Second Lives (19 page)

‘I feel bad for you, Jo. I really do,’ I said, as I came.

Her body convulsed one final time and she died.

It took me another half hour to clean up and put the finishing touches. I then dragged Jo’s body the short distance to the lake and pushed it in.

Everything was in place. I wouldn’t even be a suspect.

47

Neel

I had decided to go for a few days to our family bungalow in Kumaon. It’s near a quaint village called Malla Ramgarh. There was no one there at the moment. I figured that after the recent happenings in Goa, the proximity to nature would do me good. I could maybe take a few photographs in the surrounding forests. Something I hadn’t done in a long time.

But there was a job I needed to do first.

Mrs Iyer had told me that the widow of Jo’s killer lived in Dharamsala. After her husband’s conviction, she had been ostracised in her native hamlet. It became impossible for her to live there. She took her children and moved around for a couple of years. And finally ended up in the town made famous by the Dalai Lama. She took up a job as a cook in one of the holiday resorts dotting the place. There were decent quarters on the premises for her to live in. The children were enrolled in a nearby government school.

I wanted to meet this woman. Get her story firsthand. More importantly, I wanted to verify my hypothesis that Rachel had contacted her as well. The easiest option for me, logistically and otherwise, was to book myself in for a night at the resort. It was a nice property. Comprising a few cottages situated on a flat piece of land overlooking a deep valley. In the reception area, there was the customary photograph of the whole place covered in snow.

I reached in the afternoon. It was only after dinner that I could meet the woman. She looked around fifty years old. I learnt later that she was just thirty-eight. The traumatic events of her life had understandably taken a great toll on her. Mentally and physically.

When I introduced myself, her first words were, ‘My husband didn’t kill your friend, I swear to God.’

I nodded and said, ‘I know.’ It seemed to put her a little at ease.

‘Your other friend, the girl, had also come to meet me. I told her the same thing.’

‘Was her name Rachel?’ She had answered my question without me having asked it.

She thought for a moment. ‘I don’t remember. But she was very nice and listened patiently to everything I had to say.’

I leaned forward. ‘Can you please tell me your story again?’

She looked around. We were sitting in the restaurant. There was no one there except the two of us. I could hear someone washing dishes in the kitchen at the back.

It took her twenty minutes to complete her sad tale. I didn’t interrupt. She spoke in a low whisper. The words came out hesitantly. Luckily I knew a smattering of the local dialect. Otherwise it would have been difficult to understand what she was saying.

I knew most of it already from Mrs Iyer. But there was one interesting detail I wasn’t aware of. Apparently, the deal hadn’t been for a one-time payoff only. It also included a monthly allowance for the rest of her life. Which increased by ten per cent every year. Whoever was behind this had planned it well. Right down to adjusting for inflation.

‘How does the money come in?’ I asked.

She said, ‘A packet of cash is left outside my doorstep on the first of every month. I have no idea who puts it there.’

‘Even here?’

‘Yes. I was told to send a postcard with my new address, every time I moved.’

I was suddenly hopeful. ‘And where do you send it to?’

‘It’s a PO Box in Delhi.’

He had taken great pains to keep his end of the bargain. And ensured that there wasn’t a trail to follow.

‘I now regret every penny I’ve taken from them,’ she said. ‘But what could I do? I have to bring up my five children.’

‘If the money is enough, why are you working?’

She sighed. ‘I’ve stopped keeping it for over two years now. Every month, I take the packet and deposit it at the Hanuman temple nearby, unopened.’

I thought desperately. Here at last was a link to the killer. I asked, ‘Do you have any idea at all who might be behind this?’

She shook her head. ‘The man who had met my husband and talked him into this was definitely just a go-between. He didn’t even tell us his name. After the arrest, I never saw him again.’

Something struck me. ‘Tomorrow’s the first of the month, right?’

‘Yes. I’ve no doubt that when I wake up in the morning, the money will be lying outside my door. It’s like clockwork. They’ve never forgotten yet.’

