Chapter 65
“HELLO.”
Maya Gandhe stood at the school gates, her school bag slung over her shoulder, a copy of her essay in one hand and her prize, an iPad, in the other. Heena was late but let’s face it, Heena was always late and, on this occasion at least, Maya didn’t really care. Friends filed past her on their way to school buses or for lifts home, teachers inched past in their cars, and every single one of them gave her a wave and a smile.
This is what it’s like to be famous, thought Maya. Being new at school had been hard—she and her mother had only lived in Delhi for three months—but now it was as though everybody knew who she was; as though she were a friend to them all.
And that, decided Maya Gandhe, was a great feeling, especially when it was earned—a result of her essay proposing, or at least arguing in favor of, a fairer health care system for all. People didn’t know her name because she was good at sport or pretty or any of the normal, boring reasons. They knew her name because she’d used her brain.
Mom would be proud, she knew. Very proud. And Dad? Well, wasn’t that funny. It wasn’t as if she’d stopped thinking about Dad. More that the thought of him had temporarily changed. Instead of his absence being like a darkness, it was as though he was looking down on her.
Looking down on her and smiling. Proud.
And now Mr. Roy, the Principal Secretary, the very man who had commended her on her essay and presented her with her iPad, had drawn up in his Audi, the window purring down.
“Hello, Maya.”
He didn’t have a very nice face. It was as though the smile he wore didn’t quite fit, but even so, it was Amit Roy, and he was … well, he was important.
“Are you waiting for a lift?” he said brightly, like someone trying really hard to be friendly.
“My nanny’s coming.”
He looked around. The crowds had thinned out. They were now the only people at the school gates. “It doesn’t look like she’s here.”
“Oh, she’s always late,” shrugged Maya.
“Why don’t I give you a lift?”
“Oh …” faltered Maya, “I’m not allowed …”
“Of course. Of course not, Maya.” He smiled his awkward smile. “Very sensible indeed. But you see, that puts me in a very difficult position, because I can’t in all good conscience leave you standing here. And besides, I was rather hoping you could read me your essay.”
“But haven’t you read it?”
His smile faltered a little, and later she would remember that moment, and think it was the moment his mask slipped. But for the time being nothing could ruin her sunny mood, and in a blink his smile had returned. “Ah, but I’d like a personal reading from the author, especially one whose ideals are so close to my heart.”
And so it was flattery that compelled Maya to get into the passenger seat of the Audi. That and the assurance that they would encounter Heena on the way.
He drove, taking directions from Maya and talking at the same time. “Remind me of the title of your essay?” he said.
“‘Health Care, Fair and Square?’” she answered proudly.
“Exactly. I was impressed to read such an egalitarian treatise from such a young mind.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what egalitarian means. Or treatise,” she said.
“It means you have a very fair mind,” he explained. “It means you believe everybody should have equal rights, regardless of their status in society, young or old, rich or poor.”
“I do,” she said boldly.
“And you get that from your parents, do you?”
“Yes,” she said, and pictured them together, Mama and Papa, feeling a great rush of love for them that threatened to bring her to tears right there and then.
“They must be very proud. What a shame they couldn’t make the prizegiving. Perhaps they will be at home, will they?”
“Later on, my mom will get home. Not my dad.”
“I see.”
The car slowed. “Do you know,” said Roy, “I seem to be more familiar with this area than I thought. I could take a right turn here and get you home more quickly.”
Maya was nervous about the idea and was about to say so when she caught sight of Heena on the street and before Roy could stop her was lowering the window and calling out to her.
From the corner of her eye she caught sight of the expression on Roy’s face.
That mask slipping again.
Chapter 66
THE LIEUTENANT GOVERNOR, Ram Chopra, was sweating ferociously on his treadmill, feeling every single cigar and glass of whisky. God, these workouts hurt.
He was watching TV at the same time. Carrot and Stick, and Ajoy Guha was warming up for a sensational disclosure. Referring to notes through wire-framed glasses, Guha wore a determined look, like that of a soldier prepared to die in battle.
The words “Viewer discretion is advised” scrolled across the foot of the screen.
Oh yes, thought Chopra. What’s all this then?
Guha cleared his throat and said, “We at DETV have always believed in the primacy of the truth, no matter how it may affect anyone. Today we bring you footage that we have accessed through a source that shall remain unnamed for reasons of security. The footage is explosive, and we have had to blur out and mute portions of it in order to play it on national television. The person shown in the video is Mr. Amit Roy, the Health Secretary. Ladies and gentlemen, this is a man responsible not only for our hospitals and hygiene but also for the welfare of families. What you are about to see will shock you, and indeed you should not only be shocked but also outraged. I for one am absolutely sickened by it.”
The studio and Guha’s blue jacket and red tie disappeared from view and a video of Roy sitting on a bed inside a small room appeared. He seemed to be ripping the clothes from a frightened little girl and forcing her to sit on his lap.
Chopra watched, and then switched off the TV. He stopped the treadmill, reached for his phone.
“Sharma,” he said a moment later, “were you watching Carrot and Stick?”
