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- Herausgeber: Pushkin Vertigo
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: A Harith Athreya Mystery
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
There's blood in the backwaters of Kerala… BOLLYWOOD Detective Harith Athreya is recuperating in the beautiful backwaters of Kerala when he meets a family of vacationing Bollywood royalty, who ask for his help making a murder mystery film. BANKRUPTCY But the family is not what it seems- there are rumours of major money troubles, links to organised crime, and rivalry between the scions. BUTCHERY When one of them is found dead, murdered exactly like a victim in the film, Athreya puts his holiday on hold to solve the case. Is this the work of an angry co-star, or something more sinister? ________ Praise for the Harith Athreya Series 'Hugely engaging' SUNDAY TIMES 'A slice of sheer pleasure' OBSERVER 'Like stepping back to the Golden age of the classic mystery' RHYS BOWEN 'An impressive whodunnit' INDEPENDENT 'Athreya is a fine detective' NEW YORK TIMES
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PRAISE FOR THE HARITH ATHREYA SERIES
‘Like stepping back into the Golden Age of the classic mystery’
Rhys Bowen, author of The Tuscan Child
‘Perfect for fans of Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle and readers who – like me – just can’t get enough of atmospheric mysteries’
Harini Nagendra, author of The Bangalore Detectives Club
‘A slice of sheer pleasure… blends the feel of classic crime with the modern world, while presenting a proper thorny puzzle’
Observer
‘I love RV Raman’s Harith Athreya with his cool, curious resourcefulness’
Ovidia Yu, author of The Mimosa Tree Mystery
Contents
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
1
Dawn was breaking over picturesque Kumarakom when the small motorboat sped over the waters of Vembanad Lake, churning its way southwards. Around it, the vast, undulating expanse of Kerala’s backwaters was empty save an occasional houseboat or fishing vessel. Here and there, green patches of water hyacinth marred the otherwise clear blue water. The western horizon beyond the lake was marked by a long stand of tall coconut trees. On the opposite side—the east—was the famous Kumarakom shore, lined with upscale resorts that drew tourists from all over the world. It was to one such resort—Crystal Waters—that the motorboat was heading.
Crowded into the small boat were three people.
Crouched in the front, recuperating after a nasty bout of dengue fever, was Harith Athreya, an investigator of some renown. His last case, which had taken him to a mosquito-infested town for a few weeks, had laid him low with the debilitating illness.
Though he had recovered from the initial fever symptoms, he was far from his usual self. Fatigue and weakness were constant, if unwelcome, companions. His fine-haired mane was shot through with more grey strands than had been the case a few months ago. The silvery patch in the front gleamed more prominently now, as did the matching silver tuft on his chin. Having stayed away from barbers during his illness, his long hair made him look more like a bearded collie than ever before.
Huddled behind him, with her knees digging into his back, was his affable and sparkly wife, Krishnaveni. A striking woman who had graciously accepted going grey in her mid-forties, Veni, as she was called, was the Yin to her husband’s Yang.
It was her genial but persistent badgering that had brought Athreya to Kumarakom, where they were staying at her cousin’s lake-front villa. Once this gregarious go-getter made up her mind to do something, it usually got done. After contemplating the medical advice the doctor had suggested for Athreya, she had decided that her husband needed a break in a salubrious environment, where he could recuperate at his own pace.
She wanted to take him away from polluted cities to a place where the air was fresh and clean. Kumarakom was her automatic choice. Her cousin, Kurup, had been delighted at the suggestion and had at once offered to host them at his vast ancestral home on the banks of the Vembanad Lake.
Behind Veni, piloting the small motorboat, was Akuti, Kurup’s daughter-in-law and a yoga instructor who was much in demand at Kumarakom’s resorts. The twenty-seven-year-old, who could converse in multiple languages with tourists, held yoga sessions at three resorts, the first of which began at 6 a.m. at Crystal Waters. As all three also were on the lake, her preferred mode of travel from and to her lakeside house was this motorboat, which was small enough for her to handle on her own.
As usual, the garrulous and affable Veni was talking. How she found something or other to say in any situation was a perpetual mystery to Athreya. This was the one mystery the famed investigator had not cracked, even after decades of marriage to this lady on whom he depended for almost everything except solving cases.
Veni suddenly broke off in mid-sentence and shot an arm over Athreya’s shoulder, pointing over the boat’s bow.
‘See that?’ she asked. ‘That man is watching the resort through binoculars. That, too, so early in the morning. Is it just idle curiosity, do you think? Or is he watching someone?’
Looking where she pointed, Athreya saw a stationary motorboat occupied by a middle-aged man and a young woman. Their attire and appearance—he in a turtleneck pullover and she in a well-cut sleeveless jacket—suggested that they were not locals, but tourists. The man was peering intently through his binoculars as the woman sat silently beside him, looking bored. That the boat was not moving suggested that they were not on a merry cruise.
In any case, few tourists would be up and about at daybreak, and even fewer would be piloting a boat into these backwaters. Being on the west coast of India, it was the sunsets that were popular on this lake, not sunrises. Only fishermen and other locals who used the lake as a part of their daily routine were out so early. Athreya’s curiosity was piqued.
Even as he studied them, the young woman in the boat noticed Akuti’s motorboat approaching and warned the man. He lowered his binoculars at once and tucked them away between his knees. He then stonily watched their motorboat come closer as the young woman feigned nonchalance.
