He went through the documents that he held in his hands exuding an aura that emanated an emotion bordering fury. He put the papers down on the desk before him and looked up at the well dressed young man seated across the table from him.
“Why?” He demanded.
The other man did not respond. A flicker of annoyance flashed across his face. “I don’t quite understand what you mean, sir.” He replied politely.
The younger man wore an immaculate black suit and creaseless white shirt, had perfectly combed black hair and a complexion paled by having been out of the sun too long. He was handsome, in a slightly feminine way, but physically unimpressive. He too evaluated the other man.
"No matter how long I go through these pieces of paper..." The older man continued. "I can't make sense of it. There's no reason you should be here."
If the statement evoked an emotional reaction, it didn't show on the younger man's face. "I'm here because I want to, sir." He said, simply.
The other man's eyes flashed back to the pieces of paper on the desk.
"... Degrees in computer science, biology... with your academic record, you should be doing an MBA and minting money... but... psychology?"
"I believe it's absolutely necessary in this line of work."
"Why someone would come back to India after a stint abroad, to join the FIA, is something that goes over my head. Even with the 'specialist' allowance, you can't expect to earn even a fraction of what you would in a multinational."
"I'm not doing it for the money, sir." Still cold, expressionless.
"You don't have any of the powers and privileges of a traditional bureaucrat either."
"Perhaps, Sir," He paused, flicking a stray hair out of his forehead. "I will be better able answer questions pertaining to my qualifications and contributions rather than conjecture on other career options."
"Yes." The middle-aged man said, without breaking eye contact, "Just as soon as I know why you want to be a detective."
The younger man's expression hardened for a moment.
"Because I'm perfect for the job. I thought that’s what you’d be looking for."
Something shifted in the older man's face, some might have detected a half-smile, others- nothing at all. "Fair enough. The interview is over, follow me." He got up.
The younger man- up till that point a paragon of stoic calm- was unable to stop his mouth from opening a little as his face distorted in confusion. "Wha- Certainly sir."
The older man motioned the younger to follow as he opened the door to the small corner office he had been conducting the interview in and out into the main hall.
The hall was a large area with little furniture- a few desks, chairs and computers were in the process of being unpacked. One wall was made entirely of glass, giving the officers in the hall a clear view of the sun beginning to rise over the city skyline.
It was 8:25 am.
Overlooking the hall was a curious emblem mounted on a small rift in the ceiling- a plain black circle emblazoned with the words 'Federal Investigative Agency'.
The older man saw the younger looking at the emblem. He answered as soon as he saw the black haired youth open his mouth to ask the question.
"The top brass hasn't decided on a logo yet. We're keeping the space blank till they come up with something."
He began to walk, the younger man followed.
"Did you know that the Research and Analysis Wing had a logo privately commissioned for them for fifteen lakh rupees?"
"No."
"It could never be used. Security risk."
"But... what?"
The older man never broke pace as they reached the elevator and he hit the button.
"This kind of functioning was what facilitated the formation of this organization. I intend to make sure it is not repeated here. This is why we're hiring people like you...specialists...Not sure how much that'll help..." He said. "What was your name again?"
They entered the elevator, leaving the bare-boned office behind.
"Akash. Akash Agnihotri… Er, Sir, where are we going?”
“I’m going to see just how useful you are in the field. We’re heading for a crime scene.”
“Ok.”
The elevator doors parted and the men walked into the main lobby of the ground floor, within seconds they had reached the entrance and emerged out the building into the street.
“I’ll try to brief you on our way there.” The officer.
A car was parked near the entrance to the building. A white Honda City- the driver, a heavily tanned, somewhat tired looking man in his late thirties dressed in a simple white shirt and dark pants, waved to the older of the two men. The car was meant for them.
“Mr. Sharma, where are we going?” He asked.
“Rajender, throw me the keys.” The middle aged officer, Viraat Sharma, replied. The driver seemed bemused as he threw the keys to officer Sharma, the younger man noticed, but not particularly surprised by the unconventional order, he made a note of it in his head.
Sharma thrust the keys into the younger man’s hand, who almost recoiled at the touch of the metal. “What kind of law enforcement officer is afraid to drive?” Sharma smiled sardonically.
Agnihotri clenched his teeth, grabbed the keys and pulled open the door into the vehicle.
“That’s more like it.”
***
The skyscraper was fairly ugly by modern standards. A crude, block of grey with no adornments- every shape on it was either rectangular or cuboidal, nothing like the glistening havens of glass, metal and air conditioning like that came up these days on the outskirts of the city.
