ANTI-SOCIAL NETWORK

by Piyush Jha

  Something inside Virkar kept nudging him to look further. Why would Philo have killed the members of the Anti-Social Network? What was her connection to them? He had gone back to Philo’s room to try and find some answers. He had personally taken apart each and every fold of Philo’s wardrobe and scanned all her books till he had suddenly come upon a crude map scribbled on one of the blank sections of a recipe book.

  The map had led Virkar and his team to the nearby Sion hillock fort, past the broken steps and scattered walls overrun by trees and graffiti to the place where there used to be a fresh water tank that acted as a catchment of water supply for the entire fort. The tank was now dry and overrun with vegetation but could be still accessed by a flight of steps. At the bottom of the tank, Virkar and the police party found the decaying body of Sagarika Purohit, shaved bald. Right next to her was a small mound of loose earth. In the mound were some hastily buried body parts that were identified as Rajesh Chawre’s penis, Kshitij Bhatia’s tongue and Nayantara Joshi’s eyes.

  Seeing Sagarika’s body lying on the post-mortem table as the doctors worked upon the cadaver, Virkar was struck by the physical similarity between Sagarika and Philo. The long-haired wig that Philo was using to disguise herself was actually made out of Sagarika’s hair, carefully stitched on to a cloth skullcap. It was all that was required to create an illusion that could confuse an untrained eye or a grainy camera into mistaking one for the other. The lengths that Philo had gone to disguise her identity impressed Virkar. But he still couldn’t understand her motives; in fact, he couldn’t even come up with a plausible theory as to why Philo had become a serial killer. Meanwhile, another thought started bothering him. Was Philo acting alone or was there someone else orchestrating the whole thing? Virkar was aware that none of his colleagues were interested in indulging his sinister theories. Now that Sagarika’s body had been found, no one had even a shadow of doubt that the case file was to be shut and consigned to a back shelf.

  Virkar, too, was cajoling his mind into moving on until the doctor examining Sagarika’s body on the post-mortem table shook his head and, with a mixture of remorse and resignation, said, ‘Sagarika was three months pregnant when she died.’ Something snapped in Virkar’s brain as he heard those words. He just couldn’t deal with the fact that a mother-to-be was killed so brutally.

  As he walked out of the post-mortem ward at J.J. Hospital, he knew that he was not going to rest till he had got answers to all the questions that were bothering him.

  27

  ‘What do you mean, a sports pistol?’ Virkar was sitting in the office with ACP Shivaji Naik of the Mumbai Police Local Armoury-II at Tardeo. Virkar had just begun asking questions about the gun that was recovered from SuperTrance Nightclub and identified as the weapon used by Akhbir. In the aftermath of the SuperTrance shooting, Virkar had gone through the evidence collected from the crime scene, but his focus at that time had been on discovering clues to the identity of Philo, so much so that although the weapon had been examined by him, he had not been able to identify the make and model of the gun.

  But as he was lying awake in his bed the previous night, not being able to sleep despite his lovemaking session with Naina, he suddenly remembered that the gun had had a wooden handle, which was not very common among those used by criminal gangs operating in Mumbai. They usually preferred Glocks and Berettas that were made out of lightweight metal. The next morning, he had left before Naina was awake and headed to the Crime Branch Headquarters, where he opened the evidence locker to examine the gun once again. The grooves and curves on the wooden handle were a comfortable fit for a grown man’s hand. As Virkar wrapped his fingers around the handle, he realized that his fingers automatically sat in the places that had sweat stains, the kind that are left behind on items that are used regularly over a period of years. Although the pistol was an automatic, the bullet that had grazed Philo’s head was not the standard .22 calibre round used in regular automatic pistols. It had a blunt head and almost felt as if it were half a bullet. Virkar pocketed the gun and the bullet and quickly made his way to the Police Armoury at Tardeo. There, he waited until the genial ACP arrived. Virkar knew that if anyone could tell him the make and model of the gun, it was ACP Shivaji Naik, a known weapons enthusiast.

  ‘This is a Swiss-made Hämmerli sports pistol and the bullet is a wadcutter, a special kind of bullet used for sports pistols.’

  Virkar let the ACP’s words sink in. ‘Are you telling me that Akhbir Singh Mann was a sports shooter?’