They were strangers to Athreya. The man, who seemed to be in his late forties, had a rough, impassive face that reminded Athreya of some unpleasant characters he had encountered in his career. Their faces too had worn this studied inscrutability. Hard eyes stared back from a leathery face that sported a thick black moustache. The woman was pretty and much younger, perhaps in her mid-twenties. She looked everywhere but at Akuti’s approaching boat.
Athreya’s right index finger began tracing invisible words on his knee—a sign that his mind was churning. He began imagining what the man might have seen through the binoculars. The open layout of the resort meant that he could watch the doors of most, if not all, the guest rooms.
Akuti slowed her motorboat and veered towards the small pier attached to the resort that the man had been observing. They were arriving at Crystal Waters, which occupied a rectangular protrusion of land into the lake. On two sides were the lake waters, while a canal marked the third. An unbroken fifteen-foot-high wall formed the rear boundary of the resort. Crystal Waters had no land access. The only way in or out was by boat.
Realizing that Akuti was stopping at Crystal Waters, the man in the other motorboat started his engine and moved away.
‘What were they doing?’ Akuti asked, as she glided her boat to the pier with practised ease. ‘What’s there to snoop on so early in the morning?’
‘Did you recognize the girl, Aku?’ Veni asked, waiting for Athreya to alight first.
‘No, Aunty. Who is she?’
‘I don’t know if it’s her real name, but her screen name is Bhagya. She is a bit of a failed actress. Does item numbers now.’
Item numbers were catchy, provocative dances that were popular in Indian cinema. Often, they had little to do with the film’s story and were inserted as nuggets of raunchy entertainment.
‘That’s an example of your aunt’s encyclopaedic knowledge of Bollywood,’ Athreya chuckled, as he prepared to disembark. ‘The other encyclopaedias she carries in her head deal with cooking, cricket and politics.’
‘The four most popular topics in the country!’ Akuti laughed.
‘And all your uncle knows about,’ Veni retorted good-naturedly, ‘is crime—murder, robbery and an assortment of the most disagreeable things.’
A man dressed in a colourful lungi and a white banian was waiting for them at the pier. He greeted them in Malayalam with a wide, toothy grin. As the boat bumped gently against the wooden platform, he took the mooring rope and secured it. Athreya was the first to get off the boat.
‘I wonder what an item girl is doing at dawn on the backwaters,’ Veni mused aloud as she rose, took the lungi-clad man’s hand and followed Athreya onto the pier. Akuti skipped lightly from the boat to the wooden platform.
Any further discussion on that topic was cut off by a voice that boomed from the large lawn that bordered the lake.
‘Good morning, Aku,’ it said. ‘I’m hoping to catch you come a minute late one of these days. I’ve been trying for a week, but you seem to have a Swiss watch embedded in your head.’
Mahesh Gauria, a jovial octogenarian filmmaker who was accustomed to getting his way, was sitting in his usual chair with his metal walking-stick by his side. A wide smile split his pouchy and spotted face as he looked affectionately at Akuti with watery eyes. His idea of participating in her yoga classes was to sit in his chair and egg on the people who were actually doing the asanas. Every now and again, he would good-naturedly needle someone or crack a silly joke. If his intent was to make the yoga class enjoyable, he was succeeding very well.
‘Good morning, Uncle,’ Akuti replied with a smile and a wave as she strode to the lawn where the class was to be held. ‘Good morning, everyone!’
A chorus of greetings flew both ways as all in the class wished the three newcomers well, who, in turn, greeted them back. On reaching the lawn, Athreya and Veni spread out their yoga mats side by side. Danuj and Ruhi Gauria, Mahesh’s younger son and daughter-in-law, came and spread out their mats as well. Danuj was a film producer while Ruhi was a successful actress.
‘Good morning, Danuj, Ruhi,’ Veni greeted them. ‘Nice yoga pants, Danuj! New?’
‘Yes, Aunty,’ Danuj replied, cracking an infectious grin. ‘We picked it up at Kottayam yesterday. Bright, isn’t it? Ruhi bought one in a different colour combination. Good morning, Uncle.’
‘Good morning, Danuj,’ Athreya replied. ‘Hello, Ruhi. A penny for your thoughts? You seem distracted today.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing, Uncle,’ Ruhi replied, putting on a smile. ‘Good morning, Aunty, Uncle.’
‘Are you better today, sir?’ Danuj asked. ‘You were feeling weak yesterday. I hope the illness has stopped dogging you.’
‘Oh, I’m okay. It comes and goes, you know. I think Kumarakom is doing me a lot of good.’
‘Aunty, I hope your knee is not hurting today?’ Ruhi asked, glancing at Veni.
‘It’s fine, Ruhi,’ Veni replied. ‘Thanks. Yoga helps.’
Akuti began the class by instructing everyone to start with pranayama.
As he began his first breathing asana, Athreya glanced at the backwaters lapping at the resort edge a few feet away. A couple of houseboats were anchored a short distance away and a crude barge was making its way past the resort with its sole occupant pushing at the lake bottom with a long bamboo pole to propel it.
The motorboat carrying the item girl and the man was nowhere in sight.
Forty-five minutes later, when the yoga session came to an end, Danuj and Ruhi rolled up Veni’s and Athreya’s yoga mats as they usually did. They then went to a nearby table where tender young coconuts were stacked and brought one each for Mahesh, Veni and Athreya.
‘These are absolutely perfect after a yoga session,’ Danuj remarked, sipping the coconut water through a straw.
‘I couldn’t agree more!’ Veni concurred.
‘I just can’t have enough of these Kumarakom coconuts,’ Danuj went on. ‘We don’t get such good ones in Mumbai. So sweet and refreshing!’
