By the end of it, I had discovered quite a lot.
Early that morning, the woman had gone down to the river and found me lying unconscious right at the waterline. My body was wedged against some rocks, which had prevented me from floating further downstream. She had initially thought I was dead, and somehow managed to drag my inert form away from the river.
I was alive, of course, but barely. There was a nasty gash on the back of my head, and a number of cuts and bruises all over my body. Thankfully, I hadn’t been in the water for too long otherwise I would have probably drowned. The rocks had saved me.
The woman had cleaned and dressed the injury on my head, and applied some natural ointment on my other wounds. She blushed as she communicated this. I guessed that she must have had to take off my sodden clothes and seen me naked while tending to me. I asked if she had a husband and she nodded, indicating that he was away on work and would only return the following day. They had no children.
For a moment, I smiled at the thought of being alone with this sensuous woman who had undoubtedly saved my life, in the midst of this wilderness, unable to speak each other’s language yet bonding at different levels. It was like a scene in a movie I had watched long ago but whose name I couldn’t recall. And then I remembered the breadth of her husband’s jacket, and the fact that he had probably been a military man.
It was early evening so I must have been unconscious for over twelve hours. There was a village a couple of kilometres away but the woman had not wanted to leave me alone, in case I regained my senses while she was away. I asked if she knew anything about how I came to be in the river but she shook her head.
I walked outside and surveyed the surroundings.
The river was barely fifty metres away. A range of verdant hills ran along its far bank. I could see the distant snow-covered peaks tinged yellow and orange by the rays of the sinking sun. I realised I was on some kind of a private but unfenced property. There was a large bungalow with a gabled roof some distance away, and a neatly manicured lawn in front. Behind the bungalow was an orchard of apple trees stretching away up the mountainside.
The building I had been in was a sort of outhouse or staff quarters, designed like a miniature version of the main house. I guessed that the woman and her husband were caretakers of the property, which presumably belonged to some rich and influential man. I knew that it wasn’t easy to get the necessary permissions to build a private residence in such a remote place. There didn’t seem to be any other habitation for as far as I could see in any direction. And this land was almost certainly owned by the Forest department, who are known to be notoriously possessive.
I went up to the bungalow and walked around it. It was even bigger than I had first thought. The design and construction were sophisticated, yet the architect had cleverly managed to ensure that there was no incongruity with the natural surroundings. Obviously, no expense had been spared. A very rich man indeed. But the bungalow was empty for the moment.
I turned back and saw the woman standing at the door of her little home. She was holding two cups of tea, and had pulled out a pair of morhas. We sat down and watched the sun set over the mountains, content in each other’s silent company.
I pondered over my next course of action.
My memory was coming back in bits and pieces, not necessarily in any chronological order. I knew where I needed to go but the problem was that I was in the middle of nowhere. The woman had told me there was a highway an hour’s march out, from where I could catch a lift. I was in no shape to make that hike, though my wounds seemed to be healing well. I decided to stay the night, if she let me, and set out the next morning. She agreed. I was a stranger but I suppose she trusted me and preferred to have me around than being alone.
Twilight came and faded into darkness. I couldn’t see a single light come on anywhere in the hills around us. The woman was really courageous to be spending nights alone in such a desolate place. I knew that more than any danger from man or beast, she would be afraid of ghosts. Hill-folk are a superstitious lot and they readily believe any number of legends and stories about paranormal activity.
A few dim lights began to come on automatically around the property. I had seen a bank of solar panels on the roof of the bungalow and figured that there must be some advanced energy management system in place, which was self-sustaining for the period it was unoccupied. There would undoubtedly be a generator somewhere as well.
The woman and I went inside. She indicated that she needed to cook our dinner, and disappeared. There was nothing for me to do but wait for her. It had become quite cold and I lay down on the mattress, pulling the blanket over me. Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep.
I don’t know how long I had been out but I awoke suddenly in pitch darkness. For a moment, I had no idea where I was. Then it all came back. I felt guilty that I hadn’t stayed up to have the food the woman must have prepared. She had been kind enough not to wake me up but I realised that I was famished again. I got up and tried to feel my way around the room.
My knee hit something hard and rough, and there was a loud crash. I guessed it was some earthen vessel. I cursed loudly and stepped aside to avoid the fragments on the ground. Within a couple of steps, I again bumped into something but this time, it was soft flesh. The woman had heard the sounds and come in to investigate. To my surprise, she didn’t move away. I felt the warmth of her body and the scent of her hair. She reached out hesitantly and touched my face.
Just then, there was a loud knock on the door.
Both of us were startled. She pushed me away, motioning that I should lie down on the mattress. There was no place to hide anyway. I presumed she would just stick to the truth, which had been quite innocuous until the last few moments.
She switched on a light and opened the door. There was a short, round man standing there. One look at him and I realised that it couldn’t be her husband.
69
Neel
‘Can I get a drink first?’ Roy asked. Sara’s well-stocked bar hadn’t escaped his attention.
