by Leena Nandan
His working relationship with Benoy was cordial, but they never met socially. Benoy’s wife, when alive, had been chronically ill and consequently had a churlish disposition. Gradually, Benoy and had drifted apart. They spoke in monosyllables only and that too with barely concealed hostility. When she died, everyone commiserated with Benoy, but to Tushar, his relief was palpable.
Benoy concentrated on work, but he never laid his cards on the table and Tushar knew there was much more to everything than he revealed. Even the project with Dr Maken and the role of Natasha Grewal were handled very secretively by Benoy. With Vikram now in the loop, Tushar felt that he was on firmer ground.
He had reached the police headquarters. It was time to concentrate on the pontifications of Inspector Khanna.
‘No discipline in the force, that’s what I say. In my time, one could have got suspended for not standing straight while responding to a senior,’ droned on Khanna.
Tushar remained quiet. He had come to meet Naveen Kumar on Dr Maken’s case—the company was baffled by the complete disappearance of the data and the report—but instead of meeting the DSP, Tushar was stuck with the asinine Khanna.
Inspector Khanna was rambling on and on about how he’d enforced austerity measures by rationing the biscuits served with tea and keeping a strict watch on use of the photocopier so that there was no diversion of stationery for personal work.
‘The DSP really appreciates my initiatives because I am able to combine a sharp police brain with the acumen of an administrator,’ he said with becoming modesty. ‘I have just got the arrest warrant for the caretaker of one of the buildings in which a sex crime was committed. In my opinion, though, the cyber crimes officer, Vikram, is the mastermind. He struck me as a pervert. He and the caretaker must have been carrying on with the typist and when she threatened to reveal their assignations, they bumped her off. I’m sure the caretaker will end up in the morgue too, probably castrated and left to bleed until dead,’ he added with relish.
Tushar was disgusted. The chap sounded more a ghoul than a police inspector and his desire to pin the crime on Vikram without any evidence was shocking. But Tushar was in no mood to argue with the police on their views about Vikram even if Vikram was his friend. He was seized with terrible anxiety about the mysterious disappearance of Dr Maken’s report—they would all be finished if it wasn’t traced soon.
They had reached the meeting hall. Khanna’s much-admired superior, ACP Naveen Kumar, was conferring with Colonel Tiwari, OSD to the CEO. Naveen Kumar, a tall guy with a hawkish look, always had an air of boredom, as if this was really a meaningless exercise and he would never have wasted his time, but for the sake of the country.
Tushar went straight to the point. ‘Have you found out anything concrete about the scientist’s death?’
It was below Naveen Kumar’s dignity to respond. He merely looked at Inspector Khanna, who cleared his throat and announced importantly, ‘Dr Maken was in league with those who were leaking the company’s research details, which is why he was delaying the report, biding his time till the company collapsed. But his death was chance, nothing more. He left the research lab because he wasn’t feeling well. Not being able to locate the guard, he couldn’t unlock the main gate, so he had to use the side gate. Anyhow, he died of a heart attack and the post-mortem has ruled out foul play. The unfortunate part is that he left for his heavenly abode just before the final test report was compiled, so the company will have to hire someone else. We have tied up the loose ends and closed the case.’
There was stunned silence, and then everyone spoke at once. ‘You’ve got it all fixed, haven’t you?’ said Tushar not bothering to conceal his contempt at the shoddy investigation. ‘Are you sure you haven’t omitted the suicide note conveniently stating that no one should be blamed for his death?’
Colonel Tiwari added, ‘Has anyone checked out the research building thoroughly before coming to the conclusion that the scientific report was not even compiled by Dr Maken and in fact that he was the real culprit? What about checking with Dr Grewal? If no one has spoken with her, I can interact personally and ascertain what she knows about the report.’
‘Very magnanimous of you, I’m sure,’ drawled Naveen Kumar sarcastically. ‘She’s on vacation, so we’re waiting till she gets back.’