The police chief chuckled. “I was indeed.”
“I take it that Guha’s informant is you?”
“And I take it that the next call you make will be to Jaswal?”
“I’m glad you’re on my side, Sharma,” said Chopra.
Sharma laughed some more. “In the meantime, I’ll see to it that Roy is arrested, shall I?”
Chopra thought. “Yes, but wait an hour or so, would you?”
“And why would I want to do that?”
Chopra draped a towel around his shoulders, using a corner to wipe sweat from his brow. “Well, what would you do in Roy’s position?”
“Me?” said Sharma. “I’m no pedophile.”
Chopra sighed. “No, Sharma, I know you’re not, but just for a second try stepping outside your own rather limited mind and using something we like to call deduction, or imagination, if you prefer. What would you do if you were a pedophile who had just been exposed? If you were Amit Roy.”
“I’d kill myself.”
“Exactly. And it might just be more convenient for all concerned if he were to do exactly that. Let’s give him time to fall on his sword, shall we?”
“Consider it delayed,” said Sharma. “By the way, while you’re on the phone: Kumar.”
Chopra grinned. “The dear departed Kumar, may he rest in piss.”
Sharma sniggered. “The very same. You asked me to look into his interest in the Greater Kailash house, remember? Why he wanted the whole thing hushed up? Well, I’ve done as you asked, and it looks as though he may have been on the periphery of something going on at the hospitals.”
“He was the Minister for Health and Family Welfare. You’d expect him to be slap bang in the middle of everything going on at the hospitals.”
“Without spelling it out on an open line, I’m talking about something on the side—something with corpses as the end result. A certain donation enter
prise, shall we say. You’re aware he didn’t really commit suicide, I take it?”
“It’s the worst-kept secret in the city. I’m told that social media is having a field day with the deaths of Kumar and Patel. All kinds of conspiracy theories. They were lovers, is the latest one.”
“Naturally,” growled Sharma. “But even a stopped clock tells the right time twice a day, and it seems that Kumar and Patel may have had a financial relationship. Now, of course, I’d be willing to pursue this on the off chance that it leads right to the door of Jaswal, but I have a feeling that you, too, had certain business dealings with Patel of Surgiquip.”
Chopra slumped on the bars of his treadmill. Why the fuck is it these things always come to haunt you? “I may have had, yes,” he hissed, without wanting to say more on the phone. “What of it?”
“Well, your name can be linked to the house at Greater Kailash. You can be connected to Patel. You don’t want to find yourself ending up as collateral damage if and when the details of their little side business come out, do you?”
“Of course not.”
“So we can’t just start making arrests. You see what I mean?”
“I see what you mean. And thank you for your counsel, Commissioner.”
“It’s my pleasure. And going forward?”
Chopra draped the towel over his head and stepped off the treadmill. “Going forward, I plan to make life hard for Jaswal. And as far as you’re concerned, if you could continue with—discreet—investigations into what the fuck our friends with scalpels are up to, that would be very much appreciated too.”
He ended the call. Collected himself. Thanked God again that Sharma was on his side.
Then dialed Jaswal.
“What do you want?” came the reply, loaded with enough venom to make Chopra’s next question redundant.
“I was just wondering if you’d seen Carrot and Stick this evening?”
“What do you want, Chopra?” came the even more bile-filled reply.
“Well, given that you appointed a pedophile as Health Secretary, what I want is for you to tender your resignation immediately.”
Chapter 67
“WHAT A LOVELY apartment,” said Roy, stepping inside. Maya skipped ahead happily; the childminder, Heena—a dried-up, middle-aged shrew if ever he’d seen one—was fixing him with the latest in a series of disapproving looks as she moved to switch on the radio and start making tea.
I’m going to have to do something about that bitch.
“Well, thank you very much for seeing us home, Mr. Roy,” she was saying, trying to get rid of him, dismiss him as if he was the hired help. “I’m sure we needn’t take up any more of your valuable time.”
“Oh, there’s no rush,” he said to her. “I’m very keen to hear our little social healer read me her essay.”
“Oh, I’m sure that can be arranged at another time, Mr. Roy,” said the middle-aged shrew, adding pointedly, “when her mother, an ex-police officer, is present.”
His phone was ringing. A text message arrived. And then another one. He pulled the handset from his trouser pocket and stared at the screen, blanching. “You’re on the news,” said one text. He dismissed an incoming call, but another one came. Another text message. This one said, “Die, pedo.” Another that said, “You better run.”
They know, he thought. The whole world knows.
And it wasn’t despondency or shame he felt, but once again a kind of exaltation. He knew now that he would need the sleeping pills he’d kept for an occasion such as this, because there was no way he could live in a society that despised his kind. But even so, he greeted the thought of his death, not with fear or resignation, but with a serenity. His suicide would not be a passing so much as an ascendancy. He would rise. His tormented soul would finally be at peace.
His being filled with joy at the thought, he failed to notice what was happening in the apartment. The news was on the radio, the lead item was the very public disgrace of Amit Roy, and the first he knew of it was Heena shrieking, “Maya, get out of here now!”
