3 and a Half Murders: An Inspector Saralkar Mystery

by Salil Desai

  “So you were blackmailing Bhupathi?”

  Akhandanath wiped the sweat on his forehead and face by rubbing both against his upper arm and shoulder. “I-I didn’t need to blackmail openly. He just assumed that and I let him think so. I had no intention of informing the police if he didn’t agree, but . . . I made the mistake of telling Rangdev that Sanjay Doshi’s real name was Bhupathi and that he was a fugitive. Rangdev is an expert in such matters and he used the information when there were disagreements about Sanjay Doshi’s share of the betting income. But then Bhupathi also turned the tables and told him he’d spill the beans about the illegal activities of the ashram if he was ever betrayed.”

  “So is that when he stopped working for you?”

  “Yes.” There was something in the manner in which he said it that Saralkar knew he was withholding important information. But he needed more facts before pinning him down to reveal it.

  “I see. But why did Bhupathi start coming to the ashram in the first place?”

  “Sir, I wasn’t there when he first visited once or twice. Rangdev had sent me to Kolhapur and Nasik to organize pravachan camps. But apparently Bhupathi told Rangdev that he had come seeking solace and mental peace. He was drinking heavily and said his mind was burdened with sins of the past, that he had a very bad married life and wanted some kind of spiritual medicine. This was before I told Rangdev about his past,” Akhandanath said. “In fact Bhupathi certainly appeared miserable and wretched when I saw him for the first time at the ashram. He had not recognized me yet nor had I confronted him. That time also he met Rangdev briefly in my presence and again talked of wanting peace and atonement for his sins. It was not put on. He looked like a man going to pieces and under immense stress. I, of course, realized he wasn’t bluffing because I knew his past and thought it was the guilt and stress of his crimes.”

  “So are you saying Bhupathi approached Rangdev assuming he was a true spiritual guru, because he was genuinely distressed?”

  “Yes, that was so. Whenever I saw him he looked haggard, anxious, and weighed down, as if he was going to have a nervous breakdown any time.”

  “Did you ever ask Bhupathi about his partner’s murder either when you were in prison together in Bangalore or later now?” PSI Motkar interjected.

  Akhandanath shook his head. “In jail, I learnt never to confide or invite confidences,” he replied. “All I remember is that Bhupathi seemed shaken and scared during the whole time he was in jail for the murder. He would often break down and get up screaming in the night. But I didn’t share a cell with him so I don’t know exactly. This was jail gossip and I never broached the topic when we met later now.”

  “I see. You knew Shaunak Sodhi well, too, didn’t you since he had also been in jail for the recruitment scam,” Saralkar asked.

  Wariness crept into Akhandanath’s eyes and he hesitated, peering anxiously at Saralkar, as if to ascertain if he’d asked a trick question. “Yes,” he hissed almost inaudibly, as if ready to change it to a no if need be, then added quickly, “but . . . but . . . I am really not Shaunak Sodhi. I don’t know why you think so. I am Shivappa Goud.”

  “All right, Shivappa, but you look uncannily like Shaunak Sodhi,” Motkar said and held out the two photos before him— one of Shaunak Sodhi and the other a shot of Akhandanath.

  Akhandanath stared with disbelief. He shrunk back and said vehemently, “There’s no similarity, sir. You are imagining it. You please check my prison record, my fingerprints, those can’t lie.”

  “We’ll know shortly,” Saralkar said. “Anyway tell me, did Bhupathi ever mention Shaunak Sodhi to you now or earlier?”

  “Never, sir.”

  “Did you ask him where Sodhi was?”

  “Yes, I did ask him if he and Sodhi were in touch and how they’d managed to evade arrest for so long? But he did not reply. I didn’t press him . . .”

  “Didn’t he ever hint Sodhi was also in Pune? Did you ever go to Doshi’s house or meet his wife?”

  “No, sir,”

  “Don’t tell me you trusted Bhupathi with so much of the ashram’s money without finding out where he lived or other details?” Motkar responded.

  Akhandanath didn’t reply. He probably didn’t want to admit that he knew where Bhupathi lived. It didn’t really matter because they were sure he knew.

