‘Now,’ he continued, ‘you have heard me name two people who helped you–Phillip and Ismail. But neither of them was the one who commissioned you. Ismail was an agent, and Phillip was a helper. The boss was someone else.
‘I will give you two more names. Then, you tell me if I am bluffing. The names are Abbas and Murthy.’
At the beginning of Athreya’s monologue, the mongrel’s expression had been of one who had bet everything on a single card, which he believed was a winner. He now looked like someone whose hand had turned out to be a dud. The smirk had been wiped off, and his assurance shattered. He had just realized that he had no more cards to play.
‘So you see,’ Athreya continued softly, ‘there is no bargain to be made. Mr Fernandez has rejected your offer out of hand. He will have no truck with you. At this point, let me let you in on a secret … Mr Fernandez doesn’t know that I am here. He doesn’t know that I have come to see you.’
‘Then why are you here?’ the mongrel croaked.
‘I will tell you, but before that, I am going to make out another case against you. One that Inspector Muthu is convinced about. What happened three months ago was attempted murder. The case against you now is for murder; the murder of Phillip.’
‘I did not kill Phillip!’ the mongrel snarled.
‘No?’ Athreya mocked. ‘Inspector Muthu thinks you did. He can’t be convinced otherwise. Permit me to lay out the case against you.’
The mongrel was staring at him with wide, fearful eyes.
‘You were at the Misty Valley Resort on Friday night,’ Athreya began. ‘That too was a foggy, murky night like the one three months ago. Abbas and Phillip were already at Greybrooke Manor. Murthy went there at 11 p.m. You followed him.
‘You lurked around for a long time as the residents of the mansion wandered about the lawns and gardens. Hidden by the thick fog, you crept about, keeping out of people’s way, but overhearing their conversations. You overheard a very interesting discussion between Abbas and Murthy at the rock garden; one that gave you material for blackmail in the future.’
The mongrel’s face had turned ashen by now.
‘After they retired,’ Athreya went on, ‘you hung around. It was an ideal night for you to complete your unfinished business from three months ago. They had foolishly left doors open tonight, and the thick mist had always been your ally.
‘You went to the back door of the mansion. Before doing anything else, you bolted the door of the staff quarters from the outside. If you had to leave in a hurry, you didn’t want Murugan, Gopal or any of the others cutting off your retreat.’
The little man’s eyes almost popped out of his head.
‘But just then,’ Athreya continued, ‘you saw a figure come out in the wheelchair. He had grizzled hair, a greying beard and powerful shoulders. You had no doubt in your mind that it was Bhaskar Fernandez, the man you had been hired to kill.
‘He drove the wheelchair along the walkway to the chapel and entered it. Your target was now alone, far away from anyone else; all alone in the chapel. A God-sent opportunity! It couldn’t have been easier. All you had to do was to creep up behind him, and you were an expert at that.
‘You drew the same dagger you had dropped three months ago. Phillip had been kind enough to retrieve it for you. You went in and slit his throat. You ran out, threw the dagger into the stream and went back to the resort.
‘At the resort, you used the small side gate. You knew that it made a noise that would alert the guard. You lifted the latch slowly and let it down. You lifted the gate an inch or two so that it didn’t make any noise, and slowly opened it. Five minutes later, you were in your room, safe and sound.
‘But you were in for a shock the next day. The man you had killed was Phillip, not Bhaskar.’
Athreya stopped and watched the mongrel. He was terrified. Conflicting emotions flashed across his face even as his mouth fell open and his eyes darted about. His breathing had grown shallow, and his face was as white as a sheet.
‘This is the case against you,’ Athreya said. ‘A pretty strong one, don’t you think?
‘What I’ve narrated is what Inspector Muthu believes happened. Of course, I have not given you the evidence; I’ve only outlined what the police think happened. They are convinced that you killed Phillip, mistaking him for Bhaskar.
‘Who saw you, who heard you, what others said about you–all that you will hear in court. Keep in mind, Ismail will sing like a canary. If he doesn’t, he will become an accessory to murder.’
‘I didn’t kill Phillip!’ the mongrel wailed. ‘You must believe me! I was there at Greybrooke Manor, but I didn’t kill him.’
Athreya remained silent, letting the man squirm and agonize.
‘I didn’t kill Phillip!’ he moaned again. ‘Yes, I locked the door of the staff quarters. Yes, I was near the chapel. Yes, I overheard Abbas and Murthy plotting. But I didn’t kill Phillip!’
The mongrel was breathing rapidly now, his breath rasping. The broken man was trembling and wringing his hyperactive hands. His beseeching eyes, bloodshot and haunted, were pleading with Athreya to believe him. When Athreya remained still and silent, a shuddering sob rose from the mongrel’s chest.
‘I … didn’t … kill … Phillip!’ he whimpered.
At last, Athreya spoke.
‘I know.’
19
The mongrel gaped at Athreya as if he couldn’t comprehend the simple two-word sentence. A look of utter bewilderment overtook his face. His eyes bulged and his jaw hung slack.
‘You know?’ he repeated.
Athreya nodded.
‘You know that I didn’t kill Phillip?’ the mongrel’s eyes were searching Athreya’s face as the latter nodded again.
‘You know who killed Phillip?’
‘I do.’
‘Then?’ he asked. ‘Then …’ Words failed him.
‘You got it
