‘We haven’t known him for very long,’ Nripati told him. ‘Probal is the only one among us who knew him from before.’ He gestured towards Probal.
Byomkesh glanced at Probal who cleared his throat and said, ‘I was Debashish’s classmate back in school. I knew him, but we were not friends.’
‘Not friends!’
‘No, but neither were we foes. Then he graduated and left for Delhi. I hadn’t seen him in years before I met him here again, a couple of months ago.’
‘Oh,’ Byomkesh murmured, taking a few puffs on his cigarette before turning to Kharga Bahadur. ‘You had called Debashishbabu around eight last evening?’
Kharga must have been anticipating the question. His tone was measured as he answered, ‘That’s right.’
‘Where did you make the call from?’
‘From here. Nripatida has a telephone. All of us use it when we need to. Last night, we were all here except for Debashish. I waited for him for quite a while, but when he didn’t turn up, I called him.’
‘Then the two of you met at the lake. Now tell me something, when you left Debashishbabu there, did you notice anyone loitering nearby?’
‘Even if anyone had been around, I wouldn’t have noticed. I wasn’t paying attention. We were sitting on a bench under a tree. It was dark and there weren’t too many people around.’
Byomkesh said to Nripati, ‘I must ask a favour of you. We would like to interrogate each of you individually. Rakhalbabu and I will sit in another room and we’ll send for you, one by one. Could you spare us a small room for that purpose?’
‘There’s one right next to this one. Please follow me.’
Nripati drew aside the curtain at the door and led Byomkesh and Rakhalbabu into the next room. It was tiny. A table stood in the centre, with a few chairs around it. There was a telephone on the table.
‘Exactly what I wanted!’ Byomkesh declared. ‘Rakhal, do sit at the head of the table. Nripatibabu, please ask the others to wait for their turn. We’ll start with you, then call them in.’
The interrogation began. The questions and answers flew back and forth. The valet came in with some coffee. One by one, each man was interrogated. The last one to come in was Bijoy. Byomkesh asked, ‘Bijoybabu, some of your sister’s notebooks or diaries from her maiden days must be still lying around in your home, right? Good. Tomorrow we shall drop in on you and go through them—in case some clue turns up.’
‘Fine,’ was Bijoy’s reply.
The discussion soon broke up. It was nearly ten o’clock.
At eight the next morning, Bijoy was waiting at home for Byomkesh and Rakhalbabu to arrive. When they did, he led them to a room upstairs and announced, ‘This used to be Dipa’s bedroom. All her things are right here; she hasn’t taken much with her.’
The room was a spacious one. The bed stood by the window. At the opposite end of the room were a bookcase, a desk and a chair. An esraj hung from a nail on the wall. At the centre of the table stood a tiny Japanese transistor radio. Byomkesh’s searching gaze swept the room. ‘I notice,’ he observed, ‘that Dipa Devi was fond of music.’
‘Yes,’ Bijoy confirmed, ‘she can play the esraj too. She’s learnt it on her own.’
‘How far did she go with her studies?’
‘She finished school, but we didn’t send her to college.’
‘Is your father at home?’
‘No, my parents are at the hospital.’
‘Debashishbabu is fine … I had called on him. I gather they’ll be releasing him in a day or two.’
‘Yes. Would you care for some tea?’
Byomkesh glanced at Rakhalbabu and said, ‘I wouldn’t mind some, actually. We’ve already had a cup each, but the more, the merrier.’
‘Fine, I’ll fetch the tea while you’re having a look around. I have unlocked the bookcase. There are two trunks below the bed … they’re unlocked as well.’
After Bijoy left the room, Byomkesh said to Rakhalbabu, ‘There isn’t much to investigate in this room. I’ll look through the bookcase while you rummage through the contents of the trunks.’
Rakhalbabu dragged out the trunks from under the bed. Byomkesh opened the cabinet and began to look through the books. They were arranged quite neatly; on the top shelf were poetry and music books, books of songs composed by Rabindranath Tagore, D.L. Roy and the poet Nazrul, among others. On the second shelf were a few volumes—mainly novels by Tagore and Bankim Chandra Chatterjee. Arranged neatly on the lowest shelf were Dipa’s school textbooks. She had evidently taken great care of them.
