by Saikat Dey
All rights reserved only to the author for publishing of the short story and that no part of it must be reprinted or remade in any electrical or printed methods.
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Cover Credit: Saikat Dey Photography
Edited and Compacted by: Saikat Dey
Published by:
Edited by: John Shaw
About the author
Born & brought up at the crowd attracting city of Kolkata, India, Saikat Dey is a high school student with an urge of reading and writing more plots. Started writing since third standard, Saikat had been improving impeccably resulting him in signing a contract of his debut thriller book by an Indian Publishing House. With Decocted, he enters the world of electronic books and short stories and at the same time introduces RUPAM, his sole created detective character.
The India Times arrived as usual, making its position in a squinting area of Rupam’s balcony. The newspaperman was adored and liked by the thirty-nine-years-old man for his punctuality towards his own work. He would have delivered the paper at his doorsteps even before he wakes up. It was Ramnarender’s duty to pick the paper from the balcony and place it along with a decocted coffee at the dining table sharply before five minutes of Rupam’s arrival into the drawing room after getting fresher from previous night’s delightful sleep.
“Good morning, Ram” he wished the butler while taking the seat next to the table. In a gentle and silent reply, the butler folded his arms in a Namaste gesture and wished him back.
“What would you like to have for breakfast, master” politely, he asked holding back the empty porcelain plate from the table.
“Simple for today. Toast with peanut butter.” He said over the unfurled newspaper that covered his face.
“The coffee is waiting for you, sir” he said, as he drove himself into the kitchen. The sound of cutleries being moved made a blurred noise which disturbed Rupam’s focus from the headline printed in black defined letters.
‘Professor being unsafe for his inventions’ he read through his mind’s lips. He knew who it was and for what he had been featured into the front page of the Sunday’s edition.
Prof. Jamal Rehman had been Rupam’s one of the closest friends since he dragged himself into the detective’s business. Rehman was a tribute for the Indian Government since his first invention. It happened in 1993 when he, along with JP Prabhakar were working on a case study under SENFLIX private institution, he mistakenly diluted a binary parasitic chemical with inflammable gas resulting into an explosion that costed Prabhakar’s life. The lab was fused with the electricity and it was Rehman, who for god’s grief, escaped death. He then understood the result and re-created the item into two small pen refills- redefining it with more strength. It was built strong enough to crunch an entire SUV. He then appointed a private meeting with Mr. Narayan, then the Deference Minister and handed the binary weapon to him. Since then, every year a new product was sold by him exclusively to the government officials at high rates for the defence of the country.
He completed reading the entire article. It said someone of his mansion tried to steal his latest invention, the bullet streamer. On not being successful at the attempt, the bandit stole the formula of the product from the safe, where it was kept under the professor’s guidance. Rupam recalled the conversation that he had with the professor last Tuesday, regarding the streamer. He said how he made a profit of a billion bucks from the weapon.
“Sir…” the butler interrupted Rupam’s chain of thoughts as he brought the cordless along with him, its mic covered with his palm. “Professor wants to talk to you” He handed over the call to Rupam as he wished a good morning over the phone.
“I guess you’ve seen what the news said…” he started, without responding to the greeting. “The paper is of billions and billions of worth, Rupam.” His voice wrinkled. After a pause, he continued, “The bill has the entire country’s life on its hand. Once it goes to wrong hands, all of us are in great trouble.”
“I see-”
“I’ll pay you with a blank cheque for you to fill the amount once you agree to work on it, Rupam.”
“I don’t need it, Professor. I just have to think about it.” He replied while crunching one-fourth of the toast.
“I don’t have time for you to think. Rupam, you come to my place. I’ll pay for the transportation and everything. Come here within the next hour”, a screechy noise followed his words as the inventor dragged the chair closer to the study table.
“It would at least take four hours to reach to you at the centre of the country…”
“You mean the capital, right?”
“Ah whatever…” he hurriedly lofted another toast into his mouth.
“The air tickets would arrive at your apartment within the next thirty minutes. Be prepared.” Before hanging the call, the professor noted down Rupam’s Kolkata residence address.
“Ramnarender, pack your bags. You are on holiday for the next three days. And my duty starts now.
~~~~
While the entrance clock showed fifteen minutes left for the bell to ring along with an air ticket to Delhi, Rupam settled himself into the chair facing the assembled desktop which had Google opened on it. His fingers flattered through the keys of the board as he searched for the bullet streamer. Perhaps, he may have thought it to be something of a jet streamer with double of its speed but was immediately proven wrong as the reports opened up.
It was a single ironed bullet made of a mixture of iron and aluminium with a piercing sharp nib. To add to the extraordinary features of the professor, it was build up with so much of professionalism that it could be only used through a specific gun which was under the projecting hands of the government. It can prove with a theory that the bullet can easily thrash an object at a speed of two thousand and ninety miles per hour. The specific liquid present in the bullet was thermo-citric liquid, which can infect and cause death to the infected person within seven short minutes of its pierce.
“Who can have taken it…” he mumbled gently while scrolling through the pictures of the professor along with the bullet in his hand.
