A Cut-Like Wound

by Anita Nair

  The other customers had looked up in shock. The chefs came to the kitchen doors. The other waiters stopped in their path. The manager came running. ‘What’s the problem, sir?’

  ‘He made a pass at me. This fucking homo made a pass at me!’ the man ranted. ‘I came in here thinking this is a respectable place. But it’s just a whorehouse for gays…’

  ‘Sir, sir!’ The manager plucked at his sleeve. ‘Please, sir!’ He gestured furiously to Mohan to get out of the man’s sight.

  The man was placated. The rest of the customers returned to their dinner. And Mohan was fired.

  ‘I didn’t do anything, sir,’ Mohan pleaded.

  But the manager was firm. ‘This isn’t like breaking a stack of plates or getting an order wrong. I don’t want to know whether you were at fault or not. I just don’t want you here. You can collect your salary and leave.’

  And so, at half past nine, Mohan was out of work. As he left the restaurant for good, a violent rage coursed through him. An internal combustion that made him want to push himself to his limits. He wasn’t a bloody homo, he wasn’t one. He would find a woman, a whore if necessary, and fuck her brains out. He was a man; a proper red-blooded male.

  He took a bus, not caring where it went. When it got to a traffic signal near Ramamurthy Nagar, he got out and began walking down the service road that ran alongside the Outer Ring Road. A can of diet Coke lay on its side. He kicked at it furiously. It sailed through the air and landed a few feet ahead, near an intersection where a small lane opened onto the service road. He walked towards it. A woman stepped out of the shadows and began walking alongside. ‘Are you alone?’ she asked softly.

  Mohan muttered, ‘We are all alone.’

  ‘You are upset,’ she said. ‘I can see you are very disturbed.’

  ‘What is it to you?’ he snapped. ‘Go away and leave me alone. You’ll walk with me now and ten minutes later, you’ll be screaming rape! Just go.’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ she said. ‘I can see you are hurting. I know how to make you feel better.’

  In the pool of light from a street lamp, he turned to look at her. She wasn’t bad looking at all. In fact, she was pretty. Then it struck him that something was amiss. What he saw was a man dressed as a woman. Well, if that was how he got his kicks, Mohan didn’t mind. He just wanted to fuck and this creature before him was willing.

  ‘Do you have a place to go to?’ he asked.

  She smiled. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Do you have a name?’ he asked.

  ‘Bhuvana.’

  Santosh looked at his watch again. It was quarter past nine. The eunuch had been in there for almost two hours now. Didn’t the temple close for the night?

  Suddenly, the eunuch appeared at the doorway. She looked furious. Santosh shivered. He had never seen anyone or anything as menacing as this creature.

  She walked down the road and flagged an autorickshaw.

  Santosh felt his heart quicken. Where was she going? He saw an empty autorickshaw approaching. He stepped onto the road and waved it down. ‘Follow that auto,’ he said, jumping in. ‘Don’t lose it.’

  The autorickshaw driver snapped, ‘Who do you think you are? I am not chasing after any auto. Get out or I’ll call the police.’

  ‘I am the police,’ Santosh said with a supreme sense of satisfaction. How many times had he heard this mouthed in the movies; now finally, he had said it. ‘Go, go,’ he urged.

  The autorickshaw wound its way through the streets and soon, some of it became familiar. The Lingarajapuram flyover, down Kacharanakanahalli, across the Outer Ring Road strewn with barricades, earthmoving equipment and giant craters… this was almost their station jurisdiction area… and then Hennur Main Road. The autorickshaw turned into a by-lane and came to an abrupt halt.

  The eunuch stepped out and knocked on the door of a rundown house.

  ‘Stop,’ Santosh said. The autorickshaw braked, nearly throwing him out of the seat. ‘Mind it,’ Santosh growled.

  The door opened and the eunuch stepped in.

  ‘A group of eunuchs live there,’ the autorickshaw driver offered helpfully. ‘It’s a sort of mother house.’

  ‘Mother house?’ Santosh didn’t even bother to hide his bafflement.

