The Case of the Deadly Butter Chicken (37 page)

Flush pointed to the 'Gordon Cam' window on his laptop screen. It showed a close-up of a wall with a ceiling beyond.

'He's about halfway up.'

'Where's Khan?'

'Just got out of the shower.'

'Turn that thing around.'

'He'll be spotted, Boss.'

'Do it!'

Flush pushed the joystick to the left. The camera turned accordingly and the room came into view. Khan was sitting on the edge of his bed clipping his toenails.

'How about Vikas Patil?' asked Puri.

'Still sleeping. He had company.' Flush looked flushed. 'It was, um, lively, Boss.'

Puri pulled up a chair and sat down.

'What's that you're eating?' he asked.

'Chicken nuggets.'

The detective reached over, took the last one and bit into it.

'Not at all bad,' he said.

Puri ordered two more portions for himself, as well as a pot of strong, black coffee, and sat back and watched.

It was a long couple of hours. Vikas Patil didn't rise until nine-thirty (the cheerleader having left in the middle of the night). He took a shower, ate a plate of pasta for breakfast, called an unidentified girl and talked dirty with her for a while, and then sat in his towel watching an American sitcom. Khan meanwhile said his prayers, called his mother in Pakistan and stood for a long while looking out of the window.

Both men appeared to be biding their time; occasionally they both checked their watches. At ten-thirty, Khan's hotel phone rang. He answered it, listened for a few seconds and, without saying a word, replaced the receiver. Then he reached for the copy of The Times of India lying on the coffee table and opened the classifieds section. His back was now turned to the camera.

'Jaldi! Move the bloody thing across the wall!' ordered Puri.

The gecko started to crawl forward. By the time it had reached a position overlooking Khan's shoulder, the cricketer had found what he was looking for in the paper and, using his copy of the Koran, decoded the message. The detective could only watch him jot down some figures on a piece of paper, stuff it into his trouser pocket and leave the room.

Vikas Patil received no such call before changing into his match colours and heading down to the lobby to join the rest of the team.

Puri called Brigadier Mattu. 'Sir, one emergency is there,' he explained. 'By chance you've a copy of today's Times lying with you?'

TWENTY-SEVEN

ALMOST TWO HOURS later, Puri reached the top of the long flight of stairs leading to the Kotla Stadium VVIP stand. He was out of breath, beads of sweat trickling down his face. The usher on the door eyed him with concern. 'Do you need to sit down?' he asked in Hindi.

'I'm very much fine,' replied the detective. He took a big gulp of air before adding, 'Just my lunch actually - golgappa.'

The usher nodded sympathetically. It was common knowledge that once you started eating golgappas it was very hard to stop.

'Take a minute, sir. No hurry.'

The detective checked his watch. 'Match begins in five minutes, is it?'

The usher's answer was drowned out by the noise of a group of other guests coming up the stairs behind them. They flashed their invitations before entering the box.

'Match begins at twelve-thirty, sir,' replied the usher. 'Cowboys won the toss. They'll be batting first.'

Puri could feel the rhythm of his breathing slowing down. His complexion was cooling as well. But the tension roiled unabated in his gut. Everything was now riding on Brigadier Mattu. If he couldn't establish which of the messages in the Times classifieds had been intended for Kamran Khan then everything, all the efforts of the past forty-eight hours, would be for nothing.

Worse, there might not be another opportunity to catch red-handed the mastermind who was running the gambling syndicate.

Puri waited another couple of minutes, checking his mobile phone repeatedly to make sure he was getting a signal. He debated whether or not to call his father-in-law to find out if he had made any progress and decided against it. Brigadier Mattu needed to concentrate. Every minute, every second, counted.

A roar rose from inside Kotla Stadium - the crowd welcomed the batsmen to the field.

'Match is about to begin, sir,' said the usher.

It was now or never. Puri took out his invitation card, the complimentary one Satish Bhatia the Call Centre King had sent to him after their meeting, and gave it to the usher. But as the doors swung open, a voice called out from down the stairs.

'Chubby, you wait, na!'

Puri turned around to find his mother making her way towards him. 'What are you doing here? I told you to wait in the car,' he said.

'But I saw her, na. She and her husband. They're very much present!'

'Doesn't matter. We agreed. Now go home. I'll call you later.'

'No, Chubby, you listen,' she insisted, reaching the top of the stairs. 'Visiting Hardeep Singh's house unaccompanied - it was my mistake no doubt about it. Your getting so angry was totally one hundred per cent justified, also. But I've every and all rights to be here. Without my assistance her identity would not be known. It is only proper we two do conclusion of the case together.'

Puri shook his head. There was too much at stake to risk having his mother coming inside with him: the resolution of three murders and, with any luck, the breaking up of the Syndicate.

'The invitation is for one and one only,' he said.

'Actually, sir, the invitation is for two,' interrupted the usher. 'See here . . . it says "for yourself and one guest".'

'See,' said Mummy with a smile, offering her son her arm. 'Now come.'

Puri didn't have time to argue with her. But he wasn't about to agree to her demand without driving home his advantage once and for all.

'Mummy-ji, I want your word that after today you will not get involved in any further investigation.'

She responded with a wounded expression. 'How you can say that, Chubby? I did solution of the case after all.'

'That's not the point, Mummy-ji.'

'You don't think I proceeded in a right and proper way?'

