The Dead Don't Confess

by Monabi Mitra

  Emru looked around him. Ghosh was gazing at the ceiling and massaging his forehead. The officer-in-charge was playing with his uniform buttons. Ashu Das was stiff with attention, listening to Emru with eager eyes from which all tiredness had vanished. Kamal was sniffling in a corner and the men guarding him were looking hungrily at the door. Bikram was tracing circles with his fingers on the table before him. Beyond, in the thana lobby, they could hear doves cooing and men shouting and wireless sets crackling from stationary patrol vans.

  ‘Of course, I disregarded his advice and went back whenever I felt like it. Once I had run low of cash and asked for his help. He seemed so anxious to get rid of me that he paid me in crisp bank notes. While I was waiting for him I found a key on the top of the fridge and guessed it was for the Godrej lock on the front door. So I made an impression on a cake of soap from the basin and got my own little duplicate made. I had a feeling I would need it sometime in the future.

  ‘The day before Diwali, I went to him for a favour. I wanted to work out a deal over some smuggling business with him. Piloo was really rude this time and it hurt. He kept me waiting for half an hour while he spoke on the telephone, without even offering me a chair. He pretended to be all high and mighty and swore viciously at me to lay off or else. “Or else what?” I sneered. He set two dogs on me and pushed me out of the house. I lost my temper and decided to finish him off for good. The fellow was acting as if he was a prince! While I had been waiting for Piloo to finish his phone call, I saw a thin man fetch an injection and give one of the dogs a shot. I pretended I had dogs too and chatted with the man who told me his name was Bishu. We discussed veterinary medicines and Bishu told me how some of them could be dangerous to humans. I pretended to hang on to every word and asked him some innocent questions before finally getting the name of one of these drugs. Bishu was worried about Diwali and whether the sick dog could weather the night because its mistress would not be at home. And so, finally, I had two bits of important information. Piloo’s wife would be out on Diwali night and a dog medicine could be used to kill Piloo. So, the next evening, I hired Kamal to drive me there on my motorbike. I let myself in, crept up from behind, caught him by the throat and pushed an injection in. Since I had seen the dogs earlier, I decided to use an animal drug and make it look like an inside job, either his wife or someone else, I didn’t care who. I killed him with an animal anaesthesia, knowing he had a bad heart and would not survive. On my way out two dogs attacked me, so I killed them and hacked at them. I was in a fearful rage and wanted to vent my anger with a knife job. Blood usually calms me down, so by the time I left I was sober and a bit worried. What if someone had seen me? But it seemed to go off as I had thought it would and the newspapers said that his wife and a man who looked after his dogs were the main suspects. I knew I was safe and I can bet you would never have caught me had that slob of a dog called Kamal not ratted on me.’

  Emru finished and looked around him again. The room had become somewhat animated. Ghosh was pacing to and fro, smearing a menthol balm over his temples, the officer-in-charge was fiddling with his telephone and Ashu Das was trying to make notes on a scrap of paper. Bikram had found a pen and was absently pushing the nib up and down.

  At last the officer-in-charge willed himself to look at Bikram.

  ‘What do you think, sir?’

  ‘He’s lying.’

  Ghosh put away the bottle of balm and sighed. Kamal stared at Bikram from the floor.

  After a while Bikram said, ‘Not all of it, mind you, is a lie. The way he murdered him and the details of Piloo’s past are true enough. But there are other forces at play here, which he’s keeping quiet about.’

  Emru gave him a savage look and addressed the officer-in-charge.

  ‘You didn’t take down my statement.’

  ‘What’s the point?’ It was Ghosh who yawned suddenly and patted his mouth. ‘A confession outside court has no value in itself; it cannot be admitted as evidence once the trial starts. We’ll have to thread together other proof. Where’s the revolver you used on the dogs?’

  ‘It’s with me, sir.’ It was Kamal. ‘He gave it to me for safekeeping.’

