by Preeti Singh
Forget DIG Uncle, even Milan had full access to her home and maybe he only is the UnSub who knows each detail of the case. The thought itself, sent a chill down her spine. The clouds above seemed dark, as though enclosing around her little world. She was feeling scared, but each fear filled her with more determination, to get to the bottom of the truth, as soon as possible.
She was at the red lights and could see the hospital at a distance, but suddenly Kinjal changed her mind. As the lights turned green, she took a U-turn and halted on the side, to make a few phone calls. She waited patiently for 10 minutes till a message arrived on her mobile. More determined than before, she pressed the accelerator and was on her way.
She skipped meeting her father for now and decided to go to Milan’s house, instead. His address had just been sent to her by one of her trusted men in the police department. It was time to uncover some truths about this inspector and so called computer geek.
Now it was time, for Milan to be watched.
Kinjal reached Rajiv Vihar, where Milan stayed. She knew he was busy today finding details about Suman Misra and Pinky Bindra, the two surviving ladies in their case. It was unethical to break into his house, but now it was a matter of her sanity reaching its peak’s end. Milan capturing her snaps in all positions was simply unacceptable. She needed to know more about him, by hook or by crook.
Milan lived alone, as per her information. His two room apartment was messy and unkempt like any bachelor’s place, with of course, semi nude posters of models, behind doors. Kinjal also noticed a few bottles of liquor lying in the kitchen, along with some cigarette stubs.
A sure sign of loneliness.
Kinjal was impressed, though, seeing the wall of his drawing room, where he had put up a white board with all vital clues about the case, just like she had in her office. His desk was full of gadgets, floppies and technical stuff; the computer geek that he was.
He had simple taste in living; nothing extravagant, she noticed, as she browsed through his tiny kitchen with a small fridge, stocked with basic necessities.
But she didn’t fail to notice an empty box of a Dominoes pizza, lying in the dustbin. She also saw many empty sachets of instant coffee scattered around. Kinjal’s alert signals went off. The UnSub was fond of the same; coffee and pizza. She put on her gloves and began scanning the apartment, stealthily.
She began perspiring and searched frantically for any clue to give her direction. She was confused whether to doubt an able officer like Milan, especially since DIG Uncle only had referred him to assist her in the case. Could it be that Milan was trying to hide his own tracks by putting the blame on DIG Uncle and diverting Kinjal’s attention? Her mind was in a jumble as she looked through drawers, files, papers and closets for anything...just anything that may throw light that DIG Uncle was clean and Milan could be a suspect.
And luck favoured her. While browsing through Milan’s bedside drawers, she came across a document, which defined that Milan was an adopted child.
It also struck her that DIG Uncle had disappeared with his new born child. Could it be that Milan was his child, given up for adoption? Were the duo, as father and son, playing a game with her? Gosh! Kinjal was sweating with nervousness.
It was time to do a background check on Milan’s childhood. Who were his real parents and why was he put up for adoption? Her mind was racing with questions when she heard Milan’s front door open.
Quick to take out her revolver and hide behind the cupboard, Kinjal awaited the person approaching. She realised she was an intruder today and did feel a pang of guilt within.
It was Milan. He was back early and once in his room, he threw his laptop on his bed and began changing his clothes, Kinjal saw. It was embarrassing watching him change; so she shut her eyes, trying not to breathe, as she stood still behind his closet.
As soon as he left for the washroom, Kinjal carefully slipped onto the balcony through the open window and stood there waiting patiently. She was never afraid of heights but then she had never before stood on the edge of a narrow balcony, as well! She was indeed terrified and silently prayed Milan would leave soon.
About ten minutes later she heard the bedroom door click and on peeping inside, she found the room empty. Carefully stepping back into the room, Kinjal explored the house ensuring Milan had left.
But as soon as she heard him starting his bike, it dawned on her, that the night she saw a pair of creepy eyes peeping from her bathroom window, she had found a bike zooming by. She shuddered at the thought that could it be that the man she was working with daily, also saw her bathing? She could not help it; every tiny detail about Milan seemed suspicious now.
