Compass Box Killer (10 page)

‘Saheb, I believe that there is some clue in Colasco’s last words,’ said Virkar.

ACP Wagh looked at Virkar with exasperation. ‘What clue, Virkar? A dying man speaks some gibberish and you think it means something?’

‘Saheb, I would like to investigate this further,’ replied Virkar in a quietly confident tone. ‘I will—’

ACP Wagh cut him off. ‘Virkar, you will do no further investigation. You’re off the case from now onwards.’

‘But, saheb, I’ve also discovered another compass box and a new note that—’

Wagh cut him off with a chuckle. ‘Virkar, tujha doka phirlaya kai? Have you gone mad? You keep finding compass box upon compass box but you’re not able to save the people whose names are written on the notes inside.’

‘But, saheb…’ Virkar protested.

ACP Wagh raised his hand. ‘When you were transferred to the Crime Branch, I had high hopes from you based on the reputation you had acquired in Gadchiroli. Even though you are new here, I handed a high profile case of the murder of a police officer to you because you were the only outsider—untainted by the internal politics and corruption in the Mumbai Police.’

Virkar interjected. ‘But, saheb, you know that I’m still investigating it…’

ACP Wagh cut him off again. ‘Virkar, have you forgotten our department’s motto is
Sadrakshanaaya Khalanigrahanaāya
—to protect the good and to destroy the evil? What’s the point of being a good investigator if you can’t provide good protection?’ Virkar fell silent but Wagh continued, ‘Now, some activist-type has gone to the High Court and is demanding that the case be handed to another investigating agency: the State CID or the CBI. Thanks to you, we’ve been made to look like incompetent fools.’

Virkar opened his mouth to speak, but ACP Wagh did not let up. ‘I’m sorry, Virkar, but you had your chance. It’s out of my hands now. I have told the Additional Commissioner to hand over the case to a more experienced team to get quicker results.’

Virkar stood silent, looking expressionless.

ACP Wagh looked at him pointedly. ‘What are you waiting for? You are dismissed. Please go and warm your chair.’

Virkar saluted ACP Wagh and left the room. The grainy footage quickly faded away and Raashi reappeared on the screen. ‘So that was the Mumbai police—rather, ACP Wagh—admitting his inability to solve this case.’ Raashi jabbed the air with her manicured finger. ‘The most important thing now is to find out who is next on the Compass Box Killer’s list. Whose name is on the note in the latest compass box that Inspector Virkar just admitted to having found? I asked this question to ACP Wagh on the phone and this is what he had to say…’

The screen showed ACP Wagh’s mug shot and played his irritated response. ‘What new compass box, madam? From where have you got this information?’

Raashi raised an amused eyebrow at the screen. ‘The Mumbai Police has suddenly turned very uncooperative, as you can see. But, according to eye witnesses who were present at the time the latest compass box was discovered, the note inside it named the killer’s next victim as the Smooth Operator.’ Raashi paused dramatically. The programme’s music score rose to create a feeling of dread. ‘Smooth Operator,’ she repeated slowly, as the screen faded to black.

Virkar raised the remote and switched off his television set. He let the remote drop with a clatter onto the ground. He was lying on the cheap Rexene sofa-set in his small tenement at the police quarters in Bhoiwada. He had been sprawled out on the sofa since his return from ACP Wagh’s office, moving only once to switch on the television to watch Raashi’s 9.00 p.m. show,
Crime Update
.

Virkar now rose from his position on the sofa and walked to the small corner that served as his bath area. Picking up a bucket full of water, Virkar he poured it over his head. The cold water splashed over his fully-clothed body, soaking him from head to toe and snapping him out of his dulled senses. Raashi had taken him by surprise tonight. The woman had guts! He had to hand it to the Hunterwali for pulling off the sting operation. Thank God he hadn’t blabbed too much in ACP Wagh’s presence. Virkar peeled off the wet clothes and dumped them into the now empty bucket. Grabbing a thin towel off the rack, he rubbed himself dry. Quickly taking the three steps required to reach the steel Godrej cupboard that stood on one side of the room, he opened it and took out fresh underwear, a light cotton shirt and jeans. Pulling them on and brushing his damp, short hair with his fingers, Virkar slipped on the only pair of casual shoes he owned. A sense of relief washed over him as he locked his front door and stepped out of his modest living quarters into the pleasant night air. Shedding his official garb always lightened up Virkar’s mood. ‘Kha, pee, kar anand, aaj raat ban ja Dev Anand,’ he said to himself as he straddled his Bullet and revved it up.

