Terrifying

It was 5.30 pm. Darkness descended over Palampur, the green hill station in the Indian state of Himachal Pradesh. It was eerily quiet. Crickets, which usually chirped ubiquitously in the darkness of the countryside, seemed to be away on a holiday. There was no breeze. Birds fluttered uncertainly on the treetops as they prepared themselves for a chilly winter night. Every now and then, muted sparks of lightning predicted impending rains. It was so calm, one could hear one’s own breath, a reminder that you were, indeed, alive.

After their customary evening jog, the two brothers, Rishabh and Arya were resting on the porch outside their single-storeyed, ranch-styled home, Arora Mansion. The mansion was huge. It had a long, low roofline; its orange slats contrasted perfectly with the pristine white of its walls on which fluttered the leaf patterns formed by the street lights that shone through the branches of the trees.

The brothers didn’t look like each other at all. Rishabh, the elder of the two, stood six feet two inches tall, with an undercut hairstyle with the hair near the ears trimmed, while the hair on top remained long and silky. His tapering beard was of the exact length as the fade above his ears. Every part of this grey-eyed man was well defined – strong arms, a slender torso, and a straight, thin nose. Arya was completely the opposite – he was a good five inches shorter than his brother. His chubby cheeks, flabby belly, and sloping shoulders indicative of the number of hours spent playing video games

 rather than the actual ones. He had a fairer skin tone and his long and curly unkempt hair fell over his eyes.

‘Err ... Rishabh ...’ Arya cleared his throat nervously, as he stood up. ‘I mean ... Why would you say that fast bowling is not in our DNA? We had Kapil Dev, Javagal Srinath ...’

‘Fine!’ replied Rishabh sharply, drowning Arya’s voice. ‘But can you really call the current ones, fast bowlers?’ Rishabh extended his hand and Arya tried to pull him up almost breaking his back in doing so. ‘Have you even seen their bowling figures? On the bouncy pitches of Australia their numbers are so damning that had they been economic indicators, the government would have called for an emergency.’

What had started out as a discussion about Indian fast bowlers had rapidly changed into a debate. As always, none of the points made by Arya were considered. Even on occasions that lacked significance, Rishabh did not like to lose.

The brothers entered the house and quietly lumbered towards their respective rooms.

Their housemaid Meera sprawled on the sofa in front of the television. The orange juice she was drinking dribbled down her shawl as she took a handful of rice puff and thrust it into her mouth and chewed it like a toothless baby while her eyes remained glued to the television set.

Out of nowhere, a bloodcurdling shriek zoomed through the room like a bullet. A tray fell on the ground. The sound of breaking china echoed through the emptiness of the corridor.

The brothers wheeled around immediately.

There was a hollow, elongated wail; as if fear and grief were weaved into a single chord.

Jyoti twisted her way out of Esha’s room and hurried down the corridor towards them. Her face was pale and contorted. Her wide eyes seemed to burst out from the sockets, as if she had just confronted a ghastly apparition.

 Meera stood frozen, unable to comprehend the reason for the horror in Jyoti’s eyes.

Rishabh stared at Jyoti, his heart twanging like a rubber band. The half- breathed words Jyoti uttered shook him to the core.

‘Esha madam’, she said panting, ‘she is not moving.’

There was another scream.

This time it was from Meera who collapsed on the sofa.

The brothers hurried towards Esha’s room. They stopped short in front of

the door. Arya had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming.

It was the most unnerving sight they had ever seen. Esha’s body lay motionless on the floor. There was a scary calmness on her face as she lay there, face up – her bloodshot eyes staring up blankly at the ceiling. A light green camisole barely covered her pale, lifeless body. Her black trousers were shining with the light coming from the street. There was a pool of blood next to her head. Everything else seemed to be in order. The huge glass windows were shut; the furniture was in place. The back door, however, was open.

A wave of nausea hit Arya. He collapsed as his knees buckled under him.

Rishabh stood there like a statue, gasping for breath. His legs were shaking like broken leaves in a storm. But he swallowed and manoeuvred himself around the broken cups and plates. Breathing heavily, he scanned the walls for the switch. Having switched the lights on, he moved towards the lifeless body, bent down and looked for a pulse. He couldn’t find one. He glanced shiftily towards his brother.

