A Rising Man

by Abir Mukherjee

  We followed him through what I presumed was the hallway but could just as easily have been an art gallery, its walls covered with more paintings than I’d seen anywhere since a trip to the Louvre during the war.

  He stopped outside a door and directed us inside. The room smelled of tobacco and appeared to be Buchan’s library. It was the sort of room favoured by a certain type of self-made man: oak panelled with shelves full of books that looked like they’d never been read. Light streamed in through French windows set in the far wall.

  ‘May I bring you some refreshment?’ asked the butler.

  I declined.

  ‘And you, sir?’ he said, turning to Banerjee.

  ‘Yes please. A glass of water, thank you.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ The butler nodded and exited.

  Banerjee looked amused.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing, sir.’

  I sat down in one of several high-backed leather chairs dotted about the room while Surrender-not busied himself examining the book-lined shelves. Above us, a large punkah started moving on the ceiling, delivering a cooling breeze. The butler returned with a glass and a jug on a silver tray.

  ‘Will there be anything else, sir?’

  Surrender-not looked at me. I shook my head.

  ‘No, that will be all, my good man,’ he said, ‘now please kindly leave us.’

  A week earlier and I might have thought the sergeant was being facetious. Now, though, I wasn’t so sure. In a land where everything was seen through the prism of race, his words, directed as they were to a white man, could just as easily have been a political act.

  The minutes ticked by. For want of something to do, I wandered over to the French windows. They opened on to a veranda beyond which lush green lawns ran down to the languorous Hooghly. Behind me, the door suddenly opened and Buchan strode in, dressed in blue silk trousers and a white shirt, open at the neck.

  ‘My apologies, Captain, but as you can imagine, your request to see me this morning took me a wee bit by surprise.’ His tone was businesslike. ‘It’s a pleasure, nonetheless. I read about your arrest of that terrorist. Hell, they’ve been chasing him for years and you catch him like that.’ He snapped his fingers and smiled. ‘If you ever get tired of police work, or fancy something a wee bit more lucrative, you let me know. I could use a man like you.’

  He gestured towards a couple of the leather chairs beside a small glass table. ‘Please, take a seat and tell me what I can do for you.’

  ‘It’s about MacAuley’s murder. I need to ask you a few more questions.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘More questions? I assumed the case had been closed.’

  ‘We’re tying up a few loose ends.’

  Buchan nodded slowly. ‘Very well.’

  ‘We have it from a witness that MacAuley was seen arguing with you shortly before he left the Bengal Club on the night of his death. Could you tell me what you were arguing about?’

  ‘I don’t know where you heard that, Captain, but it’s not true. We did speak afore he left but it wasn’t an argument. MacAuley was asking me for money.’

  ‘But he was well paid. What did he need money for?’

  Buchan shrugged. ‘He didn’t tell me.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to mention it when we spoke last week?’

  ‘It was a delicate matter, Captain, and irrelevant to your investigation. I saw no reason to sully the man’s reputation.’

  ‘Did you also think it irrelevant to tell us that Buchan supplied you with prostitutes?’

  His expression darkened. ‘I don’t see the relevance of any of this, Captain. Frankly, it’s an intrusion into my private affairs.’ His voice hardened. ‘I should warn you, Captain, to choose your words carefully. It would be foolish to throw about accusations like that without proof or reason. Such actions can have far-reaching consequences.’

  ‘The question is pertinent to a murder investigation.’

  Exasperated, Buchan threw up his hands. ‘But the investigation has been closed, Captain! The murderer has already been caught! By you!’

  ‘It may not be quite so straight forward,’ I said.

  He gave a bitter laugh. ‘So it’s true, then. You don’t believe Sen’s guilty. I’d heard as much.’

  ‘From whom?’

  ‘Och, it hardly matters. You shouldn’t be so naive, Captain. I know pretty much everything worth knowing in Calcutta. I dare say if your employment were to be terminated out here, I’d know about it afore you did.’

  There was little point arguing the matter. The way things were going, we’d find out soon enough whether he was right. Instead, I returned to the original question.

  ‘Was MacAuley supplying girls for you?’