‘These backwater coconuts are a speciality of Kerala,’ Veni added. ‘Not just the coconut water, but the pulp inside is very sweet too.’
‘Yeah! It’s a pity we can’t take some back with us to Mumbai. They are just too bulky! No, Ruhi?’
Ruhi nodded silently as she drank from her coconut. Athreya’s gaze lingered on her for a moment. She seemed to be preoccupied and reticent today. He didn’t know if it was his imagination, but he thought he detected traces of fear on her face this morning.
A slurping sound came from Danuj’s coconut as he finished the water in it and drew air.
‘Sorry!’ he grinned. ‘I didn’t want to leave even a single drop.’
He dropped his coconut into a nearby bin and picked up his and Ruhi’s yoga mats.
‘We’ll shower and change before breakfast,’ he said. ‘Coming, Ruhi?’
‘Just a sec,’ Ruhi replied.
She finished her drink, got rid of the coconut and hurried after her husband. Veni watched them go with a smile on her face.
‘They make a delightful couple, don’t they?’ she asked. ‘He is so boyish despite his age, and she is so pretty! A film producer and a star make a great pair.’
Athreya grunted noncommittally as he remained focused on his tender coconut.
‘But despite that, they are so friendly,’ Veni went on. ‘No airs or conceit. Danuj is not arrogant like his sister or aloof as his brother. And Ruhi comes from a middle-class family and is naturally affable. Her success in Bollywood hasn’t turned her head. I’m absolutely delighted at her success.’
Athreya didn’t say anything.
‘You know,’ Veni continued, ‘when Danuj and Ruhi got married last year, the press touted them as the perfect Bollywood couple. I couldn’t agree more.’
Drawing no response from her husband, she turned to him with a glare.
‘Hari! Are you even listening?’ she demanded. ‘I’m talking to you.’
Athreya hurriedly finished his drink and nodded.
‘I am, my dear,’ he replied. ‘You said that they make a great couple. Come, let’s also go shower and head for breakfast. We are due at Mahesh’s suite shortly.’
2
After a traditional Kerala breakfast of appam, idiyappam and puttu, Veni and Athreya adjourned to Mahesh’s ‘Presidential Suite’, where steaming tumblers of filter coffee awaited them along with Mahesh and Danuj. With them was Pari, Mahesh’s elder daughter-in-law and the Creative Director of Gauria Studios. She was twirling a pen and balancing a notebook on her knee. The forty-one-year-old was already a film director of considerable acclaim.
The five of them were working together on a project into which Mahesh Gauria had drafted Athreya a couple of days ago.
When he had first learned of Athreya’s identity, Mahesh had grown excited. The filmmaker had then buttonholed Athreya and enlisted the investigator’s services for a film project he had in mind.
‘This is an ideal place for a closed circle murder mystery,’ Mahesh had said. ‘Look at this resort, Mr Athreya… it has the lake on two sides and a canal on the third. The landward side has a high wall without gates. The only way to enter or leave this resort is by boat—be it through the canal or the lake.
‘And when you use a boat, you will be seen, especially since this is the very last resort when you come by the canal. At least a dozen people will see you on the canal before you get here. It would be very difficult for an outsider to enter or leave the resort undetected. The murderer must be one of the residents.’
‘Did you know that the locals sometimes call this “the last resort”?’ Athreya had asked. ‘Because it is at the very end of the canal?’
‘Do they? An interesting play on words! Maybe, we’ll name the film “The Last Resort”.’
‘This film… do you have anything specific in mind?’
‘All I know at this point is that I want to make a film set in this very resort—a murder mystery where residents get killed one by one. I need to conceptualize it and work out the details. For that, I need your help.’
‘My help!’ Athreya asked in surprise. ‘I know nothing about films. Zero!’
‘That doesn’t matter. Between Pari and myself, we know all there is to know about them. However, we have no practical insight into real-world mysteries and criminal minds. I fear that what we come up with might not ring true. That’s where you can help.’
‘What exactly would you want me to do?’
‘Just be our consultant. Brainstorm with us and answer the million questions we will throw at you. We’ll put our heads together to develop options that we can toss around. We will then narrow it down to one, and sketch out the story. You’ll have fun, I assure you. And it’ll be an entirely new experience for you. What do you say?’
Athreya had asked for some time to think about it.
Later that day, when Athreya told Veni of Mahesh’s proposal, she had jumped at it and insisted that she too would join the project. The idea of developing a film’s story from scratch appealed to her creative side. As far as Athreya was concerned, she said, it would give him something to do. It would keep him from moping, which he invariably fell into when he had no work on hand.
As usual, once she had made up her mind, it was only a matter of time before it became a reality. On hearing of her interest, Mahesh had welcomed her participation and had sought her help in convincing her husband. If Athreya were to have disagreed with Veni, he knew he would have lost the battle. Soon, he had signed up for an astonishingly generous fee.
Today was their second meeting. They were about to brainstorm multiple ways to commit murder at Crystal Waters.
‘Right,’ Pari began, pushing back her lustrous brown hair that matched her eyes. ‘Let’s get started. We agreed yesterday that the story would have up to three murders. Two for sure and possibly a third. For today’s discussion, let’s assume that we’ll have three.’
‘We had talked about one aspect of the murders,’ Danuj added with contagious enthusiasm. ‘Should they be similar to each other or completely different? Both have their advantages—similar murders reinforce certain aspects of the mystery and drive home the fear strongly. However, in the interest of variety and unpredictability, we can make the three murders completely different too. One victim would be poisoned, and another would be killed with a dagger. We need to come up with the third murder. Any thoughts?’
