by Piyush Jha
The doctor straightened his reed-thin body in his chair and scrunched his middle-aged forehead, as if trying to get his eyebrows to meet his receding hairline. His frog eyes stared into the distance while Virkar studied him closely. Finally, when he stirred, Virkar concentrated on Dr Tupe’s body language rather than his words. ‘As far as I remember, she was declared dead on arrival and taken straight to the morgue,’ said the doctor, blinking his eyes rapidly and scratching his head. ‘Tch…so beautiful, so young…her face was smashed beyond recognition.’ He shook his head a little too vigorously at the last bit.
He’s definitely hiding something, thought Virkar as he sipped the tea served to him by an orderly. Virkar looked around the cramped room as if there were hidden clues calling out to him. He replayed the events of the morning in his head.
As a result of Raashi’s early morning phone calls, Dr Tupe had been expecting them when they had arrived. ‘I was surprised to hear about your documentary film on dead bodies. We don’t get many dead people in Khandala,’ he had smiled as he shook hands with them.
Virkar had caught on to Raashi’s lie and glanced at her from the corner of his eyes.
‘Thanks for agreeing to meet us at such short notice, Dr Tupe,’ she said, suppressing a smile. ‘Well, the documentary film is more about the history of dead bodies in old morgues.’
Dr Tupe’s smile widened. ‘Oh, yes! Now I understand. Our morgue is very old. Established during the British era. They loved to come and die here.’ Raashi flashed him a broad smile acknowledging his dark joke. He smiled back, pleased with himself. This was probably the closest the doctor had ever got to celebrity, however minor, in his staid existence in Khandala, Virkar thought to himself.
‘Um…can we take a look at it? The morgue?’ Raashi asked.
‘Sure, sure…no problem.’ Dr Tupe then led them to the small morgue at the back of the hospital.
Outside the morgue, a khaki-clad man was lounging on a wooden bench, smoking a beedi. ‘This is Bhoir, our morgue attendant,’ said the doctor. Although a sudden visit by the chief of the hospital should have surprised him, Bhoir casually stubbed out the strong-smelling beedi. Placing the stubbed end carefully in his uniform shirt pocket, he continued to sit on the bench by the entrance as if he had no visitors in his midst. ‘Bhoir has been here for over twenty years. Not many people want to work in a morgue, even if it is in a beautiful place like Khandala.’ Dr Tupe smiled, but this time Raashi didn’t smile back at his limp joke, causing the doctor to self-consciously clear his throat. ‘I’ll be in my office. Please join me for a cup of tea later,’ he said, excusing himself and leaving them in Bhoir’s care.
Bhoir reluctantly rose to give them the grand tour of the bare fifteen feet by fifteen feet room, where there was not much to see except old metal stretchers with large aluminium trays lying by their side. ‘For keeping ice slabs. We don’t have ACs,’ he explained, noticing Raashi’s curious expression. In a corner lay an old, body-sized freezer connected to a portable generator. It looked as if it had been modified from a freezer discarded by an icecream shop. Pointing at it, Bhoir spat out, ‘That’s for the VIPs.’
Virkar used this as a conversation starter. ‘So, have you seen many dead VIPs in your twenty years here?’
Bhoir gave him a laconic smile. ‘Just about two or three, saheb. VIP tourists don’t stay in Khandala long enough to die.’
Virkar ignored Bhoir’s attempt at replacing his boss as the resident joker and asked, ‘Seen many foreigners?’
‘A few,’ Bhoir shrugged.
‘What about a foreign woman? About nine years back? Tracy Barton?’
Bhoir’s expression suddenly became guarded. ‘Mala kahitari mahiti nai, saheb, I don’t know anything,’ he said while reaching for the beedi in his pocket, lighting it quickly and clamping it between his teeth, signalling the end of the morgue tour. But Virkar continued to walk around the morgue, poking into its nooks and crannies. He didn’t find anything but he kept at it till a call from Dr Tupe had made it impossible to continue without being absolutely disrespectful to his host.
Now, as they sat sipping tea in Dr Tupe’s chamber, Virkar was determined to find out what he and his morgue attendant were hiding. He decided to dispense with the niceties and come straight to the point.
‘So, Dr Tupe, you knew Tracy Barton before she died?’
