Sonia was deep in thought as she stepped out of Naresh's room and opened the door to the adjoining room. It was a neat, simple room minus the Patkar pomp, almost as if its owner wished to be declared as different. A mattress on the double bed was neatly rolled up, while the other half was covered in a pristine white bedsheet. This room evidently belonged to Mahesh Uncle. It was obvious that he wished to use minimum facilities provided by his brother's family.
Sonia stepped out of the room and nearly collided with Yamuna Maushi. The housekeeper handed her a bunch of booklets. “Ajaybaba asked me to give you these.”
Sonia accepted the horoscopes, held together with a ribbon. “I'm glad we met again, Maushi. You've known the family for years. Can you describe them to me? Tell me about Naresh, please.”
“Oh, he's a nice sort. Quiet and barely talks. Very interested in keeping fit. In fact, he's working out in the Gym right now.”
“But what does he do?”
“Helps Ajaybaba out at the office. But otherwise he's really most secretive about his life.”
“And his father?”
“Oh, Mahesh Uncle is quite different, very much like Patkarsaheb—I mean, Ajaybaba's father—but without that urban polish, of course. He loves his native place and misses it. How often he has said to me that he will go back and replant the Mango tree plantations on his land. He is willing to work at it all over again rather than lose his old, familiar life. He truly loves his land!”
“Maushi, do you honestly think Naresh murdered Satish?”
“No.” The plump woman's answer was prompt and decisive.
“Even if it was his paper cutter that killed Satish?”
“Even if that was true, I would still find it immensely difficult to believe that Naresh is capable of such a crime!”
Sonia was silent as they moved towards the staircase. Then she said, “Do you remember seeing any strangers hanging around the house on Wednesday, the day of the murder? Or any visitors perhaps?”
“Not that I noticed. Uncle had a visitor but that was on Tuesday. I particularly remembered him—or rather,
them,
there were two visitors—because I thought they were kind of odd, the Hindi film
goonda
—thug—type. I showed them both into the study where Uncle asked me to call them. But they didn't wait for long. I know, because when a few minutes later I went to ask if he wished me to serve any refreshments, they were gone. Mahesh Uncle was sitting very still in a chair. I asked him if anything was the matter and he said there wasn't.”
“And you didn't see these two guests again, anywhere near the house on Wednesday,” Sonia confirmed.
Maushi shook her head. “No. I'm quite certain about it.”
“Oh well, I suppose they're of little consequence.” Sonia shrugged. “But you feel that no outsider would have had a chance to steal Naresh's paper cutter? Or, for that matter, even attempt to kill Satish? That any stranger would have been immediately noticed by you?”
“I think so.”
“Thank you, Yamuna Maushi, you've been tremendous help! Can you show me the way to the Gym, please?”
The family Gym was behind the house. Sonia walked out of the front door, wondering how anyone could work out in forty degrees heat, when she almost banged into a tall, lean man. He was dressed in a white cotton shirt and khaki trousers and threw her an unconcerned look.
“Oh hello! Mr. Patkar? Mr. Mahesh Patkar?” she ventured.
“You are . . . ?” He frowned.
“Sonia Samarth. I'm investigating Satish's death.”
“You mean officially?” he asked sharply, the unconcern vanishing and the frown deepening.
“Of course!” Sonia blinked at his aggressive tone. “Do you mind?”
“Yes!” he replied, quite fiercely. “I mind very much! I object to outsiders meddling in our house! Taking it to pieces and exposing it to public humiliation!”
Mahesh Patkar glared at Sonia, then strode past her with long, purposeful strides. Sonia stared after him, surprise rapidly turning to indignation. Then, within seconds, she was back to normal, shrugging off the man's insolence and belligerence as lack of culture. Or was it, perhaps, simple insecurity? Mahesh Patkar certainly held no semblance to the rural, sensitive guy Yamuna Maushi had sketched. Was it merely his concern for his family, in the light of public disgrace? Or was it fear—fear that sprung from some secret knowledge of the truth? Thoughtfully, she made her way towards the Gym.