Tushar lost his temper. His face red, he pounded on the table and shouted, ‘Why aren’t you even trying to contact Dr Grewal to get more details of how their research was progressing? This is the worst investigation I have ever seen—completely slipshod and callous.’
Khanna drew himself up, looking every bit the pompous ass Tushar knew he was. ‘We know policing like the back of our hands, sir, but thank you very much for your invaluable tips.’
‘And what about the murder of Celia Martin, the clerk in the cyber crime cell?’ demanded Tushar, without lowering the pitch of his voice. ‘I’ve just learnt that you’re pinning the murder on the caretaker, completely ignoring the fact that the call centre which her boss, Vikram Batra was investigating for the attempted embezzlements, was right next to Dr Maken’s research centre. Have you even tried to make the connection? Why are you desperate to close the case?’
Naveen Kumar gave up the veneer of geniality. ‘Don’t try to tell us what to do,’ he said, his voice harsh and grating. ‘Your bloody call centre is not our priority. And we have a million other responsibilities. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll attend to other pressing matters. Good day, gentlemen.’
Tushar stormed out and went straight to Benoy’s office, where they both called Vikram. There had to be some method in the madness, some coherence in the pattern, not this dead-end everywhere.
‘Vikram, tell me what you think. Why this deliberate bumbling approach of the police? Does no one really care?’ asked Tushar, his voice trembling with anger.
‘I think they’ve made up their minds about Celia’s murder, and Naveen Kumar seems dead set against a proper investigation into Dr Maken’s death, though I fail to understand why,’ said Vikram thoughtfully.
Benoy gave him a cryptic look. ‘I never knew you were the guy who created all the flutter in the call centre over the cyber theft case. One of the executives there is a relative of Naveen Kumar. They’re itching to pin Celia’s murder on you and now you know why—the police have elephantine memories. So don’t provoke them any further by probing too deep into Dr Maken’s death, though I know how much your efforts would have meant to Leila.’
Tushar said, ‘Between Naveen Kumar and Khanna, it is difficult to determine which of them is more difficult to tolerate.’
Vikram gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘They are far from being fools. You’ve ended up with squat—your much-awaited analysis report is nowhere to be found and you’re clueless about how Dr Maken really died.’
Benoy seemed to be oblivious to the conversation between the two. His thoughts were far away, none of them pleasant. ‘We have to focus on the report—not on Dr Maken’s death. We need to meet Leila again and ask her if she remembers anything that she missed last time. Perhaps there is a document her Dad gave her, or maybe some clue to where he kept it. I am getting a feeling that we’re missing something crucial.’
Tushar said, ‘Well, I’ll push off now. I have to brief the CEO.’
Benoy and Vikram reached Leila’s home and rang the bell for half an hour with no response. A few neighbours walking up and down the stairs looked quizzically at them but no one volunteered any information, or asked a question. Vikram wondered whether they recognised him from his previous visit and if so, did they think Leila and he were having an affair. It was a painful thought that their relationship might look sordid to others.
Locked up in her bedroom without access to her cell phone or landline, Leila tried to shout but knew her voice would just not penetrate to the outer door. She hadn’t ever in her life felt so afraid. Neil and she had come back from the coffee shop in icy silence. Trembling, she’d followed him inside, not daring to say even a word
to the kindly old Mrs Dhawan when they met on the stairs. When she asked Neil timidly how he’d known where she was, he’d slapped her hard. She looked at him aghast and he slapped her again. This time his ring gashed her cheek and cut her lip. She cried out in pain and fear. There was madness in his eyes as he shoved her into the room and locked it. She’d lain on the floor, sobbing till she drifted into uneasy slumber. The maid had come in but she left the room locked from outside and paid no attention to Leila’s feeble calls for help. Hearing the bell gave her some hope but when that stopped, she was overcome by a sense of complete hopelessness.