Dr Tupe blanched. ‘No, no, I didn’t. I didn’t know her at all, but I… The first time I came to know of her was when they brought in her body.’ He licked his lips and his gaze slid away, refusing to meet Virkar’s.
‘Hmm…so how did you ascertain that it was her if her face was unrecognizable?’ asked the Inspector, starting to enjoy the doctor’s obvious discomfort.
Dr Tupe opened and shut his mouth like a fish gasping for water. ‘I… It was a long time ago. I don’t remember what our staff doctors did nine years ago to establish her identity.’ He fell silent but realized that Virkar was not satisfied with his response.
Raashi, who had been silent until now, spoke up. ‘So you don’t really know too much about Tracy’s case?’
Somewhat relieved, Dr Tupe turned to her. ‘Yes, you’re right. I was only the deputy then, and all the high profile cases were handled by my boss, Dr Bhandari.’
Virkar raised an eyebrow. ‘Dr Prabhat Bhandari?’ He shot a glance at Raashi who returned his look with a non-committal shrug.
‘Yes, he personally performed the postmortem on Tracy Barton’s body,’ said Tupe, relieved at the change in the line of questioning.
‘Do you know that Dr Bhandari was recently killed in Mumbai?’ Virkar asked, looking at him pointedly.
‘Yes,’ nodded Dr Tupe. ‘Very sad!’ Suddenly realizing that this was the same way he had reacted to Tracy’s death, he looked away sheepishly and began to shuffle some papers on his desk. It was an indication to his visitors that he had other things that demanded his attention than a nine-year-old case of a foreigner who had died in Khandala.
But Virkar didn’t back down. ‘Do you think Tracy Barton’s accident and Dr Bhandari’s death could be linked?’
A thin layer of sweat had begun to form on Dr Tupe’s forehead, but he replied in a steady voice, ‘I’m just a local doctor who got a job in this hospital by chance. I’m only interested in doing my job and going home, sir. I wasn’t even interested in becoming the chief here till Dr Bhandari resigned from government service and set up his own practice in Mumbai.’
‘How long ago was that?’ Virkar asked.
‘Around nine years ago.’
Virkar lowered his voice to a menacing tone. ‘Tracy Barton died around nine years ago—don’t you think that’s a strange coincidence?’
Dr Tupe now pulled himself together. ‘Look, what’s all this about? I was told that this was an unofficial visit about a documentary film on old morgues…’ He glanced at Raashi for confirmation but she was busy observing her nail polish.
Virkar nodded and rose from his chair. ‘Thank you, Dr Tupe. You’ve been very helpful…with the research on our doc.’ The joke was not lost on his host who gaped but extended a limp and clammy hand towards Virkar who shook it firmly. Raashi, too, got up, slightly surprised by Virkar’s sudden decision to leave. She followed him out of the room.
The Khandala Government Hospital lay on a small hillock overlooking the picturesque valley below with a spectacular view in all directions. But on the way to his parked Bullet, all Virkar could think of was how he could extract the information he was sure Dr Tupe was hiding.
Raashi, who had been walking next to him looking thoughtful, finally said, ‘So, this was a dead end. Now what?’
Virkar started the Bullet. ‘Now we shall have brunch,’ he said, signalling her to climb on to the back seat.
27
The Chicken Satellite Sizzler crackled in front of Raashi, reflecting her volatile mood. Virkar and she were seated at a table on the terrace of the open-air Monkey Hill Restaurant. From their vantage point they had a spectacu
lar view of the hillside that they had made their way down from. In front of them lay the lazy stretch of road that wound all the way back up to the government hospital. The Monkey Hill Restaurant was known for its spicy sizzlers as well as for the monkeys who frequented the terrace for scraps of food. In fact, the restaurant had shut down for a couple of years because a monkey had bit a lady while she was lunching. It had only reopened because the new management ensured that well-equipped attendants sporting thick bamboo sticks kept the macaques at bay while the patrons partook of their meals. Virkar had brought Raashi to the Monkey Hill Restaurant promising to review their visit to the hospital, but all he had done since they had taken their seats was to discuss the menu in depth! Every time Raashi tried to broach the subject of the hospital, Virkar quickly sidestepped the issue.
As the sizzle on her plate died down and the Chicken Satellite cooled down enough to eat, Raashi brought it up once again. ‘So…what’s your verdict on Dr Tupe?
