Compass Box Killer (24 page)

A coarse hand on Virkar’s shoulder pulled him out of his thoughts. He turned to see one of the grey suits signalling him back to the bench. ‘Please be seated. Boss will be here in a few minutes.’

Without any protest, Virkar walked back to the bench. A slight movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. Virkar turned to see Vasant Dixit, a middle-aged, well-groomed man dressed in casual chinos and a polo T-shirt walk up the rock stairs. Virkar recognized him from the countless images he had seen of the man in the media. As Vasant Dixit walked towards him, Virkar noticed a plume of smoke emanating from his mouth—only then did he notice the cigar in the businessman’s hand. The two men walking behind Vasant Dixit were dressed in fawn-coloured safari suits. Virkar guessed that they were servers instead of bodyguards because of the folding chair and table that they carried in their hands along with the ice box that they were lugging.

Vasant Dixit walked up to Virkar, who rose from the bench and held out his hand. But Vasant Dixit only stuck the cigar in his mouth and motioned for him to sit down. Virkar sat down on the bench again. The two servers unfolded the table and chair in front of him. Placing the ice box next to the table, they opened it and drew out a crystal beer mug and a chilled bottle of Godfather beer. Virkar eyed the bottle and then shot a glance towards Vasant Dixit. The man was not looking at him but at the Rolex on his wrist. By this time, the servers had finished pouring the beer into the crystal mug. Plugging the open neck of the bottle with the bottle stopper, they receded into the background. Vasant Dixit finally took the cigar out of his mouth and flicked the ash on to the ground. With an amused expression, he looked Virkar straight in the eye and said, ‘Please, drink! This is your favourite beer, isn’t it? I had to send a man all the way to Versova for it. Even then it took him time to find it—it’s so bloody rare.’

Virkar did not make a move to pick up the beer mug. He opened his mouth to say something, but Vasant Dixit raised his hand to silence him. Breaking into a smile that did not reach his eyes, he said, ‘If we’re going to be friends, shouldn’t we drink together?’

Virkar remained expressionless. ‘But where is your drink, Mr Dixit?’

Vasant Dixit smiled again. ‘Ah, good point! You see, I’m not drinking just yet; I have to go down and play with my five-year-old son. It’s his birthday and we’re having a party, as you may have seen.’

Virkar’s voice remained as flat as before. ‘Oh, so your son was born four years after you killed Tracy Barton?’

Vasant Dixit’s eyes went ice cold but the smile remained intact. ‘Inspector Virkar, I thought you had come here to apologize, but I can see that there is no change in your attitude.’

Virkar’s voice hardened. ‘It’s difficult to change an attitude, don’t you agree, Mr Dixit? No matter how much you change, you’re always going to remain a killer. Isn’t that so?’

Vasant Dixit stared at Virkar with an intensity that threatened to burn a hole into Virkar’s skull. Finally he broke into a dry laugh. ‘What do you want from me? An admission of guilt? Okay, chalo, I confess. I killed her. But it was an accident.’

‘Acchha, an accident?’ Virkar sneered

‘Yes,’ said Vasant Dixit, ‘an accident, a sexual accident.’

Virkar shot back, ‘You put your hands around her throat and choked the life out of her and you call it an accident?’ The veins in his temples were throbbing.

‘Believe me, Inspector, I didn’t mean to kill her. I liked her—’

Virkar cut him off. ‘You liked her enough to pay off three people to cover up her death and have her buried in a godforsaken part of earth, forgotten away.’

‘Well, what else was I supposed to do? Who cares about these hippy-charsi phirangs anyway? They are screwing themselves up with drugs and sex anyway, right? Who gives a damn about them?’

It was Virkar’s turn to laugh. ‘Well, guess what Mr Dixit? You chose the wrong phirang to kill. Somebody did care about this particular hippy. He has already killed the three men you paid to cover up the murder, and now he’s coming for you.’

Vasant Dixit drew on his cigar. Letting the plume of smoke curl out of his mouth, he smiled. ‘Look around you; does it look like anyone can get to me?’

Virkar laughed again. ‘A determined killer can get to even kings and prime ministers, and you’re just a man with a lot of money. He will get to you, it’s only a matter of time. No one can save you.’

