Predator (15 page)
‘Yes, sir. I suspect we have. The dry cleaner claims that there are blood and semen stains on the jeans. He panicked and called us. We’re on our way to collect the evidence now, shall keep you posted, sir,’ said the officer.
Inspector Khan smiled. Something told him that this was connected to Grace’s disappearance. He was now certain she had been raped, but he hoped against hope that she was still alive. Unfortunately, in light of the pattern, none of the victims had survived, and he feared the worst.
The urban legend of the devil was just an old wives’ tale. This was far worse than that. There was not one, but an entire gang of brutal rapists, who had joined forces to commit gang rape, and Grace was just another hapless victim.
Mary had a little lamb; its fleece was as white as snow
;
And everywhere that Mary went; the lamb was sure to go
Mary lacked common sense, she was a fuckin’ prude
;
In walked the lamb, raped her soul, it happened to be so rude!
Mary wanted to experiment; she wanted to feel like a star
,
But all the little lamb gave her was pain & a cute little scar
Now Mary waits for the lamb to appear so she can beg to die
,
Her love was twisted, rooted in lust; it was all a little lie
—The Predator
A Punch-up with Ram Singh
The small, crude brick house seemed incongruous in the beautiful vineyard. Darkness slowly descended over the vineyard. The setting sun cast its last ray of sunshine over the thick forest before calling it a day.
The leaves glinted their adieus to the Sun God, and the faint outline of the moon appeared in the piebald sky. The stars winked in gradually, flashing their distress signal in Morse code to anybody who cared to help.
Heavy boots on dry twigs broke the stillness, as a burly man walked hurriedly towards the little shack. He fumbled clumsily singlehanded to unlock the door, glancing around furtively to see if he was being watched. Tightly clutching a flask in the other, he pushed open the door with his shoulder, and quickly slammed the door shut behind himself.
The thick shrubs beside the shack seemed to come to life. Inspector Khan rose soundlessly and, with a finger on his lips, he signalled to his trusted aide, Officer Amar Singh, to follow him. Soft-footed, they ran to the door of the shack, and Inspector Khan kicked it open. The latch gave way and the door crashed open.
A shell-shocked Ram Singh stood with his back against the wall, his mouth agape in consternation. Except for a small table, a chair and an untidy bed that hadn’t been made, or cleaned, for eons, the room was bereft of furniture. The lone window had never been opened in all its time, and the room was airless and funky.
‘By God! Lie to me and I will break your rotten neck!’ said Officer Amar Singh in a menacing voice, as he lunged at Ram Singh’s throat and pinned him against the wall. Inspector Khan espied the flask on the table. He carefully unscrewed the lid and sniffed.
‘Bloody dipsomaniac! What’s this stuff in the bottle? Tell me exactly what’s going on in this place,’ thundered Inspector Khan who opted for threats and intimidation techniques for interrogation of what he called ‘human trash’. As a standard operating procedure it worked very well. Ram Singh was genetic garbage.
He broke out in a cold sweat as Inspector Khan lit up a cigarette and then spoke more mildly, ‘Look, we know Grace is here and she is alive. It’s only a matter of time before we find her. Cooperate with me, and I won’t book charges against you. Else, this man,’ he indicated his lieutenant, ‘knows his job well … ’
As if on cue, his lieutenant planted his fist in Ram Singh’s face and then kneed him hard in the groin. Unable to bear the pain, Ram Singh fell to the ground, clutching his crotch, and a hard shoe kicked his stomach. As he sputtered and squirmed in agony, Inspector Khan signalled to Amar Singh to stop.
‘Tell me, where is she? What’s going on here? And what the hell’s in this bottle?’ said Inspector Khan. He hunkered down beside the writhing body of Ram Singh, watching his suffering in apathy as a hyena would do its prey.
‘I … I … don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know where she is, I swear! That flask just contains wine, something my master brewed last week. I just wanted to taste it, that’s all … ’ gasped Ram Singh. ‘Talk to my master … why are you hurting me?’
Getting back to his feet, Inspector Khan tossed the flask to Officer Amar, saying, ‘Send it to forensics. I want a report on the contents asap!’ He knew fully well that these slave dogs would never let their evil master down.
‘By God! Don’t forget, asshole, I’m watching you!’ said Officer Amar Singh and landed a final kick in Ram Singh’s stomach, and watched with interest as he adopted the foetal position.
‘Leave him; we’ve got other fish to fry. It’s OK if he doesn’t talk today, he will sing tomorrow,’ said Inspector Khan and hurried out with Officer Amar Singh in tow. He was grinning from ear to ear for Officer Amar Singh always amused him with his tough talk and aggressiveness. A soppy approach just didn’t cut any ice with hard-boiled criminals like these anyway.
They headed for the forensic laboratory that lay midway between Joe’s vineyard and the Club to drop off the flask. Inspector Khan had another suspect to go after within the next half-hour.
The Club
It was close to seven in the evening and the crowd of tourists on the street had started to swell. As the only discotheque in the town, the Club was the most happening place. The weekend tourists swarmed to the town square. Officer Amar Singh eased off on the gas as he neared this den of vice, and the Jeep slowed down and coasted to a stop.
The party animals could be seen making a beeline for the millions of masks being sold. Some masks were cute while others were hideous. Flowers, funny hats and chocolates were also crowd-pullers. It was the weekend and business was good for peddlers.
The pungent smell of weed emanated from nooks and corners by the bar and the coffee joint beside the Club. Cashing in on the party mood, small chai-shops and local hawkers did brisk business in one contained part of the square. For some, the high came from freshly brewed beverages, while others walked around with spiked drinks in cola cans.