‘Arya, I ... I have to call the police.’ Rishabh stammered. ‘You stay here. Make sure no one enters the room ... Arya, are you listening to me?’

Arya did not hear a word Rishabh was saying. He was in a different world, a world where logic and reality had collided. Just a few hours ago,

 this charismatic lady was spearheading a meeting with the board members of Arora Cements. And now ... She lay there dead in a pool of her own blood. What had she done to have invited such a terrible fate? Arya looked towards his brother. He could hear his brother talking, but the words seem to be coming from a distance, as if he was hearing him through water.

Rishabh repeated the instructions once again, but this time he did not wait for a response. He ran to make that call. When he returned to the living room, he could see both the housemaids, Jyoti and Meera, sitting in a corner and crying. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. He could see his half-sister Rashmi slide down silently against the wall. Her brother Pranav kneeled to comfort her. Things start to blur in front of Rishabh’s eyes. He could see Arya sitting on the ground. Everything around him starts to move ... slowly, and in semi circles. He closed his eyes and the darkness seemed to grow and spread. Moments later he was on the ground.

Six police officers were at the scene within half an hour. They took charge and asked everyone to wait in the living room. Pranav assisted the policemen in their work. There were panic-stricken faces all around. Jyoti, who sat on the floor in the corner of the room, was sobbing uncontrollably and Meera was trying her best to comfort her.

Rishabh had regained consciousness. With his back against the glass entrance door, he looked straight ahead noticing nothing. Tears rolled down his eyes. Life is like a short sentence he thought, you never know when you would reach the full stop. He squeezed his eyes shut hoping it would all disappear, but his thoughts reeled back to her ...

Esha Arora ... His sister, mentor and friend. The orphaned child whom his father had adopted, and had later handed the ownership of the company to. The young director of Arora Cements was practically a celebrity. She had a degree in civil Engineering from UPC in Barcelona and Master’s

 

 degree from Cornell. The two things that made her special; the confidence with which she negotiated deals, and the amount of empathy she had for the workers. She spoke with authority and enthusiasm, quite oblivious to the admiration and envy of her star-struck listeners. A year ago, she had pulled off an impossible deal – the acquisition of a rival’s plant in Solan. A picture of her in a loose white shirt, black formal skirt and gold earrings was published in the leading newspapers of Himachal Pradesh, Punjab and Haryana. From then on everywhere she went, heads had turned like sunflowers towards the sun.

Esha was an attractive twenty-nine-year-old woman with delicate features, whose life’s primary concern seemed to be Arora Cements. Tall and nimble, she could move faster than the teens on the badminton court. After a match, she would soak in the awestruck looks of the teenagers in attendance and then treat them to chocolates and cold drinks. Few of them had a huge crush on Esha – her dimpled cheek, lean figure and glistening eyes warranted nothing less.

At a distance, tyres screeched loudly, and the spectators in the badminton court evaporated before Rishabh’s eyes. There was a loud crunch of gravel as a figure rushed towards the entrance door. It was Inspector Rashid, the highest-ranking police officer in Palampur. He was a small man with a broad chest and muscular arms. The full-rimmed black spectacles on his round face added a degree of suaveness to his personality. He was in his early fifties and inclined to be lazy, but like all lazy people who excel in coming up with cunning shortcuts, the inspector too was intelligent. His colleagues called him ‘The Jackal’ owing to his abilities to smell the criminals before chasing them down. But he felt he was more like a fisherman who drops his line in the water and patiently waits until the naïve fish takes the bait.

Two officers escorted him to Esha’s room.

 The inspector’s eyes traced the length of the victim’s body. He circled the room and returned to the corpse and crouched down.

‘Navpreet,’ called the inspector tonelessly, ‘what do we have here?’ His eyes settled on the sub-inspector, a short, fair-skinned, clean-shaven man with a pencil thin moustache. What was striking about him was his enormous potbelly. It seemed as if he spent the better half of his time eating delicacies rather than chasing criminals.

‘Sir, the victim is Esha Arora, the CEO of Arora Cements. Died of asphyxiation which was preceded by a severe blow to the head,’ said the sub-inspector in a well-rehearsed manner, pausing to allow the inspector examine the body. ‘The victim was last seen by the housemaid at 4.30 pm. She was wearing a black sweater ... We have not been able to locate it yet.’

The inspector glanced up in surprise. ‘What do you mean by not been able to locate?’

