The Case of the Man Who Died Laughing

Eighteen

“What the hell is going on here, sir?” demanded Inspector Singh when he reached the murder scene. “I thought Dr. Jha was dead. How can he be dead – again?”

“One thing at a time, Inspector,” replied Puri calmly. “Just I’m attempting to retrace the killer’s steps.”

He was in the sitting room standing on a chair examining a bullet hole in the ceiling.

“Most probably it was a double-action revolver,” the detective said half to himself, a sad resignation to his voice. He got down off the chair, squinting in the flashing blue light cast by the emergency beacon on top of Singh’s Jeep, which had pulled up outside only moments earlier.

“Inspector, by chance, you could switch that disco thing off?” asked Puri, holding his hand over his eyes.

Singh went to the window and shouted through the broken pane angrily at his driver, “Off karo!”

“Most kind of you,” said the detective as the order was promptly acted upon.

They walked through the kitchen to the yard behind the house. The murderer, Puri explained, had come in over the wall, having first laid a couple of rubber car mats on top of the shards of glass jutting out of the top. Finding the kitchen door open, he had proceeded to the sitting room. The professor had been sitting at his workbench – his smoking pipe was lying there, still warm.

“The murderer was already present when I rang the bell. Most probably the sound distracted him. Thus he and Pan-dey took to struggling and the weapon was discharged upward, the bullet getting lodged in the ceiling.”

As the scuffle had continued, one of Pandey’s gutted TV sets was sent crashing to the ground. The professor had been shoved hard against the window, breaking the glass. When the revolver was discharged for the second time, it had been in close proximity to his belly. This suggested that both he and the murderer had been fighting for possession of it at the time.

“See the powder burns on his shirt and fingers, also.”

Puri added as an aside in a less perfunctory tone: “Inspector, when I came across the unfortunate fellow, he was laughing.”

“Laughing?” echoed Singh.

“Naturally it crossed my mind maybe he was faking. Just as Dr. Jha did on Rajpath.”

“Hang on a minute, sir. Are you telling me Jha faked his own death?” interjected Singh, who was growing impatient with the inordinate details about the shooting.

Puri ignored his question and continued with his reconstruction, making his way out into the hallway to the foot of the stairs.

“Dr. Jha was upstairs. Upon hearing commotion and gunshots, he came to investigate. The murderer shot at him but missed. See the round here in the wall? Dr. Jha turned and retreated upstairs. But shot number four reached him in the back.”

Puri and Singh went up to the landing, where the Guru Buster had managed to crawl before breathing his last. A blanket had been placed over his body.

“Were these killings premeditated, sir?” asked Singh.

“Seems the murderer did not intend to kill Pandey. He had ample opportunity to do so the moment he entered the house. As for Dr. Jha, must be he came down and saw the murderer. Thus his fate was sealed.”

“Did you know Jha was alive – before he was killed?” asked Singh, radiating anxiety.

“I came to know this morning only during a game of cha-turanga at the Gym.”

“What does chaturanga have to do with it?”

“Point is it allowed me to make the connection. Suddenly I understood who it was exactly who knocked me for six. Until that moment, I had been fooled along with all and sundry to believe Dr. Jha was deceased. Thus I was unable to place his voice.”

“You mean it was Dr. Jha who knocked you out?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“But why?”

“Must be he imagined I was an intruder. It was an accident.”

“But what was he doing there?”

“Most probably putting some papers and affairs in order. His secretary, Ms. Ruchi, will tell me for sure. She was an accomplice, also.”

“So everything on Rajpath was – ”

“An illusion within another illusion. Sword, blood, everything was fake. The death, also.”

“But I saw the wound myself, sir! The medical officer certified Dr. Jha was dead!”

“Today I came to know the medical officer in question is one of Dr. Jha’s oldest friends. A committed rationalist, also. I traced him to his home this evening, only. He admitted to falsely issuing the death certificate. Seems the wound you saw was a fake one.”

“And the cremation?”

“Dr. Jha was atheist, so no one batted any eyelids when he was cremated using CNG. Seems a real human skeleton taken from Delhi University biology department played substitute for the body. Naturally it was wrapped in a shroud from head to toe so the face was not showing.”

“I can’t believe they got away with it,” said Singh, incredulous.

“Why not, Inspector? Just it was a question of taking advantage of our corrupt and incompetent system.”

“Still, sir, you would have thought – ”

“Don’t blame yourself, Inspector. Even Vish Puri had the wool pulled over, no?”

Singh seemed to take a certain comfort from this. “What about Pandey? Was he involved?” he asked.

“He and Dr. Jha were former colleagues. Twenty years plus they knew one another. Definitely they were in this thing together. But Professor-ji has some connection with Maharaj Swami, also. Seems he visited his ashram one month back only. Could be he was playing a double role.”

“So what was Jha’s game? Was it life insurance fraud? Was he trading in his wife for a new model?”

“Not at all, Inspector. Dr. Jha was misguided in some ways. Seems he had become obsessive, also. But he never broke a single law during his entire life.”

“Sir,” said Singh, drawing himself up tall, “half of Delhi was closed down thanks to him. He conspired with a medical officer to issue a fake death certificate. Who knows what other laws he broke.”

The inspector started to pace up and down. And then a thought suddenly occurred to him. “Of course! He was trying to frame Maharaj Swami!” he exclaimed. “The Godman had promised a miracle, so Jha gave us all one!”

“Same thought came to me, also. But no, Inspector, I believe Dr. Jha’s motives were otherwise. He was getting old, no? And increasingly frustrated with how everything is going in India. Bitter, we might say. For years he’s been fighting Godmen. For what? Their popularity increases day by day. These middle-class types are hardly shunning religion. True, they love new cars and five-star holidays and all. But they are flocking to tele-yogis like Swami-ji in droves. Dr. Jha’s campaign had failed, quite frankly. So before facing retirement, he decided to take drastic action. He decided to stage his own death in the most dramatic way possible. His hope was to fool all and sundry into believing a miracle had really happened. That goddess Kali came down to earth and killed him.”

Singh was calmer now; he was listening to Puri’s explanation patiently.

“That much he achieved – in aces, actually,” continued the detective. “Right across India, length and breadth, people have been discussing little else these past days.”

“Where did his wife fit into all this?”

“Must be she was in on the plan from day one. Quite a performance she put on at the funeral.”

“So what was Dr. Jha’s plan? To jump out of a cake and surprise everyone?”

“Doubtful any cake would have been involved, Inspector,” answered Puri drily. “Most probably he’d have got on TV and explained how all it was done. Thus everyday people would have seen how they are ready to believe any and all nonsense.”