The Case of the Deadly Butter Chicken Read Free

have the sweet without the sour.'
    Three wrong turns, a couple of U-turns and two more stops-to-ask-directions later, Handbrake pulled up outside the address. Puri's prospective client, Bhalla, lived in a three-storey government-housing complex for babus and their families. There were dozens of such blocks in south Delhi, most of them built in the 1950s and '60s. Architecturally uninspiring, painted in the same government-issue off-pink, and only distinguishable from one another by the letters and numbers stencilled on their facades, they had become some of the most desirable addresses in the capital. H Block was set amongst neem trees and small communal gardens known as 'parks', where children played in the sunshine that was now breaking through the fog.
    Puri made his way up the bare concrete staircase to the second floor. The sound of hissing pressure cookers came from inside one of the other apartments. A smell of roasting cumin and fried mustard oil filled the air.
    Outside the door to 4/B, he found several pairs of shoes lying in a jumble. He unlaced his and placed them to one side. The bell brought an elderly servant woman bearing a pair of rubber chappals.
    The detective was standing on the landing trying to get his stockinged toes between the toe rings when Raju Pillai stepped out of the apartment.
    'Thank the God you've come, Mr Puri,' he said. 'I'm at my wits' end!'
    As was fitting for the Director General and Honorary Secretary of the Moustache Organisation of Punjab (MOP), Pillai sported a thick, black walrus with bushy muttonchops. He pulled the door shut behind him.
    'Satya-ji's in such a state, I tell you,' he said, keeping his voice down and giving a quick glance backwards as if someone might overhear. 'Thought I'd come over to see what I could do for him.'
    'Very good of you,' intoned Puri.
    'I thought it better we have a private conference before you get the facts from the horse's mouth.'
    'Must have been quite a shock, losing half his moustache and all,' said the detective, who was still struggling with the chappals.
    'Can you imagine, Mr Puri? Thirty years plus he's been nurturing and grooming it. Cared for every last whisker. That level of dedication and commitment is seen only rarely these days. And then phoof! Half of it vanished into thin air! From right under his nose, no less. I tell you, Mr Puri, India has lost one of its greatest treasures. The Taj Mahal of moustaches! Something of which all Indians could feel proud.'
    'On phone, Satya-ji said it was removed in the wee hours,' said Puri. 'He was sleeping or what?'
    'Seems so, Mr Puri. Must have been drugged somehow.'
    'He said also one security guard got hold of the thief but he escaped.'
    'Exactly. The guard spotted a gentleman climbing up the side of the balcony in dead of night. Thus he alerted the police, but they failed to arrive. So he took it upon himself to investigate. Quite a fearless fellow, it seems. He caught the intruder in the act and gave chase. Seems a struggle took place. Thus the removed portion of the moustache was recovered.'
    Puri finally managed to get the chappals on, more or less, his heels protruding over the backs.
    'He is present - this security guard?' he asked.
    'The police inspector, one Surinder Thakur, got hold of him for questioning.'
    'He was able to make positive ID - the security guard, that is?'
    'Not that I'm aware.'
    The detective took out his notebook and wrote down Thakur's name before asking: 'The removed section of the moustache is where exactly?'
    'Thakur has taken it for evidence. Against all our protestations, I should say.'
    'He offered any theory to what all happened?'
    'Frankly speaking, Mr Puri, I don't believe he's taking the case seriously. Seemed to find the whole thing amusing for some reason!'
    'Our Dilli police are not performing their duties in a professional manner,' said the detective with a solemn shake of the head. 'You've any theory yourself as to the identity of the guilty person?