Murder in Moonlit Square, page 16
The boy moved quickly and smoothly to take the money and then retreated to a safe distance. ‘The old man who was lost, ji,’ began the boy. ‘He is no longer lost.’
That’s news to me, thought Avtar, surprised it had not been reported by the media.
‘The old man has returned to where he came from.’
Back to Pakistan? wondered Avtar. But how could that be possible? And how would a boy like this have that information? His world was the streets of a small part of a giant city. Pakistan was like the moon to him. Avtar allowed himself a wry smile; Pakistan was like the moon in as far as anyone else in Delhi had any chance of going there either.
Avtar felt that the cryptic conversation was not leading anywhere. ‘I have given you a reward,’ he said. ‘You must keep your side of the bargain and tell me about the lost man.’
‘I have told you, ji. He has returned.’
‘I do not understand,’ said Avtar. ‘To where has he returned? To Pakistan?’
Now the boy looked confused. ‘Pakistan? No, ji.’
‘Then where is he?’ asked Avtar.
‘He has come back here,’ said the boy. ‘Let me show you.’
He stood and took a couple of steps towards the alley leading to the street beyond. What could Avtar do but follow?
CHAPTER 39
Sister Agatha entered Avtar’s small office. Apart from Avtar’s desk and chair, there was a sofa, an easy chair and an old filing cabinet squeezed into the space. The room was tidy. The desk had a computer, a little-used note-counting machine on one side and a statuette of Ganesh on the other.
Sub-Inspector Kumar suggested Sister Agatha sit behind the desk, saying it would make her feel at home. In charge. She smiled noncommittally but obeyed. The policeman assessed the terrain, then closed the door and sat in the easy chair, his back to a window that looked onto the courtyard. The glass was partially obscured with horizontal strips, making it difficult for passersby to see in, but feasible for someone inside to watch hotel comings and goings.
The two sat in silence. I know this trick, thought Sister Agatha, but I’ll not let him lure me into senseless babbling while he sits quietly. She was pleased he had not tried more basic tactics, like standing over her while she sat, to use his height to physically intimidate her. That, she knew, she would not have tolerated – which might have led to an unfortunate confrontation.
The silence rolled on. The policeman smiled, as if they were enjoying a respite from the constant buzz of life outside, as if they were old friends for whom speech had become redundant – such was their instinctive mutual mental understanding.
Sister Agatha deployed the power of prayer in her defence. Easy to sit silently when you had so much to say, and to pray with the inner voice. She’d long ago realised that many of the world’s problems were caused by people saying too much and praying too little. She relaxed into the rosary. Starting with the Sorrowful Mysteries seemed most appropriate.
Time passed.
‘Sister Agatha?’
She registered that someone had spoken, but she’d become so engrossed that it took a moment to emerge from the spiritual into the temporal world.
‘Sister Agatha?’ Louder this time.
She looked up, saw the sub-inspector, then smiled in surprise.
‘Yes, I am still here,’ he said, no longer looking so relaxed.
‘Of course,’ she nodded. ‘I was just realising I’d got all the way through the Sorrowful Mysteries and into the Joyful. Thank you for providing the prayerful interlude. People do not reserve enough time for the spiritual in their lives these days. It’s refreshing to meet someone who still does. Especially a police officer with so many important and urgent duties demanding your attention.’ She knew he was trying to make up his mind about whether she was making fun of him or not. Either way, she had shown him that the silent treatment would not work on her. What would he try next?
‘Why are you here, Sister?’
Okay, she thought, the direct approach. ‘As I said, to ask a favour.’ And there goes the ball back across the net.
‘A favour?’ he repeated.
‘I congratulate you on your hearing, Chief Inspector. You have it exactly.’ A cheeky lob.
‘Sub-Inspector,’ he corrected her. ‘Please explain.’ Straight return down the centre of the court. Nothing tricky.
‘Of course, Inspector. Apologies. Sub-Inspector. There is a matter, pertaining to the school, that I hope Mr Mehta may be able to help with.’
