Bhendi Bazaar (13 page)

'Well, I've never been with a married man.'

'But, I am doing you a big favour, shaping your career,' he said as if it was a fitting exchange of services.

'Can I think about it?'

'Don't give me a reason to take this case away. I want an answer when you come into office tomorrow morning.'

Narang and Anita were ushered into Joshi's office after relevant security checks. Narang was peeved at not being allowed to carry his mobile phone inside. Rules.

'Good afternoon Commissioner
sahib
,' Narang, having tried his aggression on the phone and failed, said with aplomb; his demeanour suggested like he was meeting a long lost friend. He was apparently polite but Rita couldn't help notice the undertone of haughtiness:
I am the power.
Arrogant ass. Trying to cut a deal.

'Hello and welcome to our humble office.' Joshi arose and offered his hand. 'This is DCP Rita Ferreira I mentioned, she's the one in charge of the case.'

Narang held out his paw. 'Meet Anita Raizada, our lead crime reporter.'

Pleasantries exchanged, coffees ordered, Narang produced the letter and SIM card he had received a few hours previously. Joshi, then Rita, read the letter holding it by its edges. Rita turned the phone at Joshi's desk towards her and called the Ops Room asking for someone to drop into Joshi's office ASAP.

'I'd like to send these for analysis without wasting another moment,' she explained, keeping the phone down.

What was she thinking — fingerprints on the envelope or the paper or the SIM? Did she really think this maniac killer was as dumb as to send his prints on any of these? What were gloves made for, after all?

There was a gentle tap on the door and Inspector Jatin Singh came in. Rita deluged him with the details and handed over the
properties
and packed him off to the laboratory. That, of course, didn't stop her from observing that he had keenly spotted Anita Raizada in the room. If he didn't notice her noticing him, it was his sheer inexperience. Rita didn't miss the attraction in Anita's eyes either, and that gave her the idea instantaneously. What if Anita was assigned to the case? It didn’t matter to the killer who got the news from the police and as for Narang — who cared what he might think or feel? The only catch was, could Jatin control the information or would Frankenstein take over? Could Anita manipulate?

'So,' Rita began, before anyone could, when Jatin left. 'What are your expectations?'

'I am a noble citizen, first, before I am a mediaperson. I want the police to take charge of the situation before I get the story.'

'Of course.' What a loser, Rita thought. 'It was good that you brought this note and the SIM to us. Thanks. Now, how can we help you?'

'I want to help you.'

'If the killer is going to contact you, like he said, then we need to be aligned. I want you to pass on all info you get, and we will tell you what you need to publish to get him to talk more.'

'You want to run my newspaper?' Narang shifted in his chair.

'Let me tell you something Mr Narang, and I will only tell you this once.' Rita changed her tone from polite to authoritative without looking at Joshi, who sat mutely, like a judge presiding over a case. 'If you print a single word without my permission, I'll be talking to you in a cell. You co-operate and we can sort out this mess, apprehend this killer and we are friends forever. Do I make sense?'

'Of course. I wasn't going to cause panic by publishing anything stupid.' Narang looked like a dejected student who had anticipated a pat on the back from the teacher for a job well done, but had got a slap instead. If he was upset, he didn't show.

'Good. Now, I propose we communicate regularly. Your crime reporter Miss Raizada shall work with us. We will divulge only as much as we think is required to keep the killer thinking he's getting publicity. It will serve your purpose and ours. We shall also hold press conferences and disclose the same to the rest of your fraternity, but, obviously, a few hours later, so the killer believes we are adhering to his demands.'

'I admire you DCP Ferreira, you've taken words out of my mouth.'

'Thanks. Anything else?'

'When do we start?' the eager beaver wanted to know.

Anita, too, wanted to know. Did she still need to sleep with Narang after this, now that the DCP had specifically outlined the plan with her in the picture.

'Someone will call you later.'

'Happy, Mr Narang?' Joshi concluded the meeting by standing up. Narang and Anita took the hint, got up and shook hands, exchanged smiles and geared up to leave.

The Ops Room was seething with uncertainties and questions when Rita walked in: Mathur & Mathur, Jatin, Vikram, Nene and the two sub-inspectors D'Souza and Anand. They hushed up.

