by RV Raman
Sebastian had been with Bhaskar from the time the younger man had been an uneducated, wayward seventeen-year-old. As a Spanish immigrant and a recent orphan, Sebastian had been unemployed and penniless in Austria. Bhaskar had pulled him out of the mire that many boys of Sebastian’s economic standing were prone to sink into. He had offered Sebastian a job at his antique shop and had given him a roof over his head.
Most importantly, he had given the young orphan hope, and something to look forward to in life. Alongside this, he had educated Sebastian and taught him many things, small and big, that enabled him to move in the circles of law-abiding, self-respecting citizens. Sebastian had, in turn, demonstrated an eye for antiques and the ability to distinguish between genuine artefacts and fakes. He had picked up the trade quickly and become indispensable to Bhaskar.
For over thirty years, he had been Bhaskar’s right hand, from before Bhaskar became a cripple, from when he ran a flourishing antique business—first in Europe, then in India. In Bangalore and Chennai, and later, after Thomas Fernandez’s death, at Greybrooke Manor as his caregiver, secretary and major-domo.
Now with Sebastian gone, Bhaskar was at a complete loss. He seemed paralysed physically and mentally, unable—or unwilling—to be the dominant force he had always been. Since morning, Manu had stepped into the vacuum left by Sebastian’s death, taking charge of the mansion and administering tender care to his father. Dora, too, had stepped up to the occasion, quietly working with Manu to run the household.
Looking down at Bhaskar, Athreya felt sorry for him. The man in the wheelchair had faced the prospect of his own unnatural death with equanimity, even élan. He had devised a scheme to thwart his would-be killers, and had written two conflicting wills. But the murder of Sebastian seemed to have blindsided him.
Be that as it may, Athreya still had a job to do. Bhaskar had commissioned him to solve the crimes, and he was on the verge of doing so. But first, he had to confront the older man and get him to speak of the secrets he had so far withheld.
‘It is time,’ he said softly to Bhaskar, ‘for us to have a little chat. The time has come for you to take the cover off what has been hidden for over twenty years. Only then will there be a resolution to this affair. Only then can you rest in peace.’
Bhaskar looked up at Athreya with hollow eyes and said nothing.
‘I know about Marcel Fessler’s death,’ Athreya continued. ‘About the Künzi Brothers and the Balsano landscapes. And about Jacob Lopez. I have all the information that is publicly available in Vienna, and some that is not. I have also spoke to Enrico. But there are gaps that only you can fill. What you choose to tell the world is entirely up to you. But having commissioned me, you must let me into your confidence.’
Bhaskar let out a long sigh and slowly nodded his head.
‘I owe it to you,’ he concurred. ‘If you indeed know about what you just mentioned, I am astonished. Today is only the third day after Phillip’s murder. How you managed it is beyond me. But you have more than justified the faith I put in you.’
He looked out of the window and went on.
‘Shall we go outside?’ he asked. ‘The vale is bright and sunny today. The fog seems to have lifted. Do you really know who killed Sebastian?’
‘I do.’
‘Then the fog has lifted in your mind as well. It’s appropriate that we go outside. I hope you don’t mind a stroll.’
Five minutes later, they were moving slowly along the walkways, Bhaskar in his wheelchair and Athreya walking beside him.
‘I believe you have called for a gathering at 7 p.m.?’ Bhaskar asked. ‘What do you have in mind?’
‘I hope to introduce you to Sebastian’s murderer.’
‘Really? I look forward to it. But now, let me tell you what I haven’t told anyone since I let my father into the secret. He carried it to his grave, as did my dear wife Sujata.
‘As you know, I used to deal in antiques and other forms of art. I ran a tidy business for many years in Vienna, a crossroads for art of all forms. Sitting between eastern and western Europe, cheek by jowl with Italy and other cradles of art, a stone’s throw from France and the erstwhile Soviet Union, Vienna saw a lot of art pass through its hands. Even decades after the Second World War, it was not uncommon for a forgotten Nazi treasure to surface every once in a while. The collapse of the Soviet Union unleashed another wave of discoveries. In other words, Vienna was just the place to be for someone like me.