'You've done well - better than well, in fact.' His voice sounded sterner than he intended and he tried to soften his tone. 'But I've told you before, no? At your age and all you should not be running around. It is not a mummy's role, actually.'

Mummy folded her arms. 'Fine, na,' she said in an indignant tone. 'If that is your wish, Chubby. You've my word and such.'

Another roar came from the stadium. The first ball of the match had been bowled. Puri took his mother by the arm.

'Just one question is there, Chubby,' she said before they entered the box. 'If and when, that is after today, any small matter should arise . . . there's nothing stopping me bringing it to your attention, na?'

He eyed her wearily.

'What type of small matter, exactly?'

'Someone facing difficulty or requiring assistance, for example.'

'Wanting professional assistance, in other words.'

'Correct.'

'Then I'll do whatever is in my power to help, Mummy-ji. It's my duty, after all. Now come. We've a mystery to conclude.'

Inside the VVIP stand, they found themselves in distinguished company once again. Many of the great and the good who'd been at the Durbar dinner were present, most of them gathered around the bar. Puri spotted Sandeep Talwar and his wife, Harnam, chatting to that foul-mouthed woman Neetika Sahini. Industrialist Ram Dogra was in attendance, as was his wife, Megha - both in conversation with Mrs Anita Bhangu, the pooch lover.

The detective found Satish Bhatia, the Call Centre King, relaxing in one of the armchairs in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass pane that overlooked the field.

'Hearties apologies for the interruption, sir,' said Puri as he greeted him. 'Just I wanted to extend my greetings - and thank you, actually. For the invitation, that is. Most kind of you.'

'The least I could do,' said Bhatia as he stood up to shake the detective's hand. 'I'm glad you could make it.'

'This is my Mummy-ji,' continued Puri. 'She's a number one fan of cricket, actually.'

Bhatia greeted her with a polite namaste. 'Pleased you could be here, Auntie-ji,' he said.

'Your own mother is present, also, na?' asked Mummy.

'She was.' Bhatia looked around the stand but couldn't find her. 'Must have gone to the ladies' room.'

There were two empty armchairs next to him.

'Don't mind if we join you?' asked Puri.

'Well, actually, I'm waiting--'

'So kind of you,' said the detective as he sat down and and took in the view. He could make out troupes of cheerleaders performing along the boundary. Ripples passed through swathes of fans like wind through a wheat field.

Somewhere down there was Rinku, waiting.

'This is the life, no?' added Puri as Mummy took the empty armchair to his left.

'It has its perks, Mr Puri,' said Bhatia, who had one eye on the match and the other on his BlackBerry. 'But sometimes I miss being in the stands surrounded by all the fans. You feel closer to the game down there, a part of it. Up here . . . well, you quickly lose touch.'

Puri watched one of the opening batsmen smack a delivery for six and the stadium's giant screen light up: BAZOOKA! The euphoria sounded muffled through the glass. Bhatia was right: it wasn't the same up here in this ivory tower.

'Looks like Kamran Khan's next,' he commented as the Pakistani prepared to make his approach from the south end of the field.

Puri checked his mobile phone. Still nothing from his father-in-law.

'Any progress, Mr Puri?' asked Bhatia.

'With my investigation, sir?'

'What else?'

'Undoubtedly, sir. The pieces of the puzzle are coming together, actually. Just one or two remaining to be put in place.'

'You sound confident.'

'Always.'

Khan delivered his first ball, a perfect delivery that forced the batsman on to his back foot.

'Well bowled!' called out Bhatia with a clap of his hands that was somewhat hampered by his BlackBerry. 'He's in good form. Amazing that he's back in the game so quickly after what happened.'

'I believe he's returned out of fear for his life,' said Puri. 'Someone is threatening him. Making him believe he'll meet the same fate as his father if he doesn't play.'

'Why do you say that?' asked Bhatia.

'I was in Pakistan few days back and met with him.'

'You were in Pakistan, Mr Puri? Didn't you call it enemy territory? I'm amazed.'

'Sir, I do not mind admitting that I was full of apprehension. So long I've lived with hatred for that nation, actually. Reality on the ground, though, was quite different. I found the people most accommodating and hospitable. No animosity was there. One distinguished gentleman provided me with a most important breakthrough in the case, also.'

'Well I'm glad to hear it.'

'Yes, sir. Whole thing - going there, crossing the border - was a life-changing experience we can say. Made me realise something, actually. We people carry around baggage we don't even realise we're carrying.'

'That's very profound, Mr Puri,' murmured Bhatia, eyes still fixed on his BlackBerry screen.

Mummy had turned in her chair and was surveying the company, searching for Kiran Singh. Puri placed one hand on her arm and gave it a pat as if to say, 'All in good time.'

Finally, his phone rang.

'Don't mind, haa?' he said to Bhatia, answering it as he stood up.

The detective began to pace up and down in front of the window. 'Haa . . . haa . . . haa,' he said, blocking his host's view.

Bhatia, visibly irritated, signalled for him to move out of the way.

'So sorry, sir, foolish of me,' Puri apologised, one hand over the receiver. He shifted to one side. 'Haa . . . haa . . . haa,' he repeated, adding in a loud voice, 'Very good, very good! Send me SMS with the details, sir . . . Good of you. I would be coming round later. We'll celebrate. Something stronger than your usual tomato soup.'