Rita decided to prolong the misery of everyone present knowing Jatin would have, by now, revealed who he saw in Joshi's room.

Two minutes precisely.

'Is there anything we should know regarding your meeting with NEWS of the DAY ma'am?' Nene took the lead.

So she was right in her assessment. Jatin had let the cat out.

'In a minute, but before that,’ Rita turned to Jatin: 'Did the lab give you any time for when they'll give us the report on the material I gave you?'

'By the evening, I stressed the urgency.'

'Please inform me the moment we get them.' She addressed the entire group: 'The killer — of Lele and Suri — has sent a letter to NEWS of the DAY, along with the SIM card he had used to make the call to Suri, which, I presume, is to substantiate that his claim is genuine. We, no doubt, shall have that verified by our lab by the evening. As for finding any clues like fingerprints et cetera, it's highly unlikely, but maybe...'

'But, why would the killer give us information?'

Rita gave a rundown of her session with Dr Ash Mattel the evening before, highlighting cases where maniac killers had carried out such acts in the past, their hunger for admiration, recognition, and how that might give them away. 'We have, for that reason, settled on working in close partnership with NEWS of the DAY. The agreement we have is that we shall release unclassified information to them, before we give a general update on investigation to others, so that the killer believes we are adhering to his demands. We need to be exceedingly cautious in what we release; I don't expect him to be gullible enough to believe everything we give to his chosen media, so we will need to think smart to mislead him somehow. Don't ask me how, I don't know yet.'

'Why did he pick NEWS of the DAY?' Jatin, now, appeared confident; Anita and Narang's visit to Crawford Market was in no way connected to him.

'Well, it certainly confirms his shrewdness. He must have shortlisted tabloids that thrive on such news, then winnowed down on this one cause it’s run by an entrepreneur with dubious morals may I add, who would take the bait. I am sure if he had sent this to
The Times of India,
it wouldn't have found its way to Crawford Market in a matter of hours. That's how smart the killer is, he does his research, plans, executes without leaving any trace. That said, Inspector Nene — please run a check on Narang to see where he was on the nights of the murders.

‘As you can imagine, my confidence in Narang and his outfit is extremely low, to say the least. I want us to write this story, and not let Narang write anything we don't want him to. To avoid any miscommunication, only one of us will provide the measured drip-feed to his crime correspondent Miss Raizada. I do not want any slip-up here. If she tries to make contact with anyone else, please do not give any comments.'

'Who?' asked Jatin.

Really Jatin, did you really need to ask that question? 'You, of course.'

'Why me?'

'Because she trusts you. When she was looking for information, you were the one she contacted, so logically, if anyone of us is already in her good books, it's you Jatin.’

'Sure ma’am.'

'But remember, you are in charge, not Miss Raizada.'

'No problem ma'am. Anita doesn't stand a chance.'

Oh Anita. Not sweetheart? Rita mused. Before she could say the next word, a brain wave swept in her mind like a camera zooming on something.

Anita.

'Who checked and compared the contacts on Lele and Suri's phone books?'

Takla
Mathur and
Chota
Mathur raised their hands as if they were responding to a roll call.

'Did you notice something just now? I called her Miss Raizada and Jatin called her

Anita? We referred to the same person by two different names while talking to each other. Imagine if we both were to store her number in our contacts on the phone, they’d be under different names. I bet we missed it.' Rita was talking directly to Mathur & Mathur now. 'Did you compare only the contacts or the numbers too?'

'Contacts only.'

'Compare the numbers. Quick! If you find any common number, report to me immediately. Meeting dismissed.'

“You don’t find the connection, you don’t find a pattern; you don’t find the pattern, you don’t catch this killer ever, Rita.”

THIRTEEN
2007

'One.'
Chota
Mathur, followed by
Takla
Mathur, rushed into Rita's office before the hour was over. 'There is one common number in Suri and Lele's contact list; it is listed as "Ganesh" in one and "DVD Hegde" in the other.'

Rita's careworn face suddenly lit up, she even gave the two a smile. Some hope was tangible. At last. She was reminded of Ockham's razor —
sometimes the simplest answer is the right answer
; the first overlap in phone books could, maybe, determine the killer.

