Killer in the Shadows! (2 page)

Arrey mann balwaan, lagey chattaan, rahey humesha aagey; Hud hud dabbangg dabbangg dabbangg dabbangg…

Shukla smiled and started head-banging like a rockstar. He loved this song. Abhay pressed the accelerator, eager to reach the party where Billo Rani’s dance performance was waiting for him.

A
bhay got a call on the radio while he was still on his way. He lowered the stereo’s volume and watched Shukla still dancing.

“Inspector Abhay Pandey here,” he said.

Abhay turned to Shukla and said, “Intruder. Possibly a murder case. House 501, Meerapur. Only thing she said was, ’Help me, I think I’ve killed somebody.’ Then she must have passed out or…”

Abhay knew what that meant. She might be hurt, she might be dead. Or the whole thing might be nothing. As a policeman, he never knew what he was going to walk in on, but ironically, he always had to be prepared for anything.

“We’ll be there in five. Over,” Abhay said.

Abhay glanced at his constable. Shukla was still enjoying the music as if nothing had happened. He used his tongue to lick the tobacco paste coming out of his mouth. The man was disgusting.

Shukla looked up to see his boss watching him with disapproval. He shook his head in frustration and said through a mouthful of tobacco, “
Sirji, aaj chhamia party mein humara jaana mushkil lag raha hai
. All hell is breaking loose in this town today only. This is the sixth call we’ve had. What does a guy need to do to get to a decent victory party without someone dying?”

Abhay knew how ’decent’ their victory parties were. He smirked at Shukla’s honesty. Even he wanted to be in Rani’s arms tonight. “
Kya baat kartey ho Shuklaji, duty bhi toh zaroori hai
. Let’s just quickly finish this and then we can go to the party.” He flicked on the police siren and drove to the crime scene.

“I just hope this isn’t the same crazy woman who has been calling almost every day at the station,’ said Shukla increasing the volume of the car stereo.

Abhay kept his eyes fixed ahead as he weaved his way through the traffic, ignoring Shukla’s nonchalant attitude. Abhay loved the fact that most of the cars slowed down or quickly got out of the way to let the police car with a siren pass. In fact, he used this siren most of the times to avoid traffic, even if he wasn’t going to any crime scene. He swerved the jeep into the parking lot in front of the house, and as he got out of the car, Abhay’s hand automatically checked for his gun.

Both of them walked up silently to house number 501. It was shrouded in darkness, and the front door was unlocked.

Shukla swallowed in some air, “Sirji, this looks like a
bhoot bangla
. I have heard some ghost stories around this place too.”

“If you don’t stop blabbering, I will make you a ghost. Concentrate on the case!” Abhay said, as he placed his cold gun on Shukla’s forehead.

“Yes, sirji. Full concentrate. Let’s go!” Shukla entered the house first, his flashlight leading the way, its dim beam of light sweeping the room. Abhay followed him, his alert eyes piercing the darkness and scanning the area. He studied the house. A simple beige leather sofa set faced
an LCD unit. The room was sleek and neat. Unlike most women’s houses, it lacked pink fluffy pillows and tons of knickknacks and embroidered stuff. A few unpacked boxes had been pushed into a corner. The walls were white coloured and there were no photographs of family or friends anywhere. That seemed odd. There was a small collection of novels stacked on a table and an assortment of some law related books on a wooden book shelf.

Sofa, chairs, LCD TV – all fairly normal but empty. Shukla checked the small white kitchen, flicked a pizza piece lying on the slab and gave Abhay the all-clear nod. Abhay opened another door which he found was the bathroom. Small but neat. He made a mental note that the front living area hadn’t been disturbed. Just then, they heard a faint moan somewhere in the back of the house.

Hiding behind the kitchen wall, Shukla gulped the whole pizza slice in one go and then came out and looked at Abhay. On his order, they tiptoed their way to the door from where the sound seemed to have come. Abhay eased the door gently, his gun ready. A thin ray of moonlight sliced the darkness and fell on a figure lying in the creased bed. There was broken glass shattered on the floor, and pillows and magazines scattered around. Another groan rang through the air. Abhay remembered Billo Rani’s groans from his last encounter in her bed. He moved closer to the figure.

“If there was an intruder, he’s not here, sirji,” said Shukla.

Abhay stood beside the bed, assessing the situation. The woman groaned in pain. It wasn’t an orgasmic groan as Abhay had wished it to be. She was covered in blood and was clutching a bloody knife. Blood oozed from a wound
in her right wrist and a tiny droplet marked her throat. “Get me some towels from the bathroom,” he ordered Shukla.

Abhay replaced his gun in its holster, took out the knife from her fingers using his crisp white handkerchief, pulled out a plastic bag from his pocket and dropped the knife inside. Shukla went inside the bathroom, spent some time looking at the mirror and admiring himself, moving his hands on his beard. He saw some perfumes lying on the washbasin shelf. He picked and tried a few on him until he heard Abhay shouting from outside. He rushed back with the towels. Abhay bent down and knelt beside the bed and wrapped one towel around her wrist tightly to stop the bleeding.

“Is she going to make it?” Shukla asked, as he watched Abhay wipe the blood off her neck and face.

“Yeah, but she’s lost some blood.” He looked at the woman and noticed that she was a familiar face. He had seen her somewhere. Oh yes, she was the same girl from the photograph they had retrieved from the dead body a while ago. She had ivory skin and her long dark hair framed it beautifully. She certainly looked stunning in that low-cut black night dress. Too damn low-cut perhaps. He’d noticed the way Shukla had eyed her and sniggered suggestively to him.

“Madam…madam ji, can you hear me?” he asked, gently shaking her.

