The Case of the Missing Servant

Ten minutes later, the auto turned down the lane that ran behind Raj Kasliwal Bhavan. Finally it came to halt outside the deserted bungalow with the overgrown garden.

Munnalal got out and paid the driver, who promptly drove off in search of another fare. He looked up and down the street to make sure no one was following him and then slipped through the leaning iron gate. A second later he was lost amid the long grass and shadows.

The motorcyclist, having dismounted and watched Munnalal's movements from behind the corner, took off his helmet and, leaving it on his bike, continued his pursuit on foot.

Zia and Shashi, who had pulled up a safe distance behind him, rounded the corner in time to see the motorcyclist pass through the gate and enter the garden.

'No way I'm going in there,' whispered Shashi as they crossed the lane. 'I heard an owl!'

'They're harmless, yaar. All they do is sit in trees and go hoo hoo.'

'OK, hero, you go in there and I'll wait here and cover you.'

'What is this 'cover me' business? Bloody half-wit. Think you're Dirty Hari?'

'It's Dirty Harry ,' corrected Shashi.

'Whatever, yaar. You stay here. Relax. Maybe take a nap.'

Cautiously, Zia headed into the garden. Shashi watched him go and, finding himself alone, had a change of heart.

'I thought I'd better watch your back,' he whispered when he caught up with his partner.

Together, the two of them crept forward through the long grass and weeds. The owl started hooting again, causing Shashi to grip Zia's arm. And then suddenly a figure ran straight into them, knocked them both to the ground and sprinted off in the direction of the lane. Zia and Shashi were dazed and it took them a few seconds to pick themselves off the ground.

'Go after him! I'll check ahead!' ordered Zia.

'Ten-four!'

Shashi gave chase, but he was too slow. As he reached the lane, the motorcycle kicked into start and, with a roar of the engine, made a 180-degree turn and sped away.

Shashi watched the Bajaj Avenger disappear from sight, knowing that his cousin's Vespa was no match for it, and went to find his partner.

They met outside the gate.

'He got away!' said Shashi in a loud voice.

'Keep your voice down, you fool!'

'Don't call me a fool!'

'OK, half-wit! What happened?'

'He took off. What about Bastard Number One?'

'He's dead.'

'What? Are you sure?'

'Yes, I'm sure!' snapped Zia. 'He's lying behind that abandoned house with a knife sticking out of his throat.'

Shashi's eyes widened.

'What happened?'

'Well, it wasn't suicide!'

Shashi held his hands over his face and kicked at the ground. A pall of dust rose around him.

'That's just our luck!' He cursed. 'Bloody fat bastard goes and gets himself terminated while we're on duty. Boss and Tubelight are going to kill us!'

'I know! It's all your fault. You should have rubbed the mud off the numberplate and written it down when you had a chance,' said Zia.

'What do you mean I should have? What about you?'

'It was your turn to do the thinking.'

Shashi paced back and forth a couple of times. Then a thought occurred to him.

'What about his mobile phone? Did you get it?'

'It wasn't there.'

'Sure?'

'I checked all his pockets!'

'Wallet?'

'Gone as well?'

There was a pause.

'What do we do now? Call the cops?'

'No, you idiot, we get out of here before someone sees us.'

'Right…I mean Roger that,' said Shashi.

'Bloody fools!' was Puri's reaction to news of Munnalal's murder and the events leading up to it.

It was Tubelight who broke it to him at two in the morning.

'Do the cops know?' asked the detective as he tried to shake off the deep, restful sleep he had been enjoying.

'Doubtful. The body is probably lying unnoticed, it being nighttime, Boss. Should I make an anonymous call? Tip off the cops?'

'Not yet. They'll trample the scene. I'll try to get there as fast as I can.'

Puri hung up the phone and switched on the light in the panel behind his bed. Rumpi stirred.

'What is it, Chubby?' she asked sleepily.

'Trouble,' he answered. 'Where's the driver?'

'I put him in with Sweetu.'

'Wake him and then pack my things, will you? I've got to return to Jaipur immediately. The case has taken a turn for the worse. Someone has been murdered.'

'Who?' she asked.

'The man who held all the answers.'

Puri changed and went into his study. Opening the safe, he took out his .32 IOF and slipped it into his trouser pocket.

By the time he went downstairs, his wife was standing by the front door with his packed overnight case, a few cold rotis wrapped in tinfoil and a flask of hastily made 'dip tea.'

The detective smiled and gently took her cheek in his right hand. 'Meri achhi biwi, my good wife,' he said.

She could feel the cold metal of Puri's pistol against her thigh as she gave him a fond hug.

'Take care,' she said.

The detective chuckled. 'Don't worry about me, my dear. When it comes to danger, I've got a sixth sense.'

'Danger doesn't worry me,' answered Rumpi. 'But those deadly pakoras and chicken frankies you like so much do.'

Puri managed to get a couple of hours' sleep and reached the Jaipur city limits at dawn. An apologetic and sleepy Tubelight was waiting for him at Ajmeri Gate. They headed straight to the murder scene. But the police had beaten them to it. Three Jeeps and the coroner's wagon, which looked like an armored milk van, were parked outside the gate of the derelict house. Five impassive constables stood nearby, chatting among themselves.

Puri told Handbrake to stop the car across the road, from where he watched and waited. A few minutes later, a procession emerged from the garden. It was led by a couple of orderlies carrying a stretcher with a blanket draped over Munnalal's body. Two more constables with rifles slung over their shoulders followed. Bringing up the rear was Shekhawat, smoking a cigarette.

'Good morning, Inspector,' said Puri as he got out of the Ambassador.

'What are you doing here, sir?' he asked, surprised to see the detective.

'Just I was on my way to see my client for an early morning conference,' he answered cheerily.