‘Sujata and I had decided to return to India soon. Manu was approaching ten, and we wanted him to grow up in his country. We had already delayed our return by three or four years more than we had intended, and so Sujata and Manu moved to India. That was 1993. I was to follow in two or three years. I was not a cripple then.
‘But one day—a single day—in 1995 changed our lives. Forever.’
Bhaskar pulled out his pipe, filled it slowly with tobacco from a leather pouch and lit it. He fell silent as he puffed on it, gradually building the fire in the bowl, his eyes gazing unseeingly past Sunset Deck at the hills beyond. Athreya waited, leaning against a stone bench.
‘It was a fine day that dawned, with no indication that it would wreck my life in so irreversible a manner. Sebastian had gone out to show some pieces to a customer, and I was alone in my shop. What I did not know was that something had happened the night before that would plunge me into hell.
‘The Künzi Brothers, along with their break-in man, Jacob Lopez, had entered the house of Marcel Fessler, a reclusive art collector. Two days earlier, Fessler had anonymously purchased four paintings by the famous Fabian Balsano. Fessler’s agent had purchased four landscapes for an astonishing twenty-seven million dollars.
‘The four canvases were still in their packaging—long metal tubes—when Jacob and the Künzi Brothers broke into Fessler’s house. They were yet to be catalogued and added to Fessler’s list of paintings. The world was not aware that he had bought them, and did not expect to see the four paintings for many years.
‘Reclusive collectors, who purchase art anonymously, often keep them in their private collections, away from the eyes of the world. An item bought by such a collector could disappear, for all intents and purposes, for several years, sometimes for the rest of the collector’s lifetime. It was only when such a collector died did the world come to know about the purchase, and say, “So he was the one who bought that painting”.
‘As luck would have it, the only thing Jacob stole before being surprised by Fessler was the tube with the four Balsano landscapes. He had passed it on to the Künzi Brothers, who were outside the Fessler residence.
‘When the alarm was raised, all three thieves fled. Jacob, being of darker skin by virtue of his Indian origin, was recognized, but the Künzi Brothers, who were outside and had a start, escaped unseen. They had made away with the Balsano landscapes, and nobody knew that they had taken them. In fact, nobody knew that the Balsano paintings had even been stolen.
‘So the Künzi Brothers found themselves in possession of some seriously hot property at a time when the police were buzzing around. They had responded very quickly to the alarm. The Künzi Brothers had to find a hiding place, and, as luck would have it, they chose my antiques shop. They apparently threw the tube in through a window, with the intention of retrieving it early the next morning. I was, of course, totally unaware of this.
‘But the next morning, Sebastian, who always rose early, found the tube, and hid it among the rafters of my shop. There was some space between the thick horizontal beams and the slanting thinner ones, and Sebastian kept it there. He later told me that he hadn’t known what the tube had contained, but it had knocked down several antiques, and he had put it away. With my shop crammed from floor to ceiling, there was no place to store a long tube. He had therefore decided to put it on a rafter.
‘But before I came to the shop that morning, he had left to meet a customer and didn’t have an opportunity to tell me about the tube.
So, I came to the shop unaware of what had transpired. Hardly had I stepped in when two men entered after me. They were the Künzi Brothers.’
Bhaskar paused again, and they resumed their slow journey down the walkways. Athreya remained silent, letting the older man tell his story the way he wanted to.
‘What happened in the next one hour was sheer hell. The Künzi Brothers shut the door from inside and assaulted me. When I professed ignorance of their metal tube, they thought I was lying. They tied me up and ransacked my shop. But they didn’t find their precious paintings.
‘In anger, the turned on me. Not believing that I had no clue to where their paintings were, they brought two lead pipes from their car and began thrashing me. Lead pipes wrapped in cloth tend to cause serious injuries that may not be visible from the outside. They may not break the skin, but they will shatter the bones.