  The colour rose in Buchan’s face. ‘Very well, Captain,’ he said, ‘I see you won’t be warned. I’ll answer your question, but the consequences’ll be on your own head. MacAuley did, on occasion, provide entertainment for some o’ the parties I held for clients.’

  ‘And what did you argue about on the night of his death?’

  ‘I told you. It wasnae an argument. He asked for money and I refused.’

  ‘He didn’t try to blackmail you, then?’

  Something flickered in Buchan’s eyes. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Here’s what I think happened,’ I said. ‘I think you asked him to supply you with some girls for your party that night, but he confronted you and told you he wanted out and you couldn’t allow that.’

  ‘And for that, I had him killed? Answer me this, Captain – assuming MacAuley did wish to stop supplyin’ these women, what does that prove? I’ve no shortage of fixers. I could have replaced him with a snap o’ my fingers. On top of that, he was my friend. Why would I want him dead?’

  ‘I think he tried to blackmail you. Threatened you that he’d come clean if you didn’t pay up.’

  Buchan laughed. ‘Is that it, Captain? That’s your great theory? That I was afraid of being exposed for utilisin’ the services of whores? That wouldnae be news to many in Calcutta, and those that didnae know wouldnae care. Now is there anything else?’

  I said nothing. Mainly because I had nothing to say.

  ‘In that case…’ Buchan rose from his chair. ‘You’ve wasted your time and mine comin’ out here, Captain. Given what’s been goin’ on in Calcutta these past few days, I’d have thought the Commissioner would want his men working for more productive purposes. Rest assured I’ll be informing him of our wee chat today. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to. Fraser will show you out when you’re ready.’

  With that he turned and left the room. There was silence for some moments. I stood and stared out of the French windows.

  ‘Well, that could have gone better,’ I said drily.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Surrender-not, ‘I was hoping to ask to borrow one or two of his books. I don’t suppose he’ll be willing now.’

  I turned and walked over to him. ‘And exactly where were you planning on reading them?’ I asked. ‘You’re homeless, remember? Maybe you’d be better asking him for a bed for the night? It doesn’t look as though he’s short on space.’

  I suddenly felt exhausted. The sheer size of the hole I’d just dug myself was becoming clear. It had been stupid to come and question a man as powerful as Buchan with nothing more than a salacious titbit about his predilection for prostitutes. It was an act born of desperation. I turned and dropped into one of the leather chairs.

  ‘So where does this leave us?’ asked Surrender-not.

  ‘Who knows?’ I said wearily. ‘I’m convinced Buchan’s involved. We just don’t have the right motive. If only we knew what MacAuley was doing at the brothel the night he was killed. Devi was adamant that he hadn’t been with any of the girls, even though Mrs Bose tried to make out otherwise.’

  ‘So what do you think he was doing there?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it must be linked to whatever secret he was keeping from Rev
erend Gunn. That’s the key to the whole thing. Though without Devi, we’ve no way of discovering what it was.’

  ‘Unless we find the man she mentioned? The one she’d confided in. Or have we given up on that?’

  I shrugged. ‘We questioned everyone in the building. There was no one else there.’

  I leaned back, put my hands behind my head and immediately lowered them again as a bolt of pain shot through my skull. I sighed. It really was the end of the road. I might as well stop off at the P&O office on the way back and book myself a ticket back to Southampton. I couldn’t see any way forward. We’d hit a wall of silence. Those who might know the truth either wouldn’t speak – like Buchan or Mrs Bose – or were dead – like Devi. And no one else wanted any explanation other than that of Sen’s guilt. I watched as a small brown lizard appeared from behind a book on one of the shelves. It climbed quickly up the wall and on to the ceiling. There it clambered hesitantly forward, waiting patiently for the punkah to swing past, then darted through the gap.

  That’s when it hit me.

  The punkah.

  I jumped up and stared at it. It was connected to a pulley, which made it sway back and forth. I followed the pulley rope across the ceiling to where it passed through a small hole in the wall and into the corridor beyond. I ran out into the hallway and followed the rope, first along the hall and then around a corner. There sat a small native man, his foot rhythmically moving up and down on a pedal attached to the end of the rope. If he seemed surprised to see me, I was overjoyed to see him.