Byomkesh went through each book carefully, but none offered any clues that might be construed as leads. No modern writers were represented on the shelves, not even Saratchandra Chatterjee. This merely betrayed the conservatism of the family and gave no indication of Dipa’s own literary tastes.
‘Byomkeshda, come here for a second.’
Byomkesh went up to Rakhalbabu. He was squatting before an open trunk. Women’s garments were piled up in front of him. He was holding a postcard-sized diary. It was prettily decorated. He held it out to Byomkesh and said, ‘It was under all the clothes. Have a look.’
It was an autograph book. Most of the pages were empty. The first few pages contained autographs of Uday Madhav and a few members of the family along with some inept scrawls representing feminine names. Then came a page on which a signature was preceded by a few lines from a poem: ‘In the lightning radiance of your eyes, thunderous clouds flash in my heart.’ The pages that followed were all empty.
There was no doubt that this notebook belonged to Dipa. Her name was inscribed on the cover. The person who had quoted Rabindranath with a slight twist to the lines, was not an unfamiliar one; he was a regular at Nripati’s.
Byomkesh’s voice dropped to a murmur. ‘Hmm, so our suspicions weren’t baseless.’
Footsteps sounded outside. Byomkesh quickly dropped the notebook into his pocket and his glance signalled a warning to Rakhalbabu that the matter should remain confidential.
Bijoy came in with two cups of tea, placed them on the table and said, ‘Come, help yourselves. Did you find anything of worth?’
Rakhalbabu made a vague sound in his throat that meant precisely nothing. Byomkesh sipped his tea and declared, ‘The path to Truth is an arduous one. No one can tell where, in which cul de sac, it lies hidden. Anyway, don’t lose heart. The culprit will be nabbed within three or four days.’
The two of them finished their tea and left. As they walked along, Rakhalbabu said, ‘Now all that remains to be done is to arrest the culprit. Of course, we cannot do that without more concrete evidence.’
‘No, we have to lay a trap for him,’ Byomkesh agreed. ‘But before we do so, we need to know for certain just how involved Debashish’s wife is in this whole affair.’
At the hospital, Dr Gupta made arrangements for Byomkesh and Rakhalbabu to talk to Dipa in private.
‘We need to ask you a few questions,’ Byomkesh explained. ‘Please don’t demand to know now why we need to do so. You’ll come to know that eventually.’
Dipa asked without preamble, ‘What is it you wish to know?’ Her face had lost its haunted look and she seemed to have regained much of her usual resilience.
The interrogation began. Rakhalbabu kept his eyes trained on Dipa’s face.
Byomkesh said, ‘Do you happen to know the people who frequent the evening sessions at Nripati Laha’s house?’
Dipa’s eyes grew wary as she said, ‘Yes, I do. They’re my brother’s friends.’
‘Do they also visit your parents’ home?’
‘If there is a reason for it, they do.’
‘Their names are Nripati Laha, Sujan Mitra, Kapil Basu, Probal Gupta and Kharga Bahadur. Do you know of anyone else?’
‘No, only the ones you mention.’
‘Tell me, are you aware that Nripati Laha is a widower?’
‘I think I heard …’
‘Do you know if any of the others have ever
been married?’
‘It’s likely that … all of them are single.’
‘Is Probal Gupta married?’
‘I’m not sure … I don’t think so.’
‘He was married … his wife has recently passed away.’
‘Oh … I wasn’t aware of it.’
‘Anyway, what do you think of Kapil Basu?’
‘He is a nice man.’
‘Have you heard of any scandals linked to his name?’
‘No.’
‘And Sujan Mitra? He is a film actor … haven’t you heard any rumours about him?’
‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Do you like to watch films?’
‘I do.’
‘How do you like Sujan Mitra’s work?’
‘He’s very, very good.’
‘What kind of a man is he?’
‘He’s a friend of my brother’s—I’m sure he’s a nice man. Dada never keeps dubious company.’
‘That’s true. Have you ever watched a game of football?’
‘As a schoolgirl I had.’
‘Have you watched Kharga Bahadur play?’