  The autorickshaw driver flicked at his dashboard with a cloth. ‘Like you and me and everyone else, even eunuchs need a place to go to. Since they don’t have any ties with their real families, they create one of their own with an elderly eunuch or two being the mother and aunts…’

  ‘How long have they lived here?’

  ‘I don’t know about that. But I’ve seen them here for almost ten years now. But why are you so interested in them?’ The autorickshaw driver opened a packet of gutka and stuffed some into his cheek.

  ‘None of your business,’ Santosh said. ‘Just park the auto where I ask you to, and wait.’

  ‘For how long?’

  The autorickshaw driver’s questions annoyed Santosh. He was hungry, thirsty and tired. But he couldn’t think about all that. ‘As long as I want you to,’ he snapped.

  An hour later, all the lights in the house were switched off.

  Santosh wondered what he should do. ‘Sir, I have to get back,’ the autorickshaw driver said, as if he had sensed Santosh’s mood shift.

  ‘Drop me back at Shivaji Nagar,’ Santosh said. He would have to get his bike back and then ride all the way home. It would be midnight before he stumbled into bed. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, weary though he was. Something had gone wrong this evening. But for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what.

  ‘How much?’ he asked as the autorickshaw paused at the mouth of the lane he had parked his bike in.

  ‘You are going to pay me?’ The autorickshaw driver craned his neck and peered out at the clear night sky.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Santosh asked curiously.

  ‘Just checking if a crow’s flying on its back and if the sun is shining at midnight. Such occurrences are known to happen when a policeman offers to pay!’

  ‘You are a joker, aren’t you?’ Santosh said as he pulled two hundred-rupee notes out of his wallet.

  It had been a wasted evening and it had cost him money for nothing. He wondered if he would be able to claim expenses.

  SATURDAY, 20 AUGUST

  The corporator ate his breakfast, watching his brother. He tore a piece of dosa, dipped it into a bowl of chutney and popped it into his mouth. Chikka, he noticed, was toying with his food.

  ‘You look very preoccupied, Chikka,’ the corporator said eventually. ‘Something bothering you?’

  Chikka looked up blankly. ‘What?’

  ‘I asked if something is worrying you,’ the corporator said. ‘You have not been yourself all morning. And you’ve hardly touched your breakfast.’

  Chikka’s head drooped.

  ‘What’s wrong? Tell your anna,’ the corporator coaxed. It made him feel helpless to see Chikka so despondent.

  ‘It’s nothing. I have a bad headache.’

  ‘Too much to drink last night, huh? You were out late?’ Corporator laughed.

  ‘I was home before you,’ Chikka said defensively.

  The corporator flushed. ‘Did you see me come in?’

  ‘No, but I heard you,’ Chikka said, pushing his chair back. ‘Where were you?’

  The corporator followed Chikka to the washbasin. ‘I had a few things to do,’ he said, opening the tap and letting the water flow over his fingers.

  ‘Like what? I know everything that’s going on in your life. So I know there’s nothing that should keep you out that late,’ Chikka said, waiting his turn.

  The corporator wiped his hands on a towel and slung it over his brother’s shoulder. ‘You think you know everything. That doesn’t mean you do.’

  Chikka washed his hands and wiped them on the towel. Then he carefully folded it and hung it on the towel ring so that the dry end was closest to hand.

  He walked to t
he living room. The corporator was feeding his fish.

  ‘Did you really mean that?’ he asked baldly.

  ‘What?’ the corporator said absently as his fingers opened over the fish pond and let a fistful of fish food shower over the surface of the pond.

  ‘That I don’t know everything that’s going on in your life.’

  ‘It’s my life, Chikka. I need my private time too,’ the corporator said. He turned to look at Chikka. What he saw made his face harden. ‘Some parts of my life are best kept secret. Knowing them will change things. It could even put your life in danger. So don’t start snooping around. Do you hear me?’

  Chikka said nothing.

  Santosh was standing outside, speaking into his mobile, when Gowda rode into the police station on his Bullet.

  Santosh ended his call in a hurry and rushed towards Gowda. He saluted and said, ‘I’ve been trying to reach you since six this morning. But your phone kept ringing. I sent one of the constables to your house. He said the door was locked.’

