The skyline over Mannandavady in Wayanad district looked as though vibrant in the early morning.
Within the elegant cottage of Prabhakar Menon, the clock chimed seven, its sound resonating through the quietude of a cold winter morning.
Vijayan, a man in his early fifties, plodded steadily through the biting cold. A monkey cap shielded most of his face, leaving only his eyes peeking out. He had wrapped himself with a frayed blanket.
For the past three days, Vijayan had taken his wife Saudamini’s place as she worked as a maid, cook, and general assistant at Prabhakar Menon-Lakshmi Nivas, the cottage belonging to the esteemed writer.
Prabhakar, a renowned author known for his thrillers, lived a reclusive life in this cottage. There were rumours surrounding his marriage; some said his wife had left due to his obsession with writing, while others speculated that his temperament had driven them apart. Whispers about their childlessness hinted at deeper issues leading to their separation. Prabhakar, a tall and handsome man in his sixties, had spent the last seven years alone in this cottage after moving from Ernakulam.
After Unni’s passing, the male servant who had come with Prabhakar from Ernakulam, Saudamini, took on his duties for the last couple of years.
Now Vijayan grabbed the milk packet left by the milkman and stepped inside the cottage using his set of keys.
Following his routine, he set the milk to boil and started brewing a strong coffee decoction.
As Vijayan ascended the stairs to Prabhakar’s room with the steaming coffee cup, he noticed the door slightly ajar. Pushing it open, he stared in disbelief; Prabhakar sat lifeless in his chair, his head tilted back at an unnatural angle. It was evident—the man was dead. The safe stood ajar, its contents missing, a clear sign of robbery.
Earlier that day, Prabhakar had entertained three visitors: his two nephews and a female classmate, all college students eager to explore Wayanad during their winter break. When Vijayan knocked on their doors one by one, their initial irritation quickly turned to alarm as they absorbed his dreadful news.
In Mannandavady, homes stood distanced from one another. Vijayan dashed to the nearest neighbour for assistance. Together, they called the police.
With the arrival of the police, the air thickened with anxiety. Vijayan, the temporary servant; Ratish, Prabhakar’s twenty-four-year-old nephew with dreams of becoming a writer; Pritish, Ratish’s younger brother planning to go abroad for further studies, and Neela, their biotechnology-studying friend—all became entangled in a web of suspicion.
“What time did you leave yesterday?” Inspector Vivek asked Vijayan.
“I left at the usual time, around 7 PM, after preparing dinner,” Vijayan responded.
“What was Mr. Prabhakar doing then?” the inspector pressed.
“I don’t go upstairs before leaving. My wife mentioned that Mr. Prabhakar likes his solitude at that time, usually unwinding with a drink or two,” he explained.
The inspector redirected his gaze towards the trio. “Where were the three of you last night?”
“We came back after scouting the area minutes before Vijaya Ettan left,” Pritish replied. The inspector glanced at Vijayan for confirmation, and Vijayan nodded, affirming that they had indeed returned before his departure.
“And what happened next?” the inspector raised an eyebrow.
“We went up to our rooms and then came back down for dinner. Ammavan joined us just as we were wrapping up; it was around 8:30 then,” Ratish explained.
“Hmm, the time of death is yet to be ascertained, so I have to go by your words now,” The inspector spoke in a typical professional tone that reeked of suspicion.
“Are all of you studying in India or…?” The inspector’s question seemed off to some of those present.
“Pritish has applied to study abroad for a Ph.D.,” Ratish offered.
“And that costs money, doesn’t it?” The inspector’s query seemed to rattle the brothers.
“Are you insinuating that I took what was in that vault and harmed my uncle? Even if I needed financial assistance, I could have asked him.” Pritish sounded upset.
The inspector shrugged and turned back to Vijayan. “You’re filling in for your wife, right? What’s wrong with her?”
“Saudamini is busy preparing sweets and snacks for Diwali, as she has many orders. She’s scheduled to return to work at the cottage tomorrow,” Vijayan explained.