Vasant Dixit got up all of a sudden, anger flashing in his eyes. ‘No one can save
you
now, Inspector. Your job is gone. Your career is gone. It’s all over for you.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Virkar replied, a slight smile lingering on his face.

Vasant Dixit smiled back. ‘You think you’re so smart, don’t you?’ He looked towards the safari-suits. Two men sprang from both sides of Virkar and ripped his shirt off his body. Reaching under his armpit, they pulled out a taped mini transmitter. Flinging it on to the ground, one of the safari-suits crushed it under his foot.

Vasant Dixit now spoke in a voice that was calm and composed, ‘You think that recording device in your armpit was transmitting down to the van that’s standing on the road behind the bungalow. Well, think again! Why do you think I called you here to meet me? Look around you. You see those towers? They have the most sophisticated radio wave jamming devices in the world. They can intercept and scramble any signal being transmitted towards the road. I’m not called the telecom king of India for nothing.’

Virkar stared at him mutely. ‘You had your fun, but, Inspector, the real fun begins now. Goodbye,’ he sneered before turning and walking away.

Virkar stood by the bench watching him disappear. He was not bothered about the transmitter that had been found, but was wondering if the tiny microchip transmitter, the one stuck below his testicles, had transmitted everything clearly to Alfred Koli’s radio transmitter aboard the Koli Queen that was anchored in the sea right across from the bungalow, pretending to be fishing in the waters.

‘T
oday, I’m the happiest man alive,’ Vasant Dixit’s voice boomed out over the lawns through the speakers that were strategically placed in various corners. He was standing with a mike in his hand on a small stage that was adorned with human-sized balloons and set up at the head of the main lawn.

After leaving Virkar at the tabletop, he had made his way down the stone steps and waded through the sea of balloons and children to finally reach his five-year-old son. The child was in his gorgeous wife’s arms, enjoying all the attention that was being lavished on him. Virkar was being led by the safari-suits down from the tabletop and towards the side entrance. But on hearing their master’s voice over the loudspeaker, the safari-suits had instinctively stopped and were staring in the direction of the small stage. On the stage, Vasant Dixit was a picture of a perfect happiness. He hardly looked like a man who had just had an altercation with a police officer who had accused him of murder—or like a man who had admitted to it. Instead, he was looking like a man who was having a truly great day. Virkar, too, stood and watched him as he continued to speak, ‘My son, Ved—Vedanta Dixit—has turned five today, and I’m so glad that you are all here to share this special day with him.’ A huge wave of applause erupted across the lawn as the children and their minders expressed their appreciation. ‘And now, I have a special song that I want to sing for my little Vedster,’ said Vasant Dixit. The excitement in his voice was palpable and the safari-suits around Virkar smiled as they watched their boss, waiting for his special song.

Boxed in by the safari-suit squad Virkar resigned himself to watching Vasant Dixit’s act.

With a theatrical flourish, Vasant Dixit dropped his cigar on to the stage and stubbed it out to the accompaniment of giggles and titters. Then, taking a deep breath, he launched into a rendition of the ‘Happy Birthday’ song.

But as soon as he began to sing, one of the life-sized balloons hanging above him burst, showering him with glittering confetti. Vasant Dixit was surprised, but on hearing the excited applause of the little children, he continued gamely. His singing now seemed to only favour the high tones. The claps and exclamation from the children grew as his voice took on a squeaky tone. Vasant Dixit now sounded as if he was doing a Donald Duck impression. ‘May you have many more…’ he squeaked in a high-pitched voice. The laughter around him was loud and rampant. As if on cue, two huge, life-sized balloons burst on either side of him, showering him with a thousand more confetti strips. The claps got louder and more reverberating. The appreciation of his funny act was universal. The serious-looking safari-suits, too, turned into tittering idiots. The crowd joined in a high-pitched chorus to accompany Vasant Dixit’s squeaky singing. ‘Happy birthday, dear Vedanta… Happy birthday toooo youuuu…’ As the last notes subsided, Vasant Dixit grabbed his throat and started gagging, as if tired by all the high-pitched singing. Laughter and claps rose to thunderous levels. The crowd gathered around had obviously never seen Vasant Dixit in such a sporting mood. He was really milking the moment for whatever it was worth. The crowd watched in merriment as Vasant Dixit fell to his knees, continuing his gagging act, and everyone clapped even harder as he sprawled on the floor of the stage, pretending to be exhausted by his Donald Duck impression. The safari-suits, too, nudged each other in appreciation of their boss’s talent.