The Club was doing brisk business, cashing in on the contradictory tourists who had conceivably travelled to get away from the neon-lit artifice of their city, yet gravitated to the cosmopolitan ambience of the neon-lit Club to let their hair down over the weekend.
The two-storey building that housed the Club had bright flashing neon signs. Officer Amar Singh spoke in his deep, grainy voice, ‘Right, we’re here. Should we simply barge in and thrash the stupid DJ like we did with the other bastard?’
‘No, officer. We’ll have to change the strategy and play with his mind. Go inside and get Prince. Let’s take him to the police station and interrogate him over there. I’ve got an idea,’ said Inspector Khan, not tearing his eyes away from the entrance of the Club like it bothered him on a subconscious level. Something about the place was just not right. As Officer Amar Singh disembarked, Inspector Khan wondered what the kids in a small, staid town found so fascinating about gyrating wantonly in skimpy outfits in a semi-dark room, high on drugs and alcohol, with so many predators on the prowl.
He wondered why they couldn’t be more aware of themselves and their surroundings. Perhaps, he was a dinosaur, but he wasn’t brought up this way. Had his daughter, Celina, been alive and grown up, he would never have let her venture into places like this. Spoilt, bloody, rich brats with money to burn! After all, freedom is a gift meant to be used wisely, something that defined emotional maturity and created winners separating them from the mediocre.
He watched silently as a drunk, teenage couple staggered towards the entrance. As the bouncer opened the door for them, he saw Officer Amar Singh and DJ Prince emerge from the door and approach the Jeep.
A short, silent drive later, they were in the interrogation room at their station. DJ Prince sat quietly and nervously on a chair, arms on the table. As Inspector Khan and Officer Amar Singh stared at him silently for a while, his anxiety level rose by several degrees.
The interrogation room was designed to psychologically intimidate by means of spatial and furniture arrangements. The seemingly spartan furniture inside the room included a lone dark blue rectangular table that seemed aware of its existence because of the two wooden chairs that faced it. A small lamp hung from the ceiling. It seemed to be the only source of light in the room. The dark walls produced a claustrophobic effect as it was windowless except for the small ventilator close to the ceiling. A small, creaky wooden door masqueraded as the entrance. There were no ceiling fans or air conditioners in the room.
Prince watched the cops replace the table with two chairs defining ‘their’ space and ‘his’ space. Inspector Khan was an expert when it came to the human psyche. He would play the good cop while Officer Amar Singh would do bad cop. The ambience was deliberately designed to intimidate Prince.
Officer Amar Singh sat facing Prince as Inspector Khan positioned himself behind Prince. Inspector Khan gently placed a reassuring hand on Prince’s shoulder as though to give him confidence while he was being grilled and roughed up by Officer Amar Singh. Both were of the same age, with similar physiques and equally debonair.
‘We know you have kidnapped Grace and are holding her captive … ’ hissed Officer Amar Singh. ‘We have finger prints, recordings, DNA samples, eye witnesses and evidence that you are the Predator. By God! Not only do we know that you have Grace, we also know you raped Monica, the Swedish tourist and every missing girl!’
Prince showed no emotion as Officer Amar Singh stood up, walked towards Prince and hit him open-handed across his face. Inspector Khan thundered, ‘Officer Amar Singh! This is no way to behave with a civilian of repute! DJ Prince is an icon for the young people in town. Control your temper or I’ll have you thrown out of the room!’
Prince seemed confused and relieved as Inspector Khan patted his shoulder and continued in a soft voice, ‘Don’t worry, Prince, I apologize for my colleague’s behaviour. He’s just an ill-tempered lout. Tell me everything, I promise I’ll cut a deal for you and put in a good word. I know you supply drugs to all the socialites in this town. So Chris is your customer and … ?’
Prince seemed relieved at Inspector Khan’s gentle approach yet he couldn’t speak. The pregnant pause continued as Inspector Khan waited for Prince to complete his sentence while Officer Amar Singh glared at him. The pressure was mounting and Prince broke into a cold sweat. The silence in the room was deafening. Officer Amar Singh’s unwavering gaze bore into him ominously. The idea was to make him uncomfortable enough to blurt out the truth.
While Officer Amar Singh had grossly exaggerated the strength of their case by mentioning non-existent facts, he played with Prince’s anxiety and bewilderment to their advantage.
Inspector Khan filled a glass of water and spoke softly as he handed it to Prince, ‘Look, we’re not after you or your drug business. I want to know if you are Chris’s Dr Feelgood. If you are his supplier, I need to know who your customers are in Joe’s vineyard. Tell me, what do you supply? Ecstasy? Cocaine? It’s certainly not weed!’
‘By God! Answer him now, you idiot, or I’ll thump the bastard out of you till I get the answer!’ growled Officer Amar Singh, brandishing a clenched fist in Prince’s face.
Prince’s mind was racing. He blenched as images of police brutality, shared prison cells and endless beatings flashed through his mind. Prince thirstily gulped down the water from the glass and handed it back to Inspector Khan.
‘OK, let’s make a deal here, Prince. You know you’re innocent and have nothing to do with Grace. You’re just a small-time drug peddler and we have bigger fish to fry,’ said Inspector Khan wryly. ‘We don’t have much time to waste here. Ignore what my colleague said. That was plain bullshit!’
Prince gulped and paused before he spoke, ‘Yes, I supply party pills, cocaine and stuff to Chris. You know he’s an addict. He’s got cash that I can use to get through college. I supply him with fairly large quantities of ecstasy pills and cocaine and that’s that. I don’t supply anything else to him. He snorts like crazy and I’ve always been worried that he’d get me into trouble one day … please Inspector, promise me you won’t arrest me for this!’