‘No, I’ve heard radio commentaries of his games.’
‘Now, the last question: Do you know that your husband’s heart is located on the right side of his chest?’
‘Yes, I do.’
Byomkesh raised an eyebrow. ‘You do?’
‘That’s right. A few days back, my husband came down with high fever in the middle of the night. He asked me to call the doctor. I did not know the name of his family physician. So I called my family doctor. Uncle Sen came down to see him. Before he left, he took me aside and told me that my husband’s heart was on the right side of his chest. I believe this is a very rare phenomenon.’
Byomkesh heaved a great sigh of relief and rose to his feet. ‘A terrible load has just been lifted from my mind,’ he declared. ‘I don’t need to know anything further. You may go and join your husband. Come on, Rakhal.’
Outside the hospital, Byomkesh asked Rakhalbabu, ‘What did you observe and what did you infer?’
Rakhalbabu said, ‘Without a doubt, the young woman is innocent. Every response of hers was just so. Now, what is the next step?’
‘You proceed to the police station,’ Byomkesh told him, ‘and I will go home. By the way, can you get your hands on a bulletproof vest?’
‘I can, but why do you need one?’
‘I have an idea. Come over to my place tonight with the vest and I’ll tell you about it.’
That evening, Byomkesh went to Nripati’s house alone. Everyone else was there and they gathered around Byomkesh. Nripati held out his open cigarette case to Byomkesh so that he could help himself and said, ‘I have checked with the hospital. They told me that Debashish will be released within three or four days. I shall throw a party to celebrate his narrow escape. I’ll expect you then as well.’
‘Certainly,’ was Byomkesh’s answer.
Kapil sat down very close to Byomkesh and asked in a voice like a little boy’s, ‘Byomkeshbabu, please tell us how far you’ve reached in your quest for Truth?’
Byomkesh laughed and replied, ‘Oh, the Holy Grail is still quite far off. I am yet to discover the identity of the maestro behind the porcupine-quill murders. But I have constructed a theory.’
‘What kind of theory?’ Sujan inquired.
Byomkesh took a few long puffs on the cigarette and began to speak. ‘The matter stands thus: An unknown assailant first kills a beggar with a porcupine quill, then goes on to snuff out the lives of a labourer and a shopkeeper in quick succession. Finally, he makes an attempt on Debashish’s life. On each of these four occasions, his weapon is the porcupine quill. The killer, therefore, intends to drive home the message that all three murders and the fourth failed attempt are the work of the same man.
‘Now, if the killer happens to be deranged, there is little we can do. There are many kinds of neuroses, not all of them easy to diagnose and associate with the man who is suffering from them. Neurotics of this kind are extremely cunning and have no rational motive for committing the heinous deeds they are responsible for. They are, therefore, very difficult to pin down.
‘But what if the criminal is sane? What if he has devised this plan of using porcupine quills and masquerading as a lunatic to fool the police? Just suppose that Debashishbabu has a secret enemy who wants to get rid of him. If he goes about it in a straightforward manner, the chances of getting caught are high. So he begins by killing a beggar, then graduates to the labourer, the shopkeeper and, finally, to Debashishbabu. Naturally, this would suggest that Debashishbabu was not really the assailant’s main target, that a mentally unstable person was going around killing people at random. No one would ever guess that the killer had gone through the whole rigmarole so that he could eventually murder Debashishbabu without anyone suspecting the act to be premeditated. This is my theory.’
There was silence in the room. Then Nripati asked, ‘But what if another murder took place and the weapon was the same porcupine quill? Then it would be impossible to prove that it was Debashishbabu the killer had wanted to get in the first place!’
‘In that case, we will have to try another method to catch him,’ Byomkesh said.
‘Will the murderer ever get caught?’ Kapil asked.
‘We’ll leave no stone unturned in our efforts to ensure that he is.’
At this point, coffee was served. Probal got up and began to idly pick out notes on the piano. Byomkesh finished his coffee, stayed around chatting for some time, then went home.
At a quarter to nine, shortly after Byomkesh had returned home, Rakhalbabu came by, carrying a parcel. ‘Have you got it?’ Byomkesh asked.
