The Murder Suspect

by Rani Ramakrishnan

  Before I could react, the owner of the hand cuddled closer to me and gripped me from behind, her strong, hard hand now working on my other breast. I could feel her breath on my neck, and her bosom pressed against my back.

  At that same instant, the woman whom I was facing moved in, put her leg over mine, and gripped my backside. My eyes shot open in shock, just in time to see her face come up close. The next thing I knew, her lips were on mine, pressing hard for entry.

  I was paralysed.

  My brain stopped functioning. I must have fought because a hard kick landed on my back with a curse from one of my attackers. She loosened her grip a little to kick me, then resumed her deathly grip. I think I bit the one in front—she yelped in pain—but it was a small victory.

  Immediately after, a hand clamped over my mouth, and I was pushed onto my back. There were four of them, and I was alone. One of the other two gripped my hands above my head while the other caught hold of my kicking legs in her giant hands. I squirmed and tried to bite the hand on my mouth. She stuffed an end of the dirty, moth-eaten blanket into my mouth in response.

  I wanted to puke.

  My kameez was yanked up to my neck, and a hand went behind my back to unhook my bra. I fought to free myself, to shout, to kick—anything—but they were too strong. Where were the freaking guards? Surely they could hear what was going on!

  The women were openly attacking me. They were sitting up, laughing, touching and commenting on my body as they went about stripping me. I could hear lecherous comments from nearby cells—men and women shouting that they wanted to join in too. I was terrified about what was going to happen.

  The bra hook unsnapped and the obstructive piece of underwear was roughly pulled up. Comments from the women about what was revealed increased the begging from other cells for an opportunity to join in the fun. Cold sweat ran down my spine, and I tried harder to escape. The effort made my breasts bounce, and that sight excited them. Petrified, I wriggled and threw myself up like a fish struggling to get off the land into water.

  Unfortunately for me, I was as helpless as any fish out of water. My attackers were enjoying my desperate efforts to break free, and it dawned on me that nobody, not even the police, was about to come to my rescue. I could not bite or scream or use my limbs. I dreaded what they would do when they became tired of looking at my exposed parts.

  I found out soon enough.

  A hand crept to my salwar. It tugged at the knot holding the garment to my waist, and dutifully the tether came undone without the slightest restraint. Betrayed by the fragility of my defence, fear overwhelmed me, and my palms became watery with sweat.

  My head swam, and the room rocked. I lost control of myself, and my senses abandoned me. Oblivious to their comments, I put greater and more urgent effort into freeing myself. I must have done something right because, suddenly, all four sets of hands released me.

  For a few seconds I lay there—half-naked, free, and uncertain. Then realising that they were not restraining me anymore, I jumped up and slunk into a corner. I cowered there for some time before I realised that my attackers were intent on maintaining their distance. But they kept throwing disgusted glances my way. The rogues in nearby cells continued to jeer, but everybody stayed away from me. It took me a while to understand why.

  I fixed my bra and tied my salwar. As I tugged it into place, I noticed it was wet. That was when I realised what had sent my attackers running.

  I had shit my pants! I was sitting in my own crap! I had never felt happier!

  ◆◆◆

  I was making a habit of doing this to my lawyer.

  This time when he came to see me before heading out to the court, I told him I had crapped my pants and why. He spoke with a handkerchief covering his face, making me realise what a stinking mess I had become. He promised me fresh clothes and ran away as fast as he could.

  Regarding the molestation attempt, he told me that he would take care of the matter. What did that even mean? Proving the incident would be near impossible—I was sure that none of the inmates or guards would admit to anything. But I wanted my prison mates and the negligent officials booked.

  For the millionth time, I wished my lawyer’s methods were more transparent. Still, I had trusted him with bigger problems and gave him a chance with this one too. I lacked the will to fight things out myself. Deep inside, I wanted to get out of the shitty cell more than anything.

  ◆◆◆

  The entire exercise in front of the judge ended before it began, for me at least. They presented me before him. My counsel and the public prosecutor argued for and against my bail petition. He listened to both the sides and ruled in my favour. Once the formalities were complete, I was free to leave. That was it!

  My lawyer drove me home. I had to admit, he was much better than I had given him credit for. For the first time, I wondered what his bill would be like. He was worth every penny, I decided. Even though he had appeared slow to warm up to my situation, he had delivered every time, be it clothes or finding a loo or getting me bail. The funny thing was, he hadn’t once asked me for any information about this whole matter that he was handling. He used recorded facts and worked his magic.

  He had submitted my pregnancy report along with a letter from Pakhi, which stated that she did not consider me a threat. The former I knew was probably in the case records. How he came up with the idea for the latter and how he secured it baffled me.

  I asked him about it. He smiled and candidly informed me that Pakhi was a niece of sorts. He had only to ask her for the letter for her to oblige. I was shocked.

  Chapter 16

  I woke to the chimes of my doorbell. I cursed. The traffic to my house had risen to unacceptable levels since this murder investigation started. I had to do something about the problem. The sound reminded me of Creep Choudhary, making me even grumpier.