His thoughts were interrupted at the midway as the bell rang with two successive clicks. He didn’t get up knowing that the butler would definitely pick the tickets up from the doorway. Further, he continued reading the article.
“Sir,” the ticket was held up next to his eyes. “He says he would drive you to the airport.” The butler informed gesturing towards the exit door.
~~~~
The library was outnumbered with books of different genres. It had seven large shelves with twelve slabs of wood to store at least ten books at each row. Imagine an entire cloned drawing room with twelve such huge containers surrounding you from all the sides, leaving a wide area with an opening, covered with less designed grilles, from where the dangling sun rays made their arrival to the mansion’s library. The professor had three sons, upon whom the first two had married while the youngest of all remaind single. The entire family stayed at the same mansion, shared same food and had their personal rooms at each part of the house. The ground floor had a dining table for twenty five members, a library and a drawing room. The first floor had the professor and his sister’s room next to the staircase and the remaining floors were given to the sons and their family.
Rehman sat on the settee facing the window. The thought of Rupam’s arrival had flicked a tinge of hope into his mind. All the long hours he’d spent into the study room since his first invention left a permanent scar on his figure. A scar of intelligence, of creativity. It was the silky black hair that had stopped being the same anymore. The small stool next to
the settee had an aluminous photo of him along with JP Prabhakar. They had been friends of life since the explosion burnt him away.
“Dad, did you call me?” Making a silent noise on the entrance door to the library, Samit, the youngest of the three made his appearance. It was the butler who’d delivered the notice to his ears of the professor’s wish to meet him. The professor gestured him to come in, still keeping his focus in something left at the other end of the grilles. It was not only the youngest son but the reliable butler had also called up the other two sons. Significantly, he didn’t forget to mention that the father had invited every member of the family in the library, along with their small kids.
“Yesterday morning, my precious invention was tried to be stolen,” he began, attaining everyone’s attention. He positioned a better pose on the cozy couch. “On not being successful with the work he carried out- rather performing a blunder- he or she purloined the paper where the procedure to the invention and its theory was penned… Though-”
“Excuse me, father. Can you please elaborate the use of she that you’ve just applied on your speech?” Jessica, the wife of Kabir, the eldest son interrupted.
“Let the professor continue, Mrs. Rehman” Politely, the charismatic voice of Dr. Alam cut down the situation. He had been the family’s guest who has come to give them a visit all the way from Lahore. He claimed to be one of the oldest friends of Shalini, the wife of Ali, the second son of the Professor.
“Thank You, Dr. Alam” He entangled the fingers of both of his hands as he restarted. “The room is locked from outside. I commanded the servant to do so.” Looking at the watch, a gleeful smile lightened up on his face. “Within the next two minutes, the lights would go off.
“Whoever has the paper- I know he or she won’t take the risk of keeping it out of their own reach- please drop it to the floor, I request you. Or else…” the smile disappeared. “I've called up a detective. If he finds out the culprit, I will sue him. Or really the government would.”
Poor little children, who were deliberately struck with suspicion along with their guardians, among whom one certainly had the paper into their personal safe.
“Excuse me father,” of all, Samit spoke up. “How can you? Whatever makes you so suspicious about us, your own sons and daughters?” A queering fire flicked within his innermost gut.
The innocent words were followed by a sudden appropriate darkness before even the professor could reply. Several harsh footsteps provided a flounder of vibration in the library’s wooden floor as the children ran across from the settee to their parents. Meanwhile, the members, who were called up to the library, ruffled a sign of annoyance for the intentional power cut.
“I severely order you to drop my belonging before the lights turn up or I have to-” the professor’s were interrupted by several moving noises. The stool, that had the photo of him with JP bumped somebody’s leg, as a result the screech urged the professor to warn them to be silent. “Keep silence or I will sue you all, I say! Be where you are and don’t dare to move!”
The harsh words were followed by an uncustomary silence and the intriguing conclusion to it was something that caught the professor’s ears. It was an unmistakable noise of a paper being crumbled and then of a cacophony of that crumbled paper being thrown into the floor of wooden ply.
“What was that!” he exclaimed, being aware of what he heard. But to his astonishment, no one replied as the queering silence persisted.
“Wasn’t it the sound of a paper?”
Dr. Alam retorted immediately, with a conscious voice. Yes, it was. But the identity was still under curtains. For it to be pulled down, the professor eagerly waited for the detective to appear.
Uncommonly, the power came back illuminating the beautiful room with light from every site of indifference. It was the professor, who seamlessly looked everywhere for the fallen paper. Being high about the paper, he searched every corner of the giant room but to his astonishment, found none.
Where did the paper go? Yes, he definitely heard the paper being thrown into the wooden floor but was out of sight in hunting it down.
“All of you heard it falling down, where did that go!?” with half a heart, containing unmixed hopes, he still continued scouting but was forced to stop as the bolt to the main door was being opened.
A tall, dark and confident faced man made his entrance, with his brown hat on one hand while the other hand was busy supporting the rucksack behind. “With all due respect,” he said, trying to find the professor’s face out from the anonymous figures. “I am Rupam.” The left hand abandoned supporting the rucksack by its strap as it felt down intentionally from a six feet height of his.