  Gowda frowned. At times, Santosh sounded almost like Mamtha.

  ‘The bike needed some tweaking. I wanted to check the ignition points and timing,’ Gowda said as he got off and parked the bike. ‘There’s a chap, Kumar. KK Garage at Kammanahalli. He’s a whiz!’ He pulled the phone out of his pocket. It was on silent and the vibrator alert was off. ‘My mistake. I should have remembered. What’s wrong?’

  ‘The control room reported a dead body near Nagawara Lake. There could be no connection. Or…’

  ‘There could be,’ Gowda finished for him. He glanced at his watch. It was a quarter to ten. ‘It’s not our station jurisdiction area. And the CCB’s probably already there. But let’s go anyway.’

  The rush-hour traffic hadn’t yet settled. At Hennur Junction, they were behind a lorry that seemed to suddenly develop engine trouble. Eventually, it took them almost an hour to arrive at the scene of crime. An ambulance drove away as PC David found a place to park.

  The police had managed to cordon off the area with raised voices and glares. Gowda thought again of Roshan’s CSI series. The IO and team were combing the area. The CCB men too seemed to have arrived. Stanley greeted Gowda with a scowl. ‘I was waiting for you. What took you so long?’

  Gowda grinned. ‘Bike trouble!’

  ‘You should have asked your sidekick to deal with it,’ Stanley murmured, peering over Gowda’s shoulder at Santosh, who was talking to one of the team.

  ‘I don’t let anyone ride my bike,’ Gowda said.

  Stanley made a face.

  ‘I know what you are thinking,’ Gowda said. ‘It’s a bike, not your wife. Other people have said it behind my back.’

  Stanley tried to hide his smile.

  ‘You would never understand,’ Gowda said firmly. ‘Now tell me what you found.’

  ‘It seems your murderer has been at it again,’ Stanley said, showing Gowda the pictures he had shot of the body. He had used his digital camera well. No angle had been forgotten. Like all the others, this boy too had a slit throat; a ligature had severed as it strangled. And the wound on the cheek, as though someone had ground something hard into the tissue, tattering the skin and flesh and splintering the bone. Death was never easy on the eye. This one only enhanced the horrific nature of it.

  ‘Anything else?’ Gowda asked, chewing on his lip.

  They walked towards the tree beneath which the body had been found.

  ‘The cowherd who found the body was too scared to touch it. So nothing had been moved. Apart from the usual signs of death by strangulation, there was nothing strange. His legs were straight and his arms crossed on his chest. The assailant had very carefully arranged his limbs. He had taken his life, but didn’t want to leave a messy body lying around.’ Stanley sighed.

  Gowda nodded, thinking of how Kiran’s body had looked like it had been placed on the chair. And Kothandaraman’s. A profile of the murderer was forming in his mind.

  ‘There were tyre marks on the grass to show a car had driven up as far as it could go, and do you see this?’ Stanley bent down and pointed out two strips of flattened grass that ran from the tyre markings to the foot of the tree.

  ‘The body was dragged from the car to that spot,’ Gowda said.

  Stanley nodded.

  ‘The body has already been sent to the mortuary for the post-mortem. The dog squad will be here any minute. The case is off your hands now, Gowda,’ Stanley said as Gowda looked at the snaps all over again.

  ‘Stanley, right from the beginning, something about this serial murderer has had me puzzled,’ Gowda said slowly, pretending not to have heard him.

  ‘We don’t know yet if it is a serial murderer,’ Stanley said abruptly.

  ‘Quit playing devil’s advocate. You know it is as well as I do. The MO, the positioning of the body, all the victims are males… you know what they say, don’t you?’ Gowda turned his gaze to Stanley.

  ‘Two times is a coincidence, three times is a pattern,’ Stanley said.

  ‘So what are we waiting for? A high-profile victim? Will that make it an important case?’ Gowda’s nostrils were pinched with rage.

  Stanley rubbed his palms absently. ‘That’s unfair…’

  Gowda scratched his forehead. ‘I know. I apologize. But sometimes I feel like I am slamming my head against a wall. No one seems to be taking this seriously.’

