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Read part 19 -here
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It had grown dark. Khar was still immersed in his files stepping out of the room to talk on the phone every once in a while. Jumaid sat there feeling disfigured. He felt himself crumbling, falling into pieces on the chair. The tea flask had been empty for some time and his styrofoam cup was brimming with cigarette butts.
He still remembered when he’d suddenly developed a fond affection for these particular cigarettes. They were women’s cigarettes, pricey for their thin frame, almost dainty and smelling so deliciously of cinnamon.
He recalled getting drawn to an impossible essence redolent of exotic souk scents emanating from this peacock coloured cigarette as it stayed stuck between brightly painted glossy lips of Nehar Sinhal.
That was the first time he’d met them, must have been almost three years now. He was friends with a person invited to the Sinhal parties and felt like an outsider amongst those lavishly manicured gardens and ludicrously high brow alcohol.
At that moment he’d seen flaws in everything he owned. The expensive suit that had cost him his teeth looked creased compared to the expensive silks donned by the rich looking men. The leather of his shoes looked worn, the tie outdated and the words rolling out his mouth in each sentence were common at most.
He found himself getting smaller every moment he saw the smart couple greeting the guests. Their tones, the richness of their speech and casual suaveness with which they carried themselves was worldly and well-bred. The sophistication they emanated made him feel impoverished in their presence. He was embarrassed about himself and shriveled inside a shell, but that was the last time he’d let himself feel so small.
Many parties, soirees and get together’s later Jumaid found himself accessing their inner circle and he was beyond joy when he discovered that his demented child had become friends with the Sinhal scion. Using their friendship as a hook he had grappled his way into their lives.
Jumaid stabbed another cigarette into the cup and let the ash overflow on Khar’s desk. He didn’t care anymore. Picking up his phone he redialed the same number what felt like the hundredth time, but the phone was switched off.
Veda was probably travelling.
A sudden gush of chill denoted the door had opened again and Khar walked in with another flask of tea. He glanced at the cup overflowing with dead cigarettes and passed another styrofoam cup to Jumaid to serve as his ashtray.
‘Would you like some more tea?’ Khar sounded almost polite. Jumaid’s head had progressively drooped since his last conversation with Khar and it almost seemed to dangle by the neck. He didn’t look up, fighting the nausea building inside him from the sheer pressure of the situation. He desperately needed to talk to Veda, wanting to know the next course of actions. Should he call his lawyer? but what if Veda had something else to suggest or even a better lawyer? Jumaid wanted to know what was it that they had against him, but then he saw Khar hold up a razor-edged tool held in a plastic bag and Jumaid found his nausea getting the better of him.
‘It’s impossible’ he cried and stared at the implement Khar seemed to inspect through the plastic. ‘Oh it’s not..’ he nearly exclaimed and held back his tongue, wiping his face, foolishly looking at the little mess he’d made on the floor.
‘it isn’t what?’ Khar asked.
‘I..I need my lawyer.’ Jumaid breathed.
Khar looked at him long. ‘I’ve only a few questions to ask and you can leave.’
Jumaid doubted the veracity of this statement because he was unsure of himself. At this point, he didn’t know what could get him in trouble if he wasn’t already in one.
Khar didn’t wait for Jumaid to answer. ‘What time did you return back to Welcome Inn that day on Sunday, November 13th?’
Jamie looked up. He’d already answered these questions. ‘I’ve told you I came back around three.’ he said exasperatedly.
‘Indeed, that you did. but then you also came back sometime after five.’ Khar said easily.
Jumaid hoped for some cataclysmic event to occur that very moment, something that would take precedence over this conversation. He knew, in fact, he’d made sure no one had spotted him, using the back exit of Welcome Inn, one that went through the small restaurant kitchen that always stayed shut during evenings, using the service elevator till the first floor, then switching to a regular elevator to reach his floor.
Who? How?
‘I..I need a lawyer.’
Khar hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Hoped it would end right here, that he’d make a confession and be done with it.
‘To come back at a later time in evening must mean that you left sometime in the afternoon, after coming back to the hotel that is, but no one saw you leave, and it was puzzling as well at first, but once you look at all the pieces laid out in front, the story becomes solvable.
‘I will have my lawyer.’ Jumaid’s voice sounded ragged. He was terrified what pieces Khar had found out. That tool in the clear plastic bag was his wife’s new pruning saw. He’d been intimidated uselessly and now this man was trying to play him. Not so easy, and yet Jumaid’s throat felt constricted, the breath sucked out of his body, like an invisible fist punching at his gut knocking all the air out of his lungs.
Khar was undaunted. ‘you can have your lawyer, but what purpose would it serve? he’d have to answer the questions on your behalf when we can just end it all here Mr Wasim. They're just questions. You can answer them and we can finish it all. Your son has died, murdered with a saw, much like this one.’ he said flinging the plastic bag on the table, which thudded with cold firmness on the worn wood.
Jumaid stared at it. It’s steel teeth glinting brightly. He noticed the threatening sharpness on the tip of each serrated tooth.
‘Can you possibly imagine, something like this entering a child’s abdomen, jutting through his ribs, slicing through his liver?’ Khar’s steely voice was burning. ‘Three wounds to the abdomen, Mr Wasim. This saw was used to create slashes and when the wound was deep enough it was used to penetrate through and perforate Majid’s stomach. It killed him.’
Khar didn’t fail to notice the lack of expressions on Jumaid’s face at the mention of Majid.
‘You do realize Mr Wasim that in the court of law when all evidence point against you, it will be you, nobody else, but you who will be answerable for all the little holes in the story that are now gaping wounds, bleeding with your lies.’
Khar waited a long moment for Jumaid to look up and answer him. He’d melded into his chair, and his face now pallid like Dr Chattur’s cadavers sickened Khar.
Jumaid was transfixed by the shiny butt of his last cigarette peeping out of the little mound of cigarette hill in the cup. Things seemed to be falling apart, and he noticed the pieces strewn around him. It wasn’t late to start picking them and rebuilding.
So what if he had been spotted coming later in the evening? Is it a crime? His lawyer would say the same. He should call the lawyer now or should he just talk to Veda and explain the situation. Veda would know what to do.
So he’d face a judge at the end of this road, and then what? Did it matter what he said here when he could deny absolutely everything in front of the judge? Jumaid was reasoning within himself when Khar spoke.
‘You’ll be left alone in this mess Mr Wasim. No one will aid you unless you come clean and make it easier. You’ll be abandoned and left to face it all alone. Forsaken. There’s a reason why no one but you will face the music unless you cooperate.’ Khar’s words throbbed with the truth.
Jumaid loosened his collar, gasping for breath. He tried searching for a voice but could only manage unintelligent gurgling sounds. His tongue was jammed in its socket and he knew at the moment his eyes had begun bulging because his heart was caving in. An invisible force was pushing him inside a container too small for his size and his head never stopped calculating the possibilities and outcomes for a second.
He struggled to look for open avenues and wondered at the potency of so-called evidence, at that very moment Khar reached for a nondescript file and peeled out a large paper and placed it in front of Jumaid.
An iron rich odour filled his nostrils and blood seeped out in a small trickle from the sides of Jumaid’s mouth. He’d almost bitten off his tongue at the shock of seeing a portrait staring at his face.
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