The Blown Head

I am a great admirer of the literary works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. His ingenious stories never fail to fascinate me. Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes, created by Sir Doyle, is probably the most famous fictional detective in the world, and also my favorite. But in my life, till a particular day, I never thought that adventures, like those stated in the novels and short-stories featuring Mr. Holmes, would ever occur in my own life. That particular day, when my views changed, was the day when I met Mriganav Alemyan, a detective who was earning with his incredible cleverness and incomparable gifts of observation. I met him as my neighbor and very quickly he promoted himself to my best-friend, by saving me in times of grave dangers. He was, at the time when I met him, a crime-solving machine, rather than a human being. But when time gradually flew, I found him to be the most humane human ever. My first adventure with him was rather dull, for it was just a case of theft, and moreover the case didn’t made much impressive effects on my friend’s reputation. But it was this case, which I very commonly refer to as ‘The Case of The Blown Head’, that made me realize what my friend was truly capable of. I may as well state that, that particular day, when he got that case, as the most impressive day of my life. 

It was a sunny afternoon, in the month of July. The preceding rainy days, left a few puddles of muddy water on the potholes here and there on the road in-front of our apartment. The wind in the morning had also added a few dry leaves in the mud. I was completing an assignment, when Rajesh – who was Mriganav’s Cook – came to call me. 

“Mriganav dada told me to call you. He wanted you to hear about a case,” said Rajesh to me, in his usual firm and obedient voice. 

At that time I was busy with my office-work, so I ignorantly asked him, “What case? Did he say it’s important?” 

At that Rajesh replied, “He didn’t say it was important. But I think it must be, for he had a visit from that fat Inspector, regarding the case.” 

“You mean Vedanta?” 

“Yes, he seemed to be nervous about something,” said Rajesh, frowning a little. “But then, when does an inspector look happy?” he sighed out of the matter and went back to his employer’s flat. 

I finished my leftover work within half an hour and then went to Mriganav’s flat. Mriganav was in his usual position, sitting on the armchair, next to the window, closing his eyes, and probably deep inside his mind-palace. He always does that whenever he needs to recall something old. His one impressive power was that, once he stores something in his mind-palace, he never forgets it. But, to find something deep inside his mind-palace, he often sits in his armchair and closes his eyes for hours. It was the first Holmes-like characteristic of his that I couldn’t help but notice in my early days with him. Perhaps taking my footsteps as a cue, he suddenly opened his eyes and stared at me, silent for a moment or two, then said, “Come, Dutta, come. Take a seat. Will you have something, tea or coffee? Oh, come on, don’t refuse. After all it’s Christmas in July!” 

“Is this another of your ingenious murder cases, which always turns out to be a normal stupid crime?” I asked, smiling at my own joke. 

“Every solved crime looks stupid and easy, Mr. Dutta!” he said rising up from his armchair and gave orders to his cook to make tea for us. 

“Vedanta came today. He asked me to help him in a case. You know, after solving that case of jewel robbery, they finally started to notice me. I’m going to the crime scene. You can join me, if you please,” he said, in his soft requesting tone. 

“How can Dr. Watson refuse Mr. Holmes?” said I. 

“You’re a worthy Watson, I see,” he smiled. It was a rare thing to see him smile, when he was not on a case… 

Rajesh brought the tea. We drank and I went to my flat to get ready. Mriganav uttered no word. Only when we sat on his car, he started to speak. 

“Have you heard anything of the murder in Beltola?” 

“No, I was too busy with my office work,” I said. 

“Arup Baruah, a businessman, has been found dead in his house. Someone fired him point-blank in the back of his head and left the gun in a pit, under a hedge, just outside his room. Vedanta suspects the wife. She had gone on a morning walk, at the time of the murder, but there was no alibi on her side. And also, there were her fingerprints on the gun. Vedanta said that the maid had found the entrance door of the house closed, so she tried the calling bell. As there was no answer, she was about to go back, but then she thought of calling her master, for he usually wakes up early. She called but the call went unanswered. After another attempt, she heard her employer’s phone’s ringtone. She went to look if she could find him. Probably, her urgency was that she expected to get her salary. The sound of the ringtone was coming from his bedroom, so she went to the bedroom window and peered into it. What she saw, was her master lying on his bed, with a blown head. Also there was an odd thing about the dead body. Each of its fingers was covered with cello-tapes,” Mriganav ended the narration with a frown in his face. He was already figuring out the possibilities. And after a minute of silence, while driving towards the crime scene, he suddenly said, “Anyways, we’ll find one thing or the other in the crime scene that might help us.” 

After driving for about fifteen minutes, we reached the crime scene. A small crowd was peering through the gates, to get a view of the house, in which the crime has been committed. There were news-vans parked on the road. I saw reporters getting ready to broadcast the news as soon as they get signal from the studio. As our car approached, Saikia, the constable who was well acquainted with Mriganav, opened the gates and let us enter. Inspector Vedanta was supervising the investigation of the crime scene. When Mriganav entered, he seemed a little bit relieved. 