When she returned to his bedroom, Kinjal noticed Milan had forgotten the cupboard keys in his cupboard only, and maybe back soon to collect them; she had to move fast.
Kinjal was quite surprised seeing Milan’s cupboard. It had 2 compartments. On one side were his clothes neatly stacked and on the other were a woman’s items. There were a few cosmetics, some clothes and lingerie. Milan was a bachelor so what was woman stuff doing here? Did he have a girlfriend living with him? If he did, then why was he obsessing over Kinjal so much? Moreover, wouldn’t a girlfriend object to his obsession? She wondered if she was being paranoid as these were normal things in a woman’s closet but the fact that Milan shared his closet with a woman was something weird, especially since he has supposed to be a bachelor.
Or was he married? She had to find out.
Kinjal closed the cupboard in deep thought, but what gripped her attention among the items were a nail polish remover and a few dupattas, the clues left by the UnSub each time he killed his victims.
She needed to unravel more details but she was nervous Milan may return. So, she quickly called him and assigned him to go the forensic lab to get the common findings between all the three deceased victims. That should keep him busy for a while, she thought.
Kinjal went to the kitchen again. A woman’s touch in a home is always visible but she could not find any trace of that too. The kitchen was filthy and he was practically living in packets...nothing was neat in its place. It looked like a typical, ever busy, bachelor’s kitchen.
She was not satisfied. Something within told her something was amiss and she had to find it. She began looking again, in every corner of his flat.
What was Milan up to? What was the mystery behind those women items in his cupboard?
She explored bit by bit, knocking on the walls for any hollow, secret compartment but failed to find anything. She began feeling like Sherlock Holmes, truly, but was unable to find any clue to throw light on the situation.
And then she came across the kitchen store room. It was dingy within. She switched on her mobile light and instantly screamed as she came face to face with a female mannequin, slightly draped in a dupatta perched in the middle of the storeroom. Kinjal felt her heart skip a beat.
Groping in the dark, she found the lights and the dingy storeroom lit up. Kinjal swallowed at what she saw.
The walls of the tiny room were pasted with her snaps. Even the roof was not spared. She was simple looking but with his technical skills, Milan had made her look so beautiful in each snap. For a moment, she did feel flattered, but soon realised this man was really obsessed with her and it was indeed creepy.
Looking around the unkempt room, she came across about 5-6 mobile phones. Kinjal was shocked; wondering why Milan needed so many cell phones. None had a sim card in them and they seemed to be rather old and used.
Her detective instinct arose as soon as she realized, the UnSub also was using different cell phones before killing his victims and Milan himself had told her, that none of the cell phones were traceable. She also tried defending him in her mind that maybe they were his old phones or material he gathered from other cases, but her inner self was not convinced. She didn’t like what she was unearthing about Milan, but each clue was pointing fingers at him.
Kinjal closed the storeroom and sat on a c
hair in the living room. She needed to gather herself and it dawned on her that she cannot trust Milan anymore, blindly. Now, she needed to hide data from him and work on finding her mother’s killer herself.
She left his apartment as quietly as she had come. But this time her feet were heavy and her mind was tense with all the information she had gathered about Milan.
Kinjal felt an irresistible urge to discuss each detail with DIG Uncle and begin proceedings against Milan, but she was doubtful about DIG Uncle too. The facts Milan had shown her, could not be ignored as well.
She turned her jeep towards DIG Uncle’s house. She had visited his home long ago when she was not assigned this case, but now with a mission in her heart and doubts in her mind, she wanted to meet him again. Meetings in the police HQ were strictly official; today she wanted to meet the father figure she looked up to, since she lost her mother and her father was crippled.
As she entered DIG Uncle’s driveway, Kinjal noticed a red Maruti car and a black motorcycle with a helmet, parked in a corner. DIG Uncle always visited her in his official jeep, so maybe Kinjal didn’t notice his private vehicles.
