Thursday Morning
Cremation
Dark clouds hung low, adding to the gloom at daybreak. A motley of grim-faced mourners had gathered at the cremation grounds. Tia’s father stood among them, trying to restrain his tears. The colonel looked at the young girl’s shrouded body lying on the pyre. It was a heart-rending sight.
Arif, Ahuja, Sen and Rohan stood together, their expressions ranging from disbelief to grief. Everyone had grown fond of the vivacious girl. Tia’s tactful handling had diffused many confrontational situations between the guests. Her easy laughter and sense of humour had lightened the mood and brought a smile on the faces.
A few local reporters, who had come in search of a story, lined the other side. This was the second cremation that week. Acharya’s mind flew to the other cremation that had taken place forty-eight hours ago. Despite all the efforts to keep the date and time of the cremation confidential, there had been a crowd of locals and journalists at the venue.
Some of the reporters had been present at both the cremations. One of them was a crime reporter from the local rag, which had been carrying the murder story from day one; the other belonged to a gossip magazine. It was the third reporter who intrigued the colonel. Acharya stared hard at the man, trying to recall where he had seen the man before. With a unibrow, square jaw and a dimple on the right cheek, his was an unforgettable face. The hair was caught in a ponytail, giving the man a distinctive personality.
A fleeting image flitted through Acharya’s mind. I have seen this man somewhere, where? When? Unable to recall, he shook his head with frustration.
Minutes after the cremation was over, the light drizzle that had persisted through the night turned into a steady downpour. Large raindrops drummed on the asbestos roof where the pyre was lit, the monotonous sound drowning out every other sound. The mourners shrank closer to avoid the rain as a sudden gust of wind drove a sheet of water towards them.
His raincoat flapping in the wind, a blank-faced Tim stood out in the open, the volley of aggressive raindrops pelting him, until Acharya led him into the shed.
‘There have been two murders in the last couple of days but we have not been able to nab the culprit. What if there is another murder?’ Tim turned his rain-soaked face to the colonel, who patted his arm reassuringly.
‘Wait until this evening. I will have some answers for you.’
‘Sir, has the police made any progress in the Ramola Sharma murder case?’ asked an acne-faced reporter, shoving his phone under Tim’s nose. Taking his cue, the rest of the scribes clustered around for the latest on the murder case.
‘This is neither the time nor the place for such questions,’ Tim replied, tersely.
‘It’s been three days since the first murder. And now, a second murder has taken place. This has caused insecurity among the locals, but the police have given no statements. Isn’t it high time—’
‘I told you—’
Holding up a restraining hand, Acharya whispered into Tim’s ears, ‘It’s better to throw a few sentences at them than to provoke them into misquoting you or fabricating a story.’
‘Firstly, let me remind you that there is no conclusive evidence of the second death being a murder. Forensic reports are still awaited and the investigations are going on, so please don’t jump your guns. Misinformation can be counterproductive, so use your discretion before reporting,’ Tim warned the journalists. ‘At the moment, all I can say is that we are very close to solving the Ramola murder case. You will be informed as soon as we nab the killer.’ Tim told the newshounds.
It was a typical official response, designed to give away nothing.
The colonel moved a few steps away from the lot and watched the unibrowed reporter, who was recording the Tim’s replies. The guy piqued his curiosity. He clicked a few pictures of the reporters on his phone, resolving to study them at leisure.
‘…and that’s all I can tell you, gentlemen,’ Tim held up his hands.
‘You’ve not told us anything that we don’t know,’ protested one of the reporters.
‘You’ll get an update as soon as there is any development.’
Unable to extract any further information, the scribes huddled together, conferring. ‘The police have arrested the gardener for the star’s murder. He is the prime suspect,’ the colonel heard one of them saying.
News about the murder of a star was far more saleable than the death of a young girl.
‘In that case, why aren’t they making a statement about the arrest?’ asked Mr Acne-Face. ‘I can’t imagine the DSP keeping quiet about the arrest or not taking credit for it.’
‘The Mumbai guys are still at the cottage, which means that the case has not been wrapped up.’
‘That’s strange. Why should the guests continue to stay at Ramsar, if the murderer has been arrested?’ asked the unibrowed man. ‘Perhaps the police aren’t convinced that the gardener is the culprit. Have they said anything about the cause of death?’
‘Are you a reporter? I haven’t seen you before. Which newspaper do you represent?’ asked Mr Acne-Face, suspiciously.
‘I work for a film magazine at Mumbai. The editor wants me to do a cover story on Ramola’s murder, so here I am.’