‘They pounded me mercilessly and broke my legs in multiple places. Several times, I lost consciousness, but they splashed water on me and woke me up. Each time they would ask, “Where are the paintings?” How I endured that hour, I don’t know. But I will never forget the agony of it.
‘Just as I passed out for the last time, I saw a familiar figure materializing behind the Künzi Brothers: Sebastian. He hit one of the villains on the head and knocked him down. After that, I don’t know what happened.
‘The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital three weeks later. It was the middle of the night, and Sebastian was beside me. He told me what had happened, and said that he hadn’t told anyone about the Künzi Brothers assaulting me. The story he had told everyone was that I had been badly injured in a car crash. I didn’t know why he asked me to do this, but I played along. After all, he had saved my life.
‘Over the next few weeks, the rest of the story slowly emerged. That’s when I learnt of Fessler’s death and Jacob’s arrest. I also learnt that the Künzi brothers had died in a car crash in the Danube valley.
‘At first, Sebastian feigned ignorance. But I knew better. I knew that he had somehow engineered a car crash forty miles from where we had lived. He never told me the details, but I had no doubt that he had wreaked revenge on the Künzi Brothers for what they had done to me. I saw it in his eyes, in his young face that I knew so well. Each time he saw my mangled legs, he would shed tears and a look of grim satisfaction would shine through.
‘I still had no idea what had become of the Balsano landscapes. In fact, I was under the firm impression that the Künzi Brothers had been mistaken in the first place. When I came out of the hospital two months later, I was confined to a wheelchair. I couldn’t go around my shop very much, and it was Sebastian who managed everything.
‘It was only four years after I had returned to India that I discovered the four paintings. When I confronted Sebastian, he was unapologetic. In fact, he was surprised and offended. The four paintings were mine, he said. They were small compensation for what the Künzi Brothers had done to me. They were mine to do what I chose with them.
‘Fessler had died heirless, and had drawn up an elaborate will, dividing his collection among a dozen museums. The Balsano landscapes, never having been catalogued in his collection, were never noticed. His will had long since been executed and his assets distributed as per his instructions. That was essentially a closed chapter.
‘As far as the art world knew, the Balsano landscapes were owned by someone somewhere, and there wasn’t even the faintest suspicion that they had been stolen. Which meant I could sell them openly if I chose to do so, and they would fetch a handsome price. Whether to keep them or to sell them, Sebastian said, was my decision.
‘I consulted my Sujata, my wife. She agreed with Sebastian. She too said that they were small compensation for what I had suffered. Providence had gifted me the paintings. After all, I had spent a fortune on medical bills.
‘I then went to my father. He too was of the same view as Sujata and Sebastian. Besides, he told me, if I were to rake up the old story and tell the world that the paintings had been stolen, I would leave myself open to criminal proceedings. The fact remained that they had been in my possession all these years, and I had kept quiet.
‘In addition, I would bring down serious indictments on Sebastian’s head—the very man who had saved my life and had stuck with me through all this. He could have chosen to sell the paintings himself and pocket the money. He would have been a rich man.
‘I thought about it, and decided to remain silent. There was no risk in it except one: Jacob Lopez. He would soon be released, and we did not know how much he knew. Did he know that the Künzi Brothers had thrown the metal tube with the Balsano landscapes into my antique shop? We had no idea. It was best that we stayed low.
‘That’s what I did, Mr Athreya. I stayed low. I spoke nothing of the four paintings. Wherever I happened to be–Bangalore, Chennai or here—I always found a safe hiding place for them. That is the story of my crippled legs and of the Balsano landscapes.’
They went silently along the walkways as Bhaskar fell quiet. Athreya considered all that he had heard, and decided that Bhaskar had spoken the truth. That is what had happened in the past.
Now, they had to deal with the present; the present in which Jacob Lopez had probably come to India. If the paintings had been worth twenty-seven million then, they would be worth much more now. That was enough to kill for.