  I turned and ran back towards the library, almost colliding with Surrender-not coming the other way.

  ‘The punkah wallah!’ I exclaimed.

  Surrender-not looked at me as if I’d gone mad. ‘What about him?’

  ‘That first day,’ I gasped. ‘At the brothel. When we questioned Mrs Bose and the girls. The punkah. It was moving!’

  The light went on in Surrender-not’s head. ‘Hai Ram! There must have been a punkah wallah! He would have been operating it from the courtyard outside. That’s why we didn’t see him.’

  ‘We need to get back to town,’ I said. ‘I’ll head to Cossipore. I want you back at Lal Bazar. I want an update on Devi’s post-mortem. And find out where Digby is.’

  ‘What should I tell him?’

  ‘Tell him about our little chat with Buchan, but that’s all. I’ll telephone you from Cossipore thana later.’

  THIRTY–FOUR

  WE TOOK THE launch back to Calcutta where Surrender-not and I parted ways, he hailing a cab to Lal Bazar while I commandeered the motor car and driver and set off for Cossipore.

  It was late afternoon by the time I made it to Maniktollah Lane. Adrenalin coursed through my veins and I felt that sense of exhilaration that I always did when my instincts told me I was on to something. With a sense of nervous anticipation, I rapped loudly on the door of number 47. The old man Ratan opened it far more quickly than on the previous occasions. He looked out expectantly, but his face fell when he saw me there alone.

  ‘Ha, sahib?’

  ‘I need to speak to the man who operates the punkah.’

  The old man strained to hear.

  ‘Eh? Pankaj? No Pankaj here, sahib. This Mrs Bose house.’

  ‘I want to speak to the punkah wallah,’ I said, then for good measure shouted ‘Punkah wallah!’ again, loud enough to wake the mongrel dogs that were asleep in the alley.

  The old man’s face broke into a toothless smile. ‘Oh, punkah wallah! Ha yes! Come, sahib. Come, come.’

  I followed as he led the way to the now familiar drawing room. The house seemed deserted, with no sign of the maid or the girls. I waited while he left to fetch the man I’d come to see, the man who was my last hope to get to the bottom of things before Sen was hanged. I looked up at the punkah hanging limp from the ceiling. A rope ran from it along the ceiling, then disappeared through a small grate high up on the wall and out into the courtyard beyond.

  The door opened and a stocky, dark-skinned native stood in the doorway, with Ratan trying to peer round from behind him. He was powerfully built and reeked of sweat in the way only a working man can. I realised I’d seen him before: outside the house when we’d removed Devi’s body.

  ‘You speak English?’

  The man nodded warily.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Das.’

  ‘Well, Das, you’re not in any trouble. I just want to ask you some questions. Understand?’

  The man stood there, mute.

  ‘The girl, Devi. She was a friend of yours?’

  ‘Her name not “Devi”, sahib. That only her work name. Her real name Anjali.’

  ‘Before she died, she told me you could help me. I need to know about MacAuley, the burra sahib who was killed in the alley last week. Did you know him?’

  ‘I know MacAuley sahib. He comes many times.’

  ‘Why did he come here that last time? Devi… Anjali said that he didn’t come to lay with the girls.’

  Das nodded. ‘Sahib come to pay money. He come every month to pay money.’

  ‘To pay Mrs Bose for the girls?’

  He smiled and shook his head. ‘No, sahib. For that he pays on day of use. He pays this money for family of different girl. Girl who died. She die in…’ He struggled to find the right word. ‘Operation. Operation to take out baby.’

  Haltingly and through broken English, Das began to paint a picture. Some time the previous year, one of the girls had fallen pregnant. The father was some big-shot sahib, a most pukka gentleman and one of Mrs Bose’s most eminent clients. Das had never seen the man. He was too important to come to the house. Instead, the girls would always go to him. MacAuley was the go-between who made all the arrangements. The pregnancy came as a shock. It wasn’t supposed to happen. Mrs Bose took care to prevent girls working at that particular time in their cycle, but clients can be demanding, and mistakes happen. The girl, her name was Parvati, was special, the client’s favourite. Mrs Bose had reported the news to MacAuley, who’d come back and insisted the girl have an abortion. Das had taken the girl to some back-alley surgeon near the railway lines in Chitpore, as he’d done before with another of Mrs Bose’s girls. This time, though, the operation was botched. Both girl and baby died and it was MacAuley, ever the fixer, who’d disposed of the bodies. Das didn’t know what he’d done with them, but since then, MacAuley had shown up, once a month, with money for the girl’s family.