  Saralkar decided it was time to come to the real crux. “Okay, so now tell me, if you had nothing to do with the murder, if you are not Shaunak Sodhi, if all that you were involved in was the laundering of the ashram’s funds, if you are not a fugitive from justice but a convict who has already served his sentence years ago, if you have nothing to hide, then why did you run away that day, thinking you were being trapped?”

  He had asked the question with calibrated, matter-of-fact irony that fell short of heavy sarcasm or ridicule. It was the kind of reasonable tone that in Saralkar’s experience worked well with witnesses or accomplices who held secrets or information, but were scared of being implicated in the crime themselves.

  Akhandanath took a few seconds to make up his mind. He threw short glances at Saralkar and Motkar, as if checking out whether he ought to trust the policemen. “Sir, I am scared that if I tell you something, it will be turned against me.”

  “You won’t be made a scapegoat if you are not involved, Akhandanath,” Saralkar responded tersely.

  There was an unmistakable ring of truth in it, which conveyed itself to Akhandanath. He once again rubbed his shoulder and upper arm against his forehead and face to wipe sweat. “Sir, I-Iam telling you only . . . only what Rangdev told me, after he had threatened Bhupathi that he would not hesitate to inform the police in case he refused to continue laundering money. Bhupathi first gave in. Then a few days later he asked for a private meeting with Rangdev in which he said that he was even ready to permanently join the ashram if Rangdev could help him with a problem. Rangdev was tempted because Bhupathi really knew how to multiply the money through betting, so he asked Bhupathi what help he wanted. Apparently Bhupathi said he wanted help to get rid of his wife, who was the root cause of all his miseries . . .”

  Akhandanath paused to see if he had aroused the interest of the two cops sufficiently. Sure enough he had! Saralkar and Motkar’s eyes and ears were riveted on him.

  “Bhupathi asked for Rangdev’s help in getting rid of his wife Anushka?” Saralkar repeated slowly. “And what did Rangdev do?”

  “He asked Bhupathi a whole lot of questions and why he couldn’t do it himself. Bhupathi said he no longer had the nerve, that he would mess it up and didn’t want another murder on his conscience. Rangdev told him he would have to think about it and would let Bhupathi know in a few days,” Akhandanath faltered. His expressions were cagey and tense.

  Saralkar guessed his own role in the affair was coming up and he was anxious to present it without indicting himself. “Go on,” the senior inspector said encouragingly.

  “Rangdev . . . told me this one day and inquired if I knew any supari killer who could do this job. I was taken aback and told him I didn’t know anyone. That was the end of the topic. Rangdev didn’t discuss it with me again. A few days later I was instructed to stop meeting Bhupathi and end the dealings with him. When I called up Bhupathi to inform him that there would be no further dealings, he told me he himself had refused to work further unless Rangdev Baba did what he’d asked him to do. I asked Bhupathi cautiously if it had anything to do with his wife. He just grunted and said if Rangdev tried to act smart and rat on him to the police, he’d make quite sure that Rangdev’s goose would be cooked too. Thereafter I had no further contact with Bhupathi.”

  “But what about the phone call you made to him ten days before Sanjay Doshi’s death?”

  Panic made a comeback on Akhandanath’s face. “I didn’t call on my own, sir. Rangdev asked me to dial Bhupathi’s number on my cell, then took the phone and talked to him in private. I have no idea what they discussed,” he explained anxiously. “That’s why the moment I
heard about the murder I began wondering if Rangdev had got it done through some supari. Then when you came and I was taken into custody, I naturally assumed I was being trapped in a deal Rangdev had struck with you. My phone had already been used to call Bhupathi earlier. Rangdev had also made a couple of other calls from my cell phone immediately after talking to Bhupathi that day. What if one of them had been to the supari killer? I didn’t want to go back to jail for a crime I had nothing to do with. I-I thought I was being set up. All these thoughts ran through my mind and I panicked, so I just made a break for it. The thought of being jailed once again was too much to bear, sir.”

  He paused abruptly as if suddenly aware of having exceeded some imaginary word limit. His head and face glistened with sweat like that of a marathon runner.