In response to her query, Virkar picked up a few French fries drenched in melted cheese and pepper sauce. Popping them into his mouth, he masticated slowly, savoring the succulent juices as if they were tantalizing his palette.
Raashi’s mouth twitched impatiently at the corners. She expressed her frustration by stabbing a still sizzling piece of chicken hard with her fork. But her action only drew a placatory response from Virkar; between mouthfuls, he spoke a muffled sentence that sounded like, ‘We’ll speak after we finish eating.’ He picked up the fork and knife and began to cut a piece of his sizzler with the extra caution common among people who are uncomfortable using cutlery. A small smile of amusement crept to the corner of Raashi’s mouth. She picked up her fork and knife and sliced her chicken steak with the ease of an expert. She saw Virkar following her hand orchestrations with interest. As his eyes connected with hers, a hint of embarrassment rippled across his face. Raashi popped a small piece of the chicken in her mouth, enjoying her victory, however small it was.
Virkar, in fact, was not looking at her but at something moving far away along the winding road that lay in front of them. While Raashi enjoyed her meal, Virkar peered over her shoulder at the moving object that turned out to be a man riding a bicycle. He smiled on seeing the approaching figure. All of a sudden, he spat out the contents of his mouth into his plate, making a loud belching sound.
‘Eww…!’ said Raashi and shrank back in her chair. She threw Virkar a disgusted look and sprang away from the table.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Virkar apologized, grabbing his plate and handing it over to a waiter. ‘It must be because of that brandy I drank last night; I had a feeling it wasn’t good.’
Raashi shrugged and said nothing but Virkar knew that she was repulsed by his uncouth upchucking.
Virkar got up, looking embarrassed. ‘Please excuse me while I visit the washroom.’ Clutching his stomach, he rushed towards the men’s toilets at the back of the restaurant. Watching him go, Raashi signalled the waiter to take her plate away too and asked for a coffee instead. She had lost her appetite.
Meanwhile, Virkar had walked past the gents toilets and exited through a small door that led to the back of the restaurant. He quickly crossed a small compound, heading towards the barbed wire fencing that separated it from the forest land along the hillside. He ducked through a gap in the barbed wire and made his way through the trees that lay beyond. Virkar soon found himself on one side of the winding road. Positioning himself behind a grassy mound that hung just above the road, he waited, watching the road. A few minutes later, the same cyclist came into Virkar’s line of vision. He tensed. Waiting till the cyclist was right below the grassy mound, he jumped and landed on top of the rider, who lost his balance and fell hard on the road. Before the man could figure out what was happening, Virkar dragged him by the scruff of his neck behind the grassy mound. Leaving him lying there still dazed, Virkar ran back on to the road, plucked the fallen bicycle off the road and hid it behind the grassy mound, away from the prying eyes of nosy onlookers.
The cyclist was now coming to his senses. Virkar sat down in front of him and said in a low, menacing tone, ‘Bhoir, now tell me what you know about Tracy Barton’s body. You’ve got two minutes before I drag you and your cycle across to the other side of the hill and throw you into the valley.’
Bhoir began to stammer. ‘Pl—please, saheb, I was not a part of it. I was ju—just paid 25,000 rupees to keep my mouth shut.’
The menace in Virkar’s voice grew. ‘You have one minute to open that shut mouth.’
Bhoir swallowed hard. ‘Someone strangled her with their bare hands after sex, saheb,’ he half-whispered, unwilling to meet Virkar’s gaze.
‘Was she raped?’
‘No, it wasn’t forced sex.’
‘Who told you that?’
Bhoir hesitated, but Virkar’s resounding slap across his cheek got him talking again. ‘Dr Tupe told me. He was on duty when they brought in the body. While they were busy doing the paperwork, he quickly examined the body.’
‘Who are “they”? What paperwork?’ barked Virkar.
‘Inspector Akurle and Dr Bhandari, saheb. They brought her in and prepared the accident report.’
‘What happened then?’
‘I was called in. I stored the body in the VIP freezer. The next day, some Christian man called Colasco came from Mumbai and took the body away. I don’t know where.’
Virkar was quiet for a few seconds, letting the information sink in.
