Bhendi Bazaar (24 page)

The day was practically over. Rita, still preoccupied with the case, poured Jim into a glass and looked down from the window. The nondescript car, provided to her for security on insistence of
Sexy
, was parked on the opposite side of the street, and a plainclothesman sat seemingly uninterested in what happened around him. His binoculars resting on the car's dashboard, however, blatantly betrayed his discreetness should even some one-eyed half-wit apply his brain, not to mention the above average IQ killer they were dealing with. She put on music, which soothed her and made her unwind. She scrambled a couple of eggs and devoured them with buttered toast. The recondite case had dragged on and the very thought of it depressed her.
"My rainbow is overdue..."
sang Bad Company, aptly, in the background.

She closed her eyes to ponder and Ash Mattel whirled into her thoughts. Good idea, she thought. Knowing that her phone was no longer bugged, she called him.

'Hi.' Ash sounded cheerful, as always.

'What do you eat?' Rita blurted before the pleasantries; she hadn't intended to, but Ash's exuberance prompted it.

'You called me to ask that honey?'

'Nah…just wanted to know how do you keep yourself so jovial at all times?'

'Who said I am jovial at all times? I get excited whenever I hear your voice. You're the reason.'

'And how many girls have you used that line on?'

'On no one else in the last few months...'

At least he was honest. 'I am honoured.'

'You're too self-deprecating sweetie, you deserve better than me.'

'Thanks. Want me to take off my clothes now?' she bantered.

'Well, if we could have a video call, why not? What are you wearing honey?' Ash began in a hoarse voice to sound sexy; to sound lecherous, strictly speaking.

'OK, could we get a bit serious now?'

'Moving to London then? Let's have a few kids...'

'Have you lost your mind?'

'Long time back. What is it you're after?'

'Ash.' Rita's tone elucidated she wasn't talking about the seriousness of their relationship.

'All ears honey, all ears. How's the case going?'

'It's a
he
.'

'Who's
he
?'

'The killer, who else?'

'I told you so.'

'But you agreed it was a female...'

'I conceded to your surmise dear girl, it wasn't my hypothesis. I have always maintained the killings had male stamped all over them, remember?'

So he had conveniently chosen to ignore his last deduction. Rita saw no point in cantankerously arguing over some past miscommunication. Ash was only trying to help. 'Yes,' she agreed.

'So what made you reverse your decision from a 'female' to 'male' killer now? What about the perfume, the lipstick, the bra?'

'Only an amateur would believe in such conspicuous blinds, my surmise was based on other findings, but never mind.' Rita detailed her encounter with Margaret, the digging up of Jay Desai and the discovery of Fernando's corpse. 'What I cannot understand is why this guy disappeared, first, for five years since his escape from the orphanage and, then, for another two after killing Fernando.’

'You will find out, I am certain. What you've just told me fits the profile of a serial killer — the background, the traumatic life history. You know, and I'm not saying this to frighten you, there's one thing even more addictive, more animalistic than sex. Power. Killing someone is power, it’s a terminal addiction. He is, what we psychiatrists would call, an inveterate killer: a habitual killer who consequently becomes a serial killer because he just cannot stop himself. There is some pleasure in insanity, which normals like you and I cannot fathom. Of course there are, like always, other more fitting possibilities, but you must find him to eliminate him from the enquiry.'

'He is who the entire department is looking for.'

'And if you have eliminated his information sources, he should get in touch with you soon.'

'How soon?'

'We don't know his reasoning, his purpose, his motivation, anything. And with that many unknowns, it's impossible to predict. The only thing I can say is that he should be contacting you or the media fairly soon. Before he kills again, for sure.'

'How soon?' Rita repeated.

'If he has any inkling that your enquiry is on a trail that could lead to him, I'd say the clock's ticking.' There wasn't any humour in Ash’s intonation. It was a fact, stated matter-of- factly. works.'

'Thanks for the insight, I really mean it Ash. It's great to know how a criminal mind

'You're welcome, and you know that. OK, let me try again, what are you wearing?'

'Nothing.'

Maybe, if Ash had proposed to her in college? She wasn't interested in a career, let alone a police career then. Maybe she would have joined him at London or wherever he went, got married, had a couple of kids...ah, the joys of time travelling, Rita smiled and switched off the lights.

The phone rang, like someone had waited for her to kill the lights in her bedroom. Someone actually had.