‘Let’s discard the gun as the murder weapon,’ Veni replied. ‘First, people don’t carry around guns in this part of the world. Second, gunshots wouldn’t go with the tone of the story.’
‘That’s right,’ Danuj nodded, his clear brown eyes shining. ‘We want something stealthy and devious, preferably something that strikes fear.’
Athreya cleared his throat softly. The ill-effects of dengue were still dogging him. The others there turned to him enquiringly.
‘Did you hear of a particularly horrifying murder that took place a hundred kilometres south of here?’ he asked a shade weakly. ‘It’s a real story.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Mahesh rumbled in his gravelly voice. ‘What happened?’
‘A man killed his wife by getting a snake to bite her when she was asleep.’
‘Snake! Ew!’ Pari cried, wriggling uneasily in her chair. ‘That gives me the creeps!’
‘It is a creepy story, all right, but a true one,’ Athreya went on in a voice rendered soft by dengue-induced fatigue. ‘A man called Sooraj bought a Russell’s viper from a snake catcher. One night, he drugged his wife before they went to bed. Once the sedative took effect and she was fast asleep, he retrieved the viper and forced it to bite her.
‘The viper, as you know, is highly venomous. The poor lady suffered for many weeks, undergoing procedure after procedure, including plastic surgery. But she managed to cling on to life and survived a fifty-two-day ordeal.
‘After she recovered and returned home, Sooraj got hold of a more venomous snake—a cobra this time. Once again, he sedated her and made the cobra bite her. Apparently, he had starved the snake for days to induce it to bite. This time, the lady died.’
‘Astonishing,’ Danuj exclaimed with a horrified expression on his face. ‘This really happened, Uncle?’
‘Yes, in 2020. In this very state. Not far from here.’
‘Gosh!’ Danuj exclaimed, his boyish face now alight with curiosity. ‘How did the police work out that it was a murder?’
‘When the victim’s father suspected foul play, the police did a brilliant job. They enlisted the services of herpetologists and proved that the snake bite that had killed the lady was not a natural one. Rather, it was an induced bite.’
Danuj’s eyebrows shot up. ‘How did they prove that?’ he asked.
‘By measuring the distance between the punctures made by the two fangs. The distance was larger than would have been the case had it been a natural bite. To force the snake to bite and to make the venom flow, Sooraj had pressed its head down. That made the fangs move apart. The police built up the case and obtained a conviction.’
‘Amazing!’ Mahesh boomed. ‘Phenomenal! I had no idea our police were this good.’
A moment passed in silence as they contemplated the gruesome incident. Perched on her chair, Pari had tensed up while Athreya was narrating the incident. She had pulled up her feet to tuck them under herself as if there were snakes on the floor. Clearly, she hadn’t enjoyed Athreya’s little narration.
With a playful grin on his youthful face, Danuj decided to tease his sister-in-law.
‘Watch out, Bhabi!’ he cried, pointing to the floor. ‘Under your chair!’
Pari let out an involuntary squeal before she realized that Danuj was pranking her.
‘Danuj!’ she snapped exasperatedly, throwing a stern glance in his direction. ‘Grow up!’
Danuj’s reaction was to broaden his grin.
Pari then closed her eyes and slowly relaxed, letting her clenched fists open and the tension ebb away from her body. Gradually, her pretty face relaxed, and she reopened her eyes.
‘Eek!’ she complained, the single word capturing her feelings aptly. ‘I hate snakes!’ She looked at Mahesh and went on, ‘Papa, do we want snakes in the film?’
‘Why not, Pari? You found it creepy. So would the audience. Many will pick up their feet from the floor like you did. It’ll make an impact, won’t it?’
‘I’m not sure I want this kind of an impact,’ she mumbled. ‘Let’s go back to the other two murders. I’d like to hear your thoughts on them, Mr Athreya.’
‘Well,’ he replied, ‘we can come up with any number of ways to kill in the resort—knocking the victim from behind, throwing them into the lake, drowning them in the wading pool, stabbing them when they are on their post-dinner walk along the resort perimeter, and so on. However, those would be simple and straightforward acts of killing.
‘Instead, let’s see if we can add some intrigue to the modus operandi of the murders themselves. Let’s not make the film just a “who-dun-it” but also make the murders “how-dun-its”. Let’s add some mystery to how the murders are committed.’
‘I like that!’ Pari enthused and wrote ‘how-dun-it’ in her notebook. ‘Please go on.’
‘We can set the dagger murder in a locked room. I propose that the victim be found with their throat slit in her room. The lock in the door has been turned, and the key is on a table inside the room. The duplicate key to the door is in a safe in the manager’s office that hasn’t been opened. All the windows are barred. How then was the victim killed inside a locked room?’
‘You’ve got my attention!’ Pari replied. ‘How did the murderer escape?’
‘They had a third key.’
‘Where did they get this third key when only two existed?’ Danuj demanded, his keen face alight with interest.
In response, Athreya pulled out his mobile phone and showed him a photograph of two room keys.
‘The key on the top is yours,’ he told Danuj. ‘And the other one is to the room I’m temporarily using. Remember, you were sitting near me at breakfast? When you went to pick up food from the buffet, I placed the keys side by side and photographed them. Notice that the chequered napkin under the keys has very regular chequers.
‘I wager that I’ll be able to make a copy of your key from this photograph. The chequers on the napkin supply an accurate scale, and my key provides the physical reference and dimensions needed. That’s all a skilled locksmith needs to make a key. Of course, these are only my initial thoughts. I’ll have to prove this by having a copy of your key made.’