‘Please, saheb, I’m a poor man,’ begged Bhoir, falling at Virkar’s feet. Tears streamed down his cheeks. ‘Tupe saheb and I were forced to take part in it. We were threatened and told to keep our mouths shut. They promised to take care of us if we did. They kept their promise. Tupe saheb got the chief’s job and I got my 25,000 rupees.’ Bhoir paused and added in a low voice, ‘I’ll return the money to them if you tell me to.’
Virkar stood up and brushed off Bhoir who was still clinging to his feet. ‘Bhoir, you can go now. If you tell anyone about this conversation, I’ll come to your morgue and lock you alive in your VIP freezer, understood?’
Virkar turned and ran into the foliage. Making his way through the barbed wire, he went back to the gents toilet. He quickly splashed water on his face and wiped himself down with a hand towel. Feeling pleased that everything had gone according to plan, he turned to head back to the terrace. Suddenly, he noticed a small tear in his cotton pants near his knees. The sharp edge of the bicycle pedal had nicked him as he had jumped on Bhoir, opening up a bloody gash. ‘Aai cha gho!’ Virkar swore as he dabbed the wound with some toilet paper and then made his way to the terrace.
Raashi looked at her watch as she saw him approaching. ‘It’s been twenty minutes since you’ve been gone! Hope…umm…your stomach is not giving you too much trouble.’
Virkar suddenly remembered his ‘throwing up’ incident and went red in the face. ‘Ah, no, no. It’s all right, thankfully. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I…umm…fell in the toilet. The floor was slippery.’ He showed her his wound.
‘Oh dear, that needs to be taken care of,’ said Raashi, looking at him with concern.
‘It’s okay. Let’s head back to Katrak Villa. I’ll get some first aid there.’
He gestured towards the waiter.
‘No worries, I’ve already paid the bill,’ said Raashi. ‘I’m ready to leave.’
‘Then let’s do that,’ said Virkar, leading her off the terrace towards his Bullet. As he rode past the grassy mound, Virkar scanned the surroundings and smiled to himself. Bhoir was nowhere to be seen.
28
‘Ahh!’ The tincture of iodine stung badly as Raashi dabbed it on to Virkar’s wound with a cotton swab. Virkar cursed Pesi Katrak under his breath for handing the tincture of iodine to Raashi as the best solution for wounds. As with everything else in Katrak Villa, the medicines in its first aid kit were also frozen in time. The world had moved on to soft, soothing antiseptic Band-Aids while people like Pesi were
still using the dark liquid favoured by their grandfathers.
Raashi dabbed the solution on to the wound one final time and then dumped the bloody cotton swab into a dustbin. As she began to tidy up, Virkar sat up on his bed, watching her. He was feeling foolish sitting in a pair of old cargo shorts borrowed from Pesi. Raashi had assumed the role of his nurse and insisted that his wound needed to stay open while being treated. Since the only other garment he had was a pair of full-length jeans, he had used this as a convenient way out to refuse her treatment. But when she began to throw around words like ‘septic’ and ‘tetanus’, he had reluctantly agreed to play the wounded soldier and had ended up wearing Pesi’s cargoes, since it was either that or his underwear.
Having finished playing nurse, Raashi dragged the wooden chair towards the bed, placing it as close as possible to where Virkar was reclining. She sat down squarely and faced him.
‘So, Inspector. Are you going to tell me what Bhoir said to you?’ she asked with a straight face.
Virkar didn’t have time to be stunned as Raashi continued almost in the same breath, ‘Just how many times are you going to test my skills, Inspector?’
Virkar felt a grudging admiration for her building up inside him. She’s good. Almost as good as me. But, how did she…?
As though reading his mind, Raashi showed him the pair of compact pocket binoculars that she had taken out from her purse and he immediately understood. ‘After you left, all I had to do was to use this little baby to spot Bhoir on his bicycle and I knew where you had gone. When you came back with your wound…’ Raashi gave an all-knowing shrug.
Ankh khuli andhe ki, toh vaat lagi dhande ki, thought Virkar. He wondered where to begin, and then decided to go with the hard facts. ‘Tracy Barton was murdered by the Smooth Operator.’
His bland statement did not change the set expression on Raashi’s face.
‘And you’ve drawn this conclusion from the information Bhoir gave you?’ she asked in a flat tone.