Vikram was about to turn away when a white-haired old lady opened her door and peeped out. ‘I’m Mrs Dhawan, Leila’s neighbour. I’m quite sure she’s at home, I wonder why she’s not responding to the doorbell. Maybe she’s ill. She looked terrible when I saw her on the stairs.’
Vikram and Benoy looked at each other. ‘Her husband will have to take care of her illness,’ said Vikram formally.
‘But she’s so afraid of him. I could sense it whenever I interacted with her. You can’t leave her like this.’
‘What do you suggest we do? Go to the police and file a report about a woman being oppressed in her own home?’ growled Vikram.
‘You are young, you should have courage,’ she said reprovingly. ‘Come in. You can jump from my balcony to hers and take a look at her.’
Vikram was horrified. There was no way he would commit such a serious offence, both in legal and ethical terms. But Benoy had no such compulsions. He promptly entered, almost dragging Vikram inside. He shut the door and said, ‘Now swing into action.’
Vikram hesitated and then with a muttered, ‘Oh what the hell!’ agilely climbed over the balcony and managed to swing himself over the next railing to enter Leila’s terrace. He glanced in from the window and espied her lying on the floor, a look of abject misery on her face. Suddenly, he was glad he had been persuaded to act. He tapped on the window and she looked up with a start. His heart stood still seeing the mix of emotions on her face. Fear was replaced by a joyous smile, behind which love shone with an unmistakable radiance. She opened the door and rushed to him. There was no time to lose. He gently helped her back to the balcony of the enterprising Mrs Dhawan, and then they ran out. Benoy was already in the car, with the engine running. Vikram was greatly relieved to see the old lady leaving the building too—she drove past giving them a friendly wave.
Leila was grey with shock, fatigue and hunger. ‘You’re hurt,’ exclaimed Vikram, seeing the cut lip and mark on her cheek.
Benoy said bluntly, ‘This is no time for showing tender loving care,’ and Leila flinched. ‘Leila, can you get your thoughts together for a minute and tell me about your Dad? No one can figure out what he did with the final report. Would he have mailed it to you?’ asked Benoy.
‘I didn’t correspond with him on mail because there were all sorts of regulations about internet usage in his centre. I really have no idea. I wish I could help you. But what should I do now after running away from Neil? If I go to Mother, it will be a burden on her. I don’t know what extent Neil will go to. Oh God, my life has become such a mess!’
Vikram said, ‘We’ll find a way out. I don’t think he’ll bother you too much. He’s just a bully, and quite hollow from the inside.’
‘Wait a minute,’ she said excitedly. ‘Dad’s chair had a hollow below the seat where he used to keep his cigarettes, handkerchiefs and pens. I’d got it custom made for him and he used it in the research centre. He often joked about packing me in it too. I’m sure the documents must be hidden inside.’
‘You two can take some rest if you like,’ offered Benoy. ‘I’ll go take a look.’
‘No, you’ll need someone to persuade the guards—I don’t think you can manage all alone. Nor can I leave Leila,’ said Vikram. ‘We’ll all have to move together.’
They reversed the car and made for the research centre as fast as the speed limit would allow.
SEVENTEEN
Mumbai, 6 February
The task of identifying the body on the beach would have been doubly difficult but for the providential discovery of a room key of Room 114, Hotel Sunrise that seemed to have rolled into a crack between the stones. All other evidence of the victim’s identity had been carefully removed. There were at least five hotels by that name in Mumbai but Inspector Patel knew who the right man for the job was—head constable Jadhav. His apologetic manner and homely appearance made people feel comfortable when talking to him and he could converse in passable English.
Jadhav had woken up with a sore throat. It wasn’t of much significance because he had only to file a report on all traffic violations in the last week in his beat. But immediately on reaching the police station, he was summoned by the Inspector and given the assignment with the exhortation that he had to go in plain clothes because this was no routine crime, judging by the efforts to make it anonymous. The good constable sighed, checked the first address on the list and then wheeled out his well-worn motorcycle.
