“You stayed with Sameer?”
She shook her head vigorously. “No, he didn’t know. I didn’t dare tell him, you see. He was sure to confront Tara Baba. I told him I’d seen Tyler, nothing more.”
Singh contemplated the young hothead and nodded his agreement that this was an accurate assessment of the likely outcome.
“Where did you hide?”
“An old school friend – she’s just moved into her own place from Delhi. I hadn’t mentioned her to my family so I knew they wouldn’t think of her.”
“And then?”
“And then, the following day I read in the newspapers that my body had been found, identified by a family member, a suspected suicide.” Her tone was as flat as a chapatti skillet. She’d clearly rehashed the developments in her own mind and still couldn’t quite believe it had happened.
“It was Tanvir. Tanvir identified the body.”
“I thought it might have been Tara Baba, buying himself some time to hunt me down. I was so afraid…” She met his gaze squarely. “Could my brother have made a mistake?”
“He said it was the earring – he recognised the earring – that was how he claimed to know it was you. The body was charred beyond recognition otherwise.”
“So he lied.”
“Yes,” answered Singh, drooping jowls and hollow eyes enhancing his likeness to the Hush Puppy beagle.
“But why?”
“I don’t know,” admitted the policeman from Singapore. He continued, “I still don’t understand why you stayed away. From what I’ve heard of your character, I’d have thought you’d relish turning up alive to confound Tanvir and confront Tara. Instead, you chose to destroy your mother.”
“It wasn’t just about me, you see,” she said desperately. “The slum dwellers were being poisoned. If I came back, if someone…silenced me, who could they turn to? These people have no one.” She added more forcefully, “This way – I had a chance to investigate without anyone being the wiser. And, of course, once I was back here, I had Sameer…and Mahesh” – she hugged the boy – “to help me.”
Singh thought he understood why the girl had gone into hiding – a dangerous secret, an attempted murder and the false identification of a corpse by her own brother. That and the situation at the slum. It made sense. She wouldn’t have known whom to trust, where she could turn. And – rightly or wrongly – an escape from her immediate nuptials must have seemed like a silver lining. So she was hiding here – with a ten-year-old boy to protect her.
“No exactly Happy Families, is it?” remarked Singh.
♦
Tanvir could feel a vein throbbing in his forehead. The thump, thump counted out the seconds as he wasted his time kicking his heels in the apartment. Assistant Commissioner Patel had asked them a few desultory questions about motives and their whereabouts for the period when the police suspected that Tara Baba had been killed and then disappeared into a side room where he could be seen striding up and down with a mobile held to his ear. And the fat man? He’d gone back to the hotel for a nap. Tanvir made a promise to himself that the minute he was allowed to leave – and got his phone back – he would ring the Taj and explain that Tara Singh’s estate was no longer prepared to foot the bill for the Singaporean’s luxury sojourn. The lazy bastard would soon be on a plane back home once his special privileges were terminated.
Tanvir glanced around the room. He’d have started to pace – sitting still was driving him insane – but that ridiculous boyfriend of Ashu’s was already marching up and down. They would constantly have to adjust their paths in that small room if he was on the move too. And that would be an affront to his dignity. He wondered for the thousandth time where Jaswant was, whether he’d reached the target. He stole a glance at the pile of mobile phones on the coffee table – what if Jaswant needed some last-minute advice and tried to call? The Jama mosque verdict had been interesting – granting all rights to one side. He had no idea what the legal rights and wrongs were and didn’t really care. The key fact was that the result was perfect for their purposes. He couldn’t have produced a better one if he’d written the damned thing himself. The situation was set up like an arrangement of dominoes – ready for him to flick the first tile and enjoy the well-planned sequential collapse. Except that he was stuck here and his plans might be thwarted by a couple of policemen, not by design but by accident.
His thoughts turned to his sister. He wondered where she was. He’d been convinced that she’d made off with Sameer, ignoring his advice that she abandon her illicit love and conform to the standards expected of her by her clan. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d ignored his counsel. Hence his surprise when the inspector had told him that the boyfriend was still at the chemical factory, mourning his dead love. Where in the world had Ashu gone on her own? Tanvir was fast coming to the conclusion that, although his identification of the body had been somewhat premature, some accident had befallen Ashu and she was actually dead. It had been a spur of the moment decision to identify that body as Ashu’s. And it had worked too. The manhunt had been called off; the police had quietly let the matter drop. If Tara Baba hadn’t asked the so-called sleuth from Singapore to investigate, he’d have had a clear run to the finish. Instead, he was incarcerated in the front room with this motley crew of characters. Tanvir bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself screaming with rage.
There would have been, might still be, a certain awkwardness when Ashu finally put in an appearance – he still didn’t understand where she’d gone if it wasn’t away with Sameer – but he would just insist that he’d made a mistake in his grief. He didn’t doubt there would be hell to pay – but no one would think for a moment that he’d done it on purpose. What reason could he possibly have?
