He swept the chapel with his gaze. Just like the spot he was standing in, the door at the far end of the open space across the breadth of the chapel was in darkness. As he looked around a second time, his gaze halted at the altar, and he realized what had changed. The candlesticks had been moved. When he had seen them yesterday, the five candlesticks had been distributed evenly along the length of the altar. Now, three of them were bunched together at the far end of the altar, and the remaining two at the near end.
He approached the altar cautiously and studied it. The thin layer of dust that covered the altar stone had been disturbed in several places. There were long streaks on it, where the dust had been removed, and a large patch that gleamed dustless. After inspecting this for a long moment, Athreya went around and climbed the three steps on to the dais on which the altar stood.
Behind the altar were more clues. Two large floor mats had been shifted from their original place and were lying askew. Something or somebody had been here. Either during the previous day, after Manu had shown him around the chapel, or sometime at night. Turning around slowly, he noticed a small scrap of cloth caught on one of the wooden benches that ran along the wall on either side of the mural portraying Jesus. He went down on his haunches and examined it.
Caught on an exposed splinter of wood was a small strip of cloth, perhaps half an inch long. Carefully, Athreya picked out the dark-blue scrap with his thumb and forefinger. It was of a thickish material, of the type used in apparel. Had somebody’s trousers caught on the splinter and ripped?
He rose and surveyed the rest of the dais, trying not to disturb the mats or touch anything. Having scrutinized the area behind the dais, he descended the three steps on the dais’s far end. As Athreya turned to check if the door at that end of the open space was bolted, he froze mid-stride.
In the dark corner beside the door, where the chapel wall met the dais, was Bhaskar’s wheelchair with its back to him. Slumped on it was a man with a grizzled mane and a salt-and-pepper beard. His hands rested limply on his lap. A large, reddish-brown patch had spread over much of his shirt’s right shoulder.
Taking care not to touch or disturb anything, Athreya went beside the wheelchair and peered at the man. Two seconds later, his fears were confirmed. The man’s throat had been slit.
Violent death had returned to Greybrooke Manor.
For a moment, Athreya contemplated rousing the household. No sooner had the thought risen in his mind that he dismissed it. The dead man was beyond all mortal help now, and had been so for hours. Nothing was to be gained by creating a ruckus now. On the other hand, there was everything to be lost once people rushed into the chapel. Whatever little evidence there was would be trampled over and destroyed. It was best to examine the chapel before alerting the others.
The corner where the wheelchair stood was one of the two darkest spots in the chapel, the other being the corresponding corner near the door at the other end of the open space in front of the dais. The wheelchair was placed such that the dead man was facing the corner. It looked as if he had been wheeled there after being killed, perhaps to keep the murder from being discovered inconveniently early.
Using the light of his mobile phone, Athreya found the front of the victim’s shirt completely drenched maroon. Blood had flowed down to the hands that rested on his lap. The throat presented a gory sight–it was slit from ear to ear, and the cut seemed very deep.
Athreya retreated from the wheelchair and searched for the light switches. A minute later, all the lights in the chapel were blazing. He pulled out his mobile phone, and clicked dozens of pictures from different angles and shot videos of the entire chapel. Ten minutes later, when the battery of his overheated mobile phone was three-fourths gone, he put it away and studied the scene once again.
The floor in front of the altar was covered with rectangular floor mats that were about four feet by eight feet. They had been arranged neatly across the entire area, and all of them were of the same type and size. Similar mats were spread over the aisle and on the space for people to stand, behind the pews on either side of the chapel entrance. On the mat under the wheelchair were two round spots of blood about an inch across.
Athreya’s thoughts were disturbed by a thumping sound that seemed to be coming from a distance. It had been audible for perhaps half a minute, but, because his attention was focused inside the chapel, it had not registered. Now, as it intruded upon his consciousness, he looked up and cocked his head to one side, listening. The sound seemed to be emanating from the mansion.
He hurried out of the chapel, frowning as he closed the door. The same subliminal feeling gnawed at him again. Dismissing it once more, he hurried to the source of the thumping, which was the rear of the mansion. As he approached the back door, it opened and Sebastian came out, looking groggy. Behind him was Manu, looking annoyed. Both men were still in their pyjamas.
For a moment, the three men stared uncomprehendingly at the closed door of the staff quarters. The thumping was coming from behind the door, which had been bolted from the outside. Someone had locked the staff in.
Before Athreya could stop him, Manu hurried down the steps and slid the bolt open. The door opened, and inside stood Murugan, a stout middle-aged lady whom Athreya took to be Bhuvana, and three young