O
ne would assume that a bar would hardly attract any customers at a time when Mumbai’s doodhwalas are delivering milk, paperwalas are delivering bad news and children are being roused awake by Mumbaikar parents preparing to face a new day in an unpredictable city. But the crowded tables and busy waiters inside Sunny Bar in the wee hours of the morning told an entirely different story. Located in the whimsical Cinema Lane behind Metro Cinema, Sunny Bar was one of the few bars in Mumbai that ran its business on the illegal, two-shift module. The evening-night shift catered to the general hard-drinking public whereas its special early morning shift operated behind closed shutters between 6.00 a.m. and noon, catering to workers who had just got off their night shift—die-hard alcoholics and other sundry morning liquor enthusiasts.

Virkar had discovered the bar by accident. It was while working on a case that involved surveillance of a scamster who was admitted as a patient at the nearby Bombay Hospital that he had chanced upon it. Early one morning, Virkar had seen the scamster emerge from the hospital gates and make his way surreptitiously through the back alleyways. Virkar had trailed the scamster and had seen him walking into a crumbling building that looked like it had seen better days. An inconspicuous signboard on the peeling walls read ‘Sunny Bar’. After the scamster had gone back to his hospital bed, Virkar had visited the bar pretending to be a desperate alcoholic. The cracked and peeling paint on the walls and the low hanging bulbs covered with wide lampshades bathed the bar in darkness. The hard, wooden benches next to the worn laminate tables were seats that only the hardcore alcoholics would choose to linger on. And yet, Virkar had been quite amazed at the activity he had seen inside. He was ready to crack down on the bar till he noticed that they were serving Godfather Beer. It had been a long night for Virkar and, suddenly, his suppressed tiredness had welled up inside him, begging for a sip of his favourite beer. Shamefaced, Virkar had ordered a Godfather and sat down in the vacant corner of a table already occupied by two men who looked extremely sleep deprived. Sipping his beer, Virkar couldn’t help but eavesdrop on the conversation between them. He gathered that they were out-of-towners, tending to their mother who was fighting for her last breath at Bombay Hospital. The men had apparently taken a quick beer break after a long night of uncertainty. They were due to head back to the hospital shortly, bracing themselves for the inevitable. Virkar had looked around the dimly-lit room and noticed other customers who were more content in the bar than the world outside. He had realized that, despite overtly breaking the law, Sunny Bar did actually cater to a needy clientele. Virkar had walked away from the bar that morning deciding to let it thrive while making a mental note to avail of its offerings sometime again when he was in need.

Today, as Virkar took assured steps towards Sunny Bar, the sky was breaking into dawn and the first chirrups of birds could be heard. At 6.30 a.m. that morning, twenty minutes after entering the bar, Virkar kept his glass mug down on the laminate-topped table. He had just finished his first bottle of beer. He glanced at the waiter who was standing expectantly beside him. As if by magic, the waiter produced another chilled bottle of Godfather from behind his back and, with a small flourish, popped open the cap, allowing the foam to trickle tantalizingly out of the bottle’s mouth. He poured the golden liquid into Virkar’s mug and placed next to it, a plastic bowl of crunchy chaklis and a bowl of fresh coriander and mint chutney. Virkar smiled. This was the cue for the waiter to make himself scarce and let Virkar mull over his drink.

As he took a sip of the precious liquid, a familiar female voice rang out in the room. It sounded totally out of place in the muted murmur of Sunny Bar.

‘So, is this what you do in the mornings, Inspector Virkar?’ Raashi looked down at him, an amused smile playing on her lips.

She looks very different from her TV show persona
, thought Virkar as he took in Raashi’s appearance. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a smart but plain T-shirt. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail and her face seemed devoid of make-up. In the dim light of Sunny Bar, it looked like she wasn’t wearing her sky-blue contact lenses. Virkar couldn’t be sure, but her eyes looked dark and were shining.

