ANTI-SOCIAL NETWORK (6 page)

‘What about her parents? Were they aware of her mental condition?’ he asked, once again business-like.

Naina smile turned sad. ‘Inspector, in today’s world, the parents are the last ones to know anything about their children, isn’t that so?’ She stopped for a response from Virkar. Virkar, however didn’t say anything—her sultry voice was having such a dramatic effect on him that he was having difficulty concentrating.

Naina sighed and continued, ‘In Sagarika’s case, too, her parents were under the impression that all she was involved in was course work.’ She glanced at Virkar, whose eyes were fixed on the large round vermillion teeka on Naina’s forehead. Naina suddenly realized the effect she was having on him and the expression on her face turned to one of playful amusement.

Virkar caught her look and flushed with embarrassment. Finally, with some effort, he was able to control his wayward thoughts. Clearing his throat, he began, ‘Professor Rai—’

‘Please call me Naina.’

‘
Theek hai
…uhh…Nainaji, in your professional opinion, do you think that Sagarika could have killed these two boys?’

Naina became quiet, her suddenly serious look indicating to Virkar that her mind was considering all options. A full minute later, she finally said, ‘She could have, but I can’t say for sure.’

Virkar was about to ask another question when she continued, ‘As I already told you, Sagarika is extremely creative and a borderline genius. It has been found that these talents are more common in people who have a family history of mental illness and thus carry a greater risk of schizophrenia.’

Virkar nodded. ‘So, in your professional opinion, she could have committed the crimes?’

This time, Naina sounded a little ruffled. ‘She could have, but in my professional opinion, I’m not sure.’

‘Nainaji, it is a well-known fact that people who are susceptible to schizophrenia can go over the edge because of drug use, lack of sleep or if something stressful or traumatic happens to them.’

Naina immediately became defensive. ‘Inspector, I don’t want to spoil a girl’s life just by making a casual, half-informed statement like you are making right now.’

Virkar’s eyes flashed with indignation. ‘I’m not half-informed. I have a first class in a Bachelor of Arts degree in psychology, which means I know what I’m talking about.’

Naina sat back, looking a little sheepish. ‘Well…uhh…I’m sorry. I’m just worried that my statement might be used out of context and played up in the media. There is a girl’s life at stake here.’

But Virkar was in no mood to let up. He opened his drawer and drew out a thick box file. He opened it on his desk and flipped through the photographs of the two murder scenes, pulling out those that were the most gruesome. ‘This is what is at stake here,’ he said, thrusting them at her. ‘These killings are not the work of a stable mind, but the precision and intelligence with which each murder has been carried out clearly indicates that the killer is someone extremely smart and equally meticulous or criminally insane.’

By now Naina was gasping for breath—the photographs had done their job. Virkar rose from his chair and held her by the arm; she got up and followed him, still gasping. Virkar quickly led her to the washbasin where Naina proceeded to disgorge the remnants of her last meal. After retching a few times, she washed her face, looking embarrassed as she accepted Virkar’s handkerchief to wipe it clean. She realized that she was attracted to him—something she had felt even while he was interrogating her. He wasn’t at all what she expected a policeman to be. She wondered what he was really like and that thought gave her a little thrill. Virkar, on his part, felt a tinge of regret for what he had done. He smiled apologetically at Naina,

As if on cue, they both looked at one another and said, ‘I’m sorry.’

I
f someone had looked closely at her they would perhaps have wondered why she was wearing a baseball cap over her long straight hair and dark glasses that covered half her sharp-featured face. But in malls such as the one she was in, young people were known to display a wild sense of fashion. In fact, all around her, young girls barely out of their teens lounged around wearing T-shirts that displayed their navels, tube tops that worked more as strips of strings than clothes, miniskirts and shorts that left very little to the imagination. On second thought, one would say that she fit right in, except that the slight tremble in her hand as she raised her coffee cup to her lips displayed a hint of nervous tension that seemed a little out of sync with the carefree buzz of those around her.

