Ganesh and the others soon chimed in, and the picture of a reserved, taciturn man emerged–a man who was a threat to nobody and was at peace with his neighbours. None of them could think of anyone who may have wanted to harm him. They could think of no motive, not even the feeblest.
‘What stumps me,’ Manu said, ‘is what he was doing in Dad’s wheelchair.’
‘When we answer that question,’ Athreya replied softly, ‘we would be close to solving the crime.’
‘A related question is whether he was killed when he was in the wheelchair, or he was put there after he was killed?’
‘Another good question, Manu. One for which we don’t have an answer yet.’
‘And why was he in the chapel?’ Dora asked. ‘Was he killed there, or was he wheeled there after he was killed? Was he put in the chapel merely to delay discovery?’
‘That certainly is a possibility, Dora.’
‘If that is the case, where was he killed? Was he killed where you found him or somewhere else? Is that why the murderer borrowed the wheelchair? It would be far easier to transport a dead body on a wheelchair than to carry it,’ Dora said.
‘That brings us to the question of who the murderer could be,’ Manu said. ‘He–I am assuming it was a man–knew where the wheelchair was. He knew how to unplug it in the dark without making noise or switching on the light. It couldn’t have been an outsider. It must be someone familiar with this house and the way things are done here.’
Abrupt silence descended on the room. They had been harshly recalled from their fond memories of Phillip to the cold reality of the murderer being in their midst.
‘Remember last evening’s bizarre conversation?’ Michelle asked in a hushed voice. ‘The one about women preferring poison, and men preferring blades and other violent means. Do you agree with Manu, Mr Athreya? Do you think the killer is a man?’
‘You are a doctor, Michelle,’ Athreya said slowly. ‘You have seen both the wound and the weapon. What do you think? Was it an act that was beyond a woman?’
Michelle looked down at her large hands and sinewy arms. Slowly, she shook her head.
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I think I could have managed it … if I took him unawares. It would be easier if he was sitting.’
‘Keen on digging your own grave, girl?’ Bhaskar growled.
‘I don’t think she is, Mr Fernandez,’ Varadan said slowly. ‘It’s quite apparent that she and Dora have the strength to do it.’ He glanced at Jilsy, who was nervously crushing her little kerchief in her hand. ‘Jilsy may be a little different, though.’
‘Coming back to the question of motive,’ Dora went on, ‘isn’t there a fundamental question here? Did the murderer kill Phillip knowing that it was Phillip? Or did he kill him by mistake? Did he think he was killing someone else?’
‘Meaning me, girl?’ Bhaskar rumbled.
‘Isn’t that a possibility, Uncle? After all, he was in your wheelchair and wearing a shirt similar to the one you were wearing last evening. The two of you don’t look very different from behind. Remember, it was a foggy, foggy night. Besides, heaven knows there are enough people with a motive, your two wills notwithstanding.’
‘What’s with the girls of this family today?’ Bhaskar snapped fiercely. ‘Why do you two insist on putting your necks into nooses? Most women would have tried to make the case that it was an outsider who killed Phillip.’
‘We are not putting our necks into nooses, Uncle,’ Dora said. ‘Mr Athreya is a very sensible man. He would not be swayed by such talk. In fact, it may work the other way. If we made a specious case for an outsider being the murderer, he would smell a rat.’
‘I give up!’ Bhaskar groaned and rubbed his beard vigorously with both palms. ‘And they used to call me venturesome! I never shot myself in the foot. You girls are something else! May heaven protect you from yourselves.’
It was only when Athreya returned to his room did he realize that he had not bathed or changed. He had gone out for an early morning stroll in his trackpants, and had remained in them through the day. Other than to collect his lock picks and jacket, and then to return them, he had not been to his room. As he entered it now, he noticed his laundry lying on his bed. What had been collected the previous morning had been returned today, neatly folded and ironed. As he stared at it, a thought flashed through his mind. Simultaneously, a knock sounded on his door. It was Gopal.
‘I’ve come to pick up your laundry, sir,’ he said.
‘Do you do laundry every day, Gopal?’
‘Yes, sir. When we have guests.’
‘Do all the guests give you laundry, like I did yesterday?’
‘Yes, sir. There are more guests today. We are collecting everyone’s laundry. They are just returning to their rooms.’
‘I assume you wash the clothes right away. When do you iron them?’
‘As and when they dry, sir. The thicker clothes are mostly done late at night or early morning.’
‘And you always return them the next morning?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Thank you, Gopal. Give me a minute. I’ll also give you the clothes I am wearing.’
After Gopal had gone, Athreya had a slow and preoccupied shower, his mind on the discussion he had just had with Gopal.
Then, standing in front of the mirror, he slowly brushed back his uncommonly fine hair that was beginning to grey. Except the silvery tuft in the