  The ACP flashed him a genial smile. ‘No, Virkar, I’m just telling you the make of the gun and the bullet.’

  Virkar coughed in reply, a little embarrassed at shooting from the hip. But perhaps the ACP knew that Virkar didn’t really mean to be disrespectful, so he continued, ‘The accused could have stolen this gun from a sports shooter.’

  Virkar couldn’t help showing his excitement as he asked, ‘Do you have a list of registered sports shooters in Mumbai?’

  ACP Naik’s genial smile widened. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you have a list of sports pistols registered in Mumbai?’ This time the ACP just nodded, the smile still in place. Virkar blurted out his next question, ‘Can I have these lists?’

  ‘No,’ came the ACP’s pat reply. Suddenly, the smile that refused to go away seemed positively oily to Virkar.

  ‘Why?’ asked Virkar, making sure that his tone did not convey any hint of the irritation he could feel welling up inside him.

  The ACP now sat back, as if preparing himself to tell a long story to a foolish listener. ‘Virkar, do you know who sports shooters are? They are generally wealthy men who shoot to pass their time and receive national or international awards for doing this. They represent their country, state or city at sporting events and receive awards and accolades from sports institutes and the government. Do you think I will allow you and your team to run amok among such eminent people? One of them might pick up the phone and speak to the sports minister, who in turn might call the home minister, who will not hesitate for even a second before calling up the commissioner of police, who will be so irritated by the unnecessary nature of that call that he will immediately pick up the phone and give me an earful—if and only if, he is in a good mood before the call. And if, God forbid, he is in a bad mood, then God only knows what will happen to me.’

  Virkar sat staring at ACP Naik, his mouth agape. His brain reeled as he took in the vivid scenario that ACP Naik had presented in front of him. Naik, in the meantime, seemed to be enjoying Virkar’s discomfort as he continued, ‘Do you think I’ll look good sitting in the Police Training School office in Nasik, Virkar?’ In reply, Virkar just shook his head dumbly. ‘Then why ask me such a foolish question?’ The ACP’s smile grew even broader.

  Virkar realized that he had no answer; neither did he know how to take the discussion forward. He got up, pocketed the pistol and the bullet and, without another word, made his way to the door of the cabin.

  Just as he was about to step out, he heard the ACP call out to him. ‘Arre, where are you going? Don’t you want to know who owns the Hämmerli?’

  Virkar turned and gawked at the ACP. ‘I didn’t say that I wouldn’t check that up for you.’ The ACP smiled mischievously. ‘Forgive me, Virkar, I don’t get too many chances to have a good laugh nowadays,’ he continued, breaking into peals of laughter. Virkar’s stoic face did not convey feelings as the ACP’s laughter boomed in his ears. Finally, Naik calmed down a little and turned to the computer on his table, typing ‘H-ä-m-m-e-r-l-i’ into a box that appeared on the screen, all the while chuckling as he went about it.

  Suddenly, the ACP stopped laughing as his eyes darted across the screen. His lips pursed as he said, ‘Devendra Brahme, that’s your man.’

  Virkar knew that he should not say anything and accept what was being offered to him but he could not control his natural instincts. ‘How can you be so sure?’

  The ACP now turned his attention back to Virkar and winked. ‘Becaus
e I know the other four owners personally, and they are good men, even if they aren’t such good shooters.’

  Virkar nodded a thank you and turned to leave. The ACP’s smile now turned apologetic. ‘Sorry, yaar, subah subah pehala girahak tu hi mila.’ Virkar let that one slide as he walked out of the room. Behind him he could hear the ACP raucous laughter, but all he could think about was the name he had just heard: Devendra Brahme.

  28

  Virkar was always surprised when guilty people ran when they encountering policemen. It was a sure-shot indication of their guilt; moreover, the action of taking flight would ensure physical punishment as soon as the policemen caught up with the runner. In this particular case, Virkar was especially astounded since Devendra Brahme was much older and considerably more unfit than him. More so, he was running in the direction of Thal beach, where the loose sand would surely slow him down, making it easier for Virkar to catch up to him.

