Kartik Khandelwal

“It’s been days since I’ve seen a murder scene,” I thought as I drove my car inside a wide lane full of bungalows on either side, all of them covered with trees greenery. Suddenly, I stopped in front of a whole crowd of people of various colors, heights and genders, all with their cameras or vocal micks in hand. I opened the door of the car and stood up. I closed my car and watched them questioning the policemen and investigators on the scene. A woman suddenly ran in towards me and asked, “Sir, are you handling the case of Mr. Murthy?”

Another man ran forward speaking, “Sir, what’s the connection between the murders of Mr. Murthy’s son and then him himself?”

“Sir, the whole family is murdered one by one. Is the killer same or are there different killers? If different, then why they all struck at the same time? Is it a coincidence?”

“Sir, why are all the politicians dying one by one?”

“Why did Mr. Murthy commit suicide? Or, is it a murder?”

“Sir--”

I walked past the crowd full of questions as that one question suddenly stuck me--“Why are all the politicians either killed or committing suicide?” I looked rightward towards that man who asked me. He was black in skin tone and wore a normal cotton white shirt. I looked at him and he was looking at me. Suddenly, a group of four policemen came inside the crowd and covered me from all sides so that I can walk freely. “Sir, please!”

“Sir! Please answer us!”

“Si--”

All those voices were behind as I walked inside the gate of the mansion and the policemen closed the mansion from behind. I walked towards a well-dressed man wearing a coat-suit, and asked him, “You’re an investigator too, right?”

He looked behind at me. Then, he turned at me and said, “Oh, Inspector Khandelwal. Nice to meet you, sir. I’m Pawan Mishra, and I was given the first-hand duty of solving this case, hence I’m here. But, after looking at the scene, I can clearly feel the aura that the victim is murdered, though it looks like a suicide. Since I just heard about you, I called you to check upon the matter yourself.”

“I appreciate your efforts, Mr. Mishra,” I replied.

“This way,” He pointed inside and started walking in that direction. I followed him as he walked on the grass and entered the verandah of the bungalow. He opened the door and entered the house. It was a grand drawing hall with a sofa set in between for visitors. “Politicians are filthy rich, right?”

“Yep,” I replied as I scanned the whole hall while walking inside upon the wooden flooring. “This house is well maintained.”

“And people don’t give a shit about us investigators,” He replied. “I mean, we serve the country, day and night. We solve murder cases so that the guilty won’t do shit again, and these politicians are praised for the decisions we make.”

“I guess you’re referring to a certain situation in your life,” I commented. “Why do you think that about politicians?”

“Well,” He said, “I was responsible for the shootout at Faridabad. We killed a whole band of a mafia. Over seventeen people were killed, and it was a success. But, my friends were sent to jail for using weapons unnecessarily, and the minister of defense, somehow, was rewarded for such a decision. I mean, it was my friend who actually took the decision. If the minister was the one taking the decision, why ain’t he in jail?”

“Don’t worry, brother. Justice comes to all,” I patted his shoulder.

“It doesn’t, for some.” I was speechless. I didn’t know how to console him now. He was right, according to what he saw and experienced. So, I said nothing, just walked behind him as we turned left towards the dining hall on the first floor. I entered after him, and took out my handkerchief. The smell of blood was filled in the room. I covered my nose and stood beside Pawan. “Do you think it’s a suicide?”

I looked at the crime scene. I saw the minister’s dead body on the dining table, wearing the traditional white kurta-pajama, along with his wife’s. Her wife’s body was just adjacent to his. His wife was shot on the forehead, whereas he himself was shot on the lungs. I looked downwards towards the ground, where a pistol was lying. I suddenly looked at the hands of the man, which were inside the chair on his legs. “It’s a murder,” I said. “Look at that man’s right hand. If he shot himself up, the pistol should have been in front of him, rather than beside him. Therefore, it’s a murder.”

“Whoa,” He said in awe. “You’re right. It was a close one.”

I turned behind and walked out of the scene. I took off my handkerchief and took out my mobile phone from my trouser. “Hello, Richa,” I called her. “What’s the status of the assignments?”

“Yes, sir,” She replied. “We’ve just completed the assignment and we’ve found no abnormalities in the transactions, whereas the assignment regarding the daily life of him was uncompleted due to his sudden death.”

“Okay. You and Sonia focus on this new one. You got me?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Then, open up all the files of the cases which are regarded as the murders of TES and try to find a relation or any helpful finding between the occupations of the victims.”

“Yes,” She nodded and hung up.

“If what I think is correct, there’s a hand of government with TES too. Maybe TES provides the facilities of political murders to the government, and in return, the government offers protection,” I thought. “But, if this theory is correct, then why didn’t this case come up sooner? Governments change, so it means that the opposition who must have ruled the country must know about this and report this too, because they must have lost the support of TES after losing elections.”

A woman saw me on TV going through the crowd of journalists towards the crime scene. She was sitting on the sofa inside the dark but wide drawing hall. “So, there you are, Kartik, working in the TES case. Maybe he’s still fulfilling the ‘Sacred Promise’. It must mean that the time is gonna come soon…”