Murder with Bengali Characteristics (7 page)

Bijli Bose thanked him. He would have offered him a drink but he preferred not to share. He looked at Li. ‘Is there anything else you would like to know, Inspector?’

‘Apart from you, who else do you think I should investigate?’ asked Li.

‘Go and talk to the local Maoists,’ said Bijli Bose. ‘They’re everywhere. They know everything. We used to be like that, in the old days. When I was in charge, no one could commit a crime in Bengal without asking our permission. When the criminals go out of your grip, that’s when you have to worry. It’s the essence of governance. Nowadays the Maoists are very similar. You should talk to Debu, their local leader. Respected war hero. Western type. Very educated. Speaks well. He was in the debating society at Presidency College. Considered good marriage material in Calcutta society. All the aunties adore him. He appears on TV regularly. Interestingly, he’s a very good soldier. Fought ferociously during the assault on Patna.’

‘Can I trust him?’ asked Li.

‘Who can trust a Maoist? Conventional armies have rules. Maoists have nothing. Everything is justified in the name of revolution. You’ve been in charge here for ten years. I’m very surprised you are letting them rise. You can never trust these people. Bit by bit they’re building their strength. In my day, we would have…’ he stamped on the ground with his foot. ‘The Chinese of all people should recognize the danger. But they spend so much time making up history that they have forgotten it.’

‘What about the thugs?’ asked Li. ‘Do you think it could have been them?’

‘I have no interest in the activities of religious fanatics,’ said Bijli Bose. ‘I will rest now.’ He closed his eyes. The interview was over.

‘Are you mad?’ asked Sexy Chen as they went down in the lift. ‘Do you know how many pages of self-criticism we’ll have to write? Nowadays they have software to check whether we’re repeating.’

‘You can do mine too,’ said Li. ‘Self-criticism is like a muscle. The more you do it, the better you get.’

‘I understand you’re a rugged individualist, but what was the point of that?’

‘He thinks I’m a fool, and he lied to me,’ said Li. ‘Besides, we learnt something very vital. Something I wanted to make sure for myself.’

‘What was that?’

‘Does that look like a man who would hesitate to murder someone?’

As they got into the car, Li saw a slogan written on the wall across the street, crudely hand-drawn in bright red letters. All over Calcutta, the walls were covered in writing. It was how the city spoke. Like its people, it was talkative. No surface was safe. That was why no one ever bothered to paint their walls, giving the city its air of permanent decay, while at the same time communicating a wide variety of useful information. Except that this wasn’t a slogan. It was a name.

‘Harbin Paradise Realtors’ said the wall.

That’s funny, thought Li. Why would they advertise here?

‘Now you shall die!’ said the thug. ‘For the glory of my goddess!’ He bared his teeth in a grin as he tightened his grip on the roomal. His teeth were black and crooked. His victim was soft and plump.

‘But I thought you were so friendly!’ gasped the young man. ‘Who knew that this was in your heart when you entered our Youth Camp? I should have listened to my mother and stayed at the Hilton!’

He rolled his eyes and collapsed, while the thug held fast to his throat. His legs twitched once, and then he was still. The thug reached into his pocket and removed his wallet. He looked up. ‘I claim it’s religious, but it’s really a profession,’ he said, looking them in the eye. ‘That’s how depraved we are.’

‘That man looks like he’s from Henzhou,’ said Big Chen, pointing at the screen suspiciously. Inspector Li put a finger to his lips. The producer made low-budget anti-Japanese war movies, the kind where Chinese soldiers threw grenades up in the air to bring down Japanese fighter planes. He was hardly going to waste money on foreigners.

The thug had more to say. ‘Don’t judge me too harshly,’ he said, ‘I’m just a product of a debased and immoral society. There are many more like me. This is what happens when you combine criminal tendencies with corrupt religious practices. Hahahaha!’

They cut to the anchor. She was dressed in a smart pink suit. Her cheeks were pale. Her hair was dark. She was perky. ‘Sometimes they spared the children,’ she said brightly, ‘So that they could recruit them and raise them as thugs. They considered themselves to be the children of the Goddess Kali, created from her sweat. They claimed their goddess had ordered them to prey on their fellow humans. Throughout the nineteenth century, the thugs murdered hundreds of thousands of their unsuspecting countrymen, until they were temporarily suppressed by British imperialist scum. We must always remember that people from this region have a strong streak of treachery against which we must be vigilant. Thugs can typically be recognized by their yellow handkerchiefs, devotion to Goddess Kali, and a cunning and deceitful nature. Thanks to recent rumours of the resurgence of this barbaric cult, citizens travelling to Bengal or India are advised to be cautious. So enjoy your journey, help spread Chinese culture, and remember,’ she smiled her dazzling smile, her eyes were like well-polished buttons, ‘mixing with unauthorized strangers is one of the Thirty-seven No-Nos.’

