7 Crows

Chapter Five | 08:52

Chapter Five

08:52 am. New Year's day.

Nothing is mysterious. The mystery is your invention. The mind taking what is given and making the best of it. But, Loxley knew better. The mystery is an unchangeable reality and it won't last shrouding in smog for long.

Loxley stared ahead, her brain a burst of static. There was a pressure behind her eyes and her pulse pounded against her temples. Her cell phone felt heavy in her suit jacket's pocket as she twiddled her thumb, her ears craning for the familiar chirp of the text message alert or the ring of the phone call.

The static in her head stopped dead at the jolt of the door handle, and the maple door swung open.

She bounded from her chair and pivoted on her heels, a faint courtesy smile on her lips. Loxley bobbed her head at Officer Malek in a non-verbal appreciation and the man pulled the door shut, leaving the immigrant standing just beyond the threshold.

"Please have a seat, Kanwaljit." Loxley said and sat back in her chair, scooting a little closer to the table.

Kanwaljit took muffled, uneven footsteps towards the table and reached for the chair, seating himself opposite to the detective. His eyes locked on Loxley's; a wide-eyed jittery stare.

He reminded Loxley of a cowering puppy, not knowing whether he should trust the stranger or not.

"I thought we were over the ice breaking session." She said, softly. "You can relax, Kanwaljit."

He licked his dry lips and a quivering smile softened his weary features. "Ji."

"Your native country is India, am I right?" Loxley moved the manila folder to her left and rested her forearms on the table, her fingers entwined.

"Yes." Kanwaljit croaked.

"I like Indian food. Intoxicating flavours and aroma." She stated in a good-natured tone, bringing a candid curve to the man's lips. "So, you're a migrant worker, I suppose?" Noting the man nod and mumble another 'yes', Loxley continued, "How long have you been living in the Seven Crows?"

"Nau— das din... do haphte," Kanwaljit spoke under his breath, talking to himself before translating his thoughts to her, "About two weeks, ma'am."

"Alright. What were you doing in room number ten, Kanwaljit?" Loxley asked, cutting to the chase; her tone no different than the last time she spoke. Gentle and solemn.

Kanwaljit, on the other hand, had an instant grim line amidst his long stubble and his skin ashened.

"Main— I... I don't know what you saying." He faltered, stumbling over his words more than usual.

The corners of Loxley's lips twitched, then pressed into a stubborn line as her gaze faltered onto the table, before she blew out a gutted exhalation of hushed air through her nose. She picked up the manila folder off the table, and reached her hand in, pulling out a resealable plastic bag with a chain of custody label printed on the front.

Loxley unsealed the bag, then drew a handkerchief from her pant suit's pocket and extracted a silver ring. She placed the ring on the table, right in between Kanwaljit and herself.

The ring was fine silver and apart from few scratch marks from consistent wear and tear, it looked reasonably well maintained. There was a cursive scripture engraved around the ring — that Loxley deduced to be a mantra written in Sanskrit.

Kanwaljit stared straight at the ring, but he appeared not to notice the band of silver at all. The inner end of his eyebrows raised and the corners of his pale lips sagged, before his troubled dark-brown eyes settled back on hers.

"The metal appears aged but taken well care of over the years." Loxley said, eyeing the ring before focusing her gaze back on the man. "At least one hundred years old. A family heirloom, if you like."

She noticed beads of sweat breaking out on his temples and cupid's bow dimple, but Kanwaljit had his eyes locked on hers. Too frozen to look away.

"I'd say it's nineteen point eight millimetres in diameter. A little bit too large for your fingers," Loxley's gaze wavered from his fingers and back to his face, "That you've formed the habit of touching the ring occasionally with your thumb to keep it on. A subconscious act that you still do it right now."

Kanwaljit's eyes lowered to his hand for a brief second and he closed his fingers into a fist to keep his hands from shaking. But, it was futile attempt.

"Judging by the tan line around your right-hand middle finger, it's elementary that you're missing a ring." Loxley concluded, scanning the man's face for a reaction.

For the first fraction of a second, Kanwaljit seemed to be suspended in the shocked moment. An inability to compute his response. The air was so brittle it could have snapped. And, it did.

"Isn't this ring yours, Kanwaljit?" Loxley asked, her expression saying 'don't lie to me'.

"Yes." He relented. "The ring is passed in my family for many years. I get it on my wedding," the corners of his eyes crinkled for a moment, before his forehead creased, "I not know how I loose it."

"The ring was discovered at the crime scene, and..." Loxley leaned back into her chair, lifting her left leg to cross over the right. Her face dead of all emotions. "The motel staff, Niven, has stated seeing you get out of room number ten. You know how this looks, right? It looks like you're a prime suspect." 

"I am innocent." Kanwaljit swallowed, his eyes turned bloodshot and glossy. "It is not what it look like." He chopped the words out, forcing them out from his mouth.

"Mere bhagwan ki kasam khata hoon!" The man half-mumbled the words like a prayer, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head back and forth. "I never hurt a fly! Kisee ko bhee chot nahin kar sakate..." He rambled, switching between his mother tongue and English as nerves took over the pilot seat of his mind. "I have a family... a-and a baby girl back home... I will never hurt anyone! I can never!"

"Hey... hey, calm down, Kanwaljit," Loxley interrupted, her tone as gentle as possible. She let her words be suspended in the air like dust particles and be absorbed into his thoughts. She watched the man intake a shuddering breath before he visibly relaxed into his chair, his shoulders loosing the barest of their stiffness.

"Please understand— no," Kanwaljit winced as if that was not what he meant to say, "Please believe me, Detective." He still had frown lines on his forehead. The weariness she had detected on his face earlier seemed a ten-fold amplified.

"I believe you." Loxley affirmed after a contemplative pause. "Just explain to me what you were doing in room number ten and how your ring," she slid the silver band in front of him, "ended up there?"

He nodded, some light reappearing on his face, like someone had turned on the power. "Ji. Okay."

Loxley pushed her chair backwards, the chair legs screeching, and stood up.

"I'll believe almost anything, Kanwaljit," she advanced towards the handycam with aplomb and pressed the record button, "because regardless of the specifics, everyone lies." Loxley made sure the camera was running and in focus before she asked, "So what's your story?"