  I shouted to the caller to wait as I ambled down the hall and opened the door, grumbling all the while about unwanted CBI intruders and their harassment techniques.

  Manav Prasad stood on my doorstep. I was shocked. He had never visited me before. He smiled and greeted me, to all appearances oblivious to the irritated tirade I had kept up as I strode to my door. He must have heard me. I had expected Creep Choudhary to be there since he kept finding excuses to barge into my house every other hour, and I’d said several uncomplimentary things. I’d even used a slur or two that I had picked up during my night in prison. An IndeGener had heard it all! I was mortified.

  I had taken pains to build a sophisticated image for myself at IndeGen. Thanks to my careless tongue-lashing, I had trashed my reputation. I felt sick. I wanted to bury my head somewhere and never look up again. When would I stop self-destructing?

  I offered a strained smile and mustered some energy into my reply to his greeting. Making him comfortable in my living room, I went inside to freshen up. I returned a few minutes later, smartly dressed, with steaming cups of coffee. He enquired about my health, making me realise that my pregnancy was now public.

  The news had been in the papers, he told me. I wondered what he thought of me as a person now. He was someone Piyush had trusted. Piyush had even told me that in case of something going horribly wrong, Manav was the one to approach.

  After half an hour of small talk, Manav asked me something that threw me off guard. He asked me if I had killed Piyush. It was absurd, but I got the impression that he was trying to decide whether or not to trust me. I told him I had nothing to do with the datura poisoning.

  My answer pleased him. He nodded and requested permission to make a call. This puzzled me even more. As I cleared the coffee things, he called someone from his mobile. Within minutes the doorbell rang again. Saying his guest had arrived, he went to the door and returned with another person: Creep Choudhary.

  Seeing that man manoeuvring his way into my private space again, my heart sank. Every time he came to my house, a new problem cropped up. What was lurking in the shadows now, waiting to escape
and ruin my life all over again?

  ‘Mr Choudhary wanted to question me. You should be present during the session, Nalini.’ Manav said enigmatically.

  ‘Why?’ I asked him, confused. His words made no sense.

  ‘Piyush told me long ago that in case he was not around to back me up on any occasion, I should approach you. He promised me you would do exactly as he would.’

  ‘Piyush expected to be dead?’ I asked, shocked, unable to understand why he would fear for his life.

  ‘No no, I don’t think so. He was probably meaning occasions when he would be out of the country or in case of conflict of interest.’

  ‘Conflict of interest?’

  ‘You will understand why that could have been the case, even though it is not now.’

  What was Manav talking about? What secret did Piyush and he share, and why was I needed in a matter I was not privy to? Bewildered, I stared at him.

  Creep Choudhary cleared his throat to draw our attention back to his presence in the room, and Manav asked him to begin. Why was the Creep agreeing to Manav’s request? He was always ruthless with me. I was also surprised to discover that the investigation was still on. I had assumed that with me booked, the Creep’s job was done. Clearly I was wrong.

  ‘Is your name Manav Prasad?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You are an auditor?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where were you before you joined IndeGen?’

  ‘I need assurance that you will not record my answers and that you will not use the details I share as evidence anywhere,’ Manav replied.

  I heaved a sigh of exasperation. What the heck had Piyush signed up for? Manav was obviously from the underworld as I had suspected all along. He was still living like a criminal and thinking like one. He was overestimating his clout with the Creep. Choudhary would never bow to his attitude.

  Choudhary’s response, a curt nod, stumped me. Such double standards!

  ‘I am with the Indian Revenue Service. I am investigating money laundering using the payment gateway owned by IndeGen,’ he declared, shocking me out of my skin. To support his claim, he handed me his official identity card. Sure enough, it bore his designation, name, and other details. It looked authentic. I passed the card to the Creep.

  With that piece of information out in the open, things fell into place. Money laundering! That was huge. Its implications were bad for IndeGen. Our product was our strength, and if it was compromised then our company’s future was doomed. Little wonder then that Piyush had given Manav a free hand. For both of us, IndeGen’s well-being ranked above all else.

  Choudhary peered at the ID card for a few minutes. He then made a call and cross-checked the service number mentioned on it. Satisfied that it was authentic, he returned the card to Manav, who continued his explanation.

  ‘I am part of a team of five forensic accountants embedded in different private sector companies by the IRS. Our responsibility is to track the movement of black money through these modern payment vehicles. Senthil Iyer was the person whom we approached first with this request.’

  ‘Later I met Piyush, who sanctioned the investigation. He offered me a government liaison role with independent charge. That worked well for me. I have been doing my duties, both as a government intermediary for IndeGen and as a forensic auditor for the Government of India, to the best of my abilities to date.’

  ‘You monitor money laundering all alone?’ Choudhary wanted to know.

  ‘I have a team, but they are not part of IndeGen.’

  ‘Is there any letter or formal agreement with IndeGen for this?’

  ‘Yes, we signed an official document. Piyush had it in his bank locker and its keys are with Nalini.’

