The Case of the Love Commandos (29 page)

After a quarter of a mile, they came to a red light. A blind beggar woman led by a young boy approached the goon’s window.

“Saab, paisa dedo!” she called. “Mister, give me money.”

He signaled for her to move on, but she persisted. “Bookhi hoon!”

“Hutt,” shouted the goon.

Undeterred, she continued to rap her knuckles on the window. “We have nothing to eat,” pleaded the boy.

“Oh, for God’s sake, give her this,” said Hari, and handed the Afridi a ten-rupee note.

With a curse, he placed his revolver on his knee and grabbed the money. Then he wound down the window and tossed the crumpled note at the blind beggar woman.

She in turn raised a can of pepper spray and said, “Hands where I can see them.”

An especially insulting expletive left the goon’s mouth and as he reached down for his revolver, she didn’t hesitate to press down on the nozzle.

A full spume hit him in the face. There was a moment’s silence like the one that comes between a child falling and starting to cry. And then from the back of the Afridi’s throat came an agonized scream, and he smothered his face with his hands.

Hari managed to grab his pistol and, coughing and spluttering, opened the door and stumbled out onto the road.

“That wasn’t part of the plan!” he complained, his eyes streaming with tears as he helped Puri and Ram out of the car and unlocked their handcuffs. “You could have warned me that she was going to do that!”

“Don’t talk to me about plans, yaar!” bawled Puri, his eyes also watering from the pepper spray. “You were supposed to disarm him
before
I arrived!”

“You two are working together?” said Ram.

“I was prepared to make an exception just this once,” said Hari.

“An exception, is it?” retorted Puri. “It is thanks to me
you are off the hook and this young man is not lying with a bullet in the head.”

“Do you really think I would have walked into such a situation unprepared? I had a Plan B. And a Plan C. Ram was never in danger.”

Flush arrived on the scene and started to unbutton Hari’s shirt to retrieve the pinhole camera and transmitter he’d fitted on him earlier that morning on the edge of Lucknow.

“Boss, we got all of them—Baba, Dr. Pandey, Gujar. Every frame,” Puri’s operative reported.

“Tip-top, very good,” said Puri. “I will join you momentarily. Make two copies. One I want taken directly to the
Action News!
bureau. Then we two—Hari and I—will go directly to the CBI as per the plan.”

The beggar woman, the boy and two other young men pulled the Afridi from the car and tied his wrists.

“Her I know,” said Hari, who’d recognized Facecream through her disguise. “But who is the boy?”

“A new addition,” said Puri.

“And the other two helping her—yours?”

“Some extra pairs of hands were required. They’re volunteers—Love Commandos, in fact.”

“
Love Commandos?
”

“My clients, so to speak.”

Hari tilted his head back and glanced up at the sky. “
Now
I understand,” he said with a slow, deliberate nod. “I’ve been racking my brains trying to figure out how you came to be involved in the case.”

A look of sheer delight came over Puri’s face. “Glad to hear it,” he said. “But one question is there.”

“Your pistol?”

“I want it back, Hari.”

“Not to worry, Mr. Vish Puri, saar, it’s safe and sound.”

They watched as the Afridi was bustled into a car and driven away.

“What’s going to happen to him?” asked Ram.

“He will be delivered to the CBI and charged with murder,” said Puri.

“You trust the CBI?”

“No. But that is why we are releasing the video to the TV news outlets first. Public outrage will force them to act.”

“And me? I’ll be able to testify?” said Ram.

“You will get your day in court, young man. Many days in fact, if you so choose.”

Ram gave a nod. “I’m sorry, Mr. Puri, I misjudged you. I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Please, I beg of you, young man, don’t give him a bigger head than he already has!” said Hari.

“I do have one question for you, sir,” said Ram. “Dr. Basu—did Baba Dhobi and Dr. Pandey conspire to have her killed?”

“Not at all. It was one of her work colleagues, in fact.”

“Because they discovered the leak?”

“That I cannot say exactly—but most probably, yes.”

“But as we were pulling out of the gates, I saw in that other car—”

“Justus Bergstrom, the ICMB director.”

“Yes, sir. He interrogated me before I escaped—wanted to know where I’d put the data key.”

