The Cosmic Clues (2 page)

The tasty fruit water was refreshing and she immediately felt replenished and energetic. She had just eaten the soft tender coconut and tossed the empty shell into the dustbin, when the connecting door opened and Jatin walked in.

His eyes were gleaming. “There's a man who says he'd like to meet you. A Mr. Mohnish Rai. And you're not going to believe this . . .” he said in an excited voice.

Sonia picked up her ears. “A prospective client?” She raised an inquiring eyebrow.

The expression on Jatin's face snuffed her hope. “I doubt it! But . . .” Jatin paused dramatically. “He's the man we just saw on TV, on the Pune show.”

Sonia was startled. What a strange coincidence! “Are you sure? I mean, you know your TV loses colors and gives distorted images from time to time!”

“Of course I'm sure!” Jatin was indignant. “And my TV set is the best piece you can get in the market, for the price I bought it. It just—”

“All right, I get it.” Sonia hastily curbed his flow of indignation. “Send him in.”

She threw a pleading look at the ceiling fan.
Don't ditch me,
she prayed silently. Then she flicked open her appointment diary and sat with pen poised. The door opened and a man entered, shutting the door behind him. Looking up, she saw the man throwing a casual glance around her neat, discreet office. In one sweep, she took in his spotless, creaseless white shirt, clean blue jeans, and polished leather shoes.
Well-to-do,
she made a note.
And definitely the Presenter from the show.

“Yes, Mr. Rai. What has brought you here?” she inquired in her best business tone.

His gaze had passed over the music system with its display of cassettes and CDs and lingered on the set of Astrology books, lined systematically on a shelf. An almost imperceptible change overcame him. A smile plucked at the corners of his mouth and his gaze shifted to her.

“Curiosity. And you can call me Mohnish,” he replied, drawing out a chair and seating himself.

“Pardon me?”

“I said curiosity.” He smiled.

Sonia stared at him. Actually, Mohnish Rai looked much better off-screen than on-screen. He was a handsome man, clean-shaven, with intelligent brown eyes and a straight nose. The smile produced a rather attractive dimple in his right cheek. The crop of well-trimmed hair with a straying flick falling over his forehead made him look young, but actually he seemed to be in his late twenties. He exuded confidence bordering on arrogance and was certainly no client. She extinguished her wilting hopes by closing her diary with a determined bang.

“Nice place. Kind of stimulates you to work, I guess. Look, let me explain, Miss Samarth. I am a reporter—a freelance reporter, you may have read my articles or seen me hosting shows on local Television.” Mohnish Rai paused, expecting an acknowledgement from her, but Sonia deliberately maintained a dignified silence.

“I read your advertisement in the
Times,
” he continued. “I simply could not resist it! I had to meet you!”

“Why?” Sonia asked bluntly.

“Well, it's kind of bizarre, isn't it? Combining Investigations with Astrology! In an age where science has made tremendous progress, it amazes me that there are still people who rely on what I think is propagated by quacks! Moreover, you claim to solve cases with the help of this . . . this illusion? It's a rather bold commitment, you know. I thought, if nothing else, it would certainly make an interesting feature. Tell me, Miss Samarth, how many cases have you solved blending intellect and facts with the cosmic powers? Do you really believe that Astrology can substitute for facts? Are your clients happy with your style of operation?” He flung his questions at her, in an almost jocular manner, in the very same voice she had appreciated just minutes before.

Sonia steeled herself against the fusillade of his questions, took a deep breath, and remarked without revealing a vestige of anger, “Since you mentioned quacks—let me fill in the gaps. Quacks are a product of half knowledge. They are found in every respectable field, Astrology being no exception. Vedic Astrology is a science like any other. And no science can be censured and held responsible for man's incapacities, his inability to research, his deceptions, and his natural inclination to greed and scheming. What you call illusion is the result of this interaction of science with man! And yes, I do claim to use the science and knowledge of Astrology to solve the cases which come to me! Because I firmly and irrefutably believe that a horoscope is an X-ray of a person! You can even label it an almost metaphysical representation of the ‘real you.' The point is not to substitute facts with the ‘cosmic powers,' as you called it, but to use the planetary positions to guide the facts. And finally, Mr. Rai—”

“Interesting! I'm beginning to catch the drift of your reasoning! And please, call me Mohnish!” he interrupted magnanimously. “Do you think this science would prove useful in catching international crooks or criminals like, say, the Owl? Please elaborate, Miss Samarth, I'm highly impressed by your theory.”

