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The ACP leaned back in his chair, raised his arms to the ceiling, interlaced his fingers and twisted his torso in an unhurried stretch. Then he yawned at the policemen assembled before him.
“What has happened? Is it even murder, or did he just die from illness?”
“It is a crime scene, sir. There was also robbery,” ASI Achche Lal said.
A peon walked in with lassi tetra packs and placed them on the desk. ACP saheb considered them moodily. “Lassi in December? Why don’t you make tea-coffee in the station? Just purchasing everything from the Mother Dairy booth outside. I’ll have it moved, then you’ll know.” He picked up a tetra pack, nevertheless, inserted a straw and sucked noisily at it. “It’s ok. It’s not that cold”, he said fairly to the peon, and turned back towards the policemen. “Haan, then?”
“There was a robbery also, sir. Plus there is a deep wound from a heavy object on the forehead. Chances are there was some foul play, but post-mortem report is still awaited’, continued Achche Lal.
“His own steam iron was used, sir. There is some blood on the iron”, Constable Rana added.
“How much money was taken?”
“Money, we don’t know sir”, mumbled ASI Achche Lal.
“You don’t know how much money was stolen! You don’t even know the cause of death, whether at all it was murder? What kind of enquiry are you doing? This is not the way to do proper tafteesh.”
The ASI looked down at his feet, while Constable Rana said, “Sir, we know that a pateela of cooked meat was stolen from the kitchen.”
“Cooked meat!” the ACP looked shocked. “Total scoundrels! People have started to kill for meat now,” he shook his head in disbelief. “Anyway, then it must be an internal community matter only – for cooked meat, just imagine.” He sucked at the dregs in the tetra pack, examined it once and then put it back on the table. “Here, have!” he pushed the remaining lassi packets towards the policemen.
“Hmm, have you seized the raw meat in their fridge for further examination? Do they even keep a fridge, or leave the meat outside?” he asked his team.
“Sir, what connection would that have…” Achche Lal began tentatively.
“You must investigate all aspects of the case. And nature of meat has direct bearing: if it is beef, then you immediately know that a particular community, which consumes that meat, is responsible. Send samples for analysis immediately. In fact, take samples from that Laadley’s shop also. That gali has become a sensitive area – we must keep ourselves fully informed about what goes on there.”
Achche Lal coughed delicately. ‘Sir, if it turns out to be beef, it might get complicated. There are some youth in the area, who have formed a sena. In fact, Rana took one of them to Rahman ji’s shop late last night. I would not have brought it up, but I felt I must inform you, sir.”
Constable Rana looked very surprised that Achche Lal was aware. “Is it true, Rana?” the ACP asked sternly.
“Sir, I went for dinner, sir. After duty.”
“Took your activist friend also? Rana you have to stop acting like some hero. You’re in service now. I don’t want any formal complaints, or I will have to take action against you.”
“All those YouTube videos that you watch colour your views and make you very casual, Rana”, added Achche Lal.
“Yes, I agree. You must be neutral in your approach. Duty comes first before anything else,” said the ACP. “But at least one good thing has happened. We can rest assured that the Sena was not involved in the crime because that fellow was in Rana’s sight all evening. Correct Rana? Now! What other angles need investigation? Why don’t you call this Jamal for questioning? I have been wanting to talk to him; lately he has become too rough.”
“What has Jamal got to do with it, Sir?” Achche Lal’s jaws tightened and his voice rose a notch.
“There may be a wider conspiracy. How will we find out unless we do proper investigation? The government has now made it very difficult for foreign funds to reach these protestors. Who knows – maybe they are committing robberies now to fund the anti-India eco-system.”
“Sir, there is his friend also, Habib”, added Rana helpfully.
The ACP stretched his feet out and adjusted the rod heater. “Who is Habib?”
“He is a student, sir. He is writing a detective novel it seems. Has met me several times to ask for ideas for his novel. He is not a bad boy, sir”, said Achche Lal.
“He tried to create obstruction once, sir. I gave him one tight slap”, countered Rana.
“A Mullah detective!” chortled the ACP. “Even his plot line he wants to take from the police? Bring him in. Let’s meet him. And listen, before we finish this meeting, what about training programme for our new Bharatiya Nyay Sanhita? Do you know the new sections? Section 302 is not murder – it is merely ‘snatching’ in the new criminal law. When it comes into force, be careful while registering FIRs. Give correct section numbers. Don’t convert murder into a snatching crime.”
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Constable Awdhesh Rana was out to do tafteesh, but he felt moody and irritable. “Nobody can be trusted with even a harmless secret anymore.” As he rode past Bhawani Mishthan Bhandar, Kanwal and Nirmal waved to him. It annoyed Constable Rana: “I am on duty now”, he called out tersely. ‘Everyone just wants to be seen with me, and then I get into trouble with my superiors’, he thought to himself and made a face.
