Facecream could see Jaya through the kitchen window now; she was taking something out of the fridge.
The other servants were all accounted for. Bablu had gone home. Kamat was in town watching a film. And the mali was stoned in his room, tendrils of sweet smoke drifting out of his open window.
Boss should be arriving any minute now, Facecream told herself.
If Munnalal's killer did make a play for him, he was likely to approach through the back way. But she was ready. Before taking up her position, she had checked her trip thread and it was still taut.
No one else had passed through the gap in the wall since Facecream had laid her trap and she was beginning to wonder if she would ever know the identity of the person who had tried her door that first night.
"Backside clear, over," she whispered into the minitransmitter Tubelight had smuggled into the grounds earlier along with the earpiece receiver.
"Frontside clear, also-over," responded Tubelight, who was loitering on the main road in front of the entrance to Raj Kasliwal Bhavan.
Puri's Ambassador pulled into the driveway at 8:10. Tires crunched on gravel as the vehicle came to a halt.
"Boss has made penetration, over," reported Tubelight.
The detective stepped up to the front door and paused to take a deep breath.
Rarely had he found himself in such an unenviable position.
True, he had accomplished what he had been hired to do: against all the odds, he had managed to track down the missing servant and ensure that the spurious, half-baked charges against Ajay Kasliwal had been dropped. By any standard, it had been a brilliant piece of detective work-one that would rank in Puri's self-congratulating oratory in the years ahead.
But a great injustice had been done-not to mention a gruesome, premeditated murder-and Puri could not see it go unpunished no matter how devastating the truth might prove for his client.
The detective patted the outside pocket of his jacket, reassured by the feeling of his trusty .32 IOF pistol, and pulled the bell chain.
Footsteps clipped and echoed down the corridor inside the house. A lock was unlatched. The door opened and Ajay Kasliwal's face appeared in the gap.
"Puri-ji! Thank God you're here!" said the lawyer.
"How is she?" asked Puri.
"Sedated. The doctor's with her now. He says she's suffered some kind of mental breakdown. He's recommending she be kept here overnight and taken to his clinic in the morning for testing. She's been saying the craziest things, Puri-ji. Like you're out to ruin the family."
"I'm sorry it's come to this, sir," said the detective. "But I had to produce Mary in court. It was the only way."
"But I don't understand. Why did my wife insist it wasn't her?"
"I'll need to explain a few things," answered Puri. "But first things first. Something more urgent is there. Bobby has-"
"Yes, where is Bobby?" demanded Kasliwal, interjecting. "He was at the courthouse but disappeared. I couldn't find him anywhere and had to bring home his mother on my own. The media nearly ate us alive!"
"Sir, Bobby tried to-"
The detective's words were swallowed up by the sound of a vehicle tearing into the driveway and braking hard behind the Ambassador. It was a police Jeep. Inspector Shekhawat stepped out of it and opened one of the back doors. Bobby emerged into the light cast from the veranda.
"What's this?" exclaimed Kasliwal as the inspector led his handcuffed son to the door. "Bobby, are you all right? What's happened? Puri-ji, for God's sake, explain!"
"He was caught trying to enter Mary's room at the hotel where Mr. Puri and Mary are staying," butted in Shekhawat, officiously. "I was going to take him down to the station for questioning. But given Mr. Puri's cooperation in the past few hours, I agreed to do as the detective asked and bring him here first."
"Those handcuffs aren't necessary," said Puri. "He's not going to abscond."
The police-wallah appraised the prisoner like a fisherman trying to decide whether or not to put his young catch back into the river.
"I suppose you're right," he said, although he didn't sound convinced. "But I'm only willing to play along a little longer, Mr. Puri. I want to know what's been going on here. If I don't get some answers soon, then we'll do things my way."
Shekhawat unlocked the cuffs and Ajay Kasliwal ushered the party down the corridor.
Entering the sitting room, they found Mrs. Kasliwal lying deeply sedated on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. Her doctor, a man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair, was sitting at her side monitoring her pulse. At the sight of them, he made an irritated gesture.
"What's this, Ajay-ji?" he hissed, standing up. "I said no visitors. She's not to be disturbed."
Walking around the couch, he addressed Puri and Shekhawat directly.
"You must leave immediately! She's extremely sick. Ajay-ji, I don't know who these gentlemen are…"
"I'm Inspector Rajendra Singh Shekhawat," said the inspector, flashing his badge. "And this is Vish Puri, a private detective. Who are you exactly?"
"I'm Dr. Chandran, Mrs. Kasliwal's personal physician," he answered haughtily.
"Dr. Sunil Chandran, is it?" asked Puri.
"Yes, that's right."
"I understand you are Madam Kasliwal's rakhi-brother. Is that so?"
"Yes, we grew up together. We're like brother and sister. Now, what's all this about?"
"There's been a murder and we're here to find out who did it," Shekhawat answered.
"Well, now's not the time. She's had a mental breakdown. I've seen it before. The stress causes a kind of brain fever. You'll have to come back another time."
"I'm afraid it won't wait," said Puri. "Why don't you pour yourself a drink, Doctor-sahib, and sit down? I'm glad to see you, actually. You've saved us time in coming here."
"But I'm finished here for the time being."
"You're finished , that is for sure, Doctor-ji," said Puri sternly. "Now sit down."
"I'll do nothing of the sort!" shouted the doctor. "Ajay-ji, I'm leaving. Take Savitri's temperature every hour and let me know of any change. You'll be able to reach me on my mobile."
Dr. Chandran gathered up his stethoscope and bag and made for the door. But he found his exit blocked by Shekhawat who had one hand on the revolver peeking out of his shoulder holster.
"Do as Mr. Puri says, Doctor-sahib," said the inspector, his muscular jaw rigid with determination.
Puri positioned himself by the fireplace. Bobby knelt next to his mother, a mixture of anger and anxiety clouding his young face. His father stood expectantly, looking at the detective for answers. The doctor was sitting involuntarily in one of the armchairs with his arms crossed in defiance. The inspector guarded the door.
"The case has been a complicated one and required all my skills as a detective, but fortunately I was up to the task," began Puri.
Shekhawat rolled his eyes and looked at his watch.
"Mr. Puri, please, I don't have all night," he interrupted impatiently. "Who killed Munnalal?"
The detective bristled at the younger man's impertinence. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was having people butt in while he was trying to conclude a case. This was his moment and he would not be rushed.
"During my many years of service and duty I have learned not to share information about ongoing cases with my clients," he went on. "Often it is important they remain in the dark. This gives the impression that I am sitting idle. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth. Vish Puri does not do meter down. Thus, on the very day Munnalal met his fate, I went to his residence."