Sherlock Gomes is on the job The Curious Case of the Hairy Legs By Cecil Pinto
(An excerpt from my forthcoming book The Continuing Adventures of Sherlock e-Gomes) My name is John. Just because I allow Sherlock to call me Dr. Vot’s Son does not mean I allow others that liberty. Anyway it’s better than when he used to call me Son of Dr. Vot, which means the same thing, but elicits more giggles among the fairer sex. My father Nascimento Carneiro is hard of hearing and hence popularly known as Vot because that’s how he responds to any oral communication, “Vot?”. He’s not a medical doctor and actually a retired advocate, which in Goa earns one the prefix Dotor. But Sherlock now calls me Dotor in front of clients, which is a relief. “Did you bring the poe?” demanded Sherlock, without looking away from his computer screen, as I entered. He didn’t fool me one bit with his feigned nonchalance. I knew he had a webcam outside the door and also one overlooking the street, all connected to his PC. Sherlock had every possible contraption connected to his PC and could and spent entire days online doing what he called research. If not for the dozens of times he had helped the Goa Police in their investigations, Sherlock would surely long back been arrested for being a stalker of sorts. “What poe?” I asked, purposely keeping the ‘e’ silent as in Edgar Alan Poe, whose character C Auguste Dupin was Sherlock’s hero. “The poe I asked you to bring, Vot’s Son”, muttered Sherlock without moving his unwavering gaze from the monitor. “Oh that poe. Your SMS said to get it from 31 Baker Street. There is no 31 Baker Street in Panjim.” “Is too!” “Is not!” “Do you know the road that goes from the right hand side of the Immaculate Conception Church to the Fontainhas side?” ‘The one that connects with 31st January Road?” “Yes, that one. Have you ever been there in the period soon after dusk?” “Yes I have.” “Did you see some poders parked there selling bread from their cycles after their evening rounds?” “Yes indeed I have.” “Do you know there’s a uniquely Goan bakery called Confeitaria 31 De Janeiro round the corner?” “Yes I do.” “Well if this isn’t 31 Baker Street then I don’t know what is Vot’s Son!” “Now I get it. And you asked me to get a poe, unleavened bread, instead of a panv, loaf, because it’s healthier. Excellent choice!” “Alimentary my dear Vot’s Son!” Just then the doorbell rang. Sherlock indicated I should get the door. A slim, though well endowed, woman was standing there wearing low rise black jeans and a tight black t-shirt. She gave me the most charming smile, put forth her hand and said, “I’m so glad to be meeting you Mr. Gomes. You are coming highly recommended.” Before I could correct the mistaken identity I heard Sherlock speaking from behind me, “Let Miss D’Cruz in Dotor and do seat her on the sofa-cum-bed. I will be with you in a minute ma’am. Please wait while I finish uploading these photos of the St. Tome Feast onto my Flickr page.” The most lovely Miss D’Cruz realized her mistake and was blushing. I took her extended hand and said, “No problem miss, this happens often. My name is John Carneiro. Please do come in and sit down. Watch out for that crate of bottles.” Among many others, Coke was one of Sherlock’s addictions. There were crates of coke bottles lying all over the apartment. Some empty to be returned, and some full to be consumed. “So ma’am you finally decide to come to me after all else fails?” said Sherlock swiveling around flamboyantly in his swiveling chair in one quick motion. Miss D’Cruz was blushing again. “I am not knowing what to do Mr. Gomes. Please help me. Here’s the advertisement I spoke about.” Saying this she removed from the back pocket of her jeans a small newspaper cutting which she handed to me. Sherlock gestured to me to read it aloud. “Wanted a slim, but well endowed, woman of around 25 years to do computer data entry work. She should have unshaven legs. Contact phone 9316432438”. Both Sherlock and I immediately turned towards Miss D’Cruz who demurely pulled up the denim jeans on of one her legs to allow us a glimpse of her shins and calves. I tell you in all my years I have never seen such hairy legs. Even the ugliest of aunties who bathe at Baga beach in May will not have such hairy legs. In fact I know of no man either of such hirsute lower limbs. She dropped the hem of her jean legs back in place. “So you got the job and find you have precious little work to do and yet are paid handsomely?” “Yes exactly Mr. Gomes! How are you knowing this?” “There is precious little that escapes me my dear”, said Sherlock “but do hurry and tell us in detail about the interview and the job. We have a trap to set.” “Well I phoned up the number and a man told me to be present for an interview at a business center in Mala on a certain date. I arrived on time with my standard bio data printout and xerox copies of all my certificates.” “Did you include the one from the Jaycees that you received for a Singing Competition?” “Yes that one too Mr. Gomes. I was surprised to find there were lots girls before me already in line. Some of them were serious competition.” “You mean to say they had more certificates?”, I asked “No!” “Bigger breasts perhaps?”, I ventured. “No sir. They had more hairy legs. Some of them had purposely