‘That sounds interesting,’ Acne-Face relented. Rubbing shoulders with Bollywood media could prove useful. He was eager to embellish his story with details gleaned from the Mumbai reporter. ‘You must be privy to a lot of information about the Bollywood stars. I would like to chat with you. My phone number is on my card,’ he said, handing his card to the unibrowed stranger. ‘May I have yours?’
‘Sorry,’ the stranger’s eyes darted towards Acharya, who was eavesdropping shamelessly on their conversation. ‘I forgot to carry my cards today. They’re at the hotel.’
‘Why don’t we meet for a drink this evening,’ suggested the young newshound. ‘Are you staying at the Misty Meadows? I could drop by at a convenient time and we could go for a drink or dinner.’
‘That’s not possible because I’m leaving now. I have to catch the evening flight from New Delhi,’ replied the stranger, clearly uneasy with the reporter’s persistence.
‘You’re leaving already?’ asked Acne-Face, disappointed at the missed opportunity. ‘If you hang around for another day, I could update you on the events since the murder. I’ve maintained a log book on the case.’
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I have a deadline to keep. I have your card; I’ll call you.’
Muttering a hasty goodbye, Unibrow hurried to the waiting cab parked at the crematorium entrance. Minutes later, the cab sped away in the rain.
Strange! thought Acharya, his brow furrowed.
‘What’s strange?’ asked Tim, who caught him making for the gate.
‘I’ll brief you later. Let’s go,’ the colonel ran to his car, followed by Tim.
‘What’s the rush?’ Tim asked, strapping himself into the passenger seat, as Acharya gunned the car’s engine and made a sweeping turn towards the road, his vehicle almost skidding on the muddy road. ‘You’ll take us down the ravine and I don’t want to die young.’
‘Oh, ye of little faith!’ laughed the colonel.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Back to the cottage to go through the rooms before the guests return.’
‘Wouldn’t it be improper? In any case, we have already searched their rooms.’
‘There’s always a chance of finding something one has missed the first time; and, by the way, all’s fair in love, war and during a murder investigation.’
They had barely entered Charmwood when Tim’s phone rang. He burst into Arif’s room, his eyes shining with excitement. Acharya, who was combing through the don’s wardrobe, turned to face him.
‘The DNA match results have come,’ said Tim. ‘We already know that the politician’s sample did not match the tiny scab of tissues under Ramola’s nails. I just received the report that the tissues didn’t match any of the guests’ DNA.’
The colonel was surprised to hear the report.
‘Surely, they match someone’s tissues. If they don’t match any of the guests’ tissues, does it mean that the murderer was an outsider after all?’ He said.
‘Wait till I finish. The truth will take your breath away. The tissues match the sample taken from Tia’s hair during autopsy,’ continued Tim, his eyes dancing excitedly. ‘And what’s more, they’ve cracked Tia’s password and the laptop is ours to explore to our hearts’ content.’
‘Where’s the laptop?’ Acharya’s voice carried a note of urgency.
‘Sharad is bringing it to my house in a few minutes,’ Tim replied.
‘Why your house?’
‘I didn’t want to go through the laptop at the precinct because of the constant interruptions.’
‘Good thinking,’ agreed the colonel. ‘Come on, then, let’s go to your house so we can have a looksee at Tia’s laptop.’
‘Why don’t we go after searching the rooms? The guests will be back soon.’
‘Not to worry, Tim. We don’t have to search the rooms now. The priorities have shifted,’ grinned Acharya. ‘I’m convinced that the key to the whole mystery lies in that laptop, my dear Watson. Let’s go.’
Tim nodded. He was perplexed. Just a few minutes ago, the colonel was keen to search all the rooms in the cottage and now he was insisting that Tia’s laptop was a priority. He was baffled by the senior’s caprice.
The duo raced to Tim’s house and booted up the laptop. It took them a little more than an hour to go through some of the files and e-mails as well as photographs stored in the dead girl’s machine.
‘I’d like to take the laptop home to go through the files again, with your permission, of course. In return, I promise that you’ll have the name of the murderer before the end of the day,’ announced the colonel.
It was half past eleven, which meant that the colonel had just about twelve hours to keep his word, Tim noted.
‘May I accompany you?’ asked Tim, eagerly. ‘We could go through Tia’s laptop together.’
‘No, Tim, you may not,’ said the colonel. ‘Right now, I need solitude to straighten my thoughts. In the meantime, I want you to make a log of events and reflect on the facts gleaned from our various interrogations. Putting them down in a logical manner will help us get a clear picture. Join me for tea at six and we’ll exchange the fruits of our ruminations. Oh, by the way, did you have a word with Ramola’s lawyer?’
‘He was busy when I called, but he has promised to call me back.’
