Murder at Crescent Point (18 page)

Nikki heard the front door slam shut.

She felt like a fool, she turned around and switched on the light. The room was in shambles. There was only a bed on which several clothes were scattered. There was a tap and some used utensils in the sink. A stove was lying in one corner. The shelf was lined with bottles of liquor. Bottles were also stacked under the bed. Nikki thought that the man must be a bootlegger. At the far end of the room there was a window. Nikki opened it and saw another lane. She started banging the window and shouted, ‘Help! Help!’

Hearing the noise, several people gathered near the window. Among them was an elderly woman. She asked, ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’

Nikki replied, ‘I had come to meet Satish, the photographer. He is not here. This man has forcibly locked me in his room.’

The woman said, ‘He is a rogue. You should not have come at this time of the evening to meet Satish. Wait, we will try to get you out.’

Several people came to the quadrangle through the front door. Nikki heard someone hitting the door lock.

The lock soon gave way and the door opened. Nikki saw that the whole quadrangle was full of people, men, women and children. They were all looking at her as if she belonged to another world. Nikki spotted the old woman and went to her. She said, ‘I am really grateful to you for getting me out of this room.’

The woman asked, ‘Where do you live?’

‘In Somabad city’.

‘How will you go there at this time of the night?’

‘If only I could get a cycle rickshaw up to the old town, from there I can find my way.’ The woman turned to a young boy who was standing nearby, ‘Aslam, run and find a cycle rickshaw.’ She then comforted Nikki, ‘Come with me, I will give you a glass of water.’

Nikki was very disturbed by the unexpected behaviour of the man.
Why did he ask me to wait in his room and then lock me in?
This was a narrow one, she thought. She had to be more careful. But for the timely help of the neighbours she would have been stuck in that stinking room for the rest of the night.

Nikki reached her hostel late that night. The next morning she rang up ACP Rajan and said, ‘Can I come this afternoon to your office?’

‘What is this about?’ asked ACP Rajan.

‘I’ve found some information which I wish to share with you.’

‘Come when you finish your classes.’

Nikki showed the drawing to ACP Rajan and narrated her experience to him. She said emphatically, ‘I am sure this drawing was made by Satish. If you interrogate him, something may come out.’ The ACP noted the address and said, ‘From what you say, this man Satish works in the evenings and should be available at his home in the morning. We’ll nab him tomorrow.’

Nikki thanked him and left.

— CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE —

Closing the Net

The next day when Nikki returned to her hostel, the attendant told her that there was a call from the office of the ACP asking for her. Nikki dialled ACP Rajan’s number. ‘I want you to come to my office. Can you come now?’ The ACP asked. Nikki eagerly responded, ‘I will be there in half an hour!’

When Nikki entered his office, ACP Rajan had an audio player before him. He put on a tape and said, ‘Listen to this.’

My name is Satish Kumar. I am a freelance photographer. I live in house number 44 at Tooku Vela Street, Old Somabad. The house has one more room which is occupied by a man called Ashraf. I work late so I rarely meet or interact with him. Whatever interaction I have had with him has made me avoid him as much as possible. I am aware that he is a bootlegger but I am not quite sure what else he does.

One night about four years back when I returned from work I was surprised to find a burning smell and some smoke emitting from Ashraf’s room. I went closer and heard some religious chanting going on in the room. From a crevice in the door I looked in and was astonished to find Ashraf sitting in front of a fire and a weird looking man chanting some mantras and putting some powder and other materials into the fire which created a lot of smoke. I presumed that Ashraf may be having some religious ceremony. Much later in the night I was rudely awakened by hammering on my door. When I opened I found Ashraf in an inebriated state. He was holding a bottle of liquor and crying like a child. I got him inside my room and made him sit on the chair. I asked, ‘What is the matter Ashraf, why are you crying?’ He said, ‘Now nobody can save me. I will burn eternally in the fires of hell…’ I tried to calm him and asked, ‘Tell me what is the matter.’ Ashraf replied, ‘A few days ago I unintentionally killed an innocent young girl. I know Allah does not pardon a man who kills an innocent child. That man burns in the fires of hell. Tonight I had called an ojha to recite special mantras to make the girl appear before me so that I could beg her forgiveness.’ I asked him, ‘What is an ojha?’ He responded, ‘An ojha is a witch doctor.’ Ashraf went on to say, ‘The spirit of the girl appeared on top of the fire in the form of visual waves. I folded my hands and begged her forgiveness but she did not say anything and vanished. He tried many times but the girl did not appear again. That means she did not forgive me. Now nobody can save me. I will burn in the fires of hell till eternity,’ he wailed.