“And no doubt that is why he has come calling on Baba Dhobi this morning—to retrieve his property.”

“For a price,” said Hari.

Puri gave a nod. “Knowing Baba Dhobi, he will extract the quantum amount. That is all he is after, no? Wealth at any cost.”

• • •

Two hours later, Puri sought out Justus Bergstrom in the VVIP terminal lounge at Lucknow airport, where he was waiting for his executive jet to refuel. He was sitting back in a comfortable leather lounger with his legs crossed, toying with a USB data key like an expert gambler with a casino chip.

“I see you got what you came here for, sir,” observed the detective.

Bergstrom surveyed him with patient eyes. “I did indeed, Mr. Puri. And you?”

“One piece of the puzzle is missing, in fact.”

“You’re referring to the Dr. Basu affair?”

“Affair, sir? It was murder, as you well know. Even here in India we have laws against it. Allow me to assure you that the guilty will be brought to book.”

Bergstrom played hurt. “You believe I’d stand in the way of justice, Mr. Puri?”

“Sir, I have seen what you are capable of—kidnapping, intimidation, exploitation. In the past few days you have done all within your power to recover that data key you hold in your hand. Profit is your number one goal. Would you cover up a murder to avoid scandal and bad publicity? Of that I am in no doubt at all.”

Bergstrom slipped Ram’s data key into his trouser pocket, sat up and adjusted his cuffs. “I think you misjudge me, Mr. Puri,” he said. “I can hardly run a successful operation if my employees start murdering one another, now, can I?”

He picked up his briefcase and popped open the two locks. From inside he retrieved a file. He held it out for Puri to take.

“After Dr. Basu’s death last week, I ordered an investigation into the circumstances,” said Bergstrom. “My security team—I believe you have crossed paths with them once or
twice—quickly came to the conclusion that she’d been murdered. It also became clear from her phone and computer records that Dr. Basu had been in regular contact with a certain Ram Sunder, who was participating in one of our drug trials. After reviewing footage taken by our security cameras as well as our computer records, we came to know that she’d taken a copy of some of our research from the building—illegally.”

“At which point you tracked down Ram Sunder and abducted him. You got his mobile number from Dr. Basu’s phone records. His device was switched on, thus making the task child’s play.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that, Mr. Puri. Kidnapping is not something we indulge in at ICMB.”

“No, sir. You’ve others to do your dirty work—two former British army Gurkhas no less.”

“The point is, Mr. Puri, that we came to the conclusion that Ram Sunder had played no part in Dr. Basu’s murder. Our focus then turned to another individual.”

“Dr. Sengupta, your head of research.”

“Unfortunately, yes. Dr. Sengupta has always been passionate about his work. But the passionate can also be obsessive. And it seems he became obsessed—totally infatuated, in fact—with Dr. Basu. In that file you will find copies of pages from his private diary in which he describes having erotic fantasies about her in the laboratory where they worked side by side. He talks about ‘owning her body and soul.’ On a number of occasions she went on dates and he spied on her. The men she met are described in disturbing terms and he considers using violence to scare them off.”

“Must be Dr. Basu had some idea of his feelings, no?” said Puri. “Any complaints were made against him on her behalf?”

“Several, Mr. Puri. I have included copies of her e-mails in that file. Dr. Sengupta visited her at her apartment on no
less than three occasions late at night. Naturally she felt uncomfortable about this and brought his improper behavior to my attention.”

“You acted on her complaints?”

“Yes, I spoke with Dr. Sengupta. He told me he’d gone to see Dr. Basu to discuss work—the project they’d been working on. I warned him that this was highly unprofessional and he assured me that it wouldn’t happen again.”

“No further action was taken?”

“I received no further complaints.”

“But then Dr. Basu announced her engagement and her departure from ICMB, also.”

“She submitted her resignation the day she was killed.”

“And you believe Dr. Sengupta confronted her that very night?”

“Perhaps he stopped her on the road, there was an argument, he strangled her and then arranged the scene to look like an accident.”

“Some further proof is there?”

“He answered a call from his mother soon after midnight in the vicinity of the bridge.”

Puri searched through the file and found a copy of Dr. Sengupta’s phone records with the incriminating call highlighted.

“Who is to say that you are not framing him?” said Puri.

“And why would I do that?”

