Murder in Moonlit Square, page 5
She took another sip. The water was a welcome head-clearer. It had taken her a while to get used to the water in India, but these days in hotels it was all bottled anyway. Tough for the planet, all that plastic. She approved of the custom of adding nimbu, green or yellow, lime or lemon. It added an edge. And she needed to sharpen up herself. From long experience of questioning schoolgirls, Sister Agatha knew it was always a bad idea to volunteer information. Making a full confession might ease your way into heaven, but not through life before then.
She’d already had one surprise. The face of her interrogator Sub-Inspector Kumar was identical to that of yesterday’s robbery victim. Except he’d gone by a different name then. Most curious. She wondered if his bosses knew about it. It felt like the secret service chief was watching, and remembering, everyone.
She glanced around the courtyard, which was full of guests pretending not to listen to the interrogation. She saw the elderly woman in the drab brown dupatta in her usual chair. In more appropriate footwear today, thought Sister Agatha approvingly. No more high heels. Just sitting quietly. A skill the younger generation had lost – the ability to just sit still. Everything was too loud, too flashy, too fast these days. Everyone should please just slow down and give me time to think. She needed to get through this tricky conversation without making anything worse for Avtar.
The secret service chief pointed at the red-faced police officer. ‘Today is Tuesday. If this is not wrapped up by Friday, shut down the hotel. Carry on with the questioning. Give me updates every four hours.’
‘But sir, the hotel…’ gasped Avtar.
Fanikeshar Burman just pointed towards him, and then made a fist. The message was obvious – I can and will crush you if necessary. Then he turned to Sister Agatha. ‘Goodbye, Sister Agatha Murphy. I hope we do not have to meet again.’ And on that ominous note, the very scary Fanikeshar Burman and all the representatives of all the state security agencies swept out of the hotel.
The hissing, angry policeman took over. ‘As you know, I am Inspector Goga Patil,’ he said, with emphasis on the ‘inspector’. He paused to let it sink in. Sister Agatha was not sure whether she was expected to show fear or awe. She opted for an expression conveying polite interest.
The inspector then led the conversation off in a wholly unexpected direction, firing facts at her so quickly she could hardly keep up.
‘This hotel has been harbouring pilgrims from Pakistan.’ He punched his right fist into his left palm.
‘They checked out yesterday and returned to Pakistan.’ Another palm punch.
‘Sixty of them entered India. But when we stopped their bus at the frontier yesterday, there were only fifty-nine on board.’ Punch. His voice grew louder with each added assertion.
‘One of them, Abdul Khan, was not on board.’ She knew the routine now. Another punch into his palm.
Sister Agatha wondered if he was trying to impress his colleagues, or threaten her. She hadn’t flinched. She’d encountered men like him before and knew it was best to neither antagonise them nor back off.
‘And how can I help?’ she asked, not sure what any of this had to do with her.
‘You were here!’ he shouted. ‘You saw them.’
As did Sub-Inspector Kumar. But Sister Agatha felt it wiser to only think this, and not say it aloud. Instead, she turned slightly towards the sub-inspector, snubbing his bullying boss. Divide and rule, she thought. I’m turning into a real-life Machiavelli of the Haveli. She suppressed a smile, turning it into a frown.
The junior officer had also been angry when they’d first met, but to be fair, she had been sitting on him at the time. And she also sensed she had leverage over him. He’d been doing something yesterday that he did not want anyone else to know about. She could keep his secret safe. For now.
‘Yes, dear Sub-Inspector Kumar, I did encounter a group of pilgrims in their robes in front of the hotel. I’m not sure I could identify any of them again. Though perhaps people might say the same about nuns. We can be hard to tell apart in our habits.’ She smiled. ‘Mr Mehta was kind enough to invite me into the hotel lobby to sit down after some bother in the street.’
She looked up at Sub-Inspector Kumar and nodded, so he knew that she knew. Then she continued. ‘Mr Mehta and a guest – I’m not sure of his name – sat with me while I had chai.’ She paused. ‘I hope that helps you, gentlemen.’
The angry inspector reasserted himself. ‘And the missing man, Abdul Khan?’