‘Well, that wasn’t very helpful,’ said Big Chen gloomily, as the screen went blank.

‘It’s all I could find,’ said Inspector Li apologetically. ‘But it does give us some idea. All we have to do is look for people who are deceitful and treacherous.’

‘You just described 90 per cent of the population,’ said Big Chen. ‘No offence, Brother Phoni.’

‘I’m more the loving and giving type,’ said Phoni-babu, unperturbed. He was cleaning traces of blood off the end of his stick with a grimy handkerchief.

‘This crime looked like a thug attack,’ said Li. ‘We have to consider the fact that it could actually be a thug attack. The question is, why?’

‘Perhaps it was a religious matter,’ said Phoni-babu, ‘in which case, what is it of our father? My Big Babu was always very clear on this point. Phoni, always avoid religious cases, he used to say. Unnecessarily, too many people will get involved. We will be naked and exposed in public. One-two boys will have to be suspended. He hated suspending his boys. “My boys are very good boys”, he would always tell the TV channels. Subsequently, this would be confirmed by internal departmental inquiries. A very fine man, he was. Owned three houses in Bolpur, one for each mistress. One of them was particularly talented. While singing melodious songs of Rabindranath, she could…’

‘I found out about the other victims,’ said Big Chen, quickly. He already knew half of Phoni-babu’s autobiography, and he was trying to avoid the rest. ‘They were Chinese. Minor officials. What religious problem could they have been causing?’

‘More importantly, why is no one bothered?’ said Li. ‘I asked Sexy Chen to find out more about them. I hope he’s done something. You go check out the Department of Fisheries, where the victim used to work. And let’s start visiting temples. We have to find this New Thug Society, assuming it really exists. We could have asked Internal Security, but they’re too busy spying on the rest of us.’

‘36, Elgin Road,’ said Phoni-babu.

‘Excuse me?’ said Li.

‘The New Thug Society is at 36, Elgin Road,’ said Phoni-babu. ‘Everybody knows that. It’s their registered office.’

‘They have a registered office?’ asked Li.

‘Certainly,’ said Phoni-babu. ‘All such organizations have one. They should be having bank accounts also. Possibly visiting cards.’

‘These Indians are unbelievable!’ said Big Chen.

‘Be nice, Chen,’ said Li. ‘Different people are different. They eat fish heads, we eat pig ears.’ He turned to Phoni-babu. ‘You mean to tell me that the organization that has murdered five people has a registered address? Do they also have a website?’

‘Naturally,’ said Phoni-babu. ‘How will they recruit otherwise? Clearly you have not understood how religious people work here. They are a vital component of society. They are protecting the sentiment. Very often, evildoers are hurting the sentiment. At such times, they do police case against the evildoers, saying kindly take action, otherwise due to our pain we may be unable to control ourselves, resulting in destruction of public property, injury of public, or even death. We of the police force always respect sentiment, and arrest the evildoers whose black tongues are forcing others to create law and order situation. Their leaders are well-respected in society. Chief ministers have tea with them. Police Commissioners hold open their car doors. Senior journalists interview them, and help us to understand their views. Damage or injuries which occur due to outbreak of sentiment are never mentioned. It’s only right and proper. It’s a question of secularism. True secularism means that we respect every sentiment, without any prejudice. Some of them become ministers. They are able to buy good positions. They can afford it, because they collect money from local shopkeepers to prevent unnecessary mishaps. Although I must admit Amalendu Lahiri is not like that. He is more the intellectual type. He is the leader of the New Thug Society. Very fine man. Plays golf every Saturday. And what language he speaks! Such command he has! His language is what makes him a leader. After the editor of
Desh
magazine, it’s him.’

‘Since you like him so much, you should come with me,’ said Li, ‘at least one of us won’t be thinking he’s a piece of shit.’

His phone rang. It was Gao Yu. She had cut her hair short. It showed off her slender neck. She was angry. ‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you?’

Was she drunk? He couldn’t tell.

‘A little,’ he admitted.

