Authors: Anita Nair
A Cut-Like Wound (25 page)
‘Sir, but that was a criminal offence. To break into a locked house! We could have hauled up the brother for that,’ Santosh muttered as they walked to the jeep.
Gowda nodded. ‘Yes, we could have. But he would have been out on bail even before you and I got back to the station.’
Santosh turned to look at the house.
‘I don’t believe him. He knows a lot more than he is letting on,’ Gowda said, as they drove back.
‘He is rather strange. That house and the dog; and the bodyguard. Did you see he’s got a gaggle of eunuchs there? Did you see them? They went in by a separate entrance … it’s like something out of a movie,’ Santosh murmured as Gowda stared at him wordlessly.
‘And, sir,’ he added, slowly, ‘there was a Scorpio parked by the side of the house. It had Tamil Nadu number plates.’
Gowda made a gopuram of his hands. The wall on the left threw up shadows and, on an impulse, Gowda made a fist of one hand and stuck his thumb between his middle and ring fingers. Next, he laid his palms on top of each other and moved his thumbs and little fingers this way and that.
Santosh peered over the stable doors and wondered what Gowda was doing. The wall was alive with shadows. Was that a man’s face? Now it was a fish…
Gowda looked up and spotted Santosh.
‘What are you doing, lurking there?’ he called out.
Santosh opened the door and stepped in. ‘Er… what were you doing, sir?’
‘I was thinking,’ Gowda said, trying not to sound self-conscious. What must the fool have thought as his fingers formed shadows? ‘What did you think I was doing?’
Santosh flushed.
‘Here,’ Gowda said, pushing the coffee-table book of Ravi Varma paintings towards the younger man, ‘take a look at this. Something about it is very familiar to me but I can’t put my finger on it.’
Santosh leaned forward and gazed down at the cover. The juggling woman. He stared at it intently. Then, slowly, carefully, he flipped the cover to look at the inner colour plates.
‘Sir, some of these paintings… I’ve seen them too…’ he began as his fingers turned page after page. Suddenly he looked up and said, ‘I know. It was in the corporator’s house. In that rather grand room we sat in… some of these were hung there…’
Gowda’s eyes lit up. ‘Fantastic, Santosh! That’s where I thought I saw them too, but I wanted to make doubly sure…’
Santosh’s face glowed with pleasure. When he was being pleasant, there was no one quite like Borei Gowda.
‘There’s something else,’ Gowda said, his voice lowering. He took a set of keys from his top drawer and threw it at Santosh.
Santosh watched the bunch of keys fly towards his face, stepped back and caught it neatly.
‘Played cricket, did you?’ Gowda smiled.
‘I was in the college team.’ Santosh grinned.
‘Good. Now open the cupboard,’ he said, pointing to a regulation grey-painted steel cupboard in the corner. ‘On the top shelf is a blue shoebox. You will find in it an earring in a ziploc bag.’
Santosh rifled through the contents of the shoebox. ‘This?’ he asked, holding up a pearl earring.
‘Now look at this painting again,’ Gowda said, turning the leaves of the book to one of a woman suckling a child.
Santosh’s eyes almost leapt out of their sockets. He didn’t know what to look at. The bare breasts or the earring, which was an exact replica of the one the woman wore in her ear. ‘But, how?’
‘Precisely. That’s what got my attention too. This was found on Liaquat’s body. Probably fell off in a tussle. We know that Liaquat was homosexual…’ Gowda saw Santosh’s mouth twist. ‘What? You don’t like the word?’ he asked.
‘It’s not just the word. The thought of those freaks…’
‘Sit down, Santosh,’ Gowda spoke quietly. He leaned back in his chair and peered at a corner of the wall.
Was he counting up to ten under his breath? Santosh
asked himself in amazement. What did I say that riled him so?
‘A freak is someone who is a monster; an abnormally developed creature. A freak is someone with two heads or an extra limb. Do you understand? The sexual preference of a man or a woman doesn’t make them freaks! Do you hear me?’
‘Sir.’ Santosh felt a cold finger run down his spine.
‘When I was in college, I had a classmate. He was the nicest person I knew. But he was girlish in the way he walked, talked… His gestures were more female than male. Urmila, my friend, has a word for it. Camp. He was what you might call camp. He was teased mercilessly, but he had the gumption to put up with it. Until one day, a group who baited him all the time decided to teach the “freak”, as they called him, a lesson. They beat him up and beat the spirit out of him. I don’t think the physical abuse hurt him as much as what they did to his mind. He gave up. He probably thought this was how the rest of his life would be. He would be branded a freak and picked on by men who thought it was machismo to beat up someone who wasn’t like them. He jumped in front of a moving train somewhere between City Station and Kengeri.’
‘I am sorry, sir,’ Santosh said in a low voice.
‘You should be. I was like you. I was on the fringes of that group that hounded him to death. I haven’t forgiven myself in all these years for what I did. My brutish intolerance is something I am ashamed of. Don’t take on baggage you will never be rid of, Santosh.’
It was Gowda who broke the silence eventually.
‘The earring. Let’s get back to the earring. We can safely deduce Liaquat must have been in a scuffle that involved a
woman. Right, now what kind of a person would someone like Liaquat be involved with? Thugs, prostitutes and their pimps … but how would such a person wear such an earring?’