'Who is it?'

'Not sure you'd be interested. The number listed is for a DVD rental shop in Juhu.'

'I want every detail on the proprietor of this shop.'

"Ganesh Hegde, age 53, r/o Borivili West; married with one son, one daughter — both NRIs now. Worked for Life Insurance Corporation of India, retired at 40, opened a VHS, VCD rental in 1994, graduated to DVD rentals in late-Nineties. Been questioned twice by police — on complaints by parents for renting out pornographic films to their kids — but acquitted both times for lack of evidence; the search of the premises did not unearth any illegal films in his possession."

Rita read the résumé carefully. Strange. For fucksake, why would someone living in Delhi carry the telephone number of a Mumbai DVD rental shop?

'Vikram,' she called the Ops Room, 'I need you in my office, please.' Vikram came on the double.

'Sit.' Rita handed Ganesh Hegde's resume to Vikram. 'Did Samir Suri ever reside in Mumbai?'

'No ma'am, our investigation didn’t reveal his domicile in Mumbai at any point. He travelled to the city, but never set up residence here.’

'Why would someone who's never lived in Mumbai — except in hotels while visiting on business — store the telephone number of a local DVD rental store?' man.'

'I think I know.'

'Enlighten me.'

'Ma'am…I could be totally off the track, but my guess is that Hegde could be a front

'For what?'

'For drugs,
hawala
, call girls...most of the so-called respectful businessmen don't want to contact the dealer or panderer directly for this very reason — what if their phones are ever tapped or lost or, as in these two cases, found alongside their corpses.'

'I get it. He takes the order and passes it on for, whatever.'

It was the second instance where
hawala
had popped its ugly face up.

'Ask Jatin to call MTNL and the mobile company, and request them to provide us with Hegde's telephone records for the past two months. Check if Hegde is at the shop today without him getting a scent of this.' Rita paused to look at her watch that read 4:21 p.m. 'If he is at the shop, let's pay him a visit today.'

Vikram drove as Rita looked out at the Arabian Sea. The sun was setting like a giant red ball diving into the sea in ultra slow motion, millimetre by millimetre. Mumbai traffic reduced speed to an average of ten, maybe fifteen, kilometres per hour. It was nearing 7 p.m. when Rita and Vikram parked.

Ganesh Hegde was as stereotypical as any stereotype
paan
-chewing, potbellied Mumbai shopkeeper could be. With a pockmarked face, thick upturned pig-like nose and such dimensions of a head that could put a watermelon to shame. God
is
funny. Hegde’s red teeth were a living testimony to the reason that the British decided to colour the Indian Railway carriages rusty-red; any other colour and people like him would have painted them red with their
paan
-infused spitting. He had just mouthed a fresh
paan
out of his GH monogrammed shiny silver case when Rita and Vikram walked into his shop: a modest ten feet glass frontage that led to a rather long and L-shaped shop with purpose-built shelves on both sides that displayed the latest films from both Bollywood and Hollywood. Hegde sat behind the high counter near the doorway, appreciating the cold blast from the air-conditioning right behind his vast backside. There were a few customers browsing the shelves. To Ganesh Hegde, Rita and Vikram appeared like another couple that had walked in looking for some film for the evening, though he didn't recognise them. He had, now, been running this shop long enough and knew most of his regulars, at least, by their faces if not their names or addresses. A new account, he was pleased.

As per their script, the two police officers took in the shop, browsed the films before they saw Hegde questioningly staring at them.

'Mr Ganesh Hegde?' Rita walked up to the counter and enquired softly.

'Yes madam, but I never see you before. New to area, eh?' Hegde started in his fractured English.

'Yes. We'd like to talk to you,' Rita responded, looking back. Vikram was right behind her.

'Here, the form. Just fill the details and sign. Do you have pen?'

'We want to speak to you regarding something else.'

