Sea of Innocence

by Desai, Kishwar

  But for me suddenly the evening had turned grim again.

  ‘She’s an astrologer so she should know where it is,’ I said nastily.

  ‘It’s not exactly like water divining, you know, and Stanley can’t remember where he left it. He said he put it in a plastic bag and buried it somewhere. But it was a big consignment and even the cops have got to know about it, I believe.’

  ‘So are they interested?’ There was still no sympathy in my voice.

  ‘Everyone’s interested. It will be amazing if that stash is ever found!’

  ‘Why?’

  Dennis looked serious. ‘Well, for one it might take the heat off Stanley and Marian, you know. Right now people are circling them like vultures, because someone started a rumour about it again. The whole beach knows what’s going on, but no one will talk.’

  ‘Does this mythology mention his second daughter?’

  ‘Does he have one?’ Dennis looked surprised. ‘No idea!’

  We had now somehow reached the small pathway which led to a makeshift scooter stand. I was starting to realize that, since there were no directions written anywhere, Goa divided people into two categories: those who knew the way, and those who didn’t.

  I most definitely fell into the second category, and it was pure luck that had brought Dennis into my life. As I told him, delightedly.

  He drove me to my hotel, and with surprise I realized that it was already past one in the morning. I gave him my phone number, and hoped he would be in touch.

  Back in my hotel room, I collapsed onto the bed, and stared blankly at the ceiling. What was going on?

  I wasn’t too concerned about the tale of the drug treasure trove because, as I said, I had already heard too many similar stories. But I still didn’t know whether Liza’s disappearance was real. I knew she existed, because everyone had seen her on the beach. And I had seen her photograph and her videos.

  But how was she linked to Marian and Stanley?

  I wrote an angry email to Amarjit, accusing him of hiding things from me.

  Sending off the email did not reduce my anxiety, however. Now I was even more worried about why Liza had been written out of the script, and why her own father hadn’t mentioned her tonight – if indeed he was her father. Getting into bed, I tossed and turned, going over the various possibilities.

  Early in the morning my phone buzzed, and I sat up in bed with a jolt.

  When I saw the words ‘number withheld’, I broke into a sweat, unable to bring myself to open the accompanying photograph.

  Chapter 9

  Perhaps it was the sheer dread about what the message would contain which led to this unreasonable reaction.

  After the events I had witnessed last evening, it was obvious that neither her ‘sister’ nor her ‘father’ were concerned about Liza. If people had not told me that they had actually met her I would have begun to think she was an imaginary figure. How could her family celebrate when – supposedly – a child was missing, perhaps raped and murdered? Their casual attitude was shocking.

  Because they seemed so unconcerned, I wondered if she were already dead, and they knew about it. Or if the father and daughter had other information that they did not care to share with me. So why had Marian (that was still the name I associated with her) made such a fuss about her missing sister? After all, Liza had been seen so rarely around these beaches – especially recently – that even people like Dennis, who was closely following Stanley’s story, knew nothing about her. And others, like Curtis, claimed she had forgotten those she had once known well.

  I wondered at Marian’s relatively early departure from the event yesterday with the man I presumed to be her boyfriend. Why had she left so suddenly when even I could see that the celebration was going to carry on for a while?

  Right now all bets were off.

  I couldn’t help thinking that the message, which had just arrived on my phone, would almost certainly be about Liza’s death. The final blow because, barring some miracle, she wouldn’t have been able to survive the last assault.

  So it took me almost a whole hour before I screwed up all my courage and with a sense of foreboding, checked it.

  The picture which opened up with excruciating slowness made me forget that this was still early in the morning and I was in a hotel room with very thin walls, as I shouted out, ‘The bastards!’

  In many ways the image was worse than what I had expected. It was far too close to home. In tears I hugged myself for comfort.

  It was 4 a.m. by now. When the phone rang, my nerves were so jangled that I sat there shivering and finally had to force myself to pick it up when it would not stop.

  ‘Is everything alright?’ It was Maggie, the girl at the front desk. She sounded concerned. ‘I was passing by your room and heard you call out . . . Are you okay?’

  Hearing me shout in the middle of the night would have whetted her curiosity even more. How could I tell her what I had seen? The photograph had looked so innocent but it had opened up a cornucopia of worries.

  ‘All fine,’ I said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

  Someone was definitely trying to scare me. Otherwise why would they have sent me a picture of a chain of broken hearts on a bare arm. The pattern that had been painted on Durga just a few days before. And it was I who had photographed it. I began to worry if this was some kind of coded message which meant she was in danger.

  After the recent shocking gang rape on a bus no girl could be considered safe in Delhi where she was right now, and this made me fear that something terrible might have happened to her, too. I wondered if someone had got hold of her?

  Again I felt under personal attack, as the psychological pressure built up on me. After the stress of those earlier videos now I had to deal with this innocuous-looking image that had far too many implications for me. How much did whoever was sending these files know about Durga? Or me?

  Perhaps much more than I had realized?