‘Maybe it’s imitation jewellery?’ Santosh said. ‘It looks tarnished.’ He held the ziploc bag up to the light and gazed at it again.
‘I would have thought so too. But for some strange reason, call it a hunch, I took it to a jeweller I know. He said it was a replica of an antique and had been buffed to look like an old piece. It is expensive.’
Santosh peered at Gowda, trying to read his expression.
He had heard about Gowda’s instinct. Muni Reddy at Meenakshipalaya station had called it Gowda’s sakaath sense. He had made it sound like an extra arm that allowed Gowda to hold a phone, a cup of hot fluids and write a report, all at the same time.
When the sakaath sense nudges him, you know the case is coming to an end. ‘Deal time aagithe, sir,’ Muni Reddy had said.
Head Constable Gajendra had referred to it as well. Only, he called it Gowda’s super sakaath sense. ‘You and I, sir, have only five senses. We can see, smell, touch, hear and taste. But he has a king sense. That makes him think differently. When the super sakaath sense is working, you can see it on his face. His eyes become like daggers, his jaw is like granite … have you seen the Kudremukh hillside, that’s what it looks like then. And you can hear a clock ticking in his head. Do you remember that famous Bina case?’
Santosh frowned. ‘That airhostess?’
Gajendra nodded. ‘She was clever, that one. She made sure the scene was staged so correctly that no one would suspect a thing. I mean, why would anyone suspect her? They were
just engaged and, like any engaged couple seeking to be on their own, had gone for a drive. They went towards Bagalur. It is a deserted stretch and while they were there, three men came on a bike, robbed him and her, and stabbed him.
‘She didn’t know how to drive, she said, though she had a licence. So she had to wait until she was able to flag down a vehicle. A taxi was what came that way first and he was rushed to the hospital. Precisely what you would expect a fiancée to do … so guess what got Gowda’s super sakaath sense into action?’
Santosh shook his head. Gajendra grinned.
‘She did it all right, except one thing. When she got into the car, she and the driver laid the fiancé down on the back seat. Now what would a fiancée do? She would sit in the back seat and place his head in her lap. She would cradle him to her … this was her would-be, after all. Instead, this woman got into the front with the driver. That set Gowda thinking. That absence of grief…’
‘It’s just experience.’ Santosh was dismissive.
‘Experience is what helps take the super sakaath sense forward. But you are either born with it or not. Look at Dravid, look at Kumble… none of these new fellows have it, which is why they are getting their chaddis taken in England now… what a disaster. I don’t even feel like switching the TV on to watch the cricket… One day soon, you’ll see Gowda sir’s super sakaath sense. Then you’ll understand.’ And then under his breath, he muttered, ‘
Kathegenu gothu kasturi parimala
.’
‘What did you say?’ Santosh demanded furiously. He had heard every syllable. He knew he had just been called a donkey who didn’t have it in him to appreciate the fragrance of musk.
‘Sir?’ Head Constable Gajendra put on an innocent face. ‘I didn’t say anything.’
Santosh opened his mouth to voice a reprimand when Gajendra mumbled something about having to go to a layout nearby for police verification of a passport. ‘Some friend of Gowda sir’s,’ he added quickly.
Santosh looked again to see if Gowda’s eyes were sharpened knives and if his jaw bore the countenance of the Kudremukh slopes.
‘What are you staring at my face for?’ Gowda snapped.
‘Nothing, sir.’ Santosh shook his head. ‘I was just suddenly struck by a thought.’
‘Well, don’t do your thinking staring at my face. I am not a chimpanzee in a zoo.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ Santosh mumbled. ‘You were telling me about the earring.’
‘Yes, you can see we have an expensive earring in the possession of a street element. The flames didn’t get to it, so the earring was pretty much intact and the hospital orderly must have been honest, so it didn’t get stolen. Which is how we have it with us.’ Gowda paused dramatically. ‘Remember that photo exhibition I was invited to inaugurate and the photo I was struck by…’
Santosh watched as Gowda laboriously moved the mouse to open his email account. Gowda, Santosh saw, wasn’t very computer savvy. He could handle the essentials, but he still treated it like a beast that he didn’t trust.
Gowda clicked the mouse impatiently. ‘I asked them to send me a photograph and they sent it by email. The whole damn art exhibition.’
‘Sir, may I?’ Santosh asked, rising.
He set the slide show on. One by one the images appeared on the screen.
‘That one,’ Gowda said, poking his finger at the screen. Santosh winced.
He paused the slide show and opened the image to cover the full screen.
‘See what I see?’ Gowda asked.
Amidst a group of eunuchs was one who wasn’t quite eunuch-like, but seemed more woman than many women he knew. Most of her face was in darkness, but he saw how the shadows accentuated her profile. In her ear was a replica of the earring that lay on the table.
‘But how, sir?’ Santosh stuttered.
‘Exactly. A misfit,’ Gowda said, peering at the screen again. ‘So, this is what I want you to do.’
ACP Vidyaprasad examined himself in the mirror that hung in the corridor between his office and the station house. The police constables on duty pretended not to notice as the senior officer preened, looking at himself from various angles.
