by Piyush Jha
Naina replied, ‘Raju, my name is Naina. I’m going to get you out of here, don’t worry.’ She held his arm and signalled him to follow her into the kitchen. The chai shop owner and a cook had gathered their wits by now and blocked Naina’s path to the front door. The incredulous owner enquired, ‘Madam, where are you taking him?’
Naina fixed him with a steely stare and said coldly, ‘Under the Child Labour Prohibition and Regulation Act, Raju is not supposed to be working here. You are committing a crime.’
The chai shop owner didn’t back down. Instead, he got into a heated argument with Naina. Inside the chai shop, two men sipping their chai at a table shook their heads in disgust. The older one of the two said, ‘These NGO people, tsk, tsk…’ The younger man nodded and said, ‘The young boy was earning his keep. Now he’ll rot in a remand home.’ A little while later, when they realized that tempers had really flared to an unmanageable degree, the two men got up from their table and went towards the kitchen. They tapped the chai shop owner on the shoulder and introduced themselves as police constables. Naina turned her ire towards the policemen. Scolding them, she said, ‘Why do you people always arrive late?’
The two policemen looked apologetic. ‘Madam, we were just finishing our tea. This is our first cup since morning.’ The older cop handcuffed the indignant chai shop owner and began to lead him out of the shop. But as the owner passed him, the younger policeman whispered in his ear, ‘You will be back by the evening. Don’t worry.’ Naina, however, didn’t hear what he said as she was busy escorting the bewildered Raju out of the shop.
Out on the street, a small crowd had gathered hearing the commotion in the chai shop. Naina ignored the crowd but she turned to Raju when he managed to gather courage and ask a meek question, ‘Madam, what am I going to do now?’
Just as he asked this, a matronly woman in a white and blue starched cotton sari stepped out of a van, the side of which read ‘Child Protective Organization (CPO)’. ‘Don’t worry, Raju. Mrs Malthi here will make sure that you have a bright future. You will be in good hands with her team.’
Mrs Malthi gave Raju a beaming smile and Raju smiled back. ‘Go with her, Raju. I’ll look in on you from time to time. Call me if you need anything.’ Raju reached out and gave her a tight hug. ‘Thank you so much, Naina didi. I hope I can pay you back some day.’
Raju got into the van with Mrs Malthi and left. Naina hailed a cab with a proud smile that lit up her face.
4
Virkar had seen dismemberment before.
The Maoists in Gadchiroli were ruthless in the retribution they meted out to those who refused to toe their line. Virkar had seen his share of detached digits, cut-off limbs and even a decapitated head. But he had never seen a body that was missing a penis. And he had never seen the amount of blood that had been shed in that one shack at the Blue Nile Resort.
Virkar had been roused early that morning by an urgent call from ACP Wagh. He had been ordered to rush to Manori as the local Senior Police Inspector had asked for an immediate intervention by the Crime Branch. With his usual diligence, Virkar had made it to Manori in an hour’s time. Now, as he looked upon the mangled body lying on the bloodstained sheets, he thanked his stars that in his rush he had had no time to stop and eat anything.
It required guts of steel and a stomach lined with cast iron to be able to look at the body lying on the bed. Most of the local policemen had either stepped out for air after the first cursory glance or were vomiting out their breakfasts in the hedge lining the small lawn outside the shack. The rest were huddled together in the lawn muttering among themselves, casting furtive glances at Virkar. Judging by their expressions, Virkar knew that they had already given up their role in the investigation and wanted him to finish up quickly so that they could wrap up and get out of there fast.
The government doctor who had been summoned from Uttan, had managed to only conduct a cursory examination before his stomach, too, began to churn. The doctor had fled unceremoniously, leaving Virkar with a sub-inspector from the local police station to gather any further information that he might require.
