THE COFFEE
Detective Nalini arrived at the Patel apartment just after 6:40 a.m. The coffee she had gulped down before leaving home was threatening a reflux.
The entrance to the building smelt of paint and omelettes frying for an early breakfast. Flat No. 3C was open, yellow tape stretched across, a crime-scene tech dusting fingerprint powder with quiet efficiency, a camera flashing away. Normal investigation routine.
She had known the deceased for some time now. He had submitted a detailed report on the embezzlement in the real estate firm that he worked in. She had taken it seriously because a similar report from him about five years earlier had resulted in a conviction. But what she didn’t know was that the fraud had continued, albeit on a lower scale. The team that had been involved continued its activities with extra care: a supervisor and a clerk.
“Morning, Ma’am,” the photographer said.
“Morning. What do we have?”
“Vinod Patel, thirty-seven. Found by his sister when he didn’t show up for their morning run.”
The head lay slumped over the small kitchen table, left cheek pressing against the laminate. Left arm dangling to the floor, right arm on the table, holding a pen – clumsily. A yellow post-it said: I am sorry. The coffee mug in front of him was half full but didn’t seem to have been sipped at all.
Vinod’s face showed no distress; no signs of struggle. Sudden heart attack? After he had made his last cup of coffee? Suicide?
Something about the scene struck Nalini as too clean. Too … arranged.
In the balcony, Vinod’s sister, Smita Patel, still in her track-suit, hugged her arms tightly as if to contain her distress.
“He wouldn’t do… something like …this,” she managed to blubber.
“I’m not assuming he did,” Nalini said gently. “When did you last see your brother?”
“Saturday night. We had dinner. He seemed fine.”
“Any unusual behaviour? Did he look disturbed …?” Nalini asked.
“No… Nothing.” But the hesitation came a second too late. Nalini knew that Smita was lying – but why?
The apartment was otherwise clean, spartan, characteristic of a confirmed bachelor. Nothing out of place. No signs of a forced entry either.
Below the table, close to Vinod’s feet was an envelope. She called the cameraman to place his identifiers and take photographs of it. On opening it she found a printed set of bank statements. Three lakh, thirty-three thousand rupees drawn over the last six months. In favour of Smita.
Vinod’s sister?
Outside, in the passage connecting the two flats, Mrs. Sridharan peered through the gap in her door, anxious to find out what’s happening.
Nalini approached her gently: “Just wanted to ask… if you heard or saw anything last night.”
Mrs. Sridharan straightened up, her bright eyes eager to contribute. “Oh, yes. No…. Not last night. Saturday night. Quite the disturbance around … ten, ten-thirty. Raised voices. A woman’s voice, definitely. And his.”
“Could you make out any words?”
“No, dear. But she was angry. He sounded… tired.”
“One more thing,” Mrs. Sridharan added, lowering her voice to a whisper. “He left his apartment around midnight. Came back quite some time later.”
“Any idea … Where …. Why?
“I wouldn’t know. But he had a folder ….”
Nalini had to get hold of that folder. That was the information that he was to give her that night.
***
The autopsy came in two days later.
Cause of death: ethylene glycol.
Nalini remembered the half-full mug…which was washed after poisoned coffee was consumed? Then poured the non-poisonous coffee carefully? Too carefully? Someone with a lot of time.
***
Nalini went to the firm’s office. Vinod’s cubicle was cleared before the police investigation could be completed.
His supervisor, Pramod Desai, greeted Nalini with a handshake that was too firm, as if to hide nerves.
“Vinod was dependable,” Desai said. “Brilliant. Especially with irregularities.”
“Irregularities?” Nalini didn’t give any sign of her ongoing investigation.
Desai hesitated. “Hypothetically speaking.” Nalini she suspected that he probably knew that Vinod was reporting the matter to someone “outside”. The mention of irregularities was to see her reaction.
She went up to Vinod’s desk. Nothing.
“I’ll need the books, documents, ledgers … everything that he was working on in the last few weeks. When can I get them?”
“Er … um … about that, Ma’am, I will have to get the clearance of the higher ups…”
“That’s ok,” said Nalini, as she dialled a number.
“Yes, this is … oh! Hi! I need a warrant for this firm. You’ll find the details on my desk – in the folder named Vinod Patel. Yes. All their books and records related to the current financial year. Yes… yes… you can show my final note and the related evidence to the public prosecutor … yes. And please tell him that I will be waiting here till the warrant is served.”
Desai had changed from stuttering requests about avoiding the warrant to a crest-fallen silence. He should have handled this more tactfully – without the need for a warrant. It was too late.
“Well, Mr. Desai, that takes care of your approval. I will take advantage of your hospitality until the warrant arrives. I am sure you won’t mind.”
It was a slightly larger cubicle than Vinod’s – and there was a two-seater sofa near the table where Nalini made herself comfortable.
About ten minutes later, she received a call from the medical officer who had filed the post-mortem report.
“Yes, Doctor. I had requested a call from you because I wanted to understand how e-thy-lene gly-col works. I hope you don’t mind. No … (embarrassed laugh) no… I don’t want a lecture in chemistry. I am just curious about how the stuff works on the body, and, in short, how it kills.” She listened patiently for almost fifteen minutes. Desai admired the way she took down short, illegible notes, seemingly getting a quick grasp on a subject that she knew nothing about.
