Murder at Jaipur, page 1
A Camel Press book published by Epicenter Press
Epicenter Press
6524 NE 181st St.
Suite 2
Kenmore, WA 98028
For more information go to:
www.Camelpress.com
www.Coffeetownpress.com
www.Epicenterpress.com
www.bhartikirchner.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Design by Scott Book and Melissa Vail Coffman
Murder at Jaipur
Copyright © 2023 by Bharti Kirchner
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022946236
ISBN: 978-1-68492-085-3 (Trade Paper)
ISBN: 978-1-68492-086-0 (eBook)
Lovingly dedicated to:
Didi, Rinku, Tinni and Tom
For holding the light as I take another step
Contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
EPILOGUE
“Men honor property above all else;
it has the greatest power in human life.”
—Euripides
“Loss is nothing but change and change is Nature’s delight.”
—Marcus Aurelius
“Generosity is the flower of justice.”
—Nathaniel Hawthorne
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing is a solitary journey and trying to finish a book during the pandemic has introduced a new set of challenges. It is my good fortune to have been able to stay in touch with a small group of writers throughout this period, which resulted in a mutually supportive environment. I thank Judy, Jan, Roxanne, and Cherie, talented writers all. You deserve my sincerest thanks and very best wishes.
I consider myself fortunate to be working, once again, with my editor Jennifer McCord. I can never thank you enough, Jennifer. Your interest in this project, your many contributions, and our interactions have been a source of inspiration for me. My thanks also go to the Phil Garrett, President, Epicenter Press, for his many considerations as well as to others in his publishing team.
I am indebted to a number of friends and well-wishers, who are not connected with the book, but whose presence mean much to me. What follows are their names, in no particular order: Rekha Sood, Santosh Wahi, Dr. Lakhsmi Gaur, Nalini Iyer, Alan Lau, Shau Lee Chau, and Wendy Kendall.
I want to acknowledge the members of our Bookworm book group—Jan, Lyn, Teresa, Karla, Ginny, Karen, Judy, and Judyth. Thank you for your book suggestions and long convivial lunches.
And, last but not least, my deep gratitude flows to my husband Tom. Your love and caring enriches my writing. Ultimately, it is your steadfast support that makes it all possible.
ONE
Dear Maya,
Upon hearing from a mutual acquaintance that you’re on holiday in Kolkata, I decided to drop you an e-mail. You’re not far from me. You see I am now posted in Jaipur as the Inspector General of Police.
May I share a snippet of news that’s not public knowledge yet? Neel Saha, your mom’s partner, has been arrested on charges of stealing a rare ruby from a client. He’s now in jail. I know how much you love your family, especially your mom. Would you be willing to cut your vacation short and fly to Jaipur to give Uma a helping hand? Wish I could be there to welcome you, but I am on my way to Chennai with my wife for a family reunion. Shall return in about five days. Let’s catch up then.
With warm regards,
Mohan Dev
Smartphone in hand, standing by the window of her friend Lee’s flat in Kolkata, Maya reviewed the email, then read it for a third time, shock rippling through her. Neel behind bars? Good grief. Maya’s jaw dropped; her surroundings had gone dark. She trusted Inspector Mohan Dev, affectionately called the “top cop” by his subordinates, to provide her with accurate information.
She pictured the well-groomed, dignified officer, whose graying mustache spoke to his high rank in the Indian Police Service. Dressed in a khaki uniform and polished brown shoes, he wore the insignia of his rank on his shoulders with an impressive, straight posture. A matching beret couldn’t obscure his penetrating eyes. Last year, she’d worked with him on a homicide case in the Andaman Islands. He’d said he owed her for its successful conclusion. They had become professional friends of sorts. This was the first Maya had heard from him since leaving Andaman.
How could Neel be implicated in a robbery case? A deep sense of apprehension grew within Maya. For a heartbeat she listened to the horn of an autorickshaw and the silken voice of a cake-peddler calling out to the neighborhood children, the sound not so comforting now. She checked her cell phone, only to find a terse text message from Uma Mallick, her widowed mother, asking how she was doing. Well, she’d been out late with Lee and a few other chums last evening—after all, she had spent her youth in this town—and as a result had failed to respond to that message. Guilt gnawed at her.
Only a couple of days earlier, Maya had flown here from Seattle, her home base, on a well-deserved vacation, to be spent with her close friend, Lee. Last year, taking an assignment in the Andaman Islands, Maya had caught the culprit who murdered Rory Thompson, Lee’s husband. Widowed, with a child born since Rory’s death, Lee hadn’t yet gotten over that trauma. Maya had planned to hang around with her a few more days, then go to see Uma for a week in Jaipur before flying back to Seattle. She’d been growing excited about her Jaipur trip.
