by Piyush Jha
Virkar had found out that castor was grown in abundance in Andhra Pradesh, Gujarat, Orissa and Karnataka. The last bit of information was particularly interesting, since the vadapaowala had mentioned Nandu’s Kannadiga origins. But what did a young man from Karnataka have against a police officer from Mumbai? Why Akurle?
Nandu’s age indicated that he was probably just out of college, as did the fact that he was leaving his notes in old, metal compass boxes as a signature. Was there any significance in his use of the boxes? Or was it just a coincidence?
There was definitely no coincidence in his use of blood to write his notes. It indicated the strength of purpose in his obviously disturbed psyche. The blood had been analyzed and found to be human and of a common type, not providing much of a clue.
And then there was Dr Prabhat Bhandari. A search had thrown up four people with this name with the title ‘doctor’ living in Mumbai. Virkar had questioned all four but none had any knowledge of a young man from Karnataka harbouring a grudge against them. Virkar had wanted to put all four of them up at one place, in a hotel or a guest house, under his personal twenty-four-hour surveillance, but his boss had vetoed the idea. Instead, he had been instructed to put each of the four under standard police protection of a single police constable, but Virkar feared that it wouldn’t be an adequate deterrent to the determined and devious Nandu. Besides, was Nandu his real name?
As the hours passed, the confusion in Virkar’s mind only seemed to be rising as the bottles of beer and the Jhinga Koliwada finally started having an effect on his body. Lethargy crept into his muscles as the cool breeze lulled him into a sleepy haze. He picked up the icebox and kept it on the floor of the boat where he had earlier discarded the empty beer bottles and plastic bags. He stretched out on the bench, knowing that he had just a few hours before the Koli Queen turned around and deposited him back on shore. The last thought that popped into Virkar’s mind was that Nandu’s physical description and linguistic disposition combined with his superior scientific ability indicated that they were looking for a science or engineering graduate in Mumbai with his origins somewhere on the Maharashtra-Karnataka border. This profile narrowed the suspect list down to about a few hundred thousand young men. Virkar laughed out loud at his own predicament. Naseeb gandu toh kya karega Pandu! he thought as he surrendered to his fatigue and drifted off to sleep.
7
The killer opened the cheap, imitation leather briefcase that he was carrying and fished out a crisp visiting card. The neatly printed lettering on the visiting card didn’t reveal his real name, but identified him as Sandesh Jejurikar (BPharm), Medical Representative, Kirti Pharmaceuticals. The killer handed it over to Police Constable Rane who had asked for it.
Rane, a sprightly man with thinning hair and shrewd, pea-sized eyes, had been instructed to closely monitor all visitors to one of the Dr Prabhat Bhandaris on Virkar’s list. This particular doctor had a clinic at Framjee House, an old office building in the Dhobi Talao area of Mumbai. Rane had been handpicked by Virkar for this duty because he had, on many an occasion, displayed a keen sense of spotting potential troublemakers among mobs during riots. Like Virkar, Rane had been recently transferred to the Crime Branch from the Riot Control Police sub-unit, and was keen to prove his worth at his new job. He was diligently checking the identification of each and every visitor to Framjee House and had been especially strict with people who even remotely matched the police suspect Nandu’s description.
Rane studied the slim, dark, bespectacled man standing in front of him. He vaguely matched the police artist’s sketch, but then so had many other young men who had walked in and out of the busy commercial building since early business hours.
Rane’s suspicion radar was on as he scrutinized the visiting card in his hand. ‘Please show me the identity card issued from your company as well,’ he asked, keeping his tone casual. The killer opened his briefcase again and rummaged around in it. A small amount of nervousness had crept into his voice when he said, ‘What’s the matter, havaldar saheb? Why all this security?’ Rane did not answer but waited patiently, watching the killer’s face while he attempted to locate the ID card. The policeman tensed and slowly pulled himself to his full height, getting ready for action. But the killer simply pulled out a stiff laminated card dangling from a thin metal chain. ‘Ah, here it is,’ he said, holding it up in the air like a prize. Taking his time, he first shut his briefcase, placed it on the ground, stretched his limbs and yawned. By the time he handed his ID card to Rane, the policeman was at the end of his patience. Rane’s sharp eyes quickly focused on the gawky, laminated picture of the annoying man in front of him, squinting at the ID number embossed on the card that bore the logo of Kirti Pharmaceuticals and a rubber-stamped company seal. It looked authentic enough.