♦
Jaswant looked at the curved access road to the Haji Ali mosque. It was low tide and passable. He could see the food sellers and beggars as well as numerous vendors of cheap brightly-coloured plastic junk designed to catch the eye of a population that was still largely deprived of the fruits of the Chinese merchandise-generating machine. He knew that if he went closer, he’d see the goats milling around and the crows hovering as well as the piles of rubbish washed up against the sea walls of the passage. The smell was excruciating even from where he stood. He had to work hard to avoid clamping a hand over his nostrils. Growing up in Canada just didn’t prepare one for the olfactory assault that was India. But it wasn’t the stench that was keeping him away from the mosque. A line of policemen – they reminded him of the carved wooden figures in table football – blocked the way, letting in the devout and the merely greedy one by one, occasionally looking into a plastic bag or rucksack. He noted that the effort was sporadic, they weren’t searching everyone – but he couldn’t afford to be unlucky. He wished Tanvir was with him. He needed the other man to tell him what to do. He was afraid that any decision he made would be the wrong one – and an opportunity of a lifetime would be wasted. The Haji Ali mosque had been the best option. They’d expected extra policing, of course – because of the judgment. But he would have been in the place long before the barricades if it hadn’t been for the delay. He’d gone to Tanvir’s apartment seeking advice only to find the place crawling with coppers. He’d legged it – watched the activity from across the road and then decided that there was to be no last-minute consultation with Tanvir. God only knew what the excitement was about – something to do with the dead sister? – but he couldn’t risk drawing attention to himself. And when he’d tried to call, Tanvir’s mobile had been switched off. A very curious development indeed in the countdown to zero hour. Jaswant spotted a passing Fiat taxi and raised his hand. It was time for plan B. The driver screeched to a halt, a broad grin on his face at the prospect of a fare on a day when the streets were quiet because of fears of violence after the Jama Masjid decision.
♦
“I just don’t understand why Tanvir would lie.” She could not keep the hurt from showing and Singh had a brief
sense of how much she’d suffered in recent days.
“There was some advantage to him if you were thought to be dead – rather than missing. What could it have been?”
His question provoked a thoughtful nod. “You’re right. That must be the key.”
“When we – my wife and I – arrived at your home, the family was debating whether to call the police.”
“Tara Baba wouldn’t have liked that.”
“He asked me to look into your disappearance instead.”
“Freelance as a private eye?”
“Exactly,” said Singh. “I advised contacting the Indian police but they were still concerned about keeping the story from coming out.”
“People might have noticed when I didn’t turn up for the wedding,” she remarked pointedly.
“That’s what I said,” agreed Singh. “And then the call came that a body had been found,” he continued.
“And Tanvir said it was me…”
“The police were convinced it was suicide. They were desperate to get shot of the matter.”
Singh remembered that she still did not know of Tara Singh’s murder. Well, that was the ace up his sleeve. It was also a reminder that there was still a killer on the loose, albeit not of this girl.
“The police really thought it was suicide?”
“Yes, the method is quite common apparently – especially to hide a pregnancy.”
“The girl was pregnant?” Her voice reverberated with echoes of loss.
“Yes.”
“But fire wouldn’t have hidden her condition.”
Singh gave himself a mental pat on the back. Ashu the scientist would not have made that mistake – just as he’d argued to the unimpressed Patel. Unfortunately, the policeman from India had merely been anxious to make the case go away.
Make the case go away.
“I’ve got it!” said Singh, slapping a fist into a palm. “Tanvir didn’t want the police searching for you or, for that matter, armies of private investigators, relatives and the odd available policeman from Singapore. He wanted ‘case closed’ stamped on your file. He must have seen his chance when he saw the condition of the body…” He stopped and fought the urge to run his fingernails through his facial hair. “But you might have walked in the door at any moment – surely it was an absurdly risky thing to do?”
“He would have thought I’d run away with Sameer.”
“Tanvir knew about Sameer?” Singh needed corroboration although he’d heard the same thing from the brother earlier.
“Yes, I asked for his advice – he said I had to marry Kirpal – anything else would bring dishonour to the family.” When the inspector did not respond, she continued, “But why did he want the whole thing to go away – knowing how much it would hurt my mother?”
Singh leaned against the wall and felt the wooden planks shift slightly. He straightened up in a hurry. He didn’t want to fall into the gutter on the other side of this flimsy construct. “He’s up to something – something that only needs – needed – a few days…”
“Why a few days?”
“He’d have expected you to turn up at some point – especially when you heard that you were ‘dead’.”
Singh could almost feel the whirr of his brain turning like the dials on a Swiss watch. What was Tanvir up to that a few days of respite from a police investigation had been worth the risky step of identifying a convenient cadaver as that of his own sister? He remembered Patel’s request that he keep an eye on Tanvir because his college friend had links with Khalistani terror groups.
What had Patel said – that the KLF were targeting leading Sikhs? Had there been a plot to murder Tara Singh? Was that why he needed a few more days without the big black boots of the police stomping all over his turf? The inspector couldn’t quite make the picture fit. Tara Singh’s killing had looked spontaneous – and angry. Not a calculated assasination – a murder pure and simple. Besides, whatever his level of activism, Tara Singh had been a separatist at heart – hardly the ideal target for members of a Khalistani group.