'About to go to sleep DCP?' It was
the female voice.

'Waiting for your call actually,' Rita retorted. How accurate could a criminal profiler be? Ash had warned about this like...three minutes ago? She immediately texted Vikram "Trace the call".

'Oh really? Is that why you have a welcome party waiting for me under your apartment?'

'I am not sure I understand what you mean by that.'

'You don't want me to believe something you don't, do you? There is a nutter sitting in the white car across the street from your apartment who cannot seem to keep his eyes off your window. Another lover perhaps?'

'No. I don't know who you're talking about?'

'OK, give me a minute, let me put a bullet in his head and then chat with you.'

'Aye...hold on,' Rita screamed into the mouthpiece. ‘Where are you?'

'Ha ha...DCP, I feel very humiliated that you still think I am an ass. Did you really think I would not spot a policeman when I see one?'

'OK, he's a police guy.'

'That's like a nice girl. I hope you have asked one of your sidekicks to trace this call because I am not finished with this call yet, so if you want I can hold on till you place a trace- call order.' The voice chuckled.

The killer knew he was playing with fire, and getting away with it. His confidence was alarming. Rita wasn't disgusted; she took it in her stride. The initial fear of the call — the killer knowing about the plainclothesman — had waned. Rita's rational mind whispered that the killer wasn't still around the corner, he must have checked the position of the security car earlier, possibly even another day, and was confidently mentioning it like he could see it now. But it was good to see such brashness...overconfidence sired recklessness, and recklessness caused errors.

'Feeling very confident?'

'Confidence builds up when you know the people you're dealing with cannot ever catch you, doesn't it?'

'So why disguise your voice then?' Rita craved to call him Jay Desai to feel the reaction, but decided not to. Calling him Jay Desai might warn the killer how far the police investigation had reached. Moreover, Jay Desai, so far, could only be indicted on circumstantial evidence, which — given the fractures they had in the theory so far — any good defence lawyer would put the entire case in a shredder. meet.'

'I disguise my voice so you don't recognise me when you meet me. It's only fair.'

'And when shall we meet?'

'That's up to you DCP. I call you whenever I like. It's you who's not doing enough to

Rita's brain was in top gear now. She wanted, somehow, for the caller to acknowledge how much he was acquainted with what Rita knew. 'I know you are a man, why this farce?'

'Is that what they told you in Bhendi Bazaar?'

'How do
you
know I went to Bhendi Bazaar?'

'Touché DCP...come on, you're demeaning my intelligence again. You’re hacking calls, but don’t forget who you learnt that trick from. I wired your apartment and, not to forget, your highly secured Ops Room without any of you knowing about it.'

'So you know that I know...'

'Nice try. You want me to take your bait and complete your sentence? You think you can hack Bhendi Bazaar telephones and I wouldn't know? I am disappointed in you DCP, you're only following in my footsteps...I gave you so many clues, but you still looking in the wrong direction, seeking poor hookers who earn petty living by
honestly
fucking the rich bastards...'

'So you know Margaret?'

'Sorry DCP, it's been two minutes, fifty seconds. I gotta go…I am not worried if your guys trace this call, I am concerned that in case they turn up here I'll have to kill them, though given the efficiency of your department it's highly unlikely. But why take the risk? Good night.'

'The call was from Santa Cruz Airport,' Vikram called to say the trace had worked.

'Very smart...in case we had traced the call in time and tried to track the person, it would be impossible to find the person or the car in the crowd.' Rita narrated the brief conversation to Vikram. Everyone would listen to the recording later in the morning to glean whatever he or she could from voice, accent, speech, background noises or any other clue.

Every time Rita asked the trace to be put up, it was procedural to record the call too. 'I think we have enough evidence to call in Margaret for questioning.'

'When?'

'ASAP. Call up Jatin, ask him to wake up some sessions court judge at seven tomorrow morning and get an arrest warrant for Margaret Flynn. I shall speak to ACP Joshi before that. But, we need to visit Margaret's place before the residents wake up, so before the first light. Gather troops at Crawford Market by four. We should be out of her place by five- thirty latest. It's a visit, not to raid — to request Margaret to come with us. The troops would be a mere precaution, in case there is trouble. We'll use the arrest warrant only if required, in case Margaret gets any ideas. Any questions?'