‘Don’t bank on a lawyer’s word. Call him again.’
‘Aye, aye, Colonel! I’ll call him right away,’ Tim saluted. ‘You’ll have your report when I come for tea at six.’
Setting his cap at a jaunty angle, Acharya drove home with Tia’s laptop. After the colonel’s exit, Tim could barely concentrate on the paperwork that lay before him. He paced the room, trying to recap details. Keyed up with the thought of learning the killer’s identity, Tim found himself glancing frequently at the clock. The afternoon stretched endlessly and six o’clock seemed a long way away.
At half past five, unable to bear the suspense any longer, the young man headed for the colonel’s house. As promised, he had spoken to the lawyer and recorded the details of Ramola’s last will and testament in his log. The afternoon had not been a waste, after all. He was sure, the colonel would keep his word and identify the killer before the day ended.
‘Ah, there you are,’ Acharya greeted the young man. ‘It’s not yet six. You’re early. Let me guess, the suspense was killing you.’
‘Spot on,’ Tim grinned. He had expected the colonel to be poring over notes and racking his brain. Instead, the man
was playing solitaire. ‘The clock’s hands refused to budge after you left.’
‘I can imagine. Let’s play a game of poker before we get mired in blood and gore.’
‘But—’
‘A man’s brain deserves time out to relax. A tired one will never solve mysteries,’ Acharya said.
There was no trace of Laila or the promised cup of tea, Tim noted.
‘Isn’t Laila at home?’ he asked, hopefully.
‘She has gone to Rhodo Cottage. I didn’t want her to be hovering around disturbing my concentration. If it’s tea you are worried about, I’m going to make it for you,’ the colonel’s shrewd eyes mocked him. ‘I can make it better than her, although coffee is my speciality.’
‘Coffee would be great,’ Tim murmured. He suspected that the colonel, unable to solve the case, was stalling for time.
‘Good choice! Caffeine will lubricate the brains and help us think lucidly. Shall we move to the kitchen?’
Acharya placed a couple of bowls of roasted peanuts and cashewnuts on the dining table and busied himself with brewing. It was half past six and the colonel seemed to be in no mood to discuss the murders.
‘Is it good?’ asked Acharya, munching on a handful of roasted peanuts
‘The best,’ replied Tim, waiting for the next step. He could not understand why the colonel was wasting time. ‘Shouldn’t we discuss the murder now?’ He asked again.
‘Alright, let us hear your theory.’
‘I thought you were the one who promised to unravel the mystery.’
‘What’s the hurry? It’s just seven in the evening,’ Acharya replied.
‘Are you waiting for something?’
‘Right! I am waiting for a very important call from my friend in Mumbai.’
The next twenty minutes were spent in inane chatter until Tim, exasperated by the colonel’s tactics, decided to go back to his office and catch up on some paperwork.
Getting to his feet, he began, ‘I’ve got to go to the police station—’
Acharya’s phone rang, interrupting the conversation. Gesturing him to remain seated, the colonel began speaking on the phone, ‘Hi Geese, I was waiting for your call. Did you get the info?’
It was a one-sided conversation punctuated with an occasional grunt from Acharya. ‘Wait, let me take that down,’ he said finally, noting down an address relayed by his friend. ‘Thank Geese, you’re the best.’ Smiling triumphantly, he ended the call.
Seconds later, the colonel’s attitude underwent a volte-face. ‘Let’s go to my den and get cracking,’ he said.
‘Was that the call you were waiting for?’ Tim stared slack-jawed at the colonel’s energized avatar.
Acharya grinned. ‘Yes, my dear chap. I was looking for one last piece of the jigsaw puzzle and the information provided by Geese has solved the puzzle.’
‘So, who is the killer?’ Tim asked as soon as they entered the den. ‘Did the same person kill both Ramola and Tia?’
‘Not so fast, Tim. First, tell me about your conversation with the lawyer.’
‘Two years ago, Ramola established a trust called “Artiste Care Foundation” for the welfare of ailing and ageing actors. The aim of the foundation is to provide support for stunt performers and extras in the film industry. Ramola’s last will, which was made six months ago, allocated sixty-five per cent of her movable and immovable assets to the trust. A pension of rupees ten thousand per month has been provided for Durgabai. A one-time payment of one lakh each for her gardener, Ganesh, and cook, Dinesh, is also a part of the will. The rest is willed to Karan, her uncle’s son.’
‘I thought she had no close relatives,’ said the colonel.
‘I asked the same thing when her lawyer narrated the details of the will. According to him, Ramola had broken all ties with her uncle’s family. However, in the last two years, she had a change of heart.’
‘Why this sudden change of heart?’