  Virkar had left ACP Naik’s office the previous day and headed straight to the Maharashtra Rifle Association (MRA) shooting range at Worli Sea Face. A quick enquiry at the range had got him Brahme’s address in Kalachowki. A short Bullet ride to the Kalachowki chawl and a cup of tea with Brahme’s old neighbour had lead to the discovery that Brahme had taken off for his village near Alibaug, across the Mumbai Harbour. Another ten minutes of polite chit-chat with the neighbour had also given him the general whereabouts of Brahme’s ancestral house near Thal beach, Alibaug.

  Early that morning, a forty-five-minute ride in a catamaran from the Gateway of India had deposited him at Mandwa Jetty. Another twenty-five minutes by autorikshaw and Virkar was outside a cluster of village houses nestled under a coconut grove near Thal beach. An enquiry at the first house had led him to the one inhabited by Brahme. But as luck would have it, Brahme had spotted him approaching his house and run out from the back. Unfortunately for him, he had stumbled against a stack of dry bamboos, bringing them down to the ground. The clatter of the bamboos had alerted Virkar and he had spotted Brahme just as he turned behind a hedge.

  Now, after a few minutes of running on the beach, Virkar shortened the distance between Brahme and him to about a man’s length. Without warning, Virkar leapt in the air, his hands grabbed Brahme’s shoulders; the velocity of Virkar’s push destabilized Brahme and he slipped on the loose sand, collapsing to a heap. Virkar just about managed to maintain his balance and stopped short about a foot away from the panting Brahme. For a full minute, both men sucked in air into their desperate lungs. The younger and fitter Virkar regained his breath quicker but it was Brahme who spoke first, gasping, ‘What did I do, saheb?’

  Virkar smirked back. ‘C’mon! You know why I’m here.’ Bramhe gulped in air and shook his head. ‘The Punjabi,’ Virkar clarified.

  On hearing that, Bramhe looked crushed. ‘I got desperate and fell for his lie, saheb. He told me he was going to use the gun in Punjab.’

  Virkar fixed him with a hard stare. ‘I think you’d better start at the beginning.’ He sat down on the sand next to Brahme and took out a small diary and a pen from his pocket.

  Brahme quickly took him through his interaction with Akhbir at the shipyard. He spared no details and was extra graphic while describing how he had escaped certain death by Akhbir’s hands. Virkar’s interest, though, was only piqued when Brahme started telling him about Akhbir’s phone conversation. To Virkar’s understanding, it didn’t seem like Akhbir had been speaking to Philo—it seemed more like he was receiving instructions from someone who held sway over him. He mentally went over the checklist of items that were collected at the crime scene at the SuperTrance Nightclub and suddenly realized that no cell phone had been found on Akbhir’s body. This could only mean that either the cell phone had been lost in the ruckus that followed the shooting or Akhbir hadn’t carried it to SuperTrance. ‘Do you have the number that Akhbir called you from?’ he asked the now surly Brahme.

  Brahme’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Maybe, but what do I get in return?’

  Virkar was quick to retort. ‘Maybe I would be pleased enough to request my superiors that the case against you should be dropped.’

  Brahme didn’t back down. ‘That’s all?’

  Virkar’s voice now grew firm. ‘That’s about it…and if I don’t get the number in the next five minutes, I would be forced to search your house. Then I can’t promise how this case would turn out for you, especially if I found illegal weapons during my search.’

  Brahme shot to his feet. ‘I have no illegal weapons, saheb. They are all legal.’

  Virkar rose to face him. ‘Oh yes. My mistake. You only sell them illegally.’

  Brahme responded to Virkar’s sarcasm with a dry gulp. ‘I have the number saved on my mobile phone, which is in my house.’

  Virkar nodded. ‘Then what are you waiting for? Your time starts now.’

  ‘Brahme led Virkar back to his house as fast as he could. His mobile phone was lying next to his bed. Quickly extracting the number from his list of contacts, he read it out to Virkar, who first noted the number down in his diary and then dialled another number from his phone.

  ‘Inspector, it’s too early in the morning to call,’ Richard’s lazy voice drawled.

  Ignoring what he heard, Virkar said, ‘I want you to find the entire call history of this number.’ He read out Akhbir’s number to Richard.

  Richard yawned over the phone. ‘So what’s in it for me?’

