The police arrived around dawn. They looked
a tired bunch. In the last 48 hours, they had dealt with: a VVIP’s visit (and
related black-flag protests); the death of an interfaith living-together couple
(and protests about whether it was suicide or murder, money-or-sex-problems or
communal issue); and, an on-going transport strike (and unrelated violence).
The newspaper boy (the nice boy who
drops the paper on the doorstep and not the other guy who throws it somewhere
from the gate) had “found the door open and there was blood on the floor.”
The boy had reported it to the man
next-door (back from a morning walk and stretching outside). The man “rang the
bell, entered the house when there was no response. I followed the blood to the
kitchen. Oh God! What I saw there!”
He (and the boy) had rushed back to his
house, and rushed back with his wife. “She is used to such stuff…the stuff she
watches on TV.” The wife had examined the kitchen (she had called the police
after that) and her study revealed, “There was a chicken head right opposite
the door and the decapitated chicken diametrically opposite. Looked like one of
those black magic mantra-shantra scenes. There was human blood too.”
“How did you figure that out?” the young
lady-constable asked. She was known to her colleagues as Nurse (she had quit a
nursing course midway to join the police force, pleasant and always smiling,
more a Florence Nightingale than a rough-neck police figure).
“There was part of a finger next to the
chicken head,” the neighbour-lady had responded. “Definitely black magic…”
“Tell me about the couple,” Nurse said.
“They are new-comers, quite friendly and
all that but not really our type. I think the man used to be a head-load worker
and she used to be a maid. We could hear prayers and such stuff all the time. I
think they came into new money through that,” the neighbour said.
The lady seemed to want to say more but not
in the presence of the male sub-Inspector. The man nodded at Nurse and moved
away.
The lady took Nurse’s hand and led her
to the house opposite hers where a middle-aged lady was waiting expectantly. The
two ladies, in turns, briefed Nurse.
“It must be that old man on the other
side. My maid works there too. She told me that he is really bad. Once she
offered to sponge the old man, he had a stroke recently. And dirty man…no
wonder he had a stroke. His wife had an argument with the missing woman, you know.
About coconut or clothes or keeping bedroom windows open or something…”
“You should check out the young man in
the opposite house too. He is always on his computer. What all they do on that
these days? My daughter has put a lock on her computer, to prevent her kids and
hubby. The woman talks to the men too much, a bit too friendly, if you ask me. The
man has had arguments with everyone. They even called the police once, to
remove some car parked in front of their gate, as if they just can’t ask
politely.”
Meanwhile, the male constable had
interviewed the other neighbours.
“I think they are the other type, you
know, the lot with multiple ID cards, shady stuff, black money and all that,”
one said.
“Oh yes, from where did they get all the
money?” another added.
“They look young but they have a
grown-up daughter.”
“Even she seems to be into shady stuff.
Not at all like the girls here.”
“There was a loud crash last night. That
was before the reality show.”
“I heard that, just before I went to
sleep. I heard a scream too.”
“Oh, I thought that was from some TV.”
Nurse returned to her team. She muttered
to her colleagues, “Those ladies need to be put on the bench and rolled.”
“All of them,” the male-constable
seconded her motion.
“Just make sure you tell that to the media,”
their boss the sub-Inspector said with a tired wry grin. “When will the forensic
team get here?”
“Their vehicle’s tires were ripped by those
transport protesters,” the male constable said.
“Great,” the sub-Inspector said. “So,
what do we know?”
“There was a crash around 9.”
“A scream around 10...”
“Two possible perverts on this side.”
“Neighbours all around who did not like
the newcomers.”
“And such a friendly middle-class neighbourhood
it seems.”
One of the neighbours brought cups of
tea (black, no milk because of strike) and biscuits for the police team. Sipping
the tea and trying hard not to nod off, they watched a couple walk slowly to
the house with the blood on the floor.
They too seemed tired and in desperate
need of a comfortable bed. They hardly noticed the police outside their house.
They turned out to be the missing
couple. The man had tried to cook and ended up with a chopped finger. They had
rushed to a government hospital. They had spent the night there.
The sub-inspector thanked everyone for
the tea and their time and co-operation. A journalist turned up just as they
were leaving. Asked for a comment, the men shrugged. Nurse replied, “Nursing case,
slightly mental, palliative care recommended.”
