Even after a year, the mention of Alisha Syed's murder still had the power to stop any conversation in the building. Random violence was not unknown in Mumbai, particularly in those few neighborhoods where gangs clung to a tenuous foothold and innocent bystanders were occasionally caught in the crossfire - but it was a rare thing, and always set the city on its ear. But the murder of a journalist's spouse had multipled the shock value a thousandfold, and everyone on the force had been deeply affected considering they were close to Imran
Sometimes cops and media were killed; that went with the job; but that risk was absolutely not supposed to extend to their families. The murder of Imran Syed's wife had been a gut-wrenching wake-up call for every one of them, because Imran had been carrying, standing right next to Alisha when her throat had been cut, and still, he hadn't been able to protect her. It made them all think of their families as a little more vulnerable, made them all feel a little more helpless, and the sad truth was, a lot of them resented Imran for that.
Why didn't he kill the bastard when he had the chance?
Shetty had heard that question around Hall a hundred times in the months afterwards, and it always made him feel bad, especially when Viraj said it.
Did either of you know Alisha? Chief Anant was asking. Nakuul shook his head.
"Just to say "hi" to in the hall. She used to come here sometimes. I can't stop thinking about Mrs Singh. Her Sister in law, and then her husband, both murdered within the space of a year. I don't know how you survive something like that.'
Well, don't get all touchy-feely about the old lady just yet, Viraj said. "She didn't have an alibi either.
Viraj didn't care much for Mrs Singh, Nakuul explained.
'What I didn't care was that she trashed a crime scene, she didn't seem all that broken up that her husband was dead, and she's got this attitude.
Anant frowned at him. "What kind of an attitude?"
"Pretty hostile, if you ask me. We're just doing our job, trying to find out who killed her husband, so I ask her a couple of questions and she's all over me.' Anant slid a weary gaze over to Nakuul for a translation.
'Viraj asked if Mr Singh had had any "unusual dealings," and she took offense.
'Oh.'
'She actually snapped at him.'
'Ah.' Anant looked back at Viraj, and for one fearful moment, Nakuul was afraid the chief might actually smile. In summary, then, you questioned her late husband's integrity, and her response was less gracious than you thought you deserved.
Viraj started to blush, and his head seemed to be sinking into his neck.
You kind of had to be there,' I'm very sorry she hurt your feelings, Inspector Yadav.
Nakuul wiped his hand across a smile, and Viraj saw it.
"Aw, come on, Nakuul, it was a whole lot more than that and you know it. There's something going on with that old lady. Forget that she didn't shed a tear and she's got a mouth like a whip. Did she fall to pieces when she found her husband's dead? No. She gets him into a wheelbarrow- a wheelbarrow, for God's sake - pushes him around with workers help flops him on a table, then washes him and dresses him up for company. This is not your average grieving widow, and if we get caught up in that scenario, we close our eyes to the possibility that she might also be a killer who did her damnedest to destroy evidence."
Anant leaned back in his chair and sighed. You interviewed her, Detective Shetty, and you listed her as a non suspect in your report.
"I'll stand by that, at least for now,' he said, but he was frowning, thinking about Viraj's image of events. Anushka Singh dragging her husband around like a sack of grain - and his own picture of a distraught, elderly woman struggling to get her husband out of the stairs, to make him 'presentable.
Either one worked; he just wasn't a hundred percent sure which one was accurate, and in the long run, it might make a whole lot of difference. But like Viraj said, I agree that there's something there. She's a tough lady, and she's pretty closed off. Could be she knows more than she wants to let on. Could be she's protecting someone. I just don't know yet.'
Viraj brightened immediately. 'Hey, I like that. Maybe she's covering up for that sleazebag son of hers. Sure, she hates his guts, but she's got that maternal thing going. So picture this. Karan Singh at the club, sucking up scotch like a Wet-Vac. Pretty soon he starts ruminating about his life and the appalling state of his familial ties, and he gets a little maudlin. The old man isn't getting any younger, and Karan's thinking maybe it's finally time to patch things up. So when he gets kicked out at bar time, he decides to pay him a visit and bury the hatchet once and for all. But things don't go so well, and next thing he knows, his father is dead.'
Anat raised one white brow. He was used to Viraj's off-the-cuff theories.
"I don't suppose you found any actual evidence that led to that postulation.'
Not a scrap,' Viraj said happily. Just came up with it this minute.'
Does Karan Singh have a history?"
Yadav shook his head. 'Nah. Just a couple DUIS and some traffic thing. No gun registered in his name or his wife's name. But that doesn't mean anything. And he's a PI attorney," he added, apropos of nothing.
So give me a quick summary of the time line.' Shetty shuffled through his dog-eared mess of frayed spiral notebook paper.
"Same routine as always, according to Mrs Singh- she went to bed night after the news, and Vivaan stayed up to do some paperwork and a few extra chores in the house. She said he usually turned in around midnight, but she can't confirm that on the night of his death."
Anant frowned his question.
"They had separate bedrooms, sir. She said she slept straight through the night and woke up at six thirty A.M. as usual. Found him nowhere only to get the call from hotel later shortly after that. But the ME estimates time of death to be between two and four A.M.'
Anant's brows shot up.
A little late for an elderly man to be outside gardening."
Shetty nodded. That's what we thought, sir. Either something kept Vivaan Singh up and outside past his bedtime, or something brought him out there later.
"Or someone, like maybe his son, Viraj pushed his latest pet theory.
"Or if you don't like the son, how about the wife? I could go either way."
Anant gave him one of those long-suffering looks you see on the faces of parents confronting a problem child for the hundreth time.
"Your empathy for grieving relatives gives me hope for mankind, Inspector Yadav.'
The thing is I'm not seeing a lot of grieving from that quarter, Chief. You give me grieving, I'll give you empathy."
"What it boils down to,' Shetty interjected, is that we have to find out a whole lot more about Vivaan Singh, see if anything points us in a different direction. Seems unlikely at this point that he made a lot of enemies, but obviously he made one, and no one we've talked to so far will even admit that's possible including Rai and Sharma, who got to know him pretty well when they were investigating Alisha's murder. He had some close friends." The red light on Anant's desk phone started flashing.
Probably another reporter,' Yadav said. Want me to take it?"
Anant almost smiled. Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen. Don't go anywhere.'
He picked up, listened for a few moments, then took a pristine legal tablet from his center desk drawer and laid it carefully on his leather blotter. He seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of these brand-new tablets. - Shetty had never seen him use one that looked even remotely used, and he often wondered if the chief had a closetful of tablets he'd discarded because they were missing the first sheet.
He and Viraj watched with growing apprehension as Anant scribbled away with his Montblac
Benign phone calls did not require copious note raking
"This is not good news, Anant said when he finally hung up. 'Officer Suraj just called in, responding to an elderly woman found shot to death in her home this morning.' He ripped off the sheet of paper and handed it to Nakuul.
Same neighborhood?' Viraj asked.
'Good guess, Inspector Yadav.'
Anant looked down at his tablet the second page was marred with pen impressions, sullied by the details of a murder.
One more for the closet.