The Cosmic Clues (16 page)

At last! She had it. With a feeling of triumph, Sonia jotted down the date of the first horoscope. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. The person in the second horoscope had been born just a few minutes after the first. What a remarkable coincidence! Suddenly questions swamped her mind. Did the two people whose horoscopes these were know each other? Were they friends or enemies or simply strangers? Were they even aware of each other's existence? How was Anand Gandhi connected with these two? Could one of the horoscopes belong to him? And what was his motive for sending her the information?

There was no point tossing questions around in a void. There was only one way to divest herself of her sharply piqued curiosity. Reach Mulshi as soon as possible. She quickly gathered the almanacs, the letter, and the horoscopes and stuffed them in her handbag. Then, stroking Nidhi, she sloshed ample milk in a bowl for her and slipped out of the office.

Sonia drove the van slowly through the crowds gathered in each square. Everyone seemed engrossed in the game of
Dahi Handi.
She searched for a TV crew, then realized that
Dahi Handi
was on in various parts of the city. Mohnish could be absolutely anywhere!

Beside her in the van, Jatin almost hung out of the window in his eagerness to soak up the atmosphere. Passersby halted to contribute to the rising wave of encouragement, clapping along with the
Dhol,
as different teams tried their luck at reaching the pot. As the van crawled through the crowd, Sonia's attention was riveted by an astonishing sight. A girls' team! She couldn't resist it. One look at Jatin's longing face and she stopped the van. Jatin flashed her a grateful smile and they climbed out of the vehicle.

Dressed in shorts and T-shirts, the girls formed the pyramid, planting a firm foundation of tall, hefty girls. The lighter, nimble ones went next, until the last girl climbed agilely on the top of the eighth column. Sonia and Jatin watched with bated breath as the girl reached for the pot and struck it with all her might. The pouch of money fell straight into her arms along with some curds! Delight rippled through the human pyramid, as the mob screamed in appreciative frenzy. Sonia and Jatin joined the thunderous applause.

“Wow! Girls! This is the first time I've seen girls play
Dahi Handi
! That was some display of discipline,” Jatin remarked with admiration, as they returned to the van.

“Yes, a perfect example of good planning and organization of human resources; unity and discipline, which works in any situation of life—be it workplace or personal level,” Sonia agreed, as they set forth again.

She edged the vehicle out of the crowd and towards Mulshi. “Everyone is equally important in the achievement. Each one of the group has to put in his or her best. A single weak link can pull down the whole pyramid.”

They drove silently as the van ate up the miles—Jatin still reflecting over the amazing girls' team. He was sure lucky to witness this new revolution, he thought gratefully.

Dusk was falling fast when the vehicle finally climbed up the last hill, throwing up dust from the road. The Mulshi lake loomed large and dark on the right; the hills surrounding it were endless, shapeless patches of black.

“This must be it,” Jatin announced, as a large gate rose ahead of them.

Sonia nodded as she drove past the lampposts on either side of the gate. She half expected a watchman to arrest their progress, but much to her surprise the entry appeared deserted. A short drive led straight to the two-storied house. She stopped the van in front of the grand building. She and Jatin stepped out, and Jatin hitched his overnight bag over his shoulder as his boss pressed the doorbell. A merry tinkling filled the depths of the house. Immediately the door was flung open. An oldish woman, clad in a sari, gaped at them in bewilderment.

Sonia quickly introduced herself. “Is Mr. Anand Gandhi in? He's invited me—”

Before she could finish, the old lady gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth. Still mute, she turned and hastened into the house. Sonia raised an eyebrow at Jatin. What was up?

“I think that was an invitation to have a free run of the place!” She grinned and the two of them stepped into the hall.

The lush furnishings, done with taste and style, bespoke money and elegance. Evidently no expense had been spared on any corner of this home. Sonia didn't doubt that the house boasted an excellent view of the lake, too. A perfect refuge for a rich businessman, one who led an extremely private life.