She paused in her own jeep and sighed when it struck her that the day she crept out to check the peeping tom from her window, a red Maruti car and a motorbike had passed by her house. Her hands began sweating and her insides were turning, as she clasped her steering wheel. It was getting chilly and she held herself close or maybe she felt alone, lost and shattered within.
The guard at the gate told her the DIG was out of town, on duty. As she withdrew out of the driveway, Kinjal noticed the name plate outside his house. For her he was always DIG Uncle but today she actually noticed his name ‘Dinesh. S. Mahajan’. Scribbling it quickly in her notepad for further investigations, Kinjal was on her way to meet her father.
***
As she drove, a million thoughts visited her. She was truly puzzled about the findings in Milan’s house, his adoption truth, women items found in his cupboard and most importantly the multiple mobile sets in his store room. What was he up to and why? Kinjal soon realised, she was at the crossroads of her life where she was unable to trust Milan as well as DIG Uncle. Only person she could trust now was Vikash, she felt.
But, as always, Kinjal was enveloped in her own innocence.
Paraplegic Rehabilitation Centre
Mohali, Chandigarh
Gautam Joshi was sleeping like a child when Kinjal entered his room. She quietly sat beside her father, fighting her tears. With all the weird things she was discovering almost daily, the world seemed so doubtful to stay in. She longed to feel secure. She suddenly felt lonely and scared and wished her father would get up and hold her; pat her head on his shoulder and say ‘everything will be all right’. But he was lying there, lifeless. Almost alive.
Kinjal caressed his hand, yearning for his fingers to hold hers and pass on some strength to her. But after his tragic accident, it seemed an impossible dream. She just sat there and shared with him her latest findings about Milan and DIG Uncle. Talking to her father, even if he could not do much, would give her the much needed relief she needed. She was just pouring her heart out with a heavy voice and the doubts about DIG Uncle were apparent.
And then Dad stirred in his sleep. He woke up and his eyes looked deep into Kinjal’s eyes. When she began speaking about DIG Uncle, Dad’s hands shook and his lips quivered. He was trying to say something but Kinjal was at a loss of words, unable to understand her father. He kept looking at the gloves lying next to his bedside table, his eyes trying to convey plenty. But Kinjal still could not understand. Did Dad want the doctor or his medicines?
She felt totally helpless, but then remembered how her Mom used to ask her ailing grandmother questions through sign language. Granny was dying of cancer and could hardly speak, but Mom would get her answers by communicating with nods and eyes blinking.
“Ok Daddy, you have to help me here. What are you trying to say? Do you want the doctor? Why are you pointing at the gloves, Dad?” Kinjal asked anxiously.
As expected, there was no reply from Gautam Joshi, who lay limp, but still kept pointing at the gloves. Kinjal didn’t lose patience; today she needed her answers and she would be persistent.
“Ok Dad. I will ask you questions. If it’s a NO, you just press my hand and if it’s a YES, Daddy, just blink your eyes. Okay?” Kinjal told him gently.
Immediately, like an obedient child, Daddy blinked his eyes, saying a Yes.
Kinjal then carefully framed her questions, all the time keeping in mind not to over stress her father, but yet make him speak his heart out. She was sure, after hearing her doubts about DIG Uncle, her father wanted to add his valuable input to her findings.
“Daddy, I told you all about DIG Uncle; do you want to tell me something more about him?” she asked gently.
Gautam Joshi blinked his eyes. Kinjal breathed a sigh of relief; this was getting somewhere now.
“Did DIG Uncle have a child ever?” Kinjal asked but this time Dad was blank. No negative or positive response. Maybe like her, he also didn’t have any clue, Kinjal concluded.
“Ok Daddy, why are you pointing at the gloves? Do you want the doctor here? Should I call Vikash?” Kinjal asked urgently.
Daddy pressed her hand hard. It was a firm NO and the expression on his face defined terror. Kinjal was now confused. She thought Vikash and Dad got along well, but her crippled father was giving her missed signals.