“I’ve sent the body for post mortem. The report will come soon. I still can’t get the idea about how the murderer had entered the room. The door was bolted from inside. The window was unbolted but it has grills. We’ve checked the whole interior for a secret door, or something like that, but found nothing. Now they’re searching for fingerprints or any other clues that might be left behind by the murderer,” said Vedanta, with a look of confusion. 

“Call them out of the room. I want to observe it alone and don’t allow anyone to leave,” Mriganav said in a serious tone, “Did you search the lawn outside the room?” 

“Yes, they searched for the murder weapon.” 

“We are already late, then.” 

Mriganav and I went to the bedroom. It was a medium sized bedroom, with a bed adjacent to the door. It was about a two meters away from the window. The sheets were soaked with blood on one side. Adjacent to the window, was a dressing table. Mriganav went to the dressing table first. He opened the drawers. They contained different cosmetics and deodorants. Mriganav checked them. Then he went to the window and examined it with his pocket magnifying glass. With a sigh of satisfaction, he came towards the bed and picked the pillow up and checked something. After that he observed the empty floor, between the bed and the window. He came smiling towards us- me and Vedanta. 

“Was the poor fellow a crime-fiction fan?” Mriganav asked Vedanta. 

“How am I supposed to know it? But why did you ask?” Vedanta replied. 

“Well, I fancy you have enquired the wife? You should’ve asked her. Anyways, we will find it out now,” saying this, he went out of the room and opened the cupboard which was on the living room. It had books stacked. Then he turned towards Vedanta and said, “See. I’ve got a deduction right.” 

Most of the books on the shelves were crime-fictions. ‘Adventures of Sherlock Holmes’, ‘By the pricking of my thumbs’, ‘And then there were none’, ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’, and many such kind of novels filled almost the whole right side of the cupboard. Mriganav didn’t even met Arup Baruah once and yet observing his room for once, he knew of his tastes of literature. As a child I had only seen this kind of deductions on movies and read about them in books. But seeing a man making perfectly accurate deductions in real life was something that made that man far more glamorous. It’s true what they say, smart really is the new sexy. 

“How did you do that?” asked Vedanta, amazed. 

“Do what?” Mriganav said as if he didn’t know. Yes, he likes showing-off, I must say. 

“About the books; how did you know what the victim liked?”

“Oh it was just my assumption, after looking at his drawer. Among the other properties of Mr. Baruah, there was a small pocket magnifying glass, very much like my one, and then there was a box of lead powder and a tape, those are usually used by amateurs to take fingerprints. Now what kind of businessman would have these things in his drawer, if he is not a crime-fiction fan,” Mriganav said, while continuing to observe the floor. 

“But it could’ve been the wife?” said I, skeptically. 

“No, for some reason their relationship was not going well.” 

“And how does that cut out the wife from your deduction?” 

“Because, her properties were on the other drawers. Anyways, now that I mention about relationship, it reminds me of something,” he frowned, as if he was concentrating on something. “Yes, we’ve got a clue. Now, see Mr. Dutta, that’s why I bring you on my cases. I have a crude talent; I haven’t yet learnt to question myself. But you, you complete me. Your skepticism showed me a way.” 

“May I ask what is the thing does it remind you of?” asked Vedanta. 

“Well, if you are not busy, you can come to see for yourself,” said Mriganav, trying to spellbind Vedanta into going with him, to wherever he was going. 

“Well, I think Diganta can take over the investigations. I will go with you, but let me make a call,” Vedanta pulled out his mobile and dialed a number. He went to the corner and said something to the correspondent, which I didn’t hear. Then He came back and insisted that we go on the police vehicle. 

“Well then, tell your officers to keep my cars safe,” said Mriganav and climbed into the Innova. 

“Where are we going?” asked Vedanta. 

“House 126,” said Mriganav. 

“You want a car to travel five blocks away?” asked Vedanta, staring at Mriganav. 

“No, we don’t know our final destination yet. I’ll just meet my informer there.” 

Vedanta started the car. Saikia again opened the gates. The crowd was thinning. We went through it and within a minute we were on House 126. Mriganav descended and told us to sit inside the car, while he meets his informer. He went and disappeared behind the wall of House 126. He took a long before returning. Vedanta once tried to leave the car and go on searching him, but I stopped him from doing so, for I knew that Mriganav hates when someone disobeys his order. After an hour and a half, he came back. His body radiated a faint smell of alcohol. 

“Have you been drinking?” asked Vedanta, sniffing Mriganav’s mouth. 

“Yes, I went to the La Ville Pub. In the process of getting my information, I had to drink,” said Mriganav coolly. 