He pictured the scene at the apartment that morning – Tanvir desperate to leave. Tanvir acting out of character and subsiding when he’d threatened him with incarceration unless he quietened down. The heir had been genuinely upset when his mobile was taken. A man who needed time, his freedom and a phone. There were shades of the past here. When was the last time he’d met a man in a similar position? In Bali, it had been in Bali, Singh realised. “I have an appointment with a friend.” Those were Tanvir’s words. His friend Jaswant? Jaswant, a member of a terrorist cell according to Patel? Jaswant, with whom Tanvir had jokingly suggested a joint venture. What sort of joint venture?
“There will be violence.” The inspector had been struck by the prophetic note in Tanvir’s voice. But then he’d dismissed it to pursue other thoughts. After all, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that violence was possible, even likely.
Hindu against Moslem violence in revenge for the unfavourable decision of the court? Moslem against Hindu violence in reprisal? But what did a Khalistani gain?
“Unintended consequences” – that’s what Tanvir had said when talking about the Gandhi assassination and the death of his father. A single event – and a country had gone up in flames.
What if there were intended consequences? A match to light that flame. On purpose. It would only take one or two for the whole city of Mumbai to turn into a conflagration. One or two matches – like Tanvir, or Jaswant. Could it be? He flinched from the thought, a skittish creature, reacting with fear.
“What is it?” asked Ashu, watching his face. “What do you know?”
“I don’t know anything.”
“What do you suspect?”
“The worst.”
♦
Patel faced his suspects glumly. He’d be glad when this poisoned chalice was taken from him. He’d done what he could – asked them where they’d been when Tara Singh was killed, taken swabs of their hands although there’d been time enough to scrub away any traces of blood, and asked them as politely as he could whether any of them had a motive for killing an old man in such a brutal fashion. They’d cooperated after a fashion but made it clear that they thought he was barking up the wrong tree – the killer was most likely some desperado who’d beaten an old man for his wallet. He hadn’t bothered to tell them that nothing had been stolen.
Tanvir Singh had stared gloomily into the distance, stopping periodically to throw an angry glance at the policeman and demand to be released or at least be given his mobile phone back. The assistant commissioner had been tempted to fall in with his wishes. It wouldn’t do his career any good at all to be in the bad books of the new head of Tara Singh’s business empire. Only that last wink from the fat cop from Singapore kept him from folding like a cheap map. Inspector Singh was up to something – and Patel was prepared to try and hang on a little longer to find out what it was. He just hoped that this reliance on the policeman from Singapore wasn’t a career-ending decision.
His phone vibrated insistently in his pocket and Patel retrieved it quickly.
“Singh here – is that you, Patel?”
“Yes, yes – where are you?” He was whispering but the sibilant hiss carried around the room.
“At the slum next to Bharat Chemicals.”
“What are you doing there?”
“That’s not important.”
“They want to be released.”
“Don’t you dare let Tanvir Singh out of your sight!”
Patel had to move the phone a couple of inches away from his ear; the bellow had almost shattered his eardrum. He left the room hurriedly, escorted out by the hostile glares of his suspects.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“You’re right – Tanvir and that friend of his – Jaswant – are plotting something.”
“What do you mean – plotting something?”
“I think they plan to blow up a mosque or a te
mple – trigger some sort of outbreak of communal violence in Mumbai.”
Patel felt his knees give way and he sat down hurriedly on the arm of a chair.
“The Jama mosque judgment – if they trigger a violent aftermath between Hindus and Moslems, it will be a huge coup for the separatists,” continued Singh.
“I don’t understand – why should Sikhs be interested in this judgment?”
“Don’t you see? It’s the ultimate revenge. Society in flames – but no one blaming the Sikhs this time around.”
“Oh my God…”
“It won’t just be your God in this fight,” growled Singh.
“Are you quite sure, Singh? What is your evidence?”
“Just a gut feeling.” There was no time to convince Patel that Ashu was alive and well and that her brother had lied about it. The Indian policeman would certainly let the dogs out – but for him.
“How are you expecting me to act on a gut feeling? Do you know who we’re talking about here? The heir to Tara Singh’s empire!”
“You’re the one who told me that Tanvir was up to nefarious purposes.”
“I said there was a possibility that his friend was up to something – that’s not at all the same thing.” When there was no response, he continued, “Tell me what you know, I can’t just be taking your word for this.”
“Patel – if I told you the rest, you wouldn’t believe me anyway. But hear me out – if I’m right, there’s no time. The judgment is out. That’s what they were waiting for. If Tanvir is planning anything, if they want to make it look as if any action was in reprisal for the judgment – well, it will have to be soon. Very soon.”
“But…”
“Don’t you see? That’s why he was so anxious to leave the apartment. So upset about his mobile phone. His grandfather is dead. His empire is crumbling – but he wants to meet a friend? Don’t you remember – he apologised to me when I threatened him with a couple of days’ jail to cool his heels? That was completely out of character. I’m telling you – I’ve been here before, believe me – there’s a ticking bomb out there somewhere.”
A Curious Indian Cadaver Page 23