‘Sir, we looked everywhere in the room. It is not here,’ the sub-inspector shrugged.

The inspector stood up, still examining the surroundings. Meanwhile, the sub-inspector walked over to the back door. ‘Sir,’ he said abruptly, ‘this door was found open when the body was discovered. According to the residents, the back doors are almost never used.’

The inspector was silent, his eyes still scanning the room. ‘Doesn’t seem to be burglary,’ he mumbled.

‘It doesn’t,’ the sub-inspector said flatly. ‘The victim opened the door ...’

‘Herself,’ said the inspector, as if following the sub-inspector’s chain of thought. ‘But, that is only one of the possibilities, Navpreet.’

The sub-inspector looked confused. ‘Ahhh ... what is the other possibility sir?’

‘Have you considered that probably the murderer is feeding us misinformation? Perhaps, the murderer walked in from one of these front

 doors, hit her on the head, and deliberately left the back door open to deceive us.’ He scratched his forehead absently. ‘The missing sweater however complicates things. We cannot rule out sexual assault ... can we?’ He paused. ‘Do we have men outside?’

‘Yes sir,’ was the immediate reply.

Uncertain, the inspector walked towards the door and looked out. It was completely dark now. The boundary walls were high with barbed wire on top. He turned, his expression clouded. ‘High probability of an inside job. So, let me sum up. We have a door which was found open and a sweater which has disappeared mysteriously.’ He paused as if taking mental notes. ‘Navpreet, once you are done here, take individual statements from all the residents regarding their movements during the day. Also, let me know when you find the sweater.’

He took a last glance at the corpse and left the room.

The inspector re-entered the living room, completely unaware that the murderer was present right in front of him ...

He took off his police cap to convey his commiserations. He absently stroked his dyed hair, which though thinner than what he would have liked, was perfectly gelled, jet black and slicked backwards. Almost everyone looked sad, or they were very good at pretending.

‘I’m terribly sorry for your loss. A very elegant lady Miss Arora,’ said the inspector solemnly, nodding and reflecting on a previous meeting with Esha. ‘This is a case of murder. The room seems to be untouched ... Nothing is missing ... The victim was found wearing a camisole and a black trouser. She has a severe bruise on her head. It is murder, alright. Ah! A terrible affair. Everything points to the fact that the murderer got away, at least for the time being. I gather that she was last seen at 4.30 by the housemaid?’

‘Yes,’ Jyoti croaked from the corner. ‘I see ...’

 ‘I saw her a little before five.’ The inspector was interrupted by Anubhav. He was the manager of the Solan plant of Arora Cements, and if the local gossips were to be believed, he also had a thing for Esha. The inspector turned towards him. The face apart from the gloomy expression and the visible pain on it, seemed very familiar to him.

‘May I ask what she was wearing then?’

‘She was wearing a black sweater with the word Cornell written on the back,’ Anubhav said. ‘She studied at Cornell.’

‘I think ... I saw her last. I was with her till 5.10,’ Naina added boldly, exhibiting an exciting length of her alabaster-white legs. She worked as an accountant in Arora Cements.

The inspector turned towards the young woman. ‘I see. Was she wearing the sweater then?’

‘Yes, she was,’ she said huskily.

‘Paaah,’ the inspector mused. He made an irritating noise, a kind of which one would expect a six-year-old girl to make before stomping her foot. ‘And, who called in the police?’

‘It was me, inspector,’ Rishabh said placidly, from the sofa.

‘Oh, was it you Rishabh?’

The inspector’s son and Rishabh were once in the same class. Rishabh

was a perennial class topper and parents tend to remember these people indefinitely. The inspector walked towards Rishabh, and made himself comfortable on the perch of the wooden center table.

All eyes turned towards them.

‘Has the body been moved at all?’ the inspector asked sharply, the odour of stale cigarettes billowing at Rishabh.

‘Beyond making sure that she was indeed dead, I have not disturbed the body. Arya was vigilant throughout,’ Rishabh looked towards Arya who nodded agreeably.

 ‘So apparently, we have a missing black sweater,’ remarked the inspector thoughtfully and stood up. ‘Has anyone seen it or taken it mistakenly?’

There was a rapid exchange of glances, but there was no reply.

