The blaft anthology of t.., p.4
The Blaft Anthology of Tamil Pulp Fiction, Volume 3, page 4
“She’s had an accident—she’s in a coma. We came here to find if there was anyone related to her here. You’re sure that’s her house?”
“Yes sir.”
The jeep moved down the mud road and stopped in front of the house, which was half-hidden by a tree.
They got down.
“If you ask me, sir, this whole neighborhood seems a little shady.”
“The door is locked. Did you bring the bunch of skeleton keys?”
“I did, sir.”
There were dry leaves and mud on the steps that led to the front door. A stray dog sleeping near the entrance got up and ran off. With the aid of the skeleton keys, Anwar opened the lock, and they went in.
It was dark, since the windows were all covered. Govindavasan flipped a switch on the wall, and a tube light turned on. The house was sizeable, with two bedrooms, large wall cupboards and a spacious kitchen. Govandavasan walked slowly, taking everything in... and then suddenly came to halt.
“Anwar!”
“Sir.”
“There’s a funny smell here, no?”
Anwar sniffed. “Yes, sir.”
The two of them continued searching the house.
¹⁰
In the main building of the Chennai Q Branch Headquarters, inside the Alert Cell, sat Commissioner Sabesh. Next to him sat Q Branch Inspector Balaraman, wearing a worried expression on his face. In front of him stood the Inspector from Kovai, Neelakandan. He had an open file in his hand and was talking in a quiet voice, a lot of English words spilling quickly from his mouth.
“Sir, I’ve already sent you the details from the Chennai Forensics Department about the young man who was a victim of strychnine poisoning found buried in a coconut grove in the village of Veppamapatti near Coimbatore. I got a fax that said the toxicology department was collecting further details about the poison. Apart from this, I’m researching the strychnine matter from a different angle, and I’ve gathered some other information. I’ve come to Chennai to speak to you about it.”
“Please proceed.”
“Thank you sir.” Neelakandan thumbed through the pages of his file, and then began.
“Sir, the Kovai Forensic Chief Parmarthan who prepared the report about the skeleton told me something confidentially. After listening to him, I was frozen for a few seconds.”
The Q branch Inspector Balaraman interrupted with interest. “What did he say?”
“He said this might be about something bigger than this particular coconut grove. He said it could be a looming disaster for our entire nation.”
“A looming disaster?”
“Yes.”
“What sort of disaster?”
“The strychnine molecule found in this grove has the unusual property of being toxic not just to animals, but also to plants. Paramarthan thinks it’s possible that some country which seeks to impede the agricultural growth of India might be seeking to weaponize this chemical, planning to test it first in Veppampatti and then use it to sabotage all the farmland in the country. In other words, this might be about much more than the murder of one man. But you shouldn’t let the press and TV media know that you are investigating this angle. If the media learns about it, they’ll blow it up into a huge story, and it will strike terrible fear into the hearts of our country’s farmers. That fear could be exploited by the opposition parties to take out demonstrations and agitations and spoil the nation’s peace. So, your investigation about the strychnine needs to remain secret. If you can’t manage it alone, Paramarthan advised that you take the help of the Vigilance Department. With their cooperation you can surely get to the bottom of it.”
“Hmm. There might be some truth in Forensics Officer Paramarthan’s ideas, or there might be none. But either way, it sounds like the concern should not be ignored. From now on, let’s hand over responsibility for this aspect of the case to the Vigilance Department. Only they will be able to investigate secretly.”
“Thank you sir.”
“For now, turn your attention to identifying the young man who was buried in the grove. Do you have any suspects?”
“Sir, the former owner of the grove is Sudalaimuthu, who sold it to Soundarajan. Soundarajan is a former politician, and his son Amudha Kumar is a real estate bigshot. After doing a thorough investigation, we find it highly doubtful that any of these three could be the murderer. First, we thought that perhaps Sengaliappan, who had taken the grove on lease before the sale, could have something to do with the killing. We met his wife in Thudiyalur. After Sengaliappan’s death, his wife’s health failed, both physically and mentally; she’s currently living in a mercy home. She wasn’t able to give a clear answer to even a single question of mine. The next step in my investigation is to identify everyone who was in contact with Sengaliappan, and question them.”