“You were worried she would spill the beans, so to speak, on your work—and as for Dr. Sengupta, he was unstable.”

“I think you’ve been watching a little too much Bollywood, Mr. Puri. This is the real world.”

“Aaah, the real world, is it? My apologies, sir. For a moment I thought I was dreaming about genetics research companies exploiting Dalits for their DNA and innocent midwives getting raped and murdered.”

The Swede looked mildly irritated. “Please, Mr. Puri, spare me the sarcasm. I played no part in this tragic affair and have taken it upon myself to get to the bottom of what happened. Last night, I submitted a copy of the same file to the Agra police and they arrested Dr. Sengupta this morning.”

“From his residence at seven thirty in fact,” said Puri.

“You knew?” For the first time, Bergstrom showed surprise.

“It is my business to know,” said Puri with triumph. “This is for me to keep, no?” he asked as he held up the file.

“By all means. And now I believe that concludes our business together.” Bergstrom stood and picked up his briefcase. “I trust that there will be no further contact between us.”

“Sir, one thing is there, actually,” said Puri.

“And that is?”

“Contrary to what you have been told, he is alive and well.”

“He?”

“Ram Sunder.”

“Alive?” Bergstrom’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I’m very glad to hear it, Mr. Puri.”

“He is now under the special protection of the CBI, in fact, and no doubt his lawyer will be contacting you in the coming days.”

“Regarding?”

“The rights of he and his fellow villagers.”

“Rights? I believe that is something of a gray area here in India, is it not?” said Bergstrom, his lips drawn in a tight smirk.

“That is what the Britishers believed, sir, before they faced a certain Mohandas K. Gandhi,” answered Puri.

And then he watched as the Swede strode purposefully out of the terminal and crossed the tarmac toward his waiting jet.

Mummy and Rumpi didn’t reach Jammu until dawn, by which time the robbery of the Vaishno Devi shrine had become national news. Bundles of thousand-rupee notes with a value of one million dollars had been stolen, it emerged, and the police were hunting for a young woman going by the name of Gauri Nanda. An artist’s impression of the suspect was being circulated. Extra security had also been put in place at the airport and railway station. There were checks being carried out on all major roads leading in and out of the city.

Jagdish Uncle hadn’t been heard from since midnight, when he’d reached home. Mummy and Rumpi soon discovered that there was a simple explanation for this: he was tucked up in bed sleeping soundly.

“But, Uncle-ji, you said you would not rest until you tracked them down—that no one could pass through Jammu unnoticed,” said Rumpi after they woke him.

“Everyone in the city is known to me,” he replied with a lordly flourish as he stood in the kitchen in his undershirt, sarong and black socks.

“So where is Pranap Dughal?” asked Mummy.

“Kindly allow me to explain,” he replied. “See, after my poor Sweetie met her fate, I called ahead to Ranvir at the toll. Thus he saw that same Toyota entering the city boundary on Palace Road. From there, Manvir who sells guavas spotted their vehicle racing past Government Dental College. Five minutes later, they reached Purani Mandi, where Raju, who sits playing cards with Amit and Gurshan, did not fail to notice the vehicle, also.”

Jagdish Uncle helped himself to some cold rajma from the fridge, eating it straight from a Tupperware container.

“You were saying, Uncle-ji?” prompted Rumpi.

“Right, so, after that they passed through Lakhdatta Bazaar.”

“Aur?” asked Mummy, who was fast losing patience.

“Then they crossed New Tawi Bridge. Arjan, the Kwality ice cream vendor sitting on the far side, is well known to me. From him I was able to trace the vehicle to Gandhinagar, where Puneet Sahib’s driver was sitting idle doing timepass.”

“Any person in Jammu did not see them, Uncle-ji?” asked Rumpi.

“At that point, in fact, madam, the trail went stale. Had Mr. Julhar been feeding the pigeons in his usual place, their direction thereafter would have been duly noted, but alas, he went to attend his sister’s wedding in Jalandhar three days back and while there got admitted to hospital with an abdominal infection.”

Rumpi took a deep breath to calm herself, exhaled slowly and said, “Uncle-ji, were you able to trace them or not?”

“I was not.”

This disclosure drew a joint sigh of disappointment from the two women.