‘Nice!’ Pari gushed, writing furiously in her notebook. ‘Very nice indeed! I don’t think I’ve come across this before. In older novels, a key’s impression is taken on wax or a piece of soap. I see no reason why your photo shouldn’t work.’
‘Hari,’ Veni asked her husband, regarding him with a twinkle in her black eyes. There was also a hint of pride in her voice. ‘When did you think of this? I haven’t heard this before either.’
‘At breakfast this morning,’ Athreya chuckled. ‘Hey, it’s no big deal—it’s just a random thought. Now, let’s look at the other murder—the poisoning. I suggest that this victim be poisoned at the table where others are dining as well. Yet nobody sees the poison being administered. Everyone at the table partakes of the same dishes, and nobody else is poisoned. The mystery here is about how the poison was delivered. Unseen and with precision.’
‘Ooh! That’s good too!’ Pari said, going back to wielding her pen. ‘Do you know how it was delivered?’
‘I haven’t fully worked it out yet, but it’s got to do with the victim preferring to take the same seat at the table at every meal.’ Athreya turned to Mahesh. ‘I’ve noticed that you always sit at the head of the table. Your wife is always to your right. And Ruhi is usually at the other end of the table. It seems to be a habit for the three of you. Isn’t that so?’
Mahesh nodded and grinned widely.
‘Yes. That’s how we sit at home—I am the oldest and Ruhi is the youngest. We sit at opposite ends. We seem to have unconsciously carried that habit here too. At home, I always use a particular chair that is my favourite. Thanks to you, I now realize that it’s not a smart thing to do. Someone could get rid of me by poisoning my cutlery well before I come to the table. No need to tamper with the food at all. Coat my spoon or my glass with colourless poison, and I’m done for.’
‘Precisely!’ Athreya said. ‘That’s what I had in mind.’
‘That’s not amusing, Papa,’ Pari cut in. Athreya saw that she was more than a little upset. ‘Why would anyone want to kill you? You are the kindest and the most generous man I know.’
Ruhi, who had been passing through the room, paused for a moment and glanced their way. Athreya remained silent. But Mahesh couldn’t be held back.
‘One of the downsides of being wealthy, my dear,’ he teased, refusing to take Pari seriously. ‘Someone is always waiting for you to kick the bucket.’
‘Papa!’ Pari objected fiercely. ‘That’s not funny. Please don’t say that again.’
‘Okay, okay! Don’t get upset,’ Mahesh said, raising his hands. He had, at last, realized that she was serious. ‘It was only a joke, Pari.’
‘We can do without such jokes, Papa. Please.’
With a determined look, she changed the topic.
‘How about having the third murder on a houseboat?’ she asked. ‘I am not in favour of using snakes.’
‘Good idea, Pari!’ Veni cheered as Mahesh nodded agreement. ‘This time, the killer could either be an outsider or someone from the resort itself. Anyone could board the houseboat at night.’
‘Remember,’ Athreya added, ‘every time someone boards or gets off a houseboat, it rocks. Let’s use the boat’s repeated rocking as clues in the film.’
Pari was writing as fast as she could.
‘Yes, let’s include an outsider or two,’ Mahesh said. ‘Even if it’s a red herring. People known to the victims but not staying in this resort.’
‘Let’s see now,’ Danuj said eagerly, ‘if an outsider were to come at night, either to the resort or to the houseboat, how would they cross the water? We have water on three sides and a high wall on the fourth.’
‘If I were to do it,’ Veni volunteered, ‘I’d use a small boat that can be poled across the water.’
‘Poled?’ Danuj asked, his head slightly cocked to one side in enquiry. ‘How?’
‘You will have seen how they propel boats on the backwaters here, Danuj. They don’t use oars. Instead, they use long bamboo poles and push off the floor of the lake. That makes the boat move forward almost soundlessly. This lake is shallow enough for that. You’ve seen how silently they move, haven’t you? Unlike oars, poles create no loud splashes and make little noise.’
Danuj rose and began pacing the room in excitement. He seemed to be taken up with Veni’s suggestion.
‘Personally,’ she went on, ‘I’d use a coracle—a basket boat made of bamboo that is small enough and light enough for a single person to carry it. But it takes some getting used to, lest it capsizes and dumps you into the water. Once you have some practice, you can move pretty well with a single paddle, even if you don’t want to use a pole.’
‘That’s right,’ Athreya added. ‘You’d also maintain a low profile when you use a coracle. Unlike boats, which stand out several feet above the water, a small coracle is only about a foot high. If you crouch, you might just pass undetected.’
‘Stealth!’ Mahesh applauded. ‘I like it! What a creative couple you two make! See, this is why I wanted your help. Are coracles easily available, Veni? Do you have a photo of one?’
‘Oh, yes, they are easy to obtain,’ she replied. ‘At least here at the backwaters.’
‘Here, Papa.’ Danuj walked across and showed his phone to Mahesh. As Veni had been talking, he had pulled up a picture of a coracle.
‘Ah! I see your point,’ Mahesh said, studying the picture. ‘You can avoid being seen at night if you keep a low profile. Let’s use this, Pari. It also gives an authentic local flavour to the story.’
They went on to talk about how unstable a coracle was and how easy or difficult it was to propel and steer it. Having used one in her younger days, including during her childhood visits to Kumarakom, Veni happily expounded on the subject. Once you had acquired the skill, she said, it was a breeze. Mahesh was delighted. He was entirely taken up with the notion of a shadowy outsider coming in a silent coracle in the dead of night. And the fact that it was unstable added extra intrigue.
