Patang (2 page)

Everyone on set laughed as Ananya lingered on patiently. She had recently joined Mohit’s team. The money was much better than what she used to get at the rag that she had left behind. She was ambitious, and despite her ex-bosses’ attempts at brainwashing her with lofty terms such as ‘ideals’, ‘values’ and
‘responsible journalism’ she had mouthed an empty apology and left for greener pastures.

Greener, yes. But Ananya had soon realized the new job demanded more from her, and not just in terms of journalistic passion and long hours. It demanded, at times – and those times weren’t very rare – a certain killer instinct bordering on a willingness to ignore one’s conscience. But ambition was a good thing, and it had always served Ananya well. She knew that she could either adjust to this life and build a great career, or go back to her old job and languish in a damp office in a by-lane somewhere. She had consciously chosen the former. Now, as she looked at Maya with steady eyes, she knew she had made the right decision. Ananya didn’t mind the fact that Maya hadn’t even acknowledged her presence. She had earned the right to such stand-offishness. But that didn’t mean that someday Ananya herself couldn’t be where Maya was today.

‘I think you should see this,’ Mohit extended a note towards Maya. Earlier that morning, Ananya had handed it over to Mohit. One of her responsibilities was to handle the news desk’s correspondence.

‘What is it?’ Maya said, without glancing at it.

‘We’re live in two!’ A deep baritone voice rung out from the other side of the studio.

‘It’s a letter we received this morning,’ Mohit said. ‘Ananya read it and immediately brought it to my attention.’

‘Not now, Mohit!’ Maya said impatiently as she checked her phone and took the last precious puffs of her cigarette.

‘Maya…this is important.’

Maya knew that pregnant pause in Mohit’s voice all too well. He had been in her research team for almost a decade now, and she trusted his instincts. She reached out for the letter and threw Ananya a piercing look. Ananya didn’t react.

Maya started reading the letter in a casual voice:

‘“Rain, rain, rain. You would think it’s good for the city. But it isn’t. I hate the rain. I can’t play outside. I hate it, hate it, hate it. But the rain can’t stop me. No one can stop me. No one. I’ll go out and play tonight. It will be fun. It will be a lot of fun. Just like the old days. I will kill only four. No more, no less. Just four. You’ll find the first one high up in the sky. High, very high. Soar high up there and you’ll see it. Find the body, and perhaps I’ll tell you where you can find the next one.” What is this nonsense?’ she asked, her infamous frown appearing on her forehead. Everyone at the news desk was scared of that frown.

‘Sixty seconds, Maya,’ the deep baritone voice was heard again.

‘I don’t know, Maya. It seems like a…’ Mohit began.

‘What?’ Maya didn’t let him finish. ‘Do you know how many such letters we get every day? Mohit, she may be new, but I’m surprised
you
are wasting your time on this crap.’

Mohit rubbed his temple with his thumb and said, ‘I…I really don’t know…it seemed important to me for some reason. I…’ Before he could say anything else, his phone vibrated loudly. ‘Excuse me, I need to take this,’ he said, before moving to a relatively quiet corner of the room.

‘I can explain why it is important,’ Ananya said in a calm and determined voice, stepping closer to Maya. This was her moment to make an impression. It was now or never.

‘Mohit and I called Anurag Nanda at IBN as well as the folks at NDTV, Aaj Tak and Headlines,’ she said. ‘They have all received the same letter.’

For the first time, Maya paid a trace of attention to the young woman. She was smart and pretty in a small-town way and, right now, her jaw had hardened. Maya knew that look very
well – it was a look of determination and ambition. Fourteen years ago, she had seen the same look while standing in front of a bathroom mirror in this very building, right before her first interview with the news desk as a reporter.

‘Thirty seconds! Clear the set everyone. Maya please resume your position,’ the voice boomed out once more.

Maya lingered. Years of experience had taught her that she still had time before they went live. She stared hard at the young woman, who stared right back at her without hesitation. Finally, Maya took a step towards Ananya and said in a calm, composed yet devastatingly menacing tone, ‘Serial killers don’t write letters to news channels.’

Ananya finally broke eye contact and looked down. She had an uncomfortable sinking feeling that she had messed it all up. Just then, Mohit called out – ‘Maya!’

