The Purple Murder

[Author’s Note: This is a very unambiguous adaptation of Roald Dahl’s ‘Lamb to the Slaughter’.]

The film opens to an ongoing fashion shoot in a swanky photo studio with moody coloured lights. The only people on set are the photographer and his model, with music playing to set the mood. He directs her to pose intimately for him while he gets up close and personal with the camera.

They engage in friendly banter that borders on flirting, while she poses for him and he clicks away. He compliments her looks at every given opportunity, encouraging her to be bolder, “You have such a perfect body it would be a shame to hide it from the world. There are men out there who’d give an arm and leg to be in this studio with you.”
“Hah, where’s your wheelchair then?” She replies.

After a few more photos the photographer changes the music in the studio to something slower and more intimate. As he’s changing his lens, he talks about the revealing dress she’s wearing, “When I spoke to the designer, she told me that this dress was meant to be worn by young, sexy and successful women who know what they want. And what they want is, well, one can only guess…”
“I can guess what you want.” She says, looking right at him.

The photographer positions himself close to her, “Don’t blame me, I didn’t design the dress.”
“You would have made it shorter.”
“I think purple would have suited you better.”
“Do you flirt with all your models?”
“Only the pretty ones.”

As she changes her pose, she comes face to face with him, “Have you ever been with a model?”
“Once… Have you ever been with a photographer?”
“Once…”
“What happened?”
“We got married.” She smiles and shows off her wedding ring.

He kisses her hand gently and smiles, “Mrs. Kumar.”
“Mr. Kumar.”

He gives her the camera while he brings his other equipment from his bag. She loves all the photos, “These are amazing! They remind me of that Bangalore shoot we did!”
“I thought it reminded me of last month in Goa when we spent the night at that lovely hotel near the beach. Wasn’t that romantic?” he says casually as he rifles through his bag.

She freezes with the camera in her hands, “But last month– I wasn’t in Goa, I was here in Bombay.”

He realises his mistake and makes up excuses for himself, but she doesn’t buy it. He tries to apologize for cheating on her but only makes the situation worse. In a fit of rage, she strikes him with his own camera on the head. He sways dizzily and falls backwards onto the couch, dead. At first, she is in a state of shock and stands there not knowing how to react.

All of a sudden, the old song ends, and a fast-paced electronic song comes on which pulls her out of her daze. She runs into the dressing room to grab her phone and calls the police in tears, “Help me! My husband’s been attacked! He’s not breathing! Please!”

As soon as she ends the call, she regains her composure and observes herself in the mirror. She wipes all the blood off her face and takes off her bloodied outfit.

Soon two policemen arrive at the scene and take her statement, where she now claims that she had gone to change into her new costume and returned to find her husband murdered. The inspector is the serious type, committed to finding the killer and tries to remain professional, whereas the constable is completely enraptured by her beauty and easily falling for her charms. The inspector suspects her but the bumbling constable says, “Why would such a beautiful woman ever be jealous of a man? She could get whoever she wants.”

They inspect the body and find his wallet missing, which leads them to believe this might be a random robbery gone wrong. As they mention this we see a split-screen flashback of her taking out her husband’s wallet. They also note signs of a struggle, while the audience sees another split-screen of her kicking light-stands and scattering props around the studio to make it seem like a fight had taken place.

The inspector probes, “And you didn’t hear anything?”
“My husband likes to play loud music and I was all the way in the dressing room.”
“Why was this expensive camera left behind then?”

In the split-screen we see her meticulously cleaning the camera of the blood.

Her heart skips a beat but the constable chimes in, “Sir, how will a mamuli chor know the value of such things?”
“Chup chap go and look for the murder weapon.” Orders the inspector.

The inspector concludes, “The key to this case is finding that murder weapon.”
“I read a story where a wife murdered her husband with a frozen brinjal!” The constable yells.
“Phir se that stupid wives’ tale!” screams the inspector.
“Then she fed the cops baingan ka bharta-” mutters the constable.
“Shut up! Frozen brinjal kahi ke.”

“How terrible!” She says, and then pretends to faint and falls into the inspector’s arms. The constable rushes over with a chair and they help her sit down. The senior cop orders his junior to take photos of the crime scene, but he’s unable to do so, “Sir, my phone memory is full. Could I use your phone?”

The senior cop loses his cool and threatens his junior with violence, but she intervenes with a solution, “Please don’t fight, violence makes me dizzy. If you like, you can use my husband’s camera.”
“But ma’am that is a piece of evidence!”
“If it can help solve his murder, it’s what my husband would have wanted…” She says solemnly.

The naïve cops mistake her risky gamble for an act of selflessness and agree to use her husband’s camera. He takes a few pictures of the crimes scene, but the constable can’t resist, “Ma’am could I take a picture of you as well? For, uh, evidence.”

“Of course!” She obliges him, posing particularly provocatively just to tease him.
“Ma’am, you look very good in this dress!”

The inspector asks her politely, “One last question: do you know if anyone held a grudge against your husband?”

She thinks and replies, “I don’t think so, but he did mention that when he was in Goa he had an argument with another model. Do you think it could be connected?”
“Was there something going on between them?”
“Like an affair? Impossible, my husband was a good man!”
“Nevertheless, we will have to treat her as a suspect as well… Thank you for co-operating.”

The inspector leaves and it’s only the constable and her in the studio. The constable kneels next to her and asks her how he can review the photos. She takes the camera and goes through the pictures on the camera and we see them as a pop-up visual. As she slides through the risqué photos of herself, there is one blurry photo that shows her husband just before the camera killed him. She immediately panics that she’s been found out but instead the constable blushes, “I must have taken this photo, focus pura kharab hain…”

She breathes a sigh of relief, “Oh it’s no problem. Just press this button to delete it.”

She watches with bated breath as the constable deletes the incriminating photo. He thanks her and leaves, but as he reaches the door he turns around while lifting the camera triumphantly and declares, “Don’t worry ma’am, we will find your husband’s killer. This is an open and shutter case!”

She can’t help but giggle to herself at both the irony of the situation and the terrible joke.

END.