Maya suppressed a yawn, still not used to the Indian Standard Time. Given that she’d lived in the U.S. for over fifteen years—going to college and then joining the workforce—it had taken a bit of adjustment to the twelve-hour time difference and to get over jet lag. Anxiousness coloring her voice, she placed a call to Uma and, after being bumped to a voice mail, left a brief message. How she wished she could dash out and drop in on her mom in person right now, to get a full report from her, to experience her nurturing presence, and to assist her in any way she could. That would be impossible. Jaipur, capital of the state of Rajasthan, situated in the western part of India, bordered the Thar Desert, and shared a boundary with Pakistan. Its distance from Kolkata, located in the east, was 1500 kms, the flying time being two hours. That is, if you could manage to purchase an air ticket for this popular route on short notice
Cars zoomed by on the street below, even this early in a megalopolis that never slept. Maya loved Kolkata, her birthplace—the city that had produced Poet Laureate Rabindranath Tagore, high quality literature, the ceremony of Durga Puja, music, films, and a world class cuisine. Standing by the window, she watched the rising sun cast a warm yellowish glow on the red-brick mansion across the street, a historic edifice designed in the Mughal tradition. She read the time on the clock tower situated next to it: eight a.m. Lee and her three-month-old son were asleep in the adjoining bedroom.
With Uma’s chiseled face popping into her head, Maya’s worry deepened. In her role as a private eye, she managed the satellite Seattle office of Detectives Unlimited. Daily, she received urgent telephone calls, emails, and visits from victims or their relatives in need of her services. But this involved her mom. The very thought of her brought warm feelings to Maya’s heart. Uma, an honest, sincere woman who never lost her cool, who always communicated the “I care” message, and who lived to help others, but who, according to Inspector Dev, might now be seeking help for herself. Maya could almost see Uma’s squinting eyes, furrowed forehead, and an expression of disbelief that had stolen over her kind face.
Once again Maya wondered: What did materialize for Neel, Uma’s partner, a gemological expert, distinguished scholar of history, and raconteur?
The noise of a garbage truck outside the window punctured her thoughts. Although Lee had planned a jam-packed day for her to shop, picnic, take in a show and sightsee, Maya could already tell it wouldn’t go as planned. She decided then and there: at the very least she would hold off her morning run until after she’d spoken with her mom, even though the smog would worsen as the day wore on. She was about to rise and wander out to the kitchen to make a cup of chai—Lee had insisted that she should help herself in the morning—when her cell phone trilled from a side table. Maya snatched it.
“You read my message?” Uma’s voice was laced with a dark undertone. “You called me back right away?”
Those words reminded Maya that she didn’t always do so quickly. She bit her l
She swallowed and squared her shoulders. “Got an email from Inspector Dev. What’s going on, Ma?”
“Oh, dear child. I’m so worried I can’t eat or sleep.” Uma’s voice was sharpened with anxiety. “My Neel has been nabbed without a warrant. He’s in jail, where he’s on a hunger strike. I’m a mess.”
Hunger strike. The two words jolted Maya. Yes, she could envision Neel, an outspoken man, refusing food, doing so in protest. The more she pictured an emaciated Neel, the more her heart cried out, and the more she felt desperate to get him discharged from the prison. And the thought of Uma suffering, Uma who loved Neel so much.
Maya’s heart skipped a beat. “Is he at least taking water?”
“No, not even water. To the jail authorities it’s only a pressure tactic.” Uma’s voice sounded strangled. “Can you imagine how that makes me feel? He’s not a young man. What if he died in police custody because of prolonged fasting?”
“What has he done?” Maya asked, charged with curiosity mixed with dread.
“Nothing, absolutely nothing. They’re blaming an innocent man, of all things, for stealing a ruby. Can you believe it? Apparently, Section 41 of the Indian Criminal Procedure Code allows the police to arrest whomever they want, provided there’s ‘reasonable suspicion.’”
Phone to her ear, with the jumpiness she experienced, Maya paced up and down. She’d detected a vacillation in Uma’s voice, as though she wasn’t revealing the full story. “So, what kind of a ruby is it?”
“A star ruby, a huge purplish-red one, what they call a pigeon’s blood ruby. Neel feels terrible about its loss. Do you remember how Indian astrologers revere that gem, call it the ‘glorious sun?’”
It came to Maya’s consciousness in a sudden jolt, the tremendous importance of a ruby and other precious gems in Indian households. “Oh, yes, ruby stands for royalty. Doesn’t it? Ruby has cachet. Losing one is equivalent to a death sentence, astrologers say. So . . . did the police glimpse any evidence of this precious pirated property either in Neel’s possession or in your place?”
“Nope, not a trace anywhere. Neel thinks a mad collector has appropriated it. Gem hunters consider a ruby to be one of the most coveted. Its value skyrockets over time.”
“Who do the gem belong to?”
“Who else but one of the richest businessmen in Jaipur, the dashing, young, ‘cool stuff’ Rana Adani? Your age. He calls it Meree Ruby, or my ruby. We’re distantly related. Long ago, a cousin of mine, was adopted by an Adani.” Uma paused. “Soon after we moved here, Rana heard about Neel’s reputation as a gemstone guru. He wasted no time in hiring Neel to consult about his private gemstone collection handed down through four generations of his family.”
