Kolkata noir, p.3
Kolkata Noir, page 3
“People like the Roychowdhurys?”
“Oh, Becker, like my great uncle, you have great magajastra. You see and you understand. Your brain is like a weapon.”
He laughed and flagged down another tea seller who was squeezing through the crowded carriage.
“You keep mentioning this guy. Perhaps you could take me to meet him when this is finished.”
She smiled back at him, cautiously. “That depends on the outcome of my investigation. Everything hinges on that. It will make or break me. It will enable me to face great uncle with pride. Or it’ll make me hide in shame in a back office pulling ledgers for the rest of my life. The stakes couldn’t be higher for me, Becker.”
The tea seller handed her a clay cup. The train’s whistle pierced the cacophony generated by thousands of passengers, and the Howrah Puri Express slowly lurched out of the station and into the tropical night.
Madhurima couldn’t sleep. The carriage was air-conditioned and glacial. The incessant snoring of fellow passengers assaulted her from all directions. Somewhere further down the aisle, a child was playing with a Chinese-made plastic toy, a wheel grinding on a wheel, in endless short spasms that had neither rhythm nor grace. She felt like arresting the parents. Becker lay fast asleep below her. He slept silently, his face relaxed, a tiny smile playing around his lips. She quietly climbed down into the carriage corridor and headed for the nearest toilets. As soon as she opened the carriage door, the usual smell of urine and bidis assaulted her. The two cubicles at the end of the carriage were both locked. She decided to wait it out rather than trace her way back along the entire carriage to the next set of toilets when she picked up another smell: opium. It was unmistakable, the cold smell of the poppy. She knew it from her childhood; her family’s chowkidar, an old man long dead had sometimes indulged. In fact, she’d kind of liked the narcotic’s scent when she was a child. Someone was getting high in one of the restrooms. The carriage managers slept in a tiny bunk-bed cabin when off duty and the one behind her was empty. She quickly slipped inside and pulled the curtains. From her vantage point she could watch both toilet doors. If the staff came by, she had her ID to wave them away. She didn’t have to wait long. The door to her right opened. Kishore stepped into the corridor, his eyes bloodshot and remote. He turned and stumbled off into the next carriage — also second class but no air-conditioning. So, he had followed them. He had walked right into her trap. She slipped quickly into the toilet Kishore had emerged from before returning to her bunk. The poppy’s aroma followed her into her deep sleep.
Becker had two teas ready at first light. Madhurima folded her bunk up and they sat side-by-side looking at the new day rising through the carriage’s grimy windows. Puri was a small, coastal city in Orissa, 300 miles to the south of Kolkata. Home to the famous Jagannath temple and long stretches of beach facing the Bay of Bengal, it was also the location of the Rath Yatra, one of her country’s most spectacular festivals. Once a year, giant wooden chariots, pulled along the town’s main thoroughfare by thousands of devotees, transported the temple’s three deities to their summer holiday residence. Two weeks later, the same process played out in reverse. The start of the festival was just a few days away.
There was no sign of this in the verdant countryside they rode through. Miles of rice paddy in a thousand shades of green interspersed by palm trees and small village hamlets revealed themselves in the grey dawn. Children, driving their water buffaloes to pasture, waved at the passing train. Men and women were doing their ablutions by the tracks. It was as pastoral as in her childhood memories.
“What will we do when we get there? Bengalis travel there in their thousands, and there are countless hotels. Searching for Mrs. Roychowdhury in those will be impossible, and I don’t want to alert the local constabulary unless absolutely necessary.”
Becker grinned. “I know where to go. The foreigners all stay to the north of town on C.T Road. And Richard told me about a hotel he loved; the Z... The last one on the beach apparently. Some kind of mansion belonging to a local politician. If they’re in town, they might have booked into this place. It sounds like it will be acceptable to Mrs. Roychowdhury.”
“I saw Kishore last night.”
“In your dreams?” Becker laughed.
“No, coming out of one of the carriage toilets after indulging in opium.”