“I heard it Rupam!” sneaking his face over the settee, he popped. “I heard the paper being thrown down into the plied floor. But is now invisible. Where can it certainly go?” Forgetting the courtesy of wishing the traveller, he threw his exclamation over him. Perhaps for a moment he was too happy for what he heard. Perhaps he was just too relieved with the thought of the paper.
Thereafter, Rupam didn’t need an explanation to what had happened rather he made it out from the single sentence of the professor. He silently helped his hat landing into the table adjacent to the settee and folded the aviator into his chest half opened button.
“This simply means that the bandit- whoever it is- regretted for what he did”, he claimed crossing his fingers around each other.
“Can you kindly elaborate to what you mean, Mr…-” Kabir asserted, taking a seat in the settee.
“Mr. Ganguly.” He perched a confident rather wry short smile. He then moved towards the third shelf and randomly picked up a voluminous novel. “Oops, I made a mistake” absurdly he said loud enough to make everyone hear. He then put back the novel to where it was and restored the wry smile as he faced back to the audience.
“What are you up to, Mr. Galguly?” the professor asked with a tinge of annoyance in his voice.
“Did you follow to what I did, prof?”
“What? Yes- you picked it up and again restored it.” He replied gesturing towards the third shelf.
“Exactly! That’s what the bandit did, my dear prof.” he looked at the faces present in the room. Well, to his statement, everyone had a unique bemusement stuck to their faces.
“The bandit threw the paper in the floor and as you popped up listening to the sound, he or she realised the mistake, and because of the fear of getting caught, took it back.”
“Then, I say check their pockets. You must get it there.” He said with an unknown hint of excitement within him.
“I am afraid to say, but no, sir, that can’t be done. I guess the bandit is not such a fool that he will keep it with him after this.” Then, his gaze fell into the subtle open window. “Well, he is a fool; or she… whoever it is. You see the window?” his index point waved towards the window.
“He was in a hurry and forgot to put it off. Order the butler to find it in the garden and I darn it is there for sure.
“Well, I must say, Mr. Ganguly, you are too intelligent as a detective and your eyes and brain must be credited for that.” Dr. Alam spoke up with a unified dry smile on his face as he chiselled his fingers upon each other. To his statement, the detective passed a short smile.
“I request everyone to leave the room except the professor. If needed, I can call on you anytime. Good bye.” His meant a strong declaration as uniformly everyone left the room with no hesitation in response. It was Kabir, who deliberately murmured under his breath about the annoyance of the liable son or member, who was up to such a steal from the very own father of theirs. Both the professor and the detective listened to what he said but didn’t reply back.
The next moment, it was the detective and the professor, who were sitting adjacent to each other- one at the settee and the other at the stool, whose broken photo was still untouched from the ground.
“So what do you think about it, Rupam?” Rehman, with a whistling voice, asked with a sat
isfaction on his mind for the paper to be under his cover.
“Well, can’t say ‘nything until the interview.” He made a dry expression out of which the professor made out the tension surpassing through him.
“Oh, Rupam it has been so late tonight!” he turned up, looking at the RADO masterpiece that hung on his left wrist.
“I must call the butler to address you to your room.” Followed by an instant call for the servant, Abdul was present at their service as he instructed him to address the lodger to the second floor guest room. The detective, in return, thanked his rich yet loyal hospitality as he picked up his rucksack from the ply floor and silently followed the butler to where he was taking him.
Down into the room, the professor held the paper- rather the crumbled one- in his fist and made his way to the bedroom where he can keep the formula safely along with him.
ʅ ʅ
“Sir!” the harsh, frightened voice blinked in his ears. “Sir, I say get up!” the words were again repeated as Rupam struggled to open the tough shutters of his bulgy sleepy eyes. Everything seemed to remain blurred for a moment as he gained back his existence out from the sleep. It was the butler who’d been taunting him instantly in the sunny seventh hour of the morning.
“What had happened Abdu-”
“Professor saab has unconsciously rattled down from the chair of his study. He is- is no more a-a-alive”, he interrupted with his wry moist voice that were soon to be broken into tears.
“What-what are you saying!” he fumbled out from the sheet coverings, sneaked in the flippers and hurriedly pursued down the stairs to the first floor library, from where the room to the study had a path.
In the library, the tall detective found the entire family under a cacophony, covering a laid body of the professor, with white decayed particles blurps that stuck on the edge of his wide lips. Further moving closer, he saw the youngest child entangled with the corpse of his father, who was lamenting along with those standing in the group. For instance, he moved to the small study and investigated with his hawk eyes. The robotic eyes came to a halt as it scanned a coffee mug at the table. He then scurried to the table, brought out the polythene gloves from the jacket pocket and held the cup in his hand. Examining closely for a minute, he then brought out a small pouch and a plastic spoon from the same jacket zip. Diligently, he poured a very small amount of the decocted coffee into the pouch and restored back everything to its position. He perfectly knew that Rehman’s coffee had something mixed in it that certainly caused him his life. It was clear that the professor was aware of the bandit, before falling out, and that before the morning fell the bandit wanted him to be dead.