'No, ma'am.' Vikram looked at the time. 00:15

'See you at four then. Have a good sleep.’ Rita looked at the heeltap. Perhaps it was time to stop. She had had two drinks. Another drink wouldn't be the end of her problem; it might just be a start of another one.

A few hours of sleep were now as essential as breathing.

TWENTY-SIX
2007

03:35 a.m.: Mumbai was in dreamless slumber when Rita came down to the car park on the ground floor. As she walked towards her Gypsy in the weak florescent tubelight — there was only one to light the whole car park — she stopped just short of her vehicle; something was amiss. Had her driver overlooked rolling up the windows? It had never happened before.

There was a slight blip on the mental radar. Cautious as she needed to be, she pirouetted to absorb the surroundings and acclimatise her eyes to the weak light. No one. The old watchman slept, sitting on his usual white plastic chair at the gate, his arms resting on an oversized stick, which could only scare the street dogs or stray urchins that tried to enter the building. In fairness, the watchman's duty in Mumbai was to open and close the gate of the building as the cars passed by, wash the cars — at an extra cost, of course — and collect post on behalf of residents. The old man wasn't apparently a security guard.

Rita pulled out her gun and holding it firmly she moved back stealthily, taking shelter behind other cars as a precaution. Her eyes couldn't afford to lose the alert; she waited till she could focus better in the faint light. Bending her knees, she crouched and carefully circumvented a few cars to have a clear view inside her jeep. There was no movement, no activity. Nevertheless, she softy approached the jeep, wary to spring into action if required.

She circled around her vehicle once, inspected the tyres. Inflated. Everything seemed okay up until she opened the driver's door and the cabin light came on. There was a small box, the size of a supermarket soap bar, gift-wrapped. A small white paper was stapled on the box, printed with: "To DCP Ferreira". Fighting the momentary urge to open the gift, Rita cottoned on to whom it could be from. A thud of dread thumped into her head. She had never experienced frostbite, but she could feel the — so often — described sensation up her spine. The killer had been into her apartment block again.

There was no way the killer could have known what time Rita would leave her apartment block this morning, so it could not be a bomb on timer, she convinced herself. She opened the glove compartment, pulled out the latex gloves and lifted the box. It wasn't connected to the car's ignition or battery. Besides, the box was too light to carry enough explosives to cause fatality.

Tick-tock. Rita controlled her panic well; it took her less than a minute to decide whether she should take the risk of driving with the gift or call Emergency. She started the car and put it into gear. The watchman woke up the minute the headlights beamed at the gate.

'Did someone come into the building late last night?' Rita asked, knowing well the response would be a shrug.

Shrug
. 'No madam.' He raised his right hand to his temples to salute.

Rita drove out of
Sheesh Mahal
. She glanced in the rear-view mirror. The
theoretically
nondescript car was still noticeably parked, like some ugly landmark on the road. It was high time she got the security guy removed. In any case, what good was he parked there when the killer, despite being aware about his presence, could so freely come into her apartment block, open the police vehicle without setting off the alarms and leave a gift. That is to say if, at all, the gift was from the killer. Wasn't she overreacting?

Whatever...she had decided to personally request
Sexy
to rescind the disconcerting security with immediate effect.

The gift was handed over to
Chota
Mathur to be rushed out to experts without delay. It was fanciful to imagine the gift was a bomb, Rita had no misgivings about that, but it had to be done to follow procedures, to keep the bureaucracy happy. The gift box was, first, sent to the bomb disposal squad for clearance.

Takla
Mathur was responsible for the police van carrying a dozen police bodies to Bhendi Bazaar. Vikram drove Rita, leading the blue Mumbai Police van, into the vacant streets. It was 4:38 in the morning and all businesses, including the all-pervasive soliciting on the streets, were closed at this hour.

The killer who had called Rita the night before manifestly knew about her prior visit to Margaret. Even if it wasn't Jay Desai, there had to be a connection. They were tightening the noose; it was only a matter of time. They were almost there — Rita contemplated — knowing that
almost
was a dubious word. Perhaps, since it couldn’t be quantified.
Almost there
wasn't
there
; even worse, it didn’t enlighten how much further one had to go to get there. And her apprehension wasn’t unfounded.

Magdalena alias Margaret alias Malti no longer resided at the place where Rita had met her two days earlier.