  ‘Or it was yours anyway?’ said Ghosh chattily. ‘You had also been in the room and were a part of the murder, isn’t it?’

  Kamal began to sniffle again. ‘I swear by Ma Kali, sir, I didn’t do a thing.’

  ‘And how did you know how to use an injection?’ It was Ghosh again, looking at Emru.

  Emru laughed a short bitter laugh and rolled up his sleeves. The muscles were punctured with needle marks where Emru had injected himself with drugs.

  ‘I think his story is quite all right. We could take him in and solve the case.’ Ashu Das cast a sidelong look at Bikram. ‘Toofan sir would be pleased and the inspector general would be greatly relieved.’

  Bikram finished polishing the sides of the pen and moved restlessly on his chair. His eyes looked troubled as he sensed the unspoken common will of all the others in the room. Here was a confession, neatly packaged and ready to be processed for the grimier points of the courtroom. Emru was practically begging them to take him in. What right had he to spoil Crime Branch’s hour of glory! Prem Gupta’s words of caution rang in his ear.

  Aloud he said, ‘Did you kill Monica Sarkar?’

  Emru looked down at his feet and said ‘No.’

  ‘And what if Piloo’s wife had cancelled her appointment and decided to stay at home?’

  ‘I took a chance.’

  ‘What if they had been having a party at their house? How would you have killed him?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have. I would have waited until the next day.’

  ‘You mean you would allow your rage to fester just like that? Are you sure there wasn’t another motive?’

  ‘I couldn’t stand the son of a bitch! It was with great difficulty that I resisted my urge to kill him earlier, seeing as how I had to endure him gloat and strut like a high-born gentleman, when actually we had grown up hiding in bushes and eating muri and watching each other shit. I wanted to throttle him.’

  For the first time in a year Ghosh saw Bikram lose his temper. Rising from his chair Bikram crossed over to where Emru stood and hit him across the face savagely. Blood welled out from a cut lip and the imprint of Bikram’s fingers could be seen even on the swarthy face. Bikram raised his hand again and Emru flinched once before steadying himself and waiting for the blow to land.

  Ashu Das nudged the astonished officer-in-charge and the two constables guarding Kamal gaped. Kamal himself stared mesmerized, as if watching a film.

  ‘Why, why, why are you protecting him?’ Bikram’s voice was fierce as well as urgent.

  Emru looked at him steadily. ‘I murdered Piloo because I hated him. And I am happy I did it with my own hands!’ He spat.

  Bikram turned away, walked to the window and stared out.

  The others in the room looked at one another uncertainly.

  ‘What a pickle!’ Ashu Das said in a melancholy voice. ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘I’ll start the lock-up treatment,’ said Ghosh resignedly. ‘Maybe he will talk after that.’

  ‘And I’ll start the paperwork so that you can transfer him to Crime Branch immediately,’ said the officer-in-charge of Alipore PS with relief.

  * * *

  By evening Toofan Kumar was in full control of the situation. Emru stuck to his story. He was arrested under section 302 of the Indian Penal Code for the murder of Piloo Adhikary with a punishment of death, or imprisonment for life. The relentless formalities of incarceration had begun.

  There were frayed tempers in the parking lot outside the Crime Branch as police cars jostled for space with a fleet of press vehicles and vans with satellite dishes, antennae and pretty young anchors. Toofan Kumar finished his second press address in a week with a flourish and looked at Ashu Das with a pleased smile. The cameras panned over the duo, looking happy and successful, and over Emru being pushed into a thana va
n, his head covered with a black cloth.

