The Jaipur police station where Ajay Kasliwal was being held was depressingly typical. The building was a concrete square, two floors high with steel supports jutting out of the roof in case a third floor was ever required.
Red geraniums spilled onto the well-swept pathway but did little to soften its charmless architecture. Puri wondered how people elsewhere in the world could view police stations as sanctuaries. For Indians, they were lions' dens.
Seeing a well-fed man in a smart grey safari suit, polished leather shoes and a Sandown cap, the duty officer immediately stood up from his chair, looking as alert as if the prime minister himself was making an impromptu visit.
"How may I be of assistance?" he asked in Hindi with a convivial jiggle of the head.
Puri explained his credentials and his purpose for visiting the station: he wanted to see Ajay Kasliwal.
The duty officer took the detective's card and explained that he needed to refer the matter to his "senior," who was in the next room.
A few minutes later the officer in question entered.
"It will be our pleasure to help you in any way. Some cold drink? Some tea?" he asked.
For the sake of diplomacy, Puri sat with the police-wallah for ten minutes, dropping a few names into the conversation and leaving him in no doubt that he was someone with contacts at the pinnacle of power in Delhi. The detective also complimented the officer on the tidy appearance of the station.
"Our Indian police are most cooperative," he said, in a deliberately loud voice with a grin.
Such flattery always went down well. "Thank you, thank you, so kind of you, sir." The officer beamed.
A stern-looking woman constable escorted Puri to the cells.
They were at the back of the station, three in total, each twelve-feet square with a squat toilet positioned behind a low concrete wall that offered little privacy. There were no windows and no ventilation of any kind. The stench of sweat, piss and acrid bidi smoke hung heavily in the air. The bars and the doors were antiquated and the clunky locks required six-inch keys, which jingled from the constable's belt like reindeer bells.
The first cell contained seven prisoners. They were racing captured cockroaches across the floor on a course delineated by empty cigarette boxes. Crouching over the contenders, the prisoners' voices alternated between cheers of encouragement, howls of disappointment and whoops of victory.
At the back of the second cell, a half-naked sadhu with dreadlocks sat in apparent comfort on the hard concrete floor, while two old men with long white beards passed the time over a game of cards. Another man with a cadaverous appearance leaned up against the bars, staring through them with a blank, melancholy expression.
Ajay Kasliwal had the last cell to himself. It was devoid of furniture and proper lighting. He was sitting in the semidarkness against the back wall with his face buried in his hands.
When he looked up, Puri was shocked to see how exhausted he appeared. Deep creases had developed along his forehead. Bags the color of storm clouds had gathered beneath his eyes.
"Thank God!" he exclaimed. Standing up, he rushed to the front of the cell and clasped the detective's hands. "Thank you for coming, Puri-ji! I'm going out of my mind!"
For a moment, it seemed as if the lawyer would break down in tears, but he managed to regain his composure.
"I tell you, I never laid a finger on that poor girl," he said, his grip still tight. "You do believe me, don't you, Puri-ji? These charges are bogus. I'm a gentle giant, actually. Ask anyone and they'll tell you the same. Ajay Kasliwal could not and would not hurt a fly. I'm a Jain, for heaven's sake! We people don't like to kill anything, not even insects."
The lady constable, who had been standing behind Puri, interrupted. "Ten minutes only," she said coldly and withdrew farther down the corridor.
"Of course I believe you, sir," said the detective. "One way or other, we'll get you out of this pickle. You have Vish Puri's word on that."
He let go of Kasliwal's hands and reached into his trouser pockets, taking out a packet of Gold Flake cigarettes.
"These are for you," he said, passing them through the bars.
Kasliwal thanked him, tore into one of the packets and, with trembling hands and fumbling fingers, put a cigarette to his lips. Puri lit a match and Kasliwal pushed the end of the cigarette into the flame. The detective surveyed his client's features in the flickering light, searching for clues to his mental state. He was concerned to see that he had developed a tic above his left eye. Such a spasm could be the first indicator of more serious problems to come. The detective had seen other men-confident, successful men like Kasliwal-reduced to blubbering wrecks after being put behind bars.
Ashok Sharma, the "Bra Raja," who had hired Puri to investigate the bizarre set of events that had led to the death of his brother (the Case of the Laughing Peacock), had suffered a nervous breakdown after spending just one night in Delhi's notorious Tihar jail.
Of course, Kasliwal's cell was positively five-star compared to Tihar. But tomorrow morning, he had a date in front of a magistrate at the District and Sessions Court, where he would be charge sheeted. And if bail was denied-and in the case of a "heinous crime" it often was-he would be remanded into judicial custody and sent to the Central Jail. There, Kasliwal would be forced to share a dormitory with twenty convicted men. If he wished to remain un molested, he would have to pay them protection money.