'Aha…what regarding Madam —'

'Rita Ferreira. DCP Rita Ferreira, and this is Senior Inspector Vikram Patil from Crime

Branch, Mumbai Police.' Rita showed him her ID badge. Vikram flashed his card too. 'Police?' Hegde's face turned red; with stray grey hair on top of his massive head, he resembled a giant rotund ember on a
tandoor
. The name sounded familiar, but his brain could not index it. 'What now? Did you not get the
hafta
I pay regular
?
'

Hafta
: another quintessential Mumbai business. Or was it countrywide? Protection money paid to corrupt cops and gangsters on a weekly basis. Why would a DVD rental shop owner pay
hafta
to the cops if he did nothing unlawful? The thought raced across both the police brains in unison.

'Could we talk somewhere private, Mr Hegde?'

Hegde presaged this was something different, more sinister. No one above the rank of a constable normally turned up at his shop for money. A DCP, that too from the Crime Branch, visiting his shop had to be more ominous than
hafta
collection. Raid? Why had he uttered that?

'Madam, don't worry. Go, have party. I talk Inspector, we settle. OK?'

'No, you not talk to Inspector,' Rita responded in Hegde's dialect. 'All of us talk.

Private, you understand, Mr Hegde?' She didn't raise her voice, but the tone was enough for Hegde to comprehend his usual tactics weren't working.

Hegde nodded, then hailed his shop assistant — an insipid looking girl no more than twenty, wearing a sari with a scanty blouse — to look after the shop as he had guests that he was taking to his office. Hegde followed his fat belly, Rita and Vikram followed him into the dogleg at the rear of the shop; an area that was behind the shop adjacent to Hegde's, which was closed to someone approaching from the street. Taking a few films off the display unit, Hegde pressed a code and part of the shelf revolved to make way to his office. The closed neighbouring shop was, in fact, Mr Hegde's secret chamber with access from inside his shop. He switched on the lights to reveal his small but pompous office. Two faux leather sofas, a DVD player, a television — it didn't take Rita and Vikram more than a second to realise what this was primarily used for: it was a smallish mock theatre for private viewing, and Hegde didn't appear the kind who enjoyed watching
Ben Hur
in private.

'Please sit,' he requested benignly. 'Coffee, tea or soft drink?' His pleading eyes didn't leave the DCP for a second.

'We don't need anything.'

'How can that be madam, you're guest and guest is God; you come to my shop for the first time —'

'Sit down, Mr Hegde.'

Hegde slumped into the sofa facing Rita and Vikram, without any further argument. 'I promise madam, there is nothing illegal in my shop, I stop stocking any illegal film years ago... No more porn, promise,' Hegde erupted without any prompting. 'I not do hanky- panky madam. I family man —'

'Hegde.' Rita consciously dropped the mister. 'Why do you pay
hafta
to police if you don't have any illegitimate business?'

'Madam, you know...' He turned to Vikram for help. 'Sir, you explain madam, policeman very corrupt, they demand money.'

'Talk to me Hegde. Sir will not help. Why?'

'Madam, you very strict. I pay so local gangs don't bother me and my business.'

'What all businesses do you have, Hegde?

'DVD madam, rent DVD, sometime sell. No other business.'

'Are you sure Hegde? If I find out anything…?'

'Madam, I am a God-fearing man. No business, but DVD.'

'Drugs,
ganja
...?'

'What you say madam…me,
ganja
? Never.'

'Sure?'

'Swear on Lord Shiva.'

'
Hawala
?'

'No madam, please don't accuse me wrong things, I am holy man.' Hegde, once again, turned to Vikram. 'Sir, please tell madam, I am gentleman.'

'And how do you think I know that?' Vikram asked. 'True, but you ask Juhu police station.'

'The ones you give
hafta
to?' Rita sneered. It wasn't a joke and she wasn't amused; the smile was to convey her reprehension.

'What madam, you asking unnecessary questions. We are friends.'

Tom and Jerry friends, yeah right! Rita wanted to slap Hegde but she controlled herself. 'Hegde, if you want I can come here with a brass band of police sirens to ask you the same questions, and I know you wouldn't want that.' She raised her voice, came down heavily like a desperate cloud that hadn't poured for a while. Two corpses down, Mumbai at its edge, the only commonality they had uncovered was this telephone number, and Hegde was pretending to be holier than the Ganges.

“
There has to be some pattern Rita…”

'Madam, I tell you —'

'Enough said, Hegde.' Rita got up and, towered over sitting Hegde, placed her right hand on his fat shoulder firmly. 'I give you one last chance or I call Juhu Police Station, and I'll get you fucked so hard you'll regret you were ever born. Do you fucking understand that Hegde or do I need to get your ass whipped?'