It was well equipped, installed with the latest machinery. A lone figure was huffing and puffing on the treadmill. Clad in a vest and shorts, Naresh looked young and impressionable. Sonia approached him with a smile and he faltered, a little abashed.
“Hello, I'm Sonia Samarth. Mr. Ajay Patkar has asked me to look into Wednesday's unpleasant incident.”
“And I'm Naresh, Ajay's cousin. Excuse me.” He hastily picked up his towel from a pile of things, gave himself a thorough rub, and pulled on his jacket. But not before Sonia had noticed a deep brown mark on his upper arm. Her gaze narrowed. That mark rang a bell. As if she ought to recognize it. She frowned as she jogged her memory for the intangible answer!
“Yes, Miss Samarth, what can I do for you?” Naresh asked, zipping up his jacket.
“Let me come straight to the point. You know that it was your paper cutter that killed Satish. Can you enlighten me on how it happened to be used as a murder weapon?”
Naresh shrugged. “Would you believe me if I said I don't know? I couldn't find that particular cutter for the past few days and I thought that I'd misplaced it. It's a crazy situation! Why me and why Satish? I'd never even met the guy before!”
“But you do understand that the evidence of the cutter could be incriminating, making you the prime suspect.”
“I know. But why would I kill somebody I've never known? And with my own paper cutter, for God's sake! And leave it as positive evidence for the whole world to discover? Damn it, I'd use more cunning than that! This seems like a desperate hasty job—premeditated perhaps, but certainly not with the intention of hushing up the entire matter! In fact, I'll go so far as to claim that someone is deliberately out to frame me!”
“I'm sorry that, logical as it may seem, the police may not take that view. They go by facts and evidence. Look at it this way: the paper cutter was yours. Chances are that it has your fingerprints on it. You knew Satish was in the house. And most important, you have a suspicious background, since you belong to the Rebel Cross gang!”
Naresh looked as startled as if she had knocked a punch into his nose. Sonia's unblinking gaze observed the conflicting, transient expressions on his face.
“I'm right, am I not?” she emphasized softly. “I saw the cross on your arm and also the cashewnut juice you use, to make that mark with. The moment I saw the cashewnut juice bottle in the guest-room cupboard, I linked it with your tropical Konkan background, and the cross confirmed my suspicions. You deliberately put a dead mouse in the guest room, because you didn't want Satish to sleep there. Because—”
“Yes, I did put the mouse in the room, but I
did not
kill Satish!” Naresh's face changed colour and his skin seemed tautly drawn over the bones.
“I know. You placed the mouse there because you have your Rebel Cross meetings in the guest room every Wednesday night,” Sonia continued calmly. “But the police won't believe you. As far as they're concerned, the case would be as straight as a line. Mr. Patkar, I think you may very soon need a good lawyer and I suggest that you start looking for one, right away!”
“But—”
Before he could utter his protest, sudden hasty footsteps crunched loudly on the gravel outside. Two uniformed men burst into the Gym, their faces grim and non-committal.
“Inspector Divekar!” Sonia exclaimed.
“Mr. Naresh Patkar, I have an arrest warrant for you!”
“My God! The case is over, then! Naresh did it, just like I thought!” Jatin whistled.
Sonia threw her purse on the table and fondled Nidhi, who curled comfortably on a soft, blue cushion.
“Did you find anything worthwhile at the Ad Agency?” she asked Jatin.
“Nothing much. Everyone was shocked to hear about Satish's death. Satish was a liked guy. No, he had no quarrels with anybody, neither office colleagues nor neighbors. But all this information is redundant, now that Naresh is caught!”
“Accused but not convicted,” Sonia reminded. “I can't help thinking that this case is a little like pedaling downhill. Often when you bicycle down a slope, you barely have to pedal. And you enjoy the effortless ease of the ride so much that quite often you miss the signboards! To all appearances, everything is so painlessly cut-and-dried in this case. But that, in itself, leaves plenty of room for doubt! I have this suspicion that the police have missed a signboard along the way, Jatin, and I have every intention to find it. Something is not right here. Something I ought to see, but cannot. Will you please leave me alone for a while? You can switch on the music while you go out and order some lunch for us in the meanwhile.”