“Do it, Mr. Neelakandan,” said Commissioner Sabesh. His intercom rang softly. He took the call. On the other line was his assistant.
“Sir. Assistant Commissioner Madhu has come to see you about something urgent. Can I ask him to come into the room?”
“Please.”
“Yes sir.”
Assistant Commissioner Madhu came in, and saluted and then relaxed. The Commissioner showed him an empty seat. “Please.”
“Thank you, sir.”
As Madhu sat the Commissioner asked him, “Have any of your leads borne fruit?”
“Inspector Govindavasan and Anwar found Kabila’s house. It’s in a new colony, without too many residents—kind of a thinly populated area. No one answered the door, so they broke in. It’s a comfortable house. She seems to have been living there alone. As they were checking the house they noticed a strange smell, which, after some searching, they realized was emanating from a wall cupboard hidden behind a bed. Inside was a cardboard box containing hundreds of these little bottles. One of them was broken; that was what was smelling.”
Madhu took one of the bottles from the plastic cover, placed it on the table, and pried open the lid. Commissioner Sabesh took the bottle in his hand and looked at it. Inside was a light green liquid.
“What is this?”
“I don’t know, sir. Govindavasan and Anwar gave it to me. I wanted to show it to you. It has to be sent to forensics; they will give a report about what it is.”
“Excuse me, sir,” interrupted Inspector Neelakandan.
“Yes?” said the Commissioner, looking at him.
“I have an idea what the liquid in these small bottles is, sir. It’s a guess, but my guesses prove to be right about 90% of the time.”
“What’s your guess, Mr. Neelakandan?”
“Sir, I believe it’s strychnine poison.”
A wave of shock registered on each person’s face.
“Hey, what! Strychnine poison?!”
“Yes sir. I recognize the smell coming from this bottle—it’s the same smell the soil in the Veppampatti coconut grove had. I think what’s going on in Kovai is somehow related to the mystery of this girl Kabila. We need to find the connection between Kabila and the young man who was buried in the grove.”
Commissioner Sabesh, whose face had been clouded over, now straightened himself up and muttered “My goodness!” as he looked towards Neelakandan.
“We don’t know what condition Kabila is in now. The only time she regained consciousness, she just spoke those few words—‘white rose, black cat’. We still don’t know what it means. We should ask Dr. Jayalakshmi about her progress.”
He called the doctor. Jayalakshmi answered on the other line.
“Doctor, it’s Commissioner Sabesh.”
Jayalakshmi’s voice said agitatedly, “I just was trying to call you on my cell phone!”
“Anything serious?”
“Yes... I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Kabila has just passed away.”
“What! When?”
“Just five minutes ago.”
¹¹
Kabila’s body was covered; only her face was visible. Around her stood a small crowd: police officers, Dr. Jayalakshmi, prosecutor Pandurangan.
“We thought her brain hemorrhage was under control,” Jayalakshmi was explaining. “But suddenly there was a collapse and her pulse went down.”
“Who was with her at the time?”
“Mohana, the staff nurse.”
“Where is she?”
“I’m here, sir.” Mohana, who had been standing in the corner of the room, came forward hesitantly.
The Commissioner asked her, “How many hours were you beside the bed?”
“The past six hours.”
“Did anyone come to see Kabila in that time?”
“No, no one came, sir.”
“Did she gain consciousness at any point during those six hours?”
“No, she did not, sir. But twice she muttered ‘lapka, lapka’.”
“Lapka, lapka?”
“Yes, sir.”
Commissioner and the other police officers traded confused looks.
“What is the meaning of ‘lapka’?”
“I suppose it’s a Hindi word, sir.”