Just then, one of the forensic team members collected items from Mr. Prabhakar’s room, carefully placing them in a plastic bag. Among these was a long strand of black hair, which quickly drew the inspector’s focus toward Neela.
“That’s not mine,” Neela objected. “Why would I kill my friends’ uncle and my host, too?”
“I never claimed it was yours, nor said you murdered Mr. Prabhakar,” the inspector chuckled, only heightening the tension in the room.
Another forensic specialist whispered something to the inspector, prompting him to turn towards Mr. Prabhakar’s room. He emerged a short while.
“There are two distinct types of slipper marks found in the room. Looks like two people have walked through the mud in the porch before entering. Clearly, two individuals were involved in the crime. Let’s compare the sizes of your feet.” The inspector turned towards the three guests and Vijayan.
“Sir, this is humiliating. We’re guests here; why would we kill our uncle?” Ratish shot back.
“So you’re implying that I did it?” Vijayan raised an eyebrow.
“All right, while Sub Inspector Unni investigates the slipper marks, I’d like to pay a visit to your home, Mr. Vijayan. I’m in the mood for some Diwali treats that your wife has prepared,” the inspector said with a grin.
“Make sure to record all the shoe sizes,” the inspector instructed his subordinates before turning back to leave with Vijayan.
“What about his shoe size?” Ratish exclaimed, pointing at Vijayan, who was conveniently departing with the inspector.
“Shut it! Don’t tell us how to do our jobs! I actually suspect you, because you as a writer, must be jealous of your uncle’s success. You must have killed him and just to make it look like a robbery, emptied the safe,” an irked sub-inspector barked. Ratish was too taken aback to even protest.
The trio exchanged glances that expressed their mutual confusion: ‘What on earth have we gotten ourselves into?’
Within half an hour, Inspector Vivek returned, his face alight with excitement. He had cracked the case wide open. Accompanying him were Vijayan and a stout woman in her early forties.
“Take a look at their shoe prints and sizes as well. I just need to confirm they correspond to the ones found in the room.” Inspector Vivek commanded his assistant. Just a few minutes later, the assistant returned with a broad grin that spoke volumes.
“So, Saudamini, you cleverly pretended to whip up snacks for Diwali. I commend your shrewdness; you somehow managed to draw in customers, assuring them that since it was your first attempt, you would excel. They placed their trust in you, unaware that you merely handed them treats sourced from Mathai’s Bakery in Sulthan Bathery, an hour from here. With no immediate neighbours to notice, there was no need to fake cooking oil or ghee to create a pleasant smell. However, I spotted all the discarded packaging from the shop in your backyard,” the inspector revealed, turning to Vijayan.
“And you sluggish loafer, you have piled up enough debt to haunt you for a lifetime. But upon spotting Mr. Prabhakar’s safety vault, you and Saudamini schemed meticulously. You were fortunate that about a month ago, Prabhakar mentioned to your wife that he’d be hosting three guests for Diwali. That was the catalyst for setting your plan in motion.”
“Am I correct, Saudamini?” Without waiting for a response, the inspector continued. “You then spread the word about your Diwali sweets and snacks, sending your husband on a campaign with the menu to gather orders. Vijayan must have ventured to Sulthan Bathery to collect the treats two days prior, while you convinced Mr. Prabhakar that he would be filling in for you, assuring him that you’d need just three days to prepare everything. Everything fell into place seamlessly. Once the guests retreated to their rooms post-dinner last night and Prabhakar settled in to write, you and Vijayan sneaked in. While one of you strangled him from behind, the other pried open the vault to take the cash and gold within. And you must receive an Oscars, Mr. Vijayan, for reporting to work today as if nothing had transpired last night.” The inspector flashed a knowing smile.
“This hair strand couldn’t belong to Neela, whose hair is a lighter, curly shade. This led me to suspect another woman was involved. The footprints didn’t match any of the three individuals present, indicating they belonged to someone else. Finding the discarded wrappers of sweets and snacks in your home left me with no doubt that those footprints were yours. Now, can you tell me where the stolen loot is?”
The guilty pair stood there, speechless, unable to contest the claims.