done the autopsy the previous night.
‘You were right, sir,’ he said. ‘The contents of the stomach show it clearly. The victim was killed between one and a half and two hours after his last meal. If dinner finished at 11 p.m., he was killed between 12:30 a.m. and 1 a.m.’
Athreya slowly pocketed his phone and made his way back to the mansion. The case had changed drastically. There were a number of people who had been up and about between 12:30 a.m. and 1 a.m. And his hunch had been right.
Michelle had lied about the time of death.
* * *
Athreya went early to the dining room, about ten minutes before breakfast was to start, and stood there for a moment looking around. He went to the near end of the long table and sat down on the chair there, surveying the other chairs around the table. After a brief moment, he rose and adjusted the position of some chairs that were set along the two long sides of the table, then returned to the chair on which he had just sat.
The head of the table was where Bhaskar always sat, and it was often one of the younger folk who sat at the other end. Today, Athreya wanted to sit at the tail end of the table for a reason. As he settled into the chair and began reading a newspaper, Manu walked in.
‘Good morning, Mr Athreya,’ he said as his glance lingered on Athreya and his choice of seat.
‘Morning, Manu,’ Athreya replied.
‘Trying a different seat today, sir?’ Manu asked with a smile.
Athreya shrugged and returned the smile.
‘Not a bad idea,’ Manu continued as he strolled over and took one of the chairs on the side of the table. ‘Who knows, it may give you a fresh perspective.’
Athreya blinked in surprise. Was it just a fluke, or was the younger man uncommonly perspicacious? Either way, he had got it right.
‘Always useful, isn’t it?’ Athreya replied. ‘A new perspective.’
‘Good morning, Mr. Athreya,’ Dora’s voice sounded from behind as she walked in. ‘I was looking for you in the drawing room. I saw you jogging early. Hope you have worked up an appetite.’
‘Good morning, Mr. Athreya,’ Sebastian echoed as he wheeled in Bhaskar in the unmotorized wheelchair.
‘Oh. I’m sorry I didn’t see you at this end of the table,’ Bhaskar apologized. ‘Thought it was someone else. Good morning.’
People began streaming in behind Bhaskar, and within a minute, everyone, including Richie, had come in. They all looked a little more relaxed today than they had been at dinner the previous night. They seemed to be coming to terms with the new reality, and perhaps with the shadow of suspicion hanging over them. Conversation was more natural than the previous night’s, and there was a sprinkling of laughter as well.
Athreya ate quickly as he kept an eye on the progress of the others. He had to make his move when everyone was at the table and, hopefully, concentrating on their breakfast. He didn’t want someone like Richie, who ate quickly and didn’t have the courtesy to wait for others to finish before leaving the room.
When most people were a little more than halfway through breakfast, he adjusted his position slightly so he could see all the faces around the table.
‘I have a piece of news,’ he said casually as he picked up his cup of coffee, as if to sip it. ‘Fresh evidence has come in.’
As the sparse conversation around the table paused, he went on.
‘Phillip did not die at 2;30 a.m. as we first supposed,’ he said in a clear, loud voice. ‘He was killed at 12:45 a.m.’ He chose to declare a specific time instead of the usual time window for a reason. By conveying certainty and precision, the assertion he was making would have a deeper impact on those listening. As soon as he said it, he began sweeping his eyes over the faces around the table rapidly. As he had hoped, the reactions were varied. Some eyes snapped to him, while some others completely avoided him.
Dora dropped her spoon, which clattered to the floor. For a fleeting moment, Athreya saw dismay shrivel her face before she dived after her spoon in an effort to hide her consternation. It was obvious that she was avoiding Athreya’s eyes.
Beside her, Michelle choked on her water and burst into a fit of coughing. Even the flush the coughing had brought to her face failed to cover the gathering pallor. Her lips were already trembling violently when she let go of her glass and buried her mouth in her napkin. All the while, she had kept her gaze away from Athreya’s.
Next to her, Richie had frozen. He had been reaching for the butter dish when Athreya had dropped his bombshell. His startled eyes, now suddenly looking haunted, and remained riveted to the table. His extended arm, instead of reaching for the butter, snapped back as if it had touched fire.
Beside him was Abbas, calm and collected as ever. He betrayed nothing. Except for a momentary halting of his knife, which was cutting his omelette when Athreya spoke, he betrayed no outward sign of having received major news.