  To Saralkar, Akhandanath’s account had sounded quite probable even though it had taken him by surprise that Sanjay Doshi had approached Rangdev for help in getting rid of his wife. That possibility had never struck him. Was that the solution to the murders?

  “But if Rangdev had arranged for a contract killer at the behest of Bhupathi, only Anushka Doshi should have been murdered. How come Bhupathi was also killed?” PSI Motkar put into words what Saralkar had just been thinking of.

  Akhandanath shrugged helplessly, then said, “Sir, maybe Bhupathi got killed by mistake because he was also present when he actually shouldn’t have been.”

  PSI Motkar looked at Saralkar doubtfully. Saralkar did not react. Instead he said to Akhandanath, “If it is confirmed you are Shivappa Goud, we’ll talk further. But if you are lying, you’ve had it.”

  “I’m not lying, sir. I’m prepared to undergo a lie detector test if you want,” Akhandanath pleaded.

  Saralkar nodded curtly and left the interrogation cell, followed by Motkar.

  “Sir, it doesn’t make sense that Doshi got killed by mistake by the contract killer.”

  “Strange things do happen, Motkar. This case only seems to get murkier and twisted,” he said thoughtfully “Wonder what kind of ugly truth we are going to end up with.”

  Constable Shirke had anticipated that the four petty criminals from Belgaum who had impersonated Sodhi in the land deals would remain tight-lipped during questioning. Even after being confronted with evidence, they volunteered no information. It was pretty standard tactics from that class of habitual criminals. If they were busted, if the police had proof, it was neither their burden to co-operate and confirm the evidence nor to offer additional leads to complete the investigation circuit.

  They knew they were generally only inconsequential cogs in offences which were usually not very serious. A few slaps countered with stoic denial that they had any information, would get the cops off their backs sooner or later. A short stint in the lock-up or a few months in jail and they would again be free. It was a low risk existence and keeping quiet was the best policy to minimise damage from both law-keepers as well as those up the criminal hierarchy who had used them.

  Therefore Constable Shirke’s question, “Who hired you for the impersonation jobs?” elicited no response from any of them. Their faces were blank when Shirke mentioned the names of Sanjay Doshi, Anushka Doshi, Shaunak Sodhi, Bhupathi, Rangdev Baba. Nor did they react to the photographs of these people. But all that finally changed when Constable Shirke informed them it wasn’t just a case of impersonation and forgery but also of murder. Their faces suddenly clouded with anxiety and concern. They hadn’t bargained for murder.

  Each of them began showing withdrawal symptoms, pleading they had nothing to do with murder and only with posing as someone else for a land deal. They hastily provided details of the travel to Pune, the places they stayed, the measly amounts they were paid to do their part. But while two of them were still reluctant to give information about who put them up to the job, one of them finally revealed a name, begging Shirke not to let anyone else know he had leaked the information.

  The name by itself meant nothing to Constable Shirke, but it was troublesome because of who the person was and his position. A little later the name was confirmed in whispered tones by the last impersonator too.

  Constable Shirke knew he needed to consult PSI Motkar or Senior Inspector Saralkar for instructions on the next move. On the pretext of taking a short break, Constable Shirke moved out of the cell and then out of the police station.

  “Sir,” he said as PSI Motkar took his call. “All the impersonators are in hand. Two of them are saying that they were hired for the job by a police officer called ASI Murgud, posted at Belgaum Crime Branch. What do you want me to do?”

  PSI Motkar promised to call back in a few minutes after discussing with Senior Inspector Saralkar.

  “ASI Murgud!” Saralkar exclaimed and slapped his forehead with a ‘why didn’t I think of it before’ air of disgust. “Tell Shirke to ensure that the impersonators don’t get an opportunity to call or pass a message to ASI Murgud,” he instructed Motkar quickly. “Also arrange for their transit remand documents immediately. You can requisition a few constables from the nearest Maharashtra police station near Karnataka border to accompany Shirke back here with the impersonators.”

  “Yes, sir. But who is ASI Murgud and what is to be done about him?” Motkar asked.