  From the road, there was an almost constant blare of horns and the hum of traffic. Gowda took a deep breath and stared into the distance. A cow with a crow perched on its back walked across the grass, oblivious to the goings-on in the adjoining field. A giant mound of garbage had been dumped by the path. A black plastic bag fluttered and rose from the heap and came to rest at Gowda’s feet. He kicked at it viciously but it only tangled further into a clump of lantana. ‘Bloody BBMP… can’t they do something about this garbage-dumping business? This state is going to the dogs.’

  ‘Have you had anything to eat?’ Stanley asked suddenly.

  ‘Why? And no…’

  ‘That explains your mood. Get something to eat and I’ll call you when the post-mortem report comes in.’

  ‘I want to be there when the post-mortem is done,’ Gowda said.

  Stanley sighed. Fine. It’ll be early evening. Get something to eat first, Gowda. You are useless and a bloody nuisance when you are like this!’

  Gowda smiled. They went back a long way. Stanley could say things to Gowda that no one else would dare.

  Gowda called for his vehicle. Santosh looked at Gowda’s profile. He was deep in thought. ‘You were outside the eunuch house up to what time?’ Gowda asked suddenly.

  ‘About eleven fifteen, sir,’ Santosh said. ‘There’s only one door. I went back and checked this morning. So the eunuch was there as long as I was there.’

  Gowda grunted.

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Santosh’s face was downcast. ‘There was no way that the eunuch could have… I was there, tailing her all the time.’

  ‘What about the companion?’ Gowda asked.

  ‘Oh, she left at about eight in the evening. She and the eunuch went to the temple and they separated there. You don’t think it was her… How could it be?’ Santosh spluttered. ‘A woman! She seemed a timid woman at that!’

  ‘I don’t know, Santosh. But I think we’ll know once we see what the post-mortem throws up.’

  Gowda didn’t speak as they drove. He motioned to PC David to stop at a Darshini. He didn’t particularly care for these short-order restaurants that seemed to have a great ability to erase every dish of any distinct flavour or taste. Sameness ruled. But they were reasonably clean and you could be sure that they would serve you food from 6 a.m. to 10 p.m.

  Santosh followed him into the restaurant. The tables were being wiped clean by a boy in grey shorts and a shirt, with a cap on his head. The cloth in his hand was filthy with many wipings. Gowda glowered at the boy. ‘That cloth looks older than your grandfather,’ he said. ‘Use a fresh one. Now.�
�

  Santosh grinned to himself. He had overheard some of what Stanley had said to Gowda. The man’s irritability was fun to watch as long as it was not directed towards him.

  The boy rushed towards the kitchen and came back with a fresh wiping cloth. Through the serving hatch, faces peered. They saw the uniform and looked at each other. Policemen were always a nuisance. This one seemed to be even more so.

  Santosh went to the counter and placed his order. Gowda had said he should eat as well.

  Santosh came back with a tray heaped with food. Gowda said little as he ate alternately from his khara bath and kesari bath. He drank the tumbler of filter coffee in one gulp and then he gazed at Santosh and smiled. Santosh almost choked on a piece of oily uthappam he had just put into his mouth.

  ‘You know something,’ Gowda said. ‘I think we need to break this into parts. Let’s start looking at the deceased. Each one of them was a male but not of any specific age or type in terms of looks. The murderer was not looking for young men in particular. It seems to me that the murderer found them as and when. Alcohol and the promise of sex was probably how they were lured.’

  Gowda’s phone beeped. It was Stanley. Gowda finished the call and put down the phone. His face was grim.

  ‘The dogs found a trail until the Ring Road and then it went cold.’

  ‘Do you think the eunuch’s companion is connected in some way?’ Santosh’s eyes glittered with excitement.

  Gowda nodded. ‘That’s precisely what crossed my mind too.’

  ‘But how? A woman? And she didn’t even seem particularly strong.’

  ‘Maybe she’s not a woman.’ Gowda’s voice was even.

  ‘How is that possible?’ Santosh put his arms on the table, leaning almost into Gowda’s face.

  ‘A transvestite, perhaps?’ Gowda shrugged. ‘Men who like dressing up as women. And some of them are prettier than many women I know.’