A Cut-Like Wound (23 page)

Gowda’s eyes shifted to the victim. His sneakers were thrown to the left of the bed, his trousers and underwear were another puddle of colour, suggesting that he had taken everything off in a hurry. His shirt lay half across the bed as
though he had pulled it off in a rush. The young man sitting on the chair was naked except for his socks.

His throat had been slit. But, as with Kothandaraman, he exhibited just about every classic sign consistent with strangulation by ligature. Eyes open, distended eyeballs, dilated pupils, signs of haemorrhage in the cornea and skin around the eyelids, forehead and face; the protruding tongue that was almost dark brown while the lips were blue. Some signs of bleeding from the nose and ears and bloody froth from the mouth. There was a well-defined ligature mark on the neck at an oblique angle. Bruises and abrasions and a deep cut-like wound where the ligature had cut into the skin. The hands were clenched and his penis was semi-erect. He had peed and shat himself in that final moment.

And once again, there it was, the wound on the cheek. Skin tattered, tissue ground into, the bone broken. Around the edges of the wound, the skin was broken and irregular. In fact, apart from the raw smell of putrefaction and the contorted features of the young man which bespoke an expression of shock, horror and the knowledge of impending death, the rest of the room was perhaps as he had always kept it.

Investigating Officer Inspector Lakshman looked up and sprang to attention.

Gowda nodded. ‘I have had two murders in my station precincts in the last one month. Same mode of death as this one. We thought we would take a look if you don’t mind,’ he said, including Santosh in his inquiry.

Santosh stepped forward. Gowda was making amends, he realized.

Inspector Lakshman too had once passed through that great university of real-life police science called Gowda’s
tutelage. Before Gowda had chewed him up alive, Inspector Lakshman had been transferred. So he looked at Santosh with a great deal of sympathy, and some envy. You might want to smash Gowda’s face with a blunt object, but you couldn’t help admire the man. He turned investigation into a fine art and there were times such as this when he wished he had spent more time with Gowda. He would have learnt how exactly to go forward.

‘What do you think?’ Gowda asked carefully. He didn’t expect much from an arselicker like Lakshman but you never knew. He may have tired of rimming his way up the ladder.

‘I have already informed the ACP, sir,’ Lakshman said, indicating he still hadn’t.

Gowda’s mouth twisted into a line. ‘The CCB will be here too … so what is your reading this far?’

From the corner of his eye, he saw Santosh put on a pair of gloves and do a spiral search. Good, the boy had imbibed some of what he had told him. ‘Never ever start your search for evidence in a haphazard manner. There is a method even to that. When I am alone or when I know that I have to do it before the rest of the circus turns up, I do the inward spiral.’

‘I don’t actually understand, sir,’ Lakshman admitted. There was no point trying to put on a face with Gowda. He would realize in a matter of minutes how clueless he was. And that was the thing. There was no evidence of any sort to even form a preliminary opinion. Everything was in place and even the victim seemed at rest, almost as if he hadn’t known until the last moment what was happening to him.

Santosh checked the windows. They were all shut from within except the ventilator in the bathroom. There was only one door through which to enter the room and that
had been shut as well until the police broke it down. So the assailant had entered the room with the victim’s knowledge and left the crime spot after pulling the door shut.

At first, the landlord had thought Kiran was unwell. He had heard the bike come in two nights ago at about 10 p.m. So he knew Kiran had returned home. On Saturday morning, the bike had stayed in its place. It was his wife who first thought something was amiss. A day later, the milk sachets lay where they had been left. When her husband sat down for breakfast, she mentioned it to him. He called the young man. They could hear the mobile ring upstairs. The landlord went up and rang the bell. There was no response. Meanwhile, a boy called Suraj whom Kiran had introduced as his colleague came by. He had a worried expression. Someone had called him two nights ago saying Kiran was dead. Suraj had laughed it off. Kiran and he had been at the gym together that evening. But he had been trying to call Kiran since yesterday evening, he said, and Kiran wasn’t picking up the phone.

The landlord was terrified now. He hammered on the door and hollered. But there was still no response. That’s when he called the police.

‘Where do we go from here, sir?’ asked Lakshman.

‘Let’s see what the post-mortem comes up with. Meanwhile, let me know what you discover about the victim. Look at the calls made on his phone, talk to his friends and get a sense of his routine, ask around and corroborate when and where he was last seen alive. Seen, not heard … And talk to this Suraj right away. See if you can trace the number that the call came from. That’s going to be vital!’

T
he corporator stared at his fingernails thoughtfully. Tiger sat at his feet, looking up at his master with an equally thoughtful expression. Both man and dog had something on their mind that required someone else to make a move, Chikka thought from his customary perch on the courtyard ledge. He sighed. He would have to do it.

Chikka stood up. ‘Come, Tiger,’ he said, walking to the door. Tiger shot his master a look of reproach and followed Chikka. He stood by the open door and then stepped out. A dog’s got to do what a dog’s got to do.

Chikka thought he knew how Tiger felt. A Chikka’s got to do what a Chikka has to do.

‘Anna,’ he said from the door, ‘what’s troubling you?’

The corporator’s eyes rose and met his brother’s gaze. ‘Remember the PWD clerk Shivappa who wanted our help to retrieve his house? He’s been talking to Jackie Kumar. If he didn’t work in the planning department, I would have thought, good riddance. But he will know about the city projects as and when the files come up for clearance and I need that information to use, to sell … I don’t need to tell you this. I should have sorted it out, but I had other things on my mind. If Jackie Kumar has him in his book, our entry into that section is closed. I should have remembered that Jackie Kumar has been looking to make things difficult for me ever since we fell out.’

