Read Part 1 - here
Read Part 2 - here
Read Part 3 - here
Read Part 4 - here
Read Part 5 - here
Read Part 6 - here
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Eight days since the discovery of Majid’s body, nine since his death; a mountain of information, rivers of paperwork, a self-perpetuating tree of flowchart on Khar’s office wall, tied together with strings an ocean of photographs, pins tacked in various locations and yet in this morbid geographical jungle, Pavil felt isolated.
There were clues but none that could reach a conclusive answer, or as Pavil wished, point towards a person whom he could grab by the collar and throw behind bars.
The only time he pushed someone behind bars was a group of strung out teenagers who were more likely to harm themselves than any other, and hadn’t he promised himself greater, far more ambitious goals?
It wasn’t just a goal anymore, was it? This quest was coiled around itself, it contorted into unmanageable knots that were beginning to ensnare him each time he sought to untangle them.
The bleak sharpness of the winds was burgeoning into an icy bitterness, yet each night as Pavil slept, a vague fever seemed to creep out from a bottomless pit of his insides, making its way through his heart until it boiled his brains into waking up with that singular image of Nehar Sinhal branded in his senses.
He’d tried disassociating with this image at work each day, more so because he feared that Khar was aware of his ludicrous, inappropriate thoughts, but try as he might, every time that he was alone, he found himself aching for her.
What is it about black and white photographs that don’t accord the same gruesome realness that colours have the ability to lend? It was so much easier to look at perforated organs in pictures, some black and white than in real life.
‘At least this way you can look at them instead of fainting’ Khar sounded droll in that steely detachment of his. Pouring hot tea from his flask and handing it over to Pavil.
He was looking at magnified photos of wounds and felt detached, the same way he thought that Dr Chattur and Khar must feel. The autopsy report was faultlessly detailed. Three wounds, two of which proved fatal. The direction of slashes and thrusts indicated that the murderer was right-handed. No signs of struggle, indicating the victim either knew the murderer or was caught by surprise.
The weapon was an inch wide blade with jagged edges, like a saw, however, the report now brought new information to light, viz. the saw in question was not as efficient, or as the report stated “blunt” and the toothed edges were spaced farther apart, but a blunt saw was still a weapon, easily ripping through the liver and perforating abdomen.
All this wasn’t new, but ever since Pavil saw Mr Veda Sinhal hold a towel around his bleeding palm he couldn’t resist the thought of the toolbox inside his shed and a saw lurking within.
Khar hadn’t looked anything near anxious at that spectacle, probably because his face refused to emote anything, but that he had noticed and noted this incident was a relief to Pavil.
The mystery of Majid’s murder was never straightforward, to begin with, but after talking to Tejan that evening, almost a week back, it had evolved from challenging to gargantuan.
Khar had begun by asking him why he’d called his mother to pick them an hour after the annual day practice had ended on Sunday, at which Tejan’s face had gone red, some with the pain of losing his friend and some with shame.
He had meekly confessed to a plan they’d conceived a day previous, that of smoking cigarettes in the school bathroom.
‘It would be wicked fun’ Majid had convinced his friend and thus Tejan stole a pack from his father’s office that morning.
‘Smoking in school was against the rules and that is why it was meant to be more fun’ a teary-eyed Tejan had told Khar. ‘Majid hated that school, hated the teachers, hated his father and would do everything to hurt them, and I wanted to know how it felt to smoke’ Tejan had said slowly in between sobs.
They’d gone to the boy’s bathroom sometime around half-past three, after ensuring most of the faculty and children had left the school premises, lest they are caught.
‘We didn’t know’ Tejan had sounded embarrassed ‘that some seniors were already inside the bathroom stalls and they got into a fight with us but left shortly after since they probably didn’t want to hurt me’
‘Of course’ Khar had replied with a kind smile. 'Did they smoke any cigarettes? he'd asked
Tejan had shook his head, telling Khar that seniors usually smoked behind the school, next to the boundary walls.
Tejan had shook his head, telling Khar that seniors usually smoked behind the school, next to the boundary walls.
The seniors had taken away their cigarettes but Majid still had one left which he wanted to smoke, but Tejan felt dizzy from smoking. ‘I was nauseous’ he’d said ‘and so I left for the classroom leaving Majid alone in the bathroom to finish the cigarette, moreover I was scared that my mom would find out that I’d smoked’ at this he had wept uncontrollably, saying that he wished he hadn’t left Majid alone.
Pavil had then understood the reason for his distress, the loss of his friend was ridden with guilt.
Khar lightly touched his shoulders ‘It’s not your fault.’ he’d said.
At this, Tejan had looked up, a child that he was, unable to understand these emotions, he probably wanted to hear these words.
‘Your mother told us that your pants were dusty from playing football in the school. Did you play football?’ Pavil had never seen Khar being as gentle as that day, it was almost sweet.
‘N..No. It was from the scrap with the seniors in the bathroom; they’d pushed us around and I fell, which is why they grew scared and left us alone’ Tejan had said.
He’d thought it strange that suddenly Majid’ parents would come to pick him up, not least because they’d made plans to sleepover at Tejan’s house, but that wasn’t entirely impossible too he’d confessed.
‘Majid’s parents used to take him to visit a counsellor for his behaviour’ Tejan had told Khar. ‘I thought he must've left with them, so didn’t bother too much about the message’ he’d paused after that ‘though I should have’ he kept his head bowed and stared at his feet.
‘You must’ve been missing Majid a lot’ Khar had said ‘isn’t that why you called him thrice that evening? at 6:30, 8:00 and 10:00?’
At this Tejan had looked up surprised. ‘I called him up just once’ he’d said looking startled, his face was wet with tears. ‘around six thirty. I felt awkward calling his father’s phone’ Tejan was silent then and stared at his feet.
Pavil had knit his eyebrows at this new piece of information and hoped Khar would look his way and share his bewilderment, which he did by a faint shrug of his shoulders.
The autopsy report sat quietly on Khar’s desk while he sipped his tea.
‘What time is Jumaid Wasim coming to visit us Pavil?’
‘Shortly after the funeral’ said Pavil, sticking a magnified black and white cross section photograph of the fatal wound on the evidence jungle board.
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