Although her eyes could not be seen behind the large dark glasses, her face was turned towards the automatic doors that opened and shut periodically to let people into the air-conditioned environs of the mall. She had been staring at these doors for almost fifteen minutes now, and was almost at the bottom of her cup of coffee, but she continued to take small sips of the beverage, prolonging her stay as long as she could.

A slight pause while putting down her cup was the only hint that something had caught her attention. Then she abruptly rose from the table, indicating that her wait was over. The sure-footed steps with which she strolled towards the shopping area after slinging her chic leather backpack on her shoulders was a sign that she knew exactly where she was going. She strode into MoJo Wear’s cavernous flagship store, with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what she was doing.

The only time her steps faltered was when she reached the revolving racks of some of the costliest fashion wear for young women. But even then she only stopped for couple of seconds to pick out two slick dresses made of a fabric that resembled PVC. Soon she was on her way again, the dresses in her arms. She smiled at the salesgirls who were sipping their coffee behind the counter at the end of the store. The salesgirl in charge of the PVC dresses smiled back, relieved that the customer was self-sufficient and her evening flirtations on her phone wouldn’t be interrupted.

As she turned into the section that housed the changing rooms, the girl in the baseball cap felt an involuntary wave of tension rippling through her body. But when she saw that there was no attendant on duty outside the changing rooms, she relaxed. A miniscule smile flitted at the corner of her mouth, signalling that things were going as per plan. She now walked through the corridor to the last stall and opened the door. Stepping inside, she bolted the door behind her and took off her baseball cap and dark glasses. She opened her leather backpack and stuffed them inside. She then unzipped one of the PVC dresses and slid it on over her T-shirt and jeans. She zipped it up and crouched on the ground. Sliding her hand inside a side pocket of the backpack, she withdrew the hunting knife that she had earlier used to horrifying effect. Then she lay down on the floor of the stall and waited.

For almost three minutes she lay still, not moving a muscle till she heard the door of the stall next to her open and shut. She could almost hear the tension in the heavy breathing of its occupant.

‘Are you there?’ asked a young, female voice.

‘Yes,’ she replied softly.

‘Have you got the money?’ asked the female voice again.

‘Yes,’ she said again.

‘Slide it under the stall,’ instructed the female voice, now full of confidence.

‘Okay,’ she replied and, using all her strength, she slid her body through the gap between the two stalls in one smooth motion.

Before the female occupant of the other stall could react, she had already risen to her feet, swung the knife above her and brought it down with enormous force on to the other girl’s ribcage. The young female’s answering scream was stuck in her throat as her lungs and heart where punctured by the sharp blade of the hunting knife passing through them. As the life went out of her, the young female occupant of the stall watched a spurt of her blood gush out of her body and splash on to the PVC dress worn by her long-haired attacker. The last thing the dying girl felt was the fingers of the killer fiddling with her eyelids that were drooping shut under what felt like a thousand kilos of weight.

The girl with the long hair slipped off her PVC dress and draped it over her victim’s body, making sure to cover the face she had been working on with her knife. A quick inspection of her clothes assured her that not a drop of blood had made its way through the liquid-repellent PVC. She bent down and slid back into her stall. There she reopened her backpack and retrieved her baseball cap and dark glasses. Putting them on, she picked up the second PVC dress that she had hung on the hooks attached to the door. Then, composing herself, she walked out of the changing room area.

Back outside in the large store area, she shrugged at the sales girl at the counter, her gesture indicating that the PVC dress didn’t work for her. The sales girl at the counter gave her an understanding smile.

The long-haired girl in the baseball cap and the dark glasses hung the PVC dress back on the revolving rack and walked out of the store into the crowded mall.

T
he incessant vibration of the mobile phone that was lying under his pillow finally woke Virkar up. He groped for it and, through the half-open slits of his eyes, read the time. It was 6 a.m. Virkar simultaneously noticed that the call was from the Crime Branch Headquarters. Heaving a sigh, Virkar picked up the call. ‘Hello,’ he said into the phone and then listened silently to the breathless voice on the other end. ‘I’ll be there in half an hour,’ Virkar finally said, his voice still heavy with sleep.