Farther up the table, and cl
osest to Bhaskar at the other end, Varadan slowly placed his knife and fork on his plate and picked up his napkin. He dabbed his lips carefully as his glazed eyes remained fixed on the table before him. It was apparent that his lawyer brain was recalibrating events in light of the fresh evidence.
What was common between all the five people on Athreya’s right was that they were avoiding looking at him.
But it not so with the others. Bhaskar, Manu and Sebastian were staring at him across the length of the table. Bhaskar’s eyes were drilling holes into Athreya’s head. He had realized what Athreya was up to. A moment later, Bhaskar’s own gaze swept over the faces around the table.
Manu’s eyes were dancing as a smile tugged at his lips. I knew it, the look on his face said.
Sebastian’s face had a similar look to what Athreya had seen when the former had discovered that the hinges of the chapel door had been oiled. Bewilderment alongside an intense effort to comprehend the new information.
Jilsy had a horrified look on her face. Along with the horror was deep revulsion, as if she were watching a particularly revolting horror movie. So deep was the disgust that it caught Athreya unawares. In a searing flash of insight, he understood the reason behind it. All of a sudden, some of the unresolved questions in his mind found answers.
Meanwhile, beside her, Ganesh’s slow brain was just beginning to register the import of what Athreya had said. His mouth had fallen pen and his uncomprehending face was turned towards Athreya.
’12:45 a.m.?’ Bhaskar demanded from across the table. ‘Are you sure?’
Athreya nodded. ‘The police doctor called. I had asked him to perform an autopsy as soon as possible, and to examine the stomach’s contents,’ he explained, and went on to repeat what the man had said. ‘Phillip was killed between one and a half and two hours after his last meal. If dinner finished at 11 p.m., he was killed between 12:30 a.m. and 1 a.m.’
‘You asked him,’ Bhaskar growled. ‘Were you expecting this?’
Michelle, Richie and Abbas were still not looking at Athreya. Varadan was, and Dora was stealing glances at him through the corner of her eye.
‘Yes,’ Athreya said softly. ‘I was expecting it.’
‘That changes everything,’ Bhaskar said loudly. ‘If I recall correctly, many people were up and about between 12:30 a.m. and 1 a.m. Almost everyone.’
‘That’s right,’ said Athreya. ‘At least four people have acknowledged being out at that time in their testimonies. The rest of us could very easily have gone out again after retiring. I, for instance, went into my room at 11:50 p.m., and have no alibi after that. Nothing would have stopped me from sneaking out of the back door at 12:30 p.m.’
Suddenly, a choked gasp sounded from Jilsy. As he had been speaking with Bhaskar, Athreya had noticed the sickly look on Jilsy’s face going from bad to worse. By now, she had acquired a greyish pallor. She leapt to her feet, clasped her hands over her mouth and fled towards the washroom. Seconds later, faint retching sounds reached the dining room.
Dora threw a distressed glance at Athreya and went after Jilsy. A few long moments later, Ganesh excused himself, rose to his feet and left the dining room.
Neither Richie nor Michelle finished their breakfast, and Abbas seemed to have suddenly lost his appetite. Varadan was once again looking at Athreya disapprovingly; just as he had done the previous morning when Athreya had announced that there had been a murder and had led people to believe that Bhaskar had been killed.
Bhaskar and Manu entered into an animated discussion about what the new development meant, while Sebastian listened, contributing from time to time. Without meeting Athreya’s eye, Michelle mumbled an apology and rose. Richie was quick to follow, but without an apology.
‘Mr. Athreya,’ Varadan said severely. He was visibly angry now. ‘What have you achieved by this needless melodrama? I suspect you planned this one too, as you had planned the previous one. And you chose to speak of the autopsy at the breakfast table. All the three ladies are very upset. So I ask you again: what have you achieved?’
‘I did not enjoy this any more than you or Jilsy did, Mr Varadan. ‘But I had to do this. My apologies for taking the liberty, Mr. Fernandez,’ said Athreya as he turned to face Bhaskar, ‘but I have been charged with solving this crime.’
‘Then,’ Varadan retorted, ‘I suppose you have achieved something through this stage show?’
‘Yes. A part of the puzzle has fallen into place. As a lawyer, you will appreciate this, Mr. Varadan…a lot more is at play here than just a straightforward murder. Unless I strip away the extraneous, I will not be able to see the core clearly.’
Chapter 15
Half an hour later, Athreya was knocking on Michelle’s door. She had sent him a text message, asking him if he could come up to her room. Athreya had agreed, and had strolled up the stairway to the first floor. As soon as he knocked, the door opened, and Michelle asked him to come in and take a chair. Her face was streaked with tears and she was trembling.