It must have been thirty years odd years old, and in a state of pathetic disrepair. Almost half the windows were without panes, paint had peeled off almost everywhere- they wouldn’t be able to tell if it had ever been any colour other than grey. Seepages and corrosion could be seen from a distance. It looked like it had been abandoned for years.
Akash Agnihotri was sweating, even though the air-conditioner was on, the weather outside was cloudy with a slight drizzle and it was thirty minutes past eight in the morning and most of the city was still asleep.
He brought the car into a halt next to a couple of officers standing next to the street and herding people away from the building. He opened the door and stared straight at the dark clouds above him, letting pinpricks of the cold rain pepper his face.
“The tip off came over an hour ago, the details coming in have been erratic. That’s part of the reason I didn’t have time to interview you properly- but since you’d taken the early flight into the city, I thought you’d like to get on the job as soon as possible.” Sharma explained as the two walked up to the nearest uniformed constables.
“Yes of course sir.” Agnihotri still seemed a little rattled by his drive through the Indian financial capital.
Sharma started talking to a constable. Agnihotri looked past them- behind them were more khaki clad police officers walking in and out of the building, along with two ambulances buzzing with activity as white-uniformed medics sprinted to and fro, a fire-truck waited on standby, but some of the firemen were also getting ready to enter the building.
What the hell happened here?
“Sir you can’t go in-” One of the constables was speaking.
“I’m I.P.S. you ignorant lout!” Sharma exploded. “Take me to the man in charge here!”
The constable gave a little squeal and nodded his head. “Sorry sir, mein bas le jata hoon”- I’ll take you there immediately.
Sharma followed the constable, putting his temper back under his control. Agnihotri followed Sharma.
The head officer was a lean, shrewd looking man in his fifties- wearing full khaki unform- the name on his tag was Rakesh Sinha, Agnihotri observed, he was talking to the constabulary until he saw Sharma and seemed to recognise him.
“Viraat!” He exclaimed. “You’re with the FIA now right?”
Viraat Sharma grunted a positive. “What in god’s name happened here, Rakesh?”
Officer Sinha’s expression soured a little at Sharma’s direct question and his dismissal of official pleasantries.
“It isn’t like anything we’ve ever seen. We have found seventeen casualties in the building, nine fatalities as of now, and we’ve recovered over two dozen firearms from the premises.”
Sharma frowned. “Extrapolation from your faint cheerfulness, you think this was a gang war.”
“Er, we don’t think it’s a gang war.”
“Why?”
Agnihotri caught something out of the corner of his eye.
“It’s because of the manner of the deaths- suffocation, knife wounds, blunt traima, snapped necks and just one death because of gunshot wounds.”
“What?!”
Agnihotri had moved away from the two government officers. His eyes settled on a spot on concrete that was heavily stained by an ugly red, the stones of the sidewalk were cleanly split and cracked around the centre of the pool.
Both the older officers followed the younger man’s gaze.
“A man fell there.” Sinha supplied helpfully.
“Oh.” Said Agnihotri.
“We estimate from the twentieth floor.”
“How come, did you get a crash or ballistics expert or something?” Sharma inquired.
“Er, no, but you’ll see why.” Sinha replied.
The three of them looked at the bloodied, shattered depression in the sidewalk. Viraat Sharma ran his hand through his hair and frowned. His voice was almost a growl “Do you have any idea who’s responsible for this?”
“Not a damn clue.” Said Sinha.
“Any evidence that might tell us more about what happened?” Agnihotri asked cautiously.
“Er... well you could say that.”
***
In the dim light of early morn, the room was ominous. The door shrieked as it opened fully.
The first things he noticed were the pictures.
They were littered all over the floor of the dark room. The upturned ones showed happy, sometimes tired looking, men, women, families posing to have their photographs taken. Most of them were smiling. Some of them were sprayed with blood.
The second thing he saw was the chair and the body of the man tied to it. The chair was tightly secured with rope on top of a bed. The man in it ‘sat’ with his head down. He wore a night-gown, and his mouth remained trapped in a dumb gape.
Blood dripped into the bed-sheets at his feet from three bullet holes in his chest.
Agnihotri scrutinized them immediately. The three holes formed an equilateral triangle on the man’s chest. Did it mean something? Or was it simply some result of taking advantage of the accuracy offered by point blank range.
Along with him, there were four other men in the room. Officers Sharma, Sinha, a ballistics expert and a blood splatter specialist.
After a few seconds of being deep in thought, the ballistics man announced loudly. “This man was shot from extreme close range.” --which educed everyone else in the room to give him a long, hard, cold, stare. He closed his mouth.
It was a small room, the furthest anyone could be from the man without leaving the room was about eight feet.