‘Yes?’ Maya had not taken her eyes off Ananya and continued to look at her with disdain. She was the boss around here, and she wanted everyone to remember that.

As he rushed up to them, Mohit seemed at a loss for words. ‘They…umm…’

‘What is it?’ Maya said impatiently, her stern voice silencing everyone on set.

‘They…they found a body.’

‘What?’ Maya wasn’t looking at Ananya anymore.

‘Yes…on top of a telecom tower.’

Maya stared at Mohit in disbelief for some time but maintained her composure. She then threw Ananya a sharp look – the younger woman’s face was shining with excitement.

‘Ten seconds, Maya…’

As the music started rolling and the countdown began, Maya stepped over dozens of cables and proceeded towards her chair
behind the desk. Just before she sat down, she called out to Mohit over her shoulder, ‘All right, make the call.’

3

‘With all the bribes and black money, the least they could do is put up an air-conditioner in here,’ a grumpy, grey-haired man in a business suit muttered as he fumbled with his stiff collar. A few people across the long table heard him, but no one commented. These were people habituated to living almost all their lives in air-conditioned rooms. Now, after waiting for over 20 minutes in a meeting room at the Mumbai Police headquarters, the heat and humidity was getting to them. They were editors and senior reporters at various news channels and newspapers, and had been summoned by the deputy commissioner of Mumbai Police, Uday Singh, with repeated disclaimers that this was
not
a press conference. The secretive agenda of the meeting had ensured that all invitees were present.

‘It’s been quite some time, no?’a middle-aged lady whispered to the grey-haired man seated next to her.

‘Don’t you watch movies?’ the man said in a light-hearted tone. ‘The police always arrive late.’

A few minutes later, the DCP marched in with several officers, all of whom lined up against the wall of the room as their boss stood at the head of the table and asked for the door to be shut. All eyes turned towards him. It had been less than a year since he had been transferred to Mumbai from Delhi, and crime rates in the city had already plummeted. He was known to be a no-nonsense man with a suave exterior and an iron hand. It had been heard in several quarters that the powers that be had given him free rein over the police force. It had also been heard
that never in the past had Mumbai Police had such a ruthless officer running the show.

‘Thank you for coming at such short notice,’the DCP began in a crisp and confident tone. ‘I’ve invited you here today because most of you have received an anonymous letter from someone claiming that he will murder four people in various parts of the city. From the contents of the letter, it seems that the man is deranged. Let me show you the letter. Wagle, the lights.’

There was pin-drop silence in the room as the DCP’s men projected a scanned copy of the letter on a screen. DCP Singh went on, ‘I can understand that not everyone here may be familiar with this letter, even if your publication or channel has received it, because as is the usual norm with such letters, very little credence is attached to them. But this…how shall I put it…this is different.’

‘I know about this letter,’ the grumpy old man said, sounding annoyed, ‘but what makes you think it’s not a hoax?’

‘Because we found the body,’ said the DCP calmly.

‘
What?’

‘Yes, renowned builder Sukhdeo Saran was found dead this morning. It seems someone tied his legs to the antenna of a tall cellphone tower and left him hanging upside down for two or three days. All the blood in his body collected in his head causing…well…his face to burst open.’

Several gasps were heard from various parts of the room. The DCP continued, ‘Now, you must understand that this is not a media announcement. I’m sure you realize and appreciate the sensitivity of the information I’m sharing with you under the assumption of strict confidentiality. Please treat this very seriously. If there’s a deranged serial killer out there, then he is dangerous. And we need to catch him before he strikes again.
I have called you today, not to announce the news of the killer and his first victim, but to request you to
not
report on the letter or the murder. Mumbai Police requests your full cooperation in this matter.’

A heavy and uncomfortable silence fell over the room as people around the table looked at each other. Finally, a sensible-looking man, presumably in his late-fifties, sitting at the far end of the table, spoke in a calm and composed voice, ‘Mr Singh, we are all responsible journalists, and I think I can speak for all my friends here that your department will receive all the cooperation you seek from us. But I’m curious, as I’m sure my esteemed friends are as well – do you have any idea who this madman could be?’