  “ASI Murgud was the Bangalore Homicide Unit officer assisting Inspector Hegde in the Rahul Fernandes murder case. He was transferred to Belgaum later,” Saralkar explained. “All along I’ve had this feeling that Krishna Bhupathi and Shaunak Sodhi cannot have remained fugitives unless they had help from criminal associates or someone else. Perhaps it has been ASI Murgud who helped them escape and remain below the radar all these years. Or maybe it’s not just Murgud but Inspector Hegde too! After all, we know that Sodhi and Bhupathi escaped with a lot of cash, taken from Rahul Fernandes. Enough to bank roll them for life and buy the assistance of crooked police officers.”

  PSI Motkar nodded slowly. “But if we move the impersonators to Pune, ASI Murgud is bound to get to know about it, since he works in the Belgaum Crime Branch. He’ll immediately sense it’s got something to do with the Doshi murders.”

  Saralkar pinched his chin into a cleft. Motkar was right. The only way out was to arrange a simultaneous detention of ASI Murgud. He made a decision. He had to go by his instinct and trust Inspector Hegde, hoping he was not hand-in-glove with Murgud. And then he needed to go somewhere quiet and do some serious thinking. There were just too many strands and developments pointing in different directions—the anagram, the idea Motkar’s play had given him, Akhandanath’s revelations about Sanjay Doshi and Rangdev’s involvement, ASI Murgud’s role, and most importantly to make sense of it all.

  “Has this Meenakshi Rao turned up for questioning?’ he asked Motkar.

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, she has to be traced and questioned today, at any cost. And if she’s missing then send a request to forensics to carry out facial reconstruction on Anushka Doshi’s skull.”

  “Sir?” Motkar asked, taken aback wondering what his boss was implying.

  “Yes, Motkar,” Saralkar said wearily. “If Meenakshi Rao does not show up today, we need to determine if the dead woman was really Anushka Doshi or was it Meenakshi Rao, her face destroyed by acid so that she could pass off as Anushka Doshi.”

  He reached for the phone and began dialling Inspector Hegde’s number in Bangalore.

  The woman waited for her 11 a.m. appointment with her doctor in Panjim, Goa. She’d been here several times before. It was the place that had changed her life five years ago. It had not been an easy change; wreaking confusion and rage in her heart and mind and flesh, as if two masters ruled her whole being—each trying to vanquish the other and gain complete dominance.

  Perhaps it was like that terrifying punishment of medieval ages when a man would be ripped apart while tied to two horses pulling in different directions. But she had survived the excruciating transformation and it was almost like being reborn as a different creature, except that this time the labour pains
were your own. And the pangs never seemed to end. As if the newborn self had gone into one long manic spell of post-natal depression, itching to unleash its wrath on anyone.

  “Ms. Anushka Doshi,” the receptionist’s voice cut through the woman’s thoughts, “Dr. Dhingra will see you now.”

  Anushka Doshi got up and walked towards the doctor’s examination room, knocked and entered. Dr. Dhingra wasn’t one of those affable doctors who greeted patients with a wide smile and hearty, gushing bonhomie. He was a serious man filled with self-importance. At fifty-five, he was at the top of his specialization—a life changing job that wouldn’t have been possible if he hadn’t the essential gravitas, the aura, the confidence-giving manner that encouraged people to take that leap of faith.

  In fact, surprisingly, what would have been a distinct disadvantage for other men—beady eyes, crowned with hooded eyelids—had turned into an advantage for him. It lent an air of dark, sombre respectability and competence, like that emanating from a suitably eerie Dracula, if you wanted to trust someone with the macabre arts.

  “Come in, Anushka,” he said quietly and beckoned her to take a seat. He watched her as she pulled back the chair roughly and sat down. “How’s your condition now?”

  Anushka Doshi glared at him. “How much longer am I going to be in this half-way stage? It’s been four years. There seems to be no end to the agony and torment. You had told me it would all be smooth!”

  Dr. Dhingra’s face remained expressionless. “Anushka, we have had this conversation before. I had told you quite clearly the risks and problems involved. It’s just taking unusually longer in your case. You can never be one hundred per cent sure of how a particular body reacts. Even in an organ transplant operation sometimes the body just rejects the new organ inexplicably.”