The Bandit Queens (74)

“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?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m currently focusing on my career.” The words fell out easily, in the same order and cadence as a recited address. Clearly Sushma Sinha, ASP, had said them many times over. “There’s plenty of time for kids. I’m young.”

“Yes,” Saloni said, nodding. “You are. Careers are important. Especially for women. You know, we are also working women. We have—”

“Yes, a microloan, I know. What do you know about Samir Vora?”

Geeta’s eyes widened, but she bit the inside of her cheek and managed, she thought, to look the appropriate cocktail of confused and innocent. “Samir? Well, he was a drinker, you know.”

Saloni sighed. “And alas, the drink killed him.”

Geeta looked at Saloni while the ASP made a long, damning note. “?‘Alas’?” Geeta mouthed.

“Samir Vora’s death was allegedly due to alcohol poisoning. Last night, during the second death, many members of your village were also inebriated with, how did you say, ‘snacks.’?” She said the English word with an exaggerated Gujarati accent—which Geeta found a tad offensive—and it sounded more like “snakes.”

She tried to sit still but couldn’t get comfortable in the chair. Her clothes slid on the plastic and she kept sinking under the ASP’s interrogation, shoulders hunching in what was sure to be construed as guilt. How was Saloni still upright?

“I’m wondering how all these ‘snacks’ are magically appearing in a state that specifically bans such ‘snacks.’?”