Pandurangan interjected, “Sir, I know Hindi quite well. There is no such word as ‘lapka’. I suspect that it’s some sort of code word. Everything she’s said has been cryptic. ‘White rose black cat’—what do you make of it?”
Commissioner Sabesh turned towards Jayalakshmi. “Doctor, what do you think of all this?”
“Sir, generally when there’s a head injury and a person is in a coma, it’s common for them to repeat the words they used the most when they were last conscious. White rose, black cat, labka—these words must be important to her somehow.”
“Doctor, I don’t think our Kabila was an ordinary girl. The World Health Organization has recommended bans on certain poisons, and no country in the world is allowed to manufacture them. But this Kabila was apparently manufacturing, or at least storing, banned strychnine poison in hundreds of bottles the size of your little finger. She could have been about to transform Chennai into an active sales center.”
The doctor’s eyes widened with shock. “Sir, is all this true?”
“It is. The truth is coming out bit by bit.”
“The disastrous effects of this poison have made their debut in Veppampetti in Coimbatore. Kabila was not in Chennai last week; she must have gone north to see someone. She returned to Chennai on the late night train. Seeing a good-looking girl travelling alone at that time of night, three rowdies started followed her. To escape them, she jumped over prosecutor Pandurangan’s compound wall. She hit her head on a stone. Mr. Pandurangan and his wife heard the noise, came to investigate, and also informed the police. From that one call, so many things have unfolded. Now there are some big questions in front of us. Who was Kabila? What is the meaning behind ‘white rose black cat’ and ‘labka’? Who sent Kabila with strychnine, a substance condemned by the W.H.O.? Which country is behind this? Who was that young man who was poisoned with strychnine and buried in the Veppampatti coconut grove? What was his relationship to Kabila? We need to find the answers to all these questions as soon as possible.
“In one way we have to thank those three rowdies who chased Kabila that night. Because of them, she jumped over the wall into prosecutor Pandurangan’s compound and fell unconscious. If that hadn’t happened, none of this would have been found out.”
“Sir, those three guys might have been Kabila’s associates. If we can catch even one of the them, it might be enough to find out all we need about the strychnine issue.”
Inspector Govindavasan interrupted. “Sir, while I was coming to the hospital, Sub-Inspector Anwar gave me some news. Last night at around 12 a.m. on Nelson Manickam Road in Aminjikarai, a police patrol stopped three men on a bike. All three of them work in an IT company, and they were all drunk. Thinking there was a chance it could be the same guys who chased Kabila, they brought them to the station for questioning. The three of them cried and swore that it was not them.”
“Are the three of them in the station or have you warned them and sent them off?” asked Inspector Sabesh.
“They’re still in the lock up, sir. They’re still being questioned. Sub-Inspector Anwar has gone there.”
The Commissioner’s phone sounded his ring tone. He went to a window and stuck the phone to his right ear.
“Sir, this is Vigilance, Solomon here.”
“Tell me, Solomon…”
“Sir, two days ago you asked me to find out in which state in North India the name ‘Kabila’ is a popular name for girls. I have the details on that. Shall I tell you now?”
“Please.”
“Apparently, it’s a common girl’s name in Bundelkhand, a region of Madhya Pradesh. Not far from Bhopal... it fits, if she arrived on the Bhopal-Chennai Express.”
“Thank you for the information, Solomon.”
On the other end Solomon laughed heartily. “I’ve always wanted to visit Bundelkhand, actually. That’s where the Khajuraho temple is. It’s known as the temple of love.”
¹²
Aminjikarai Police Lock-Up.
In the dirty yellow light of a zero-watt bulb, three men dressed in nothing but their underwear knelt down on the ground. Commissioner Sabesh sat in front of them giving them burning looks. Next to him was Assistant Commissioner Madhu. The Commissioner repeated his question in a raised voice.
“What connection do the three of you have to Kabila?”