He cut the call and sat up, his sleepy gaze falling on the crazy jumble of clothes on a chair next to the bed. It was only then that she stirred next to him, perhaps disturbed by the change in his position. Virkar turned towards her and, even though it was dark, he could make out the contours of her naked body against the bright white bedsheets. Her thick hair that stopped somewhere down the middle of her back was, at the moment, fanned out over her pillow. In his mind’s eye, Virkar remembered the first tantalizing cascade of her hair down her back when she had removed the wooden hairpin that she normally used to keep them tied up and away from scrutiny. It was at that moment that she was transformed from a scholarly young teacher to a sensual temptress. He had not been able to control himself after that and had lifted her up in his arms. Carrying her to the bed, he had returned the kiss that she had opened the proceedings with. The passionate animal that he kept caged inside him had broken out and taken over from then on.

They had left the Crime Branch Headquarters after he had finished questioning her. As he was still feeling a little bad at having bombarded her with the gory pictures of the murders, Virkar had felt obligated to offer her a lift out of sheer courtesy, even though her house was a little out of the way for him. He thought she was still miffed with him and would decline his offer but, to his surprise, she had accepted. She had hopped on behind him as soon as Virkar had gunned the Bullet.

As they made their way along Mohammad Ali Road, riding under the J.J. Flyover, Virkar could feel Naina’s warm arms wrap themselves around him. He had tried to maintain his studied nonchalance even though he could feel something stirring inside him. He realized that it had been a long time since he had felt the touch of a woman. He had ignored the growing yearning welling up inside him but his body seemed to have a mind of its own. The sinews of his muscles tightened wherever Naina’s arms touched. Virkar was afraid that she might become aware of his physical reaction to her, but she didn’t seem to notice at all. She held on to him through the entire forty-five-minute ride in the evening traffic.

As they reached her two-storeyed building in a King’s Circle by-lane, she had hopped off the Bullet and walked the few steps to the entrance of her building. Virkar was politely waiting for her to enter her building before taking off in the direction of his own quarters in Bhoiwada when Naina suddenly turned and, looking straight at him, said, ‘I guess this is where I ask you to come up for a cup of tea.’

Virkar, however, not catching on, replied, ‘Thank you, but I do not drink tea.’ In the failing light, Virkar thought he saw the hint of an amused smile at the corner of Naina’s mouth.

‘Then perhaps I should offer to change your bandages,’ she said. Virkar was still recovering from the bullet wound on his shoulder. Though the doctor had declared that it was only a flesh wound, he had advised Virkar not to ride his Bullet until the bandages came off. Virkar, being the die-hard biker he was, had ignored that advice. At the moment, he was considering whether it would be polite to tell her that she didn’t have to do that, and that the doctor had called him in the next morning to change his dressing, but he didn’t get a chance. Naina had decided not to wait for an answer and had turned on her feet and walked inside her building already. As Virkar watched her receding back, the implication of her statement suddenly hit him. Feeling supremely sheepish and yet excited, he quickly found a parking spot for his Bullet and made his way to the apartment whose front door was open. She was clearly expecting him to work it out in his head and follow her in at some point. As he entered her apartment, he heard her voice call out from inside the bedroom: ‘Shut the door behind you.’

He followed her instruction only to receive another one: ‘Take off your shirt’. This time he hesitated, but only for a couple of seconds before undoing the buttons of his shirt and stripping down to the waist. A sense of anticipation coursed through him and he considered taking off his trousers, too. He was about to reach for his waistband when he stopped. Naina walked into the hall carrying a vessel of steaming hot water in one hand and rolls of cotton and bandages in the other. She stared at him as he stood bare-backed in the middle of the room, his hand frozen on the waist button of his pants. He stared back, not knowing how to react, his ears burning with embarrassment. The amusement in her eyes was now very clear for him to see, but her tone was matter-of-fact when she said, ‘Sit down on this chair.’ Lamb-like, he followed her every instruction from then on. Her touch had been soft but her hands had been sure as they had gone about swabbing his wound and changing the bandage with the deftness of an expert. Virkar couldn’t help looking impressed when she was done, and received a broad smile from her in return. Shrugging her shoulders lightly, she said, ‘First-aid training during NCC camps.’