Se d u c e d

By
Mu rd e r
Saurbh Katyal
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I
was glad it was raining. Glad, because it gave me a reason
for staring out of the window of my office and appear
preoccupied, while the poor lady wept her heart out.
She was crying because I had just given her proof of her
husbands affair the photographs lying on the table, of
her husband and her best friend, in various compromising
positions. I prepared myself for the uncomfortable task of
saying something reassuring.
I began with a feeble attempt to pacify her. Mrs Singh,
would you like some water?
The hitherto inaudible sobs rose to an embarrassingly
high pitch.
That bitch Seema! I will kill her! We used to play tennis
together. How could she do this to me? she said in between
sobs. To my mind, the answer was simple. Seema accomplished
this by being twenty kilos lighter. Nevertheless, I maintained
my silence and nodded sympathetically.
The rain ceased, forcing me to stop staring outside. I
glanced at my watch and realised it had been over half an
hour since I had shown her the pictures. It was time to bring
up the subject of the remainder of my fee. As per the contract,
seventy five percent of my fee would be payable on submitting
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conclusive evidence. This was my tenth extramarital affair
case since I had become a detective, and each time I was
confounded by the seemingly simple task of bringing up the
subject of my fee with some poor lady who had just discovered
the infidelity of her spouse.
At the same time, I had learned from previous experience
that if the disturbed wife left the office without paying, I might
as well kiss my fee goodbye. The actions of an emotional
woman were only as predictable as the actions of the Indian
cricket team during a series.
I got up from my chair and walked towards her. I stood
behind her, whispered a few words of empathy, and placed
my hands on her shoulder. The closing act was always crucial.
If successful, it would get me an endorsement at her next kitty
party or aerobics class. Nothing spectacular, but something
modest like, It was the most trying time of my life! Thank
God for Vishal Bajaj, the detective I hired. I dont know
what I would have done without him. Hes the man for all
jobs discreet, charming, and cute too! I used my fingers
to massage her shoulders. Being hasty while discussing the
fee was always a mistake from a repeat-business perspective.
Cheating-husband jobs were my core competency. My jealous
competitors had given me the sobriquet toy boy. The more
crass ones called me a gigolo.
Last week, a lady had walked into Eagle Eye Detective
Agency just across the street, and asked for me. They tried
to inveigle her into appointing them but it was Vishal Bajaj
whom she wanted (and whom she got). Such occurrences
were common, and my competitors retaliated by spreading
rumours about my promiscuity.
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Seduced by Murder 3
But they were just that rumours. On principle, I never got
cosy with any of my female clients. There were times when the
ladies themselves tried to seduce me but I maintained a strict
client-detective relationship. I saw my job as an honourable
one. I was like an alchemist, transforming women with low self-
esteem into beings filled with hope and optimism; counselling
rich, middle aged, jilted wives to cope with the fact that they
were no longer attractive to their husbands.
I felt her shoulders relax under my fingers. She had finally
stopped sobbing. I said softly, Mrs Singh, there is the subject
of my pending fee.
I wished she would pay and leave. The post-mortem of a
case usually involves a deluge of emotions and, as I often say
to my second-in-command, Pranay, Too many emotions give
me loose motions.
Mrs Singh was silent for a few seconds.
Then she asked, Do you think I am attractive, Vishal?
Uh-oh.
Of course, Mrs Singh! I find you quite attractive. Your
husband is unfortunate not to cherish a lady like you.
Lets go out somewhere and spend time together. I am
very lonely.
The conviction with which she said that terrorised me.
The expression on my face must have been evident because
she started sobbing again.
You dont like me, do you? I am old and ugly.
No, no, Mrs Singh, you are definitely a very attractive
lady, I mumbled. But you are confused and hurt right now,
and I would never take advantage of you in this state.
You are a woman of character, and you will have to be
strong and clear-headed to get through this. I know your
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husband is concerned about his social standing; I recommend
that you confront him with the pictures and demand an
explanation ....
I was glad I had worn a clean shirt because Mrs Singh had
started sobbing again, using my shirt as a tissue.