I thought he had drunk too much liquor and therefore was in a delirious state. I did not give much importance to that incident. But when I recently saw the advertisement in the newspaper about the death of a young school girl in Sangalina Hills four years back, another incident came to my mind. Around the same time a young girl had come to my house with a photograph which I had taken of a group of girls in Central Park, and told me that one of the girls in the photograph had been murdered by someone in Sangalina Hills. She wanted information about the person who had asked me to take that photograph. She said she had found the photograph in the belongings of a woman who was also murdered at the same time and same place in Sangalina Hills. The photograph of the girl which was shown to me by that girl matched the photograph which appeared in the newspaper. Putting two and two together, I presumed that perhaps she was the same girl from whom Ashraf was seeking forgiveness that night. I was not sure but a doubt crossed my mind that perhaps Ashraf was the murderer. Ashraf is a dangerous man. I did not want to come out openly because that could land me in trouble. I am also an artist, so I thought I would draw a picture which would lead someone to Tooku Vela Colony. Once here, it would not be difficult to reach me since I am the only photographer and artist in this area. I could then express my doubts to that person in confidence.

More than this I don’t know anything about this matter.

Interrogator: Where is Ashraf now?

Satish: I was told by my neighbours that two days back a young girl had come to my house asking for me. Ashraf locked her up in his room. The neighbours came to her rescue and got her out. I have not seen Ashraf since.

ACP Rajan switched off the player.

‘This is amazing!’ said Nikki.

‘It’s the season of surprises! It’s possible that this photographer may be basing his conjecture on the drunken outburst of Ashraf and it may not lead us anywhere. But the fact that he is absconding after an encounter with you, introduces an element of doubt.’ The ACP added, ‘Ashraf is a known criminal in the police records. He may have gone into hiding in his native place. I have already sent a team there. We will get him soon.’

‘Where is his native place?’

‘Shyamabad,’ said ACP Rajan.

After a few days Nikki got a message that the ACP would like her to come to his office. When Nikki reached his office, ACP Rajan smiled saying, ‘Surprises don’t come alone, they bring more surprises in their trail.’

Nikki asked, ‘What now?’

‘We seem to have made a definite progress on that double murder case. Listen to this.’ He put a tape on the player.

My name is Ashraf, son of Arshad. I originally belong to Shyamabad but for the last ten years I have been living in Somabad. When I came here I started with odd jobs for bootleggers and drug peddlers but soon started working on my own. I was jailed four times during the past ten years. My main occupation is to supply liquor to various unlicensed dhabas in Somabad city and surrounding areas. But I also take up any other job which comes my way.

About four years back a woman contacted me through one of the dhabas. She asked me to meet her at the Bus Stand area. There she pointed to a middle-aged lady and said that the woman was going to kidnap a young school girl in Sangalina Hills who was very dear to her. She wanted the woman stopped at all cost. She gave me
10,000 in cash and some jewellery items for this job. She said that the woman was going to Sangalina Hills the next morning.

Since tackling that woman in Somabad was difficult, I decided to follow her to Sangalina Hills. The next day I was a bit late and the first bus had already left. I took another bus which reached Sangalina late in the evening. It took me two days to trace that woman in a small hotel. I checked in there and kept a close watch on her movements, I was waiting to find an opportunity to get her alone. The opportunity came one afternoon when she went to a deserted hill spot called Crescent Point. I reached there and saw that she was sitting on a bench with her back towards me. I took her by surprise and strangled her with a fine nylon cord. I was dragging her body to hide it behind a bush when suddenly from nowhere a young girl materialised with a backpack on her shoulders. She saw me with the woman’s body and started screaming on top of her voice. She came running towards me and started hitting me. I got hold of her but could not control her.

She went on shouting and hitting me. I panicked and tied the remaining cord around the neck of that girl and tightened it. She struggled a lot but ultimately became quiet. I pushed the body of the woman behind a bush and came to the girl who was now lifeless. It was then that the realisation dawned on me. My grandmother used to say that killing an innocent young girl is a grave sin and a person committing such a heinous misdeed will be cursed to burn in the fires of hell. I became quite disturbed. But the die had been cast. I recalled a friend telling me that ojhas can remove the curse if a part of a body of the victim is used in the worship. I took out a knife from my pocket. I did not have the heart to cut any flesh from the body of the girl; instead I cut some hair from the back of her head and kept it in my pocket. Her body had to be disposed of quickly, so I removed the backpack from her shoulders and kept it on a nearby bench and picked up the girl in my arms. I decided to throw her into the river. As I was carrying her, I saw her glistening earrings. I thought they were diamond. I removed them and kept them with me before throwing her in the river.

Interrogator: Were these the earrings we found in your room?

Ashraf: Yes, but when I took them to a jeweller he said that these were of no value.

Interrogator: What did you do with the hair?

Ashraf: On my return to Somabad I called an ohja to my room and told him everything. I asked him to perform the ceremony to absolve me from the sin of murdering an innocent girl. The ojha told me that he would burn the hair in the ceremonial fire and call the spirit of the dead girl. I should seek forgiveness from the spirit. He started his puja. The spirit appeared but did not forgive me.

Interrogator: Who was that woman who asked you to go to Sangalina Hills to kill the lady?

Ashraf: I don’t know her. I had never seen her before and I never met or saw her again.