ANTI-SOCIAL NETWORK (3 page)

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 phones 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.’

T
he 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.’

‘A
nd 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 finished 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?’

Virkar managed to maintain an even tone as he replied, ‘There is no evidence of any thin, scrawny boy on the premises.’

But ACP Wagh didn’t back down. ‘Virkar, do you know any nineteen-year-old girls who can be capable of something so diabolical?’ This time Virkar had no answer. He stared expressionlessly at the ACP who continued, ‘Don’t waste your time and mine. Go look for an accomplice.’ Virkar gave him a short nod of acknowledgement, saluted, turned with a smart click of his shoes and left the room without any intention of doing what the ACP had asked him to do. Instead, he headed out of the headquarters of the Crime Branch, got on his Bullet and rolled out into the city.

He made his way northwards till he reached King’s Circle. A little ahead, he turned left and cut across Dharavi, passing the Bandra-Kurla Complex on to the Western Express Highway. Then he rode steadily over the numerous flyovers till he reached Goregoan and turned off the highway to cut across to his destination in Bangur Nagar.

He criss-crossed between the old three-storeyed cooperative housing societies and the posh new towers that had sprung up due to the spate of redevelopment in the city. As he passed the famous Kali Mata Mandir, he spotted the Somnath Housing Society, home to the recently deceased Rajesh Chawre. As was normally the case, the few people lounging around in the society compound quickly dispersed as soon as they saw him ride in on his Bullet. It always amazed him to see how little people wanted to engage with policemen on duty. Virkar parked the Bullet and turned to look at the nervous watchman who had approached him from behind. Without a word, the watchman led him to the second-floor flat of Shantaram Chawre, retired PWD officer, Grade III.

The door to the second floor apartment was open and Virkar saw that it was cramped with sad-eyed people who, he presumed, were the victim’s family. Virkar walked up to a man who looked a little like what Rajesh Chawre would have looked if he had lived to be fifty and, modulating his voice into his most apologetic tone, said, ‘Chawre saheb, I’m sorry to intrude at such a time but I wanted to…’

Chawre cut Virkar in mid-sentence, ‘We have already answered all the questions that the other policemen asked.’

Virkar softened his tone further. ‘I know, saheb, but I just wanted to inspect his room and belongings for some clue.’

Chawre displayed a hint of irritation in his manner, ‘This is most inconvenient. I have all these guests…’

‘…and I’m sure all of them would like me to catch Rajesh’s killer. And would not mind a little bother,’ Virkar cut in, keeping his tone apologetic.

‘
Aaoo deya ho
,’ a woman’s voice called out from inside and Virkar saw a teary-eyed, middle-aged lady who he correctly presumed was Rajesh’s mourning mother. Chawre turned and led him through the crowd of mourners who had now begun staring, to the small inside room that belonged to his deceased son. He waved out the young people sitting in the room who Virkar assumed were Rajesh’s cousins.

As soon as the room emptied, Virkar walked around it, taking in its details. There was nothing particularly striking about it as far as he could see—a single bed, two steel Godrej cupboards, an old wooden study table and chair, and a large Apple iMac. The last item in particular piqued Virkar’s interest. ‘That’s quite an expensive computer, isn’t it?’ he asked

Chawre nodded. ‘Ho, Rajesh was totally into computers. I broke one of my FDs to get him that one.’

Virkar walked up to the screen and examined it closer. It looked brand new. He made a mental note to get the Cyber Crime Cell to examine the computer. Behind him, Chawre continued, ‘He said that if I got him this he could make more money than the man who made that new thing…kya…Facebook.’

Virkar looked at him and nodded. ‘Can I inspect the cupboards please?’ he asked. By this time, Chawre had worked himself into a state, reminiscing about his son’s lost ambitions. He nodded and walked away, suppressing his tears. Virkar quickly opened the Godrej cupboards and went through them, meticulously examining the clothes and personal knick-knacks. Finding nothing out of place in the first cupboard apart from the fact that Rajesh seemed to have far too many clothes for a son of a retired middle-class government officer, he opened the next one. This one was full of shoes of different makes and brands, all of the same size 9. It looked as though apart from being into computers, Rajesh Chawre was also into shoes. Virkar picked up a particularly fashionable and expensive-looking pair of snakeskin boots and examined them with a mix of awe and envy. He idly wondered if Rajesh’s father had sold a plot of land in his village to buy him that particular pair of shoes. He was about to keep the shoes back when something fell out of the left boot on to the floor. Virkar bent down to pick up the object and realized that it was a small iPod—an iPod Touch to be specific. Curious, he pressed the power button and the iPod sprang to life. At first glance, it yielded nothing unusual but when he tapped on the Videos folder, a single video sprang up on the screen. On closer examination, Virkar realized that the video screen was a hazy photograph of a young girl, naked. What was particularly interesting was that the girl had extremely long, straight, silky hair. Intrigued, Virkar pressed the play button.