‘But not clever enough to keep me. I’m a genuine treasure. Everyone says so. You know that, right?’

‘I do,’ said Li. He knew enough not to hesitate.

‘Do you ever wonder whether he treats me well?’

‘Does he?’ asked Li.

‘Like a queen mother,’ she said, giggling. ‘Isn’t that great? I never got to be the class flower. I never even finished school. But now I’m queen mother! Aren’t you happy?’

‘I wish you well, Gao Yu,’ said Li, with a touch of formality, ‘But I have to get back to work now.

‘Did you expect me to live on buns and water?’ demanded Gao Yu. She was unpredictable. Life with her had been like walking on eggshells. ‘Just because it doesn’t matter to you, nobody else should care?’

‘You shouldn’t drink so much,’ said Li, and disconnected. He pressed the button gently. I should have said something about her hair, he thought.

The boys were watching him sympathetically. They respected him tremendously for having such a hot ex-wife. They knew most of the details. It was only a matter of time before they started offering advice. It was at times like this that he needed to be businesslike. He sprang out of his chair and put on his hat. He was light on his feet, thanks to his father. His father used to be a boxer at the old Bison Club, a Beijing brothel that did boxing and betting on the side. It was a strange combination of fights and floozies, and his father had felt the shame most keenly. But he had always done his job, which was boxing. He had always put on a good show. He had passed on a few tips to his son, standing there panting in the back alley after fights, sweat pouring down his body, reeking of spilt beer and cheap perfume. He had planted in his mind some thoughts. He had shown him some moves. He had also told him to stay away from brothels, which Gao Yu had found extremely funny.

‘Come with me,’ he told Phoni-babu. ‘We’re going to Elgin Road. Chen, you take the Department of Fisheries, where the victim used to work. And for God’s sake tell Sexy to stop singing in the mirror and go talk to Crazy Wu, while he still has enough brain left to form sentences.’

‘Yes, boss,’ said Big Chen, glad he had never married.

‘We are now entering Elgin Road,’ said the car. ‘The name Elgin is synonymous with the destruction of historic monuments. The father dismantled the Parthenon, while the son razed the Forbidden Palace. It is presumed that the family had no further issue, as most other irreplaceable landmarks across the world remain intact.’

ZAF Lounge flashed by, followed by Chaska Café, Desi Cuisine, Cream Centre, Nick ‘N’ Nack, Juicy Fresh, and the New Saurashtra Nimki House in quick succession. Like the rest of Calcutta, there was no lack of eateries on Elgin Road. It was the main reason why Bengalis had no money. There were a few other establishments in between the eateries, such as the Netaji Research Bureau and the Catholic Mission High School, to provide them with customers. Apart from this there were several malls, filled to the brim with more places to eat in, and the dilapidated husk of an abandoned bookstore. ‘Crossword’ said the sign. It hung crookedly from one hinge.

The car stopped in front of a simple three-storeyed building with bilious green window shutters and bougainvillea on the balconies. The walls might once have been pink, although most of them were now covered in slogans. ‘The sun moves around the earth,’ said one. ‘Tank Man was executed!’ said another. Along one entire side, covering it from top to bottom, was a crudely drawn pig smoking a cigar.

The front door was almost flush with the street, just a couple of steps between them. The steps were provided for public seating. Young men often sat there discussing heroines and football. Every house in Calcutta had them. It was a matter of civic duty. A brass plaque on the door said ‘Amalendu Lahiri, BA, MA, LLB. Convenor, New Thug Society.’ There was no power, as usual, so Li knocked on the door. ‘Softly!’ said Phoni-babu. ‘It’s afternoon, you might wake him up.’

The man was a pillar of society, judging by Phoni-babu’s reaction. Li knocked harder. He drew his revolver. ‘How about this?’ he asked. ‘Do you think this will wake him up?’

The door opened before Phoni-babu could reply. A slim, dark woman in a faded cotton sari opened the door. Her face was thin. She looked hungry. ‘You’ve come to meet babu?’ she asked softly, hardly glancing at the revolver. She was used to men with guns. Li nodded, and smiled, not wanting to scare her, and she let them in through a dark, narrow corridor. The walls were lined with oil paintings of men with moustaches. ‘Ancestors!’ whispered Phoni-babu. She led them to a room on the left, cut off from the rest of the building. ‘These are his chambers,’ explained Phoni-babu, ‘they can’t let us into the house, because they don’t know what caste we are.’