Now Virkar calmed his nerves and gestured to the sub-inspector to begin reading out his notes. The sub-inspector hesitated for a few seconds before resigning himself to his fate and pulled out a small notepad. He opened to a section with a small ‘Shri Ganesh’ inscription at the top of the page and began to rattle out the information he had entered below: ‘Male. Approximate age: 20-21. Arrived at the incident spot yesterday afternoon at approximately 4-4.30 p.m. on a Bajaj Pulsar motorcycle, number MH 02 FX 1385. A young good-looking girl with long hair, aged approximately nineteen or twenty years, accompanied him. The couple was allotted Shack No. 12 on payment of 1,500 rupees in cash. They entered the room at approximately 4.45 p.m. and hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door handle. This morning, at approximately 6 a.m., the gardener noticed that the door was open. He summoned the night attendant who opened the door to enquire if the couple required any assistance. He noticed the dead body and raised the alarm. The resort manager immediately telephoned the Manori police station and informed the on-duty constable of the incident.’
The sub-inspector paused to catch his breath. ‘What is your reading of the incident?’ Virkar asked him.
‘Retaliation,’ he answered at once.
‘For what?’ Virkar raised an eyebrow.
‘For rape, saheb. The boy raped the girl, and she somehow got hold of the knife and stabbed him.’ The sub-inspector’s voice was laden with repressed irritation at Virkar’s apparent naivety. Virkar was about to say something in return when he heard the siren of the ambulance that had arrived to take away the dead body. Knowing that he had very little time left before the crime scene was disturbed, he walked closer to the bed to examine the body while trying his best not to step in the puddles of blood congealed on the ground. He leaned in as close as possible over the victim’s chest and examined each stab wound in detail. The dead young man had been stabbed seventeen times and the wounds were clean and deep, indicating that a lot of force had been used during each stabbing, and that the weapon used was extremely sharp. Perhaps it was a hunting knife or a butcher’s knife, Virkar thought to himself. He looked towards the sub-inspector who was lingering at the door. ‘Do you have a foot-ruler by any chance?’ The sub-inspector shrugged in obvious confusion. Virkar’s voice rose a decibel in irritation. ‘Do you have anything flat and hard?’ The sub-inspector shoved his hands in his pockets to look for something that could be of help. Suddenly, a brainwave seemed to strike him and he reached into his back pocket and produced a flat plastic comb.
Virkar didn’t waste any time. ‘This will do,’ he said, grabbing the comb out of the sub-inspector’s hand. He positioned the flat comb over one of the wounds on the chest and inserted it into the wound, pushing it inside till it wouldn’t go any further. Aghast, the sub-inspector called out, ‘Saheb, that comb cost me ten rupees!’ Virkar ignored him. He pulled the comb out as gently as he had inserted it and examined it closely. The bloodline on the comb indicated that the wound was at least five inches deep. He quickly repeated the action on a few other wounds and came to the conclusion that most of them were as deep as the first, if not deeper. After inserting it in about five or six wounds, Virkar was finally satisfied and handed the comb back to the sub-inspector, who took one look at the bloody comb and refused to accept it. Virkar shrugged and tossed it a corner of the room.
He then turned back to the body, calling out to the sub-inspector, ‘Come and help me.’ He quickly held the body from one side and instructed the sub-inspector to hold on to the arm on the other side. With a heave, he lifted the body upright and examined the back. It was hairless and smooth. He nodded to the sub-inspector, and they let the body fall back on the bed. Virkar stared at the bloodstained bedsheets for a full minute.
‘Did you find the penis?’
‘No, saheb, the girl must have taken it with her.’
‘Did you find their mobile p
hones then?’ Virkar continued.
‘No, saheb,’ said the sub-inspector.
‘What about the hotel staff, could they have maaroed it?’
‘Saheb, you know we are very good at this kind of investigation. It only took two slaps each for the hotel staff to swear on their ancestors and tell us their entire life’s story. No mobile phone, no wallet, no purse.’
‘Okay. What about the R.T.O.? Did you check the motorcycle’s registration number and owner?’
‘Haan, saheb. The R.T.O. will get back to us in an hour’s time.’
Suddenly, the air was rent with the barking of a dog. Virkar was glad that the sniffer dog he called for from the dog squad unit in Goregaon had arrived.