“I’ve seen this man’s face before...” Agnihotri mused. “...A businessman?”
Both Sharma and Sinha snorted simultaneously.
“More like a crime-lord. That’s Prasad, the leader of the biggest gang in the city.” It was Officer Sharma who spoke. “That bastard’s weaselled his way out of a dozen cases of extortion and kidnapping. He disappeared from India about ten years ago and fled to Dubai.”
Rakesh Sinha nodded. “Back in the day, his name used to come often- but he was never directly involved in anything- there was never any evidence... and someone else always took the fall- and his name was interspersed with many others. We didn’t realize how important he was until he moved to Dubai and set up a business enterprise with drug money and declared himself CEO- that’s when we realized that he’d been the mastermind behind the whole operation. Now- he was invited back to Bombay with open arms by the chief minister for being a Valuable Conduit of Foreign Investment.”
Sharma muttered a few obscenities under his breath and then picked up one of the photographs from the ground, a brightly beaming young woman posing near the Gateway to India monument next to the Arabian Sea. The blood splatter expert opened his mouth to protest- but the protestation never came.
“I’m willing to bet two legs and an arm that these are the pictures of the victims of crimes he was never convicted for.”
Sinha frowned. “Yes, that seems... but surely that can’t explain the whole...” The sentence faded into silence before it got anywhere.
Agnihotri used the silence to clear his throat.
“The revenge motive should be looked at very carefully here. This setting, it’s very personal. All the other men have been ambushed and disposed of immediately. This man was executed. He’s bound, but there’s no cloth in his mouth- he wasn’t gagged. He was allowed to talk- to beg, to scream. He was shot- when no one else was shot. If you look at the swellings on his arms- he was conscious for at least ten minutes and tried fiercely to struggle against the ropes.”
Sinha interrupted-“Viru, who is this guy? IPS?”
Sharma sighed. “No. He’s an FIA Specialist.”
Sinha- “What does he specialize in?”
Sharma- “He... is, just, er... generally specialized.”
Agnihotri ignored the interlude.
“Look at the photographs meticulously scattered around the room. The killers might have done this before executing the man. We can be pretty sure that this room was originally intended for Prasad to stay in.”
He paused for a moment to consider the room. Then walked to the nearest work-desk and shuffled through a few papers.
“We can be pretty sure that this room was specially prepared for Prasad. It’s the only liveable room in the building- air conditioning, newspapers and financial reports... and the victim is dressed in his nightgown- he was probably trying to sleep on this very bed. It seems like the killers spent a lot of time in this room- the time taken to do this elaborate rope binding would imply that Prasad was either incapacitated or being controlled by force as it was set up. It would be much easier to simply kill him than to make a show of it like this. In that sense- the revenge motive makes sense.”
“Or it might just be an elaborate ruse to divert our attention.” Said Sinha. Officer Sharma’s cellphone rang and he answered discreetly.
Sinha continued. “Prasad’s gang is definitely the biggest in the city- but he’s got some stiff competition, as many as three other gangs are fighting to take over his drug running turf. Some say he was coming back to India to intimidate the other gangs- they might have seen it as an opportunity to assassinate him. It makes sense- a surgical strike like this might be enough to break down the structure of the Company.”
He stopped to mull it over in his head.
The young man drifted along the desk, examining each object- just like the killer had- hours ago. His hand fell on a diary, instinctively he pulled it open and flipped through the pages. All blank.
Except...
The last page had a small block of text written in small cursive script.
I wonder if anyone will read this. He’s already confessed. It means nothing of course; it must feel good to not have to pretend to be human anymore, right? It’s sick that monsters can don human skin with such ease.
And Then-
I Will Destroy Them All
He closed the book.
Who wrote that?! He inhaled sharply, and started looking for anything else that might give him a clue.
Sinha had finished thinking. He spoke out loud, though no-one was listening. “If it was a gangland killing, we needn’t worry- one of the gangs will know about the hit- the others won’t. We’ll keep this out of the media, suppress news of his death- most people just know him as a legitimate businessman anyway- and see which gang shows the most aggressive activity in following days”
Sharma had returned from his call, white faced.
“So Viru, any bets on who it will be- which rival, I mean? Your only real contenders are of course Tanveer Qayoom, Khalid Mortaza, and Bhimsinha Sharma.”
“It isn’t any of them.” He spoke sharply.
“What? Why?” Sinha asked. Agnihotri put down whatever he was fiddling with to look at Viraat Sharma.
“They’re all Dead.”
1 comment:
Good point, though sometimes it's hard to arrive to definite conclusions
Post a Comment