The Three Deaths Conundrum (Narrative)

26-year-old found dead in a desolate alleyway raises suspicion.

Mumbai,

21st April 2021

As morning approached like a mother’s gentle hand, the sudden death of young Edward West, a reporter at the New Orient Times, sent devastating shockwaves around the usually silent neighborhood of Bandra, which is already grieving the deaths of two newspaper reporters. The uproar and simmering wrath were witnessed as residents thronged the police station asking for a thorough police investigation.

An Apprehensive Night:

The preliminary investigations revealed, that last evening, at around 10pm, Edward left home in a hurry after receiving an anonymous tip about the previous two murders committed in the neighborhood. At 5 a.m. beneath the chill of the cold morning air, he was found dead irrevocably isolated under a mountain of trash below the dim light of the solitary St. Andrews Road.

The Gruesome Incident:

The body was unearthed by a garbage cleaner on his early shift cleaning the sullied street. Coagulated rusted blood streamed down the face and onto the soiled dank clothes of the deceased, an outcome of the open wound from the impact of an Automatic 9mm 1A Pistol, a weapon most civilians would not own. The intermittent harmonious buzz of flies circled his body marking their territory. A sharp pungent stench emanated from his body diffusing into the air, swirling along with the distinctive odor of garbage.

The Ensuing Evidence:

Clearing the area and sending the body for autopsy, the police officer on duty noticed no signs of struggle except for the punctured hole in his skull and scratch marks around his neck. Additionally, the deceased’s face was peculiarly absent of any signs of perturbation. Forensics discovered his fingerprints on the pistol that was fired. According to the post-mortem report, the penetration of the bullet was abnormally deep for a short-range distance. However, the neatly folded suicide note retrieved from his pocket disregarded any alternative theories. Mr. Javier Daniel, the Superintendent of Police, has dismissed the case concluding it was a self-death due to a lack of sufficient evidence to prove otherwise...

Snippets of Diary entries of officer Javier Daniel.

24th April 2021, …they still believe my word. Injudicious! A real pity though, that justice can be bought. There were slogans, hollers, and stampedes as if they mattered. It was just three deaths but they were still quite naively persistent to reinvestigate them. Did I? Never! Not even when pigs fly. The sheer scent of Supremacy…Ah… Power! Wealth! Fame! If only…if only I was the Director General of Police, it would not have been this difficult. Years of toil and tumult. Paltry salary and public humiliation; in the end, the crown was snatched by my pathetic novice and I was left with nothing but the baton to constantly remind me of my failure, losing to a mere Deputy. I should never have to bow to him; he is no superior to me. Can I gorge out those hawk eyes that saw right through my misanthropic nature? Only I know what a true snitch he was, a sadist no worse than me. He almost had me fired! I was heaving like a sea, after a high wind, vengeance coursing through my veins. Time is running out... Revenge was like cancer, spreading and devouring me alive until my savior Mr. Knight the God of Mafia in Mumbai saw my suffering in wanted to settle the score. He took me under his wing. A pawn? I was never one. I follow him to serve my turn upon him, in the end, I do myself a favor. The spoils were too great of an offer to be ignored; I could finally be the Director General. Now, I have the young boy’s blood on my hands. Oh, the pleasure! 25th April 2021, We always had to stay alert on those pesky reporter rats that snooped about our business. Edward, being one. The arrogance and gullibility of youth, who think the world can be changed by simply the might of their pens. Look how he paid with his life with the kiss of death! Like an annoying rat he was slow…slowly nibbling out secrets, drilling out evidence, and surreptitiously taking pictures, gnawing our perfect plan, his meddlesome snout everywhere. The ilk of sanctimonious, Machiavellian reporters seems to have taken it upon themselves to bust criminals. When are they going to learn: You play with fire you get burned. Their investigative acumen revealed secrets that were better off as enigmas and they were getting awfully comfortable it was vexing but no more. Like the mafia don said, Operation: Target! Elimination! Click! The blinding light flashed from the corner of my eyes, a figure scurrying off into the darkness as I turned. A side-way look at my assistant and he ran after him. We caught him. He was going to publish a report about the terrorist attack planned against the city being carefully planned by the Mafia and close coterie. The camera roll had several pictures, he had collected an album of images and audio recordings of my secret meetings with the Don. All that I had worked for was slipping from my fingers. These hypocritical pests trust the rich and trash us mere mortals who earn a meager earning waiting in the wings for a moment of glory. The irony. Nobody is ever innocent not the present Director General, not me, not you, no one! But look how the tables have turned.

The faint drizzle of rain blend with the soft beats of ‘Merry Go Round of Life' as I sip on Bordeaux wine and write this. A sequence of words rang in my mind, arousing pure bliss, “The new Director General of Police is Mr. Javier Daniel.” I guess fate sometimes does work out for the cruel.