As they discussed animatedly, the other Gauria family members walked in and out of Mahesh’s suite. Curious glances came their way as the five talked excitedly about murders at Crystal Waters.
Mahesh and Athreya strolled out onto the lawn after the discussion in Mahesh’s suite. Veni was still inside, chatting with the two Gauria daughters-in-law and Danuj. The two men walked slowly as Mahesh leaned heavily on his metal walking-stick after every other step.
‘I heard about one of your recent cases, Mr Athreya,’ Mahesh said. ‘Bhaskar Fernandez of Coonoor.’
‘Yes?’ Athreya asked.
‘I believe Bhaskar wrote two wills—one that came into effect if he died naturally, and another that kicked in if he was killed. I was wondering why he did such a thing. Was he expecting to be killed?’
‘Well, yes. There had been several attempts on his life already. He hoped that writing two such wills would discourage whoever was trying to get rid of him.’
‘Did the two-will ploy work?’
‘The answer is too complex for a simple yes or no. Why do you ask? Are you planning to write two wills too?’
‘No, no! Just curious,’ Mahesh chuckled. ‘That wouldn’t work for me, you know. I have assets that the taxman knows nothing of. Many of them are overseas. I can’t very well include them in a will, can I? Some of them are not even in my name. So, my will is a very simple one. I was just curious if Bhaskar’s plan worked. There is too much greed in some families, Mr Athreya. Not every scion is a saint.’
He broke off as Veni emerged from the suite along with Ruhi.
‘Before I forget,’ he went on loudly, changing track smoothly as the two women came within earshot, ‘I’d like you and Veni to join us on a cruise of the backwaters tomorrow—Friday. I’ve chartered a large boat that can accommodate all of us comfortably. The entire family will be there. We’d love it if you and Veni could come too. I asked Aku, but she isn’t free tomorrow.’
‘Sure, Mr Gauria,’ Athreya replied, catching Veni’s quick nod to him. ‘Thank you very much. Veni and I would love to join you.’
‘Wonderful! We’ll leave after breakfast. Lunch will be served on the cruise, and there are enough bedrooms on the boat for a siesta if you care for it. We should be back by 4 p.m. or so. See you tomorrow.’
The patriarch of the powerful Bollywood family turned and hobbled away, leaving his actress–daughter-in-law with Veni and Athreya.
‘Ruhi is coming with us,’ Veni said, as she led the way to the landing spot from which a boat would take them to the mainland.
With Akuti having left the resort at the end of the yoga session, Veni and Athreya had to take the resort’s own canal boat to the boat terminal, from where they would walk to Kurup’s house. The boat was a sturdy, practical wooden vessel with four plastic chairs and enough space in between for luggage. Its sole purpose was to ferry the resort guests and their suitcases between the resort and the boat terminal. The three sat in silence as the boatman poled the boat along the canal that was a little more than a dozen feet wide. Two boats could just about squeeze past each other if they were to meet in the canal.
On the left side of the canal was a walled property, and on the right were the backyards of several small houses. Poultry and goats roamed there beside the greenish water of the canal. Some houses had small boats pulled up to their backyards and tied to trees. This channel was a part of a network of canals that the local people used to move about.
They reached the boat terminal in a few minutes, where they got off and began walking towards Kurup’s house. Athreya was curious about Ruhi accompanying them but kept his counsel. The beautiful actress had not said a word since she had joined him. Clad simply in a salwar set, she had padded beside Veni, who was also uncharacteristically silent.
As if on cue, Ruhi came close to Athreya and began speaking. He saw that her pretty face was puckered in worry, and there was a paleness on it, which could have been caused by fear.
‘I’m sorry to barge in uninvited, Mr Athreya,’ she said softly, as they reached the main road from the boat terminal. ‘But I need your advice. Veni Aunty thought you wouldn’t mind. Do you, Uncle?’
‘Not at all, Ruhi,’ Athreya replied. ‘How can I help?’
‘I wanted to ask about wills. I’m sure you know all about them.’
‘Wills?’ That took Athreya by surprise. Mahesh too had just talked about wills. Coincidence? ‘Aren’t you rather young to bother with wills?’
Ruhi was all of twenty-eight.
‘Perhaps. But I want to play safe. Will you advise me, please?’
‘Of course, Ruhi. What do you want to know?’
‘Does a will need to be printed on stamp paper and registered for it to be valid? Or can a simple handwritten will on plain paper suffice?’
‘The law is very clear on this matter,’ Athreya began in a measured manner. ‘A handwritten will on plain paper is legally binding if it is properly signed by the testator—the person who writes the will—and is witnessed by two other persons. However, practically speaking, a will that is printed on stamp paper and registered would be preferable if there is any chance of it being contested.’
‘Okay… does a handwritten will on plain paper need to be in any particular format?’
‘No. As long as it’s legible and unambiguous, it is fine. Why these questions, Ruhi?’
‘I’ve written a simple will, Uncle.’ She briefly held up the envelope she was carrying. ‘I wrote it last night. I want to have it witnessed.’
‘I’d be happy to do it. The second witness can be Kurup, Aku’s father-in-law.’
‘That’s what Veni Aunty said too.’ She threw a grateful glance at Veni. ‘She said Mr Kurup would be happy to help.’ She let out a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you so very much, Uncle. I just want to make sure that everything I have goes to my mother if… if… something happens to me.’
Athreya looked at the worried young woman with concern. What was making her take such a step now? And so suddenly in the middle of a family holiday? Had something happened last night? He recalled her distracted look during the morning yoga class.