“Thank you, Mohnish. But I don't recall consenting to give you an interview. Do you?” she asked sweetly. The ceiling fan spurted and squeaked in approval.

The dimple staged another appearance. “There's always a right moment. Like the present. So, to continue, what do you attribute—”

“No, I'm not interested,” she stated flatly. “I'm sure you can find other satisfying avenues to quench your curiosity!”

“Oh, I see that you're hurt. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—”

“Look here, Mohnish. I'm a busy person. I have loads of work piled up and I'm fighting against time. You really must excuse me!” She stood up pointedly.

His eyes swept appreciatively over her. Tall, healthily slim, with straight hair in a non-fussy blunt cut, creamy skin, searching honey-brown eyes, faint pink lipstick, a pleasant yellow cotton
salwar kameez
—short, in keeping with the latest fashion—neat nails on shapely hands, with a single-stone ring on her right ring finger—perhaps a diamond. She seemed efficient, intelligent, and fired with remarkable purpose. A pastiche of beauty and brains. But
Astrology
?

The intercom buzzed.

“Yes, Jatin?” Sonia asked.

“The cat is here again.”

“Okay . . . ask her to sit . . . !” The flush crawled all over her face an instant after the blunder!

Mohnish raised an eloquent eyebrow.

“Cat . . . cat . . . short for . . . for . . . Catherine . . .” she explained haltingly. Then, remembering that she need offer no explanations, she gathered her scattered wits and held out her hand. “Goodbye, Mohnish.”

He stood with slow deliberation. “I'm not done yet. And this isn't the last you've seen of me. I'm extremely motivated to take this interview and you'll give it to me, Miss Sonia Samarth.”

“Don't forget to take an appointment,” she returned coolly.

Mohnish smiled enigmatically, then strode out of the room. At the reception area, however, he paused. Jatin was totally absorbed in feeding milk to a beautiful golden cat. Chuckling to himself, Mohnish Rai stepped out into the street.
Interesting, very interesting indeed!

Sonia sighed. Surely, driving away a journalist and free publicity was not the wisest of acts. But that was the least of her worries. It was Mohnish's spontaneous take on Astrology which was more significant. And this was only the beginning. Adverse remarks, criticism, biased estimations, were undeniably a part of her profession—especially if it was tainted with a rather suspicious brush! It was true that people found it difficult to understand how the innocuous-looking rectangle called a horoscope could inhabit twelve houses, the twelve zodiac signs with the positions of the planets, and
influence
our entire life! What such people didn't care to acknowledge was that it required a detailed study to comprehend the intricacies of this science. In any event, she wasn't here to debate on the pros and cons of Astrology. She had set up a business. She wasn't going to compel anyone to pursue her line of thinking and she wasn't going to be persuaded otherwise, either! This was her free world and no one had the right to intrude on her liberty of thought and action!

Sonia strode into the outer room and lifted the cat, stroking the silky head fondly. It meowed in acknowledgement. “You funny little thing. You're as regular as the sun and yet we don't know where you come from and where you go! You do have a family, don't you?”

“I think she's a stray,” Jatin guessed.

“I'm not so sure. She's well fed, tame, and too friendly. Look at the way she insists on sitting on my lap. She's used to people. And don't miss this fancy leather collar with the steel studs. She's a pampered one.”

“In that case, her owners ought to care where she vanishes to for days altogether, don't you think so? I would if she were mine. I would be worried sick if I didn't see her for every meal!” Jatin said indignantly.

“Actually, so would I,” Sonia agreed. “I say, I've an idea! Let's try to find out where she lives. She must belong to someone in this area.”

