Chain of Custody (27 page)

5.30 p.m.

Rekha gnawed at a nail. She didn't know what to do. She looked at her phone screen. Her friends had said she must block Sid. But she was too afraid to do that either. As long as he knew she was reachable, he wouldn't do what he threatened to: tell her parents about her or put up pictures of her on social media, But something told her that if she made herself unreachable, he would.

She looked at the messages again. He had called her just about every foul word he knew in English and Kannada. Even
reading it made her flinch. She looked at the last message and shuddered.

Sanjay was right. She was messing with fire. He had said that she was to go to his home that afternoon. They would watch a movie in his home theatre, hang out together and he would call her a cab to drop her back.

‘You will be home by half past six, latest,' he had added. ‘Like a good college girl!' He had touched her cheek with the tip of his index finger.

She felt safe with Sanjay. She thought of the narrow escape she'd had from Sid. He was nothing more than a pimp. And he was frightening her.

Sanjay would know what to do, she thought.

Except when she got there, she discovered there had been some kerfuffle in the gated community with the police coming and going. She sent Sanjay a message saying she was going back. Why hadn't he texted her back? Was he angry with her?

Her mother was surprised to see her back early but she was pleased as well. She thought all nefarious things happened in the cover of darkness. If her daughter was back home before dusk, all would be well.

‘I thought you had an extra class,' her mother said.

‘It got cancelled,' she said.

Rekha wanted to weep and confide in her mother. But she was afraid of the consequences. Her phone would be confiscated and she wouldn't be allowed outside without a chaperone. Worse, they would send her away.

‘What's wrong, Rex?' her brother asked. He had come into the room without her even realizing it.

Suddenly she knew what she must do.

6.00 p.m.

Nandita sat on the bed. All day she did nothing but sit and wait. She wished Krishna would come. But the day before, there had been a scuffle when he wanted to see her. Daulat Ali had said no. The thekedar had said no one was allowed to be near her.

‘The thekedar didn't mean me,' Krishna had insisted loudly.

But the man wouldn't let him. She had heard sounds of slapping, groans and a door slamming. Moina had sauntered into her cubicle. ‘Are you satisfied now that you have got the two of them slapping each other?'

Nandita had blinked. ‘What did I do?'

Moina had snorted and walked away.

Nandita buried her head in her hands. What was happening? Krishna had said he would take her away from here.

From one of the other cubicles, where she knew there were more girls, though she hadn't been allowed to see any of them, she heard the sounds that seemed to fill the space periodically. A rhythmic splat-splat on the plywood of the beds; the grunting and then the muffled groan. It scared her, that sound. Everything scared her here. She had thought Moina was her friend but now Moina seemed to hate her.

She heard a scream. Again. There was a frantic drumming of heels against the partition. What was going on?

She cried softly.

‘Stop your sniffling … What are you weeping for? Who died?' The big man glowered from the doorway.

She bit her sobs down and began reciting the multiplication tables. One sixteen is sixteen, two sixteens are thirty-two …

7.00 p.m.

Gowda, Gajendra and Santosh sat together, watching the footage on Santosh's laptop. Suddenly Gowda stood up. ‘Let's take this to my house,' he said. ‘Will you be able to connect it to my TV?'

Santosh thought of the ancient TV in Gowda's home. ‘I don't think so, sir,' he said, not knowing how to keep the embarrassment out of his voice.

‘Oh,' Gowda said.

Head Constable Gajendra cleared his throat. ‘I have a 32-inch LED TV at home.'

‘That will be fine,' Santosh said.

Gajendra's home took Gowda's breath away. He had a 32-inch LED TV, a double-door fridge, a showcase full of assorted brassware and stuffed toys – a cross-eyed teddy, an inebriated dog and a constipated cat, rotund distended belly and all.

Gowda made a note to himself in his head: CHANGE TV.

There was also a row of interlinked steel chairs. Like the ones dentists seemed to have a proclivity for. And a sofa that would have been more appropriate in the Mysore palace. How did he manage to pay for all of this? Was the man on the take?

Gajendra looked at him, waiting for the compliment that first-time guests festooned him with. Gowda cleared his throat. ‘What an amazing house,' he said.

Gajendra beamed and dusted the already spotless sofa for Gowda to sit on.

‘When did you shift here?' Gowda asked curiously.

Gajenrda's previous house, he remembered, had been smaller and sparsely furnished.

‘I sold some land, sir, and decided to buy this house. It was a distress sale. That tailor's …' he said.

Gowda nodded. There had been a case of a tailor and his wife killing themselves. The tailor's brother had sold the house at a throwaway price, he had heard.

Santosh had meanwhile started looking for the USB port to plug in the hard disk.

Gowda felt breathless. The room was stuffy and in honour of their arrival, Gajendra's missus, as he referred to her, had lit a handful of incense sticks. ‘Please come in for coffee and tiffin,' Gajendra said, beckoning them to the dining room where a chrome and glass table stood laden with covered dishes.

