Trailing a murder suspect
by A.F. Dawood
Erik de Mel and his wife lived in the lower apartment of their house
with their two children, a son and daughter. The upper floor of their
house was rented out to a young couple. The husband was a doctor in a
state hospital. The couple had been staying for about six months and
their life was frequently interspaced with bickering and bashing. Often,
the doctor returned home late in the night and there wasn't a single
night that the couple had not been at loggerheads.
One night the row between them grew in intensity with shouting,
screaming and crying. After sometime everything stopped; doors banged
shut; footsteps were heard down the staircase. And then pin drop silence
prevailed.
“This is a bad example for our children” Erik remarked. “It will
disturb the children's studies.”
“Yes, you're right. We must ask them to leave,” his wife Mercina,
said.
For the next two days the upper floor was as silent as a grave. The
inmates were not heard. The de Mels were not aware whether they were in
or out; but in view of the prevailing silence they justifiably concluded
that the couple was out. On the fourth day after the couple's skirmish
there was a malodorous odour from the upper floor.
Blue flies
Blue flies hovered about in the balcony. Erik and his wife smelt a
rat, that something untoward had happened. “Shall we go up and see
what's going on?” Mercina asked.
“Are you mad, Mercina? It's not our business,” rebuked Erik. “We
can't remain silent. We must report the matter to the police, otherwise
we will be in trouble.”
“Why should we fall into trouble?” “With this bad smell how can we
keep quiet; others will think we're guilty.” Mercina explained.
Erik and his wife were getting ready to drive to the police station
when their phone rang and Erik answered it. “Could I speak to Dr.
Damion?” It was the voice from the other end. “He is not in for the last
four days.” replied Erik. “Where has he gone?” “I don't know anything
about that. May I know who is speaking there?”
The line was disconnected. Erik noted down the caller's number from
the CLI. Hardly a minute passed when there was a ‘tap’ ‘tap’ sound;
someone was tapping on the front door. Erik opened the door and saw a
posse of policemen; a jeep was parked outside the gate and some police
officers were in the garden. “Is this Erik de Mel's house?” The
inspector asked. “We've received a complaint that a couple living in
your house has disappeared.” “Yes, the couple went four days ago after
an argument. I don't know where.”
“What's this horrible smell? Why didn't you report this to the
police?” The inspector questioned in a suspicious manner. “We want to
check the upstairs apartment.” “We wanted to come to the police today
but ...” “All right let's go upstairs with your duplicate keys.”
The police opened the front door. As soon as they entered, a putrid
stench engulfed the atmosphere and compelled the police officers and the
de Mels to cover their noses with handkerchiefs. In the bedroom was the
decomposing corpse of Dr. Damion's wife; a swarm of blue flies were
hovering about; the odour was horrible; the de Mels were taken aback.
“So there's a murder here,” said the inspector and glanced at Erik's
face; he wore a gloomy face; so did Mercina.
“Mr. Erik, you said the couple left four days ago.”
“Inspector, that night after their commotion, I heard them going down
the staircase; I didn't see them. And for four days they were not here.
I thought they may have gone outstation,” Erik explained.
Restaurant
“But why didn't you report the matter to the police, when you got
this bad smell? It leaves room for suspicion.”
“But inspector, we felt the stench only last night and thought it
must be a dead rat. Today, I wanted to complain to the police, before
that the police came.”
The police despatched the body for the post mortem.
Then they minutely examined the house, checked the walls and doors
for fingerprints, blood stained foot marks and searched for strands of
hair and other details that would help them in their detection.
Thereafter, the inspector questioned the de Mels. “Do you know
anything about this murder?”
“We don't know anything about this murder,” both of them replied.
“Mr. Erik, are you in talking terms with your tenants?”
“No, they mind their business; we mind ours.” “But they used to fight
always,” remarked Mercina.
“How many months did they stay with you?”
“About six months inspector. Almost all the nights they fought,
screamed and shouted. Four nights ago there was beating and the woman
cried and screamed.”
Thereafter, the police came down and checked Erik's house, his diary,
telephone numbers and the records of rent received so far. “Today, there
was a call from this number.” Erik gave the number to the inspector.
“What did he ask?” “He asked whether Dr. Damion is here or whether he
has gone abroad. When I asked his name he cut the line”
“If there's need we'll come back to question you both,” The inspector
said before leaving.
The police traced the number given by Erik as belonging to a plush
restaurant in the metropolis. The police in mufti visited the Albin
Restaurant and questioned the manager whether any person came to take a
call. He said that one Chandrapala Jinasena came two days ago and
produced the telephone call record book where Chandrapala Jinasena's
identity card number was also recorded. As soon as the name was
mentioned, the police knew that Chandrapala Jinasena was an underworld
character known by the sobriquet Chandi Jina.
The police informed about it to the manager. “He came here two days
ago?” “Yes, about nine thirty in the morning,” replied the manager.