He raised his eyebrows, then nodded for her to continue.
‘A private matter pertaining to the school, of no relevance to your investigation, which I hope you can respect.’ A firm backhand towards his back line. Game to Sister Agatha.
‘In a matter in which national security is at stake, when the lives of citizens are at risk, when all the agencies of the state are on high alert, when a murder has been committed…’ He paused, as if aware his voice had risen, and made a conscious effort to speak quietly. ‘In such a matter, Sister Agatha Murphy from Ireland…’
Sister Agatha winced slightly, as if the tennis balls coming back at her over the net were at such a speed that it was pointless even trying to hit them back.
‘In such a matter, would you be so kind as to let me, a representative of one of those public protection agencies, be the one to decide what is relevant to this investigation.’
Sister Agatha knew when she was beaten. So she told him. She wasn’t sure he believed her. But that was the problem with the truth. It could be so boringly unimaginative and lacking in conspiracy that a suspicious mind was bound to mistrust it. ‘I only ask that you keep it confidential until the time is right,’ she concluded.
He grunted, only partially satisfied at best, thought Sister Agatha. But if I can just extricate myself from this cosy tête-à-tête before Avtar returns, we may get away with it.
‘I’m sure we both have things to be doing, Sub-Inspector,’ she said, bracing herself to rise from her seat. ‘Criminals to be catching and classrooms to be supervising.’
‘But why rush off, Sister?’ he smiled, a bit smugly she thought. ‘Neither of us have accomplished what we came here for. Mr Mehta will surely be back soon. He wanted me to rush here. He’s not the type to waste police time, is he? I think we can wait a little longer. In fact, I insist.’
I was afraid you’d say that, thought Sister Agatha, reaching for her rosary beads again, and resigning herself to the Joyful Mysteries.
CHAPTER 40
Avtar followed the small boy along the alley towards the noise of the street.
‘Wait!’ Avtar called out. The boy looked warily back at him. ‘We must not attract the attention of the police.’ The boy nodded. That was something he could relate to. ‘Not yet, anyway,’ clarified Avtar, unsure about stepping so firmly into that side of society. He had always been law-abiding. All this sneaking around and secrecy had been thrust upon him.
He stepped past the boy and peered round the corner to the front of the hotel. The police were still there. Not particularly alert, but they would notice him, especially after the altercation at the entrance. They’d probably already forgotten the boy. Just another urchin blowing about like rubbish.
The aroma of sugar burning in hot oil reached his nose. Across the lane to the left was a jalebi seller stirring his brass pot on the far side of the lane. Back the other way, beyond the hotel entrance, Avtar heard the intensity of horns and shouting sharply increase. A cow had wandered into the traffic. The police officers were wondering whether to join in persuading the cow to shift, or to merely enjoy the show. They were all looking away from the alley.
Time to move. Avtar gave the boy some coins and pointed towards the jalebi seller. ‘Buy one for yourself and wait for me.’
The boy zipped off, almost dancing through the traffic as if immune to collision. Avtar walked out of the alley and away from the hotel. He stepped behind a lamppost weighed down by extra cabling, looping and spreading only a metre above head height, linking shops in a lazy web of electric power. He looked back.
No one was paying him any attention. He plunged into the traffic, holding up a hand to ward off collisions, then walked back to where the boy was enjoying his bright, sticky, syrupy-sweet jalebi.
‘Which way?’ asked Avtar.
The boy looked towards the hotel and thought for a moment. Then: ‘This way, ji.’ And he set off down another alley, away from the hotel.
Avtar dodged bicycles, handcarts, men carrying lengths of steel or wood, or balancing pallet-loads of building material on their heads. The alleys of Chandni Chowk are so narrow and busy that the final delivery mile is often on foot.
But no matter how skinny the alley, even those hardly wider than the span of your shoulders, motorbikes still managed to roar along them. Avtar stopped and started, dodged and sidestepped the human and motorised traffic as they went deeper. The boy seemed to flow naturally round any obstacles. He waited every now and then for Avtar to catch up.