‘I’m sorry, Mr. Athreya,’ she sobbed. ‘I deceived you. I didn’t know what else to do; I am caught in a trap. But before that, I must thank you.’
‘Thank me?’ Athreya asked, genuinely surprised.
‘Yes, I’m grateful to you for not calling out my deception in the dining room in front of everyone. You could easily have accused me then and there, and I would not have had anything to say. That’s what the police inspector would have done.
‘But thanks to your kindness, they all think that it was an error on my part. They all heard what I had said yesterday: I am a GP and know little about estimating the time of death. So thank you, Mr Athreya, for preserving my dignity.’
Athreya opened his mouth to respond, but she beat him to it.
‘You knew I was lying, didn’t you?’ she asked.
‘Well…let’s just say that I thought it was a possibility.’
‘You had your own estimate of the time of death?’
‘A very rough one based on my own experience. I thought it was around 1 a.m. The time window you suggested seemed too late.’
Michelle nodded and wiped her face.
‘You know why I did it?’ she asked.
‘Your husband was here until almost 2 a.m. that night.’
She let out a gasp and sat down on the bed.
‘When I asked you to come with me to the chapel to estimate the time of death, you came up to your room to get your medical bag. But you took a very long time. I figured that you had called your husband.’
‘What else could I do, Mr. Athreya? I couldn’t knowingly cast suspicion on him, could I?’
Athreya remained silent, watching her. She stood up, removed her jacket and draped it on the back of a chair. As she did, the loose, forearm-length sleeves of her shirt rode up to her elbows. On her forearms were bruises. Some old and some new. She realized it at once and pulled down her sleeves, but it was too late.
‘He can be a hard man sometimes, Mr. Athreya. Especially when he is angry.’
‘I’m sorry, but anger is no excuse.’
‘Anyway, let that be. I wanted to talk to you to…to…ask your advice. I’m stuck, Mr. Athreya, stuck like a kitten in a pipe. I can’t go forward, and I can’t go back. I don’t know what to do. I see no way out.’
‘Tell me, Michelle, does the phrase “the mongrel” mean anything to you?’
‘Mongrel?’ she repeated, bewildered. ‘No. I mean, nothing beyond the English meaning of the word: a street dog.’
‘The mongrel?’ he asked again.
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
‘Have you ever heard your husband use this phrase?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘How about Abbas?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure you have never heard it mentioned by Abbas or Murthy?’
‘No, never. What are you driving at?’
‘If you haven’t heard
it, Michelle, you are better off not knowing. You’ll be safer. At any rate, don’t repeat this to Abbas or your husband.’
‘Safer? You’re frightening me, Mr. Athreya.’
‘I’m sorry, but I had to ask. Tell me, do you believe that there were attempts on your uncle’s life recently?’
‘Yes.’ Michelle’s eyes went round. ‘The intruder even came into his room to kill him. Thankfully, Uncle had his automatic with him.’
‘Who do you think sent him, Michelle? And where do you think he hid after being shot in the leg? There aren’t many places around here to hide.’
Michelle’s eyes became even rounder. Her mouth opened to form an O. Slowly, she gathered her wits. Athreya watched her silently as emotions flashed across her face.
‘Tell me honestly, Mr. Athreya,’ she whispered at length. ‘Do you think Abbas killed Phillip thinking that he was Uncle?’
‘I can’t answer that yet because I still don’t know.’
The emphasis on the last word was not lost on Michelle.
‘And Murthy?’ she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
‘Same answer, Michelle. I don’t know.’
‘Am I in for grief, Mr. Athreya?’
‘Likely. Quite likely.’
‘Uncle says I should leave Murthy—divorce him,’ she blurted out, as though taken by a sudden urge to confide in him.
‘Does Murthy know that Mr. Fernandez said that?’ Athreya asked softly.
Michelle nodded slowly, realization dawning on her.
‘Uncle is right,’ she said. ‘I’m a trusting fool. I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut.’
She looked up suddenly, fierce determination rising to her face. She squared her shoulders and stared straight at Athreya. ‘What do you think I should do?’ she demanded.
‘All I’ll say is this, Michelle. Know your husband for what he truly is. Know your friends for what they truly are. Let the scales fall from your eyes. Then make your decision. It’s yours, and only yours, to make.’
‘And as far as Phillip’s murder is concerned?’
