Five

All day long, Byomkesh remained distracted. In the evening, Satyabati tried once or twice to bring up the subject of the Kashmir trip, but Byomkesh did not seem to hear her; he lay stretched out in the easy chair, gazing up at the ceiling beams.

I said, “What’s the hurry? Let this business be settled first.”

Satyabati replied, “It won’t take much longer. Can’t you tell by looking at his face?”

Whether Byomkesh heard Satyabati or not, I could not say. Lost in his own thoughts, he sighed and murmured, “The tinsel disc.”

Satyabati glanced at me, nodding meaningfully, a sly smile on her lips.

We were supposed to phone the police station after dusk. When I reminded him, Byomkesh said, “You call, Ajit.”

I found the number for the thana and made the call. Bhabanibabu was present; he said, “The report just came in. Time of death is between midnight and two a.m. The bullet was from a .45 revolver, entered below the left scapula, pierced the heart, and lodged in the third rib on the right. The bullet’s trajectory was slightly upward from below, and from the side towards the center. —No other marks of injury. —And yes! There was some alcohol found in the stomach.”

I relayed this to Byomkesh. He stared at me in astonishment for a moment. “The trajectory of the bullet—what did you say?”

“Slightly upward from below, and from the side towards the center. That is, whoever fired was sitting in the bushes to the left of the road, and shot from a seated position.”

Byomkesh looked at me for a while longer. “He fired crouching? Why?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t consult me before pulling the trigger.”

Byomkesh reclined again in the easy chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling beams. Then, slowly, he said, “Think it over. You all suppose the assailant was hiding inside the gate from before. Satyakam entered through the gate, walked twenty or twenty-five feet, and knocked at the main door. Only then did the assailant shoot him. My question is—why? Why didn’t the assailant shoot Satyakam the moment he entered through the gate? That would have been easier—he could have fired and slipped out through the gate at once. There would have been no risk of missing the shot.”

“What’s the answer, then—you tell me.”

Byomkesh said, “Perhaps the answer is that the assailant did not fire from that direction. But what’s even more puzzling is: who placed the tinsel disc, when, and why?”

I asked, “So it wasn’t accidental?”

“The more I think about it, the more it seems it wasn’t accidental. There’s a hidden meaning to it. If we can uncover that meaning, the whole mystery will be solved.”

I sat and pondered—what could be the significance of the tinsel disc? If the assailant placed it, what was the purpose? If not the assailant, then who? If not someone from the house, then who? Satyakam himself? But why?

Suddenly, Byomkesh sat up with a start. “Ajit, what things did Satyakam have with him—you saw them on the table at the thana—do you remember?”

I said, “There was a cigarette case, a wristwatch, a wallet, a liquor flask, and—an electric torch.”

Byomkesh slowly lay back down again. “An electric torch—! One does not need an electric torch to walk the streets of Calcutta.”

“No. But to go from the gate to the main door, it is necessary.”

Byomkesh smiled faintly. “Then why didn’t Satyakam see the assailant in the torchlight?”

I could not immediately supply an answer to this sudden question. Some moments passed in silence, then Byomkesh, quite irrelevantly, said, “Tomorrow morning, I need to speak privately with Shitangshu.”

I looked at him intently, but he said nothing more; perhaps he had begun to count the rafters. Yet I noticed the grim distraction had left his face, as if, inwardly, he was growing excited.

The next morning, when I awoke, I found Byomkesh making a phone call. I took my cup of tea and settled in the outer room; he joined me there, his expression grave.

I asked, “Whom were you calling?”

Byomkesh replied, “Ushapati Babu.”

“Ushapati Babu? All of a sudden?”

“I asked him to send Shitangshu over.”

“Oh. —Any news from their house?”

“News—the police returned the body last evening—they came back from the crematorium late at night.” After a brief pause, Byomkesh added, “If the police had searched the house yesterday, they might have found the revolver. Now, it will not be found.”

“That means someone from the house is responsible.”

Byomkesh did not answer.

Half an hour later, Shitangshu arrived. Byomkesh said, “Come in—sit down. Yesterday, I couldn’t ask you everything in front of your uncle.”

Shitangshu sat in the chair opposite Byomkesh and gazed at him with unwavering eyes.

Byomkesh began, “Yesterday at the police station, I heard you supposedly killed two or three men during the riots. Is that true?”

Shitangshu did not reply, but he did not seem frightened either; he continued to look on with fearless, concentrated eyes.

Byomkesh said, “You can speak freely with me, I am not the police.”

Shitangshu’s throat seemed to swell; in a low, restrained voice, he said, “Yes. They killed my father…”

Byomkesh raised a hand. “I know. What did you use to kill them?”

“A knife.”

“Have you ever used a revolver?”

“No.”

“Did Satyakam own a revolver?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“Do you know if there were any firearms in the house?”

“I don’t know.”

Rokter Daag 579

“Did you have any quarrel with Satyakam?” “No. We both avoided each other.” “You knew Satyakam was a libertine?” “I did.” “You loved your father. Surely you love your sister Chumki as well?” Shitanshu did not reply, only gazed silently. Suddenly, Byomkesh asked, “Did you ever wish to kill Satyakam?” Again, Shitanshu gave no answer, but his silence spoke volumes. Byomkesh smiled faintly and said, “No need to say it, I understand. Perhaps you even threatened Satyakam?”