‘I’m not a teetotaler anymore,’ he said, seeing our expressions. ‘It’s been twelve years since that night, you know.’
I kept Roy’s Walther back on the table and stood up.
‘What’s your poison?’
‘Whisky.’
I poured out three generous pegs from a bottle of Bowmore, aged 15 years. It’s the oldest distillery in Islay. Omar went inside and came out with a chilled beer.
Roy took a long sip of the whisky and began, ‘What I’m about to tell you is highly confidential. You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone else.’
We looked suitably impressed.
‘I work for a group of people, very influential people, who believe in doing things they feel are necessary for the country but cannot be done by the government. They have a clear vision of what they want to achieve, and practically unlimited resources at their disposal.
‘I can’t identify any of the members of this group because I’m sworn to secrecy. All I can say is that you would be quite amazed to hear some of the names. The venture, if I may call it that, was started by a well-known industrialist ten years ago. He then drafted in the biggest names from different fields to forge an organisation that is as powerful as it is secretive. You’ll get an idea of what I mean when I tell you that its membership includes a former prime minister, a Bollywood megastar and a Nobel Prize winner.’
Omar asked in a soft voice, ‘Roy, have you also become someone like that, and we didn’t know all this while?’
‘No, I just work for them.’ He smiled briefly and continued. ‘About a year ago, one of the Members heard a rumour that a powerful politician was killing young girls to fuel his sadistic urges, and she brought a proposal to the group that the matter be investigated.’
I said, ‘And you were given the job?’
‘Y
es, I…’
Omar cut in. ‘Are you some kind of a private investigator, Roy?’
‘Among other things, yes.’ He paused. ‘Coming back to Karan, the first whiff that something serious was going on came from a sharp, young IPS officer who was investigating the murder of a girl in Bhopal. The victim was in her early twenties and worked as a shop assistant in a newly opened mall.’
‘Not really Karan’s type, I would have thought?’
‘That’s the thing; Karan doesn’t have a type. His victims range from the ages of ten to thirty-six, and they come from very diverse socio-economic backgrounds. Most importantly, they’re widely dispersed across metros, towns as well as villages. Unlike most serial killers, who operate in a localised area, like the Boston Strangler or in our very own Nithari case, Karan was able to scatter his operations across the country, which made it even more difficult for anyone to see the connection.
‘Coincidentally, this officer had encountered a similar case during his previous posting in Faridabad, near Delhi. That girl was, in fact, a worker in one of Karan’s rival political parties. Anyway, there were striking similarities in the modus operandi in both cases. The most telling evidence was that the knife used was identical. Since the police in India don’t have centralised records of unsolved crimes, this fact would have escaped attention but for the vigilant cop who spotted it.
‘He began to dig deeper and I presume came uncomfortably close to the truth. Word was that he made the links to as many as twelve of Karan’s victims, before he was transferred out. A month later, he was found dead on a railway line that ran by close to his quarters. His body was neatly cut in half. It was dismissed as a case of suicide, though there was hardly any supporting evidence.’
Sara asked, ‘Did he discover it was Karan?’
‘No, I don’t think so. But he did conclude it was someone influential and most likely, a politician. There was already plenty of scepticism among his superiors about his theory so no one followed up on the investigation after his death. Thankfully, he must have discussed his findings, at least the broad facts, with someone outside the force and the information eventually made its way to us. This Member is a former Miss India, besides being an MP and one of the foremost crusaders for women’s rights in the country. There was enough for her to believe the story, especially because of the very convenient suicide of the unfortunate policeman.’
Sara looked thoughtful. ‘I think I know who she is…’
Roy interrupted. ‘Yes, you probably do. But that’s not important. The point is that had that officer not been doubted by his colleagues and been allowed to complete his investigation, eight lives might have been saved, if not more.’
I said pointedly, ‘I’m not so sure, Roy. It will take more than the police to bring down a character like Karan. In any case, the powerful people you represent have also been after him all this while and yet, he’s still at large!’
‘For all the influence of my patrons, I still don’t have direct access to the police’s vast knowledge of crime, their network of informants and countless case files from around the country. I did eventually manage to put the pieces together but it took a lot of time and effort. It wasn’t the same as working from the inside. That’s why I said that maybe that officer might have cracked it long ago, had he been given a chance.’
‘So how did you figure out it was Karan?’
Roy took a deep breath. ‘There are two things common in most of his victims. The first one is the use of a sharp knife in the killing. A couple of the earlier ones involved strangulation but I think what Karan really gets off on is cutting up the bodies, before or after death.
‘The second one wasn’t nearly so obvious but once I spotted it, I was convinced I had to be right. You see, Karan has a fetish for fair skin. Except in one case, all the girls he has killed have pale complexions, the paler the better. That also explains why a number of foreigners have caught his murderous attentions.’
Sara exclaimed, ‘But I’m not fair!’
Omar replied sotto voce, ‘Maybe that’s why you’re still alive, Sara.’
