The scent that lingers - 13

Read Part 1 - here

Read Part 2 - here

Read Part 3 - here

Read Part 4 - here

Read Part 5 - here

Read Part 6 - here

Read part 7 - here
Read Part 8 - here 
Read Part 9 - here
Read part 10- here
Read part 11- here 
Read part 12- here

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‘I believe that is Mr Sinhal’s official car’ Khar pointed towards a large, rather officious looking black car, almost menacing in proportion. It bore the characteristic sneer that’s singular to vehicles belonging to a certain breed of importance.

Veda Sinhal’s wounds were not serious, but they needed attention and shortly after their brief conversation with Mr Sinhal, Pavil and Khar found themselves walking back to their car.

‘I thought those were women’s cigarettes’ Pavil muttered under his breath, smelling his clothes. 

‘Well, they are but it doesn’t mean men can’t smoke them. Plus, they smell nice, wouldn’t you agree?’ Khar replied brusquely. 

‘But you don’t think this odd’ Pavil whispered  ‘that Mr Veda Sinhal happened to smoke the exact same cigarettes we found near the body and has carpentry as a hobby? This is too much of a coincidence, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Too convenient, perhaps’ Khar’s tone had assumed that detached quality and he didn’t seem to be looking anywhere. 

‘But don’t we need to learn more? what if it wasn’t just a saw, but the saw? 

‘Our car won’t start’ Khar suddenly spoke ‘why don’t you go back to the house and ask Mrs Sinhal to let someone take a look at it?’

Pavil was confused ‘what’s wrong with the car?’ and just as he’d uttered these words a sudden realization struck and he found himself hurrying back towards the Sinhal house.

He was ushered back into the same room where they’d questioned Tejan an hour back and a faint flutter of clothes followed by a magical fragrance that gnawed into his brains reminding him of something long gone and lost whispered the presence of Nehar Sinhal. 

He hated feeling as lost as he did in her presence and avoided looking at her, lest he forgets his own name and his reason for coming back. 

Her smile was moist and rich with silent desire, at least he thought so in his head, or did he?

‘Well, will you be joining us for dinner after all?’ her melodic voice rasped in faint jingles.

‘No..uh Mrs Sinhal, we’d be very glad if you could kindly let us have the assistance of Mr Veda’s driver. Something seems to have gone wrong with our car. Uh.. it won’t start’ Pavil prattled these sentences like a schoolchild and heard Nehar politely laugh. She seemed to be making music with that laughter. 

Pavil hated himself for behaving like a silly child. Wasn’t he the promising young recruit meant to take down criminals and cartels? yet, here he was, feeling himself drain of all thoughts and burgeon with one too many at the same time. What a mess.

He heard her talk over the phone a few short moments.

‘I’ve informed the driver. Is there anything else I can do for you..Pavil?’ Nehar asked, her voice dripping with honey.

Pavil flushed ‘Uh.No. Thanks, Mrs Sinhal’ and he meant to leave when Nehar extended her beautiful long arm which he awkwardly held and left. 

He meant to walk slowly, nonchalantly, but Pavil’s legs were not in tune with his body and he’d have staggered had it not been for the continuous reminder to not make a fool of himself. Pavil constantly berated himself and swore that this would be the last time he’d meet her alone. 

He reached their car and found Khar waiting for him with what might have been a frown had it not been an almost amused smile. 

‘The driver is coming’ Pavil said and waited for Khar to make some comment on his obvious embarrassment, but Khar said nothing.

Presently they were joined by Veda Sinhal’s driver.

‘What’s the problem?’a gangly uniformed man with a pleasant face and easy manner, asked looking at the open bonnet.

‘I don’t know’ Pavil replied, bending over the open bonnet, tinkering with a wrench. ‘Suddenly it won’t start’ 

‘let me have a look’ the driver walked over to the car and exclaimed ‘your battery is dead. Leave the headlights on too long did you?’

‘is that so?’ Khar sounded amused. I think we have a charger.

‘Looks like a wire is loose too’ continued the driver and began fixing it.

‘Do you smoke?’ Khar asked civilly.

‘No. I mean I used to’ the driver replied still bent over. ‘There! it’s fixed. you can just charge it up now.’ he said handing the wrench back to Pavil.

‘get much free time with this hectic job of yours?’ 

‘Not really’ the driver seemed to be at ease ‘except when Mr Sinhal leaves for official trips’

‘Ah, that must mean you’re often free’ Khar smiled.

‘haha, you’d think so, but his trips are often short. He’d leave in the morning and come back in the evening, and I have to be very careful about timings too. Punctuality is my job’ he said with some pride.

‘So, you picked him up at sharp six thirty on Sunday?’ Khar brought forth a grave inflection in his voice.

The driver sounded defensive and alarmed ‘I would have, but he arrived at a different terminal. I’d been waiting and he called me to tell me that he’d taken a taxi and left for home’ he nodded his head in disappointment ‘the only time I made an error, but to be fair, it wasn’t my fault’.

The sudden sound of ignition broke his reverie ‘looks like all is well’ he smiled at Khar.

‘Indeed, it is. Thank you.’ Khar replied politely.

The man seated across Pavil seemed remarkably different than what he had been just a week ago. 

From the almost exhausted, gaunt and stricken man that he was, Jumaid Wasim’s aspect had visibly changed into that of a man far removed from any troubles. 

Not only had his health improved but he seemed to be in a chattier mood. A behaviour most contradictory to the macabre events currently shrouding his life which made Pavil uneasy.

This sudden change in his bearing was almost paradoxical to his wife’s atrophied appearance. Her bedraggled hair complemented the blanched face she had tried to improve upon by artlessly applied makeup.

It had only been a few hours since the funeral and it hurt Pavil to even think the pain Majid’s parents must have suffered in the past week, and the continued harassment they’d have to endure at the hands of merciless journalists and sensational news coverage. 

The unfathomable agony of losing a child would probably haunt them forever, more so because it was a death deliberately delivered, for reasons still unknown. 

There was no reason for Pavil to feel guilty, yet he felt ashamed looking at Meina Wasim. The tormenting loss her face reflected was diametrically opposite to the relief on Jumaid’s smile and this perplexing situation wasn’t something he felt equipped to handle, and so he looked over at Khar, who to Pavil’s relief had been observing the same.

The winter chill seeping into the room was more welcome than Khar’s steely low pitched voice that resonated like silent icebergs. ‘What happened on Sunday November 13th?’ Khar asked tonelessly.