Different Senses (10 page)

“There is a mechanical elevator
at each end of the settlement,” Jyoti said. “We look after
everyone, not just the fit.”

I smiled and accepted the
rebuke, but I still couldn’t imagine living like this, halfway
between land and sky on rickety poles. “What about the farms with
animals?”

“Those are built on
embankments. They’re the oldest structures in the region, the work
of many people, over generations. There. You can see one.” She
pointed to what I’d first thought was a small natural hill in the
distance. “My cousin owns that farm. In the wet season, he gathers
the herds into the barn and pens. He has to feed them from his
stores, of course, until the water goes away. We all hope for a
short wet season.”

She was right about these
people being poor. Though everything was clean and carefully
mended, nothing that was new. The people who stood in doorways to
watch the stranger’s arrival wore worn, patched lungis, shirts and
shawls. Impeccably laundered and pressed clothes though. Strolling
into the settlement in my tailored Kelon kurta pajama and with my
family’s money behind me, I wondered if Jyoti found my sense of
guilt ironic. Even the poorest relative I could claim lived in
better housing than this.

Jyoti’s aunt and uncle, both
dressed in pure white, bowed as we approached their home. I
imitated them, and Jyoti did the introductions. “Javen, my aunt,
Aditi Varija Kartik, and my uncle Janak Priti Sunil. Aunt, uncle,
this is Javen Ythen.”

“Welcome to our home,” Sri
Sunil said, through Jyoti’s translation. “Please come in.”

The house was small, and the
living area cramped enough with the five of us. There were two
other people, young, solemn-faced men, standing against the wall,
watching and not speaking. “My sons, Sri Ythen,” Sri Sunil said.
“They have come to listen to what you can do for us.”

“Let me bring you some chai,”
his wife said, while we sat. I was directed to what looked like the
best chair. A pretty young woman’s portrait, draped in white with
flowers in a vase before it, held pride of place on a table at the
side. Sapna, I guessed. Her brothers stood like an honour guard on
either side of the picture.

The atmosphere in this room was
no less strained than that on the journey, the family’s grief
overlain with suspicion of me and anxiety about what I could or
would do. I welcomed Jyoti’s calmness among the dark emotions, but
she had to be suffering same as me from the press of them on her
mind.

We waited for the chai to be
served, and then I asked Sri Sunil, Jyoti translating, why he
thought his daughter hadn’t killed herself. He covered his face,
unable to speak, my question triggering waves of crippling grief in
parents and sons.

No one spoke while I
surreptitiously rubbed the pain between my eyebrows, the spot that
sorrow always hit. His wife finally answered for him. “Our daughter
would not have done this without saying goodbye. No matter how much
pain she was in. She would have left a message. She loved us....”
Her trembling voice broke, and Jyoti’s mother took her hand.

“I’m sure she did, Shrimati
Kartik. Sometimes notes go missing.”

“We searched everywhere,” one
of her brothers said, startling me. “Her room, around where...where
she did it. Nothing.”

“Okay. Let’s leave that aside
for now. Who would have a motive for killing her?”

A spike of raw hate and anger
from the uncle, who glared at me. “That worthless piece of offal
she married, that’s who.” Jyoti’s tone was calm as she conveyed his
words, but I could almost translate without her, such was the force
of his emotions.

“And why would your son-in-law
kill his wife?”

“For money,” he spat.
“Insurance, taken out the month before she died.”

“Ah. The police...?”

“Did nothing. They said there
was no evidence of foul play. But that man was in debt and killed
my child for profit!”

Both aunt and uncle collapsed
into tears again. I let Jyoti and her mother comfort them, while
Sapna’s brothers watched me with dark suspicion. Insurance was a
powerful motive, no doubt about it. But motive didn’t make murder.
I needed to see the forensic report on the body, but if there had
been defensive wounds or bruises, surely the local police would
have investigated.

When things were a little
calmer, I asked the mother, “Tell me about the baby. What
happened?”

She wiped her eyes. “Sapna
worked at Ranjit’s Equipment and Seeds. She was due to finish
within the week, since she was but a month from giving birth. She
was to come and stay with us until then....” She said something to
Jyoti and bowed her head.