Constable Rana rode straight to the crime scene, where he saw the two brothers, Arshad and Abrar, sitting outside the now closed Rahmania hotel. He jumped off his motorcycle, caught Arshad’s shirtfront, hauled him up and gave him a stinging slap across the face. “Haven’t I told you to not hang about at the crime scene, destroying evidence?”
The brothers had had a slow morning with no work left to do, and nowhere else to go. They had been sitting on the parapet outside Rahmania, discussing their prospects, before this sudden and violent interruption. Arshad held his cheek in his right hand and cried, “What did I do, saheb?” Abrar had covered his face with his forearm, also expecting a blow. He quietly moved away from Rana’s reach.
“Didn’t I tell you to not mention that I had visited the restaurant? You thought I wouldn’t come to know? Nothing will happen to me, you bastard, but I’ll make sure your name comes in the chargesheet. Then you can rot in jail.”
“Saheb, Allah ki qasam, I didn’t take your name,” Arshad howled. “Somebody else must have informed. Remember, that loafer Salman was also there?”
It seemed like a reasonable explanation to Rana. “Hmm, achcha? Well, you should have said earlier. You got beaten up for nothing then.” Rana looked almost apologetic. He unlocked the premises and led them inside. “Chal, cigarette pila,” he said.
“Saheb, can’t you order the restaurant to be opened again? After Rahman miyan, nobody is interested, but how will we survive?”
“First tell me in great detail who all came to the restaurant that evening? Who said what to Rahman miyan?” Rana put down his backpack and conscientiously took out his Neelgagan notebook. He wrote down a few names in one column and read each name out to the brothers: “Did all of them come here?”
Then he took notes against each name as Arshad and Abrar tried to remember conversations from that evening.
“One other thing, how much money was stolen?”
Abrar and Arshad looked at each other. “We don’t know, sir. Rahman miyan did the accounts himself. We didn’t even know how much money was in the cashbox. But he was very upset with me because I brought Salman inside while the almirah was open and the cash box was visible.”
“Is anything else missing?” Rana asked.
“Almirah was open and all the papers were scattered, sir.”
“Hmm, now I have to seize all the raw meat in the kitchen. Take me to the fridge.”
The inspection of the fridge revealed a small quantity of liver and kidneys, two bottles of coke, Lassi Tetra packs, eggs, lemon (shriveled from age) and dry coriander leaves. “Is it mutton or something else, hain?” Asked Constable Rana only half-jokingly. “Never know with you people. One love jihadi had cut his wife into small pieces and put it in the fridge.
Pack it in a tiffin carrier”, he ordered
“Haji saheb’s best aluminium tiffin carrier was also stolen. I had told you that day only, sir.”
Constable Rana had the sample put in two double layers of polythene and then put it in the outer pocket of his backpack, while scrunching his nose, and holding his breath. He then left the brothers and rode up to Rahman miyan’s house. It looked like a house in mourning still: it was already overcast outside, but inside was positively dark. All the curtains were drawn, and he felt his way about in the light of the electric heaters. Rahman ji’s wife sat in the drawing room; her feet propped up on a stool and covered in soft Chinese blankets. Her eyes were swollen, and her face red. ‘Madam ji, can you tell me how much cash was stolen?”
Mrs. Rahman let out a wail again. “How would I know? He took care of everything. He didn’t let me want for anything. He gave me cash at the beginning of every week for household expenses, or whenever else I needed it. I didn’t have to worry about hisab-kitab. Beta, Tauseeeef…” she yelled suddenly and a young man appeared. He was short and stout and had shoulder length hair, streaked and cut in the now outdated style of Salman Khan in Tere Naam. “Do you know how much cash your uncle kept at the restaurant?”
“No, phuphu! I hadn’t yet joined the business.” He looked at Rana, “I hadn’t started going there, Inspector Saheb. All this happened so suddenly. Now I’ll never be able to run that place – I’ll always feel my uncle’s ghost lingering. They said there was too much blood.”
His aunt started to howl again and Rana quickly left the house. “Aye joker, baal kata ley” he said to the nephew before he left.
Constable Rana made one last stop on his way out of the alley. “Oye Laadley! Hand over all your meat to me right now! I have orders to seize all the meat in your hotel for testing.”
Laadley rose from his chair in panic.
To be continued…
Shahrukh Alam has been trying to write a murder mystery for a very long time. She has written versions of this story since 2013 and The Wire has published one such version earlier. She is hopeful that she’ll deliver a complete mystery this time. 🤞🏻