Becker raised his eyebrows. “So, the bait you threw into the conversation yesterday worked. You had a great hunch. Do you think he killed his brother and tried to implicate Richard by using the tool from the Broadway?”
“I wouldn’t dare to speculate. We don’t have enough information. It could just be that he’s worried for his sister-in-law and doesn’t trust the police to find her.”
“We will find her.”
His hand brushed against her shoulder and she recoiled a little, though not because she felt he was too close. In public, someone was always watching and judging, even 300 miles from home.
The Z Hotel was a handsome mansion set back from the main road in well-kept gardens, protected by a high wall and a tall gate.
Paulami Roychowdhury was pacing the hotel’s back terrace. The roar of the waves breaking on the beach and the crows fighting in the garden’s casuarinas were lost on her. Richard had been angry. It had been a real shock. She’d never seen him angry. She had no idea her gentle, young soul could get this angry. After she’d told him that she couldn’t go to England with him in the foreseeable future, he’d first been crestfallen, but then he’d huffed and puffed and finally walked out. She wasn’t sure why she had told him. It hardly mattered. Once the cops found her, she would confess all. That had been the plan. Never change the plan, her mantra had been ever since. Never change the plan, because if one did, all hell might break loose.
They’d found her.
“Good afternoon. I’m Inspectress Madhurima Mitra, Kolkata Police. You’re Paulami Roychowdhury. Your husband was murdered four days ago in Bowbazar. I’m investigating your husband’s murder. Would you care to tell me why are in Puri?”
The police woman was young and self-confident, but she already had that knowing and suspicious look that all police had. Behind her a foreigner loomed in the doorway to the terrace. She felt her pulse quicken. This wasn’t going to be easy. She said nothing, merely nodded affirmatively, and slumped into one of the heavy wooden chairs lined up against a long table that stretched along the terrace.
“Mrs. Roychowdhury, this is Mr. Becker. He stayed next door to Richard Dunlop at the Broadway before Mr. Dunlop checked into the Oberoi with you on the day your husband was murdered.”
Paulami straightened up and tried to look imperious. But the policewoman didn’t seem to notice and continued, “We have reason to believe…
Paulami interrupted. “I didn’t do it. I have nothing to do with my husband’s death. I am completely shocked. I have an alibi. I was at the Oberoi on the day of the killing. I wasn’t anywhere near the scene of the crime. You’re right, I was with Richard. The Oberoi is one the few places in the city where one can enjoy privacy.”
The policewoman looked non-plussed. She’d pulled a note-pad from her trouser pocket. The foreigner just stood in the doorway, watching them.
“I didn’t do it.”
The policewoman smiled sympathetically.
“Did you and your husband have any problems in the time leading up to his murder? Did you have an argument?”
Paulami huffed as if the question was beneath her, before answering. “I don’t have to justify myself. My alibi is solid. But as you’ve made your inquiries you will know that our marriage was…difficult. My husband drank and disappeared for days on end. It wasn’t a happy marriage. But I didn’t kill him, and I don’t know who did. It’s monstrous.”
“But you’re a free woman now, expecting a large inheritance.”
With as much anger as she could muster, Paulami shot back. “It’s hardly the time to talk about this now. Yes, I will inherit what’s due to me. But I didn’t kill him. Quite the contrary, I encouraged him many times to stop drinking and come home to his old life, our life. But he refused.”
The police officer shook her head, “I am sorry, Madam, but it’s very much the time to talk about it now. You will never have an audience as sympathetic as me. My male colleagues will pin this murder on you, whether there’s rhyme and reason. They’re waiting in the wings of Bowbazar for you. You’ll do yourself a favor talking to me. And being frank of course.”
Paulami looked at her again. She was good. She was professional. Appealing to her empathy wouldn’t work. It was time to get the knives out.
“I am taking so much tension at present. I didn’t follow the press. It was my brother-in-law who informed me of my husband’s death. Only yesterday.”
“You saw Kishore yesterday? At what time?”
“About ten in the morning. Richard was with me. He can confirm this.”