Rane scratched his left ear; he was still not completely satisfied with it. He knew that this kind of a card could easily be generated at the thousands of Xerox/DTP/Lamination shops that dotted the city. Rane then said, ‘Show me what’s inside your briefcase.’ The killer slowly lifted the case and opened it, turning it towards the Rane while making his reluctance evident. Rane paid him no mind and poked about in the briefcase. He found samples of medicines, company invoices, a boxed mobile phone and a steel tiffin, which, when opened, released a cloud of the rancid fumes of a long-devoured spicy meal.
Rane was still not happy. He now decided to use his secret weapon: a three-stage test that he had used on all the other men he had found suspicious. First, he called the receptionist at the clinic and asked her whether Dr Bhandari was expecting a medical representative (MR) from Kirti Pharmaceuticals. The receptionist confirmed that the doctor was indeed expecting an MR named Sandesh Jejurikar. Then Rane asked the killer to dial the boardline number of the offices of Kirti Pharmaceuticals. As soon as the number rang, Rane took the phone from the killer’s hand and spoke to the receptionist, enquiring whether they had an employee called Sandesh Jejurikar. Satisfied at the positive response from the receptionist, Rane thanked her and handed the phone back to the killer. Rane smirked to himself and employed stage three of his test, his most devious move yet. ‘Where is your native place, Jejurikar?’ he asked in Marathi.
The killer looked a little taken aback by the suddenness of the question but replied in fluent Marathi, ‘I’m from Jejuri, in Pune district.’
The constable raised a sly eyebrow. ‘Jejuri? Isn’t that where the samadhi of Sant Dnyaneshwar is?’
The killer answered in all earnestness. ‘No, saheb, that is Alandi. Jejuri has the Khandoba Temple.’
Finally satisfied, Rane broke into a smile. ‘Chalo, you can go on inside. The next time you are in your village temple, don’t forget to say a little prayer for my wellbeing.’
The killer smiled back good-naturedly and nodded. ‘Thank you, saheb. I will definitely try to remember.’ He lifted his briefcase and headed up the wooden stairs to the clinic on the third floor.
As he walked up, the killer smiled to himself, happy in the knowledge that, once again, a policeman had been no match for him. He suppressed a laugh at how he had played mind games with Rane. He had deliberately stalled when asked to produce his ID card and he had also injected enough nervousness into his voice for it to get noticed. Nervousness was a common reaction of lay people when confronted by policemen; in fact, if he had not shown any sign of nervousness, the canny Rane would have picked this up as a suspicious sign. The killer wondered if he should have toyed with Rane a little longer, but then felt that it was for the better that he had not. He didn’t have much time left for the task he had to perform now.
The killer reached his destination on the third floor and pushed open the opaque glass door in front of him on which the doctor’s name was written in paint. As he walked into the small reception area of Dr Prabhat Bhandari’s clinic, the receptionist, a wiry woman with henna-streaked hair, raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Sandesh Jejurikar?’ The killer nodded. The receptionist gave him an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, they are doing some ki
nd of security exercise down there.’ The killer just smiled back and shrugged.
The receptionist gestured towards a cabin. ‘Dr Bhandari is free now.’ The killer nodded his thanks, pushed open the cabin’s door and entered.
Inside, a grey-haired man with a French beard that made him look a little like the IT revolutionary, Sam Pitroda, looked up from a sheet he was scrutinizing. He smiled at his visitor. ‘Ah, you must be Jejurikar? So, what is this great promotional offer you told me about on the phone?’
8
The Bomb Detection and Disposal Squad of the Mumbai Police is a unique team of about 150 fearless men who continuously challenge death when they don their bomb suits, and with little else, go to work on something that can—literally—blow up in their faces. They do not have the safety of the sophisticated tools available to others in their profession around the world. In fact, theirs is a line of duty that depends on guts, keeping their wits intact…and sheer luck.