Margaret Flynn had left Mumbai, and maybe India, for good. She had left the bordello two hours after seeing off Rita, and an hour before the area was put under surveillance and all phones were wired.

Another suspect or witness excised from the register, another lead had gone cold.

Wrung dry of ideas, Rita and the flotilla returned to Crawford Market. Of course they had a lead: Jay Desai, but there was little point in a lead that couldn't be followed up.

Fortunately, the bomb squad cleared the gift box; there were no explosives in the little packet. Not so fortunately though, the Forensics couldn’t pluck any fibres, prints or anything whatsoever from the little gift.

Anita Raizada arrived late at work. There was a message from Narang to see him pronto. Urgent. Nothing negative about the word itself, but, somehow,
urgent
didn't give her any positive connotation. Not in the least if it was from a boss like Narang. Keeping her bag at her desk, she switched on the computer and walked into Narang’s office. ‘Good morning Amit.’

Narang gestured her to come in and sit, while he pretended he was busy reading something important on his computer screen. He winked at her as she sat down, clacked a few more keys and turned to face her.

‘You called for me?’

‘Oh yes…I wanted to remind you of your deferred promise.’ The wicked, lecherous grin returned to his ugly face.

‘Oh…I’ve been really busy.’

‘I can appreciate the workload, but with the serial killer holed up somewhere, there shouldn’t be much on that front. Right?’

‘No Amit, we are still providing fodder to appease him. In the absence of any news, he might think we’re ignoring him and —‘

‘Friday,’ Narang interjected.

‘W-w-what’s happening on Friday?’

‘I want you in my office this Friday evening, that’s day after tomorrow. And, remember to bring no friends or make no excuses this time. I have the date of your last periods, so it would be better if you do not make any excuses. Friday, at eight-thirty, this place should be empty. In any event, no one should bother what happens in my office, unless you want to go elsewhere.’

Anita shook her head.

‘You want it here? So be it. I’ll see you on Friday.’

Anita lost all concentration for the rest of the day. People in office moved around her, the phone at her desk rang and went into voicemail, but nothing took her mind away from Friday; Friday was imminent. She had avoided Narang’s hideous demand for longer than she thought she could, but she couldn’t defer it indefinitely. Was her job so important to her? She thought of calling Jatin, but halted.

Complication.

Make a formal police complaint? Even bigger complications.

Short of breaking down into tears, she took the afternoon off work and left for home.

If she only had a little more than forty-eight hours, she could think, could plan.

Sexy
— yes, the Commissioner of Mumbai Police, Sanjay Saxena — walked down a floor from the ivory tower and walked into the Operations Room. Everyone in Indian bureaucracy, as part of his or her induction, was provided with a spring in the rear for such occasions. Rita, Nene, Vikram, Jatin,
Chota
and
Takla
Mathurs, D’Souza and Anand sprang to their toes as the Commissioner walked in.

‘Good morning and apologies, I know it isn’t a decorous approach to drop by without some kind of formal notification.’ Everyone looked at him wide-eyed — some in awe, some out of fear, the rest still struggling to figure out what
decorous
meant and how many more times their lexicon would be challenged in the next five minutes. ‘I am
au courant
with the fresh developments, particularly the gift box that had been so meticulously put below DCP Ferreira’s apartment, in her vehicle to be precise. It is an ignominy for the entire Mumbai police force to let one killer throw down the gauntlet at all of us with such hauteur. Wasn’t there supposed to be a police guard outside DCP Ferreira’s residence?’

All eight heads nodded. ‘What was he doing?’

‘Sir —’ Rita attempted to intervene.

The news of
Sexy
walking to the Ops Room must have spread like an inferno within the building for ACP Joshi emerged in the room within minutes of his superior’s arrival.

‘Who’s the senior-most of you all?’

The seven dwarfs looked at Snow White; for all Inspectors present in the room, Rita was the highest-ranked. Snow White looked at Prince Charming; for Rita — when ACP Joshi was present — he obviously carried that mantle. The Commissioner, ignorant of Joshi’s presence, followed Rita’s eyes and turned around to acknowledge the ACP.

‘I implied which one of you in DCP Ferreira’s team has the most experience with the Force?’

Senior Inspector Nene raised his hand. Despite Vikram being the same rank, Nene unquestionably had more experience.