‘Paaah,’ the inspector mused. This time the sound was more irritating than its previous rendition. ‘Very odd that. No problem. We will look for it. For the time being, I will ask you all to remain seated here. My men will carry on with the primary investigation. They will approach you for your fingerprints in some time. Sub-Inspector Navpreet is inside, he will take individual statements from each one of you. Kindly co-operate. Meanwhile, I will have a little chat with Rishabh and Arya’, he then turned towards Rishabh and added soothingly, ‘My dear, would you accompany me to your room?’

The inspector relayed some information to a police officer and followed Rishabh to his room.

The room was presidential. Dark panels, teakwood furniture, glass mural paintings adorned the walls and beautiful glass sculptures were placed on wooden stands at each corner of the room. The brothers occupied seats around a small table which had a variety of business magazines and newspapers on it. The inspector walked towards the glass window and pushed it open. It was dark outside. Adjacent to the window, was a table on which sat a desktop computer. Leaning against it, he reached into his pocket for a packet of cigarettes. He blinked nervously trying to frame a question. What do you say to two young men who have just lost their sister? He popped the cigarette between his lips and snapped his lighter. The dry, intoxicating drag rushed through his mouth like a gush of cold wind. Every time it felt like the first one he had during high school. It was behind a giant rock in front of a brook in Dehradun. It had, like today, swept away all his dilemmas. He gestured towards an exotic sculpture of a fish with blue, green and red lines spread across its transparent frame. ‘It’s beautiful. What is it?’

 ‘It is a Venetian glass sculpture from the islands of Murano,’ said Rishabh, his voice uneven. ‘I like glass sculptures and paintings. Esha brought this for me from Venice.’

‘This should be darn expensive,’ the inspector said, feeling a bit of sympathy for Rishabh who seemed to be hit badly by his sister’s demise and was trying hard to hold his emotions inside.

‘Actually not. It costs fifty dollars. Esha had ...’ Rishabh felt a stab of grief when he said the name. He looked down and the next few words were barely a whisper. ‘Esha had purchased this from the glass making factory ... that’s why it is cheap ...’ Rishabh buried his face in a handkerchief.

For a moment, the inspector pondered whether his wife would like a showpiece like that. He blinked and nodded, forcing himself to think about more important things that needed attention.

‘Boys, I know it has been a terrible day for you two. But I need you to focus. Can you do that for me?’

Arya offered an uneasy nod.

‘What were you two doing before discovering the body?’

Arya put a sympathetic hand on Rishabh’s shoulder. ‘W-we had gone for

a jog ... we were jogging ... I mean Rishabh and I were jogging.’ Arya drew a deep breath trying to calm himself. ‘We do it every weekend ... we jog on the cobblestone path around the house.’ Arya stammered trying his best to answer the question. ‘Today, we started at half past four. W-we completed ten rounds within half an hour. Rishabh went for an extra round as he usually does. I cooled off on the porch. When he returned, we talked about cricket. We re-entered the house at half past five. That is when we saw Jyoti. She was shouting and running down the corridor towards us. It was at this point ... w-we went to Esha’s room.’

The inspector gave a polite smile appreciating the effort. He pulled out a notebook from his overcoat and scribbled something on it.

 ‘Did someone go in or come out of the house during this period?’ asked the inspector.

Rishabh looked up. ‘Only Rashmi, our half-sister,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘It was 4.35, and we had just started jogging. She was talking on her phone and shouting at someone. After our run, we saw her again while we were resting on the porch. I guess it was around 5.05 then. From then on, she was right in front of us the whole time.’

The inspector weighed the information. His parched lips curled around the cigarette, its tip glowing red. He scratched his head unable to recollect how Esha, Pranav, Rashmi, Rishabh and Arya were related. He stroked his hair absently and said, ‘I am a bit confused about the family tree. Wasn’t your father married twice?’

The cold breeze coming in from the open window was troubling Rishabh. Or it was the smoke, or maybe it was both. But, he did not complain, he simply cleared his throat and started, ‘Yes, my father Vishal Arora had first married the renowned actress Archana Gulati. In the first four years of marriage, they did not have any kids so they adopted Esha from an orphanage. She was two months old then. Within a year of the adoption, they were blessed with twins – a boy and a girl – Pranav and Rashmi, who are presently seated outside. Three years after childbirth, Archana eloped with a certain retired Major. No one has heard from her since.’

