surrogate-father figure.
She glanced across the room at Naz, who looked as if he’d just bitten into a rotten mango.
For the rest of the shift she concentrated on the files describing the investigations, in minute and stomach- turning detail, of eight murders committed within the city limits over the past ten years. In each case the murder victim had been lasered in the head at point-blank range. On the cheek of each victim had been scored a crucifix. The dead were all businessmen—in one case a minor politician—who had been investigated on suspicion of corruption, bribery and drug trafficking.
Rana pored over the reports, downloading data on the dead men from outside sources for factual corroboration, and made her report two hours later. “Though it would seem at first glance that these cases are obviously linked,” she began, “there is the very real possibility that because the second murder was reported in great detail—i.e. the cruciform cutting was mentioned—the third and following murders might very well fall into the category of copy-cat crimes. However, examination of the case material suggests that all the murders are connected…” She went on to list her reasons, and only when she completed, signed and downloaded the report to Vishwanath did she wonder if she had come down too vehemently in favour of the single-killer hypothesis.
That night she was unable to sleep for worrying that Vishwanath had found her report shallow and facile. It occurred to her that the notes were old cases presented to her as an initiative test.
The following day she began a new shift pattern: from eight in the evening through to six the following morning. To her dismay there was a message from Vishwanath flashing on her screen when she began work that night. She accepted it with a heavy heart, expecting a reprimand. She read, with relief: “Excellent report re. the crucifix killer, Lieutenant. We must discuss the details when I have the time.”
It was a quiet shift. The office was all but empty, only Rana and one other officer working at the files. Midnight came and went and Rana experienced the strange isolation of working the night shift. Beyond the long windows of the eighth floor a vast ad-screen floated by, exhorting night-workers and insomniacs to try an ice-cold bottle of Blue Mountain beer.
She worked through the files that had built up over the past few days, assigning them to various desks. For the past week she had promised herself that she would slip down to Howrah bridge after work and look in on Vandita and the others, see how they were keeping and how Private Khosla was getting on with his new posting. But always at the end of every shift she had gone home and slept—or, in the case of last night, not slept—too exhausted to brave the crush and look for her friends. Tomorrow, she told herself. In the morning I’ll leave here, keep myself awake with a strong coffee, and go see the kids.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the main door crashing open and Vishwanath running across to his office. He emerged seconds later carrying a com-board and speaking hurriedly to forensic, head cocked to one side, for all the world as if he were talking to himself. He paused long enough to gesture impatiently at Rana. “Ah-cha, you, Lieutenant. Come with me!”
Rana stood and crossed the room, then dashed back to her desk for her com-board, grabbed it and gave chase, disbelieving. She hurried down the corridor and joined Vishwanath, Naz and the forensic team in the elevator.
Vishwanath nodded at her from a great height. “Pleased you could make it, Lieutenant,” he said, but his acerbity was sweetened by a smile.
Naz pointedly ignored her.
“It seems as though we have another crucifix killing,” Vishwanath continued as they descended. “The governor is getting impatient to have the crimes cleaned up. He says it ‘doesn’t reflect well on the image of the city’. Personally speaking, I am more concerned about catching the killer in order to save lives in future.”
They stepped from the elevator and into the underground car-park. The transport situation was a far cry from what she had been used to in Child Welfare. Two new squad cars were waiting, engines running. Vishwanath signalled for herself and Naz to join him in the first car, while two forensic officers took the second.
As the driver swept them up the ramp and on to the midnight streets of Calcutta, quieter at this time but still busy by the standards of most cities, Vishwanath turned in the passenger seat. “I hope your com-boards are loaded with the details of the previous crucifix killings?”
Rana held up her board in reply.
Something in Naz’s hesitation gave her an exquisite surge of cruel pleasure. “I… was in the process—”
Vishwanath gave Naz a look that cut him dead. “I don’t want excuses, Lieutenant. Copy the details from Rana’s board. On second thoughts, I think Rana should do it for you.”
Uncomfortable with her commanding officer’s overt favouritism, but at the same time enjoying Naz’s discomfort, Rana took his board and connected it to her own. Seconds later she had downloaded a copy of all the relevant data on the murders, plus a copy of her own report for good measure.
“The killing occurred in Pathan,” Vishwanath said, “north of here at the Hindustan Plaza hotel. We have yet to learn the identity of the victim.”
Rana entered the details into her com-board, then sat back as the squad car carried them into the exclusive district of foreign embassies and consulates. They passed grand colonial buildings of white brickwork, like so many wedding cakes, set in lawns as vast as cricket pitches. There was so much unoccupied space in this suburb that Rana found it hard to believe they were in the same city; just two miles south of here was the teeming, chaotic heart of Calcutta. This place filled her with an uneasy feeling, like agoraphobia. She much preferred the familiar hurly-burly of the city centre and the surrounding slums, where she had spent so much of her life.
The Hindustan Plaza was a fifty-storey obelisk of sheet obsidian reflecting the distant lights of central Calcutta and the occasional floating ad-screen. There was much frantic activity in the forecourt: local police cars, beacons pulsing, an ambulance, redundant in the event, all watched by a gaggle of curious guests and uniformed staff.
Rana followed Vishwanath, aware that the little group of investigators and forensic scientists was the centre of attention. A local sergeant rushed up to Vishwanath, almost doubling himself up in obeisance, followed by the hotel manager who gabbled something about an “unfortunate incident” and how “this had never happened under my managership before’.
“I’m delighted to hear it,” Vishwanath replied. “Now if you would show me and my team to the room in question…”
They rode in the elevator to the fourth floor. Rana stepped out on to a plush red carpet and followed the dancing manager and the sergeant along the corridor. They came to an open doorway. A pulsing low-powered laser cordon barred the way.
Vishwanath said, “Who discovered the body?”
“The maid, sir,” the sergeant replied. “She noticed that the door was slightly open. When she looked in… This was at eleven.”
“No one else has entered the room since then?”
“Only the hotel manager and my constable, sir. He confirmed that the victim was dead and contacted me immediately.”
Vishwanath nodded and signalled to the two forensic officers. They knelt before the open doorway and removed two crawlers from silver sterile bags, then placed them on the carpet. The crawlers dashed off into the room like hyperactive turtles.
“Do you have the name of the victim?” Vishwanath asked the hotel manager.
“Ah-cha. He was one Ali Bhakor. He was an eminent businessman of my very own acquaintance, sir.”
Rana entered the dead man’s name into her com-board and peered through the doorway. She could see along the corridor into the lounge, and the chair upon which the late Ali Bhakor slouched. Only the man’s left arm could be seen, hanging limply over the side of the chair.
“Have you accounted for Bhakor’s movements last night?” Vishwanath asked the sergeant.
“Ah-cha, sir. I’ve detailed his known actions since six. Also I’ve interviewed the maid and bell-boy.” He proffered his com-board, and first Vishwanath, then Naz and Rana downloaded the relevant file.
While the crawlers gathered forensic evidence, Rana took the opportunity to read the meagre file. Bhakor had arrived at the hotel at six the day before, had dined alone at seven and returned to his room at eight. He had spoken to no one during that time other than hotel staff.
The crawlers scuttled back over the threshold and were retrieved by the forensic scientists. They examined the read-outs and then passed the crawlers to Vishwanath, Naz and Rana. Rana downloaded their findings into her