“
My aunt asked me to
explain,” Jyoti said. “Sapna was making a routine call on a
customer, delivering drenches for the man’s
kolija
herds. She
stopped her vehicle when she felt contractions, thinking to walk
them off. But it was labour starting. Her water broke and the baby
came too fast. Another farmer who was walking on the road found the
two of them and took her to the doctor but nothing could be
done.”

“Did she call for help?”

“No phone signal.”

“
Kina
devale
,” I said to the aunt.
I’m so sorry.
I knew very few phrases of Nihani but that one, all Medele
cops learned. I turned back to Jyoti. “So nothing could have saved
the child?”

“Not out there. Even if the
phone had worked, the chances of the doctor getting there in time
to save the child were small. So he told us, anyway.”

“And she killed herself at the
same spot?”

“Yes. A rope over a tree
branch. She was not found until the evening, when her husband went
looking.”

Forcing someone to hang herself
would be bloody difficult, and leaving no trace, impossible, unless
the killer forced the victim by threatening someone they loved. It
was possible, but not very probable. I kept my thoughts to myself.
“I’ll need to investigate for myself. Speak to the police, look at
medical reports. Some of the questions will be quite personal. Do
you permit this?”

Jyoti asked the aunt and uncle,
and they nodded. “We want justice for our child,” the aunt
said.

I’d brought a printed
authorisation
pro
forma
, which I asked them to sign. I
couldn’t force anyone to answer my questions but the police would
have to give me what they had, thanks to my shiny new
investigator’s license.

“Okay. So I’ll ask around, see
what I can find out, and return for supper. Jyoti, will I need you
to speak to Sapna’s employer and friends?”

“No, they speak Kelon
well.”

