The heavy wooden door was opened by a man of slight build, with wild hair and a salt-and-pepper stubble. He regarded them with sad, distrustful eyes. Aditya estimated him to be in his late thirties, although he looked a decade older.
Aditya and Meera flashed their badges.
‘I got a call last night said Meera.
‘Yes, that was me. Rohit Acharya,’ he said.
‘I came over last night, but nobody answered the door,’ Meera said.
‘I am sorry, I didn’t hear the doorbell . I . thanks anyway. Come in, please,’ Rohit said.
Aditya and Meera stepped into the spacious but sparsely furnished living room. Three large brown sofas had been placed at the centre, with a low, wooden table between them. A chandelier, swaying gently in the sea breeze, was suspended directly above the table.
A hard rock music channel was playing at a high volume on the seventy-five-inch television. Rohit turned the music off and sat down on one of the sofas, inviting Aditya and Meera to take their seats on the one next to his.
‘May I use the restroom before we start?’ asked Meera.
‘Sure, it’s right over there,’ said Rohit, pointing towards a passage to his left, next to a wide staircase that led up to the first floor. Meera nodded and headed that way, glancing up the stairs before turning into the passage.
Aditya and Rohit sat in silence, waiting for Meera. Two worn-out Persian rugs carpeted most of the living- room floor. Beyond this area was a dining table, with a provision for eight chairs. Only six were placed around it. A closed door by the table led to another room, possibly the kitchen, Aditya guessed.
The impression that overwhelmed Aditya, as he looked around, was that the house had eroded away, old and uncared for. The paint was peeling off the walls, which were bare except for a large mirror and a chime clock. The shelves were empty and the curtains were worn-out.
Once Meera had returned and sat down next to Aditya, the two officers got down to business.
‘So, how can we help you, Mr Acharya?’ asked Aditya.
‘Please call me Rohit ... now, where do I start?’ He sighed and continued after a pause, ‘Tanvi and I have been married for fourteen years. We first met at a business seminar. I was presenting a paper on financial markets, and she was the recipient of the ‘Young Entrepreneur’ award that year. She had, at the time, recently joined her father’s pharmaceutical business— Bakshi Pharma. I’m sure you have heard of it.’
Rohit looked at Aditya and Meera, who nodded. ‘We were very happy together, content in our own small world, until a year ago. My father-in-law, Dev Bakshi, died in a car accident. Tanvi could not handle the loss and slipped into depression. She lost all interest in the business, or rather, in life itself.’
Aditya and Meera exchanged a glance, waiting for Rohit to continue.
‘Soon, she started to fly into fits of rage, in the office, at home . for no reason at all. Around six months back, I woke up one night and saw that Tanvi was not in bed. My first thought was she may have gone to the restroom, but I checked and she hadn’t. I got worried and looked for her in the other room, but she wasn’t there either. Then I heard something ... footsteps ... someone walking in the courtyard. I could see from the window on the floor above that it was Tanvi. I rushed down and called out to her. She did not respond. Then she looked right through me. That was when I realised she was walking in her sleep.’
‘Was that the first time she sleepwalked?’ asked Aditya.
‘Yes, as far as I can say,’ replied Rohit.
‘But, isn’t sleepwalking a fairly common disorder?’ Meera asked.
‘It is. But sleepwalking with a knife is not,’ Rohit said.