Sexy
, an epitome of political correctness, looked at Nene’s badge; he didn’t want to concede that he didn’t know the names. ‘Inspector Nene, I give you the power to be the custodian for all officers who have been involved in this protracted investigation. Today, this might have been an incident in DCP’s parked car, but it could also transpire elsewhere.’
Sexy
stopped to look if anyone dared to challenge. Nada. He spoke to all: ‘Inspector Nene shall devise an infallible security plan by dint of uniform police, and on that front, irrespective of your rank, you have to abide by whatever Inspector Nene contrives. Is that understood?’

Heads nodded in acquiescence. Authority melted ice; instructions flowed down uninterrupted, uncontested. Besides a few words that challenged the vocabulary, everything was unambiguous.

The Commissioner parted as abruptly as he had appeared, leaving Nene with a fevered expression of a boy who had just been appointed the class monitor. Walking behind
Sexy
, Joshi beckoned Rita to see him in his office in ten minutes.

Rita was back in her office after a brief meeting with Joshi. With the killer laying dormant for some time now, and the Chief Minister having lost interest in Suri's murder,
Sexy
had backed off from the case, but that wasn't to be taken as if he wasn't looking for a swift closure or that Rita and the team could pop champagne, pack up a picnic hamper or leave for vacation to Goa.
Sexy
had obviously mentioned something about bringing in the Central Bureau of Investigation, but both Joshi and Rita knew that was an empty threat. Calling for CBI meant accepting defeat, which the Commissioner would never accept.

'We've received more information regarding Fernando,' Vikram announced when he came into Rita’s office at noon.

‘Anything we should know?’

‘Nothing major. The only new news is that Mr Fernando owned a car that the local police cannot find. Registration number MH02 —‘

‘A red Maruti 800 by any chance?’ ‘How do you know that?’

‘Jesus Christ. Really? I was only hazarding a guess. Remember the car that was spotted by witnesses on the night I got the call from this killer for the first time? A red Maruti.’

Rita’s words sank in. Sometimes one doesn't seek something, but when one finds it, it makes one think. Vikram thought for a minute to ingest the implication. ‘You mean—’

‘I took a guess, seems it was the same car, which confirms that whoever killed Fernando took the car. Maybe then, maybe later…so if we ever traced the car down, it would be tracked back to a dead man, not the killer. Very shrewd bastard.’

‘What do we do now?’

‘This car is surely in the killer’s possession, he might not use it on a daily basis, but my guess is he uses it to travel when he kills. Put out a notification to all Mumbai police stations to be on the alert and report immediately if they spot this car.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Vikram pulled out his notebook to jot down the instructions.

‘Also, there should be cameras in ITC Grand Maratha — check if this car was ever on camera in their car park, you know the dates to focus on. And, if this car was spotted at the domestic airport last night.’ Vikram kept nodding, scribbling. ‘And if it has been picked up by any police cameras all over the city…if this car is still in the possession of our suspect, it should make our search easier.’

Inspector Jatin Singh called to update Rita on Anita Raizada’s ongoing squalid saga. He had called Anita’s office, and then her mobile for a date — to update her of the current investigation as agreed — but she refused to see him on Friday or before that, due to Narang’s filthy demand.

‘Jatin, we cannot do anything till she files a complaint, an FIR. She has to help herself if she needs us to intervene.’ that.’

‘I know that ma’am, but she refuses to. I‘ll try when I see her next, but…’ ‘But?’

‘Narang will have his way with her on Friday and she’s refused to see me before

Wasn’t life complicated enough that Rita, now, had to look after a besotted inspector? ‘Keep trying, it’s only Wednesday. I am sure she will agree to see you. Let’s talk Friday morning if nothing else works out by then.’

‘Thanks ma’am.’

People who’ve lived through them, best tell old tales. As time passes and stories are narrated. They spread. Someone whispers. Someone hears incorrectly or passes it incorrectly.

Sometimes, a good soul changes it deliberately to make it more believable. But it was all there — the legend and legacy of Bir Desai was too big to stay concealed. Who else but Nene — who’d been in Mumbai Police for decades — could know where the bodies might have been buried? ‘Bir Desai & Co. folded up over two years ago,’ Nene updated everyone present in the Operations Room. ‘The last person in command of the mob was a guy called Raaj who shifted operations due to growing heat from Mumbai Police. He, however, kept most businesses here but moved his base to Dubai. The details are in the file.’ He pointed at a dossier on the table.