Jatin nodded as Sonia settled in her chair. He switched on the music system, and loud drumbeats rocked the room. Jatin grinned. His boss never failed to surprise him. She insisted on blaring music to motivate her thought processes. She'd once told him about her “I formula” and when he'd looked bewildered she had added, “Nothing like music and dance to
inspire insight
into
intuition,
and
instigate investigation
!” Her source of inspiration was anything from soul-searching and philosophical non-filmy Urdu
ghazals,
romantic Hindi film songs, to hard rock and jazz. The priority, in each case, went to the volume, which had to be almost ear-splitting. Only then did the music flow meditatively deep through the body. Jatin closed the door, which mercifully dulled the sound. He had no relish for his boss's preference of volume.
Sonia stared into space, her mind working in unison with the quickening rhythm of the drumbeats. A finger absentmindedly twirled a lock of hair. The other hand distractedly fondled Nidhi's silky head. Voices of the people she had met that day repeated their dialogues in her mind, like characters in a film.
She stood up abruptly and began swaying to the drumbeats, then began dancing. Her eyes were closed meditatively, as the music took hold of her body. Then all of a sudden, she stopped. With renewed resolve, she took the bunch of horoscopes Ajay Patkar had given her, and spread them out before her. Each horoscope was subjected to the minutest observation. One by one, she set each booklet aside, until she stared at the last one in her hand. For a moment, her expression was that of bewilderment and then, impulsively, she exclaimed aloud. She took one of the almanacs from the shelf, referring to it with a great deal of interest. Then once again, she immersed herself in the horoscopes, particularly the last one, simultaneously scribbling furiously on a pad.
The serviced fan worked noiselessly overhead, efficient in its muteness. Just an occasional squeak betrayed its age.
Half an hour later, to Jatin's surprise, the musical jing-bang was abruptly turned off.
He peeped into the room. “Lunch's arrived!” he announced.
Nidhi immediately meowed her approval. But Sonia stood up, slinging her handbag onto her shoulder. “You go ahead and eat it. I'm going out!”
Jatin and Nidhi watched, amazed, as she zipped past them and was gone. What had happened? He ought to be kept abreast of the latest, Jatin felt. Grumbling silently to himself, he poured some milk into Nidhi's bowl. Then, together, they set down to accomplish the important business of polishing off their respective lunches. Nidhi finished off the milk in seconds. Jatin, however, took his time enjoying the delicious fried bread and mixed vegetables, the famous
Paav Bhaaji
of Pune. Fortunately, his boss's high-handed manner did nothing to interfere with the justice he usually did to his meal!
After lunch, Nidhi returned to her new bed and Jatin settled down to wait. Instinctively, he sensed that the music had worked. Something was on.
An hour elapsed before Sonia returned, a pleased, triumphant smile radiating on her face.
“Come in, Jatin, let's talk!” she said, and waved him into her office.
“Have some good news?” he asked cautiously, following her inside.
“Yes, I do. But the first thing you do, after we finish our talk, is to stock the fridge with fresh coconuts!” Sonia declared.
Jatin groaned. “But, Boss, the details, please!”
“You know, Jatin, we've been such naïve fools. Trying to eat the raw dish before us without making any changes to it—either additions or subtractions! The result was that all along we'd been barking up the wrong tree!”
“How's that?”
“There's this scene from a Hindi film that I vividly remember. The hero wishes to call the heroine for a date. So he sits in a college classroom, writes a note, and aims it at the seat where the heroine normally sits. Unfortunately, the heroine and her friend have changed places that day and the hero's note falls straight into the friend's lap, creating a lot of comedy and misunderstanding! This sequence has been at the back of my mind for some time now. It's funny how these films affect your mind and thinking!”
“Boss—which is the wrong tree?” Jatin asked with forced patience.