“Great, then we can tell them a thing or two about caring for helpless animals!” Jatin retorted, still heated up in his role of animal saver. “But, how do we go about it?”

“Well, let me think. . . . We could tie a note round her neck. Hold on a minute.”

She tore a strip of paper from the pad and wrote neatly on it—
If this cat belongs to you, contact Stellar Investigations, Contact No. . . .
She handed the paper to Jatin.

“If it doesn't reach the actual owner, it will at least be mobile publicity for us!” she laughed, and the little cat purred in agreement.

Jatin secured the note round the golden neck, tucking it inside the collar. The soft head rubbed against Sonia's hand, purring noisily.

“Go find your people, cat. You're a good girl, aren't you? Then come right back again. Run along now.” Sonia patted her, then shoved her lightly towards the door.

The cat stared at her with glowing eyes, meowed intelligently, and then, with a swish of her abundant tail, vanished down the corridor.

“Now, let's bide our time!” Sonia experienced a sudden wave of excitement. Then she grimaced. Life must be in pretty bad shape if she could feel thrilled at the thought of finding a cat owner. The indisputable truth was that she itched for something to
happen.
It was definitely time for her to emerge out of her inertia and prepare herself for some action—
any
action.

In the outer office, Sonia lit some joss sticks before the idol of Ganesh. She bowed her head, clasping her hands together in a silent, reverent
namaskar.
It was a brand-new day of hopes and wishes and she prayed for a case—some work. Then Jatin switched on the TV and, much to Sonia's annoyance, Mohnish Rai appeared on the screen.

“The Kerkar jewels
—
the pride of the Kerkar clan
—
which were reported missing a month ago, have been confirmed by the family to have been stolen. The family had been hesitant to reveal the loss to the public. Suspicion rests on the renowned International Crook popularly known as the Owl. The jewels were in the custody of the Kerkar family, locked in the vault of their Mumbai residence. Unfortunately, no place is secure and no jewels safe where the Owl is concerned. Provided, of course, that the police prove that the jewels were indeed stolen by the Owl! This is Mohnish Rai for Cable Television.”

“Wow! Mr. Rai is active!” Jatin whistled.

“
Pushy
is the more appropriate word for him,” Sonia corrected. “I'm going to do some reading now and you should use your time, too. If the cat returns, call me immediately.”

Sonia settled down at her table. She was determined to put the day to good use. The fan swung overhead with valiant rhythmic creaks as she flicked open a book on Astrology.

It was then that loud ear-splitting meows announced the arrival of the cat!

Jatin burst into the inner office.

“She's returned and the note's gone!”

Catching his infectious excitement, Sonia hastened to the outer room. The cat had comfortably ensconced herself on the softest and warmest chair and was treating herself to a thorough lick and bath!

“The note was too tightly secured for it to have fallen off. Which means someone removed it,” Sonia observed, fondling the golden head. “Give her some milk, Jatin.”

“It's got to be the owner,” Jatin predicted, moving to the refrigerator.

“Perhaps. Whoever it is will undoubtedly call us.”

“Not if they think we wish to complain!” Jatin grinned, as he splashed a generous helping of milk into a bowl. He placed it on the table and the cat immediately concentrated on the business of lapping the bowl clean!

“I guess you're right,” Sonia agreed. “If my note was removed last evening, we ought to have heard from the owner by now. But if the note was delivered this morning, then we should wait and see. . . .”

As if on cue, the telephone rang shrilly, and galvanized Jatin into action. “That's her now!”

“Or him!”

“Stellar Investigations. Yes, please hold the line. . . .” Jatin covered the mouthpiece with his hand and whispered, “It's a him!”

Sonia accepted the extended receiver. “Hello?”

“Hello! This is Ajay Patkar. I . . . I read the note tied round the cat's neck,” a polite voice said.

The name rang a bell. “Good. She belongs to you, then?”

“Actually I . . . would like to meet you. I . . . need to talk to you. May I come over to your office?”