‘Mmm…’ delayed Sister Agatha, as if pondering the question. She looked pointedly at his hands, waiting. The inspector responded by weakly punching his right hand into his left palm as before, slightly puzzled by his own Pavlovian reaction.
‘Please don’t think me impertinent, Inspector, but I am a little confused. It happens at my age. Were we not all standing round Mr Khan’s body yesterday? If he has disappeared since then, I know nothing about it – except to say that I doubt he walked out unaided. Of course with God, nothing is impossible, and we have the biblical precedent of Lazarus. But even so, it would be most unusual.’
‘Who is this President Lal Russ?’ barked Inspector Patil in alarm. The involvement of a politician always meant trouble. ‘Which party? Has he been questioned, Kumar?’
‘Sir, I will check,’ said Sub-Inspector Kumar, ‘but I think we should update the Sister on our investigation. That may clear up this confusion.’
The inspector grunted. Avtar looked anxious. The sub-inspector explained. ‘Sister, the man found dead upstairs was not Abdul Khan.’
‘A different member of the pilgrimage?’ she asked.
‘Not a pilgrim at all, Sister. And not from Pakistan. In fact not a Muslim either.’
That explains the suit he was wearing, she thought. And why they got rid of us when the sub-inspector checked the man’s wallet.
‘The deceased…’ began Sub-Inspector Kumar.
Oho, thought Sister Agatha, the corpse has become the deceased now. Must be someone important. No longer a mere pilgrim from across the border.
‘…is a university faculty head. His name is Manoj Prasad.’ He gave Sister Agatha time to respond. She shook her head. The name meant nothing to her. ‘From Jharkhand. We do not know his reason for being in Delhi.’
Jharkhand. A different state in India. She’d heard or seen it mentioned recently, though she could not remember where. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, meaning it sincerely. ‘I have no idea who this man is… was. Nor why he was in Delhi.’ She looked up at Avtar. He also shook his head. ‘Jharkhand?’ she asked. ‘Remind me…’
‘Twelve hundred kilometres east of Delhi,’ explained Sub-Inspector Kumar. ‘A long way to come for a city break.’
‘Forgive me, Inspector…’ She heard a hiss from Inspector Patil, and corrected herself. ‘I beg your pardon, Sub-Inspector. This is all very distressing for the man’s family, and for guests and staff at the hotel. But why is it a matter of national security?’
‘Because this respected man was murdered in the hotel room of a man from Pakistan. We do not know what he was doing there, nor why he was killed. But even a foreigner like you must be aware of the wars India has fought with Pakistan, how our neighbour harbours terrorists who wreak havoc in our country, and bans trade with us.
‘If an infiltrator from Pakistan has sneaked into India in the disguise of a pilgrim, on a mission of murder and terror, then that is naturally a matter of national security. This man must be caught before he causes more destruction. Who knows what his ultimate target is?’
‘When you put it like that, I understand the concern,’ said Sister Agatha. ‘All those important men who were here before must have a lot of faith in your abilities, Sub-Inspector, to delegate to you a matter of such national importance.’
Sub-Inspector Kumar eyed her carefully. But she was not trying to undermine him, merely drawing attention to an odd aspect of how this security threat was being handled.
‘Yes, it is a great responsibility,’ he finally agreed. ‘India faces many threats. Each of us must take responsibility when needed, including you and Mr Mehta.’
‘Of course,’ said Sister Agatha, ‘and without you breaching confidentiality, might I ask how you know that Mr Khan is the killer?’
She heard a loud sigh. It appeared that Inspector Patil’s patience had expired. Or maybe he just did not like being left out.
‘We ask the questions, not you,’ he said. ‘But it’s obvious that the location of the body makes the Pakistani the main suspect. Why else would he flee? Innocent people do not run.’
‘You are right, Inspector, it does not look good for Mr Khan,’ said Sister Agatha. ‘But I noticed the pilgrims were rather elderly. Is it possible he simply got lost? Perhaps he’ll turn up at any minute.’ She smiled brightly. Inspector Patil’s face turned red, then purple.
Sub-Inspector Kumar intervened. ‘The fugitive separated from his registered group, in breach of his visa conditions. He seems to have brazenly walked out the front door, right under the noses of hotel staff, and disappeared.’