I figured that her attempts to blow the lid off the whole arrangement were not yet known to them. Otherwise the money would have stopped coming. And her life wouldn’t have been spared. It seemed strange to me that a loose end like this had been left open. It would have been so easy to just bump off the woman.

A crazy idea came to my mind.

It was a stroke of luck that I happened to be there at the right time. I decided I would stake out her house that night. And see who came to deliver the money.

I didn’t tell the woman anything, of course.

48

Omar

After Roy disappeared, the school authorities duly informed his mother, and she took the first flight out of Germany. None of us had ever seen her before. I was expecting a tall, blond woman but she turned out to be auburn-haired and surprisingly petite. She had the same eyes as Roy.

She was naturally heart-broken but remained stoic throughout her brief stay in India. Principal Marshall personally received her and explained to her exactly what had happened. She spoke to us separately, and we recounted the details of our trip to her again. I was worried about her reaction when we told her about getting Roy drunk but she didn’t say anything.

The only time she broke down was when I went with her to clear out Roy’s things from his dorm. As we packed all his clothes and other items into his old trunk, she began sobbing. It was awkward, and I was unsure of what to say or do. Thankfully, she recovered after a few minutes and took out a tissue from her handbag to wipe her tears. She said, ‘I should have taken my boy with me to Dusseldorf when his father died. Then this wouldn’t have happened. If only I hadn’t allowed that old bitch to walk all over me…’ I presumed she meant Roy’s grandmother, her former mother-in-law.

The bursar and I were with her when she met the police inspector in charge of Roy’s case. It was the same officer who had interrogated us. He was a coarse man with a huge belly and cunning pig eyes, chewing tobacco constantly. Since he couldn’t speak much English, I had to act as translator.

The inspector began by saying that the police had conducted a thorough investigation—his team had examined the campsite for hours and questioned everyone connected to the event for days. He glared at me as he said that. He stated that he was convinced Roy had drowned in the river. The body would wash up somewhere eventually but there were so many corpses and animal carcasses floating in our rivers that there was no point hoping someone would report it. He spat out a mouthful of tobacco.

I didn’t translate his last comment.

Roy’s mother was quiet until the inspector finished. Then she said simply, ‘I know my son is not dead. I want you to find him for me.’ I still remember the way she said it, with absolute certainty. Her voice was strangely calm and confident—there was none of the hysterical irrationality that profound grief often brings.

Even the inspector was unnerved by her statement. He bowed his head and said in broken English, ‘I’m sorry, madam.’

The case was closed and all formalities were completed. No death certificate was issued since the body hadn’t been found but Roy was considered dead for all practical purposes. Just before leaving, his mother left her address and phone number with me. She said, ‘If my son ever gets in touch with you, please contact me immediately.’

After all these years, I thought about that again. How had she been so sure that Roy was
alive
?

On an impulse, I decided to call up a friend.

His name was Kabir Ahmed and he was a pretty senior guy in the Mumbai Crime Branch. I knew he had played a big role in cracking a major terrorist plot recently. He had told me that he got shot after a dramatic car chase in Colaba, and only his body armour had saved him. It was all over the press, though his name was never mentioned. That was so like him—he was a brilliant cop but shunned any kind of publicity.

We met at a McDonald’s in Bandra. I would have preferred a bar but Kabir didn’t touch alcohol, not even beer. On the other hand, he loved fast food. I enjoy the occasional burger myself but don’t much care for the Indianised menu they have here.

I was slightly late and Kabir was already sitting at a table, munching on a portion of fries. The place wasn’t as crowded as usual. He got up when he saw me and we shook hands rather formally. Kabir was a dour kind of guy but he looked genuinely pleased to see me.

I smiled at him and said, ‘I’ll never understand your fascination for McDonald’s.’

‘Omar, on my policeman’s salary, I can’t afford all the fancy restaurants you go to.’ He waved his hands. ‘This is quick, tasty and cheap. Perfect for me.’