“Of course!” She gave him the address and hung up, her eyes alight with excitement.

“What happened?” Jatin asked anxiously.

“Nothing happened. He seemed kind of evasive. In any case, he's coming over straightaway. So we shall finally get to see the famous anonymous owner, if he's the one, that is!”

An hour later, Sonia was facing a tall man in formal clothes. A navy blue coat hung over a boy's figure. In fact, Ajay Patkar appeared to be in his early twenties. But although his attire and the expensive cell phone in his hand implied money and success, his appearance suggested a distracted mind. It was the clouded expression on his stubbled face that really caught her attention.

“Yes, Mr. Patkar. You came to discuss the cat?” Sonia prompted.

Patkar shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Yes . . . I mean, no. Let me be honest. The cat doesn't belong to me. Last evening I was relaxing in the Model Colony lake park—you could call it a vain attempt at finding refuge with nature—when this cat came along and rubbed against my legs. I rather like animals, so I stroked her. Then I noticed the piece of paper round her neck and curiosity got the better of me. I took it and read it and should actually have replaced it. But I was so relieved, this detail slipped right out of my mind! It was almost as if the cat had brought an answer to my worries.”

“What do you mean?” Sonia asked, intrigued.

“I've been so confused and disturbed these past few days, feeling low and kind of worthless. Floundering . . . not knowing which way to turn. I just didn't know what to do. And then I found that note, which seemed like a message from heaven! The idea just clicked. I . . . I know that this is normally not a routine approach . . . I mean, accepting cases . . . on the pretense of being a cat owner . . .”

The young man was so obviously confused and embarrassed that Sonia, whose heart had begun to thud with optimistic bangs, decided to assist him. It was a do-or-die situation!

“Are you implying that I do something for you, Mr. Patkar?” she suggested, her casual tone as simulated as her innocence.

“Yes! Will you please . . . I mean, I need your services. I can pay your charges, whatever they are. But I need your help!” Patkar rushed on, relief flooding his face.

Sonia could barely curb the surge of happiness that threatened to disclose her unprofessionalism! But she harnessed her feelings with admirable control and instead threw a grateful look heavenwards. She caught sight of the ceiling fan swinging and creaking awkwardly and hastily pressed the buzzer.

Jatin popped his head in.

“Two
chai,
please, Jatin!”

The assistant's eyes lit up at the code words.
Chai
—tea—meant business. At last!

“Right, Boss!”

“And Jatin, you can join us with your notebook.”

Sonia leaned against her cushioned chair, set her face in a pleasant, encouraging mask, and began, “Well, Mr. Patkar. I believe you're the son of the famous Patkar Industrialist?”

He nodded. “My father expired six months ago, leaving me the sole in-charge of his empire!”

She detected that he didn't seem too happy with the responsibility. Perhaps it was too much for his barely adult shoulders.

“Yes, I read about that in the papers. His death must've been a great shock to you.”

“It was. He had a massive heart attack. I wasn't at all prepared . . . I mean, we are never prepared to lose our loved ones. . . .”

She was discreetly silent for a moment. Jatin reappeared, armed with paper and pen, and drew a chair near his boss.

“So are you ready to tell me what's bothering you?” she asked Ajay Patkar gently.

“Yes. I'll put it as briefly as possible. Last Wednesday, a friend of mine—Satish Mali—came to live with me for a couple of days. Satish and I are school friends and we've been in touch over the years. In fact, I've always considered him my closest friend. He's the only friend I've shared all my deepest thoughts with. Last Wednesday, I'd invited him over to my house but on that very night, he was . . . murdered . . . in his bed! It was terrible! My best friend dead! And in my home! I . . . I just couldn't believe it! I curse the moment I invited him. I felt as if I had issued a summons for him to be murdered, as if I handed him to death myself, with my own hands! I . . . I'll never forgive myself. . . .” His eyes moistened and he fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief.

Sonia allowed a few seconds to elapse before she prompted him. “The police have been called, of course, the papers said so.”