  Virkar sighed. ‘Everybody seems to be asking me that today.’

  ‘I’m waiting, Inspector,’ Richard said, sounding bored.

  ‘How about I don’t tell Naina that you’re still snorting cocaine behind her back?’ Virkar replied firmly.

  Richard drew in a deep breath and didn’t respond for a few seconds. He didn’t want his current status quo with Naina to be affected in any way. His biggest fear was that Naina would go to his parents and tell on him…but then she really didn’t seem like a tattletale. He smiled. ‘Nice try, Inspector, but that won’t work. However, since I like you, I’ll tell you what you can do to get this information from me.’

  29

  ‘My tickets.’ Richard held out his hand as soon as Virkar entered his hidey-hole in Khotachiwadi. He had demanded an all-expenses paid trip to Kullu-Manali as payment for the information that Virkar had wanted. Virkar had dialled a few numbers and had finally managed to wrangle a favour out of a travel agent to get Richard included in a promotional tour for a new hotel opening in Manali. Although Virkar was fuming from within, he managed to maintain a calm exterior and quietly handed printouts of the e-ticket and resort bookings to Richard. Virkar had been waiting for over a day to hear back from Richard and now he was eager to know the results.

  After scrutinizing the printouts to his satisfaction, Richard said, ‘Do you know what TOR is?’

  Virkar was in no mood to get into a long discussion about strange new Internet programs. ‘Just give me the information I asked for, okay?’ he growled.

  Richard smirked. ‘That’s the problem with your generation, Inspector. You just want things to be handed to you on a platter.’ He sniggered at his own attempt at sarcasm. When Virkar looked as if he was about to slap him, Richard took a couple of steps back and started explaining. ‘TOR is a new international routing service. When someone uses TOR, their IP address is encrypted every few seconds and routed to numerous locations several times over. With TOR, someone could be in London but would be tracked as a zipping line that appears and then disappears from one location to the next instantaneously.’

  ‘So what does all this mean? Come to the point, man.’

  ‘It means that I can confirm that Akhbir did receive a call but I can’t confirm where the call came from. This guy is too smart for us,’ Richard admitted.

  ‘What about the number? Who is it listed to?’

  ‘No one. It’s a fake number. The call was not made from a SIM card. It was made over the Internet using TOR.’

  Virkar became irritated. ‘So how can we
get to these TOR people and ask them to help us?’

  Richard laughed. ‘It’s a free software and an open network and it’s legal. They won’t give out any information because of the very fact that it is used for anonymity. It’s like asking the Swiss Bank for information about its account holders.’

  Virkar just clenched his teeth, suppressing his anger. He didn’t know whether he was angrier with the mysterious TOR user or with Richard. ‘There has to be some information somewhere,’ he said with a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.

  Richard shrugged. ‘Look, Inspector, I feel the same way. Believe me, I spent many hours scouring the Internet, going from one online forum to another, trying to find traces of this person’s identity. But there was nothing anywhere.’

  Virkar turned and walked out of the room without a word. ‘Do you want me to cancel the tickets and the bookings?’ he heard Richard call out from behind him. But by that time, he was already out of the door and on his Bullet.

  As he rode his bike out of the narrow lanes of Khotachiwadi to the crowded streets of Girgaon, Virkar began to run all the facts through his head. The loud honking of the crawling cars and the screech of the battered B.E.S.T buses changing gears began to sound like an off-key orchestra inside his head. Virkar dove deeper into his head, trying to find a quiet space. Soon, the sound of traffic reduced to just an unintelligible hum. Bang in the middle of the traffic-ridden road, riding his Bullet, Virkar had hit the meditative space that he normally only entered while on his night-time boat rides.

  He realized that even though he did not have any concrete proof, his suspicions had been confirmed. There was someone else behind all the murders, someone who had used all the players like pieces on a chessboard. This person was extremely intelligent, resourceful and, most importantly, completely ruthless. What was their motive, though? Was Philo a contract killer? How did she fit into this scheme? Now it was up to Virkar to use whatever resources he had to hunt down this hidden mastermind. But where would he begin? All leads seem to have dried up. For all he knew, this person could be ‘sitting in London’, as Richard had put it.