The police woman said nothing, but Paulami could sense that there was something wrong. Would her story hold up? It bloody had to. Never ever change a story one has agreed on.
“Was Mr. Dunlop with you the entire time at the Oberoi? You never left the property?”
Paulami put her heart and soul into her next statement.
“Well, we checked in together, four days ago now, in the morning, around 10am. I didn’t have an easy night, so I fell asleep in the afternoon. Richard went swimming. He was back in the evening, and we had dinner together. Room service. You can check.”
“Where is Mr. Dunlop now?
Paulami shrugged. “I am not sure. He went down to the beach only. We had an argument earlier. I mean, this is so stressful. My husband is dead. He was beaten viciously, Kishore told me. I knew the police would track me down here. I will travel back to Kolkata and give whatever statements.”
She so wanted these people to leave her alone. She’d done nothing. Nothing could be proven. They would find a way to unravel the mystery. In her favor. That was just the way things had always been for her.
She slumped back into her chair. The audience was over as far she was concerned. The performance had worn her out. She was all spent. The inspectress appeared to have no more questions and neither had the foreigner who hadn’t said a word.
“I’ve taken your ID and Richard’s passport. We will come to collect you later. I will see if we can fly back to Kolkata. Please don’t leave the hotel. If Richard returns, be sure to tell him he must stay.”
Paulami nodded across the terrace. Now she could hear the ocean beyond the hotel’s high walls. The waves crashed with savage irregularity onto the beach. There was no stopping them. Every time another breaker rolled in, she sensed losing a little more time.
“Just one more question,” the police woman added. “Do you love him? Or is this just a fling as a result of an unhappy marriage?”
Paulami tried to look irritated. “That’s a very personal question, Miss…?”
“It’s Mitra. And murder is often a very personal business.”
“Yes, I do really like him. He is a great deal more pleasant than my late husband. That sounds callous. But you should have been there, day in and day out.”
They left via the back door onto a narrow lane that led down to the beach.
“How are we going to find Richard?”
Becker smiled at her. He looked handsome in the midday sun. She found his silence reassuring. He let her do her job. He didn’t butt in.
“I have an idea where he is. There’s a hippy guest house on the beach. Most of the western budget travelers stay there. He told me about that place as well. It’s where he would be if he hadn’t shacked up with Madam. We can try, it’s only a couple of minutes away.”
“Do you think Mrs. Roychowdhury was telling the truth?”
He shrugged. “I guess some of it was true. But there was definitely a performance element. I had the feeling she knew you were coming. That someone was coming. And that she’d rehearsed what she told us. And yet, it all sounded plausible.”
“Do you think she’s safe?”
“Her husband’s been murdered. Her brother-in-law and her lover are both in Puri. I guess either one could have done it. She didn’t do it, I’m sure of that. She isn’t the sort of woman who goes into a back alley and bashes her husband’s brain in with an iron tool. I don’t see her doing that. But I’m not sure she’s not in on the murder in some other way. So yes, she could be in danger. She could also be dangerous.”
“Exactly. Wasn’t she betraying Richard when she told us he’d left for a swim? Why would she have mentioned that? I thought that very odd.”
Madhurima was pleased with Becker’s summary. She would return to the Z. to keep an eye on Mrs. Roychowdhury as soon as possible. They walked down to the beach. New hotels were sprouting up among a handful of colonial-era buildings, dwarfing the older structures. Soon the entire beach front would be plastered with new properties. It looked a little haphazard. Becker led her to a squat, old building that rested in a large garden compound facing the sea. The breeze carried a salty taste. The sign outside the property read Pink House. The building’s color didn’t disappoint.
They saw Richard as soon as they walked through the gate. He sat by himself in a small, wooden, grass-roofed pavilion, nursing a lime soda, entranced by the waves.
“Hi, Richard.”
The young man snapped out of his daydreams. His expression was grim. He nodded to Becker, barely surprised, and briefly looked at Madhurima. She didn’t care for what she saw in his eyes. They weren’t like Becker’s.