DCP Singh briefly looked at some of the other officers in the room and then said, ‘We do know a few things about him. As I told you, from the content of the letter, it seems that he is deranged. However, he is not a fool. The fact that he carried the victim all the way up to the top of the Central Network Tower and made such a shrewd and elaborate arrangement for him to die a slow and painful death tells us that he is exceptionally intelligent. According to the preliminary reports from our profilers, it seems that the perp is a male in the age bracket of 30 to 45, and has a strong build. There were no prints found on the letter. We’re looking through our files to see if we can find a matching modus operandi, or unsolved murders, a matching handwriting, anything. Those investigations are taking place as we speak.’

‘What is that thing at the end of the letter?’ asked the same gentleman, leaning forward and squinting. ‘It looks like some sort of a symbol, doesn’t it?’

‘Some sort of a…diamond symbol,’ someone remarked.

‘Well, yes, it’s shaped like a diamond, and he seems to have used it as a signature. But to tell you the truth, we haven’t been able to fully understand what it could mean. Our experts are in the process of examining the letter.’

‘How do you know he will kill again?’ a voice piped up from the far corner of the table. All eyes now turned towards the woman who had asked the question. Maya Taneja had not spoken till now, choosing instead to keep her eyes fixed on her phone. Everyone around the table knew Maya, and how quickly she had climbed the rungs of the corporate ladder by dint of sheer industry. A year shy of 40, she was, by far, the youngest journalist in the room, and yet she exuded a calm confidence that helped create a no-nonsense aura around her. Even the most senior journalists seated around the table nodded at her question, and turned to face the DCP with inquisitive expressions.

‘That’s a good question,’ said the DCP. ‘We think our man has certain…I find it hard to say…principles. He informed us about the first murder – there was no reason for him to do so.’

‘Well, perhaps he just wants the attention of the media,’ Maya said calmly.

‘It is possible – which is exactly why I’m requesting you to
not
carry the news. We’ll deny him that attention and hope that he makes a mistake.’

‘But that doesn’t answer my question,’ Maya said. ‘How do you know he will kill again?’

‘Yes, and how can you be sure that
this
murder is connected to
that
letter?’ someone else asked from the other end of the table.

‘I was coming to that. The answers to both your questions will be clear when I show you this.’DCP Singh gestured to an officer who tapped a key on a laptop. The slide on the screen changed.

‘The second letter, found on the body of Mr Saran,’
announced DCP Singh, as all eyes in the room locked intently on to the screen. The similarity between the two letters was unmistakable. The same kind of paper, the same handwriting, and the same diamond symbol. DCP Singh read it out loud.

‘The rain won’t spoil my play. I won’t let it. This is so much fun. I bet you’re having fun too? Aren’t you? Please don’t leave the game. I have a fresh new body for you. Caught somewhere high up, near a place where dull boys only work and work and work, and do not play. I don’t think the sun is going to come out anytime soon. Good. Neither will the rain stop…and nor will I.’

4

As the last person left and the doors of the lift slid to a close, Karan grabbed Reena’s waist and pulled her towards himself.

‘Not now, not here,’ said Reena as she smiled and tried to playfully wriggle free from his grasp.

‘Why?’ asked an exasperated Karan. He had been waiting for this moment for a long time. And now that they were finally alone, look at what the bitch was saying! It was she who had been enticing him all along, wasn’t it? Those meaningful glances, those seemingly coincidental meetings at the water-cooler, and now…damn it all…was she suddenly finding it difficult to cope with the fact that she was married?

‘Patience, my dear,’ Reena said with a ravishingly foxy expression in her eyes, and hit the ‘Stop’ button. The elevator jerked to a halt.

‘In
here
?’ Karan was excited and nervous at the same time. Reena was gorgeous, and if he were to give in to his raw desires, he would claw the last thread of fabric off her skin and fuck her brains out, right here, right now. But…

It would be too risky. His friends knew that he had the hots for Reena. Karan cursed his decision to tell them. What could he have done? He was drunk. That bastard Sachin even knew that Karan was meeting Reena tonight in the office canteen. If they remained stuck in an elevator for several minutes and someone found out, tongues would wag and eyebrows would be raised. Blasted luck!