Dev Bishan stood beneath the dripping archway of the rear courtyard as though he had entered a stage rather than a crime scene.
He was handsome in the practiced manner of men who knew mirrors well—trim beard, tailored coat, rain on polished shoes, and the blue scarf now tied casually at his throat. His smile suggested confidence; his eyes suggested calculation.
“You vanish all day,” said Arindam, “and reappear precisely when discovered. Efficient timing.”
Dev laughed softly.
“I might say the same of detectives.”
He stepped forward and offered his hand. Arindam did not take it.
“Where were you since noon?”
“In the city.”
“Doing what?”
“Protecting my family.”
“That answer contains no facts.”
“It contains enough.”
Arindam drew the silver cufflink from his pocket.
“This was found beside the torn portrait of your uncle.”
Dev glanced at it, unimpressed.
“I lost it yesterday.”
“How convenient.”
“I prefer inevitable.”
Rain tapped the stone between them.
From an upper window, someone moved the curtain and disappeared.
Arindam noticed.
“Did you enter Leela’s room tonight?”
“No.”
“Did you write on the bed?”
“No.”
“Did you frighten servants dressed in clues and perfume?”
Dev smiled again.
“You make mischief sound poetic.”
Arindam took one step closer.
“Where is Leela?”
For the first time, Dev’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
Enough.
“Safe,” he said.
Mira’s voice rang from the courtyard entrance. She had followed with Niraj close behind.
“Safe where?”
Dev turned to face her, and whatever charm he wore before vanished.
“You should not have called outsiders.”
“You disappeared while my sister vanished!”
“I disappeared because someone here wishes her dead.”
Silence struck harder than thunder.
Harish, arriving breathless with his stick, roared, “Liar!”
Dev pointed at him instantly.
“There stands the man who would force her marriage for control of the estate.”
Harish lunged forward. Servants rushed between them.
Mira stared from one to the other.
Arindam spoke quietly, and everyone stopped.
“Who was Leela to marry?”
Dev answered first.
“Ritoban Dutta. A banker with debts hidden beneath perfume.”
Harish snapped, “A respectable match!”
“Paid for by her inheritance,” said Dev.
Mira whispered, “Leela agreed...”
“No,” Dev said. “Leela obeyed.”
Arindam watched Mira carefully. Pain crossed her face—not surprise, but guilt.
“You knew she was unhappy.”
Mira said nothing.
Niraj muttered, “This house speaks only when cornered.”
Arindam bent near the crushed rose on the ground.
“Who gave Leela roses?”
Dev answered after a pause.
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because she loved them.”
“Cousins often exchange flowers so tenderly?”
Dev’s jaw tightened.
“She is not my cousin by blood.”
Another silence.
Old family structures trembled.
Arindam straightened.
“So you hid her.”
“No.”
“You know where she is.”
“Yes.”
“Then take me.”
Dev looked directly at Mira, not Arindam.
“If I do, truth comes with us.”
Before anyone could reply, a gunshot cracked from inside the mansion.
A woman screamed upstairs.
And the lights went out.