Roy came back to himself. He saw Maya come flying from her bedroom into the front room, a worried look on her face. “Heena, what’s wrong?”
“We’ve got to get out of here—he’s a monster.”
“Wait,” he said, rounding on Heena. “There’s been a terrible mistake.”
“You can tell that to the police. Maya, come over here, sweetheart, stay with me.”
“No,” said Roy. He advanced on Heena, who pulled Maya to her, placing herself between Maya and Roy as he moved toward them.
“You stay away from me,” she warned.
But her voice shook and she was stepping backward, going into the kitchen.
“I can explain,” said Roy, “really I can. You don’t need to be afraid, either of you.”
He snatched a knife from the knife block. Flipped it to hold overhand.
“Get away,” screeched Heena, and she too tried to reach for a weapon, grabbing blindly for something, anything, from the counter, protecting Maya to the last, keeping herself between the man and his prey.
Even when Roy buried the knife in her chest.
Her mouth dropped open. Roy pulled the knife free with a wrench and then stabbed again, pitilessly, enjoying the pain and defeat in his victim’s eyes, her lungs filling with blood, her eyeballs rolling back.
“Don’t worry, Maya,” he called over the loud gurgling sound Heena made as he stabbed her a third time—feeling blood drizzle his face, Heena dropping to her knees before him. “Don’t worry, my darling.”
Chapter 68
THE AUDIO OF Guha’s Carrot and Stick program was played on radio stations belonging to DETV. Nisha heard it in Neel’s Toyota as they rushed toward Delhi Memorial Hospital to find Santosh.
“Is everything all right?” asked Neel.
“No …” said Nisha distantly, thinking. “It’s just that Roy was supposed to have been in Maya’s school earlier today, awarding a prize for the essay competition.”
“I’m sure she’ll be okay,” said Neel.
“Can’t hurt to be sure,” said Jack.
She checked her watch. Maya should have reached home by now. But when she called there was no answer. She tried Heena’s cell phone, then Maya’s. Neither answered.
She told herself it was nothing. A coincidence.
Ten minutes later they screeched to a halt in front of the Delhi Memorial Hospital. Jack and Neel rushed inside, making a beeline for the morgue while Nisha clambered into the driver’s seat to park the car.
She steered one-handed, trying Heena’s and Maya’s numbers.
She needed to know her little girl was safe.
Chapter 69
JACK AND NEEL bypassed the elevators and took the stairs to the morgue in the hospital basement. The autopsy room and the refrigeration chamber were lined with gurneys, on each of them a covered body.
Jack held his kerchief to his nose as the stench hit him but his experience with corpses made Neel oblivious, and he began drawing down sheets to see the bodies beneath, moving quickly from one to the other until an orderly came running over. “Hey! Who are you?” he demanded. “You’re not allowed in here.”
Jack turned to him. “Does a thousand rupees change your mind?”
The attendant looked wily. “It might.”
“Good.” Jack reached for his wallet. “Then how about I give you a thousand now and another thousand when we leave just to make sure we’re given the executive treatment. And if you wouldn’t mind keeping anything you see to yourself, that would do nicely too.”
With a nod the assistant pocketed the cash and stepped aside.
In the meantime, Neel had finished checking the gurneys. “He’s not here.”
“Must be in the refrigeration chamber,” said Jack, motioning Neel to follow him through a door leading to the freezing units. One by one they tried the drawers, until they found what they were looking for.
Chapter 70
Nisha cursed herself for not being around for her poor baby. She narrowly missed a pedestrian who was crossing the street without bothering to look left or right, and slammed her hand on the horn to let him know he was a prick. She pressed her foot on the gas and broke two red signals along the way.
“I feel so lonely. You’re always working. But at least when you were late, it was Dad who would tuck me into bed. Now there’s only Heena in the house. The apartment feels so cold and empty.”
But then again, wasn’t she overreacting? Forming worst-case scenarios when she had no reason to be so fearful? Roy might be a predatory pedophile, but he wouldn’t be the first and he certainly wouldn’t be the last to visit a school. The simple fact of him presenting a prize at Maya’s school meant nothing.
And yet Nisha couldn’t lose the nagging feeling that something was wrong, something was seriously wrong. Why weren’t they answering their phones? And if she was overreacting? Well, she’d laugh about it later. Call it motherly concern. What were a few red traffic lights when you were worried for the most important person in your life?
The Toyota tires complained as she pulled into the parking area in front of her block. Dark now, most of the apartment lights were on but not hers. Both units on either side of her ground-floor apartment were lit up. Hers was dark.
Heart hammering, telling herself that maybe Heena had taken Maya out for an ice cream, maybe the two of them were paying a friend a visit—still desperate to be worrying unnecessarily—Nisha crashed out of the car, leaving the driver’s door open as she fumbled with her keys and almost collided with her own front door.
It was open. On contact it creaked slowly inward and maybe it was a smell, maybe it was just gut instinct, a mother’s instinct, but she knew something was wrong, and never in her life had she wished so much for a gun in her hand.
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