"The first thing I must know, sir, is who is representing you?" asked Puri.
"My wife was here two hours back and says K. P. Malhotra has agreed to take the case. I haven't talked to him yet; my mobile ran out. He's meant to come this afternoon."
"He's someone you trust?"
"Absolutely. We've known each other for twenty-odd years. He's a good attacker and adept at defending his wicket, also."
"Badiya-that's good to hear," said Puri. "But, sir, if I'm to continue, there can be no other private detective. It will make things too hot in the kitchen."
Kasliwal stole a furtive glance at him; Puri guessed that the lawyer's wife had already sown the seeds of doubt about the detective's abilities.
"You're not satisfied with my work, is it?" he prompted.
"Well, Puri-ji, frankly speaking, so far I've not seen much evidence of progress," admitted Kasliwal. "Now I'm behind bars charged with rape and murder. Can you blame me for shopping elsewhere? My life and reputation are at stake."
"Sir, I assure you everything and anything is being done. But my methods are my business. It is for the client to place his trust in my hands. Not once I have failed in a case and I'm not about to start now. Equally, Rome wasn't built in the afternoon. These things can't be rushed."
Kasliwal pursed his lips as he weighed his options over the last of the cigarette.
"I'll make sure you're the only one on the case, Puri-ji," he said eventually.
"Good," said the detective. "Now let us waste no more time. Tell me exactly and precisely what occurred when you were brought in. Inspector Shekhawat read you the riot act, is it?"
"He says he's got witnesses who saw me dump the body."
"Police-wallahs can always find witnesses," said Puri. "A good lawyer will deal with them in court. What else?"
"He says a former servant is ready to testify that I raped her."
"Who is she?"
"How should I know, Puri-ji? I kept quiet during the interview, refused to say a word, so naturally I didn't ask who this woman is."
"Did Shekhawat mention any hard evidence?"
"No, but I'm sure he must be searching for something to spring tomorrow."
Kasliwal took a last drag on his cigarette, let the stub fall on the floor and ground it under his heel.
"Tell me one thing, Puri-ji. In your opinion, the girl they found on the side of the road…she is Mary?"
"Seems that's what your Inspector Shekhawat is intimating."
Kasliwal's chin sank to his chest. "So, someone murdered her after all," he sighed. "But who?"
"You have some idea?" asked the detective.
"No, Puri-ji, none."
"What about Kamat? Your wife told me he's a drunkard and was having relations with the female. It's true?"
"I've no idea."
"Tell me about your movements the night that body was discovered. August twenty-second. Can you recall?"
"I was in court come the afternoon. In the evening, I freshened up at home and…" Kasliwal flushed with embarrassment. Puri could guess what he had been up to.
"You had 'takeout,' is it?"
The lawyer nodded. "My usual order."
Howls of excitement came from the first cell. Evidently another cockroach race was reaching a thrilling climax. When the noise had died down, Puri asked about Kasliwal's hearing.
"It's set for tomorrow at eleven o'clock," he told the detective. "I'm trying to get it heard by one of the few honest judges. But seems no one's willing to lift a finger to help. My enemies have made sure of that."
Kasliwal cast a look over his shoulder.
"Looks like I'll be spending a night in the penthouse suite, huh." He laughed sardonically. "Thank God there's a couple of cops in here I helped out some years back, so I shouldn't be facing harassment. But, Puri-ji, a few hundred bucks wouldn't go amiss. That way at least I can get some outside food brought in."
"You'll find five hundred stuffed inside the cigarette packet, sir," whispered Puri.
Kasliwal nodded gratefully as the woman constable called out, "Time's getting over!"
The two men shook hands.
"I'll be in court tomorrow for sure," said the detective. "In meantime, don't do tension, sir. Rest assured, everything is being done to secure your release. The responsibility is on my head. Already some very promising clues are there. Now take rest."
As Puri was making his way out of the station, the duty officer informed him that Inspector Shekhawat wanted "a word."
"By all means," said the detective, who was anxious to get the measure of his adversary.
Puri was led upstairs straight into his office.
Shekhawat was in his late thirties, stocky, well built, with a thick head of black hair, an equally thick moustache and dark, deep-set eyes. He was the embodiment of the supremely confident Indian male who is taught self-assurance within the extended family from day one. The kundan studs in his ears did not indicate a hip, arty or effeminate man; he was a Rajput of the Kshatriya or warrior caste.
"Sir, it's a great honor to meet you," he said in Hindi in a deep, booming voice. Shekhawat offered Puri his hand with a big politician's grin. "I've been an admirer of yours for quite some time. Thank you for taking the time to see me. I know that you are a busy and important man."