  Suddenly everything clicked into place. The client was Buchan. MacAuley had been his trusted man for over twenty years, but the deaths of mother and child echoed his own loss many years before. Most likely he’d struggled with his conscience, the reunion with his old friend, the Reverend Gunn, no doubt adding to his compunction. Over time, something inside him snapped. He couldn’t do it any more. I guessed he confronted Buchan at the Bengal Club that night, told him he wanted out and that he was going to come clean. It was one thing to consort with prostitutes, but in race-obsessed Calcutta, I guessed siring a half-caste bastard child might be quite another. And if that was too much for his reputation, how much worse would it be if the world were to learn of his involvement in the death of the child and its mother? So MacAuley had to be silenced. But Buchan had an alibi. He’d been in the Bengal Club at the time of the murder…

  ‘Did you see the man who killed MacAuley sahib?’

  Das shook his head. ‘Only Anjali saw. She told me.’

  It didn’t matter. My suspicions about Buchan had been right. I now finally had the motive. As for who’d carried it out, well, I had my suspicions about that too.

  I thanked Das and all but ran out of the house and back to the car. It was five p.m. and darkness was closing in. I ordered the driver to make for Cossipore thana. From there I placed a telephone call to Surrender-not at Lal Bazar. The line crackled as I waited an eternity while the desk sergeant tracked him down. Eventually Surrender-not came on the line.

  ‘What news, Sergeant?’


  ‘The results of the post-mortem are back, sir. They confirm that death was caused by the snapping of the neck, thus severing the spinal column.’

  ‘Where’s Digby?’

  ‘He’s not here, sir, but he left a message for you. He needs to see you urgently at the safe house in Bagh Bazaar. He claims to have received information that proves Sen’s innocence. He says you should come as soon as it’s dark.’

  ‘Fine,’ I said, ‘I’ll head straight there. You join me as soon as you can. And, Surrender-not, bring a gun.’

  ‘There’s one more thing, sir,’ said Surrender-not.

  ‘Let me guess,’ I said, ‘Mrs Bose has been transferred to Section H.’

  ‘How did you know?’ he said. ‘The paperwork came in from Government House a few hours ago.’

  THIRTY–FIVE

  IT WAS DARK by the time I approached the steps of the safe house. I’d had the driver drop me off near Grey Street, where I’d purchased a thick grey shawl, which Bengalis call a chador, and a pair of sandals from a market stall. I’d wrapped the shawl around my shoulders and head, before making the rest of the journey on foot, retracing the route we’d followed previously.

  I knocked and waited. The street was deserted. Eerily quiet. The door opened a crack and a figure, features hidden in the darkness, looked out, then opened it wider.

  ‘Come in quickly, old boy.’

  I did as asked. Digby closed the door and locked and barred it with a wooden beam, then led me through to the front room. On a table, the flame from a solitary candle flickered.

  ‘So what have you got?’

  Digby looked ashen. ‘I’ll let Vikram tell you. He should be here soon.’ He checked his watch. ‘He seems to be running late.’

  ‘I hope he’s all right,’ I said. ‘It would be terrible if someone slit his throat… or broke his neck.’

  His expression changed. Even in the dim light, I caught the flicker in his eyes. The unmistakable flash as he realised.

  We went for our guns at the same instant. He got there first. Maybe if I hadn’t had my head used for batting practice the previous night I’d have beaten him to it. I might also have been thinking clearly enough not to have gone straight there without waiting for Surrender-not, and with no plan other than confronting Digby. The truth was, though, that since my telephone call with Surrender-not, I’d had no other thought in my head besides confronting him. Call it ego, but I don’t take kindly to anyone pulling the wool over my eyes, least of all a trusted subordinate. That sort of thing can make a fellow look bad, and I preferred to do that all on my own.