Entangled Lives – CHAPTER 11 – #CELEBRATEBLOGGING #GAMEOFBLOGS #BLOGADDA

Here is the next chapter of the story Entangled Lives,  the team Potliwale Baba, are writing as a part of #CelebrateBlogging – Game of Blogs.

Read the previous posts here: Chapter #1|#2|#3|#4|#5|#6|#7|#8|#9|#10 

“Java the Super Cop”, ahh how much he had wanted that title. Imagine him walking down the streets and people stopping their cars and their work to have a glance, a handshake or an autograph with the greatest policeman ever, Sadashiv Jawalkar. Instead all he ever got was a police medal for bravery. The brave thing he had actually done was to handle wedding arrangements of the Commissioner’s daughter. When that other boy got too close, it was Jawalkar who had taken care of the matter. The Commissioner’s wife was so grateful that she ensured he got the medal. Of course, on paper, it showed nabbing a dangerous criminal while putting his own life in danger.

Still it opened doors for Jawalkar, Java, as he was called by most of his colleagues. He soon got this plum posting in crime branch, one which he always believed be the beginning of his legend. He giggled at the thought of his own book one day and even a film. Absent mindedly he read a FIR about a murder. He should go and check on it now. The area this had been reported from was a posh one. Such cases were something that happened every day and were covered up even faster. “Oh Java! You got yourself a boring case tonite,” he grumpily said to himself.

En route to the locality, he realized the press would be there. They will love this upper middle class scandal. They would make headlines, he gestured with this hands - “Husband kills wife! Was it an Extramarital affair that prompted him?” This is neither the first time nor the last time, however, it will get them excited like stinky five year olds. Oh the press! How much he hated them. Last year a bunch of writers had written very critically against his department. Bunch of overweight bureaucrats with no interest in field work or thorough investigation. Yes, that’s what they had written as their expose. No one had bothered to interview him or his men. That’s what peeved him the most.

He stopped around a chicken soup cart to light up his cigar. As he held the cigar to the stove, King Edwards he chuckled, imagining the media questioning about smoking in public! They would be more interested in the cigar smoking police officer than the crime itself. If they ask him, he would surely tell them the cigar story. His father in law, had this carton full of cigar collection. Upon his death, the asthmatic son could not have them so they came to the son in law. He so liked his image, the bulky six foot frame, a cigar firmly entrenched in the side of his mouth. Will make for a great picture. He needed a hat. The mere thought of his wearing a hat, a cigar firmly on his lips and an overcoat made him smile! As soon as he wrapped up this case he would go to one of those malls and buy a hat for himself. He wondered which one would suit him.

At the crime scene, someone tried to narrate to him the sequence of events, but he just snatched the clipboard on which the pointers had been roughly jotted down by his team. The name plate outside had bothered him. What was it? He couldn't make out. There was a knife. A butcher’s knife plunged right in the back. Not plunged into the wife but the maid? This is interesting, Java thought. Why would somebody want to kill a mere maid mentally making a note to check on her past, present and future! He quickly ran through the questions his team had already asked. Clumsy fools! They need to ask so many more questions! He has taught them so many times! Any ways, chewing on his cigar, he concluded that the man of the house may not be the only suspect for now.

Then it hit him, the name, Shekhar Dutta. Of course, that bastard! He definitely was one of the writers from that expose. Now he will show him how efficient his department was. What had he called him? “Overweight dog with the blessings of politicians!” Well, eating helped him think and if he had developed tires for tummy doing his work, so be it. As if on cue, Java went to the kitchen, stubbed out his cigar on the door, spat in a corner and started his investigation by checking out the refrigerator first. As he devoured down the orange juice, he pondered over those series of articles again. They had written, he and his team should exercise more. What they didn’t mention is the when part of it? When should they exercise? They were an understaffed and overworked team. Look at today. Most of the men working at the scene were day shift staff. Now that the moron Dutta had an incident in his house, they were all going to spend the night also here.

Java once again looked over the scene. His team would catalog and file all evidence. There was a photographer taking pictures of the dead body and the crime scene around it. He passed on the clipboard to the constable standing close by and bent down to check the pulse of the body. It had already turned cold but had not yet stiffened. The murder must have happened not too long ago. The clothes on the body looked expensive. These upper middle class maids suddenly seemed to have acquired taste. He had to tell his wife to employ such maids. At least it would allow his eyes to feast on them! He tried to make out the contours of her body. She looked fit. That fat old one that came home looked so very haggard.

Now this case is going to be interesting. He sadly dismissed the thoughts of having lemon chicken for dinner tonight at the Chang’s. Things were not as simple here as he had hoped them to be. And now that he had Shekhar Dutta in his grasp, “So I will start interviewing them myself and tonight itself. While their memories are fresh. They will all try to hide truth from me but I, Java, will catch all their lies. Someone must have seen the killer. You can’t just plunge a knife like that and disappear into thin air,” he told himself.

“OK, listen up everyone! I was in a mood to have some lemon chicken tonight but all i got is a murder here and I don’t like murders. I hate people who lie to me and I make sure such people enjoy the taste of hell while I am around. I am going to interview each one of you, one by one. We are going to get to the bottom of this,” clapping aloud, “Oye, thambi! Get me a clipboard and a pen and yes, you all know it, no one talks to the media till I let you to.”

Media. Oh well, by now, they would have shit their pants, twice over already. Inspector Java, Hai, mar jawa, mit jawa, lut jawa! They are all going to love it. Java will be the center of the investigation. Maybe if this turns out to be a tough case, which, when he cracks open, would make him the super cop. Well, only time will tell.

Read the next part here -
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