‘Although, Ramola didn’t elaborate, she told the lawyer that she owed it to her cousin,’ Tim informed. ‘It’s left to us to speculate if she owed it because he had lent her money at some point of time, or if she meant it metaphorically. She also mentioned to the lawyer that it was likely that she’d change her mind and the will many times before she died. I’ve tried and failed to understand Ramola’s mind.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up, Tim. Even Sherlock Holmes found it difficult to understand the motives of women. According to him, the motives of women are inscrutable. Their most trivial action may mean volumes, or their most extraordinary conduct may depend upon a hairpin or a pair of curling tongs,’ guffawed the colonel. ‘In this matter, however, I have an edge over Holmes.’
Tim raised his eyebrows quizzically at the smugly smiling colonel.
‘As per my study of women’s psychology, Ramola’s change of heart stemmed from the realization that the cousin had been too young to have a say in family matters at the time of her father’s suicide. The Ramola in her thirties was quite different from her avatar in her twenties. The regular practice of yoga and meditation had also mellowed Ramola and altered her thinking. It’s true that she was bitter and refused to have anything to do with her uncle’s family, but the matter weighed heavily on her mind. She realized it was not fair to punish the son for the sins his father had committed, so the star decided to mend fences by bequeathing some of her fortune to her cousin. I think Ramola meant to speak to him on the matter, but death claimed her before she could do so.’
‘Human behaviour is a complex business,’ muttered a baffled Tim, shaking his head.
‘True! It is a complex business. It has taken me a long time to understand a bit of the human mind. As far as Ramola is concerned, I had the advantage of spending long hours at the golf course with her. Golf has a way of bringing people closer,’ the colonel grinned. ‘It was during those hours that I learnt to read between the lines. She didn’t discuss personal issues very often, yet there were times when she did. Perhaps it was my avuncular stance that did the trick. It never fails to work, you know. A few more days and I am sure Tia would have let some information slip.’
‘I guess your avuncular attitude draws confidences. It affects me too,’ Tim grinned mischievously.
‘Did Ramola leave anything to Rohan?’ asked Acharya, after a couple of minutes.
‘No, she left him nothing. In fact, the lawyer pointed out to Ramola that Rohan was likely to contest the will. In reply, Ramola had said that she was planning to send him the divorce papers as soon as she finished her current project. She also joked that, in the event of her death before the completion of divorce proceedings, the husband would have to contest the will.’
There was silence as the colonel turned the matter over in his mind.
‘Did she speak of changing the will in the last few months?’
‘Yes, she spoke to the lawyer a week before her murder and said she wanted to amend her will again.’
‘Does the lawyer have any idea what the changes could have been?’
‘I asked him the same question but he told me that he was in the dark.’
‘Did anyone else know about Ramola’s will?’
‘Not as far as he was aware.’
‘Well, that settles it,’ Acharya put down the pencil with which he was doodling on a paper.
‘What next?’
‘The logical step, of course,’ Acharya smiled. ‘It’s time to open Pandora’s box.’
‘Pandora’s box?’
‘Tia’s laptop, young man. It’s time for you to take a fresh look at the girl’s laptop. But, before that I want you to call JBS, and tell him that we have found the killer. Ask him to come over to Charmwood Cottage as soon as possible.’
‘But …’
‘It’s time to arrest the culprit, Tim.’
It was half past seven in the evening.
‘Also tell JBS to call his counterparts at Mumbai and ask them to send a team of policemen to this address.’ Acharya handed a piece of paper with an address. ‘This is urgent. The DSP must speak to Mumbai before he leaves Almora. If required he can seek the ACP’s assistance in the matter.’
‘Okay,’ said Tim, picking up his phone.
‘The police must ensure that the man in the apartment does not escape. He must be arrested the instant he emerges from his house.’
The colonel waited for Tim to finish his call before issuing another demand. ‘I would require a projector at Charmwood. Also, please instruct your constable to bring Ganesh and Bhuvan to the cottage at 9 p.m.’
‘I’ll go to the precinct and make the arrangements,’ said the young man, wondering what was on the colonel’s mind. The thought of arresting the culprit excited the young man. ‘What time do you want me at the Charmwood?’
‘Half past eight would be perfect. In the meantime, I’ll go to Rhodo Cottage and invite our poker friends.’
‘You’re inviting them to Charmwood?’
‘Why not?’ Acharya quirked an enquiring eyebrow. ‘The more the merrier. Everyone is keen to know the outcome. Besides, the louder the cheering, the better the motivation.’
Tim couldn’t help smiling as he left the Nook to carry out Acharya’s bidding. It was time for the Grand Finale.
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