By this time, they were near the chapel. Athreya stepped towards it. After a moment’s hesitation, Bhaskar followed. They entered the building together and went up to the altar.
‘You always found a good hiding place for the paintings,’ Athreya said softly. ‘That’s what you said. When you renovated Greybrooke Manor, you actually built a hiding place for them, didn’t you?’
Bhaskar stared silently at Athreya, his facial expression giving nothing away.
‘That is what led to the murders,’ Athreya went on.
‘Somehow, Jacob Lopez discovered the hiding place.’ He turned and faced the dais. ‘The altar. Four of the five metal tubes that support the middle slab are hollow. Four tubes for four paintings. The central one houses the mechanism to open and close the hiding place.’
He went up the dais and opened the long cupboard at one end of it. There, he turned on two switches and returned to Bhaskar. Both of them stared at the altar.
‘The mechanism to open the altar is operated wirelessly,’ Athreya continued. ‘It is operated from the console of the wheelchair. It is indeed a good piece of work, well designed and well executed. I did not have the heart to force it open.’
Athreya turned to Bhaskar and spoke softly.
‘The chapel door is locked,’ he said. ‘Please open the altar.’
Bhaskar stared at the mural of Jesus for a full minute, his face etched in tragic lines. At length, he moved his hands and operated the console on his wheelchair. Half a minute later, a soft click sounded from the altar and the middle portion of the altar slab rose by about four inches.
‘Rotate the stone clockwise by ninety degrees,’ Bhaskar said softly. ‘That will expose the tubes.’
Athreya pulled out a pair of gloves from his jacket and put them on. He rotated the altar slab clockwise. As the stone turned, the openings of the four tubes became visible, and Athreya shone a torch into them.
‘There is something here,’ he said.
‘Can’t be,’ Bhaskar said in alarm. ‘The paintings were removed after Phillip died.’
‘These are not paintings,’ Athreya replied quietly as he dipped his gloved fingers into one of the tubes. They contain something I have been looking for…blood-soaked floor mats. The ones that were under Phillip when he was killed.’
One by one, he pulled out the contents of the tubes. The two missing mats, each cut into two pieces so that they could fit into the tubes, came out. Four pieces in all. And in one of the tubes was a pair of gloves.
‘These are Phillip’s gloves,’ Athreya continued. ‘The ones he used so that
he left no fingerprints. He had somehow figured out how to operate the console and open the altar. That’s why he had to bring the wheelchair to the altar that night. Without it, the altar could not be opened.’ Athreya rotated the altar slab anticlockwise, and when it was aligned with the tubes below, he pressed it down. It didn’t move.
‘I’ll have to do it from the console,’ Bhaskar said and touched the screen a few times.
The slab sank smoothly and clicked into place. The altar now looked as it always had, smooth and even. On the floor lay the bloodied mats and a pair of gloves.
‘So, Phillip opened the altar that night,’ Athreya concluded. ‘But, unfortunately for him, the rest didn’t work out as he had intended, and he ended up paying the ultimate price.
‘Now, Mr. Fernandez, tell me the rest of the story. The story that Sebastian told you early Friday morning.’
‘Okay…I will tell you. As I said, I probably owe you this. Besides, there may be no getting away from it as far as you are concerned. I will narrate what Sebastian told me, but I reserve the right to say nothing to the police. If you repeat what I will now say, I might deny it altogether.’
‘I understand. The choice will be yours.’
‘At about 2 a.m. on Friday night, Sebastian shook me awake. This is what happened…’
* * *
‘What is it?’ Bhaskar asked Sebastian, waking up with a start. ‘Some problem?’
‘Jacob Lopez is here,’ Sebastian said. His face was suffused with alarm and anger. ‘The swine has found the Balsano landscapes.’
Sebastian held up the four rolled canvases to support his claim.
‘Jacob?’ Bhaskar sat up in shock. ‘How do you know? Neither of us know how he looks. We’ve never seen him.’
