The Case of the Missing Servant

producers, directors and leading men in Mumbai.

The spread pictured her sitting on a white couch with her parents and her pet poodles. 'Putting Family First' read the headline.

With a disdainful chortle, Puri tossed the magazine back onto the table just as the door to the doctor's office opened.

'Hello, old pal, this is a surprise!' said Dr. Ghosh with open arms. 'Long time no hear, eh, Chubby? How long has it been?'

'Too long, actually,' answered the detective, embracing his friend.

'Well, come in. You'll take some chai?'

'And some of those chocolate biscuits you keep hidden in your drawer.'

Puri stepped into the office and sat down in one of the two chairs in front of Dr. Ghosh's desk.

'Extra sugar for my dear friend,' Dr. Ghosh told his assistant before closing the door behind him and sitting down in the chair next to Puri.

'My God, it's good to see you, Chubby!' he said, giving him a friendly pat on the knee. 'How are you?'

'World class,' answered Puri. 'You?'

'All fine. But you've been neglecting me for too long.'

'I know, Shubho-dada.' Shubho was short for Subhrojit; dada meant older brother in Ghosh's native Bengali. 'But I'm nonstop these days. The city is going mental, I tell you. There's a crime wave like you wouldn't believe. Not a day goes by without some girl getting raped or a businessman getting kidnapped. You read about the shootings in CP[3]? Can you imagine? Goondas running around knocking off businessmen in daylight hours! Someone even took a pop at me just the other day.'

'I heard. Rumpi called me. Said you're working too hard and your blood pressure's up. She asked me to have a word with you, Chubby. Frankly speaking, you do look tired.'

'Oh, please, the woman is keeping me half starved. How am I meant to live on daal and rice?'

'You're off the chicken frankies, I take it?' said Dr. Ghosh, looking skeptical.

'Well, not entirely,' admitted Puri with a roguish grin.

'Hmm, I thought as much. And when's the last time you had a holiday?'

'You're doing an examination, is it, Doctor?'

'Tell me, Chubby. When was the last time you had even one day off?'

'I've no time for meter down, Shubho-dada,' he said. 'People look to me for help. Who else they can turn to? The cops? When the director general, Central Reserve Force, is getting his journalist lover stabbed and throttled to death? Do you know in NOIDA, where gangsters are nightly holding up commuters with country-made weapons, the constabulary's phones are cut off through nonpayment of bills? They're not even having petrol for their vehicles!'

'I know how bad it is, Chubby. Believe me. Only yesterday, Rajesh Uncle's house was broken into and they gagged and bound Sarita Auntie.'

'By God,' intoned Puri.

'Point is, it's not your responsibility. You're no caped crusader. This isn't Gotham City. It's Delhi. You can't clean it up single-handed.'

'Someone's got to bloody well do something,' said Puri, raising his voice. 'Papa worked every day of his life to build a better India. I owe it to him to-'

'Your papa was a good man, we all know that,' interrupted Dr. Ghosh. 'No one with a shred of decency could ever doubt it. Never mind the whispers. Let them be damned! But it's not your responsibility to make amends for what happened. You've got to think of your own health and well-being. Let's face it, you're not getting any younger. Or slimmer! Think of Rumpi. She needs you, too.'

The doctor's assistant brought in their tea on a tray and left it on the desk. Puri took his cup while Dr. Ghosh went behind his desk, opened the drawer and took out an already open packet of milk chocolate McVities digestives imported from the UK.

'I shouldn't give you these, but you'll only accuse me of being tight,' he said, handing Puri the packet. 'There's only a few left anyway.'

'I'm sure you're having more stashed away there somewhere,' chided the detective.

'Could be,' said Dr. Ghosh with a wink.

They both bit into their biscuits and sipped their tea. By now the doctor was sitting behind his desk. On the wall hung his medical degree from the All India Institute of Medical Sciences and his certificate from Harvard.

'So, Chubby, I take it this is one of your professional visits. What is it this time? You need to consult me on some poison? Or you've got another crushed skull to show me?'

'Actually it's about one of your patients,' said Puri.

'Oh?'

'Don't worry, Shubho-dada, I know all about your doctor confidentiality and all. No one's asking you to betray any secrets. Without naming names, I want to tell you what I know about a certain individual. If my theory is wrong, just say the word.'

'Sounds fair enough, Chubby,' said Dr. Ghosh.

'Your patient is male, thirty-one, a senior BPO-wallah. He's living in NOIDA in quite a fancy apartment. Has his own gym and talking toilet and all. Currently he is engaged and due to be married shortly. Quite the golfing fanatic, he is. He is worryingly obsessed with golf, in fact.'

Dr. Ghosh leaned forward on his desk, picked up a Parker pen and started doodling on his blotting paper.

Puri switched to Hindi. 'I've been studying his habits and they are extremely suggestive,' he said. 'At school he was a misfit, never had many friends and was prone to depression. Since then he has become extremely successful professionally, but he remains a private person in a way that very few Indians are. At the golf club, for example, he never uses the men's changing rooms, but comes home to shower. He never consumes alcohol, either, presumably because he needs to maintain control at all times.'

Puri paused for a moment to finish his tea and reached for another biscuit, the last in the packet.

'You've been prescribing him testosterone,' he continued. 'I'm guessing he's been taking it since his mid- teens. Given your specialization, I would say that he has…well, let us call it a 'special problem' and it is something he has been keeping secret all his life.'

Puri chose his next words carefully.

'The irony is that he has nothing to hide, and that is precisely the problem,' he said.

The faintest of smiles played across Dr. Ghosh's lips.

'Chubby, might I ask why you need to know?' he asked.

'I've been retained by his fiancee's family. Now that I have discovered this man's secret, I'm concerned for her future. If she's not aware of the truth, then she is being deceived and I'm obligated to tell her.'

The doctor nodded and, wetting the end of his finger, dipped it into the cluster of crumbs left in the packet and licked them off.

'It's certainly a private matter,' he said. 'All I can suggest is that you go and talk with the girl.'

'Fine. In that case I'll arrange an interview,' said the detective.

'Try to remember one thing, old pal,' said Dr. Ghosh. 'Love can move in mysterious ways.'

The doctor stretched and looked at his watch.

'I've no more patients today. Shall we go to the Gym for a peg or two and a game of chess?'

'Think you can take me on, is it?' said Puri.

'As I recall, I won last time we played, Chubby.'

'You had me at a disadvantage.'

'How's that?'

'I was completely piss drunk.'

Later that evening, Mary and Monica returned from their evening walk to find that Sahib had come home early.

Much to their frustration, he had parked himself in front of the TV and was watching the news; the prospect