“Hi, Becker, mate. Wow. What’s up? How’d you find me? And why are you here?”
“This is Inspectress Mitra, Kolkata Police. She would like to ask you a few questions. After Mrs. Roychowdhury’s husband was killed, she’s a bit concerned for her welfare. And I was a bit worried when you disappeared from the Broadway.”
“To be honest, mate, I think I’m in a bit over my head. I mean, we did do a runner together, me and Paulami. But I never thought her husband would get killed. If anything, I was scared he was going to follow us or call the police on us. What a mess. I got nothing to do with this. I mean, I thought she might get some problems, things being as they are here. But I would have looked out for her. She’s great.”
“Mr. Dunlop, you were with Mrs. Roychowdhury the entire time at the Oberoi?”
“Well, yeah. Three days of luxury. Eating, drinking, swimming, and, you know, being together.”
Madhurima didn’t know what to make of the young man.
“Did you go swimming on the day you checked in?”
Richard laughed. “I went swimming every day I was there. Have you seen the pool? It’s bloody amazing. Not another pool like this in the country. Clean, proper size, cocktails before you can even snap your fingers. It’s amazing.”
“Do you think Paulami likes you?”
Richard rolled his eyes. “Weird question, that. Of course she likes me. Would you take a foreigner you’d just met to a super luxe hotel for four days if you didn’t like him? I mean we talked about going to the UK together. Paulami’s marriage was a disaster. She was really unhappy,” he caught himself then, “but that doesn’t mean she killed her husband. And anyway, we were at the Oberoi when that happened. Maybe you should talk to her brother-in-law. Now he’s a real piece of work. He’s after her money, make no mistake.”
“Have you met Kishore Roychowdhury?”
Richard took a sip of his drink and nodded. “Went to his house. Except it isn’t a house, it’s a blimmin’ palace. Amazing.”
“When did you visit the Roychowdhury residence?”
Richard looked at her carefully. “Yesterday morning. It didn’t go well for Paulami, so we left quickly. It was him who told us about the murder. We had no idea. Didn’t switch the telly on at the Oberoi,” he smirked.
Madhurima ignored his suggestive comment. She hated men saying these kinds of things.
“How did Mr. Roychowdhury seem to you?”
“Well. He wasn’t quite right in the head. Called Paulami a murder suspect. Told her to get out of town. I thought Puri was the best getaway. Give her time to think, what to do next. Because there’s no way Paulami should go to jail.”
“Did she tell him you were coming down here?”
Richard looked away before answering. “She did, yes. He told her to get out of town. We followed his advice. I know Puri, been down here before. It’s not too far from Calcutta. And the Z Hotel doesn’t make problems about mixed couples checking in. No brainer, really.”
Madhurima contemplated the situation. Becker strolled to the edge of the property where an unruly barrier — part fence, part young casuarinas and bushes — kept out the beach and the neighboring fishing village. A few seconds later he was back, casual, looking barely interested.
“But you must have known the police would come looking for you and Mrs. Roychowdhury?”
Richard looked at Madhurima with what she assumed was his helpless look. “Sure, but what else were we going to do? She didn’t want to face the media. She told me by the time we got back, you guys would have caught the killer.”
“Well, we haven’t, Mr. Dunlop. That’s why we have come all the way to Puri. But presuming we will catch the killer, what are your plans?”
Richard emptied his glass and smiled into the milky afternoon sun that took its time setting over the Bay of Bengal.
“Well, actually, Paulami is so stressed. She told me earlier that she no longer wanted to see me. I don’t know what to do now. I guess I might head south to Pondicherry.”
Madhurima pondered that for a moment. She didn’t like his self-assurance.
“Well, Mr. Dunlop. I wish you best of luck with your plans. For now though, you will stay put. And you may have to return to Calcutta with me for further questioning. I have taken your passport from the Z Hotel. I will return it in due course.”
Richard looked at her angrily for a second, then he looked away and returned to his sunny disposition. “Sure, I understand.”