  After all, they had hacked my phone and probably stolen my numbers and checked every message. And so they were aware that sending me this image could push me to breaking point. I sensed a palpable threat in that silent photograph.

  Curtis D’Silva had been the prime suspect for some time, but now I realized that there could be many others, people like Marian and even Veeramma who knew about the tattoo, who could be involved. Not everyone, though, had the same agenda. It was puzzling.

  In fact I had only seen Curtis twice since I started working on this case. But perhaps the reverse wasn’t true and I was under some kind of full-time surveillance, either from him or from the ‘others’. I wasn’t sure if, with this latest image, the unknown sender had wanted to scare me off or keep me here. But had he (or she) really known me and wanted me to leave, this was the last thing to have tried. It only made my resolve to find the culprits stronger.

  Yet, though I was reluctant to quit, and fairly certain Durga was alright in Delhi, I wondered if my investigation would create a problem for her. I paced up and down the room, drinking whisky and chain smoking till 6 a.m.

  Then, at last, I finally called home, as I knew my mother, who was an early riser, would be awake. I would not be able to speak to Durga at this hour, though, since it was the Christmas holidays and she would sleep late.

  Once I had reassured myself that she was fine, I asked my mother to keep an eye on Durga. I told her I had called her early in the morning only because I hadn’t slept very well last night, but there was nothing really to worry about. The case was going well and I was sure I would soon reach a conclusion. But I didn’t tell her anything more than that, and I had also requested Amarjit to be equally discreet, in case he spoke to her.

  All I had told her was that I was looking for a missing British girl. And I was fairly optimistic of finding her soon.

  There were some advantages to being a (sometimes cantankerous) spinster in your mid forties. Even your mother didn’t dare cross-examine you too much.

 
I sent yet another message to Amarjit with photographs of last night’s event, and asked him to call me as I needed to speak to him urgently.

  His call came through at 9 a.m. and I told him all my suspicions about Marian and how I was now convinced that Liza was just a very small pawn in a larger, more dangerous game, though I wasn’t sure what it could be. Perhaps drug running? Did that account for the recent interest in the story of Stanley’s fabulous drug stash? My other hunch was that Liza could be on that casino ship, because of the connection with Curtis. I asked Amarjit to check up on the owner.

  He was quiet for a moment and then said he would inquire. But his earlier marked silence made me uneasy. Was this another area where I was not supposed to ask any questions?

  And then I told him my real anxiety, after last night. That we were wasting our time, and Liza might actually be beyond our help. From the attitudes of Marian and her father, either Liza was very, very safe or very, very dead. Further, it seemed we would learn little from Marian whose behaviour raised more suspicions than it allayed. I told him bluntly that she was unreliable and so he was my only hope of more information. He should tell me anything he might have kept to himself thus far, not wanting to prejudice me in my investigation. I was still trying to be polite.

  I also told him about the latest photograph of the tattoo, expecting him to offer some kind of protection for Durga. After all, I was doing him a favour by staying on here and following this case.

  To my surprise, instead of being supportive and appreciative of the progress I had made, and impressed at my uncovering of Marian’s double identity, Amarjit abruptly said he would call me back. He needed to find out about something. He definitely seemed a bit off-colour.

  When he rang back, fifteen minutes later, he sounded even more subdued. He said my concern was proven correct and that he had been mistaken to be so worried about Liza. According to fresh information he had just received, she was probably alright. The government was no longer concerned about bad publicity, as it was thought Liza would turn up on her own. It was very likely, he said, that Marian had concocted a story to deflect attention from her own family history of drug abuse. After what I had told him, he would ask the Goa police to run a check on her credentials.

  Liza, he told me, in all likelihood had simply run away, and would soon be back. The videos were probably staged and had no relevance to the case. It was just the resemblance to Liza of the girl in the videos which had sent everyone into a panic. There was no reason to believe it was her.

  It was a long explanation and while Amarjit kept all emotion out of his voice, I could sense that he, too, had been severely embarrassed by my findings.

  It appeared, he said, the urgency was over and that there was no need to pursue her any more. It was a false alarm. He had been wrong to involve me and he would feel happier if I were to return to Delhi. The sooner the better. He apologized profusely for any inconvenience, and promised to make it up to me.

  What struck me, though, was that apart from being a lengthy speech, it sounded like he had written it all out. Listening to him, I became increasingly bewildered at the complete contrast between what he was saying today and what he had told me previously. This was not going to be a full-scale war or even a skirmish. The troops were being withdrawn before the enemy had been sighted or a single shot was fired.

  In his voice I heard all the resignation that I myself had experienced and then rejected. The more he tried to persuade me to come back, the more I knew I had to stay where I was.

  Except that now I wouldn’t even have him on my side.

  Yet I did not really care, because I did not believe a word he had just told me. Something was amiss.

  To fob him off, I told him that I would probably return in a day or two. I wanted to relax on the beach after the frightening events of the past few days.

  ‘I’ll spread the word I’m no longer interested in Liza,’ I said nonchalantly. ‘I’m sure everyone will leave me alone.’

