Deadly incidents - 4

Read part 3 - here

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Pavil brooded about the house some more and was about to exit the apartment when he saw the old man the Bedi’s had mentioned earlier that day. It was near evening now and the old man in question was excessively geriatric. His every movement painful to witness, and an impatient man might not have endured watching him climb the stairs and the only reason Pavil affixed his gaze to that scene was that it was unbelievably outlandish. 

Dressed in simple clothing that looked tired but clean was an old man, whose face looked ravaged by centuries of life, climbing one stair at a time with slow deliberate movements that looked to be his last each time he moved forward. 

His spotted hand clutched the railing with a determination similar to his clinging to the remaining fragments of life and he grumbled inaudibly. His saturnine features were curled in a grimace and his continuous wheezing was enough to send anyone in his way scuttling for the nearest exit, which is exactly what Pavil wished to do but there was work to be done and Pavil waited for him to reach upstairs, but as luck would have it the old man seemed to slow down his pace even more, if that was even possible at the sight of the flustered policeman and looked like he was trying to extend an arm.

Pavil rolled his eyes and lent his support to the octogenarian and realized what Mrs Bedi meant by old people smell. The man was redolent of extinct soap and moulding medicines and he kept licking his lips to keep them moist while talking about mandatory lifts in every apartment block.

He was heavier than Pavil had anticipated and taller than he looked, skin that seemed to sag under the weight of wrinkles, plastered with thin beard and moustache that was annoyingly white. 

It seemed like the stairs would never end under their halting movements but soon Pavil found himself standing at the old man’s apartment door. 

It was one of those awkward moments that Pavil felt unprepared for. He didn’t know if he should ask to be let in or just strike up a conversation to get some information, but the old man made it simpler by telling the policeman to scram and when the confused man didn’t budge, the old man slowly picked a tattered umbrella and waved it about his head in a threatening gesture. 

This is new. 

‘Sir, I’d like to talk to you.’ Pavil immediately spoke trying to overcome his embarrassment. 

The relic wasn’t phased. 

‘I don’t want to speak to you no god fellows, asking for money for charity. I don’t care if some scrawny kid doesn’t have an eye or needs a new heart. You better run or I’ll call the guard.’

‘But sir I just want to ask you a few questions.’ Pavil was flustered. He couldn’t think up a way to politely ask the man to stop brandishing his umbrella over his head. 

‘I have no time for your surveys you mongrel. Now off with you.’ 

Pavil wiped the spittle from his face and looked around to check for any eager spectators. Finding none he snatched the umbrella from his antediluvian hand and gently pushed him in his house and slowly shut the door.

The umbrella was almost as prehistoric and Pavil stood it against a wall.

‘I just want to ask you some questions’ he produced a police badge and showed it to the almost horrified man who looked like he was about to have a stroke.

‘You bloody police ruffian. I have a good mind to report you.’

‘You can do that once you’ve answered a few questions.’ Pavil smiled. 

‘How do I care if she died?’ The old man who’d only introduced himself as Mr Gor sneered after hearing Pavil’s short narration of the morning incident. 

‘Sir I only come here regarding some information not your sympathy for the dead woman.’ Pavil’s acid reply did little to change Mr Gor’s ill-tempered countenance, for he was still grumbling.

‘I don’t care for that tart’s death. She must have seen my rickety bones climb these stairs a hundred times but not once did she help me. Played that filthy music so loud late at night. There was always such horrid food stench coming from her house like all the spices on this planet had a congregation and it made me sick to even think of it.’ Pavil opened his mouth to talk. ‘You know I even called the police once.’ he threw Pavil a repulsed look. ‘The bastards did nothing. Said she can cook and listen to whatever she wants in her house. Fat lot of clowns all of you.’ Mr Gor terminated his speech and dozed off on his chair.

Pavil exhaled and waited for the dinosaur to come to life. This house was exactly contradictory to the one he’d just visited. It looked dog-eared and just as time-worn as the antique residing in it. Threadbare with only two rickety chairs to sit on, a small creaking table and nothing besides in the living room, which didn’t look much lived in.

Mr Gor suddenly snorted and came to life. He seemed not to notice Pavil who cleared his throat out of politeness much to the old man’s shock. ‘What the hell are you doing in my house you horrible man?’ he spouted. 

Pavil emanated an exasperated breath ‘Sir did you see Mrs Avi Chowk this morning?’

‘Who the hell is that?’

‘The woman who lived downstairs. Did you see her this morning or hear anything?’

‘I hear a lot of things.’ the grumpy man replied disgustedly. ‘She listened to loud music. Lived in sin with that Hercules. I had to change my bedroom because of all the ruckus at night. I keep telling the landlord about these thin walls.’ 

‘What Hercules?’ Pavil probed with a poker face. 

‘How should I know? That muscled thing that often sneaked into her house at night.’

Pavil pursed his lips and gazed at Mr Gor who sat slouching in his big almost broken chair; about the only comfortable thing in that house if one is forced to use their imagination and let go off feelings. The man looked about to sleep again. His head was nodding off to one side.

‘Did you hear anything this morning?' Pavil increased the volume of his voice to keep the querulous man from sleeping again.

‘Who do you think you are asking me all these questions?’ Mr Gor’s voice rattled out of his aged throat.

‘Sir, I’m the police.’

‘You’re a buffoon. Useless you bloody police. Get out of my house.’ and the old man began shaking trying to stand up while glancing at his umbrella.

Pavil hesitated then immediately made for the door. ‘I’ll see you again sir.’ and left to the hoarse words ‘get lost’ followed by colourful curses that sounded much too contemporary for the old man. 

‘Wow’ Pavil muttered to himself. He cradled the lipstick found in the dead woman’s bathroom and mentally prepared himself for what he was about to do.

The number had always been on his speed dial even though it had been months since they last saw each other.  Pavil remembered the aromatic tea he always carried and his detached features that somehow softened while he drank the steaming brew.

 ‘Khar', Pavil spoke with suppressed excitement. 'Are you free right now.?’ He smiled at the terse reply and let himself feel momentarily reassured.