  Ghosh spent a bad night. Toofan Kumar had given Ashu Das the responsibility of forwarding Emru to court and arranging for his custody at Crime Branch for the night. Ghosh, who had nothing to do, had a feeling that Bikram and he were being kept out of the proceedings deliberately by the vengeful DIG. Lying in bed and looking up at the ancient rafters of his sixty-year-old police flat, Ghosh worried about Bikram. He has a theory and is unwilling to disprove it, he thought. And Ashu Das, who is secretly jealous, is apprehensive that Bikram will ferret something out that might upset the neat conclusion. Ghosh wondered if Bikram was sleeping well, if at all. Twice he shuffled to the bathroom and on his way back stared at the telephone that beckoned enticingly from the bedside table. Once he almost picked it up, before shaking his head and putting it down again. What could he say! There seemed to be little point in discussing a case that had been taken away from them and Bikram could not be pacified with sweet words of commiseration.

  The following morning Emru was woken up, given a cup of tea and told to complete his morning ablutions quickly. The toilet bowl had, instead of a flush, a low tap from which water flowed in a thin trickle and Emru dashed water down the hole sulkily. He was taken to a room where other notable arrests were being lined up for the Crime Records Bureau. One man was measuring height and weight, another scanning bodies for visible distinguishing marks, while a third was taking fingerprints. Emru was given a plate with his name emblazoned on it and told to look at the camera.

  ‘Head lower, a little more, that’s it, don’t move.’ A click and a whirr. ‘Look to your left . . . now to your right.’ The cameraman was an ancient-looking Gorkha who photographed Crime Branch in all its glorious moments, from farewell parties to festering corpses. A row of prisoners with unprepossessing hard faces was led into the room, bunched together with rope, hands on the shoulder in front like kindergarten children lining up at a park. A woman scanning photographs on a computer to help identify a pickpocket looked fearfully over her shoulder at the goings-on in the room and shuddered in dread.

  At ten o’clock Bikram came in. He looked haggard as if he had not rested and there were perceptible worry lines on his face. He stared at Emru holding the placard and said to the sub-inspector who had risen to attention, ‘Bring him to my room once before you take him to court.’

  The sub-inspector nodded. Bikram hesitated. ‘Is he being put up for a 164 today?’

  The sub-inspector nodded again. ‘Yes, sir. I am to take him to court and after that to the jail myself.’

  ‘I see. Well, bring him in.’

  The woman who had been scanning photographs abandoned her search and stared at Bikram. She whispered to the constable by her side, ‘I see his picture in the papers now and then. Is he . . . ?’

  ‘Bikram Chatterjee. You must concentrate on the pictures on my computer for the time being, madam.’

  The woman gazed at the screen with unseeing eyes. After some time she whispered, ‘What is a 164?’

  ‘Section 164 of the CrPC, which means that a magistrate takes down a confession. Before that the man is kept in solitary confinement for two days to give him time to think over whether he really wants to turn himself in or not. But you’re not looking at the photographs with close attention!’ wailed the constable.

  ‘Oh,’ said the woman breathlessly. ‘It’s just like in a storybook.’

  Emru sat on the chair Bikram offered him and looked him defiantly in the face. His eyes were large and full and met Bikram’s unconcernedly. Only the incessant scrabbling of his fingers on his thighs showed that he was perhaps nervous. The room was quiet except for the hum of the AC and the ticking of the clock on the wall.

  ‘Let’s be friends,’ began Bikram in a soft voice. ‘All I want is to help you. And ease your grief, if that is possible.’

  There was silence.

  ‘You’re a powerful antagonist, I admit. It’s taking a lot of effort to keep up with you. We can go on pretending but since you’ve committed yourself to a life in jail, you can at least tell me why.’

  Emru said tonelessly, ‘I killed Piloo because he treated me like a leper. That is all.’

  ‘Weren’t you called upon to do this thing by a man called Gaur Mohan? Think before you answer. Whatever he may have paid you cannot be worth a lifetime in jail.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Emru answered in a quiet voice. ‘I murdered Piloo Adhikary because he was deceitful and offensive and wouldn’t give me money. What else is there to say?’

  ‘How much did Gaur Mohan pay you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Did he promise to fix up bail for you after a year or two? He will never do that. You’re being mercilessly trapped.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Did Piloo know anything about Gaur Mohan that sealed his fate?’