Pranav and Rashmi were twins. When they were born, the doctor had announced, “Fraternal twins.” Twins who were genetically unique. Even when they were small, they looked very different. Pranav, who was elder by eleven minutes was grumpy looking and fat while Rashmi was white and skinny. So, there wasn’t any “which is which” moment for anyone around them.

The twins loved airplanes. Their rooms were full of toy airplanes. When they got bored of those, they would sit in the shade of the big Peepal tree

 and wait for a passing airplane. Most of the times, they would stay for hours without much luck. Rashmi would feel low. Seeing this, Pranav would pick some grass from his side and throw it on his sister. A fight ensued. A playful fight.

Esha watched them from her window.

One day Rashmi had disappeared before lunch. For hours, no one could locate her until Pranav found her at the base of a small hill near the pond. It was raining. Her light green t-shirt – drenched, looked a shade or two darker than usual. Her face was rigid like a stone. Her tears were invisible in the rain, but Pranav knew. A question plagued her, “Why did Maa leave us?’’ Pranav held her and said, ‘It doesn’t matter now, I am here for you.’ Hand in hand, they had returned home.

Esha watched them from her window.

No one held her hand.

Esha did not like aeroplanes, she liked trains. Like kids her age, Esha

loved the window seat on the train. The ever-changing scenery, the musical rhythm of wheels turning relentlessly, and the sudden glimpse of the engine around a sharp turn appealed to her young and artistic mind. She was energetic and loved to climb up Jamun trees. She collected the reddish- black, sweet-sour Jamun fruit and kept them in a pouch to savour with salt later.

She would have gladly given up these little pleasures in exchange for Pranav and Rashmi’s acceptance.

All her hopes of acceptance were shattered the day she had interrupted Pranav and Rashmi playing with dolls and action figures. ‘Bhai, I will also play,’ Esha had said.

‘Don’t call me Bhai,’ Pranav scoffed. ‘I am not your brother.’

‘Don’t act like you are related to us,’ added Rashmi irritably. ‘Dad found you in a dustbin. Why don’t to you just go back there?’

 Esha ran away, with tears in her eyes. She had a family, but still she was an orphan.

Rishabh cleared his throat once again. This time he was confident that the cigarette was causing this. He chose not to complain and continued in a monotonous fashion; ‘Father then married Sunanda Rai, our mother and within a year I was born. Four years later, when Arya arrived, she died in childbirth. That was nineteen years ago. Two years back our Dad passed away. He handed over the reins of Arora Cements to Esha.’

Inspector Rashid crushed the cigarette and threw it out of the window. It seemed as if the inspector’s general sense of cleanliness and common decency had long been thrown out of some window as well. He closed the pane behind him and walked to the deep leather chair in front of Rishabh and Arya, and sank into it.

‘Rishabh, you came back from the States last year and joined the company. Correct?’

Rishabh concurred with a nod.

‘So, I guess,’ said the inspector, leaning forward, ‘you must know about the division of the estate, voting rights and that sort of things ... don’t you?

Rishabh blinked anxiously at the inspector. He opened his mouth trying to say something, changed his mind, swallowed and then said, ‘Yes. That’s correct.’ He knew what the inspector really wanted to know, but he just did not have the energy to defend anybody. ‘The property is divided equally among all brothers and sisters. Since Esha was unmarried, her share will now be equally divided amongst us. Dad had appointed Esha as the CEO, so she sat at the top of the organisational hierarchy. She is followed by Pranav, Rashmi and then me. Arya will come into the picture when he turns twenty-one.’

The big wall clock in the living room chimed eight times.

The inspector gave a nervous smile. The leather chair squeaked as he stood up. He thrust the notebook in his pocket and marched towards the

 window, but then stopped midway and made a dramatic turn. ‘Boys ... I have a theory,’ the inspector muttered, a scholarly look on his bearded face. ‘When you contract a bad disease you ask for two opinions – one from the specialist the other from your family physician. Well, the trend is to give more value to the specialist’s view. And why not? A specialist has more knowledge about the disease. But you cannot possibly ignore the view of the family physician, because he knows more about you.’

The brothers exchanged a quick glance, unable to make sense of what the inspector meant.

‘I am the specialist here,’ said the inspector assuredly. ‘I have solved quite a few murders. I have a set method and a proven track record of putting criminals behind bars. But what I need is the family physician. Do you understand what I am trying to say?