‘Whether this was negligence, or collusion, we are yet to establish,’ added Inspector Patil. Sister Agatha detected a gleeful malevolence in his tone. She noticed Avtar’s shoulders slump at the implications for himself and his staff.
‘Wait, there was a man here yesterday morning,’ said Sister Agatha, suddenly struck by a memory. ‘Sitting alone. Dressed like a pilgrim. It did not seem odd to me, because I did not know that the rest of the pilgrims had already left Delhi. I’d seen them outside earlier. They must have been waiting for their bus.’
‘Where was this man?’ demanded Inspector Patil. ‘What did he look like? Did you see any…’
‘Blood on his hands?’ asked Sister Agatha. ‘No, nothing like that. He was sitting just there. We spoke briefly. He was friendly. If it was Mr Khan, he seemed perfectly normal.’
‘Who else saw him?’
‘Mr Mehta was also present, but he was talking to a guest about a lost bag. That other guest’s name’ – Sister Agatha looked at Sub-Inspector Kumar – ‘it was a very common name for India. I don’t think either of them noticed this man.’
Then she smiled. ‘But there was an elderly lady who may be able to help us. I spoke to the man about a dog that was nosing around the tables. The lady seemed uncomfortable around dogs, so I drew it towards me instead. She may remember the old man.’
‘Who is she?’
Sister Agatha laughed lightly. ‘I have absolutely no idea, but I know where she is. She’s sitting just over… oh…’ As she pointed towards where the old lady in the brown dupatta had been sitting only a short time earlier, she saw that the chair was empty. ‘She was here just a moment ago.’
Sister Agatha described her. The policeman glared at Avtar. He shook his head and went over to Aarushi on reception. They looked through the register. Sister Agatha saw Aarushi concentrating.
Avtar returned empty-handed. ‘We do not think the lady was a hotel guest,’ he said. ‘She may have come in for chai. Chandni Chowk can be tiring. People sometimes recharge their batteries here.’
‘She was here two days in a row,’ said Sister Agatha. ‘And she can’t have come far yesterday in the shoes she was wearing.’
Inspector Patil was unimpressed. ‘As Mr Mehta does not have CCTV, because it might spoil the character of his so-called heritage hotel,’ he sneered, ‘you would like me to instruct my constables to find an elderly lady who no one else saw, wearing drab clothing and inappropriate footwear. This is a very serious matter. Please do not waste police time. Especially when the killer is on the loose in our capital and has had almost a day to prepare his next act of terrorism. And you, madam, and Mr Mehta, were the last to see him before he escaped.’
CHAPTER 12
Avtar could hardly wait until the police left. ‘I really need an ad break,’ he gabbled.
Sister Agatha looked at him, awaiting further enlightenment.
‘A cigarette,’ he whispered.
‘Ah,’ said Sister Agatha. ‘The usual place?’
‘Assuming it is not under armed guard.’
He led her past storerooms and the kitchen, out through the fire escape to the yard behind the hotel. He gave her his cigarettes and lighter. ‘My hands are shaking too much.’
She lit up for both of them.
They took a moment, then he blurted out, ‘Did you see that policeman? Kumar? The sub-inspector? It was him.’
‘Yes.’
‘From yesterday. The theft victim.’
‘Yes.’
‘But he registered under a different name. Sharma.’
‘He did.’
‘But why?’
‘And the woman he was staying with in the hotel?’ asked Sister Agatha. ‘His… wife?’
Avtar hmmphed.
‘Mmm,’ agreed Sister Agatha.
They contemplated this for a while.
‘We’re not that sort of hotel,’ said Avtar, for the second time that week. He hoped it was true.
‘It might explain why he did not want us to call the police,’ suggested Sister Agatha. ‘And, I suppose, strictly speaking the police were already present.’
Avtar shook his head disgustedly. The couple had checked out soon after the incident. He hadn’t seen the woman’s face. To think that philanderer had the gall to question him about a guest who had gone missing. ‘And his superior officer,’ said Avtar. ‘I was shocked when he shouted at you. Waving his fist at a gracious lady like you. Such impoliteness! I am ashamed I did not box his ears immediately!’
