Murder in Mumbai by K. D. Calamur

overtime.”
    Still, there’s no smoke without fire,
Gaikwad thought, but he realized this was going nowhere. He tried a different tack.
    â€œSo, from your assessment of her, sir, do you think she had any enemies?”
    â€œIt’s hard to say, inspector. We live in bad times.”
    Gaikwad was irritated by the fact that this man was not saying anything, but the inspector wasn’t in a position to protest.
    â€œAnything else you can think of, sir? Anything that might shed light on the case?”
    There was a pause. “Honestly, inspector. I can’t think of anything. I’m not sure where you got the idea that we were close. We were just associates.”
    â€œMy apologies, sir. And thank you for your time.”
    Gaikwad knew that Khurana had been lying. But was it because he didn’t want to be associated with the whiff of scandal or was it something else?

Chapter 6
    Jay was sleeping the deep sleep that comes only at dawn when the ringing phone woke him.
    His eyes still shut, Jay reached for his cell phone, groping for it on the nightstand until he found it.
    â€œHello,” he mumbled, his voice dripping with sleep.
    â€œYou’re still sleeping. It’s six thirty in the morning!”
    â€œHello, ma,” Jay said in reply, unsure if he wanted to have this conversation at this time.
    â€œYou haven’t forgotten about your father’s eye surgery, no?”
    Crap
, Jay thought. He had forgotten. His father was getting laser surgery to remove a cataract in his right eye.
    â€œOf course not, ma. It’s on Saturday, right?” It was a stab in the dark.
    â€œYes, yes. Saturday. But be on time. There’s construction near Andheri station. Someone has to wait in the car while your father is there.”
    â€œI’ll be there. Don’t worry.”
    â€œAnd what about the pooja? You’re coming for the pooja, no?”
    â€œWhat pooja?”
    â€œWhat is wrong with you? The same pooja we have every year.”
    â€œOh yes. Of course. I’ll be there,” he said, not wanting to prolong this conversation any further.
    The
pooja
, or religious ceremony, was one observed annually in the Ganesh household to mark Guru Purnima, a day ostensibly to honor the family’s spiritual guide. The Ganeshes, including Jay’s mother, would never have called themselves religious. But religion pervaded not only the spiritual realm of people’s lives, but also the cultural. It was, to put it mildly, everywhere: on the streets, in the form of street-corner temples and churches; the muezzin’s call to prayer; giant swathes of the city blocked off for religious festivals ranging from Ganesh Chaturthi, to honor the elephant-headed god, to Ramadan, the Islamic holy month. And so, even if a family did not consider itself religious or visit a temple, mosque, or church regularly, religious occasions were an excellent occasion to meet old friends and family.
    So it was with Mrs. Ganesh and her annual Guru Purnima festival.
    â€œMake sure you’re on time,” she bellowed. “Lots of people have been asking about you.”
    Jay knew better than to ask what that meant. Invariably it meant that his mother had conspired to introduce him to some girl whom she hoped would make a good daughter-in-law. Jay avoided such occasions, but the pooja would be hard to miss. There would be consequences.
    â€œNo, no,” he replied. “I’ll be there. Don’t worry.”
    â€œOf course you’ll be there,” she replied. “Just don’t be late. And remember Saturday—your father’s eye surgery.”
    â€œOk, ma,” he said, but she’d already hung up.
    Jay was half-amused, half-irritated when he put the phone down. His mother had to have the last word. And he could never say no to her.
Such an Indian failing
, he thought.
    But while his father’s procedure and the pooja were still a few days away, he had a more