“Ok, Doctor,” she said at last. “From what I understand, this … substance has a sweet taste and therefore, can be mistaken for too much of sweetener added to the coffee. Then, after consumption, the effects of slurred speech, staggered movements and fatigue can start anytime between one to twelve hours. Then, you said, the liver converts it into calcium-something-crystals – which act like tiny razor blades that shred the kidneys. Then, coma and death. Have I got that right?”
From the blushing and nervous fidgeting, Desai supposed that the doctor had praised Nalini for her quick understanding of the concepts. “Oh … thank you, Doctor … but … but … could you give us a time line in this case?”
“Ok, Doctor. Death around midnight between Sunday-Monday; and from the quantity of the poison, the consumption would have been around 24 hours earlier – which means midnight of Saturday-Sunday. Thank you, Doctor. I will see your report as soon as I get to my office. Right now, this is enough for me to work on.”
“Just one question before you go, Doc. Is this glycol stuff available easily in the market? … Oh, even online?? Oh my God! That’s scary. Ok, Doctor, thank you for your time.”
Nalini couldn’t help noticing Desai’ growing unease during the conversation. A case of fraudulent accounting was quickly turning into a full-fledged murder.
Her mind was working fast. The CCTV footage of the residential building had shown Smita entering on Saturday at 8.30 pm and leaving at 10 pm. Vinod was seen leaving at 12.04 am, with a folder under his arm – as if he was hiding it or protecting it from being snatched away.
He had called Nalini telling her that he needed to get it out of his hands as soon as possible; that he had had an argument with his sister about it and that she may tell her lover, Sivaraman, who is most probably a part of the embezzling team. The proceeds were shared between the family of the person convicted earlier, and others. The footage showed Vinod coming back at about 1.34 am, with the folder. He was quite clearly staggering as he walked up to the entrance. He looked around as if to confirm he had come to the right building. Disoriented? Could it be that he had consumed the poison before he went out – was confused – and returned with the folder? Not knowing what to do with it? Or why he had gone out, in the first place? He was in no position to make coffee… or even close the door …
She remembered waiting for him until 2 am and returning home, disappointed that she didn’t get the information she was promised.
***
After the heated argument, Smita went home and told Sivaraman about it on the phone. She couldn’t get her brother to mind his own business; that he was unnecessarily getting involved in dangerous matters.
He told his mother. Mrs. Sridharan.
***
Quite upset over the argument with his sister, Vinod went over to Mrs. Sridharan, the elderly neighbour.
“What were you two arguing about anyway?”
“Something going on in my office. I am close to finding the culprit or culprits … and Smita doesn’t want me to get involved in these matters. She says it is dangerous …”
“It certainly is. So, why do you do it?”
“I don’t know.” He looked down at his coffee. “I suppose… once you know something’s wrong, you can’t just look away.”
“Okay. Just relax. Have a cup of coffee with me. You won’t refuse an old lady …”
***
Nalini called Smita for clarification.
“He thought someone at work was stealing,” Smita said, “large amounts. He said he’d found proof. He said he was going to turn it in.”
“And you argued because…?”
“He wouldn’t tell me who it was. He kept saying I should ‘stay out.’ As if I wasn’t capable of helping him.”
“How do you explain the deposits in your account?”
“If you have seen the deposits, then, you must have also seen the immediate withdrawals…?”
Nalini had missed that. She had a look at the statements again. What Smita said was true. But the withdrawals were made in cash – against bearer’s cheque issued by her. On record, therefore, the cash went back to her.
“So, fine. If what you’re saying is true, the cash withdrawals are by you. Whom did you give the money to?”
“The online deposits came from Vinod’s firm; after each deposit, Sivaraman would ask for a bearer cheque from me. I never asked him why or … anything …” Nalini could see that even as she spoke, Smita realised what kind of a spot she was in.
“How did you meet Sivaraman?”
“Is that important?”
“It is.”
“He used to visit Mrs. Sridharan, my brother’s neighbour. Then, sometimes, he would drop in on my brother. Have a cup of tea. They worked in the same office.”
So Smita knew that Sivaraman and Vinod worked for the same firm. What she didn’t know was that Mrs. Sridharan was Sivaraman’s mother. Time to speak to Mrs. Sridharan again.
When Nalini opened her half-open door, the old lady was at her kitchen table, cutting potatoes calmly, as if expecting company.
“Tea?” she asked.
“No, thank you.”
The knife clicked. Soft. Steady.
“Your son works in the same firm as Vinod did?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know that. You don’t think you should have mentioned it to me earlier?”
“Oh, I presumed that you knew… why Vinod had mentioned your name to me the other day…”
She stopped. She realised, like Smita earlier during the day, that she was getting herself into a muddle.
“When, Mrs. Sridharan? That night when he was supposed to meet me? He met you before going out …” That wasn’t a question.
Silence.
She dropped the knife on the table. Left the potatoes. Her shoulders drooping, she came around to Nalini.
Nalini braced herself for a physical assault.
All she said was: “You won’t understand the sacrifices a mother makes.”