How had Gajendra's wife managed to put all of this together in half an hour? Gowda hoped they were not eating the family's dinner.

Kara bath and kesari bath; salt and sweet; piping-hot filter coffee. Gowda would have fallen on his knees and wept in gratitude another time. This evening though, he was in a strange mood. A butterfly kept fluttering on one of his eyelids for no specific reason.

Santosh had the CCTV footage running by the time Gowda had eaten. ‘Do you want to watch the whole thing or should I fast-forward the footage?' he asked.

Gowda took a deep breath. ‘Let's start from two hours before the lawyer returned home and tally the register entries. Do we know if each of the visitor entry passes carries the plot owner's signature?'

Gajendra nodded. ‘I had PC Byrappa verify that first. He has started talking to the security and staff as well.'

‘Something very curious happened this afternoon, sir,' Santosh said. He had stepped into the dining room and filled a plate with
enough food to feed a cricket team, Gowda thought. In a strange way, he envied the younger man's ability to make himself at home no matter where he was. Everywhere Gowda went, he stood out like a sore thumb, separate and mostly left alone.

Gowda turned to look at Santosh. ‘Like what?'

‘I was talking to the guard at the gated community when this young woman turned up in an auto. I think she left when she saw the commotion at the gate. One of the guards said he had seen her with the lawyer earlier in the week.'

Gowda frowned. ‘Did you get her details?'

Santosh shook his head. ‘She didn't enter and went back in the same autorickshaw she came in. But the camera got a frame of her face and I took a picture of that.'

‘Get a printout. What about the lawyer's phone?' Gowda asked. ‘We'll find something in it surely.'

‘It's password-protected and has a fingerprint sensor,' Gajendra said. ‘I have requested the mobile phone company for call, text and WhatsApp records …'

Gowda nodded and turned his attention to the footage.

‘Did he have just one phone?' Gowda asked suddenly.

‘We didn't find any others in the house,' Gajendra said. ‘I'll check with his office and the security at the layout.'

Fifteen minutes later, Gowda had enough of watching the guava vendor outside the gate scratching his testicles. Another mental note: if you buy guavas, leave them in water for at least half an hour.

‘Speed it up,' he said.

A pizza delivery man and two service men from Samsung came on motorbikes. A dog came running, and stood thoughtfully at the gate. Two young girls came on bicycles. A line of maids left and then a group of construction workers. Soon the pizza man
and the service men left. At half past seven, a dusty Mercedes honked at the gate.

‘That's the lawyer,' Santosh said.

The lawyer's car window was down and he took delivery of a few letters. ‘He lived alone?' Gowda said.

‘Yes, there were two boys for two or three days last week, but they left. One of the security men said the boys ran away. They'd had enough.'

Santosh butted in. ‘That's the thing, sir. Apparently the boys left on Friday morning …'

Gowda frowned. ‘You realize we need to explore that angle too.'

Santosh nodded. ‘I've already started on that. The boys had work passes which they left back at the house. I have them at the station, sir. I checked the CCTV. They left with a young man. I am getting a printout of his face as well.'

Gowda grunted. Santosh was shaping up better than he had expected. He had seemed lost when he first returned to work but he seemed to have got a grip on himself.

‘Excellent,' he said.

‘Thank you, sir,' Santosh said, careful to hide the glee in his voice.

Gajendra hid his smile. Gowda and his acolytes – it was like watching a reality show. The young SI would go places or stay in the rut Gowda and he had dug up together. You didn't know which way it would end till it happened.

9.00 p.m.

Daulat Ali called. I let the phone ring till it stopped. He called again. This time, I picked it up on the very last ring.

I listened to what he had to say.

‘So, will you?' he asked me.

‘What about my girl?' I retorted.

‘Krishna, be reasonable ….' he said. ‘I cannot go against the thekedar.' I stayed silent. ‘It's not in my hands.' He sighed. ‘I am just another employee like you. Even the thekedar, he is just a few rungs up the ladder.'

‘I thought he is the boss!' I was astounded.

‘He has bosses too!' Daulat Ali's voice was low. ‘I'll do my best,' he said.

So I went to the godown. Daulat Ali was waiting for me by the steps. ‘Bhai, I am glad you are here,' he said.

Was the deference in his voice real or put on for the occasion? I gave him a brief nod.

I climbed the stairs. He followed me quietly. ‘Where is she?' I asked.

Daulat Ali led me to one of the cubicles. I looked at the dead girl. Moina.

‘It was an accident,' Daulat Ali said. He didn't look at my face.

Every death is an accident. Yours, or someone else's. Moina looked like she had been strangled.

‘I only meant to frighten her. But she kicked out at me and I lost my temper,' Daulat Ali said.

‘Put her into the auto.' I turned away, not wanting him to see my face. She didn't deserve to die like this. And yet, it was probably better than dying of disease.