Roy continued. ‘With this hypothesis as a starting point, I began to compile a list of all unsolved murders over the past ten years which fitted these two criteria. Even after I struck off a few for various reasons, I was left with a shocking number.’ He gulped down the remnants of his whisky. ‘I can probably write a book about my entire investigation but to cut a long story short, what finally led me to Karan was someone very close to him.’
‘Who?’
‘His estranged wife.’
Sara asked, ‘Delnaz?’
He nodded.
Omar turned to Sara. ‘You know Karan’s wife?’
‘So do you, Omar,’ Roy said quietly. ‘You’ve met her on three occasions. Twice in Goa, including at the Marriott, and once at your Mumbai flat.’
70
Omar
‘What!’ I exclaimed. ‘She’s Karan’s wife?’
‘That’s correct,’ Roy said.
‘My God! I had absolutely no idea.’ Memories of my encounters with D flashed through my mind. I frequently thought about her, for there was no woman I had been more attracted to in a long time.
‘For a while, she didn’t know about your connection to Karan either.’
‘Now that you mention it, she did say that her husband doesn’t enjoy normal sex, or something to that effect. I just assumed he was kinky or perverted, but definitely not this.’ I thought for a moment. ‘She seemed really scared of him.’
Neel broke in impatiently. ‘What the hell are you two talking about?’
I turned to him and said, ‘I met this woman at the Marriott in Goa and I…We hooked up.’
‘But you anyway had a date that evening, right?’
‘Yes but I got stood up. I had never seen this woman before. She picked me up at the casino.’
Neel smiled wryly. ‘These things just seem to happen to you, don’t they!’
‘Yeah, whatever. Anyway, I bumped into her again just before leaving Goa. This time, we spent a couple of hours with each other and I got to know her better.’
‘I’ll bet you did.’
I ignored the jibe. ‘The third time we met was in Mumbai. She called me and came over to my place, where we had dinner together.’
‘All this while, you had no idea who she was?’ Sara asked. ‘And if you told her about yourself, she would have likely guessed you might know Karan.’
‘She spoke about her family, her childhood and so on but didn’t reveal her name. All she said was that people call her D. And if she guessed that I know Karan, she didn’t let on.’
Roy interjected. ‘Omar, she figured that you knew Karan when you told her about your schooldays, perhaps mentioned Sara—I don’t know. It was during your second meeting, I think.’
I said slowly, ‘That’s possible. She did go off quite abruptly that day.’
Neel looked at Roy and said sharply, ‘How do you know all this? Omar hasn’t even mentioned any of this to Sara or me, for God’s sake!’
Before replying, Roy got up and poured himself another whisky. ‘Delnaz figured out pretty early in her marriage to Karan that there was something seriously wrong with him. For reasons best known to her, she chose not to leave him even though they hardly have a relationship anymore, physical or otherwise.
‘One day, quite by chance, she found a bag inside a drawer in his office, containing the blood-stained clothes of a woman. I guess he had kept it there and forgotten to dispose of it. A rare mistake. She immediately suspected the worst but wisely chose not to confront Karan.’
‘Poor girl,’ said Sara. ‘What bad luck to have married a man like that!’
‘Yes but remember how charming Karan can be, Sara. You fell for him yourself.’
She made a face. ‘Don’t remind me of that. Please.
’
‘Anyway, Delnaz began to quietly snoop on her husband, going through his effects when he wasn’t around, trying to keep tabs on his whereabouts and so on. For a long time, she found nothing objectionable. Even the bag with the clothes had disappeared. She began to wonder if she was imagining things or drawing conclusions too quickly.
‘But she didn’t give up. Her instincts told her she was right. She knew about Karan’s violent nature, of course, and his sadistic streak had started to reveal itself more and more when they had sex. He often tied her up, hit her and wanted to do role plays where he was killing her in different ways.’
I saw Sara shudder but she didn’t say anything. I wondered if she was thinking about the sex she had had with Karan herself a long time ago.
Roy went on. ‘It took a while but Delnaz finally found the mother lode. Though Karan was fiercely possessive about his computer, she managed to figure out his power-on password and logged into it one night, when he was asleep.
‘She found gigabytes of S&M porn on his hard drive, some of it unbelievably graphic. But that wasn’t all. She systematically went through his document folders and found an Excel spreadsheet named “Events”. It only contained a single table with a series of names, dates and places. Had Delnaz not suspected what she did, it may have seemed innocuous to her.
‘She guessed correctly that it was a list of his victims, though the number appalled her, as expected. Her hands shaking, she randomly picked three names and Googled them. Two threw up details of murders corresponding to the respective time frames and locations. One of them was incidentally Sasha, on whose death there was naturally a huge amount of online information. She tried another three names and this time, all three came up as matching cases of unsolved killings of young girls.’
Sara asked, her voice quavering, ‘What…what did she do then?’
‘Her first impulse was to run, get as far away from Karan as possible. Then she forced herself to calm down and think clearly. Running away wouldn’t help, of course. Neither would going to the police, she realised. Her evidence was hardly convincing, especially given Karan’s stature. She even considered killing him in his sleep but didn’t have the stomach for it.
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