Six months ago, Maya now recalled, Neel had accepted a distinguished visiting lecturer position at a Jaipur college and he and Uma relocated from Kolkata. Maya couldn’t have been more pleased. Jaipur—a smaller and more livable town that boasted visual art, museums, forts, fine cuisine, and formal gardens, was also rich in culture, tradition, and jewelry-making. Neel had grown up there. His elderly father, Kavi Saha, lived there, although his name never came up.
“Neel couldn’t stop smiling when he told me how this high-profile assignment would put him on a level with the top gem appraisers in India,” Uma continued. “A valuation certificate from a respected professional like him guaranteed that a gem was natural and untreated, not enhanced in any manner. For a gem buyer, that’s a dream come true. Neel’s consultation with Rana was going superbly. They were tight—they would have long talks over endless cups of chai, running late into the night at his mansion.”
Maya’s mind raced. “Did you ever go with Neel?”
“You bet, often, until the ruby vanished from a display drawer inside a safe box in Rana’s bedroom. Vanished. Out of the blue. It was late in the evening when Rana called and filled us in on the mishap. He said he’d made a statement to the police but had no suspects in mind. We were stunned and speechless. Didn’t get a wink that night. At dawn, the police—their faces were so grim—came marching to our door. They picked up Neel under false charges, took him into their custody, shoved him into a police van against his protests and drove away. What a sight that was. I shake as I recall it.” The sound of a long sigh, thick with dread and disappointment, poured down the phone.
Maya peered out the window, churning the details in her mind and trying to make sense of them. The branches of a stout mahogany tree with dark green leaves shook violently from a gust of wind. “I’m told that collectors guard a gem with their lives. Tell me then, if you know, if Rana had a security system installed.”
“He did. Maybe the system wasn’t turned on or it was bypassed. The battery could have been dead. The police have done a thorough inspection for physical evidence, or so they say, and have no clue.” Uma’s voice shook. “Guess what my suspicion is? Rana has been careless. Forgot to lock the combination safe, busy executive that he is. He has at least a dozen servants running his mansion, not to mention the delivery men and construction crew who often lurk about. One of them could have swiped the darn stone.”
Maya took a stab in the dark. “How is Rana handling it?”
“Not too well. Rana believes that piece of rock is his talisman, his ‘third eye.’ It keeps him physically safe, gives him warning when needed, makes him who he is. Now that it’s a no-show, he’s beside himself. He’s homebound, says he came down with influenza, refuses to welcome visitors, including me.”
“Has the incident been reported in the news?”
“Not yet,” Uma said, relief evident in her voice. “Rana has suppressed it, with the clout he has in the media, and that’s quite all right. It’ll be a hot topic. Neel’s name will be all over in the papers. He’ll die of shame and humiliation, and I won’t be able to bear it. I’ll be under the magnifying glass as well.”
“I feel a need for hearing more about this Rana.”
“A most interesting young man, who went to college in America, then came back home to take care of his family fortune. A good-hearted business tycoon, he’s married to a Malaysian beauty.”
“Has Rana retained a private detective to look into the matter?”
“No. Wish I could fill you in more, but . . . my dear . . . for all I know this line is bugged and the authorities are listening.”
Such paranoia. Had she been a client, Maya would have tried to calm her down. With Uma, she found herself at a loss for words.
“You told me,” Uma said, voice rising in hope, “before leaving Seattle that you’d be here next week. Are you still planning on it?”
“Looks that way, Ma.” No doubt she’d pop in on Uma, renew their bond in person; Jaipur had other attractions for her as well. That included a garden cottage Uma had bought on the outskirts of the town. She often reminisced about relaxing in that tranquil, rural atmosphere, sitting in the garden, sipping lemonade, and listening to the birds. After a few days in noisy, busy Kolkata, Maya would welcome the change, which would also help her renew the bond with Uma. “And with this email from Inspector Dev—”
“Could you . . . make it a tad sooner? Both Neel and I would very much like you to . . . Having you close by would soothe me. Look at it this way. You’ll help free an innocent man, bring back the light of my life. That’s all I expect you to do. It goes without saying you’ll disrupt your time with your friends in Kolkata, which upsets me a whole lot, but . . .”
Maya gulped, cognizant of the disappointment she’d bring to Lee, her close buddy and gracious host. Yet she was so very aware of the distressed note in Uma’s voice.
Returning to the window, Maya watched a cat jump from a neighbor’s window ledge—a sturdy, muscular, long-tailed, gray-spotted Billi cat, a common specimen around here. It dawned on her now that she was in India where precious stones were important in the cultural context, referred to in the mythology, and mandatory in the attire that social events dictated, especially weddings. Families attached enormous meaning to these treasures, with the result that a huge jewelry industry had been built. Maya preferred to dress simply. She’d never paid much attention to gems and jewelry. A faint feeling of resistance rose in her; she suppressed it.