“Can I help you? I'm Swapnil Gandhi,” a refined voice broke into her observations.

Sonia whirled to face a boy just past his teens. Fair good looks. Tall and boyish, with a refreshing innocence in his face. But at the moment, the frown lines on his forehead betrayed annoyance.

Sonia cleared her throat. “I'm Sonia Samarth and this is Jatin. I'm here on express invitation by Mr. Anand Gandhi. May I meet him?” she asked politely.

“You mean . . .” The boy's eyes widened. He stammered, struggling to speak.

Sonia observed him with a great deal of interest. “What is it?” she couldn't help asking.

The boy was now very pale and his hands were trembling. He sat down abruptly on the plush sofa.

“Dad's . . . Dad passed away. . . . I just found him! I think it's not natural. . . .” He burst into tears.

Jatin stared horrified at the distraught figure, then looked helplessly at his boss, awaiting instructions! Sonia steadied her quickened breath and counted till ten, then sat down beside the sobbing boy, allowing him to vent his feelings. Finally, his tears tapered into hiccups.

“Tell me what happened,” she said gently. “I'm an Investigator. Maybe I can help.”

Swapnil blew into his kerchief and glanced up at her with reddened eyes. “I think someone . . . killed Dad. I've called the police, they should be here any minute. I also called the Doctor.”

“You did the right thing, but you must tell me exactly what happened,” Sonia insisted.

“I'd something important to discuss with Dad, so I went to his study—he's always there at this time of the day—but I found . . . there was blood all over . . . someone hit him . . . on the head . . . I think. . . .”

“Have you touched anything?”

“No . . . No, I couldn't! The blood . . .”

“Good. Do you mind if I take a look?” Permitting Swapnil no time to protest, Sonia rose expectantly.

The boy hesitated for a fraction of a second, then led them through a passage to a room on the left. At the door, he stepped aside, allowing Sonia and Jatin to pass through.

At first sight, the man inside the room appeared to be sleeping. But closer inspection revealed the details. Anand Gandhi was lying slumped on the table, his head battered by something heavy. Sonia's eyes scouted round the room and immediately spotted the big metal flower vase lying upturned on the floor, at the foot of a chest of drawers. It was covered with blood. No points for guessing what struck the poor man! A half-burnt paper on the carpet caught her attention. It was a letter. She bent and scanned the smudged words, then straightened, without touching the letter. The entire left wall was lined with tall windows. A door at the other end of it led into a garden. Before Sonia could turn to Swapnil and ask any questions, the wail of a siren pierced the evening. The police had arrived.

“I've heard of you, Miss Samarth. Inspector Divekar holds you in high esteem and I hold his opinion in high esteem.” Sub-Inspector Ganesh Inamdar was surprisingly forthright.

“I'm flattered and glad. Does that mean we can work together on this case?” Sonia asked with a smile.

“Apart from the fact that your contribution would be advantageous to me, I understand that you've actually been hired by Mr. Anand Gandhi. So that does give you the official right to be here, doesn't it?”

“
Hired
wouldn't be the exact word I'd use, but I guess it would come close. Actually I've been dragged into this murder. Whether by coincidence or design is what I need to find out.”

“Fascinating. So should we begin?” The Sub-Inspector rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

“Could you tell me what you found in the study?”

They stood in a medium-sized room adjoining the hall. The room had a table with a computer on it, and a sofa set arranged near a large window which overlooked a garden. Jatin was on standby, ready for any action his boss desired.

With gloved hands, Sub-Inspector Inamdar held out two half-burnt sheets of paper of two different sizes. There was scrawled handwriting on both sheets.

“I believe it's a letter, unfortunately we don't know who wrote it or to whom,” Inamdar remarked.

Sonia ran her eye over the pages. The first sheet read
“. . . I am trapped and all because of . . . you've got to understand . . . don't be fooled . . . I need to get out. . . .”
The remaining words had curled up into ashes.