‘Why so suddenly, Ruhi?’ he asked. ‘Why now?’
‘Please, Uncle, I don’t want to go into that. I’ve had a decent acting career so far. My films have done well, and I enjoy a good standing with the audience. I don’t know how long it will last.
‘I’ve saved quite a bit, by the grace of God. If I die without a will, my mother and sister will get nothing. I don’t want that to happen—they aren’t particularly well off, you know. I come from a middle-class family.’
‘Who else knows about this will?’
She frowned and bit her lip.
‘I am not sure… I’ve told no one. But Danuj might know. Papa probably suspects it. He is very sharp, you know, and he is like a second father to me. He knows all of us inside out. But don’t worry, I’ll make a proper will and register it as soon as I return to Mumbai. Everyone will know then.’
Athreya let it pass. He had no business probing her reasons for hurriedly writing a will now. She had only asked him to witness it, and he had no reason not to.
‘What do you plan to do with this will after Kurup and I witness it?’ he asked instead.
‘I… I don’t know,’ she said uncertainly.
‘I told Ruhi to leave it with someone she trusted,’ Veni cut in. ‘She wouldn’t want it to go missing after taking the precaution to write, sign and get it witnessed.’
Athreya threw his wife a quick glance. Precaution? Against what? The only event that triggered a will was death. Were there any threats to Ruhi’s life?
‘I don’t want to leave it with anyone in the family,’ Ruhi said, breaking into his thoughts. She looked pensive with a furrowed brow. ‘That could complicate their lives unnecessarily. But whom else can I leave it with?’ An idea struck her. She turned to Veni. ‘Will you keep it for me, Aunty? I know I have met you just recently…’
‘Of course, my dear.’ Veni wrapped an arm around Ruhi’s slim shoulders. ‘I’ll keep it till it’s time for you to return to Mumbai. I’ll lock it up in my suitcase after it’s been witnessed.’
3
The cruise boat turned out to be much larger than Veni had expected. Unlike most boats in Kumarakom that were long and narrow, this one was broad and almost rectangular in shape—much like a luxury barge. Although they were only ten passengers on the cruise, the boat Mahesh had chartered could have accommodated thrice that number.
Much of the forward half of the boat was given to an extensive sitting-cum-dining area filled with sofas, cane chairs and low tables. Bamboo spines and thatched mats formed an elegant, arched roof to shield them from the sun and rain. Aft was a smaller sitting area appropriate for private chats. Between the two were four small cabins where one could catch forty winks if desired. On either side of these cabins were passages that connected the two sitting areas.
Looking at the cruise boat, Veni was sure that Mahesh would have struck a bargain at this off-season time. He might be careful with money, but he had not compromised on luxury and space. All in all, it was a very comfortable-looking boat.
Given their proclivity for punctuality, Veni and Athreya had reached the pier promptly at 9 a.m., the time Mahesh had indicated. As none of the Gauria family members had yet turned up, they waited there for their hosts to appear. A few minutes later, Mahesh and his wife, Manjari, arrived. An attendant came behind them, carrying their duffel bag.
Bespectacled and limping slowly, Manjari smiled at them and joined her palms in a silent gesture of greeting. Veni and Athreya returned the namaste, along with courteous dipping of heads to the older woman. Manjari’s left hand held her metal walking-stick with three spokes splayed at the bottom. In her right hand, the devout septuagenarian carried her rudra mala, her prayer-bead necklace, which was her constant companion. She spoke very little and spent much of her waking time silently chanting prayers in her mind. When she wasn’t, she was listening to devotional songs or reading a spiritual text.
Veni and Athreya followed their hosts onto the boat and took their seats in the larger sitting area. Athreya and Mahesh sat together and began chatting, while Veni occupied a sofa near Manjari that gave a clear view of the resort. Veni was pretty sure that the rest of the Gauria family would take a while to arrive singly and in pairs. That would give her the opportunity to study them in the light of the previous day’s will-related discussions with Mahesh and Ruhi.
To Veni’s slight surprise, Ruhi, the youngest of them all, arrived first. She came alone, walking quickly towards the boat. Her eyes flicked left and right as if she was watching out for something, and they were wider than usual. Her face was pale. Her eyes softened as she saw Veni and Manjari. She came up the boarding plank, touched her parents-in-law's feet in respect and took a seat beside Manjari, who reached out and held her hand. An unspoken message passed between the two.
To Veni, whose imagination sometimes rivalled her husband’s, the young woman seemed to be seeking comfort from her mother-in-law, which the older woman gladly gave. Mahesh’s worried eyes rested on the young actress for a moment before moving away. Realizing that not a word had been said, Veni greeted Ruhi. Ruhi promptly returned the greeting and did a namaste to Athreya.
Next to arrive were Kanika Mehra and Jeet Mehra, Mahesh’s daughter and her husband. As usual, they walked close together, with Kanika leading the way by half a step. She was talking animatedly as her husband listened and watched her face. She wore expensive, well-chosen clothes that accentuated her attractive figure. However, her beauty was marred by the hard, unforgiving cast of her face. Jeet was in his usual blue jeans and a T-shirt, with the habitual half-smile pasted on his face. A pair of binoculars hung from his shoulder.
It occurred to Veni that Kanika and Pari were very similar in height and build and looked alike from a distance. But close up, their faces were the opposites of each other. While Pari’s was open, beautiful and friendly, Kanika’s calculating visage could have been made of marble, with black agates for eyes.