Eventually they turned right, into a narrow passage, and then a narrower one again. How do strangers ever find their way once they step off the main thoroughfare? thought Avtar. He had the advantage of knowing the area, though some of these passages were new to him. He felt they had been roughly walking two sides of a square, with the hotel at the base.
They went under an arch into a broader alley and the boy turned right again – towards the hotel, Avtar realised. He hoped he was not merely being led in a circle, but as they reached the main road the boy stopped. They were looking at the Delhi Haveli Hotel – only this time from the other side.
The cow had sauntered off. Otherwise the view was the same. Even the police must be getting bored by now, with so little happening. Sub-Inspector Kumar would not leave them in position for much longer, thought Avtar. Then he froze. He had forgotten. With all the excitement of the boy’s information, he had completely forgotten his invitation to the sub-inspector. Summons would be a more appropriate word for it. And he was not even there to meet him. Very bad manners. A horrible thought came to him. The sub-inspector could have seen him going off with the boy. What a narrow escape! But the policeman could arrive at any moment. He had to get back.
Avtar felt a tug on his sleeve, and looked down. The boy nodded towards the hotel.
‘Yes, I know,’ said Avtar, ‘I can see it.’
‘Nahi, ji,’ insisted the boy, pointing this time. ‘There.’
Avtar looked more closely. His hotel was impressive. Like it was there to last. He hoped it was. Joshil Gupta was steadfastly on guard. That side of the lane was now in shade. The police were still loitering. Pedestrians were still passing. The usual street vendors and beggars were still plying their trades.
Two men carrying a length of aluminium emerged from the archway to Mr Guhaavaasee’s basement. Good to see his tenant doing some business. Uncle and his dog had stepped out from his nook inside to warn passersby as the long metal beam pierced the flow of people. A sensible precaution, thought Avtar, when so many looked at their phones as they walked these days. And also while riding bicycles or motorbikes, and even driving cars. True, Delhi traffic is slow and often stationary, but that is no excuse.
‘Ji?’ asked the boy.
Avtar shrugged, more tired than irritated. He’d been led a dance. He was back where he started. Dustier, sweatier and poorer. He just wanted to get back inside the hotel, and think what he would say to Sub-Inspector Kumar.
From this, the sunny side of the street, the hotel looked like an oasis. He didn’t mind about the money. The boy had certainly worked for it, even if it had been a scam. He noticed Uncle’s little dog trot back under the archway. He presumed it had been one of the city’s many strays, now elevated to the rank of guard dog. He felt cheered by the idea that perhaps there was a home for every stray in the city – if only they could find it. He felt like a stray himself. Time to get back to where he belonged.
‘Ji?’ asked the boy again.
Avtar would let the boy keep the money, but he was not getting any more. ‘Bas,’ he said. ‘Enough.’
‘Nahi, ji,’ persisted the boy. ‘You looked, but you did not see.’
Enough of the street philosophy, thought Avtar. I can see when I’ve been made a fool of. But then he looked again.
And this time, he did see.
CHAPTER 41
As the door swung open, Sister Agatha reflected, with regret, that this was exactly what she had been trying to avoid – Avtar being caught unawares by her and Sub-Inspector Kumar. Because brains work at amazing speed, she also had time to appreciate the cleverness shown by the policeman in his choice of chair. He would be hidden for vital seconds, until Avtar stepped fully past the filing cabinet.
The moment the door began to move, she was instantly alert. This time she had only been pretending to recite the rosary to herself. It occurred to her that she could have invented an excuse, like an urgent visit to the washroom. The sub-inspector would hardly have barred her way. Too late! The policeman had somehow scrambled her normally agile mind. He was clearly cleverer than she had first thought.
She stared at Avtar, but his head was down, her eyes not catching his. ‘Mr Mehta!’ she said loudly.
He stopped, startled, then beamed in surprise. ‘Avtar, please,’ he corrected her. ‘Not Mr Mehta.’
She mentally kicked herself for prompting Avtar to betray their level of familiarity in front of the policeman, and missed her chance to warn him.