Puri was not altogether immune to flattery, but he doubted Shekhawat's sincerity. Behind the smile and friendly handshake, he sensed a calculating individual who had invited him into his office with the sole purpose of ascertaining whether he posed a threat.
"I was hoping we would meet," said Puri, replying in Hindi, his tone perfectly amicable. "It seems we're working on the same case but from different ends. We might be able to help each other."
Shekhawat seemed bemused by this suggestion. He smiled with slow deliberation as he resumed his place behind his desk and Puri sat down in a chair opposite him.
"It's my understanding that Ajay Kasliwal is your client, is that correct?" asked the inspector.
"That's right."
"Then I'm not sure how we can help each other, sir. I want to see Kasliwal convicted; you on the other hand want to see him walk free. There is no middle ground."
One of the phones on the inspector's tidy desk rang. He picked up the receiver. Hearing the voice on the other end prompted a subtle change in the man's bearing. He stiffened and his eyebrows slowly slid together until they were almost joined.
"Sir," he said. There was a pause as he listened. Then he said again, "Sir." He met Puri's gaze, held it for a second and then looked down. "Sir," he repeated.
While the detective waited, he looked up at the photographs and certificates that hung on the wall behind the desk. From these he was able to piece together much of Shekhawat's life. He'd gone to a government school in Jaipur, where he'd been a hockey champion. He'd married extremely young; his wife could not have been a day over sixteen. They'd had four children together. He'd attended the Sardar Vallabhai Patel National Police Academy in Hyderabad and studied to be an officer. Three years ago, he'd been awarded a Police Medal for Meritorious Service.
"Must have been for a big case," said Puri when Shekhawat hung up the phone after a final "Sir." "The Meritorious Service award, I mean."
"I caught the dacoit, Sheshnag," he bragged. "He'd eluded our forces for thirteen years but I personally tracked him down to his hideout and arrested him."
"I read about it in the papers. So you were the one," said Puri. "Many congratulations, Inspector! It was a fine piece of detective work. Must have been very satisfying."
"Yes, it was. But frankly, sir, I take far greater satisfaction from arresting a man like Ajay Kasliwal. He is the worst kind of criminal. For too long, men like him have roamed free. Money and influence have kept them safe from prosecution. But thankfully times are changing. Now the big cats must face justice for their crimes like all the animals in the jungle. We are living in a new India."
"I admire your principles," said Puri. "I'm all for evenhandedness. But my client is a good man and he's innocent."
"Sir, with respect, Kasliwal is as guilty as Ravan," said Shekhawat with an arrogant smirk. "I have all the evidence I need to put him away forever. He raped and murdered that young woman."
"You're certainly confident," said Puri, hoping to coax the inspector into showing all of his hand.
"I've three witnesses who saw Mr. Kasliwal dump the body by the roadside."
"So I understand, but why was no charge brought against my client for two months?"
Shekhawat answered decisively. "The witnesses took time to come forward because they were scared of intimidation from the client, who threatened them at the scene."
Puri allowed himself a chuckle.
"I very much doubt that will hold up in court."
"I have hard evidence as well."
"How can there be more evidence when the accused is innocent?"
"For that, sir, you will have to wait until tomorrow. I am not at liberty to divulge anything more."
The detective held up his hands in a gesture of defeat.
"Well, I can see I'm going to have my work cut out proving my client's innocence," he said. "Obviously you are determined to see this thing through, so I suppose I'd better get back to my work."
Puri lingered for a moment by the door, looking down absentmindedly as if he'd forgotten something.
"There's something else I can help you with?" asked Shekhawat in the patient tone reserved for children and the senile.
"There is one thing, actually," said Puri, suddenly sounding unsure of himself.
He took out his notebook and flipped through the pages until he came to one in the middle crammed with illegible writing.
"Yes, that's it," he said, as if reading from it. "From what I'm told, the girl's body was cremated after no one came to claim it. Is that correct?"
"That's true."
"And the photograph taken by the coroner was out of focus and extremely grainy."
Shekhawat eyed Puri suspiciously, no doubt wondering how he had come by this information.
"If you say so," he said.
"Also," continued the detective, "her face was all bashed up, bloody and swollen. She'd obviously been given a severe beating."
The inspector's nod was vague encouragement to go on.
"Given this, I'm curious to understand how you can be sure she is the maidservant Mary."
"That's not in dispute. Two witnesses have identified her from the coroner's photographs."
"Former or current employees of the Kasliwals, no doubt."
"The defense will be informed at the appropriate time," said Shekhawat officiously.