Good, because I didn’t think
she’d really like to hear what I might have to ask. I sure wasn’t
going to tell the girl’s parents either.

~~~~~~~~

The local police station had
been built on one of the few areas of naturally raised land in the
area, augmented by earthworks to raise it even higher. I couldn’t
imagine what policing was like during the wet season. Criminals
might stay indoors but rural police had so many other duties.

A middle-aged police officer
greeted me politely and with some surprise as I walked into the
little foyer. “Good morning, constable. I’m Javen Ythen, formerly
Sergeant Ythen of the Hegal force. Medically retired.”

He shook my hand. “Nice to meet
you, sergeant. Constable Girilal. Can’t imagine what brings you out
to the Flats. We don’t get many visitors.”

“No, I bet. I’m doing a favour
for a friend of mine, cousin of Sapna Sunil.”

“You mean Sapna Aditi Janak?
The poor girl who hanged herself?”

“Yes, that’s her. Her parents
are still pretty upset. Convinced themselves it wasn’t actually a
suicide.”

He shook his head. “I know. I
went over it and over it with them, and we searched high and low
for a note, but the doctor who did the autopsy was certain as he
could be it was suicide. I didn’t know what to do for them. It’s
the first suicide we’ve had in the area since I took up this
position twenty years ago, and we’ve never had a murder in that
time either. What do you think you can do for them?”

“Only double check that
everything’s been done that should be—which I know it has,” I added
quickly because I didn’t want to insult this man. “It might not do
any good but at least they’ll know I tried. Can I look at the
reports? I’m a licensed investigator and they’re my clients,
officially.”

He checked my ID and
authorisation because he might be rural but he wasn’t sloppy, then
pulled out the file. “Just to warn you, the images are
upsetting.”

“I’ve seen hangings before,
unfortunately.”

“Well I hadn’t, and I hope
never to again. The poor husband, seeing her like that. A terrible
thing.”

He readily gave me copies of
the reports, including from the surprisingly thorough autopsy, and
when I asked about Sapna’s baby, he produced that file just as
happily. “I felt bad for that family. They’re honest people. Known
them all my life.”

“You grew up here? But you’re
Kelon.”

“Half,” he said with a grin.
“No pure bloods here. Mother is Nihan, my father’s three-quarter
Kelon. There’s been a biracial community here for about a hundred
years. Every so often someone marries in from Jirnin Rocks or
thereabouts. Most of the indigenous you see are mixed too.”

There wasn’t anything in his
features to indicate mixed heritage—his hair, eyes and skin brown
like mine—but then there often wasn’t. “The family said her husband
was Kelon.”

“
Nope, he’s like me.
Can’t tell by looking but he’s mixed, grew up here too. But he uses
a Kelon-style name and went to mechanic school in Usartel, so a few
folks think of him as more Kelon than Nihan. His family were
Reformed Deists, so the indigenous
udawatha
don’t like to claim him.
It’s a bit complicated,” he added, scratching his jaw.

“Sounds it. So you investigated
the deaths of mother and child, and nothing raised your
suspicions?”

“Not a thing. I’m very sorry
for the family, but I couldn’t see it as anything but bad
luck.”

“No. Do you think this
Doctor....” I squinted to read the complicated signature.
“...Nihar, would speak to me about this?”

Girilal chuckled. “Sure he
will. Doc Nihar can talk under water. Once you get him going, you
won’t stop him. Just leave yourself plenty of time. He loves
company.”

I grinned. I knew the type.
“Sure. Thanks for the help, Constable. If I want to find Ranjit’s
Equipment and Seeds, and the husband’s business?”

“Both down that road back
towards Hegal. The seed store is on the left fork on the Usartel
road, and Sri Kamlesh’s place is before you get to that junction,
on the right. You’ll see them a way off. They’re on raised land,
like this. The doctor’s clinic and house is behind the
station.”

“Amazing community you have
here, Constable.”

“Thank you, sir. We do our
best.”

Since I was there, I figured I
may as well see if the doctor had time to talk to me. I could spare
an hour or so, if he did.

Standing outside the station, I
appreciated how massive a project it would have been to build such
an extensive raised area with proper drainage, and strong enough to
withstand yearly flooding. The height gave me a view down to the
river, brown and sluggish. I imagined the land below the hill
covered with muddy water, and the foetid odour of damp and weed
that even now, hung faintly in the air. Not my idea of a place to
live.

Like my grandfather, a family
doctor, had done while he was still working, Doctor Nihar had his
clinic attached to his house. An elderly auto sat in the garage, so
I hoped that meant the owner was home.

He was, just saying goodbye to
a mother and toddler as I walked in. All three gave me wide-eyed
looks of surprise. They really didn’t see many strangers around
here. “Good morning, sir. Are you Doctor Nihar?”

He looked to be my granddad’s
age, short and spry, green eyes and high cheek bones a sign of his
mixed race, and with a cheerful smile that invited trust even as he
radiated a little suspicion of the stranger turning up so suddenly.
A good doctor face. “I am, and who might be asking?”

The mother and her son left
hastily. I waited until the door closed before answering. “Javen
Ythen, from Hegal. Do you have a minute or five, doctor?”

He looked around the empty room
and grinned. “Oh, I think I can. Take a seat. Don’t have a
receptionist today, but I expect it’ll be quiet now. All the rush
is in the morning. What can I do for you?”

“I’ve been hired by the family
of Sapna Janak to enquire into her death. They’re not satisfied it
was suicide.”

“Well, now that’s going to take
some time to talk over. Come over to the desk so I can spread the
notes out for you.”

If I’d thought I’d be able to
talk about Sapna’s death right away, I was wrong. Before he’d
discuss that, Doctor Nihar wanted to know what my job was, and how
I’d left the force, winkling the fact of my empathy out of me,
along with my family background and the fact Granddad was a doctor
and my twin a vet. I had to explain in detail how I’d met Jyoti and
the case at Kirin’s lab too. Only when he knew everything about me
excluding my preference for topping and bottoming during sex, could
I drag the conversation back to why I’d come. “Sapna? You did the
autopsy?”

“I did, and before you give me
any nonsense about me just being an ignorant country doctor, my
qualifications are just as good as any of those fancy pants in
Hegal or Kardil or even back on Kelon. That girl killed herself,
I’d stake my savings on it. Unless someone talked her into it by
threatening someone close to her, she put the rope around her neck
voluntarily. There were no drugs in her system, not a bruise on
her, not a scrape or cut. No one knocked her out or held her down.
You can check all my records and images, Sri Ythen. I sent them to
a colleague at the University in Hegal and he agreed with me
completely. I didn’t want to make a mistake with this.”