‘But why are you here?’ Avtar asked, concerned. ‘Have you found out any more about him?’
Sister Agatha closed her eyes and gestured to the third person in the room. She sensed Avtar’s shock, then heard the two men greet each other. Avtar apologising for keeping Sub-Inspector Kumar waiting. The policeman dismissing the idea that he had been inconvenienced even slightly. Avtar’s offer of chai. It all sounded so calm. So normal. No rush. No hurry. No need to worry. Unless you understood the policeman’s slow, determined method – which she now did to her cost. The platitudes petered out and she opened her eyes again.
‘I feel I am intruding,’ said the sub-inspector. ‘Had I realised the depth of your friendship, I would have asked Sister Agatha to pass on my apologies and left you to confer in private. I hate to be the kebab mein haddi, the bone in your kebab, Mr Mehta, but you did invite me.’
‘Yes, sir, you have very kindly come,’ said Avtar. ‘I was not expecting Sister Agatha to also choose this moment to visit.’
‘How were you to know?’ Sub-Inspector Kumar smiled benevolently. ‘Sister Agatha has come to ask you a favour.’
She saw Avtar tense in anticipation of an unwelcome revelation. He must know something was not right about this whole conversation, despite the air of conviviality.
‘Duty obliged me to insist that she reveal all,’ the policeman continued. ‘But as her event planning seems innocent, I will let you converse in private.’
She noticed Avtar begin to relax. He looked at her, not quite able to believe they were getting away this lightly. She remained inscrutable. She could not warn him. That chance was gone. The best she could do was not give him false reassurance.
‘But before I go,’ smiled Sub-Inspector Kumar, speaking to Sister Agatha, while keeping his eyes on Avtar, ‘I would very much like to hear the answer to the question Mr Mehta asked when he arrived, Sister.’
Avtar paled. Sister Agatha noticed the policeman’s right eye narrow slightly. He knows we know something, she thought. And he will give us no peace until one of us reveals enough to satisfy him. With the future of the hotel at risk and possibly even Avtar’s freedom, the sub-inspector has all the power. If I handle this wrong, I may be packed off to Ireland against my will, but Avtar will end up somewhere altogether less pleasant.
‘I fear it is confession time, Inspector,’ said Sister Agatha. ‘Which, as you may know, is something Catholics are experienced at. Though I imagine it’s more satisfying for policemen than priests.’
‘If you want absolution, Sister,’ answered Sub-Inspector Kumar, ‘you must hold nothing back.’
Here goes, thought Sister Agatha. ‘I must emphasise that Mr Mehta was not involved in any way. In fact, he warned me against it. And if I chose to ignore his warning and act entirely independently, he cannot be held responsible.’
Avtar looked at his lap where his hands were tightly clasped. The policeman held out his hands and agreed. ‘If Mr Mehta has no involvement in whatever you are about to tell me, then he will be fine.’
Probably as good as I’ll get, thought Sister Agatha. I have him on the hook, but if I don’t handle this carefully, I’ll be the one who gets reeled in. ‘Like everyone else,’ she began, ‘I was very concerned about the elderly gentleman who went missing from this hotel.’
Sub-Inspector Kumar sat forward. ‘The murderer of Mr Prasad, you mean?’
‘Suspected murderer,’ she corrected him. ‘Even though it was obvious his disappearance had nothing whatsoever to do with the Delhi Haveli Hotel, the incident brought unwelcome police and media pressure to bear on the guests and very hard-working staff.’
The policeman’s mouth was a tight line. She could tell he wanted her to hurry and get to the point.
‘So I felt it my duty as a…’ she searched for the right words, ‘as a right-thinking person to do my best to help. I was going to say, “as a Christian”, but I’m sure the same thing would apply to anyone in a spiritual role, whether they were Hindu, Sikh, Muslim, or anything else. Duty is the common denominator, Sub-Inspector.’
‘And not wasting police time is also a duty,’ he warned.
‘I was trying to save police time,’ she continued. ‘Save police time, effort and resources. By finding the missing man myself.’