From the time Veni had met Kanika and Jeet, she had taken an instinctive dislike to them. Within ten minutes of chatting with them, Veni had leapt to the conclusion that Kanika was self-centred and Jeet was too slick to be trusted. Their incessant references to money, combined with how they treated those less wealthy than themselves, led her to believe that the couple measured people by their monetary worth. She also got the distinct sense that the slimy Jeet was well and truly under his domineering wife’s thumb, but also like others in the family, he was wary of her. Veni’s opinion of Kanika was simple and black and white—she was ‘a wolf in wolf’s clothing’.
It, therefore, came as no surprise to Veni when, as soon as Kanika boarded the boat, she gestured peremptorily to a two-seater sofa that was away from the others. The couple went there and sat side by side, murmuring to each other. They didn’t spare the others even a perfunctory glance, nor did they respond to Ruhi’s polite smile. They continued talking, oblivious to the others. Having been ignored on an earlier occasion by the couple, Veni did not offer a greeting. Athreya, of course, was stoic as he exchanged a few words with Mahesh from time to time.
Veni turned to see Pari and her husband, Hiran, walking down the pathway towards the boat. Pari stopped abruptly, said something to her husband, thrust her handbag into the thin man’s hands and rushed back the way she had come. She seemed to have forgotten something.
Waiting for his wife to return, Hiran began whistling a song and kicking the grass. He was neatly turned out in his usual half-sleeve shirt and trousers. The few times Veni had met him had left her with an impression that while he looked almost emaciated, he was a brainy man of the scholarly kind. His pinched face had an intelligent look that his round glasses accentuated.
Pari returned in a few minutes, and the couple hurried to the boat. Hiran seemed nervous as he stepped on the boarding plank. He kept a wary eye on the gap between the boat and the pier as if he was afraid of falling into the water there. Once they boarded, they began apologizing profusely for being late.
‘We are on a vacation, Beta,’ Mahesh answered. ‘We have all the time in the world. In any case, Danuj hasn’t yet come.’
‘He’ll be here anytime, Papa,’ Ruhi added in her husband’s defence. ‘He got a phone call just as we were locking the door. He told me to go on ahead.’
‘That’s fine, then,’ Hiran said in his usual courteous way. ‘Pari feared that we were the last. She hates that.’
Hiran and Pari touched Mahesh’s and Manjari’s feet and greeted Athreya and Veni. Pari then went and sat beside Ruhi and began chatting. Ruhi’s face lit up. Not for the first time, Veni felt that the two Gauria daughters-in-law seemed to be on excellent terms.
Veni turned as running footsteps sounded and Danuj came sprinting down the path towards the cruise boat. As was often the case, this handsome man turned heads wherever he went. In many ways, he was the classic image of a dashing film hero, especially when his luxurious mane bounced as he ran.
‘Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!’ he gushed, as he ran up the plank and stood there panting. ‘I got three calls one after another. I hope I’ve not delayed everyone too much. Apologies for making you wait, Aunty, Uncle. Sorry, Papa, Ma.’
He went to his parents and touched their feet. Like his siblings, Danuj too was well turned out in high-quality clothes. Seeing that his wife was sitting with Pari, he turned to Athreya.
‘Can I sit with you, Uncle?’ he asked breathlessly.
‘Of course,’ Athreya answered. ‘It would be my pleasure.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Danuj sat down beside Athreya, placed his phone on the low table next to him and tried to recover his breath. In his left hand was an ornate dagger in an equally decorative wooden scabbard. He took a few deep breaths and turned to Athreya.
‘Nice piece, isn’t it, Uncle?’ he asked, holding it up. ‘Papa picked it up at a souvenir shop in Kochi. One each for the three daughters of the family.’
The weapon had a brown-and-gold hilt of lacquered wood. The scabbard was of similar material, but with designs inlaid in bronze. Veni had seen such daggers in handicraft shops in tourist spots, including in Kochi, the nearest major airport.
‘Whose is it?’ Athreya asked. ‘Ruhi’s?’
Danuj clicked it open and held up the blade for Athreya to see. A name was engraved along the spine: Ruhi.
A blade with Ruhi’s name written on it? A dark interpretation of the phrase occurred to Athreya’s fertile mind. He glanced at the young actress and saw that she was watching Danuj. There seemed something unfriendly about the way she stared at her husband. Perhaps, there was an undercurrent that Athreya was not aware of. The look on Ruhi’s face vanished the moment her eyes met Athreya’s. She gave him a quick smile and turned away.
Mahesh watched Danuj and Athreya talk as Manjari continued to count her rudra beads and chant a soundless prayer. Ruhi and Pari had continued the muted conversation of their own. Kanika and Jeet had paused their whispering at the sight of the blade. Jeet came up and put out his hand.
‘Can I have a look at it, Danuj?’ he asked. ‘I think the three daggers Papa bought are slightly different from each other. I’m interested in seeing the differences.’
‘Sure!’ Danuj handed it to Jeet. ‘You know more about knives than I do.’
‘Kind of a hobby,’ Jeet explained to Athreya as he returned to his seat with it. ‘I used to throw knives as a student.’
He clicked the lock on the dagger and pulled it out of the scabbard. The slightly curved five-inch blade shone dully. Kanika contemplated the weapon in her husband’s hand with a slight frown. It seemed to have triggered a thought.
‘So, have you come up with new ways to kill us all at the resort?’ she asked Athreya loudly enough for everyone to hear. ‘I heard bits of your discussion in Papa’s suite yesterday.’
‘We came up with a few, all right,’ Athreya replied, ‘but I’m not sure if any of them are really new. There has been so much evil since the dawn of civilization that there is very little left to discover, as far as killing is concerned.’