Today, while the bomb squad worked, the road across from Framjee House had been cleared and blocked and the entire area had been cordoned off for the fear of finding another explosive. Still, a pesky crowd of onlookers had gathered despite the police’s attempts at shooing them away. In fact, they were debating whether to lathi charge the crowd to disperse them but they had been given strict orders to exercise restraint by the police commissioner himself, who had passed by the site while on the way to his office nearby.
Virkar had been standing impatiently at the edge of the police cordon for the past hour, waiting for the bomb squad to finish its search. Earlier, he had spent almost two hours getting a complete update from Constable Rane, who had somehow also managed to cross-question Dr Bhandari’s hysterical receptionist. Virkar hadn’t liked the picture that had emerged. The suspect, Nandu, who had changed his identity to kill Dr Bhandari, was now going by the name Sandesh Jejurikar and had, in fact, far cleverer and deadlier intentions than Virkar could have ever imagined. The receptionist said that Jejurikar, posing as a pharmaceutical company’s sales representative, had entered Dr Bhandari’s room on the pretext of discussing a lucrative offer of receiving a free high-end mobile phone on the placement of an order with Kirti Pharmaceuticals. The receptionist added, in a querulous voice, that she knew about this because the man’s voice had been loud enough to be heard in the reception area.
Virkar had made a quick phone call to the CEO of Kirti Pharmaceuticals to confirm that such an offer had never existed. But there was an employee called Sandesh Jejurikar who had gone missing the day before. Virkar also found out that the physical description given by the CEO of his employee, Sandesh Jejurikar, didn’t match that of the young man who had entered Framjee House.
Now, while being jostled by a couple of thousand curious onlookers and the plethora of TV news reporters, Virkar was praying that luck would be on their side and no live explosive device would be found in Dr Prabhat Bhandari’s clinic.
As soon as he got the ‘all-clear’ signal from the chief of the bomb squad, Virkar rushed up to the third floor. He crossed his fingers, hoping against hope that he would not be welcomed with another cryptic message written in blood.
When he entered, the bomb squad officer gave him the thumbs up. ‘I’ve checked the whole place twice,’ he said. ‘No live IED and no compass box…’ He trailed off, noting the sudden discomfort on Virkar’s face. He quickly stepped away, fearing that Virkar’s stomach might react in response to the scenario in front of him—the effect of the single explosive device that had been used earlier in the day.
Dr Bhandari’s headless body was slumped on the chair before Virkar. His head had been torn away from his body and its contents generously deposited across the wall behind in a large spattering of blood and gore. Tearing his eyes away from the trickling blood and gristle on the wall, Virkar turned his attention back to the headless body. Surprisingly, the rest of his body was intact except for his right hand which hung limply by his side and ended in a bleeding stump, his palm and fingers having been blown away from the wrist.
Virkar willed himself not to throw up but his insides knotted in revulsion and anger—anger, as he knew that this gruesome murder could have been prevented if only his bosses had implemented his idea for a joint protection detail for the doctors rather than just posting a constable at their doors.
He turned his attention back to the bomb squad officer who nodded towards the fragments of the mobile phone collected in a tray. Virkar bent down and examined them closely.
‘Hmm…it looks like a small explosive was inserted into the phone which was detonated by a remote unit when Dr Bhandari started using it,’ Virkar thought out aloud.
The bomb squad officer shook his head. ‘It was the mobile phone that exploded, but I don’t think that there was an explosive inserted into it. Otherwise we would have immediately seen traces of the explosive chemical on the body as well as on the fragments of the phone.’ Virkar listened intently as the bomb squad officer continued. ‘It’s more likely that the suspect did something to the electronic circuitry and added a cheap duplicated battery rigged to explode by itself when the phone starts being used and heats up even a little. There have been cases where such a combination has led to extreme volatility.’
Virkar clicked his tongue in impatience. ‘How soon can you give me a full report?’ The bomb squad chief shrugged and pointed at the fragments. ‘I don’t know, saheb, since I don’t have much of the mobile phone left to inspect.’ Virkar threw him a frustrated look, and turned away to cast another glance at Dr Bhandari’s body that was now being photographed and examined by the medical examiners and the forensic team. ‘What I can tell you for sure is that the person who did this is an expert in technological matters and has a superb scientific brain,’ added the bomb squad officer with grudging admiration.