“
Sirji yeh toh wohi maal hai…hai na?
” Shukla said with a chuckle.

Abhay glared at Shukla and barked, “Moron! Every situation is not good for a joke. Hit the lights and bring the team in to start looking for clues.”

Shukla frowned but left the room.

The woman’s dark eyelashes fluttered and her soft pink lips trembled as she tried to speak. She had a small frame, which was lost in the blood-splattered black night gown she was wearing. He quickly checked her body to see if there were other wounds. Her skin was flawless, her legs long and slim. There didn’t appear to be any other cuts, except a point on her throat which looked like a knife prick. Abhay didn’t know how much time had elapsed before he heard the wail of the ambulance siren. A sigh of relief went through him. She was too beautiful to die.

“I killed him…” She mumbled as she regained consciousness. She kicked at the tangled bedcovers in an attempt to escape the horrible nightmare.

She felt a hand grip her arm, and she screamed.

“Sshhhh madam, it’s okay.
Hum hain
Inspector Abhay Pandey and you are safe now.”

Abhay stared at her inviting cleavage. She drew back and tightened the sheet to her chest. Trembling, she forced herself to open her eyes, expecting to see the person who had tried to kill her. She started to push her tangled hair away from her face, but realized that her fingers were covered in a red sticky substance. Blood. Her stomach churned. Visions of the attack flashed through her mind.

The inspector wiped her palms with a towel. Actually he wanted to wipe her whole body with a wet towel again and again. She certainly was a seductive piece. Her low-cut black night gown revealed acres of warm, creamy flesh just crying out for exploration.

Abhay twisted the scarf around his neck. “Can you tell me your name?”

She nodded numbly. “Naina…Sinha.”

Naina kaash tum hoti meri maina
, Abhay thought. He offered a smile and said gently, “Just stay right where you are, Naina. The team is going to take you to the hospital. You’ll be just fine. Later you can tell me what happened here and give your statement.”

It vaguely worried him, but there was probably a logical explanation which could wait, whereas the party couldn’t. Naina listened to the man’s deep, husky voice calm her. Finally someone was going to listen to her.

Shukla popped in. “Sirji, actually I wanted to say, can we go to the victory party now?”

A
bhay gazed stiffly around the police station; it was in shambles.

“This office is a mess, Mishraji. Disgusting!”

“We were just about to tidy it up, sirji,” lied Mishra, the head constable, as he removed the dog-eared stack of files from the chair, looked for somewhere to put them, then decided his own table was the only free space. He offered the chair to Inspector Pandey who declined it with a disdainful sniff.

“And how is the party going? They seem to be enjoying themselves,” Abhay shouted over the noise. “Not too loud for you, is it?”

“No, sir,” lied Mishra as he pushed the phone to his ears. He was the head constable of the police station. A forty-five-year-old man, he had a belly so huge that he wouldn’t have seen his own feet since years. He was the backbone of the station. He had spent most of his time behind a typewriter or the phone, than in the field.

“Nice to hear people enjoying themselves…for a change,” Mishra said.

Abhay nodded his approval, his gaze wandering around the dingy lobby with its stark wooden benches and the Wanted poster flapping on the dark grey walls. “I never realized just how dreary this lobby looked, Mishraji. Do
you think you could see about cheering it up…get in some house plants, or flowers, or something?”

“Yes, sir. Very good idea, sirji,” mumbled Mishra, raising his eyes to the ceiling in mute appeal. Bloody flowers indeed! He was a policeman, not a bloody landscape gardener.

Abhay started moving up the stairs to the terrace where the party was going on. He paused and looked back, “Sorry I had to put you on duty tonight Mishraji, but there are very few men I could really trust to do a good job.”

Mishra gave a noncommittal grunt and Abhay walked on. He pushed open the door to the terrace letting a warm burst of happy sound roll down the stairs on an air current of alcohol.

The full gang of police officers was dancing around two girls and the music was blaring at full volume. Seeing Abhay, everyone froze, the music stopped. Abhay stepped inside with a stern look on his face, Shukla right behind. All eyes were on Inspector Abhay Pandey; he stuck two fingers in his mouth and ripped out an ear-piercing whistle.

“
Ruk kyun gaye, bajao music!
”

There were yells of delight and a salvo of wolf whistles, and the party started again.

Two uniformed men came in with a wooden charpoy and placed it for the
daroga babu
. One more man came running with a stool and another with a
hukka
. The whole setup was ready in a fraction of seconds. Abhay Pandey untied his scarf from the neck and tied it on his hand as he sat on the wooden charpoy.

Shukla shouted for Abhay’s favourite alcohol. “
Sahab ke liye special narangi lao!
”

And then, the sizzler was served: hot Billo Rani’s sizzling hot
mujra
.

Her tight-fitting dress did more than hug her figure. It intimately explored it, and they were treated to a glorious display of wriggling buttock cleft as she moved her bums to the music. It looked like some girl had accidentally entered a boys hostel and everyone was drooling over her. The entire police force looked like salivating toads in front of this beautiful woman.

Her magnetic moves charmed the pants of the entire police force, especially that of Abhay. She smiled seductively at Abhay. His intense grey eyes disturbed her, like he could see through her even with her clothes on. But she was enjoying it, as he was the one who’d paid for tonight. With every move, with every touch of Rani, Abhay could feel his junior becoming senior.

Upstairs, the party was throbbing away louder than ever and showed no signs of breaking up. Mishra was sitting at his desk, hearing the stamping, shrieking, roars of laughter, and the sound of glass smashing. A load of bloody hooligans, he thought as he tried to hear what the caller was saying. “I’m sorry, sir. A bit of a disturbance outside. Would you mind repeating that?”