Rakhalbabu unwrapped the parcel. It contained a vest made of material that looked like brocade. But it wasn’t woven with gold or silver thread. It was thickly woven with fine steel thread. Worn under one’s usual clothes, it did not show at all. But it was impossible for even bullets to penetrate this vest, let alone knives or daggers.
Byomkesh looked it over and put it aside. He said, ‘It will fit me all right. Now, I have one more question for you: Have you arranged for a plainclothesman to tail our porcupine?’
Rakhalbabu said, ‘All arrangements are in place. From seven o’clock this evening, he has been under surveillance. The sleuth won’t let him out of his sight for a minute, not even during the day.’
‘Good. Now, let’s put our plans in place. I have laid out the bait …’
The two men discussed their plans in an undertone. At nine-thirty, just as Rakhalbabu was planning to leave, the telephone rang.
Byomkesh answered it.
A familiar voice asked, ‘Byomkeshbabu, are you alone at home?’
Byomkesh’s eyes signalled a message to Rakhalbabu. He said into the mouthpiece, ‘Yes, I am alone. You are …?’
‘Don’t you recognize my voice?’
‘I’m afraid not. You are …?’
‘Since you haven’t placed me by my voice, my name is irrelevant. I was present at the house you visited this evening. I wanted to pass on some confidential information to you, but couldn’t do so in everyone’s presence.’
‘Confidential information! About the porcupine quills?’
‘Yes. If you could meet me tonight at the main entrance to Rabindra Sarobar, I could tell you everything.’
‘But of course! When should I be there?’
‘As soon as possible. I shall wait for you there. But please come alone. I have no intention of disclosing this information in anyone else’s presence.’
‘Fine. I’ll be leaving in five minutes.’
When Byomkesh hung up and turned to Rakhalbabu, his eyes were smouldering. As he undid the buttons of his shirt, he said, ‘The fish took the bait as soon as it was laid out. I did not expect it to happen quite so fast. Rakhal …’
Byomkesh took off his shirt. Rakhalbabu helped him put on the bulletproof vest and said, ‘Don’t worry about me. I’l
l be at my post. The mole is also stuck to the porcupine. Between the three of us, we should be able to nab the fellow.’
‘Right.’ Byomkesh pulled his shirt on over the vest, gave Rakhalbabu a nod loaded with meaning and left. Rakhalbabu checked his wristwatch: Twenty to ten. He stepped out as well. He had to take up his position at the right place at the right time—undercover.
The area around the main gate of Rabindra Sarobar was fairly deserted; rarely did a bus or car whiz past along Southern Avenue.
Byomkesh crossed the road rapidly and approached the gate. He looked around, but in the dimly lit environs of the lake, no one was visible.
Byomkesh hovered for a while at the gate before walking through it and proceeding towards the lake’s shore. He had barely taken a few steps when a man detached himself from the shadows under a tree and beckoned to Byomkesh. When the latter approached him, the man suggested, ‘Come, let’s go and sit on that bench there.’
The bench was located under a tree by the water’s edge. Byomkesh sat on the right end of the bench. In the dull glimmer of faraway lights their faces were indistinct at best. Byomkesh said, ‘Now tell me what you know.’
‘I will,’ the man assured him. ‘Actually, the person I wish to talk about is very dear to my heart. That’s why I’m feeling a bit awkward. Have you a cigarette on you?’
Byomkesh took out his pack of cigarettes and offered it to the man. The latter took one and returned the pack to Byomkesh. Then, as he reached into his pocket, as though rummaging for matches, he suddenly said, ‘Look who’s approaching.’ His gaze had moved past Byomkesh and travelled beyond, as if trained on someone approaching from behind the spot where Byomkesh was seated.
Byomkesh turned back to look and waited. He was prepared for the pressure he felt on his back, below the left shoulder. Then he whipped around. His companion had been trying to thrust a porcupine quill into his back. For a second, the man sat there, bewildered. Then he tried to get up and run. But Byomkesh’s iron fist had landed on his jaw like a heavy-duty weapon and laid him out, face down.
Menagerie & other Byomkesh Bakshi Mysteries Page 31