His luck was in. The very first hotel he went to, Hotel Sunrise on Sea View Road, was the one. It was an outright shady joint. The reception was an apology for a lobby, the chandelier gaudy and the light so dim you could scrawl any name in the register and claim forgery the next morning. A shabby sofa set was occupied by a couple engaged in some protracted negotiation. The suggestive picture on the wall said it all; the clientele was obvious to even the most dim-witted. The man at the counter, a fellow with receding hair and proportionately protruding teeth, was watching the cricket match on a black and white portable television set. He displayed no interest in Jadhav—to all intents and purposes an unaccompanied male. Jadhav gave him a conspiratorial smile, wondering what his wife would say if she saw him come out of the joint.
‘Good rooms you have here,’ he said with a silent prayer for forgiveness at this blatant falsehood.
The clerk responded immediately, ‘Good company too, sir,’ with a sly wink.
‘I know, I was here last week with a special friend.’
Now the guy looked positively oily. ‘Oho, come back for a repeat, have we? But I can suggest something new.’
‘Well, I am thinking Room 114 was very good,’ said Jadhav wondering what he’d say if asked to comment on the room décor. Maybe ‘cosy’ would be the right adjective or better still ‘intimate’. That must be the universal theme, in any case.
‘I’ll have to see if it’s free. You know our regular customers—I mean guests—have fixed liking—they’re men of discriminating taste—like you, I’m sure.’
He flipped through the dirty register till he came to Room 114 and said with well-simulated surprise. ‘Oh it’s available. It’s your lucky day, sir. But alone?’
‘My guest will be coming now. I’ll inform her to come straight to 114 so that she doesn’t disturb you at lunch time.’
‘No disturbance, sir, during the day. The night is the busy time as you must be appreciating—you seem a man of the world.’
Jadhav winced and somehow managed to change it into a cough as he paid the advance on the room. People like this guy had an animal instinct for scenting that something was amiss and he couldn’t afford to be thought of as anything other than a seedy man who had just about summoned up the courage to cheat on his wife a second time.
The clerk gave him a well-worn room card and looked at him expectantly. He wondered whether he’d made a mistake in asking for the same room—now he’d be expected to find his way there easily. The problem was taken out of his hands by a loud argument from the couple who a minute ago had seemed on the verge of clinching the deal.
‘Hey, this is a respectable place. I’ll have no fighting here,’ said the clerk as he rushed out from behind the counter.
Jadhav quickly went into the corridor, hoping that the room wouldn’t turn out to be on the first floor as he’d have to then come back to the lobby and do some more smooth-talking with a clerk who had too much time on his hands
. Luckily for him, room 114 was at the end of the passage. He entered, not really hoping to find anything substantive since presumably someone came in every now and then to clean up the room. There was a musty odour as the windows had not been opened in a long time. In fact, they went to extraordinary lengths to keep the heavy maroon drapes drawn, and rightly so, thought Jadhav wryly.
It had every bit the sleazy look expected of such a place, but he couldn’t find anything there that could indicate whether the woman had stayed in the room or her killer or both. It did not seem a crime of passion, nor had the woman been dressed in cheap clothes. Her looks had been impossible to determine from the photograph as the features were blue and bloated, but she definitely was not a street walker, so how had the card come in her possession? He carefully went through the drawers of the bedside tables, and peered into the dark recesses of the cupboard. Nothing emerged out of its gloomy depths except for the combined smell of cheap perfume and country liquor that assailed his nostrils and almost made him gag.
He would have to converse with the clerk again, but very subtly so that the guy wouldn’t suspect a thing. The best option was to try winning his confidence. So Jadhav went with what he hoped was an embarrassed smile—he practised it before the mirror and found it passable—and confided, ‘My friend is busy with someone else…I mean with some other work, so I wondered if you could arrange…I mean request…you know…’