“The information you’ve got better be good, Mriganav. Otherwise, I am going to take action against you for harassing an on-duty police officer,” Vedanta said with a tinge of anger in his voice. 

“Don’t worry, it will be good,” said Mriganav. “Let’s go to Lokhra.” 

Within half an hour, we were on the address given by the informer. Mriganav got off the car pretty quickly and was on the porch in no time. He pressed the calling bell, while we were walking towards the house. A woman opened the door. Judging by her wrinkle-less face and her natural-black looking hair, I could tell she was of about thirty years of age. The mark of vermilion on her forehead suggested she was married. But not recently, judging by the state of her wedding ring. Well, actually these were the deductions said to me by Mriganav… I just thought it would be more suitable to give it as the description of the character. 

“Is Neel at home?” asked Mriganav, pretending to be a friend of Neel. 

“No, he’s at the police-station,” said the woman. This aroused Vedanta’s attention. 

“Oh. Is there a problem?” asked Mriganav sympathetically. 

“Who are you, and why are you asking about my husband?” she suddenly turned suspicious. 

“We’re from the Criminal Investigation Department ma’am. Please allow this man to complete his enquiry,” said Vedanta in an official tone, from behind. 

“All right, come on in,” said the woman, and gestured us to sit on the divans in the drawing room. 

“Could you please hand me your husband’s gun license?” asked Mriganav. 

“Yeah, wait here, I will bring it,” said Neel’s wife and went inside. 

“How did you go to the Pub from a residence?” 

“That was not a residence; that was the pub. When I say pub, I mean a junkie den. La Ville was the name of the house, in case you haven’t noticed. And there I met Pasha - that is what he calls himself - and he told me about the family of Arup Baruah. I lost in a game with him, but I got the information. Now I won’t spoil the thrill by telling you what he said to me,” said Mriganav smiling slyly. 

“Do you think this is a game?” Vedanta said, angrily, probably because he wanted to listen what Pasha had said to Mriganav. 

“Yes, and we are the players. Now I gave you a tip, in case you haven’t noticed. But don’t raid the den, if you value my help,” said Mriganav carefully. 

The wife came out with some papers and gave them to Mriganav. He scrutinized them carefully, probably word by word. Then he gave another of his sly smiles, and handed the papers back. 

“I presume that the gun is not here?” asked Mriganav to Neel’s wife. 

“No, my husband always keeps it with him.” 

“What does your husband do?” 

“He’s a contractor.” 

“Oh, I see. We shall go then. Take care,” said Mriganav and strode out of the house to the car. We followed him 

Sitting on the front seat, Mriganav said, “Vedanta, could you please ask Inspector Baruah if Neel has the gun? I presume he will be with Arup’s wife.” 

Vedanta called and confirmed that he was carrying no gun. 

“The maid, where is she?” Mriganav asked suddenly. 

“She is on the crime scene. Is there a problem?” 

“No, I just have to ask her a trivial question, or I presume you shall know the answer too,” said Mriganav turning towards Vedanta. 

“What question?” 

“When the maid saw her dead master, was the window of his room open or closed?” 

“It was closed, but not bolted. In case you have been thinking that the murderer have entered that way, you’re wrong, for the window panes had grills,” said Vedanta, pleased on overtaking Vedanta’s wits, forgetting the fact that he already had mentioned it and that Mriganav had saw it himself. 

“No, I was wondering about something else. I think the case is quite clear now,” said Mriganav, staring blankly at the road. 

“Then will you be kind enough to enlighten us a little bit?” I asked him, hoping that he may have solved the case. 

“Not now, I may be wrong. I have yet to find the answers of a few questions. I think I have done enough with the crime scene now. Let me get my car back and we will drive back homewards,” Mriganav said. His mood was cheered up a little bit. 

We, then, went to the house of the deceased and returned home in Mriganav’s car. Mriganav didn’t say anything till we reached our floor. Then he said, “Go to your flat and take some rest and come to have a dinner at my flat tonight. I will make certain arrangements. I need to find out some answers.” And then he went inside his flat again. By finding answers he probably meant going back to his mind-palace and finding answers that he already knows, but is kept carefully inside somewhere in his memory. I knew he would never approve of being disturbed when he was thinking. So I went back to my flat, and bathed, and rested a while till the night fell.

It was about 6pm when I woke up from my deep slumber. I watched the T.V. for a while and then continued writing my blogs. By the time I finished it, the time was around 8 o’ clock. I freshened myself up a little bit, drank some tea perhaps, I don’t remember it clearly. When I left my flat it was 9 o’ clock. It knocked on Mriganav’s door and Rajesh opened it. He told me to sit in the settee, which was exactly opposite to the door. In front of it was a dark-stained glass table. I sat there on the settee and waited for Mriganav to come. A short while afterwards, he came and called me to the dining table. Dinner was laid for three people. Mriganav said that he had also called Vedanta for the dinner. And soon he came too. All the three of us sat on the table. To my front was Vedanta and on the left side of the table sat Mriganav. 