There was scepticism in Arya’s voice as he said, ‘I understand ... in some way you are referring to us ... But how will our opinion help you?’

The inspector heaved a sigh of impatience. ‘I am a practical person, not the kind who imagines things or fancies them. I don’t need your opinion.’ He paused and smiled. ‘All I ask of you two is to accompany me while I question the others. I want to make sure that everyone speaks honestly. Your presence should inhibit them from concocting cock and bull stories, because you are aware of what has been happening here. That is all I want. No opinions.’ He smiled sarcastically and dropped heavily on the chair. He pulled out his notebook and wrote:

Pranav, stepbrother. Possible motive – Control of the company.

Behind the inspector, the door knob turned and Sub-Inspector Navpreet, pushed his large head through the gap. Having got permission from the inspector to come in, he presented his whole self. In many ways, the sub- inspector resembled “Bholu,” the official mascot of the Indian Railways. The reason behind his roundness was overconsumption of beer. The sub-

 inspector alternated between cans of beer and a store of ambition, the drowsiness of alcohol intake and the fierce energy of methodical pursuit of mischief-makers.

‘Sir, we have found the black sweater,’ he announced emphatically. ‘It was under the bed, in the guest room currently occupied by Mr Anubhav Khurana.’

‘Yes ... Anubhav Khurana,’ the inspector shouted as if it was the answer to the final question on Kaun Banega Crorepati. ‘The name kept slipping from my mind. Thank you, Navpreet. I will be out in a moment.’ Inspector Rashid smiled at the sub-inspector and then turned towards the brothers. ‘What ... wait a minute – Anubhav Khurana? Isn’t he the same guy, the newspapers associate your sister Esha with? The lover boy? I think today’s paper has an article about how this gentleman was involved in a fist fight at Bailey’s disc yesterday.’

The inspector scratched his head as if remembering something. An impish grin appeared on his face as he said, ‘SURPRISE ... SURPRISE ...’ His lips barely moved as he continued. ‘Do you know who else was present in Bailey’s disc yesterday?’ He couldn’t control his smile anymore. It was as if as the cat had just discovered where the mouse hole was. ‘ESHA ... Anubhav had a fight with Esha yesterday.’

The sub-inspector ran his fingers over his almost, non-existent moustache, absorbing all the information. Then he pulled out a notebook and a pencil from his pocket and started scribbling viciously. The irritating screech of pencil on paper filled the room.

The inspector almost whispered the next words as if trying to run some other calculations in his mind.

‘Rishabh, what was Mr Anubhav doing here?’ ‘He was here for the board meeting.’

‘Board meeting?’ The inspector looked surprised.

 ‘Yes.’ Rishabh nodded. ‘The members of the board of Arora Cements met here today in the afternoon. For the last few months, we were having a debate regarding the potential takeover by JK Associates, our local rivals. Last week we had a voting and many were in favour of the merger. The amount was being negotiated. Esha had invited Mr Dhruv Jaiswal, the youngest son of Laxman Jaiswal and owner of KR Cements, because she wanted to discuss the impact of a potential takeover and what opportunities he would offer the current board members in his organisation. Mr Anubhav is a member of the board, and he drives our business in Solan. He arrived in the afternoon yesterday and was provided accommodation here. Mr Dhruv arrived in the evening and was provided accommodation as well.’

‘That’s it?’ the inspector asked, his voice live with curiosity. ‘No one else?’

‘Well, five other board members had also come for the meeting today. But they are locals and they went home after the meeting. Naina arrived in the morning today. She is an accountant. She has also been put up at the house.’

‘Strange!’ the inspector’s face twitched as if he had eaten a bad fruit. ‘Wait ... let me see if I have got all of it. Apart from Esha, the orphaned child, there were nine other people present here today ... Pranav and Rashmi, the twins from your father’s first marriage who are younger to Esha. We have you two, Esha’s stepbrothers, sons from the second marriage and the youngest members of the family. There is Meera and Jyoti, the two housemaids. We have Mr Dhruv, the industrialist who was here for the board meeting and Naina, who is an accountant. And finally, we have Mr Anubhav –’ the inspector pronounced the name dramatically, ‘in whose room we have just found Esha’s sweater.’

The inspector looked over his shoulder towards the sub-inspector. ‘I think we might just be getting onto something, Navpreet.’