One of the three terrified men spoke in a teary, broken voice with his hands folded. “Sir, my name is Amar, this is Sukumar, and this is Raghuram. The three of us are friends. I’m telling you honestly sir, we have no idea who she was. Four days ago, we went to the station to send off of one of our colleagues, who works in Mumbai. We came out from the station at about eleven o’clock, and when we came out we saw that girl, the one you’re calling Kabila. She had a suitcase with her and she was just standing there, waiting. She looked over at us once, like she was trying to size us up. Sukumar said she looked like she might be a working girl. He suggested we go talk to her, and if we could work out a deal we’d take her to some hotel. The three of us were drunk on a lot of beer, and we were in a mood. While we were talking about her, she got into an auto and left.
“We followed from a distance. She stopped the auto by the entrance to the Anu Ega Theater, got down and walked down a lane. We followed her. Then she crossed the road and got into another auto. That auto went towards Anna Nagar East. We still had an idea that she might be out looking for clients and we might have a chance with her, so we didn’t let go. We followed the auto for ten minutes. As soon as the auto reached Anna Nagar East, she got down by the Arch, paid the auto and started walking boldly into the darkness with her suitcase. We got closer to her, and she turned to look at us again. Then suddenly she broke into a run, dropped her suitcase, and jumped over a wall. It totally surprised us. We only realized then that she was scared of us. Thinking we’d get caught if we hung around, we rode away quick.”
“And the suitcase?”
“We don’t know what happened to it.”
“Look here, if what you have said now is true there will be no problem. But even if one word is a lie, I’ll throw the three of you in jail under the Goondas Act.”
“Sir, we are from respectable families. We work in the same IT company. None of us are married. Once in a while we get together at night to drink beer, that’s all. We’ve never chased a lady like that before—it was because we were drunk that night at the railway station, and she was so beautiful, we got tempted. That was the only thing we did wrong, sir. Apart from that we never had anything to do with her. Sir, we won’t ever roam around after drinking again. Please believe us, sir.”
Commissioner Sabesh looked at the Assistant Commissioner. “What shall we do with them?”
“Sir, they’re mostly harmless—that’s what I feel, anyway. We’ll keep them in tonight and charge them for drunk driving, though, at least.”
They came outside the lock up. The Inspector of the station came in front.
“Sir?”
“Yes. Solomon from Vigilance is waiting to see you.”
The Commissioner went to the front room. Solomon rose from his chair and greeted him.
“Come, Solomon. I was expecting a call, but here you are in person! Anything special?”
“Very special, sir!”
“Tell me what it is.”
“Yesterday after I told you that Kabila was probably from Bundelkhand, you assigned me to the job of contacting some police departments in the area. I did, and I collected a lot of information. I found out about that word ‘labka’—it means ‘to show the way’. Or ‘guide’, as they say in English. The tourist spots of Bundelkhand are full of these ‘labkas’, most of them out to cheat foreigners. There are lots of complaints about them to the police. But here’s the interesting thing: one of these labkas who used to work at the Khajuraho temple complex has been missing for just over a year now. His name is Pushkar. They weren’t certain of his age, but put him at about 28 to 30.”
“They don’t have any leads on this fellow?”
“No, but they did say he was known for supplying illegal drugs to the foreign tourists—ganja, opium, psychedelics. He also used to move strychnine.”
Commissioner Sabesh’s eyes widened.
“What?! Strychnine? I thought it was a poison?”
“It is; the poison is made from the roots of the plant. But it seems by using the flowers, leaves, and fruit of the local variety, Pushkar was able to engineer a strong kick-inducing drug. He made a lot of money selling it to foreign tourists. The other labkas got jealous, and some of them asked him straight up how he made it. But Pushkar always dodged the question. Pushkar doesn’t have any parents, just an older brother. His name is Dilshah. Dilshah filed the missing person complaint with the police, but it didn’t do any good. After all the investigations and questioning of the other labkas, the police never found Pushkar.”
The Commissioner rubbed his broad forehead thoughtfully.
“So what’s the connection with Kabila? If Pushkar was the one making the drug, how did all those bottles end up in Kabila’s house in Ajmal Nagar?”
