Competent, Geeta thought, her hope souring to dread, this woman was very competent. Sushma Sinha, ASP, looked as though she, too, was About the Work. Under different circumstances, this might’ve pleased Geeta. When Sushma Sinha, ASP, resumed writing, without a word or glance to her reluctant guests, Saloni and Geeta looked at each other. Saloni shrugged, but Geeta could no longer abide the uncertainty.
“Er, Officer Sinha, ma’am?”
Sushma Sinha, ASP, held up one unpainted finger. “Just a moment.”
From the left, each blow to the unseen man was a preview of Geeta’s bleak future. And didn’t cops do even worse things to female prisoners?
Murderess though she was, she’d never survive this dreadful place, subject to beatings and Ram knew what else, all to the tune of golden oldies. No, Geeta would simply have to follow Samir and Darshan, and shuffle off this mortal coil. Surely, by now, she was an expert and could arrange for the same punishment she’d been meting out to everyone like temple prasad. She’d gnaw on a mosquito coil, bake a pong pong dessert or—
The beaten man released another bleat of pain. Geeta said, “Excu—”
“Just a moment, ma’am,” Sushma Sinha, ASP, repeated with hostile courtesy.
So they stewed in the midday heat, Saloni inspecting the state of her regenerating arm hair, Geeta devising her suicide, until Sushma Sinha, ASP, said, at long last: “Where were you yesterday evening?”
“For you!” Geeta burst out, removing Farah’s gourd from her purse and thrusting it across the table.
ASP Sushma Sinha glared at it. “What will I do with that?”
Saloni tittered: “Makes excellent subji. Much better than the market here—they’re so hard, na? You can use this one tonight. Feel.”
“No. Yesterday evening?”
Geeta set the rejected gourd back on her lap as Saloni answered, “We had dinner at the twins’ home.”
“Yes, the twins. Preity Varesh and Priya Bhati.”
“Ji. We had dinner and—”
“Vegetable curry!” Geeta blurted again, her voice far too loud.
“What?”
Saloni ground her sandal into Geeta’s toes. “That’s what we ate for dinner. This one’s just wild about veggie curry.”
ASP Sushma Sinha’s brows furrowed; she was unamused. Her scowl added years, which Geeta gathered was strategic. “When did you leave their home?”
“Right after dinner.”
“When was that?”
“Oh, hmm. Maybe nine? We would’ve stayed longer, but she had to take care of her kid. Nightmare, you know.”
“Who’s ‘she’？”
“Preity,” Saloni said as Geeta, distracted by the prisoner’s flogging, answered, “Priya.”
Shit. Which one had she said? Which one should she have said?
Sushma Sinha, ASP, finally smiled, but it provided little relief to her two suspects.
“Could we move somewhere more private?” Geeta asked, thinking quickly. “It’s difficult to hear your questions.”
“It’ll be far too hot inside. None of the fans are working,” ASP Sushma Sinha said. “We can manage, go on.”
Geeta twisted in her seat toward the sound of the beating. “That man—he—uh—he says he didn’t do it.”
“They all say that. He just needs a little convincing to remember that he stole the television.”
“I mean,” Geeta said as the man’s howls pitched higher, “he seems pretty sure he didn’t.”
“Did you see Mr. Varesh when you left his home?”
“Yes,” Saloni said.
“And he was alive,” Geeta offered helpfully.
Saloni’s eyes closed in a prayer for patience.
“I see. What did you do after you left the twins’ home?”
“We went to Karembhai’s store to get—er—snacks for my husband and his friends.”
“Yes, but he says that you didn’t show up to buy ‘snacks’ until ten. Yet you say you left at nine. What did you do in the meanwhile?”
“You talked to Karem?” Geeta squeaked. She’d already ensured his Kohra business was taken—if she got him arrested to boot, it’d be worse, karmically speaking, than either of the murders on her head. His children! Who’d take care of the kids if he was jailed and she killed herself? What if—
“Yes, I did. Is that a problem?”
“No, ma’am.” Geeta’s fingers fluttered up toward her ear, but at Saloni’s glower, she sat on her hand instead.
ASP Sushma Sinha regarded them with the same contempt she’d shown their gourd. “We’ve spoken to many. It’s our job. So. Your husband and his friends say you arrived with the ‘snacks’ at fifteen past, but where were you from nine to ten?”
“Nowhere.” Saloni offered her hands in apology. “I didn’t look at the clock when we left. It could have been later.”
“Hmm, but you said that you left when one of the kids had a nightmare, correct?”
“Correct.”
“But the kids say they—”
“You talked to the kids?” Geeta asked. All throughout India, citizens complained they couldn’t get government authorities to do their jobs, and here was Sushma Sinha, ASP, of Kohra, managing a month’s work in the span of hours.
Sushma Sinha, ASP, set down her pen in exasperation. “Yes. Did I need your permission?”
“No, no,” Geeta said. “You can speak to whomever you wish.”
“Dhanyavad.” Sushma Sinha, ASP, thanked her with such scorn that Geeta, duly castigated, looked down at her spurned gourd. It was becoming increasingly apparent that Sushma Sinha, ASP, would be no Kiran Bedi. “Now, the children said they never sleep until well after ten. Nor do they remember anyone having a nightmare last night.”
“Did you talk to Sonny?” Saloni asked, waving a hand in the air. “I tell you, that boy gets so high, I doubt he can find his own nose much less tell time. At the Raval wedding—”
But ASP Sushma Sinha was not interested in the Raval wedding; she whipped up a hand and Saloni shut her mouth so quickly, her teeth clicked.
“Children forget things in sleep, na?” Geeta said.
ASP Sushma Sinha’s eyes pinned Geeta. “Do you have children?”
“I—er—no, I don’t.”
“Why not?”
Saloni said, “She’s doing her part to help population control. Do you?”
ASP Sushma Sinha did not appreciate that, despite—or possibly due to—Saloni’s aggressively friendly mien. Sinha turned to Geeta, all but snarling, “It’s not because your husband mysteriously disappeared five years ago?”
Good god, Geeta thought, dazed. Sushma Sinha, ASP, clearly did not believe in hobbies or drinking chai in the courtyard. “How—”
Saloni laughed before Geeta could finish. “You know, my eldest once sleepwalked to the kitchen, ate some chips and fell asleep right there! Didn’t remember a thing in the morning. He’s obsessed with snacks, I tell you. Won’t eat a meal, but he’ll snack all day. The joys of motherhood, know what I mean? Do you know what I mean? Are you a mother?”