‘Hataa sawan ki ghataa, bhidu, kucch naya bataa,’ muttered Virkar to himself.
Suddenly, the sharp ringing of a mobile phone cut through the air of the now crowded room. Everyone froze. They looked at each other and then around them, half-expecting to find an unexploded mobile phone lying undetected somewhere. Virkar sheepishly pulled out the ringing phone from his pocket and held it up for all to see. The policemen went back to their respective work, tittering with embarrassment. Virkar’s phone flashed the Crime Branch headquarters’ number on its screen. Speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear, he remarked, ‘Apun log toh hain ghanti ke ghulam.’ Everyone in the room laughed out loud.
Virkar smiled and waved his hands to quieten the men as he took the call.
‘Hello?’ he said.
An on-duty sub-inspector gushed breathlessly into the phone. ‘Vir-Virkar saheb, a man calling himself Sandesh Jejurikar has just walked into the Tank Bunder Police Station with a compass box.’
9
Raashi and her cameraman were standing in front of the young, dazed-looking man who had identified himself as Sandesh Jejurikar and who looked as though he had spent a day rolling around in a grass patch. Raashi’s mike was hovering near his face in an attempt to catch any sort of coherent sound bite. ‘How did you get the compass box?’ she asked the young man for the umpteenth time. She had been quite patient until now, but was slowly realizing that she may not get anything out of the man who still seemed to be under the influence of some drug. Raashi also kept an eye on the entrance of the Tank Bunder Police Station, half-expecting to see the swarthy Inspector Virkar come tearing through it and putting an end to the exposé she had managed to bribe her way into. She had offered a reward to any informer who would let her know anything about the case that had been kept tightly under wraps so far.
Raashi’s desperate attempt had paid off and a quick call had brought her running to the police station, baying for her Breaking News. ‘Please…tell me something…anything…about yourself.’ The desperation that could now be heard in her voice surprisingly had its effect. The young man began to speak in a halting voice. He talked about his childhood—growing up in the temple town of Jejuri
in the Pune district; how he had studied hard and prayed to Khandoba every day to get him into University of Pune’s BPharm course; how he had come to Mumbai and got his first job at Kirti Pharmaceuticals; how he was the star performer in his department, etcetera.
Raashi gritted her teeth with impatience. She wanted to cut short the babbling barrage of useless information but decided to let him get warmed up before steering him towards what she really wanted to know. Suddenly, a familiar booming voice cut through the young man’s prattle. ‘What’s going on?’
Before Raashi could react, Sandesh was pulled away into the interrogation room by the two flustered-looking constables who had earlier generously given her the access she had desired. No stranger to quickly changing scenarios, the sharp-witted Raashi immediately turned her mike and cameraman towards Inspector Virkar. She didn’t want to lose this opportunity to grill the man who had brushed her off at their last meeting.
‘Inspector Virkar, another compass box has been found and the man who has brought it in has no idea where he got it from. What do you have to say about this?’
Virkar’s voice cut through Raashi’s shrill pitch. ‘Have you seen the compass box?’ he asked, shooting her a pointed look.
Raashi stuttered a quick, ‘No.’
‘Then how can you be sure that such a compass box exists?’ asked Virkar dismissively.
‘I have been informed by reliable sources,’ Raashi shot back.
‘Acchha…so tell me, who are your sources, madam? Let me also see how reliable they are.’
Raashi flushed. ‘I cannot reveal my sources.’
Virkar cocked an eyebrow at her and smiled. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you. You have saved them from losing their jobs. Now if you will excuse me, I have to do mine.’
Raashi knew that she was checkmated, but flung a last barb at the departing Virkar. ‘We’ll see how good you are at yours. We are watching and waiting…and so is the public.’ Virkar let that one bounce off his back as he strode into the interrogation room. Raashi turned to the camera. ‘That was Inspector Virkar, who is rumoured to be responsible for the many slip-ups that have made this case more difficult than it really is. We shall be talking to his superiors at the Crime Branch to seek absolute clarity on the issue. With camera person Raju Bhonsale, this is Raashi Hunerwal for Crime Update.’