Mriganav cleared his throat before starting, “So gentlemen, I’ve solved the case of the blown head. It was a remarkable one, no doubt, and was probably the weirdest case I’ve ever got the honor to solve. Instead of stating the solution to you directly, let me tell how I arrived to it. Mr. Arup Baruah and his wife Mrs. Megha Sharma Baruah were married about 6 months ago. As I have learnt from my informer, they were never quite settled with each other. There was always a quarrel or the other goes on in their house, which I had confirmed by calling the maid about an hour ago. I got her number from Inspector Baruah. And as you already know, I’ve deduced this fact myself while checking their dressing table, when I found legal papers crumbled, and torn, with only a part of the title visible in the dustbin, near the table. The readable part of the title was, '-orce'. The reason for the quarrel I didn’t know. But when I started to play the game with my informer, which I mentioned earlier, that I would tell him a fact about the Baruah family and he had to surprise me with another, I eventually got that out from his mouth. He said that the woman, Megha, had an affair running with Neel and that morning, she had not gone to a morning walk. Instead she went to Neel’s house to say him that Arup had finally learnt the truth about their relationship. Meanwhile, Arup, the lover of crime-fictions, made up his mind to suicide. It might seem amazing to you that he decided to end his life just because of a woman he met six months ago, as it seemed to me first when I thought of that solution, but when I contacted Dr. Deori, the forensic doctor who was supervising the post mortem of Arup, he said me that he had severe social anxiety disorder and other such mental disorders. Dr. Deori also said that it was possible that he could have committed suicide on a trivial matter. Now let’s go back to the crime-scene. The plan of suicide, made by Arup, was itself a sign of his disorders. Instead of just hanging him from the ceiling or jumping from the terrace or choosing another way to end his own life, he chose to shoot himself in such a way that it rose the suspicions of the police against his wife. He did it for revenge. Now, he knew that a night earlier, his wife had brought a gun with her, for she used it to frighten him away, when he lost his temper on her. Again, I would like to say that, he frequently did this to his wife, sometimes he would even threaten her to death, and so she borrowed the gun from Neel. Now, while her wife was away today morning, he searched for that gun and found it on her drawer. In that way, he had her fingerprints on the gun. Weirdly, instead of using a handkerchief to prevent his fingerprints from getting on to the gun, he used cello-tapes around his fingers. He probably opened the window first, then lied down on the bed and aimed behind his ears, so that it would look like he was shot from behind. He then very bravely, and cold-mindedly, pulled the trigger and threw the gun with great speed towards the window simultaneously. He died as he planned. But the parabolic movement of the gun went a little short and the gun hit the window pane and then fell a little away, under the hedge. Today, when I was looking at the window pane, I found a little dent in the wood, and there was a tiny trace of gunpowder. I formed this theory of his death on the crime-scene itself, when I gathered my deductions as facts and saw his cupboard. If you’ve noticed carefully, the book ‘And Then There Were None’ was a little bit out of its arrangement, while the others were perfectly at place. And in that book an almost same process of crime is stated. He was reading that book recently, and that’s why his ideas were inspired by it. The last thing I had to know was that the window was open during the suicide. Vedanta confirmed that when he said that the window was not bolted. The window probably got closed, because in the morning there was a strong wind blowing. So, that’s how the crime was committed. An almost perfect suicide, if the window pane hadn’t got dented,” Mriganav narrated proudly. 

“But why did no one hear the gunshot?” asked Vedanta. 

“If a person, who have never even seen a gun, hears a loud sound in his neighborhood, think of it as a gunshot?” asked Mriganav skeptically. 

“But what if all this was planned by the wife herself?” I asked. 

“That’s a good question. But she actually had an alibi. She hid the fact that she went to meet Neel, because she didn’t want the police to know that. It was because she thought that if the police come to know that, they would definitely charge her for the murder of her husband. But, I’ve seen security cameras on the porch of Neel’s house. The footage will prove that she was talking with Neel, when the suicide took place,” Mriganav said. 

“Why would a person have security cameras on his residence? Isn’t it suspicious?” 

“No, it isn’t. If the person could possess a gun, it was normal for him to have a CCTV camera installed on the porch of his house.” 

“Brilliant! Without you, we would’ve definitely arrested Megha or Neel for the murder. You saved an innocent from getting executed,” said Vedanta. 

“The pleasure is mine,” Mriganav smiled. “And, Vedanta, I request you not to mention that I was involved in the case. Take all the credits yourself. Consider it as a gift for giving me a case,” he smiled. 

- Kritaarth

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