'At this time?' The inspector looked at his watch. 'It's not even six.'
'What to say? I like an early start.'
Puri gave a nod in the direction of the stretcher, which was being slid into the back of the coroner's wagon.
'Who have you got there?' he asked.
'Male, mid-forties, found with this knife sticking out of his throat.'
Shekhawat held up the bloody murder weapon, which he'd put in a plastic bag.
'By God,' said Puri, feigning surprise. 'Any identification?'
'Nothing. So far he's a naamaalum, unknown. He was carrying this.'
Shekhawat held up Munnalal's revolver, also now in a plastic bag.
'May I see the body?' asked Puri.
'Why all the interest, sir?'
'The murder occurred behind my client's house. Might be I know the victim, isn't it.'
Shekhawat led the detective over to the coroner's wagon and told the orderlies to pull back the blanket.
Munnalal's face was frozen in an expression of sheer horror. The wound was on the left of the neck and the blood had soaked his shirt.
His lips and chin were also stained with paan juice.
'Do you recognize him, sir?' asked Shekhawat.
The detective made a face that suggested ignorance.
'Unfortunately not, Inspector.'
The orderlies replaced the blanket back over Munnalal's face. Puri and Shekhawat turned and walked away.
'Any theories?' asked the detective.
'We got an anonymous tip-off in the middle of the night. Someone called and said he saw two men hurrying out of the garden and driving away on a Vespa. He gave us the numberplate. My guess is these two murdered him for his wallet and phone.'
'So a robbery then,' suggested the detective.
'Seems that way,' answered Shekhawat.
Puri was looking down at the dust on the street where a number of vehicles had left tracks, privately cursing the police for being such bunglers. If only he had reached the scene before them.
'Well, Inspector, I can see that you have everything well in hand,' he said. 'I'll wish you a good day.'
The detective got back into his car.
'Go straight to Raj Kasliwal Bhavan,' he told Handbrake tonelessly.
As the Ambassador pulled away, Puri watched the reflection of the inspector in the rearview mirror. Shekhawat in turn watched the back of Puri's vehicle. The curious expression on his face made the detective uneasy.
It was only a question of time before he found out that Munnalal once drove for Kasliwal and his murder was bound to reflect badly on his case. Puri could see tomorrow's newspaper headlines already:
'Can your boys' vehicle be traced back to them?' asked Puri, with some urgency.
'No way, Boss, but why?'
'Shekhawat has the numberplate.'
'How, Boss?' exclaimed Tubelight.
'Most probably the killer himself gave it to him. Your boys have been most careless. Tell them to go back to Delhi right away. I would want to talk to them once this thing is over.'
The Ambassador turned right at the end of the road, then right again and pulled into Raj Kasliwal Bhavan.
After coming to a stop, Puri sat for a moment in a gloomy silence.
'What's wrong, Boss?' asked Tubelight.
'I've come to a theory about what all has been going on. If I'm right, it would not end well for anyone.'
Tubelight knew not to ask Puri about his theories. There was no point. The detective always kept his cards close to his chest until he was sure he had solved the case. This secrecy was derived partly from prudence and partly from his controlling nature.
'Any luck at the Sunrise Clinic?' he asked Tubelight.
'I chatted with the receptionist. Says no girl matching Mary's description was brought in. I think she's lying. I'm going back at seven to meet the security guard on duty the night Mary was murdered.'
'Allegedly murdered,' Puri reminded him.
'Right, Boss. What's your plan?'
'Just there's some checking up I need to do here. Take the car and send it back for me. I'll pick you up around eight o'clock.'
Puri got out of the vehicle, but turned and said through the open door, 'Be alert! Whatever miscreant did in Munnalal knew what he was doing.'
'A professional, Boss?'
'No doubt about it at all. A most proficient and cold-blooded killer.'
Puri followed the brick pathway that led along the right-hand side of Raj Kasliwal Bhavan, rounded the corner of the house and paused outside the door to the kitchen. It was closed. All was quiet inside.
The detective surveyed the garden to see if anyone was around. Finding the coast clear, he walked over to the servant quarters and edged along the space between the back of the building and the property's perimeter wall.
Facecream's small window was easily identifiable from the thread that went up the wall and disappeared inside. Puri knocked on the glass three times and made his customary signal: the call of an Indian cuckoo.
A moment later, the window opened and Facecream appeared.
'Sir, you shouldn't have come!' she whispered in Hindi. 'It won't be long before everyone is up. Memsahib does her yoga at seven on the lawn!'
'Munnalal was murdered last night in the garden right behind this wall,' said Puri.
'Last night, sir? Just here? I didn't hear anything.' There was a wounded indignation in her tone.
'Could the killer have come from inside?' asked the detective.
'There's no way anyone can come in and out without my knowing, Boss,' said Facecream.
Puri brought her up to date with the events of the night before and told her how he had come to examine the knife wound for himself. When he was finished, Facecream said, 'Sir, was the motorcycle a blue Bajaj Avenger?'
Puri's eyes lit up with expectation. 'Tell me!' he said.
'Sir, Bobby Kasliwal has one. Last night he rode away on it at around eleven-fifteen.'
'By God! What time he returned?'
'Past midnight.'
Puri let out a long, resigned sigh. 'It's what I feared,' he said to himself.
'What is, sir?'
He didn't answer, but asked, 'Is the motorcycle kept in the garage?'
'Yes, sir.'
Puri nodded. 'I'll have a look. Anything else you can tell me?'
'Sir, I've been trying to find out what more the servants know about Munnalal. Nobody has a good word to