“Yes, they're working on it but I'm not satisfied. I want to take no chances. I need to be completely assured that justice will be done. I want the culprit to be caught, no matter what!”

“And he will be,” Sonia assured, with quiet confidence. “Do you live with your family?”

Ajay Patkar nodded.

“Can you give me the details of the house members?” Sonia asked.

“My mother—Alka Patkar—you may have heard of her. She is a social activist. I'm the only child. Mahesh Uncle, my dad's brother, and his only son, Naresh, are recent additions to our house. Mahesh Uncle lost everything in a fire in our native place in Konkan and became quite destitute. So my dad took him and my cousin under his wing. Naresh is a couple of years older than I am. There's a family housekeeper-cum-everything, Yamuna Maushi—who has looked after me for years! That's the lot, I guess.”

“You haven't left out anyone?”

“No. Unless you count the gardener, but he too has been with us for ages!”

Jatin's pen was flying as he jotted down these details in shorthand.

“Now, can you describe exactly what happened that day?” Sonia requested. “Please don't leave out any details, not even the least important ones.”

Ajay Patkar took a deep breath. “I'd been feeling very low since Dad passed away. So I thought I would ask Satish over for a few days. We could chat like old days and it would be a good change for both of us. You see, Satish was an orphan, very poor but a real gem of a person. He wasn't too happy with his part-time job in an ad agency and I felt that I could get him absorbed in Dad's company. Though I never actually got down to doing it. Anyway, he came over in the evening and we had dinner together—”

“Who was present at dinner?” Sonia interrupted.

“Only cousin Naresh and Satish and I. Mother was attending a meeting, and was to be out till late. And Mahesh Uncle did not come in at all.”

“Go on.”

“After dinner, we chatted for a while. Then I took Satish to the guest room, but it was smelling awful, so I offered him my bedroom and decided to bed down with Uncle.”

“Smelling? You mean that the room wasn't aired and smelled musty and unlived?”

“No. It's a room we use frequently for our guests. It's always in good shape actually. But Yamuna Maushi later discovered a dead mouse in the room, which had caused that repulsive odour.”

“I see,” Sonia said reflectively. “Continue. What time did this . . . incident occur? I mean, when was Satish murdered?”

“The police say it was between two and three in the night. But not a soul heard a sound. It was only in the morning, when I went to awaken Satish for a walk, that I saw the most ghastly sight! Satish had been stabbed to death! His blood was all over the bedsheets!”

“Stabbed with a knife?”

“A paper cutter.” An almost imperceptible change crept into his voice, which Sonia's sharp ears detected instantly.

She hazarded a guess. “The paper cutter belonged to someone in the house.”

Patkar nodded. “It was Naresh's paper cutter.”

“Oh, your cousin's,” Sonia remarked thoughtfully. “But usually paper cutters are designed to be harmless—”

“Not this one. It was a bronze family heirloom given to my cousin by my dad.”

“And where was this article normally kept?”

“In Naresh's room. But he swears that he couldn't find it the last few days.”

Sonia digested this bit of information slowly, glancing at Jatin. “You slept in Mahesh Uncle's room that night, with him? And neither of you heard—”

“I did sleep in his room but not with him. Mahesh Uncle was away all night. . . .”

Sonia raised an eyebrow. “That's interesting. Where was he all night?”

Ajay Patkar shrugged. “I wouldn't know. Often he goes to our farmhouse, a few miles away, and spends the night there. I assumed that's what he'd done when he didn't turn up that night. He was present for breakfast, though.”

Sonia was silent, as she observed Jatin's pen fluttering across the paper. Then she said, “You and Satish were close, you say. Do you have any idea why someone would want to harm him?”

“I've absolutely no notion! I simply cannot imagine anyone wanting to hurt a person like Satish. He was an introvert—quiet, but extremely intelligent and friendly. I've never known him to turn his back on a needy person. There's no earthly reason why anyone would wish to harm him!”

“Someone bearing a malice against him?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Have the police checked the paper cutter for fingerprints?”

“They are doing it now, though I haven't heard from them as yet.”