The Last Novel

The body lay sprawled on the floor. The chairs and steel tumblers lay scattered on the floor, showing there was probably some resistance before the murderer had managed to finish his victim. The crowd was already beginning to grow in numbers outside the small Low Income Group apartment complex at the Journalist's colony. 

The dead man known to many as Ézhuthani' which meant 'The Nail Which Writes' was Mukilan, a veteran author known for his ardent love for Tamil culture and its rich history. He was one of the finest living legends in the field of Tamil literature. But his publishers kept reminding him that there was no market for such old stories. The current generation wanted romance, and if you can add some sleazy adult content, even better. There was one publisher who was willing to give a hefty advance to translate the Kama sutra into Tamil. Mukilan had gruffly turned down. 

Mr. Gopalan walked in, ducking into the small doorway as he entered the house. He was the President of the Tamil Writers Forum . 

Shantha, Mukilans wife could barely control her tears. "I had just been to the temple, for making the offering, as it was his birthday today. He was busy writing his next novel so didn't want to be disturbed. He kept saying it was his best work ever and would be a sure bestseller. It had everything the publishers and audience wanted", she said.Shantha had first met Mukilan some 45 years ago, at a college festival, where he had come to give a speech. Their romance faced stiff resistance from her parents. Why would anyone want to marry a jobless writer? But she was too deep in love, with him and his books to think otherwise.

Gopalan consoled her by saying "I had been trying to convince him that he needs to adjust to the changes in the world, no one reads books anymore. I am glad he  began to write again"

"I have asked the police to wrap up the formalities quickly, so that you can do his last rites immediately. We will do everything we can from our association to monetarily help you at this time"

 As he had promised, the post-mortem was done and the body was kept for the public to offer condolences by evening. There was a steady stream of who-is-who of the celebrities lining in to offer their respects.

Among the crowd was a short, middle-aged man, wearing a khadi kurtha and dhoti. Seeing a familiar face in the gathering he approached him "Hello Saamykannu, sowkiyamaa ? So you are the PC assigned to this case? How did it happen?". 

"Oh, Vaithy sir. How are you? Poor man.It's probably just a robbery gone wrong. He didn't even have anything worth stealing at his house, not even a television. The chap must have killed him out of sheer frustration. Only his old HMT watch was missing.There were marks of strangulation around his neck by some wire. There was no other evidence recovered on site . The postmortem too had to be hurried through as there was pressure from top bosses"

Vaithy's boss too had asked him to wrap up his report quickly so that the insurance claim could be processed. The Writers Association had taken a policy for all his members last year, and even paid the premium on Mukilan's behalf. He sniffed something pungent smelling in the air and asked the constable "Sammykannu, Did Mukilan sir, did he drink?""

"Che,Che.No, Mukilan sir was a total teetotaler. He even used to participate in dharnas for closing down the government arrack shops in this area." replied Constable Samykannu.

Vaithy convinced there was nothing much to verify, returned to his cramped little office to complete the formalities on the Life insurance claim. 

A couple of weeks had passed. As was his habit, Vaithy was scanning the newspaper's Obituary column that day. His sight fell on an article "Dead body missing from Adyar Mortuary". It was about the theft of an old man's corpse and had a photo of the missing body. It had gone missing over a month ago, but was detected only now when some relatives had come to claim it. 

He quickly rushed to his company's records room and frantically searched around . He found Mukilans file . Right on top was the acknowledgment for the Demand draft disbursement, an amount of 1 crore rupees. It had already been encashed.

He rushed to Mukilan's house , which was hardly 3 km from the Adyar mortuary. The door was locked. He rang the doorbell of the neighboring flat and an old man opened. Vaithy introduced himself and enquired about Shantha. 

 "I am her landlord. Shantha Amma vacated the house yesterday evening. In fact, it was so sudden"

"Did she tell you where she went?"

"No. She just said she couldn't stay alone in this house after her husband's death and going for some spiritual trip. I didn't pester too much. Poor soul, all these police and media people had given her a tough time"

"She left alone?"

"No. There was another old gentleman who accompanied her"

"How did he look ?"

"He was tall, dark, grey hair, clean shaven. Had he had a beard, he would have resembled Mukilan very much. And he was wearing an old HMT watch on his right hand"

That pungent smell which he sensed the last time was still there. He now knew what it was - Formaldehyde. Used in embalming corpses in mortuaries.

Vaithy's head was spinning. He looked down and there were handwritten papers, all torn. He picked up one small shredded piece- it read 

"The Last Novel 

by 

Mukilan "

"Synopsis: A famous romance novelist becomes entangled in a murder investigation which mirrors the plot of his latest book"

The body lay sprawled on the floor......