He was at a loss for words. Raashi’s sudden appearance and her amused smile made him feel like he had been caught with his pants down. He looked around and saw the grins plastered on the men’s faces and heard some hushed sniggers. Whispered comments like ‘Pakda gaya!’ and ‘Ab toh iski dandi gul!’ were heard around the bar, adding to Virkar’s acute embarrassment.

Virkar was still trying to compose himself when Raashi sat down across from him saying, ‘Normally, at this time I do yoga, but maybe I should give this drinking-in-the-morning thing a try.’ Virkar’s glanced suspiciously at her sling bag and her hands. Noticing this, Raashi held them up and said, ‘No spy cameras, Inspector. I’m here in an unofficial capacity.’

What is this Hunterwali after now?
Virkar’s mind was racing but he managed to maintain a deadpan expression. ‘I’m off duty,’ he said perfunctorily. Raashi nodded and added in a sympathetic voice, ‘And also off the case, I know…’

Virkar’s lips curled with sarcasm. ‘Thanks to you, madam, thanks to you.’

‘But I did say good things about you…’

Virkar’s eyes bored through her. ‘Yes, among all the bad things you said about the police department.’

Raashi flinched. ‘I thought I was doing my job. As it turns out, I overstepped a line when I placed the spy cam in the ACP’s office. The channel bosses have asked me to go on a long leave,’ shrugged Raashi.

‘Then what are you doing here? You won’t get any sympathy or further information from me,’ hissed Virkar.

Raashi blushed. ‘I…I…followed you to…express my regrets. You’re a brave man, and I’m sorry that my actions have caused you trouble. I’d like to make amends.’ Her voice had a sincerity that was not lost on Virkar.

‘Looks like following me has become your life’s mission,’ he retorted, looking her in the eye. The unflinching transparency with which she returned his searching look made something shift inside Virkar.

‘Look, just give mere mortals like me a few moments of peace when we can drown our regrets.’ He sat back, relaxing his tense muscles for the first time since he had seen her. Raashi lowered her eyes but made no move to leave. For a while both of them sat in silence. Finally, Raashi reached into her sling bag and pulled out a mini voice recorder. Virkar sat up and eyed her suspiciously. Raashi pressed a button and suddenly Colasco’s dying words filled the air between them. ‘Hurry…tracing…tracings ward.’ Raashi lowered her voice and said, ‘Like you, I believe that there is a clue in these words. I’ve played it over and over again, but haven’t been able to come up with anything.’ Raashi pressed a button and Colasco’s words began playing in a loop. Virkar and Raashi bent their heads forward in complete concentration, listening to the muffled desperation in Colasco’s voice. For a while Virkar didn’t say anything, but noticing Raashi’s earnestness, he finally spoke up. ‘After watching your show last night, I realized I couldn’t just step away from the investigation.’ Raashi didn’t say anything but the look in her eyes indicated that she wanted him to go on talking. Virkar cleared his throat. ‘I went straight to Colasco’s Slum Baalak Suraksha office and was there all of last night going through his papers and records trying to find anything that might be linked to his last words, but I didn’t find anything useful.’

‘I know,’ said Raashi. Virkar threw her a sharp look.

‘I’ve been following you all night; how else would I know that you were here?’ She broke into a self-conscious grin. For a few seconds, Virkar held his stony stare but then broke into laughter himself. Virkar and Raashi laughed together and suddenly lapsed into an embarrassed, self-conscious silence.

Raashi spoke after a long moment. ‘Look, now that another Crime Branch team is taking over the case, you can’t officially speak to anyone, but if there is anyone or anything that you would like to investigate unofficially, let me do it for you.’

Virkar studied her eyes, which, as he had discovered that evening, were luminous brown. His gaze trailed along her unpainted mouth and the smooth texture of her skin.
Was this
a trap?
He shrugged off the notion. The Hunterwali came across as genuine enough now. Virkar nodded. ‘Okay, but right now I’ve got nothing. Maybe
you
can tell me what “Smooth Operator” means? Is it some kind of slang?’

Raashi replied in a heartbeat. ‘The only “Smooth Operator” I know of is that old song by Sade.’

Virkar raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Shaade? I’ve never heard of this singer. Does he sing playback for Hindi films?’

Raashi giggled. ‘Sade is a
she
—a British singer from the eighties.’