  ‘Who is Gaur Mohan? Never heard of him.’

  ‘If you confess all—not just the murder but also who put you up to it—we’ll turn you approver and you can go free.’

  Emru shook his head a little.

  ‘Think of your mother, father, brother, sister, son and wife. What have they done to deserve this?’

  Emru smiled. ‘Don’t worry about them, sir. They will do fine.’

  Bikram leaned back in his chair exhausted. He looked flushed and knew he was defeated. When he spoke he said in a strange voice, ‘You poor man . . . So that’s how it happened.’

  Emru sat stiffly on his chair.

  Bikram waited for a few seconds before ringing the bell and asking for the peon to bring in the waiting sub-inspector who would take the prisoner away.

  Emru marched out of the room without turning back. Bikram leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and sat still for a long time afterwards.

  20

  ‘The citizen expects police officers to have the wisdom of Solomon, the courage of David, the strength of Samson, the patience of Job, the leadership of Moses, the kindness of the Good Samaritan, the strategical training of Alexander, the faith of Daniel, the diplomacy of Lincoln, the tolerance of the Carpenter of Nazareth, and, finally, an intimate knowledge of every branch of the natural, biological, and social sciences. If he had all these, he might be a good policeman.’

  ‘We’d like to speak to Emru bhai’s mother.’

  The pinched face that peered round the door stared suspiciously at Raja and his companion. It was the face of a young girl, about fourteen, eyes lined with kohl, unhealthy-looking muddy hair tied into a ponytail. She was wearing a faded dress from which the sequins near the neckline hung loose.

  ‘Who is it?’ A voice from the background piped up shakily.

  ‘Don’t know, Abbu. Three men asking for . . .’

  ‘There’s nobody at home. Please leave us alone. We have nothing more to say.’ The thin voice sounded distressed.

  ‘Abba, it’s me, Moyna . . . er . . . Moinuddin. Emru’s friend, remember?’

  The girl at the door scuttled off to retrieve her dupatta from a dark corner. Raja wasted no time in entering the room and shutting the door carefully behind him. The third member of the trio slid in and stood quietly. He had a moustache and hennaed hair and a large mole on his left cheek. On his head was a flimsy cap, with its peak raised as if to give shade. There was something in his grey eyes and delicate chin that would, however, have been familiar to the sergeant on duty at the Chitpore crossing had he peered inside the taxi that bore the three to the edge of the township of illegal shanties.

  Bikram had been given an elaborate makeover by Shona’s make-up man. He had asked for an alteration in appearance by way of something simple. ‘A moustache and perhaps sideburns. Nothing more. Hey! what’s this?’

  The make-up man had produced a hennaed wig and Shona and he had set to work, grimly ignoring all protests. After a while Bikram didn’t seem to mind any more. It was lovely to watch Shona, a small furrow between her brows as
she concentrated on getting his disguise right. ‘No, Bablu, that won’t do, give him something which makes him look less rakish. He must look like a seedy goonda, not the hero’s half-brother!’ she said as Bikram watched her out of the corner of his eye. She had come bursting into his life when he had been full of doubt and loneliness and had somehow lit it up again. And she was beautiful! Not the stiff artificial brilliance of others of her set, not the dazzle of wavy hair, cranberry-red lips and atomic-grey eye-shadow, but the beauty of good bones, a fresh complexion and sparkling eyes. If wearing a red wig and a mole on his cheek made her crinkle up her eyes and laugh like that, well, he would go to Emru’s house every day!

  Now he was sober again. Sitting on a large bed, an old man wearing a lungi and a tattered vest looked uncertainly at Moyna and doubtfully at Raja and Bikram. The old man’s cheeks were hollow and there was a beaten look on his face.

  ‘Leave us alone, Moyna. We have enough on our hands as it is,’ the old man muttered and looked away.