“This seems like some sort of a plea,” observed Sonia. “The paper's quite yellow, so it's an old letter. Unlike this one, this small slip, which seems pretty recent.”

The handwriting on the smaller sheet of paper was darker, bolder, and more forceful, but indisputably the same as the first. These words, too, had an ominous ring to them.
“I'm coming. It's payback time!”

“Definitely a threat, perhaps to Anand Gandhi. Perhaps it was the threat that made him approach me, albeit unconventionally,” Sonia concluded.

“But someone tried to burn these letters. Gandhi or someone else? And why?” Jatin frowned.

“To destroy evidence? Or . . . to create evidence?” Sonia mused.

“You mean these were deliberately left in the study to mislead us?” Jatin asked.

“I don't know. I'm just thinking aloud.” She shrugged.

Sonia was thoughtful, staring at the blurred words, trying to coerce some meaning into the half-expressed emotions. Powerful emotions but of very different natures—one a plea and the other a threat. The words
retribution
and
justice
flashed through her mind. But
who
had written these two notes? And to whom? And why?

All three of them stepped into the hall, where the whole family had gathered, sitting almost idly, talking in low voices to one another. Maya Gandhi—looking shocked and dazed, grappling with the truth that her husband had been murdered. Swapnil—tearstained and red-eyed. The housemaid—or Daaima, as Swapnil called her—with swollen eyes and sniffing ceaselessly. And Reema—Anand's Secretary, who lived at the mansion.

It was Reema, the Secretary, who intrigued Sonia most. Medium height, wheat-complexioned, she appeared young and fresh—not at all secretary material. In fact, the girl distinctly lacked the poise and confidence of a businessman's personal secretary. What could she be doing in a place like this? Sonia wondered with a frown.

And more baffling, where did she—Sonia—fit in to this scene? Why had Anand Gandhi
really
invited her to his house? His invitation seemed more nebulous than ever now. Had he known that he was in danger? Had he sensed something that he'd wished to convey to her? And who did the horoscopes belong to? For a moment, Sonia experienced an acute wave of annoyance, which she tamped down immediately. This was no time for expressing personal frustrations. The man who had issued her the invitation had been brutally murdered. She was going to forge ahead with her investigation and find out who killed him.

Sub-Inspector Inamdar cleared his throat, securing the desired effect. Everyone instantly glanced in his direction.

“I'm quite sorry about what happened here this evening. And I—we—would certainly like to get to the bottom of this sordid affair. But we need your co-operation. Miss Samarth and I need to ask you some questions, individually and in private. We'll be in the next room. Miss Reema?”

Reema flashed Swapnil a nervous glance. The boy's reassuring half smile, Sonia thought, spoke volumes.

In the adjoining room, Reema chose the single sofa seat, sitting on the edge, her hands twisting a kerchief. Ganesh Inamdar raised an eyebrow and Sonia nodded in understanding. Jatin pulled out his notebook.

“Reema, how long have you been working here?” Sonia asked the girl casually.

“Six months,” the Secretary replied, in a husky voice.

“And did you like your job?”

“I'd nothing to object to.”

“Are you officially qualified to be a secretary?”

“No. I'm an MA in Sociology, but since I needed a job desperately, Swapnil offered me this post, and I had no choice but to accept it,” Reema offered.

“You and Swapnil are good friends.”

The young woman blushed. “Not exactly. I mean, we were in college together but . . .” She halted, looking confused.

Sonia threw a glance at the others. The Sub-Inspector was leaning over the table, listening intently, and Jatin was busy with his shorthand. She said, “I'd like to hear, in your words, what you were doing this evening and exactly what happened.”

Reema nodded. “I was in the office writing out some cheques which Mr. Gandhi had to sign. I saw him go for his usual walk and then return to his study. The road from the garden leads into the study and I can see it from the office window. Mrs. Gandhi was gardening and—”

“What time was this? Do you remember the exact time when Mr. Gandhi returned from his walk?” Ganesh Inamdar interposed.