‘What paintings?’ Enrico asked.
‘The Balsano landscapes.’
Back in Coonoor, a ravenous Athreya sat down to eat lunch with Rajan. News of the anti-drug team’s discovery at the shack had come in, delighting Rajan and the local police. If Rajan had been expecting Athreya to be surprised at any of the three names that had emerged in relation to the shack, he was disappointed. In fact, the third name, which had surprised everyone, was the very one Athreya had asked Rajan to enquire about in Coorg.
Rajan’s contact in Coorg called when they were in the midst of lunch. He had completed the enquiries, and found out something that left Rajan astonished.
‘The person you asked me to find out about is dead,’ the man said. ‘Died ten years ago.’
‘You were right,’ Rajan said once he had hung up. ‘Things are falling into place. We now have enough evidence for a conviction. In addition, Abbas, Murthy, Ismail and a few others will also see jail terms.
‘The local police are thrilled that they have finally been able to nail Abbas. They have been after him for a few years now, and suspected that he was somehow involved in the drug trade. But they had nothing definite. Now, they have him.’
‘Bhaskar Fernandez too suspected that Abbas was in the drug trade,’ Athreya said. ‘In fact, he was very sure of it. It was his conviction that set me onto Abbas. A very sharp man, Bhaskar. He will be delighted to hear this news.’
‘That’s all fine,’ Rajan said with a frown. ‘But how does all this fit in with the murders at Greybrooke Manor? Why was Phillip killed? We know that he was involved in the attempts on Bhaskar’s life. But who killed him? And Sebastian? I suppose he surprised someone at the chapel last night and paid the price for it.’
‘That is what I am waiting for,’ Athreya replied. ‘The last piece of the puzzle. The final piece of evidence that links the residents of the valley to art-related crimes in Europe.’
‘What kind of evidence?’ Rajan asked.
‘Fingerprints. I expect one set of prints from here to find a match in the Viennese police records.’
As if on cue, Athreya’s phone rang. It was the man from Delhi. He sounded excited.
‘We have a match!’ he exclaimed. ‘We finally have a match.’
20
Back at Greybrooke Manor, Athreya was standing over Bhaskar, who was seated in his wheelchair in the study. Sebastian’s murder had broken him. He sat slumped now, pale and drawn, his eyes looking deep-set and empty. Without Sebastian standing behind him, Bhaskar somehow looked lonely. It was no secret that Sebastian had been like a son to him.
Sebastian had been with Bhaskar from the time the younger man had been an uneducated, wayward seventeen-year-old. As a dark-skinned Spanish immigrant and a recent orphan, Sebastian had been unemployed and penniless in Austria. Bhaskar had pulled him out of the mire that many boys of Sebastian’s economic standing were prone to sink into. He had offered Sebastian a job at his antiques shop and had given him a roof over his head.
Most importantly, he had given the young orphan hope, and something to look forward to in life. Alongside this, he had educated Sebastian and taught him many things, small and big, that enabled him to move in the circles of law-abiding, self-respecting citizens. Sebastian had, in turn, demonstrated an eye for antiques and the ability to distinguish between genuine artefacts and fakes. He had picked up the trade quickly and become indispensable to Bhaskar.
For over thirty years, he had been Bhaskar’s right hand, from before Bhaskar became a cripple, from when he ran a flourishing antiques business–first in Europe, then in India. In Bangalore and Chennai, and later, after Thomas Fernandez’s death, at Greybrooke Manor as his caregiver, secretary and major-domo.
Now with Sebastian gone, Bhaskar was at a complete loss. He seemed paralysed physically and mentally, unable–or unwilling–to be the dominant force he had always been. Since morning, Manu had stepped into the vacuum left by Sebastian’s death, taking charge of the mansion and administering tender care to his father. Dora too had stepped up to the occasion, quietly working with Manu to run the household.
Looking down at Bhaskar, Athreya felt sorry for him. The man in the wheelchair had faced the prospect of his own unnatural death with equanimity, even elan. He had devised a scheme to thwart his would-be killers, and had written two conflicting wills. But the murder of Sebastian seemed to have blindsided him.
Be that as it may, Athreya still had a job to do. Bhaskar had commissioned him to solve the crimes, and he was on the verge of doing so. But first, he had to confront the older man and get him to speak of the secrets he had so far withheld.
‘It is time,’ he said softly to Bhaskar, ‘for us to have a little chat. The time has come for you to take the cover off what has been hidden for over twenty years. Only then will there be a resolution to this affair. Only then can you rest in peace.’
Bhaskar looked up at Athreya with hollow eyes and said nothing.
‘I know about Marcel Fessler’s death,’ Athreya continued. ‘About the Künzi Brothers and the Balsano landscapes. And about Jacob Lopez. I have all the information that is publically available in Vienna, and some that is not. I have also spoke to Enrico. But there are gaps that only you can fill. What you choose to tell the world is entirely up to you. But having commissioned me, you must let me into your confidence.’
Bhaskar let out a long sigh and slowly nodded his head.
‘I owe it to you,’ he concurred. ‘If you indeed know about what you just mentioned, I am astonished. Today is only the third day after Phillip’s murder. How you managed it is beyond me. But you
