many!'
'You can provide names, is it?'
'Everyone knows he threatened me, Puri! Ask anyone.'
Pillai now spoke up, reiterating in an equitable manner that he could not bring himself to believe that a fellow MOP member could be responsible for such a horrific act. But he was shouted down.
'What does he know?' bawled Bhalla with a smirk. 'Nothing! I'm telling you. It was that bastard for sure.'
'The truth will come out in the wash,' said Puri. 'But first I must know what all happened here.'
'All I can tell you is this,' said Bhalla in an irritated monotone. 'After eating my khana last night, I felt ill and went to bed early. This morning I woke later than usual. Must have been nine. The maid was waiting by my bed. She was the one who broke the news and informed me the police were waiting. I went directly into the bathroom and looked in the mirror and . . . and well, you have seen this . . . this massacre. What that bloody bastard has done to me!'
'You said you felt ill, is it? What is it you ate exactly?'
'Channa bhatura.'
'You like it mirchi is it, sir?'
'Hotter the better.'
'Who else shares the house?'
'Myself and the maid.'
'No family?'
Bhalla raised his hands and dropped them on to the arms of his chair, clearly frustrated at the line of questioning. 'What has that got to do with anything?' he demanded. Puri's placid, enquiring gaze elicited an answer.
'My wife's no more. A boy comes during the day to clean and do shopping and so forth. He's a new one. Useless.'
'He's present, also?'
'Didn't come today. Inspector Thakur's visiting his home. It's far - two hours at least.'
'He comes every day back and forth is it?'
'Look, I don't give two damns about his travel arrangements. What I care about is Ragi's whereabouts last night.'
'I understand your frustration, sir,' responded Puri. 'Nonetheless facts are required. So tell me: this channa batura . . . the maid prepared it, is it?'
'Yes,' was the laconic reply.
'Any is left over?'
'It got finished off.'
'What time you ate exactly?'
'Eight-thirty.'
'You always eat at this hour, sir?'
'Always.'
'She ate also - the maid that is?'
'Must be.'
Next, the detective examined what was left of the moustache, scrutinising the shorn section of the upper lip. The hairs were cropped close to the skin. It was a meticulous job.
'Expertly done, one can say. Any implements were left behind - scissors and so forth?'
'Nothing was found.'
A honk of the Ambassador's horn reminded him that Rumpi was waiting. He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes had passed. He would have to make his search of the crime scene a quick one and return later if necessary.
He made his way to the bedroom, the chappals cutting into the middle portion of the bottom of his feet so that he was forced to tiptoe. On the bed sheet, the detective found a few shavings, indicating that the work had indeed been carried out while Bhalla lay asleep. There was also some shaving foam residue on the side table, as well as a watermark in the shape of a razor.
But why not cut off both parts with scissors and be done? Puri wondered. Surely the spiteful thing to do would have been to cut both ends off and leave them lying on the floor - a matter of a couple of minutes' work.
'Why so thorough a job?' he said out loud.
'What was that you said?' Pillai, who was lingering in the doorway, asked.
But the detective ignored the question.
'Tell me one thing,' he said. 'The security guard saw this moustache thief climb inside over the balcony, is it?'
'Came banging on the door from what I understand,' answered Pillai.
'Thus our visitor got panicked and ran away. He went over the balcony again?'
'I believe so. That was when the security guard fellow gave chase.'
Puri headed into the kitchen. The maid, an elderly servant woman, was standing at the counter making paneer. She looked scared, but the detective read nothing into this. Servants were often shoddily treated and always fell under suspicion as soon as anything
'You can provide names, is it?'
'Everyone knows he threatened me, Puri! Ask anyone.'
Pillai now spoke up, reiterating in an equitable manner that he could not bring himself to believe that a fellow MOP member could be responsible for such a horrific act. But he was shouted down.
'What does he know?' bawled Bhalla with a smirk. 'Nothing! I'm telling you. It was that bastard for sure.'
'The truth will come out in the wash,' said Puri. 'But first I must know what all happened here.'
'All I can tell you is this,' said Bhalla in an irritated monotone. 'After eating my khana last night, I felt ill and went to bed early. This morning I woke later than usual. Must have been nine. The maid was waiting by my bed. She was the one who broke the news and informed me the police were waiting. I went directly into the bathroom and looked in the mirror and . . . and well, you have seen this . . . this massacre. What that bloody bastard has done to me!'
'You said you felt ill, is it? What is it you ate exactly?'
'Channa bhatura.'
'You like it mirchi is it, sir?'
'Hotter the better.'
'Who else shares the house?'
'Myself and the maid.'
'No family?'
Bhalla raised his hands and dropped them on to the arms of his chair, clearly frustrated at the line of questioning. 'What has that got to do with anything?' he demanded. Puri's placid, enquiring gaze elicited an answer.
'My wife's no more. A boy comes during the day to clean and do shopping and so forth. He's a new one. Useless.'
'He's present, also?'
'Didn't come today. Inspector Thakur's visiting his home. It's far - two hours at least.'
'He comes every day back and forth is it?'
'Look, I don't give two damns about his travel arrangements. What I care about is Ragi's whereabouts last night.'
'I understand your frustration, sir,' responded Puri. 'Nonetheless facts are required. So tell me: this channa batura . . . the maid prepared it, is it?'
'Yes,' was the laconic reply.
'Any is left over?'
'It got finished off.'
'What time you ate exactly?'
'Eight-thirty.'
'You always eat at this hour, sir?'
'Always.'
'She ate also - the maid that is?'
'Must be.'
Next, the detective examined what was left of the moustache, scrutinising the shorn section of the upper lip. The hairs were cropped close to the skin. It was a meticulous job.
'Expertly done, one can say. Any implements were left behind - scissors and so forth?'
'Nothing was found.'
A honk of the Ambassador's horn reminded him that Rumpi was waiting. He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes had passed. He would have to make his search of the crime scene a quick one and return later if necessary.
He made his way to the bedroom, the chappals cutting into the middle portion of the bottom of his feet so that he was forced to tiptoe. On the bed sheet, the detective found a few shavings, indicating that the work had indeed been carried out while Bhalla lay asleep. There was also some shaving foam residue on the side table, as well as a watermark in the shape of a razor.
But why not cut off both parts with scissors and be done? Puri wondered. Surely the spiteful thing to do would have been to cut both ends off and leave them lying on the floor - a matter of a couple of minutes' work.
'Why so thorough a job?' he said out loud.
'What was that you said?' Pillai, who was lingering in the doorway, asked.
But the detective ignored the question.
'Tell me one thing,' he said. 'The security guard saw this moustache thief climb inside over the balcony, is it?'
'Came banging on the door from what I understand,' answered Pillai.
'Thus our visitor got panicked and ran away. He went over the balcony again?'
'I believe so. That was when the security guard fellow gave chase.'
Puri headed into the kitchen. The maid, an elderly servant woman, was standing at the counter making paneer. She looked scared, but the detective read nothing into this. Servants were often shoddily treated and always fell under suspicion as soon as anything