I love being proved wrong. I really do. There's no underlying sarcasm marring that simple sentence. The last time I read an Inspector Saralkar mystery was (way) back in 2021. I had not read a Salil Desai prior to that experience and decided to start off with the very first book in this particular series. For those who are aware of it, the book is called 'Killing Ashish Karve.'
And, safe to say, I was not a fan. Now that I think about it, I can barely remember much about the book other than the nature of its crime and the identity of the perpetrator(s). Something that left a sour taste in my unsuspecting mouth. No wonder I did not spend my time writing a review for it back then, rather, confining my energy to scribbling random points in my notes app to mask the disappointment.
Going through these notes in the present day make it very clear how much I lamented the lack of chemistry between the Saralkar-Motkar pairing. There was a sense of dullness that shadowed our protagonists like that of the plague. But maybe that was the point, which my inexperience failed to grasp. Even more so when it pertained to police officers and their roles in the corrugated lens of Indian judiciary. A dull cog in a canopied machinery, who can blend in easily.
'The Murder of Sonya Raikkonen' focuses on exactly what the name entails. Saralkar is roused from his slumber with an emergency call regarding a brutal murder in the Lake Gardens of Pune. The victim is Sonya Raikkonen, a Finnish tourist visiting India on a personal errand. Alarms are raised over the death of a foreigner in such a gruesome manner. Taking a turn for the worse, when the police posit that she might have also been assaulted prior to being murdered that night.
Saralkar and the homicide department investigate dispassionately, making up a police procedural that doesn't try to jump beyond the very basics. It does not aim to be super smart or surprise the readers with outlandish acts of brainy detection, which I admired a lot. So many Indian authors try to mould a mystery series around a police inspector and then go on to make them yet another 'know-it-all' caricature dressed up in Sherlock hand-me-downs.
That is simply not how it works. Crime solving in real life is a much slower, more tedious affair that requires as much legwork as it does racking one's brains for the clues. Desai delivers on this front steadily. Beyond Saralkar, the Motkars and the Salunkhes of the department all adhere to the division of labour. They systematically follow several leads, knock down closed doors, interrogate shady suspects, and try to haggle for answers beyond the clear and obvious.
Maybe it does not make up for a riveting read, like a proper pulpy mystery would have. But I found myself invested, appreciating the pace with which Desai paints his canvas with patience. And yet, the intrigue is never compromised for once. The book blazed past me. The narrative, despite the slow-burn approach, is a great read that I could not help but wrap up within a couple of days. It'll probably take even less time for you if you're not in a (weird) headspace like I am at the time of writing. So that says a lot.
However, the author falters at times when it comes to writing his European characters. There are a few chapters in the very beginning that take place entirely in Finnish towns. And it comes off as clunky. The dialogues are unnatural. And the exchanges feel grating to some extent. Might even catch one off-guard if they're more in-tune with the hard-boiled world of Scandi-Noirs and such. Although it does get better as the book progresses. Or maybe as a reader, one simply gets acclimatised to Desai's writing style better.
Either way, it makes the journey lose a few good points in the process.
I also can't vouch for Saralkar being a more well-rounded character this time around. He's clearly one of those grumpy police cutouts, with questionable ideas swirling amidst the bluntness. And it's a welcome trait, don't get me wrong. No officer is a saint in this country. Saralkar does not need to be one either. It happily adds to the grimy sense of realism. And the awkward dynamic he shares with his subordinates.
He showcases traits of casual misogyny that'd make Harry Callahan proud. Sexualises a couple of women in the process. Partakes in the age-old 'marriage is a curse, women are a bane' brand of humour. And also does not sigh, for sighs are feminine in nature. Choosing to grunt, rather, to assert his bloated masculinity. If nothing, this adds to the greyness of his character. Gives him some dimension to work out with. Even if it's not all that clever or well-pronounced.
However, what irked me genuinely was when Saralkar started discussing rape—as a criminal offence—with Motkar, that too over a cup of tea. The officers partake in an odd little exchange that goes like... (Trigger Warning!)
"I have always wondered why some of them kill the victim after raping her. Why compound the crime so that you become not just a rapist but also a murderer?" Motkar remarked.
Saralkar's eyes were staring into the distance. He shrugged. "That's why some experts argue that rape shouldn't be made an offence punishable by death. It's like signing the death warrant of all victims. If a man knows he'll hang for committing rape, all the more reason for him to kill the victim in the hope that he'll escape detection."
It's a baffling conversation that takes place quite early in the book, which in turn made me question my reading preferences to some degree. I understand a bit of what the author was going for here. And it probably sounded way better inside his head. But that final sentence is outright dismal when read contextually. Really hope this is Inspector Saralkar speaking and not the author, Salil Desai himself. A guy can wonder, can he not?
Anyways. Thankfully, there was a much better and much more solid crime thriller beyond the initial ick, which managed to salvage quite a lot of the goodwill for me. I'll probably stick around as a result and read the next one in the near future, so there we go.
(3/5 || February, 2025)