The police dog handler entered and said, ‘What can Tommy sniff for you today, saheb?’
‘Tommy can find out if there is even a single drop of the victim’s blood anywhere other than around the bed.’
5
The motorcycle wound its way through the buzzing streets of Girgaon, weaving through the traffic, passing the decrepit wadis that stood at each corner, clinging on to whatever little bits of traditional architecture they could hold on to, mourning the good old days. The bike turned into one such corner and entered a world where time seemed to stand still, unaffected by the din of modern life just around the corner. The young Goan man riding the bike knew his way around the narrow lanes between the beautiful houses owned by the Pathare Prabhus and the East Indian Christians. He was called X. Simply X. Perhaps his name stood for Xavier, or Xerxes, or perhaps his name was something entirely different. But the people who knew him were happy to refer to him as X as they didn’t really want to know more about him or get closer to him. This was because X was one of the city’s shadowy cocaine dealers. X’s clientele consisted mainly of young college students with spare time and lots of spare change. He specialized in ‘doorstep’ delivery, with no questions asked.
But today, unfortunately, he had been asked questions. In fact, not only had he been asked questions, he had been threatened with police action by the woman who currently rode pillion behind him, Professor Naina Rai. That morning she had phoned X on the number that he kept exclusively for business transactions. In a few short sentences, she had laid out a scenario that had compelled X to do her bidding. After all, X didn’t want to go jail, something that Naina had clearly said would be his destination if he chose not to cooperate. X, being the smart young man that he was, decided to toe the line in exchange for her silence. After all, all she wanted was to be taken to one of his client’s secret hangouts. Normally X’s motto was that information about his clients was privileged and not accessible to anyone else, but this particular client happened to be his second cousin, Richard.
The motorbike now turned into an even narrower lane that lay between two yellow-coloured wooden Khotachiwadi Portuguese houses. The lane then became so narrow that it was difficult for even a single motorcycle to pass through but X, being an expert rider, managed quite well. Stopping outside an unmarked door at the end of the lane, he honked once. He threw a furtive look towards Naina who, by this time, had got off the bike and was standing right in front of the door. She knocked. After a full five minutes, the wooden door opened just a crack. A scrawny young man peeped out. The jaw in his thin face dropped almost comically as his eyes skipped from Naina to X and then back. He reluctantly opened the door and stepped out. The T-shirt and cargo shorts he wore hung on his body as though they had been thrown over a scarecrow, and the hair on his head was as curly and unruly as a bird’s nest. His eyes hid behind the thick soda-bottle lenses of the stylish spectacles he wore. No one said anything for a few long seconds. Finally X said, ‘Sorry, bro, this khadoos aunty threatened to go to the police if I didn’t bring her here.’
Naina looked daggers at X. ‘Aye, who are you calling aunty, haan?’ Not wanting to engage any further with the feisty Naina, X revved up his motorcycle and said, ‘You’d better keep your word, aunty.’ With that, he zoomed off, leaving Richard to face Naina all by himself.
‘And now, Richard Menezes, when are you going to come for your next counselling session? You’ve missed three already,’ Naina said, glaring at him.
Richard stuttered, still in a spate of shock. ‘Uh…Naina ma’am, please…I’m sorry that I haven’t, but you didn’t have to come all the way to my house.’
Naina was sarcasm personified. ‘That’s right, I should have just let the letter of expulsion be sent from the college office instead.’
Richard stood staring at her, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Naina now pushed him aside and flounced into the small room, exclaiming, ‘So this is the hangout that no one else seems to know anything about!’ She glanced around, quickly taking in all that lay inside the small, bare room. All sorts of computer parts was strewn about on the few rickety tables, and three large flat-screen monitors were on at the same time, flashing images from unknown websites. One of the screens that kept beeping from time to time was open on a webpage that said ‘Bank of Western India’. A line of numbers and amounts in rupees kept scrolling on the screen next to a list of names. A line written at the corner of the screen caught her attention: ‘Summary of retail deposits: Access only to certified staff’. Naina raised an eyebrow at Richard. ‘So, Richard, apart from having a cocaine habit you are also a…hacker? I wonder if the police would be as interested in this room as I am!’