Hegde was dumbfounded. He hadn't experienced anyone talking to him in that tone, least of all a woman. His mammoth face reddened more, eyes blinked. It seemed like he was about to break down like a fat schoolboy who was bullied by a girl.

'Madam —

'Stop that bloody drama Hegde, and answer me.'

'Yes madam.'

'Do you know someone by the name of Adit Lele?'

Hegde was only nervous till now, Lele's name alarmed him. 'Who?' he meowed. 'Call the Juhu SHO, Vikram. Hegde needs some severe treatment.'

'Mr Lele love Hindi movie...he come often, rent movie...now I remember.'

'What else?'

'Sometime ask 3X movie madam. He alone, he want it, why bother?'

'But you don't keep porn, you just said.'

'Sometime I get from friend to keep regular client happy, madam.'

'You know Samir Suri?'

'No.'

Suri’s name had bells clanging in Hegde’s brain. He suddenly realised he knew both the names the DCP had mentioned; he had received calls from these guys in the past week, and then read about their gruesome murders, albeit he hadn't pondered if the two incidents were connected. Till now.

'Why would he have your contact details in his mobile phone?'

'I am best DVD shop madam.'

'So good that people from Delhi contact you?'

'Joking madam...' Hegde made a feeble attempt to smile, but his smile lacked any conviction.

'So you don't know Samir Suri?'

'No.' Hegde chose to continue with his lies.

'I know you didn't play cricket with him. But does the name sound familiar Hegde?'

'No.'

Lying bastard, Rita knew.

'Adit Lele and Samir Suri died in the last week. Both had your telephone number, and only your telephone number in common in their phone contacts. Can you think why?'

'So many men die. So many rent films. How I know? And how I be blame if people die with my telephone number?'

'If they
die
...but what if both of them were murdered.'

Fuck. Hegde wished the earth would part and swallow him right this moment. Was she implicating him in their murders? This sounded grave, certainly more serious than renting out porn. He gulped hard, his Adam’s apple jumped up and down inadvertently like it was on an invisible trampoline.

'You supplied girls?'

Hegde looked blankly at Rita. There was a slight hesitation, which Rita noticed. Why?

Truth shouldn't need consulting the brain; it should just spill out.

Hegde was thinking; thinking what he could say to get out of the mess. The DCP had got to him. She was closing in on the reason. How much did she actually know?

'I am talking to you Hegde. Answer me.' Rita's annoyance was evident in her voice; the tone had got astringent too.

'Yes.'

'Yes, what?'

'You know it madam.'

'I know nothing about you,
holy
man, except that you are a motherfucking liar. You were the one who provided girls to these two men, so you tell me.'

'Yes madam. I make contact to girls.'

'Did Lele or Suri ask you to get them a fuck last week?'

'Yes madam.'

The fear in Hegde's eyes was overt, like a deer cornered by a pack of wolves. He conceded having taken orders from both Lele and Suri to provide girls to them.

'Which days?'

Hegde looked at the ceiling trying to recollect. After some calculation, he uttered the precise dates. Dates that made Rita and Vikram exchange glances, because those were the dates that Adit Lele and Samir Suri were murdered. So Lele and Suri weren't in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were targeted.

'Now, would you be kind enough to tell us which girl did you send to meet Lele and Suri on those days, Hegde?'

'Oh madam, I not pimp. I take and pass order to someone —'

'Who is that someone? I need a name Hegde. Now.' Rita's subarctic voice left no room for any concessions or debate.

'Malti.'

'Malti? Who Malti?

Ganesh Hegde's phone was confiscated, his, self-proclaimed, best DVD shop in town was closed for the day — recognising the fact that customers would have to make do with the second-best or watch some soap on television. Juhu police, the shop area being in their bailiwick, was called to escort Hegde to the police station for a statement. There was no apparent reason, as of now, to take him into custody, but in light of the name he had revealed, the police couldn't bank on him not divulging this to Malti to forewarn her if he was left on his own. And maybe he knew more than he had spilled out. In which case it was necessary for
his
security.