  My plan, of course, was completely different. I was going to find out which bastard had sent me this last picture. Now all my protective instincts as a mother had been aroused. Towards both Durga and Liza. But I still had a couple of questions for Amarjit.

  ‘You’re right. It’s obvious that these people know more about me and my family than I would like. I really should withdraw from this case, but I’m curious about two things. Liza may have vanished recently, but she was here last year as well. And just for my information, didn’t Marian name even a single suspect when she spoke to you about her disappearance?’

  Amarjit sighed. ‘I knew you wouldn’t give up so easily, and I feel guilty because I’m the one who got you into this. I thought you might find some more information about her, but frankly I had no idea about Marian’s double life. I was asked to move on her complaint and I got in touch with you.’ He sounded defensive. ‘Yes, as far as I know, Liza did arrive sometime late last year.’ He paused and then asked someone for a file. ‘Let me check. I didn’t tell you all this because I thought you would hear it from Marian. She gave very little information to us anyway, and there were large gaps in her version of what happened when her sister vanished. Because I couldn’t involve the police in Goa I left it to you to find out the rest. You’ve always managed to do that.’

  Yes, I wanted to say, I normally do manage that. But it is a different matter when one is dealing with a woman who is apparently hysterical about her missing sister but shows no outward sign of grief, nor of trying to help anyone find her.

  There was some rustling of paper as Amarjit turned the pages. Then he said, ‘Right, here it is. Marian had told us that Liza had gone back to London a few times. She returned more than a year back, and there was an incident at the time, involving some sort of molestation. In fact, Marian complained about it, a case was registered with the police and an arrest was made. But Liza disappeared a few months after that. These videos actually appeared very mysteriously after a year, just a few weeks back. And then the girl was sighted, once again, very recently, according to her sister. But no one else has any information about her return. So we began to wonder where she was and what had happened to her. Had she been raped? Was she still alive? Or had she been killed and these sightings were just a case of mistaken identity? As I told you, there was a fear that the sister would go to the media, and besides, we didn’t know who else had seen that first video. That’s when we started thinking about getting someone like you to look into it. You happened to be in Goa and so it was perfect timing.’

  I said nothing, maintaining a stony silence. Obviously I had been useful at that time and I no longer was. And so it was best that I left. Quietly. It no longer suited the government to follow Liza’s trail. Could Amarjit have been told to stay away by someone? Was my presence here causing them more problems?

  I had a strong feeling that he was still not telling me everything.

  There was some more rustling of paper as Amarjit went through the file once more.

  ‘And here is some more information about that first molestation case. About a year ago there was a boy who knew Liza quite well, who was later suspected of raping her. But, honestly, Simran, take my advice. People here seem to have lost interest in the case, so there’s very little point in your staying on.’

  ‘And what happened to the boy, the suspect?’ I ignored his last few sentences. He might be willing to believe that the videos were part of some pornographic film but then they would have been of better quality, wouldn’t they? With bright lights, steady tripods and with much of the anatomy revealed. These films looked real because they were so gritty and raw, and the audio and video quality of the second video was hardly professional even though it was clearer than the first.

  Amarjit paused, as though going through the file, and then replied, ‘He was an odd-job boy who used to hang around Fernando’s shack. He was supposed to be terribly fond of Liza and couldn’t let go of her. Followed her around all the time, and Liza had complained about
it, that’s how Marian got to know. She thought he had misbehaved with Liza in revenge, and there was a bit of a bust-up about it last year and the police were called in.’

  ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Vishnu Braganza. Twenty-three years old.’

  It no longer surprised me that Marian hadn’t even mentioned this incident, or the possibility that Braganza could be involved in the present case too, to me. It was the same reason why she had requested the current investigation and then, as I discovered to my regret, not shown much interest when she probably realized it might make her life on the beach far too uncomfortable. To enjoy the golden Goan sands, you had to maintain the equilibrium. Pretend not to notice if anything bad happened.

  Unless she was blackmailing someone, after all. Instances of women falsely implying rape, though rare, were not unheard of. The modus operandi might have been to insist on an investigation, and then withdrawing when the right amount of cash, or whatever it was she was looking for, was offered. Could that be the reason behind Amarjit’s odd reaction? Was that why, as I suspected, someone important had decided the case was closed?

  So Marian had seemingly ‘helped’ me with a pro forma investigation. It would suit her only too well if I left the matter now and returned to Delhi. If anything had happened to Liza we would find out in due course anyway. The frequent ‘sightings’ she had referred to, if true, were common in cases of runaways and missing children and over the years would soon be forgotten.

  But it was also possible, as Amarjit claimed, that Liza could soon be found, or would return, and that she was playing a game with all of us. Perhaps she had run away because she wanted to put a distance between herself and her sister’s odd lifestyle? Remembering the hippie gathering under the tree, I wouldn’t blame her. It was alright as a Unique Experience, but it might have got a bit tiresome on a daily basis. From the little Marian had told me (assuming she could be trusted), Liza struck me as a headstrong but ambitious girl, hardly the sort who would want to spend her nights under a banyan tree with a bunch of fading flower children.