“Daddy, what are you saying about the gloves? Please try saying something more, I do not understand?” Kinjal pleaded.
Understanding her dilemma, Gautam Joshi then pointed at tissue box lying in the far corner of the room.
“You want tissues, Daddy?” she asked.
Daddy again pressed her hand saying a NO. He then gathered all his strength pointing first at the gloves lying on his bedside table, and then at the tissue box. He repeated this action three times to make his daughter grasp what he was trying to convey.
“Daddy, you are pointing at the gloves and then at the box? You don’t want tissues too....are you saying glove box?” Kinjal asked.
Gautam Joshi blinked his eyes excitedly and there was a sudden gleam on his face.
“Daddy, are you asking me to check the glove box of our jeep? You want me to see something in that?” Kinjal asked her father gently.
He blinked again and gave a faint smile. He was happy she had understood. There was a sudden glint of hope in his frail eyes.
Bewildered, Kinjal pressed his hand gently, assuring him. All these years she never really explored the glove box much, but if Daddy was insisting, there must be something vital there. She pecked Dad on his forehead, saying she would be back in a jiffy.
She slipped into the corridor, not realising Vikash had been standing behind the screen divider, hearing the entire conversation, quietly watching her.
His hands began sweating and his eyes turned red. Only he knew how he was trying to control his anger. Kinjal seemed to be getting closer to the truth and he certainly did not like this. But he took a deep breath and gathered himself.
Vikash filled up a syringe he was carrying in his lab coat and with his devilish smile, approached Gautam Joshi. Ignoring the terror on the crippled man’s face, his shaking hands and his constant resisting, Vikash inserted the injection in his arm, cruelly and waited patiently till the old man succumbed into a deep sleep.
Though he tried slipping away before she returned, Vikash bumped into Kinjal in the corridor. Her face lit up instantly just seeing him, but his eyes held the guilt of being caught. Innocence dancing on her face, Kinjal was eager to tell him her latest findings on the case and her father’s clues.
But there was a sudden announcement for Vikash to rush to the OT. At that moment, it just seemed divine intervention had taken place, stopping Kinjal to say anything.
Vikash planted a quick kiss on her forehead promising to meet her today evening. He was also keen to be updated about the clues, but now he wante
d to rush before she discovered her father’s condition.
Kinjal had found an old, yellow envelope in the glove box with few handwritten letters in it. She got them with her, to read with Daddy and unravel the mystery, but he was fast asleep. She noticed a glass of water had fallen beside his bed and his bed sheet sprawled on the floor. His lips were blue and his mouth was drooling. She wondered if Vikash had seen Daddy’s condition or had just rushed by. She will speak to him in the evening, she thought, while she tucked Dad back into bed, wiped his mouth clean and sat beside him to read the letters.
Shock was an understatement, Kinjal was quite shaken at what she read and saw. There were some snaps and three letters in the envelope, addressed to her mother, Mansi Joshi. The letters were written by Dinesh Mahajan, i.e. DIG Uncle. Kinjal was shocked with the snaps she held in her hands. Her mother’s younger day snaps, in various poses, each beautifully clicked. But they were taken at a mall or in public places, without her Mom being aware that she was being watched by an admirer. The three letters had only one underlying thread in them; his undying love for Mansi Joshi.
Kinjal took a deep breath and looked at her father sleeping. The first two letters conveyed how much Dinesh loved Mansi, but let her go to marry his best friend, Gautam. Yet, the love had not subsided with time but increased, even though he had married a girl his parents chose for him. The third letter explained to Mansi that his wife had died suddenly at childbirth, and he was now in a relationship with her close friend Pinky Bindra. It was the last letter, Dinesh had written to Mansi, saying that he will always love her and be around her, whether she lives or no.
The last line sent a shudder down Kinjal’s spine. Did DIG Uncle know Mom was going to die? Did he kill her because she chose Gautam as her husband and not him ?Though there was no mention of a child in the letter, the important clue was the lady Pinky Bindra, one of the two surviving victims Milan and she were finding.