Mrs Singh had wrapped her arms around my waist. She
had stopped sobbing, and I waited for her to release me. I
was acutely aware of her ample breasts resting against my
thighs. The heat from her breasts was transmitting to Juniors
territory. I panicked, and gently tried to unclasp her hands to
break the embrace, but she held on. It was too late. Junior
sprung up in interest. I felt Mrs Singh stiffen as she felt the
movement in my trousers.
I tried to discourage Junior by thinking of something
repulsive. Rats big, thick jungle rats. I had seen that on
Discovery Channel. But Junior extended to his full length.
I pushed her shoulders back so that her breasts would stop
ironing my trousers. She leaned back and looked up at me
coyly.
I glanced down, and my eyes were drawn to her cleavage.
I could see two milky globes clasped in a black brassiere. I tore
my eyes away and smiled weakly. She smiled coquettishly, her
big brown eyes reflecting her anticipation, her ripe-red lips
opening slightly.
I was beet red with embarrassment, and said quickly, You
want to let go of me? I think I need a glass of water.
She held on and asked, Youre sure you dont want to
come with me for a drink?
I feigned confusion at her words, and raised my eyebrows
in a what is going on gesture. She responded by indicating
whatever Junior wants. Junior interpreted the signal faster
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Seduced by Murder 5
than my brain could, and threatened to disown me if I let this
opportunity go away. I admonished him, reminding him of
the golden principle of Hunt Detective Agency, never breed
with the feed.
I forcibly unclasped her wrists, went and sat on my chair,
and let a few awkward seconds pass.
She took the initiative. I guess there is no use crying over
spilt milk. We had ten years of a happy married life. And men
and dogs will always go where the meat is.
I smiled to accentuate my dimples.
I am glad you are taking this in the right spirit. Life goes
on. Take him, or dump him. The power is within you, Mrs
Singh.
Call me Preeti, please.
She definitely didnt feel old and ugly now. It took me five
minutes to cajole Preeti into leaving my office. I promised to
keep in touch, and escorted her out of my cabin into the able
hands of Aarti, my secretary. Aarti had been the victim of an
abusive marriage, and had divorced her husband after two
long, torturous years. I returned to my cabin with a sigh of
relief.
It was only ten minutes after Mrs Singh had left that I
realised I had not collected the balance fee. I was too insouciant
to regret that. It was noon, and I decided to call it a day.
I went to my desk and took out a half empty bottle of
Scotch from the drawer. All that stuff you read about detectives
having microphones, guns, and other fancy gadgets in the
drawers, is strictly for the cows. Just like the eyewash they
show in the movies detectives leading a life of action and
adventure. The only action we ever get is killing mosquitoes
during an all-night watch. Our preferred choice of weapon is
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a spray can of mosquito repellent, and a steel flask of whisky.
Most detectives die young, not from gunshots, but because of
a pickled liver, or malaria. Its a shitty life, but you get to be
your own boss.
I poured a generous amount of Scotch into the coffee
mug. I went to stand by the window, letting the ice melt in the
Scotch. The phone rang. Credit card companies didnt call on
Sunday afternoon. It had to be a potential client. I kept the
glass on the window sill, and picked it up after a few rings and
said sharply, Hello, Hunt Detective Agency.
There was a pause. New clients often find themselves at
a loss for words when they actually hear a detectives voice.
Some of them hang up. I spoke encouragingly, This is Vishal.
You can talk to me. Confidentiality assured.
Hello, Vishal? she said.
Immediately, I knew it was her. Back from the past to
haunt me.
When we had just broken up, or rather, when she had left
me for another man, I used to often wonder what my reaction
would be if life ever brought us together again. Now, three
years later, I knew the answer. All that crap about time being a
great healer is bullshit. Time heals nothing. Well, acne maybe.
Hello? Vishal? The urgency in her voice brought me
back.
I composed myself and said calmly, Yes, Aditi. This is
Vishal.
You recognised me! she said, evidently pleased.
Lucky guess. Everything okay?
She sounded distressed.
Something terrible has happened, and I didnt know
whom to call.
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What happened?
Sunils elder brother was found murdered at our
farmhouse an hour ago. No one knows what to do.
Sunil was her husband, the man for whom she had dumped
me. All three of us had been classmates in college.
Have you informed the police?
Yes, Sunil has just called them.
Okay. Everyone else safe?...Okay. Give me your address.
I will be there as soon as possible.
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