Does the Indrani Case Teach Us How to Commit the Perfect Murder?

Dear Mr India

I know you are invisible, but I need to communicate with you anyway.

Today I learned how to commit the perfect murder. Our law and order system allows us to excel and get quite good at this.

First, I must make fancy friends and if possible marry into influence. Then I must choose my victim, and perform the deed. Getting rid of the body is no problem. We have many Made In India suitcase brands now. And I can always drive to a jungle and burn the body there. Better, I should choose a jungle where many bodies have been found before. Confusion is king in concealing evidence.

After the attempted destruction of DNA, I must come home, and pour myself some red wine. And perhaps plan my next dinner party. Most importantly, I must sack the driver who took me to the jungle. He would be too inconvenient to murder.

Next, I must plan the cover-up. Who are the big cops in town now? Ah. They must be entertained forthwith. Oh dear. Someone tried to file a missing person’s report about the person I killed? I will put on my best make-up and tell the police not to bother. I am a known person in the city, you see. They dare not defy me. Or I will have them transferred. I have money in the cupboard.

Then, when the remains in the jungle are discovered, I must ensure they reach nowhere. There were other skulls and bones in the jungle na. Send over a couple of those, and yes, it must go to a very faraway hospital where just the thought of the commute through traffic and potholes will convince the medical team to fake the report. Who cares anyway. The Dead is dead. Then the doctors must be rewarded for their unprofessionalism with Diwali gifts. I might even get to cut the ribbon at the next medical conference in the city. I am so supportive of the medical profession.

So years later, if and when someone tips off the police that the person I murdered is actually dead, then I must start making phone calls. I must call everyone in the country, top down. I must instantly hire a big successful lawyer with the right connections.

When the media starts to annoy me, I must get the people I had over dinner so many times, to start calling them names. I must discredit every journalist. I must get influential people to abuse them and accuse them of judging poor little me wrongly. I must get people to use fancy terms like ‘trial by media’. I must ensure outspoken fearless people receive gentle reminders that they should shut up. And I must remember to reward my loyal friends who have kept a dignified silence all through. When they pull their heads out of the ground, they will know they have been referred to as a certain species of bird that doesn’t fly. But that’s okay. They are all rich and famous people too, so they are allowed to act superior to those who make noise in vain.

I will remain in police custody if they arrest me, but when I appear before the judge, I will deny my confession. By then the bones will be too brittle to be used as evidence and another face will be super-imposed on the discovered skull. All alleged witnesses will be banished to their own homes and the media will forget about them. The junior cop who filed the report will be transported by one tight spank to a remote district to rot. The big cop will be humbled into a resignation because he was too good at his job and almost cracked the case. My lawyer must be too good, yaar. After all, the law is blind. And if we can create enough confusion, then chances are the judge hearing my case will let justice prevail.

I will be out soon on bail. And I will plan my next party. Now where did I store that nice bottle of wine?

Yours truly,
Future serial killer

(The writer is a media professional)