Murder in a Minute Read online

  MURDER IN A MINUTE

  MURDER IN A

  MINUTE

  LUST. DECEPTION. GREED

  SHOUVIK BHATTACHARYA

  Shouvik is a Management graduate from S.P. Jain, Mumbai and is currently working for General Electric. During the day, he designs high-end analytical software which makes aircrafts fly, and during the night he plots devious murder mysteries. He had brief stints studying in Carnegie Mellon University, Indiana University and European School of Business. He is a die-hard fan of Manchester United and you might spot him reading in a café or a bookstore in Bangalore.

  You can follow him @StoryTellerShouvik on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter.

  First published in India 2017

  © 2017 by Shouvik Bhattacharya

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  Contents

  Prologue

  I The Cry of Terror

  II Caterpillar Learns to Fly

  III An Uninvited Visitor

  IV A Trapped Butterfly

  V Faceless and Charged

  VI The Sizzling Storyteller

  VII An Unnecessary Lie?

  VIII The Pool of Tears

  IX The Charming Accountant

  X Running Away?

  XI Bargain for Logic

  XII The Blood in My Veins

  XIII A Close Call

  XIV Stop at Nothing

  XV The Tired Romeo

  XVI The Angry Industrialist

  XVII Speak One’s Mind

  XVIII Obstruction of Justice

  XIX Confessions of a Gentle Soul

  XX No Way Out

  XXI Meeting on the Porch

  XXII The Entire Truth

  XXIII The Master Mind

  XXIV The Thin Red Line

  XXV Living on Borrowed Time

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  There are times when you just don’t want to think about something, yet that is all you think about. The uncertain phase of life when your heart tunes up with something you could never get, and yet every ounce of you wants to hum that unsung melody. Esha tried to fight it but her thoughts spiralled into an endless maze of how life could have been if only …

  You think you can outrun yourself? No … you cannot …

  The familiar voice seemed to fill her head, shrill and angry.

  You have got to accept it … the sooner the better …

  Images flashed in front of her eyes … frozen moments lost in the testing sands of time.

  She remembered the exact day, hiding behind the Peepal tree, she felt what she had never felt before. The tides were too high and there was no way she could have sailed through. So, she let it slide, convinced herself that feelings were just like the clouds, they never stayed in one place. Yet, this particular feeling had crawled back into her life.

  The Peepal tree was still standing outside her window.

  Grey clouds lined up in the western sky and disappeared behind the snow-capped Himalayas. Esha glanced up – a skein of swans flew in a v-shaped formation looking down at the Arora Mansion and the field adjacent to it. The voices and laughter of little girls returning from school filled her room. Small boys, dressed in white and blue, were kicking a football in every possible direction. There was no plan or strategy in their game but it certainly wasn’t bereft of fun.

  Esha finished her tea and turned. The slanting orange sunlight illuminated her tired face, but suddenly her eyes fell on something and she froze. The room started feeling very empty … very silent. Only her eyes remained alert. The truth was staring right at her.

  It was the blue envelope.

  In the afternoon, while she was addressing the members of the board, the private detective had given her the envelope. It had all the answers she was looking for. She moved towards it cautiously, her nose wrinkled as if she was walking towards a ticking time bomb.

  Just then, she heard a knock on the door; short, urgent bursts.

  She turned instinctively and stared blankly at the door. Startled and slightly terrified, she walked towards it. The envelope had to wait.

  Her face reddened as soon as she opened the door. With an angry hand gesture and smirk, she beckoned her guest inside. Neither of them spoke, but her eyes were glowing with rage.

  She tucked her hair behind her ears. It did not stick. She drew a seething inhalation, as if steeling herself for a fight.

  ‘I have told him already,’ Esha growled. ‘What more can I do to satisfy you?’

  There was no answer.

  Her hands were shaking as she tried to tuck her hair behind her ear for the second time. Her expression was softening. Her rage was gone replaced by a look of helplessness. She turned to the window, the slanting light almost hurting her eyes. ‘What more do you want me to do? I know, I have been stupid …’ she asked pleadingly, her lips trembling like leaves on a warm summer night. ‘For once, can you not believe me?’

  Silence ensued. A bell at the nearby temple rang rhythmically.

  Their eyes were locked. It was a long moment, magnified by the silence. The distance between them became lesser and lesser and then suddenly, she could sense a pair of hands on her hip pulling her close. Overwhelmed, she resisted … but it lasted momentarily. Soon, she succumbed to the pangs of desire.

  Both gasped … wanting nothing but each other.

  Icy fingers moved urgently beneath her clothes. She snatched some air into her lungs realizing that she had been holding her breath She trembled involuntarily, sucking some more dry air through her mouth, her heart beating at the base of her throat, loud and fast. Her sweater was removed and she shut her eyes, and drowned in the eyes devouring her. She whimpered, her body responding in anticipation. Her cheeks burned as the finger traced her lips, her neck and inched slowly towards her chest. She could sense it, but could do nothing to stop it. The smouldering eyes of her partner were calling her. All her se
nses were alive, invigorating her … all her sexual fears and frustrations disappeared as she looked at the lips of her silent lover. Their lips touched; a kiss of longing, full of sensuality and passion. Time seemed to move slowly as they held each other tightly. She felt weightless in the embrace, as if she was floating in a bright blue ocean, unrestrained and unshackled. She had finally found her peace.

  It could not have been very much later that Esha felt a sharp blow on the back of her head. There was a moment of excruciating pain and she fell forward, unable to stop herself. A cloud of darkness enveloped her, she clawed at the floor, trying to crawl away to safety. Powerful hands rolled her around. A pillow was placed on her face, and she could feel a heavy force pressing it down. She gasped for air, but soon gave herself to the awaiting darkness …

  Chapter I

  The Cry of Terror

  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.