increasingly optimistic reports as she apparently narrowed the chase. Once the daughter was legally eighteen, Sheila abruptly reported back to the father’s sprawling Shillong tea estate mansion that the girl was not in Pondicherry and had probably changed her name to marry a man from another community, perhaps even departing the country for foreign shores under the new name.
The father had ranted and raved and refused to pay her the last part of her fee, which Sheila hadn’t given a damn about; beyond that, there wasn’t much more he could do. But Sheila knew that the father suspected, and the secretary was near certain that she had played them. In truth, the daughter had changed her name and religion – but she had converted to Islam, which they weren’t capable of even dreaming of, so they never did track her down despite their subsequent efforts with other investigators. But over time, they had learnt enough through their independent enquiries to know that Sheila had led them up the garden path and, quite naturally, they had borne her a blood-grudge the size of a shopping mall.
Now, it was payback time. She had learnt today that the paan-chewing feudal-age bureaucrat who had strolled into her gym and shut her down today was the nephew of the politbureau chief of the eastern division of the CPI (M). And that gent was married to the sister of none other than the same ex-chief minister-turned-aggrieved-father and Sheila Ray’s former client. What was more, the secretary of that aggrieved father was now in Kolkata heading the group’s new thrust into realty development and IT. He had moved here from Shillong quite recently, less than a month ago. As it appeared, he had wasted no time in settling the score with Sheila and he had all the power and weight of his employer’s considerable political and allied network to do to her as he pleased.
There was still one way she could appease them and be spared complete ruin. The nephew, aka Raghuvendra Choudhry, assistant ward commissioner, KMC, had spelt it out to her in no uncertain terms: if she could lead them to the long-lost daughter even now, she would be spared. All she had to do was write down the address on a chit of paper. Email it. Fax it. Text it. Write it on a pair of pink panties and drop it from a passing Kolkata metro train. Just tell them where to find the absconding bitch and they would do the rest. She would play no part in it; in fact, he had told her quite reasonably as he chewed his paan noisily, she would only be completing the assignment that she had begun four years ago. What could possibly be the harm in that?
She sighed and pushed herself to her feet, heading in the direction of her office.
The bright fluorescents made her blink owlishly after the past hour spent in near darkness. She felt like switching them off, but needed the light to get around. Her room always had a few boxes of unpacked equipment parts lying around and she didn’t need to break a toe or twist an ankle moseying around in the dark. She waited till her eyes adjusted, then spent the next half hour pottering around pointlessly, trying to think what she should do next. She knew that the one thing she could not do, absolutely would not do, was give up Gauri and Tasneem. Or Marhabha and Tasneem as they were now named. She would rather have her own teeth and nails pulled out with pliers one by one than give them up to these bastards. Which left … what? Go to war? Against whom? The entire CPI (M) cadre in West Bengal? The entire nationwide network? She almost laughed aloud at the idea.
She realized that she hadn’t eaten or drunk a thing all day and that she was dehydrated. She reached for the bottle of packaged water on her desk and when she picked it up, the bottle hit something and knocked it off the edge of the desk. She bent to pick it up and saw that it was a hefty yellow manila envelope.
Four
4.1
ANITA SPENT THE NIGHT at a hotel near Papanasam Cliff.
On the long walk
The father had ranted and raved and refused to pay her the last part of her fee, which Sheila hadn’t given a damn about; beyond that, there wasn’t much more he could do. But Sheila knew that the father suspected, and the secretary was near certain that she had played them. In truth, the daughter had changed her name and religion – but she had converted to Islam, which they weren’t capable of even dreaming of, so they never did track her down despite their subsequent efforts with other investigators. But over time, they had learnt enough through their independent enquiries to know that Sheila had led them up the garden path and, quite naturally, they had borne her a blood-grudge the size of a shopping mall.
Now, it was payback time. She had learnt today that the paan-chewing feudal-age bureaucrat who had strolled into her gym and shut her down today was the nephew of the politbureau chief of the eastern division of the CPI (M). And that gent was married to the sister of none other than the same ex-chief minister-turned-aggrieved-father and Sheila Ray’s former client. What was more, the secretary of that aggrieved father was now in Kolkata heading the group’s new thrust into realty development and IT. He had moved here from Shillong quite recently, less than a month ago. As it appeared, he had wasted no time in settling the score with Sheila and he had all the power and weight of his employer’s considerable political and allied network to do to her as he pleased.
There was still one way she could appease them and be spared complete ruin. The nephew, aka Raghuvendra Choudhry, assistant ward commissioner, KMC, had spelt it out to her in no uncertain terms: if she could lead them to the long-lost daughter even now, she would be spared. All she had to do was write down the address on a chit of paper. Email it. Fax it. Text it. Write it on a pair of pink panties and drop it from a passing Kolkata metro train. Just tell them where to find the absconding bitch and they would do the rest. She would play no part in it; in fact, he had told her quite reasonably as he chewed his paan noisily, she would only be completing the assignment that she had begun four years ago. What could possibly be the harm in that?
She sighed and pushed herself to her feet, heading in the direction of her office.
The bright fluorescents made her blink owlishly after the past hour spent in near darkness. She felt like switching them off, but needed the light to get around. Her room always had a few boxes of unpacked equipment parts lying around and she didn’t need to break a toe or twist an ankle moseying around in the dark. She waited till her eyes adjusted, then spent the next half hour pottering around pointlessly, trying to think what she should do next. She knew that the one thing she could not do, absolutely would not do, was give up Gauri and Tasneem. Or Marhabha and Tasneem as they were now named. She would rather have her own teeth and nails pulled out with pliers one by one than give them up to these bastards. Which left … what? Go to war? Against whom? The entire CPI (M) cadre in West Bengal? The entire nationwide network? She almost laughed aloud at the idea.
She realized that she hadn’t eaten or drunk a thing all day and that she was dehydrated. She reached for the bottle of packaged water on her desk and when she picked it up, the bottle hit something and knocked it off the edge of the desk. She bent to pick it up and saw that it was a hefty yellow manila envelope.
Four
4.1
ANITA SPENT THE NIGHT at a hotel near Papanasam Cliff.
On the long walk
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