“With whom did he come?” “He came with another guy. I don't know him.
But Chandrapala called him “Lokka”. The police thought why did an
underworld character give a call to Erik. How did he know Erik's
telephone number unless he had a connection with him earlier. So the
police suspected that the de Mel couple also had a hand in the murder of
their tenant Mandeela.
“Does Chandrapala come to this restaurant frequently?” “No, very
rarely; if he comes, he comes with a big shot, a well dressed man in a
car.” the CID officer gave two numbers to the manager and told him to
contact them if he comes, and left the restaurant.
Telephone call
The telephone rang two days later. Erik rushed to the phone.
“Now you know Mandeela is dead,” the caller said.
“Who is speaking there?” Erik questioned, “It doesn't matter who is
speaking. I'm trying to help you.”
The caller said. Erik noted down the telephone number. It was a
different number from the first one. “What do you mean help me?” Erik
questioned. “I know jolly well Dr. Damion killed Mandeela”. At this
reply the caller guffawed hoarsely. “Listen Erik, he is not a doctor and
his name is not Damion. He was a bank executive and was dismissed for
fraud, and served a prison sentence. His name is Denny Jenson.
Hearing that Erik was awestruck; his eyes goggled in surprise; he
directed his glance at his wife who was close by. “Hello Erik”, the
caller spoke again, “Did the police come to your home?” “Yes, the police
removed the body.”
The caller said, “Mandeela's husband promised me big money for the
job I carried out for him. There's a huge amount of money in his
wardrobe, which should come to me.”
“So what do you suggest me to do?” “I want you to meet me at the Moni
Cafe in Kollupitiya and I'll advise you what to do.
I'll pay you a big ‘santhosam’ for this. Remember don't talk to the
police about this.” “I haven't seen you and you haven't seen me. So how
do I identify you?”
“I'll be in a grey t-shirt and old blue denim trousers, a wide brim
hat and big beaded silver necklace; I have a scar on my right check due
to a sword injury.”
“I'll think it over; give me a call in two days” Erik cut the line.
Erik sighed and glanced at his wife.
“Who called you?” “That fellow. He told me Damion is not a doctor and
his real name is Denny Jenson.”
“So what does the fellow want now?” Mercina questioned. “There's
money in the wardrobe upstairs and he wants to share the money with me.”
“You don't get involved in this?” Mercina said. As a result of this
murder, the rhythm of life in Erik's household was topsy-turvy. They
frequently argued. “All this is a problem for us. Didn't I tell you the
police will suspect us?” Mercina blamed her husband for being lethargic.
“Look here Mercina, we wanted to go to the police, but they came
before that.”
“You could have gone within two days; at that time we felt the
horrible smell.” Erik conveyed the news to the CID. The CID found the
second number belonged to a telephone booth near Moni Cafe, Kollupitiya.
They advised Erik to meet the anonymous caller at Moni Cafe. So at 9.30
in the morning Erik was seated in the reception hall of Moni Cafe,
expecting the unseen visitor; he looked everywhere but he did not see
the person as described by the anonymous caller. Time flitted by; there
were a few other customers in the cafe; then he saw two men seated at a
table in the far corner of the hall directing their glance towards him.
Suddenly, the two men got up, looking at the street through the glass
panel of the hall, darted across the hall and came to Erik's table.
“We're from the CID. The man you're waiting for is on the other side
of the road, trying to cross. Talk to him, agree to what he says and
befriend him. We'll barge in at the right moment.”
The anonymous caller walked in. He was a man of corpulent build in a
grey t-shirt and battered blue denim trousers. He was looking here and
there for his quarry. Erik went forward. “You are Mr. I don't know your
name.” “Never mind about my name”? The guy spoke in a gruff voice and
doffed off his hat, exposing his bald head. “Let's get down to
business.”
Both sat down at a table, the two CID officers were seated at the
next table, sipping their beverage and eyeing Erik's table. “Look here
Erik, you're going to get big money, if you help me to open that
wardrobe.”
“That doctor's wardrobe?” Erik questioned. “He's not a doctor, I told
you. He is a dismissed bank employee.”
“How can I open his cupboard without police permission or I must get
his permission. Now where is he?”
“Erik, don't be frightened. You said the police have removed the body
and the police don't know there's money in the wardrobe except me. You
and I can share that money.”
“But I want to speak to him before I open his wardrobe,” Erik said.
The man was becoming impatient and grumpy at Erik's hesitation.
Suddenly, he opened the zip of his bag, dug into it, fished out a
notebook and scanned through the pages. “All right, this is the number,
you speak to him,” When Erik was dialling the number, the vigilant CID
officers pounced on the man.
“We're CID officers, you're under arrest.” “Why? What did I do?” The
man questioned defiantly and became aggressive and boisterous;
immediately he was handcuffed.
“You're Chandi Jina, we want to question you.” “Question me on what?”
The man pretended. “You're a suspect in Mandeela's murder” |