worn very short skirts to show off. I am not telling lies sir. Even the most hairy grizzly bears I have seen on National Geographic Channel did not have such hairy legs. I was all set to go home when suddenly the door opened and one of the interviewers, a large woman in a sari, signaled to me to come in. I ignored the other girls’ protests and walked through and was faced with the large woman and a thin man behind a desk.” “Was the thin man constantly sending SMS with his phone held upright?”, asked Sherlock. “Yes he was. But the woman was doing all the talking. She asked me what size my bra was and I told her I was 38 D. She asked if they were padded so I did this jiggle, like this, to show that they were not false.” I averted my eyes while she jiggled to show us but Sherlock sat with a pensive look and observed her every move without expression. “The woman then came around the desk and demanded to see my legs. I was wearing a skirt and so lifted it up a bit so she could see my hairy legs. Suddenly she grabbed a handful of hair on one of my legs and pulled it sharply. I screamed in pain. She let go and I shouted at her, ‘Why you are doing that?’” She replied, “I needed to check if your hair was fake or real. Sorry about that. You’re hired, if you can join right away.” “I didn’t tell my mummy. Can I join from tomorrow?” “No. No you have to start today or I will choose one of the other girls.” “So I phoned my neighbours to tell my mummy. My mummy is a little deaf.” My heart went out to Miss D’Cruz, as it did to anyone who had a parent who was hard of hearing. “Did your job involve keying in handwritten words which appeared on a computer screen?”, asked Sherlock. “Was the work monotonous? Was the pay good? Were words often repeated?” “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” “Were you normally alone in the office? Have you recently been asked to work a few hours overtime each evening for a very handsome bonus? “Yes! Yes!” “Your house is located next door to the High Court in Panjim is it not?” “Yes!” Sherlock looked at the clock and made one phone call to Inspector Corte at the Panjim Police Station and another call to Sandesh Prabhudesai at Prudent Media. Then he abruptly swiveled back to his computer screen ignoring us. I coughed discreetly. “Just wait for the next news bulletin at 11.30 am in another twenty minutes”, is all he said, while Googling up a storm about Male Pattern Baldness. We waited uncomfortably and at exactly 11.30 Sherlock swiveled back around reached for the remote and put on the TV where the News Bulletin was just starting. “In a shocking discovery today the Panjim police nabbed notorious Israeli drug dealer Atilla as he was trying to escape through a toilet in the High Court building after a hearing. Apparently his accomplices, who were also nabbed, had managed to dig a tunnel under a neighbouring residence into the toilet.” Miss D’Cruz eyes sparkled with recognition at the pictures being shown on the TV, “But Mr. Gomes that is my house!” Sherlock gave her a knowing look and told her to go home and comfort her mother. He also made a call to Inspector Corte to get the wall repaired, the tunnel blocked, and to provide some security to the D’Cruzs. Flabbergasted as always by his powers of deduction I asked Sherlock the obvious question. “It’s easy Vot’s Son. They needed to dig the tunnel under the Cruz residence and needed the girl out of the house during the day for ten days so she would not hear them digging underneath. The mother was deaf and hence not a problem. The advertisement, the interview and the job was one big sham to get Miss D’Cruz out of the house.” “And Sherlock you deducted all this from what Miss D’Cruz told you?” “Not really, understand that it is I who put the ‘e’ in detective.” “Detective already has three ‘e’s in it Sherlock.” “Not that. I’m Sherlock e-Gomes. My methods are different. >From the time she first sent me an e-mail I knew her residence location had something to do with it.” “You figured that her mother was a widow, and hence alone at home, from the fact that her daughter was dressed totally in black. But how did you get her residence address?” “No Vot’s Son. I just checked her Facebook profile and her mother’s.” “I figure that’s where you found out about her Jaycee Singing Certificate” “No Vot’s Sun. That was a shot in the dark. But most young people in Goa have some Jaycee Certificate or another.” “How did you know the exact nature of the job?” “When she described the couple who hired her I realized that Atilla’s accomplices were earlier running that Salient Network where lots of people lost lots of money. The thin man was not sending SMS but rather video filming her for his personal satisfaction. But what made me sure was when she mentioned that recently she was being offered a generous overtime bonus to work longer hours since two days back. I realized something had changed in the schedule. I looked up the papers of two days back and realised that Atilla’s hearing had been preponed by two days to today, and so they were in a big hurry to get the tunnel done in time.” “You are truly a genius Sherlock!” “You know my methods Vot’s Son.” ----------------- The column above appeared in two parts in Gomantak Times dated 23rd and 24th September 2010 ==========
