Tarquin Hall - The Case of the Man Who Died Laughing

She answered his knock with a tear-stained face and a red nose.

Unlike her remarkable performance last Wednesday, her grief today was genuine.

“They’ve come?” asked the detective, who had broken the terrible news to her last night over the phone.

“Everyone is present,” she said in a sad, quiet voice.

It took the detective’s eyes a minute to adjust to the dimly lit interior.

In the reception area of the front room, he was pleased to find the three young men he had asked to be present waiting for him.

All in their early twenties, thin, gangly, plainly dressed and palpably earnest, they, too, bore the shock of their mentor’s murder in their eyes and the stains of their anguish on their cheeks.

The tallest of the trio was the first to speak. His name was Rupin, a philosophy student at Jawaharlal Nehru University.

“It was you who played the part of Kali, is it?” guessed Puri.

“Yes, sir, it was my honor,” he answered with obvious pride, standing respectfully with hands held in front of him.

“And one of you played the ice cream wallah?”

“That was my duty,” said the youngest, introducing himself as Peter. “Our colleague Samir was the backup person. He waited at a distance in case something went wrong.”

As Rupin went on to explain, they were DIRE volunteers and, during the past few years, had often traveled with Dr. Jha to towns and villages in rural India to participate in ‘awareness workshops’ aimed at educating the public about how so-called miracles were done. This had involved mastering a repertoire of magic tricks.

“I know how to eat lightbulbs and put my hands in boiling oil,” explained Peter.

“And I could show you how to drive a skewer through your cheek,” volunteered Samir.

Puri could see why Dr. Jha had chosen these idealistic young men to help perform the Kali illusion. They were bright, confident and fervently dedicated to the cause. Rationalism had become something of a religion to them. It provided purpose, structure and philosophy without all the bells and incense or blood turned to wine.

The detective asked them to resume their seats and pulled up a chair.

“We will have to save skewering cheeks for another time,” he said. “For now, it is vital you tell me everything that occurred that day, including how the miracle was performed. Some clue might be there that would help find the murderer.”

“Sir, we are ready to cooperate in any way,” Rupin said ardently.

“We would give our lives three times over to see the killer brought to justice!” added Peter.

“Very good,” said Puri. “Now first thing I want to know. When Dr. Jha was planning to let all and sundry know he was alive and well?”

“Today, only,” answered Rupin.

“Why he waited almost one week?”

“To maximize the media coverage.”

“It was then you planned to release the video footage, is it?”

The trio exchanged surprised looks.

“Video footage, sir?” responded Rupin with a frown.

“Come, let us not waste time, no,” scolded the detective. “From my investigation I came to know you recorded video footage of the entire illusion.”

There was a brief, awkward silence and then Peter said: “How could you know? Only sir” – he was referring to Dr. Jha – “and the four of us present in this room were involved.”

“I am a detective of many long years’ standing – that is how,” replied Puri pompously.

This did not satisfy the DIRE team as an explanation and Puri had to elaborate.

“Firstly, some holes were drilled into one tree adjacent to the murder scene,” he said. “Obviously some bracket had been attached. For what? Yesterday afternoon, only, when I did two and two and came to understand Dr. Jha had faked his own death, I concluded a video camera had been secured to the bracket for purposes of recording the event. Later on, one individual was present at Dr. Jha’s CNG funeral for purposes of video recording, also. That individual was you, Samir.”

He continued: “Dr. Jha’s intention was to show this video footage on TV to the entire world and appear very much alive as proof that his murder was a fraud. Thus he hoped to create awareness of his cause.”

Rupin, Peter and Samir said nothing; their eyes appealed to Ms. Ruchi for help.

She was hovering beside them, clutching a damp handkerchief with which she kept dabbing her tears.

“Mr. Puri, sir, please understand one thing,” she said. “The video material is under lock and key. Dr. Jha gave strict instructions for the tapes not to be touched in case they got lost or damaged. I cannot release them to you.”

“Where did he keep them?”

She hesitated. “They are locked away.”

“Where exactly?” he pressed her.

“Please understand, sir. He trusted me to guard them and I must honor his wishes.”

“You intend for the tapes to remain unseen, is it?”

“Sir, we have not yet had the opportunity to discuss how to proceed. I would need to ask Mrs. Jha for her wishes and she is totally indisposed at the present time.”

“Come now, Ms. Ruchi,” said Puri gently but firmly. “There can be no doubt Dr. Jha would want the tapes released to media persons as intended. It is my suggestion you should carry out his plan in the coming days. Meantime, allow me to view the footage. I assure you with hand on heart, and on my mummy-ji’s life also, I will keep their existence and whereabouts top secret. Not another soul will come to know.”

The DIRE team went into a huddle to discuss his proposal.

Ten minutes later Puri found himself seated in Dr. Jha’s office in front of a TV and VCR.

“Sir, planning for the operation began one year back,” explained Rupin before playing the first tape. “It took months of preparation and rehearsal to get it right. Like magicians or Godmen, we had to practice the illusion over and over again to ensure it was believable and worked faultlessly. Everyone had to be fooled into believing they had seen a real apparition.”

“You see, sir,” added Ms. Ruchi, who was standing with the others behind Puri, “Dr. Jha was planning to retire next month. But before withdrawing from public life, he wanted to stage a spectacular event, something that would gain the attention of the whole of India. His idea was to make the TV channels work for our cause for a change, instead of those of Godmen and other so-called miracle workers.”

The first sequence showed Rupin donning a Kali outfit: black cloak, hideous wig surmounted by a crown, garland of skulls, and a frightening mask complete with long red tongue. The volunteer also strapped on an extra pair of arms, which worked mechanically, seemingly of their own accord. One of the fake hands gripped a latex head complete with bloody neck and popping-out eyes.

Dr. Jha appeared in the frame, smiling and chatting, as he timed Rupin taking off all the regalia.

The sight of him caused everyone to fall silent. Ms. Ruchi started sobbing again.

“You’ll have twenty seconds to get the arms off,” the Guru Buster could be heard saying.

In the next sequence, Rupin fastened a voice distorter with a mini amplifier around his neck.

The picture abruptly cut to Peter standing next to an ice cream cart. The camera revealed that it had been customized. The sides came off and there were two compartments inside.

“One of them held the canister of liquid carbon dioxide and a theatrical fog-making machine,” explained Samir.

“And the other?”

“We’ll come to that, sir,” said Ms. Ruchi.

More footage followed of Rupin fire-breathing using paraffin, then a sequence in which he and Dr. Jha practiced the moment of death using a stage sword with a collapsing blade.