THE CRIME-SCENE UNIT was at the house, but temporarily too preoccupied to register Private entering. In keeping with the Sherlock Holmes maxim of hiding in plain sight, the three investigators simply walked in as though they had a perfect right to be there, and at their head, Santosh crossed the entrance hall and entered the downstairs office quickly, knowing that despite what Holmes said, it wouldn’t be long before they were challenged.
The sight in the office brought him up short. In the midst of the scene-of-crime officers in protective suits and masks was the victim, Nikhil Kumar. Wearing elegant pajamas, he’d been taped to a chair but his head lolled on his chest and by the look of him—his skin a grotesque chalky color—he had been drained of blood.
According to Neel—in other words, according to Neel’s contact, Ash—Kumar’s wife had discovered her husband’s body early in the morning. Not finding him in the bedroom, she had assumed he would be asleep on the couch in his study. She had brewed him a mug of tea and carried it into the study, only to be greeted by his exsanguinated corpse.
Neel and Nisha entered the room behind Santosh. The investigators were paying them more attention now, exchanging puzzled glances. A challenge was imminent, Santosh knew, and he moved forward to inspect the corpse, noting the way in which the arms had been bound, not to mention the pinpricks that indicated where the blood had been taken. At the same time he ever-so-casually brushed the laptop on the desk to get rid of the screensaver, but the screen was blank. That’s odd, he thought. Laptop on, but no document, no web page showing.
“Excuse me…” said a SOCO.
But then from the doorway came the raised voice of Sharma: “Who the fuck allowed you inside?”
Santosh turned to see the corpulent, red-faced figure of the police chief.
“Why?” asked Santosh. “Is this your house?” He had no plans to reveal that it was Ash who’d tipped off Neel about Kumar’s death. Ash stood beside Sharma and Santosh could see the nervousness on the medical examiner’s face.
“It’s a goddamn crime scene!” shouted Sharma, indignant. “I need all of you to get the fuck out of here, right now!”
At the same time, Neel snapped on his gloves and strode into the study confidently. Ash shouted after him, “Hey, you can’t go inside there. I’ll have you booked for interfering with a crime scene!”
To the uninitiated the altercation between Ash and Neel was a mere shouting match, but to those in the know—Santosh and Nisha—it was a choreographed argument that served two purposes: first, it would ensure that Sharma didn’t suspect Ash of leaking information; second, it would give Santosh time to observe the crime scene.
Santosh seized the opportunity to do a walkabout, leaving the house while Neel and Ash kept up their bickering. He looked at the main gate. A small guardhouse was located to the right of it. It would have been impossible for someone to enter with guards on duty at night. Unless it was an inside job.
He looked at the walls that surrounded the house. They were around six feet high, and solid iron spikes, each about a foot long, were grouted at the top. Glass shards had been embedded into the top surface of the wall. Thin cables ran between the iron spikes. Santosh noticed little yellow signs indicating electrified cables. Difficult for someone to clamber over the wall without doing serious damage to themselves.
He walked to the rear garden and looked at the neat little rows of herbs and vegetables that Mrs. Kumar had planted. Something was out of place. He examined the soil. In one corner it had been disturbed. Santosh gazed at it a little longer. It seemed to be a cylindrical pattern with a rounded end. The manhole cover. If it were shifted sideways, wouldn’t it create a similar pattern?
He bent down and grasped the manhole cover. He pulled and it came off easily. He removed his worn scarf and tied it to the underside handle of the cover. He then gently nudged the cover back into place.
Santosh made his way around the house, carefully observing the doors and windows. Nothing had been broken or tampered with. The intruder would have picked a lock to get inside. Which one? Front or rear? The manhole was toward the rear and the main door at the front was visible from the gatehouse. More likely that the killer had used the kitchen door.
“You have exactly five seconds to get the hell out of here before I ask my men to arrest you,” came Sharma’s voice from behind. He had noticed Santosh’s absence from the study and had stormed outside to find him.
Santosh turned. His breath bloomed in the garden. “Whoever executed this murder planned it perfectly. Lots of preparation went into it.”
“Murder? Who says it’s murder?” bawled Sharma. “Looks like suicide to me. Yes, let’s go with that.”
“He duct-taped himself to the chair?” asked Santosh.
“I don’t need your fucking help, Wagh. Now get out before I take you into custody.”