I looked at him. He was tall and swarthy, with a hooked nose and thinning hair streaked with silver. He was almost fifty and must have been very fit once upon a time but had developed a small paunch now. He was dressed casually in a checked shirt and dark trousers.

I had first met Kabir five years ago when he had questioned me about a case he was working on. A prominent industrialist’s son had been waylaid and murdered on his way back from a party. I was a guest at the same party and the police later spoke to everyone present there, including me.

I told Kabir that I had gone to the bathroom, when I overheard this man having a heated conversation on his mobile phone, sitting inside one of the stalls. I didn’t really catch much of it but remembered him mentioning the name Tania several times. Tania turned out to be a jealous ex-girlfriend, who had ordered the hit on him in a fit of rage. My lead helped Kabir crack the case in two days.

Since then, he and I stayed in touch. Despite our age difference, we developed a good friendship and met up once in a while. It was nice to catch up on each other’s very different lives. He was also a bachelor, which helped.

We went up to the counter and ordered our food. Kabir asked for two Chicken McGrills with cheese, another portion of fries and a large Coke. I settled for just a coffee.

Taking a huge bite of his first burger, Kabir asked, ‘So what did you want to talk about?’

I said carefully, ‘I need to know how I can trace a missing person, find out if he’s dead or alive.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Who is it? I hope you’ve filed a report with the police.’

I paused. ‘This person disappeared twelve years ago.’

Kabir put his hands on the table and stared quizzically at me.

I quickly gave him a summary of everything that had happened with Roy. He looked at me shrewdly and said, ‘Why this sudden interest after so many years?’

49

Neel

Executing my plan was easier said than done. I couldn’t very well sit outside the woman’s house all night. The staff quarters consisted of a small cluster of huts on a terrace lower down the hillside. There was a steep flight of steps leading down to them from the resort. I was pretty sure the courier wouldn’t use that. For one thing, he would have to enter through the main gate. Where he would be stopped by the security guard.

I walked around. There was a rough path starting at one edge of the terrace and leading down to the road below. I guessed that the resort staff used it regularly. In all likelihood, it was the way the courier would come.

Here again was a problem. It would be difficult for me to sit anywhere along the path. I explored its entire length. There wasn’t any suitable place where I could lie in wait. The terrain was rocky and covered with undergrowth. There was no tree where I could perch myself either. Besides, there were leopards in these parts. I didn’t want to end up as cat-food.

The only option was to wait near the road. Chances were high that the man would come in a car or motorcycle. I hired myself an ancient Maruti Omni from the town marketplace. After an early dinner that night, I took along blankets and a flask of strong coffee, and drove down the short distance. I parked under a tree about twenty metres from where the path began.

It was a cold and dark night. The sky was overcast. The lights on the hill across the valley switched off one by one. Until only a few remained burning. Trucks roared by at regular intervals. I took sips of the coffee. And kept up my vigil. I was used to such stake-outs from my Army days. If anything, the Omni was a luxury.

Several hours went by. The fluorescent dial of my watch showed four-fifteen. I wondered whether anyone was going to come at all. Hill-folk started their day early. It wouldn’t be long before people were out and about. If the idea was to come and go undetected, there was little time left for it. Maybe the woman had been lying to me.

I must have dozed off after that. The sound of tyres braking on gravel woke me with a jolt. I cautiously raised my head. A two-wheeler had stopped just a few feet ahead. It was still very dark. A man alighted. Switched off the engine. Just before his tail-lights went out, I noticed a small bag in his hand.

This was undoubtedly the courier.

He obviously knew his way. I could see the beam of his torch bobbing as he walked up the hill. I quietly got out of the Omni. And noted down the license plate number of the motorcycle. It was a local registration.

I felt a familiar excitement. The enemy was close at hand. The man was going to return soon. I had two options. Overpower him and try to get some information. Or follow him to see where he went.

I chose the former.

I stretched my arms and legs. Removed the creases from my body. Then hid behind a bush. Presently, the torchlight began coming down the path. I tensed myself. When the man passed me, I stepped out silently. And put my arm around his neck in a stranglehold.