Club You to Death by Anuja Chauhan (pdf e book reader .TXT) 📗

Bhavani’s eyes continue to roam. ‘And where is the security camera? Ah, there.’

‘It’s placed at a good angle, sir,’ Inspector Padam Kumar ventures. ‘That should give us quite a clear picture of what happened. A movie director couldn’t have placed it better.’

Bhatti’s face lightens a little. ‘I chose that placement myself,’ he says. ‘If there was any foul play, that camera would’ve definitely captured it! But there wasn’t.’

‘How nice,’ is Bhavani’s genial reply. ‘But we would like to review the footage too. You have no objection?’

Bhatti shakes his head. ‘Of course not. Of course not.’

Bhavani continues to study the space. ‘Somebody celebrated a birthday party here?’

‘Huh?’ Bhatti is taken aback.

Bhavani indicates the helium balloons, some of which have come loose from their tethering and are hovering beneath the ceiling, their satin ribbons trailing below.

‘Ah!’ Bhatti’s face clears. ‘They’re from the Annual Bumper Tambola we had yesterday.’

Bhavani is still looking around the room searchingly.

‘But we should ask these Precord—’ he begins.

‘Precor.’

‘Precor people to come over and give us their expert opinion at once. Just in case.’

Devendar Bhatti rubs his nose. ‘Could he have been distracted or something? Ill or hungover?’

Bhavani Singh looks slightly surprised. ‘He was a drinker? Doesn’t look the type.’

They stare down at the ruined body for a while, their expressions sombre.

‘Even then, it is possible he had some pre-existing medical condition that was worsened by the heavy weightlifting. Some sort of heart attack, or sudden clotting, or a tumour in the brain …’ He looks at his assistant. ‘Get RML to do a full post-mortem, PK.’ Turning back to Bhatti, he asks, ‘Were there any witnesses at the time, sir? Anybody else using the gym?’

Bhatti shakes his head. ‘No. He was last seen alive entering through the main gate this morning at five sharp. And the ladies discovered him, like this, at a quarter past six.’

‘The ladies had also come to use the gym?’ Bhavani Singh asks.

‘Ah.’ Bhatti’s expression clears. ‘But I haven’t told you! This man is an instructor. After finishing his own workout, he would have started a Zumba class, from six-thirty to seven-thirty, attended by a group of about ten ladies.’

‘What’s a Jumba?’ Padam Kumar wants to know.

‘You’ve got me stumped there,’ Devendar Bhatti admits. ‘It’s some sort of South American dance form, they tell me. Helps you lose weight and er … tone up … This fellow has a YouTube channel, in fact. With lakhs of followers, I believe. It’s called … er … Lose it with Leo. His name is – was Leo. Did I tell you that?’

‘Yes,’ Bhavani replies.

There is a short silence, which Bhavani Singh spends wondering what joy a man as intellectual as Devendar Bhatti, who has held such a powerful public office, gets from being at the beck and call of the members of what seems to be a highly entitled and eccentric club. To each his own, he supposes.

Finally he asks, ‘Where’s his phone?’

Bhatti puts a hand into his coat pocket, and fishes out a plastic ziplock-bagged iPhone. Inspector Padam Kumar steps forward to take it, but Bhatti moves his hand out of reach.

‘No need to go nosing about into it if it’s just an accident,’ he says, slightly defiantly. ‘Let me hang on to it for the time being.’

Padam Kumar’s eyes widen. He turns to look at his boss uncertainly.

Bhavani Singh holds out one large, brown palm. ‘We will keep it just like that, sir,’ he says easily. ‘No nosing or prying till we get conclusive proof of foul play.’

He continues to hold out his palm.

Gulping like a cornered hen, Bhatti very slowly and reluctantly places the phone into it.

Bhavani hands the zip-locked bag to Padam.

‘Keep it safe, PK.’ Then he turns back to Bhatti. ‘We will inspect this area minutely, get the Precor people to check for any tampering, watch the CCTV footage your security staff has, and of course, send the body to RML for forensic testing. If all goes well, a clean chit can be given by this evening! Who is the next of kin?’

Bhatti looks harassed. ‘We haven’t quite figured out. Luckily, we happen to know the chap’s lawyer. Young Dogra. Quite a well-known fellow. You could bring him in for background questioning, if required. He’s a green card-holder.’

‘He lives in America?’ Bhavani enquires.

Bhatti looks blank for a moment, then gives a dry little laugh. ‘Oh, green card-holders is what we call non-voting members at the club!’

‘And why nat?’ Bhavani smiles good-naturedly. ‘The DTC is as great an institution as the USA, after all!’

Bhatti, not sure if he is being gently roasted by the homely old policeman, smiles uncertainly. ‘Er … yes.’

‘Can we talk to the ladies who found the body?’ Bhavani asks next.

Bhatti nods again, not very enthusiastically. ‘The ladies – yes. Certainly. I’ll round them up for you.’

Bhavani studies the older man for a while. He definitely seems jumpy.

‘Sir, there was some mention of an election?’

Bhatti passes a hand over his face.

‘The Club elections, yes. They will have to be postponed I’m afraid. I need to send out an official communication … Meanwhile, you find what you can find, like a good chap! I’ll also get them to allot you a guest cottage for the day. Make it your base, as it were.’

It was Bambi’s sixteenth birthday. The ridiculously over-the-top Mexican-themed party was over. Everybody else had left. They had been playing Call of Duty on her bed, surrounded by torn wrapping paper, scattered presents and a shared plate of rich, eggless chocolate cake, when she chucked her controller aside, flopped backwards into his lap, smiled up into his startled eyes, and announced, in typical bossy Bambi fashion, that she wanted him to kiss her.

‘You’re the best bod on the Dosco squad so it has to be you. Don’t say no to the birthday girl, Kash. It’s rude. And don’t worry – it won’t complicate anything – we can keep on being just friends, and I’ll never tell anyone.’

Thoroughly taken aback, his ears bright red with embarrassment,