Suddenly, a scream rent the air. Vasant Dixit’s wife had gone up on stage to bring her husband down for the cake-cutting ceremony. But despite her calling out to him, he had not stirred and lain still. She had shaken him, clasping his hand in hers. When she attempted to pull him up gently, his hand slipped out of hers and rolled to the side, hitting the floor with a thump.

‘He’s dead,’ she screamed, the words echoing through the mike across the bungalow lawns. They had the effect of a gunshot. Suddenly, all hell broke loose. People started running in every direction, children began crying loudly, mothers started calling out to their bais. Balloons started popping, trampled under the feet of the crowd. The loud pops of the balloons added noise and fear to the chaos. Around Virkar, the safari-suits reacted like a confused herd that has suddenly lost its leader. They rushed towards the stage en masse, forgetting Virkar’s presence. Out of the corner of his eye, Virkar saw Raashi break out of the crowd and run towards the stage. She had a handycam in her hands. Standing on the stage, Raashi swept the handycam over the entire area, shooting the chaos. She was making sure that she captured almost all the guests in an attempt to record everyone who was at the scene of the crime.

Although Virkar was very tempted to join the safari-suits on the stage and participate in their futile attempt to revive Vasant Dixit, he thought better of it. Taking care not to attract any attention, he stood in a corner. His eyes darted over the lawns, trying to take in every minute detail. He tried to focus on anything that looked out of place in the melee, but there was just too much going on. Suddenly, a few of the safari-suits on the stage remembered his presence. From their animated gestures and fingers pointed in his direction, Virkar suddenly realized that they were desperate to find a scapegoat and they had identified him to be the ideal candidate. Virkar slid back towards the bushes that lined the boundary wall and squeezed himself into a small gap between the foliage and the wall. Then he slid along the gap, making his way away from the gate instead of towards it. Virkar had realized that the safari-suits looking for him would go rushing through the gate and run down the open road along the beach, so instead, he decided to go up the hill and down the other side.

As he made his way along the boundary wall, he suddenly found himself outside a small wooden door that was set into the wall itself. Virkar pushed at the door and found it open. Quickly passing through it, he found himself on a path that led uphill towards the main road. Virkar figured that this must be a path used by the local helpers who trudged to and fro from the fishing villages that lay further down the road to the other side of Madh Island. He rushed up the path and through the wooded area.

As he ran, his eyes spotted something colourful through the leaves ahead of him. He immediately stopped and hid behind a tree. A few seconds later, the colourful object broke out of the vegetation and started running up the path away from him. It was a man dressed in a clown’s outfit. But he didn’t have the clown mask covering his face anymore. In the fraction of a second that the clown had burst from the trees and on to the path, his unmasked face had turned in Virkar’s direction. After having spent so much time studying pictures of that face, Virkar had no trouble identifying it. It was Hari Prasad.

T
hey ran up the path through the wooded area. Hari Prasad realized that there was no shaking Virkar. He broke through the trees and ran on to the main road, but instead of turning and running up or down the road, Hari Prasad cut across it and plunged into the wooded area on the other side. He continued running downhill and towards the creek that lay ahead, away from the bungalows. In a last-ditch effort, he veered off the path and jumped into the mangroves that bordered the wooded area leading up to the creek. Behind him, Virkar did not hesitate for a second before following suit. Hari Prasad pushed deeper into the mangroves, his feet dragging in the slush, sinking in deeper and deeper till the black, foul-smelling marsh had reached his waist.

Behind him Virkar called out, ‘Hari Prasad, there’s no point, you can’t go further. Give up now.’ But Hari Prasad was in no mood to comply. He waded further in till the marsh was nothing but a black liquid. It was the water of the creek flowing past and diluting the marsh. Ahead of him lay the creek he would have to swim across to make it to the saltpans that lay beyond. All of a sudden, Hari Prasad stopped. Behind him, Virkar was gaining. Hari Prasad turned and cast a glance at Virkar’s progress. Virkar caught the expression in his eyes. It was fear; the abject, irrational fear that people who can’t swim experience when immersed in water.