Richard’s eyes were downcast and he mumbled something incomprehensible. Naina frowned, ‘What? I didn’t catch what you said.’
This time, Richard spoke up. ‘I really am trying to kick the habit.’
‘Which one? Cocaine or hacking?’
Richard looked sheepish. ‘Cocaine…’ he mumbled.
Naina’s expression turned soft, and her voice suddenly grew warm with reassurance as she said, ‘Look, Richard, I don’t chase many students to their hangouts. But you are a very intelligent boy and I know that you can change. You can achieve a lot and I want to help you.’
Richard, looking shamefaced, nodded his head. ‘Yes, I know, ma’am. Thank you for your efforts.’
‘So promise me that you will make it to the counselling session tomorrow.’
Richard looked up and nodded a yes. Naina smiled for the first time, flashing a glimpse of her perfect teeth. She cast a last look at the computer screens and then back at Richard. ‘As far as I’m concerned, you’re just playing computer games here.’ Richard smiled back in the response to her infectious smile. She turned and walked out of the room. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she said, waving goodbye.
As soon as Naina left, Richard grabbed his cell phone and punched a number. The phone was picked up but before the person on the other end could even say hello, Richard barked into the phone, ‘You chutiya, X! You’re lucky you’re my cousin otherwise… Anyway, now you owe me a month’s worth of free supply.’
From the other side, X sounded extremely apologetic. ‘Sorry, bro…yeah, no problem. But has that bitch left?’
Richard’s temper immediately flared up. ‘Aye, you cunt of misery! Don’t call her names, she’s a nice lady. I’ll talk to you later. Chal, fuck off now!’ He cut the line but found himself still agitated at what had happened. He casually walked across to one of the wooden tables and slid open a drawer, from which he took out a plastic vial. Reaching for a CD lying on the table, he emptied the contents of the vial on to the CD and cut them in two perfect lines. Then he quickly snorted each line, letting the buzz hit his brain.
He turned to the computer screen and mumbled to himself as his fingers began to fly over the keyboard. ‘Scarecrow is back… after a short break.’
6
‘And so you’re suggesting that this nineteen-year-old girl was alone and managed to kill someone in such a gruesome manner?’
Virkar’s reply was a plain, ‘Yes.’
ACP Wagh sat in front of him, stone-faced. ‘Virkar, I think this time you’ll be proven wrong,’ he said, shaking his head. Virkar had just fi
nished explaining his theory on the Blue Nile Resort killing and ACP Wagh, with barely suppressed impatience, had listened to Virkar’s long-winded explanation about how the depth of the knife wounds indicated that the killer did not have a powerful build and the fact that there was no forcible entry into the shack. They had also found a strand of long, silky black hair stuck between the dead young man’s fingernails. There were no traces of hair in the adjoining bathroom or blood spatter in the bathroom sink or shower outlet. So the killer had not washed off any blood from her hands or body. The pattern of blood puddles on the floor pointed to the fact that the killer had worn some kind of a waterproof coat that she had brought with her to avoid blood being spilled directly on to her body and to not leave any traces of her DNA.
All this clearly indicated that the crime was premeditated by an intelligent mind. The dismembering of the penis and taking it suggested revenge or psychological payback for some kind of crime that had been perpetrated by the victim, who had been identified as Rajesh Chawre of Bangur Nagar, Goregoan. A quick check of all missing persons reports at various police stations had yielded young Rajesh’s photo which, when matched against the dead body, had confirmed his identity.
‘You have no definite proof that the killer was a girl, Virkar. Perhaps she had an accomplice who did the actual killing, you know, like the Neeraj Grover-Maria Susairaj case.’
‘Yes, but the depth of the knife…’
But ACP Wagh cut him off, his voice now slightly raised, ‘Arre, Virkar, you’re hung up on the depth-of-the-knife-wound theory. What if her accomplice was one of those thin, scrawny boys you see standing outside colleges nowadays?’