‘What do you want me to do?’ Chikka asked quietly.

‘Take a few of the boys and go to the house. Throw out Chicken Razak’s keep and his belongings. Lock the door and bring the key to me. And call the PWD clerk over this evening. I want him drooling gratitude all over my feet. Next week, we’ll call in our favour.’

The corporator rose from his chair and went to the door. Tiger whined from outside. He let the dog in and patted its head gently.

‘You really love this dog, don’t you?’ Chikka said.

The corporator smiled. ‘With him, I know where I am.’

Chikka frowned. ‘Are you saying you don’t trust me?’

The corporator held his brother at arm’s length and smiled. ‘You, I trust. But it is foolish to trust anyone else. Life is all about learning to barter. You just need to know who needs what to make them do your bidding. Tomorrow, if someone else comes and offers them the same at better terms, they will go to them. My Tiger will too. He will wag his tail and eat their meat. But he will not give anything back. His love and loyalty are mine. I prefer dogs to people.’

Chikka didn’t speak.

‘One other thing. Ramachandra, the slum board officer, needs to be dealt with,’ the corporator said abruptly, his tone hardening.

Chikka stared. ‘Has he been babbling?’ he asked.

‘Not yet. But I don’t trust him. When he came to see me yesterday, his manner had changed. There is a certain cockiness. Almost as if he has a bargaining chip. Almost as if he thinks he can control me…’

Chikka drew closer. ‘Did he say anything to you?’

‘Not really. But when I wanted him to pull out a letter from a file, he made excuses. They are talking of clearing up the slums near the East Station and I wanted to see what the recommendations were. Once, all I had to do was mention the letter and it would have been done…’

Chikka watched his brother go back to his chair. Tiger followed and sat on his haunches. Chikka watched his brother tug the dog’s ears gently. Tiger rubbed his snout against the
corporator’s hand, demanding more of the playful attention. The corporator smiled and scratched the dog’s neck.

‘He has a dog,’ the corporator said. ‘A little white bag of fur. A silly, yapping, spoilt creature. They tie a red ribbon around its neck. Apparently, the daughter is devoted to it. Slit its throat.’

‘What?’ Chikka asked.

‘They went to Mysore last night and will be back only late tonight. There is a live-in maid, but the dog is usually out in the front yard.’

‘How do you know all this, Anna?’ Chikka was incredulous.

‘I make it my business to know. Slit the dog’s throat and leave it for him to find. Tell him the dog barked too much. Tell him the dog’s barking reached me this far and hurt my ears. Tell him this is how we deal with dogs that don’t know how to keep their mouths shut. Tell him that…’ The corporator rose. ‘I am going to have my bath,’ he said.

Chikka swallowed. More and more, his brother worried him. More and more, he felt his brother turning into something he didn’t even want to recognize.

They took the Scorpio that evening. Anna insisted. ‘Take that villain vehicle,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Intimidation is the key to what you wish to achieve when you are out on the streets.’

Chikka, King Kong and the three men Anna had trained to be his fists and feet, now that he couldn’t personally make house calls swinging the sand wedge. Each one had his favourite weapon – switchblade, screwdriver, machete, cycle chain. And Chikka had his revolver. Anna insisted that he carry it when he went out with the boys.

The dog was by the gate. Darting this way and that with little high-pitched barks when man, machine, or even a leaf wafted across its line of vision. The door was closed, and no one was in the front yard. Chikka watched as Raghu opened the gate and threw a kebab on the ground. The dog’s eyes glittered at the sight of meat. As it fell upon the meat, in one swift motion King Kong grabbed the little dog by the scruff of its neck and, with the other, ran the edge of his switchblade across its throat. The dog struggled and then stilled. King Kong dropped the dead dog, took the note from his pocket and tied it to the dog’s paw carefully with the red ribbon from around its neck. It had taken less than three minutes and on that quiet street, hidden by the high compound wall, no one had seen or heard a thing. Not that they cared. Anna would take care of everything.

‘Where to next?’ Raghu asked, as he got into the car.

‘Shivaji Nagar,’ King Kong said.

Chikka didn’t speak. The only reason he was here was because Anna felt the men would start thinking too much of themselves if they were sent alone on a mission. ‘The trick is to make them believe that they cannot function without us.’

Did these men at night ever think about the texture of their day, Chikka wondered. Did it ever come to them that these random acts of cruelty were perpetrated against someone they didn’t even know?

The house was locked. Chikka frowned.

‘Break the lock. Get rid of everything in there and put a new lock in its place. Tell the neighbours that the landlord has sold it to someone else and that Chicken Razak and his catamite have been evicted,’ Chikka said.

The men stepped out together, muttering under their
breath. ‘Any street thug can do this,’ Swami said. ‘Why did Anna send us?’

‘Something to do with Jackie Kumar. It’s a message of sorts to him. Don’t mess in my terrain, etc.,’ Raghu explained.

A man walking by stopped. He stared as Anna’s men heaped a few things on the road. A chair. A bed. A TV and a few clothes. Someone brought a can of petrol and sloshed it over the heap. A match was lit and flung onto the things. The heap erupted into a blazing fire in moments. King Kong and Swami stood around, watching the fire crackling, while Raghu poked at the flames with a stick.

The man watched the fire throw up little sparks with a hiss and splutter. Flecks of ash danced through the air and floated away as King Kong inserted a big bright steel lock into the padlock.