drugged state sometime earlier this evening to find himself in the small jungle-like area in front of the Hindustan Lever Mill in Sewree.
Virkar let out an audible sigh. So that was how the killer got hold of Sandesh Jejurikar’s Kirti Pharmaceutical employee card.
‘I don’t know anything about the compass box, Inspector saheb,’ continued Sandesh, now close to tears. ‘It was only when I had slightly recovered from my daze that I noticed it stuffed into my trouser pocket. It was wrapped in brown paper with a message written on it.’ Virkar picked up the brown paper packet lying on the table next to the compass box. The small, neat block letters written on it said: GO TO THE NEAREST POLICE STATION.
Sandesh’s pleading eyes met Virkar’s. ‘I came here, saheb. It took a little time as I had to walk and keep asking people for directions,’ he said. Virkar now turned his attention to the compass box on the table. On opening it, he found another note written in blood. This one plainly said: Find Nigel Colasco.
This time, the name seemed vaguely familiar, but before Virkar could jog his memory, the on-duty sub-Inspector who was hovering nearby, spoke up. ‘Virkar saheb, Nigel Colasco is a lawyer and popular NGO activist who is well connected with the Mumbai police.’
Virkar turned towards him. ‘Where is he based?’ The sub-inspector, desperate to involve himself in the high-profile case, said eagerly, ‘His NGO office is situated on P. D’Mello Road near the Cotton Green station.’ As Virkar got up to go, the sub-inspector cleared his throat. He clearly did not want to miss his chance of ingratiating himself to an officer from the Crime Branch. ‘Inspector saheb, if you’re leaving to find Colasco, you don’t have to go far. He’s sitting with our senior inspector in his cabin,’ the man said in a meaningful tone. ‘Our senior inspector saw the note and immediately summoned him, long before you arrived.’ Virkar stopped in his tracks, realizing to his dismay that he was going to have to get involved in departmental and jurisdictional politics. The sub-inspector lowered his voice till it was barely audible. ‘Saheb, our senior inspector is a very…er…ambitious man.’ Virkar hated these opportunistic officers who tried to muscle their way into investigations in the hope of gaining some credit.
Virkar sighed. ‘Na jaal, na jhinga, pun dariya mein khas-khas.’
10
T he forty-two-inch flatscreen television in ACP Wagh’s living room now came alive with the 9.00 p.m. news playing on the CrimeNews channel. ACP Wagh had had a rough day at the Crime Branch and had just poured himself his first peg of Old Monk. He had received an SMS from Raashi earlier in the day, requesting him to tune into
Crime Update
that evening. The overly made-up reporter appeared on the screen, the sky-blue contact lenses in her eyes flickering with determination as she stood outside Framjee House, a crowd of onlookers and policemen in the backdrop. She began by bringing viewers up-to-date with the gruesome murder of Dr Prabhat Bhandari and then continued, ‘Today, in Breaking News brought to you exclusively by
Crime Update
, we reveal the story behind the cover-up of a deadly serial killer.’ Wagh took a large swig of his Old Monk, riveted by the young woman’s dramatic delivery. ‘This heinous criminal is now known in police circles as the Compass Box Killer. Reliable sources have informed us that this serial killer leaves behind a student’s geometry box next to the body of his victim. Each compass box has a note written in blood, supposedly his own, telling us the name of his next victim.’ Raashi paused and smirked at the camera. ‘What are the police doing about this killer’s deadly rampage? We questioned the officer in charge of the investigation, Inspector Virkar, but he had only this to say…’ The image on the screen now cut to a sour-looking Virkar, who intoned, ‘Who are your sources?’ This
Virkar let out an audible sigh. So that was how the killer got hold of Sandesh Jejurikar’s Kirti Pharmaceutical employee card.
‘I don’t know anything about the compass box, Inspector saheb,’ continued Sandesh, now close to tears. ‘It was only when I had slightly recovered from my daze that I noticed it stuffed into my trouser pocket. It was wrapped in brown paper with a message written on it.’ Virkar picked up the brown paper packet lying on the table next to the compass box. The small, neat block letters written on it said: GO TO THE NEAREST POLICE STATION.
Sandesh’s pleading eyes met Virkar’s. ‘I came here, saheb. It took a little time as I had to walk and keep asking people for directions,’ he said. Virkar now turned his attention to the compass box on the table. On opening it, he found another note written in blood. This one plainly said: Find Nigel Colasco.
This time, the name seemed vaguely familiar, but before Virkar could jog his memory, the on-duty sub-Inspector who was hovering nearby, spoke up. ‘Virkar saheb, Nigel Colasco is a lawyer and popular NGO activist who is well connected with the Mumbai police.’
Virkar turned towards him. ‘Where is he based?’ The sub-inspector, desperate to involve himself in the high-profile case, said eagerly, ‘His NGO office is situated on P. D’Mello Road near the Cotton Green station.’ As Virkar got up to go, the sub-inspector cleared his throat. He clearly did not want to miss his chance of ingratiating himself to an officer from the Crime Branch. ‘Inspector saheb, if you’re leaving to find Colasco, you don’t have to go far. He’s sitting with our senior inspector in his cabin,’ the man said in a meaningful tone. ‘Our senior inspector saw the note and immediately summoned him, long before you arrived.’ Virkar stopped in his tracks, realizing to his dismay that he was going to have to get involved in departmental and jurisdictional politics. The sub-inspector lowered his voice till it was barely audible. ‘Saheb, our senior inspector is a very…er…ambitious man.’ Virkar hated these opportunistic officers who tried to muscle their way into investigations in the hope of gaining some credit.
Virkar sighed. ‘Na jaal, na jhinga, pun dariya mein khas-khas.’
10
T he forty-two-inch flatscreen television in ACP Wagh’s living room now came alive with the 9.00 p.m. news playing on the CrimeNews channel. ACP Wagh had had a rough day at the Crime Branch and had just poured himself his first peg of Old Monk. He had received an SMS from Raashi earlier in the day, requesting him to tune into
Crime Update
that evening. The overly made-up reporter appeared on the screen, the sky-blue contact lenses in her eyes flickering with determination as she stood outside Framjee House, a crowd of onlookers and policemen in the backdrop. She began by bringing viewers up-to-date with the gruesome murder of Dr Prabhat Bhandari and then continued, ‘Today, in Breaking News brought to you exclusively by
Crime Update
, we reveal the story behind the cover-up of a deadly serial killer.’ Wagh took a large swig of his Old Monk, riveted by the young woman’s dramatic delivery. ‘This heinous criminal is now known in police circles as the Compass Box Killer. Reliable sources have informed us that this serial killer leaves behind a student’s geometry box next to the body of his victim. Each compass box has a note written in blood, supposedly his own, telling us the name of his next victim.’ Raashi paused and smirked at the camera. ‘What are the police doing about this killer’s deadly rampage? We questioned the officer in charge of the investigation, Inspector Virkar, but he had only this to say…’ The image on the screen now cut to a sour-looking Virkar, who intoned, ‘Who are your sources?’ This
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