‘I am so glad you didn’t,’ smiled Sister Agatha.
‘To have a man like that in charge of our district,’ warned Avtar. ‘Even without all of India’s spy agencies breathing down our necks, the Delhi police can be a big problem for us on their own. They have some shrewd brains in their ranks. They are not all thullas. They take on dangerous gangs. And now they’re taking a personal interest in us. Sub-Inspector Kumar is no fool.’
‘Perhaps not,’ agreed Sister Agatha. ‘But is he honest?’
‘Does that matter? Dishonesty may make him even more dangerous. And his senior, Inspector Goga Patil, is well known for bearing a grudge. You embarrassed him during the interrogation.’
‘He was asking for it.’
‘No doubt,’ said Avtar. ‘But he will not forget. This is his district. The pressure to solve this quickly will land on his desk, which he will pass to his junior. Kumar will do the real investigating. His boss will take the credit. But if they don’t find the missing pilgrim, Patil will ensure the hotel takes the blame. He will step on us to lift himself to higher rank, whether we are guilty or innocent.’
‘And they’ve forgotten about the stolen bag,’ said Sister Agatha, interrupting his crossness. ‘I wonder what was in it?’
‘I don’t care what was in the bag. Nobody cares about a bag when a person has been murdered.’ Avtar threw up his hands. ‘We’re in the middle of a full-scale terrorism manhunt.’
‘I wonder if he took it? The pilgrim?’ asked Sister Agatha.
‘There is no connection,’ groaned Avtar in exasperation. ‘He’s just a tourist. Or a terrorist. I don’t know anymore.’
Sister Agatha considered this. ‘A guest has disappeared. A pilgrim, not a prisoner. And this is a hotel, not a prison. Guests may enter or leave as they wish. So why are you in such trouble?’
Avtar winced at the reminder. ‘Because I did not alert the authorities immediately he went missing. How could I? I didn’t know. We do not record every time they step outside to smoke.’
‘Thank goodness,’ said Sister Agatha, saluting with her cigarette.
‘Because India and Pakistan have fought three wars since independence,’ continued Avtar. ‘Because the country is on high alert for terrorists coming over the border. Because no one knows where this man is. And because someone has to be blamed.’
‘What about the tour leaders?’ asked Sister Agatha. ‘Shouldn’t they have noticed before starting back to Pakistan?’
Avtar laughed bitterly. ‘Everyone knows the tour leaders are probably ISI agents. Out to cause mischief. Probably part of his plan.’ He sat down heavily on a bin.
‘Please help me catch up,’ said Sister Agatha. ‘I don’t know the ISI. And that scary man, Mr Burman, who threatened to shut down the hotel. What organisation does he belong to? It’s not the regular police. There were so many frightening faces looming over me. Who were they?’
‘I heard names, but it was all a blur,’ sighed Avtar. ‘Fanikeshar Burman scared me too. He must be RAW – Research and Analysis Wing.’
‘That sounds more bureaucratic than anything to do with catching spies.’
Avtar shot her a look. ‘Don’t let him hear you say that – if you’re ever unlucky enough to meet him again. Though he could be IB. Intelligence Bureau.’
‘Okay,’ said Sister Agatha.
‘Or CBI. Or DIA.’
Sister Agatha looked baffled.
‘The Central Bureau of Investigation and the Defence Intelligence Agency,’ Avtar explained.
‘Or the ISI,’ added Sister Agatha. ‘At least one of those “I”s must stand for India.’
‘No!’ said Avtar, almost choking in horror. ‘That’s who is probably behind all this. They’re the secret service of Pakistan. Inter-Services Intelligence.’
‘They all sound menacing, whichever combination of letters they’re using,’ she said.
‘To fall foul of state security is catastrophic. You do not realise how serious this is,’ said Avtar. ‘These organisations root out threats to India. This could mean the end of my hotel. Everyone who works here will lose their jobs. Or go to prison. And if this Abdul Khan really is a terrorist, people could be hurt. Or worse. And it’s as sure as flooding under Minto Bridge that I’ll be blamed and shut away.’