  Choudhary raised an eyebrow at that bit of news but refrained from making any comment.

  Manav’s reference to the locker made me appreciate why I had to be present. I also understood why Piyush had insisted on entrusting the locker key to me. He had wanted to keep outsiders from snooping into its contents without his knowledge. What other secrets did that locker hold? Going by his expression, Choudhary was thinking the same thing.

  ‘Tell me about this assignment of yours,’ Choudhary said thoughtfully.

  ‘I can’t say much as it’s a government operation. The overview is that people are laundering money through different means these days. We assume that because everything is online, all transactions are legitimate—but that is only partly true. Bigger defaulters, who have millions stashed away in tax havens, use these modes to bring back their ill-gotten money. There is also traffic in the opposite direction.’

  ‘Have you found anything at IndeGen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Details?’ Choudhary persisted.

  ‘I’m afraid I cannot share that information with you. It is confidential.’

  ‘But Piyush knew?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did anyone else know?’

  ‘Not that I am aware of.’

  ‘How many people knew about your true role?’

  ‘Piyush and Senthil.’

  ‘Not even Pandurang?’

  ‘No. Piyush wanted to keep it secret from as many people as possible.’

  ‘So why does Nalini have the key to the locker?’

  Manav looked uncomfortable answering that question, but he replied anyway. ‘Senthil is the CFO. He must share any significant financial information brought to his notice with auditors, the board, tax authorities, etc. Asking him to withhold facts would expose him to huge risks. He could lose his job—or worse, be convicted. Pandurang also faced the same problem.

  ‘In fact, Piyush too had the same issue, but he was prepared to put his head on the line for the company’s greater good. He could not ask that of Pandurang or Senthil. Nalini, he told me, would be willing to sacrifice her career for IndeGen. In case of an emergency, I was to brief her. Like I said, he assured me that she’d act exactly like he would under the same circumstances.’

  Choudhary thought about this revelation for a while. ‘Why have you kept this information to yourself all this while?’

  ‘I was biding my time. A small mistake on my part could wipe out years of work. I had to be careful. I was uncomfortable involving Nalini given the circumstances. You took the choice out of my hands when you asked to speak to me.’

  ‘Is it possible that someone you were investigating knew about your work?’ Choudhary asked.

  Again, Manav shifted uncomfortably. ‘Yes, that is possible.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘IndeGen was hacked a few months ago. There was a huge scandal and a few people in senior management left. It is not common knowledge, but an internal resource initiated the hacking. We hushed the matter up but...’

  Manav’s declaration left me cold and numb within.

  ◆◆◆

  I remembered the incident vividly. It had occurred on a sunny Innovation Friday, the day of the week set aside for cross-vertical capacity-building within the company—a system that made most outsiders assume that we followed a four-day workweek.

  In reality, Friday was the most challenging day of the week. We encouraged everyone to use this day to apply their minds in areas outside their comfort zones. Through this initiative, the company incubated new product ideas and helped employees fulfil their personal entrepreneurial goals. A few ideas became economically viable, others perished on the drawing board.

  Depending on suitability, the promising innovations either joined our product mix or became independent ventures with our backing. It was serious business. A statistic that proved the effectiveness of our policy was that, aside from family reasons, entrepreneurship was the most popular reason for employees leaving the company.

  On June 12, an agitated Devyani flew into my office unannounced, with a request for an urgent confidential meeting.

  Surprised by her strange request, I immediately consented. She laid a few papers on my table and informed me that somebody was hacking us from i
nside. After dropping the bomb, she waited a few seconds for me to process the information. I was confused. How could we be hacking ourselves?

  She explained. IndeGeners without clearance to view certain data were doing so under the hood, without permission. I demanded the identities of these crooks. In response, she handed me the IP addresses of the culprits. One of them was that of our chief technology officer.

  We were leaking from the top!

  Without wasting time, I notified Piyush. A speedy but thorough investigation followed. We determined that the CTO had shared his system password with one of his team members. That individual had used the password to manipulate security configurations and create a backdoor for his hacker friends to access our servers.

  They had been on the job for close to three hours before Devyani detected their presence. It took her some more time to nail it down and bring the incident to my notice. By that time, these hackers had had a party.

  They had intended to enter the payment gateway servers. This was one of our most secure datasets and had additional firewalls and security mechanisms with multiple authentication requirements. Their attempts to get into this data triggered an alarm that alerted Devyani. We were relieved to discover that the data was uncompromised, but the hackers had a field day with the other information they stole.

  Even though we had successfully contained the leak before significant damage was done, the incident upset our customers. The media picked up the news and our PR team had to spew media releases by the hour to handle the social media frenzy that resulted from this unsavoury publicity. Our chief technology officer and a few others were let go.

  Publically, IndeGen maintained that the hackers were outsiders, which was largely true. Even when top-ranking executives departed, we played down the role of IndeGeners in the whole incident. The reason for this was that the internal troublemaker was a board member’s son, and his father put tremendous pressure on other members to keep these facts out of the public domain.