Compass Box Killer by Piyush Jha Page A

was played in a loop with Virkar repeating, ‘Who are your sources?’ ad nauseum.
    When all the comic potential of Virkar’s pithy line had been extracted to the hilt, Raashi came back on the screen, looking visibly bewildered.
    ‘Good acting, lady,’ Wagh smirked, draining the last of his Old Monk.
    Raashi raised a quizzical eyebrow, slowly milking the moment. ‘We would like to advise Inspector Virkar that instead of asking such questions from us, he should concentrate on his investigation which is fast spinning out of control. The Compass Box Killer has already struck twice. We have learnt from reliable sources that he has delivered yet another compass box naming his next victim. Senior police officers remain unavailable for comment and we dare not ask Inspector Virkar for more information because all he will say is…’ The scene once again cut to Virkar mouthing, ‘Who are your sources? Who are your sources? Who are your sources?’
    Raashi appeared on the screen once again, her voice now rising theatrically and her index finger jabbing the air. ‘The people want
answers
to these killings. We want to know
who
the next victim on the list is so we can put him under surveillance. The unfortunate episode of Dr Prabhat Bhandari’s death should
not
be repeated.’ Raashi took a deep breath and continued, ‘We, the people of Mumbai, are
not
afraid. But will the police listen to us—the citizens, the common man? Or will another person be sacrificed like Dr Bhandari?’
    Raashi walked with the mike, unfazed by the thronging crowd collecting behind her. ‘Will the police take any action against Inspector Virkar for not being able to save the life of an honest, innocent doctor, despite having received a warning that he is the next victim?’ Raashi finished with the triumphant flourish of a rabble-rouser who has achieved her objective.
    ACP Wagh reached for the remote and switched the television off. He had seen enough. He glanced at the three mobile phones neatly laid out on the white hand towel on the small glass side table next to the sofa he was sitting on. He picked them up one by one and turned them off. He sank back into his plush leather sofa, recalling Virkar’s plea to save Dr Bhandari by requesting he oversee the twenty-four-hour protection detail for all the potential victims. ACP Wagh shrugged off his guilt and coldly evaluated the facts. Self-preservation was his natural instinct and he had honed it to perfection over the years. He began formulating his course of action which, basically, involved doing nothing. He knew that the media would soon start hounding him. He was, after all, Virkar’s boss, the venerated ACP of the Crime Branch’s murder squad. Wagh steepled his fingers, an idea forming in his mind. He decided to remain unavailable for media comments and let the vultures make Virkar their scapegoat. Only when the media went hoarse blaming Virkar for the second killing by being lax about following the clues would he step in and make a sweeping statement that would appease the media hounds and smoothen out the ruffled feathers of his own superiors. He made a mental note to spend some time with this upstart Virkar someday and teach him a thing or two about being media-savvy—that is, if the poor fellow survived this case.
    Having neatly worked out the plot in his head, ACP Wagh smiled to himself and glanced at his wristwatch, wondering whether he had enough time to catch the night show of any movie. It would have started by now, which suited him perfectly. Years of experience had taught him that night shows were the best possible excuse for not being available when all hell was breaking loose elsewhere in the city. After all, no one could begrudge a busy police officer his recreation time, his escape from the harshness of his daily grind. He quickly rose to his feet and called out an offer to his wife who was cooking in the kitchen—an offer he knew she wouldn’t refuse. ‘Lila, let’s go and