foothold. No carves, no edges, no niches, just a smooth metallic pillar all the way up.
Rathod rose to his feet and began examining the pole from several angles. Soon, he realized that the killer had not gone up there at all. He had first tied the victim’s hands behind his back, and perhaps gagged him as well. He had then probably tied his victim’s feet together at the end of a long rope, and flung the other end of the rope over the metallic pole. After that, all that the killer would have had to do was to hoist the body of the victim to a height of his liking by pulling down at the free end of the rope, just like one pulls a bucket of water out of a well using a pulley. But that would mean tying the free end of the rope to something to ensure that the weight of the body did not drag the rope back over the pole. Rathod quickly looked at the photographs again. No, the rope wasn’t tied to anything at the platform level. It was tied directly to the pole. It almost seemed like the victim was hanged, execution-style, from someone standing on top of the pole. Impossible! How had the killer done it ?
The more Rathod looked at the photographs and the metallic pole now hovering ominously over his head, the more confused he got. How on earth was the other end of the rope tied to the pole up there?
Rathod’s eyes were fixed on one specific photograph, and he examined it closely. It was a blurry image, but having worked closely with Mumbai Police for several years now, Rathod was in the habit of making do with whatever little resources were at his disposal. As he strained his eyes and focussed on the metallic pole in the photograph, two words escaped his lips almost in a whisper:
‘Axle Hitch!’
8
‘Do your employees have access to the terrace?’ Rathod asked as he looked around. He stood on the terrace of the McArthur building under his umbrella. The rain showed absolutely no sign of relenting.
‘Well, no, it seems there was a technical glitch. We have rectified it since then,’ said the man to whom the question had been addressed.
Rathod liked that the man owned up to his mistake. Retired colonel, now chief security officer (CSO) of McArthur’s India business, he was a no-nonsense man who knew that the best thing to do under these circumstances was to cooperate with the police.
‘What were you two doing here?’ Rathod turned around and asked in a straightforward manner.
The young fellow stole a furtive glance at the girl standing at a distance. Neither of them responded. The CSO cast them anadmonishing look. The decision had already been made – they were to be fired after the dust settled.
‘Yes?’ Rathod rudely insisted on an answer.
‘We…we came here for…a smoke.’ The boy was nervous but trying his best to summon an air of defiance.
‘In the middle of a rainy night?’ asked Rathod in a mocking tone. ‘Were you able to light your cigar?’
The CSO rubbed his nose and tried to maintain a grave face, even as a chuckle tried to find its way out. The boy turned crimson. He lifted a finger and retorted, ‘Look here, sir, you have no right…’
‘What?’ Rathod’s voice rose several decibels as he took a few threatening steps towards the kid. ‘I couldn’t hear you properly. You were saying something about my rights? Why don’t we bring in her husband and let him ask you questions instead, huh?’
‘For heaven’s sake, shut up, Karan!’ screamed the girl.
Karan looked at Reena with bloodshot eyes.
‘Mr Grover,’ the CSO said gravely, ‘it is in your’s and Mrs Sharma’s best interest that you cooperate with the police.’
‘I’m willing to cooperate in any way, sir.’ The girl took a few steps towards Rathod.
Rathod observed her closely. She was clearly scared, but it was also obvious that she was the smarter of the two.
‘Who found the body?’ Rathod asked.
‘We…both did, sir,’ Reena replied.
‘Tell me about it.’
‘We were…well, we were here, s-standing
Rathod rose to his feet and began examining the pole from several angles. Soon, he realized that the killer had not gone up there at all. He had first tied the victim’s hands behind his back, and perhaps gagged him as well. He had then probably tied his victim’s feet together at the end of a long rope, and flung the other end of the rope over the metallic pole. After that, all that the killer would have had to do was to hoist the body of the victim to a height of his liking by pulling down at the free end of the rope, just like one pulls a bucket of water out of a well using a pulley. But that would mean tying the free end of the rope to something to ensure that the weight of the body did not drag the rope back over the pole. Rathod quickly looked at the photographs again. No, the rope wasn’t tied to anything at the platform level. It was tied directly to the pole. It almost seemed like the victim was hanged, execution-style, from someone standing on top of the pole. Impossible! How had the killer done it ?
The more Rathod looked at the photographs and the metallic pole now hovering ominously over his head, the more confused he got. How on earth was the other end of the rope tied to the pole up there?
Rathod’s eyes were fixed on one specific photograph, and he examined it closely. It was a blurry image, but having worked closely with Mumbai Police for several years now, Rathod was in the habit of making do with whatever little resources were at his disposal. As he strained his eyes and focussed on the metallic pole in the photograph, two words escaped his lips almost in a whisper:
‘Axle Hitch!’
8
‘Do your employees have access to the terrace?’ Rathod asked as he looked around. He stood on the terrace of the McArthur building under his umbrella. The rain showed absolutely no sign of relenting.
‘Well, no, it seems there was a technical glitch. We have rectified it since then,’ said the man to whom the question had been addressed.
Rathod liked that the man owned up to his mistake. Retired colonel, now chief security officer (CSO) of McArthur’s India business, he was a no-nonsense man who knew that the best thing to do under these circumstances was to cooperate with the police.
‘What were you two doing here?’ Rathod turned around and asked in a straightforward manner.
The young fellow stole a furtive glance at the girl standing at a distance. Neither of them responded. The CSO cast them anadmonishing look. The decision had already been made – they were to be fired after the dust settled.
‘Yes?’ Rathod rudely insisted on an answer.
‘We…we came here for…a smoke.’ The boy was nervous but trying his best to summon an air of defiance.
‘In the middle of a rainy night?’ asked Rathod in a mocking tone. ‘Were you able to light your cigar?’
The CSO rubbed his nose and tried to maintain a grave face, even as a chuckle tried to find its way out. The boy turned crimson. He lifted a finger and retorted, ‘Look here, sir, you have no right…’
‘What?’ Rathod’s voice rose several decibels as he took a few threatening steps towards the kid. ‘I couldn’t hear you properly. You were saying something about my rights? Why don’t we bring in her husband and let him ask you questions instead, huh?’
‘For heaven’s sake, shut up, Karan!’ screamed the girl.
Karan looked at Reena with bloodshot eyes.
‘Mr Grover,’ the CSO said gravely, ‘it is in your’s and Mrs Sharma’s best interest that you cooperate with the police.’
‘I’m willing to cooperate in any way, sir.’ The girl took a few steps towards Rathod.
Rathod observed her closely. She was clearly scared, but it was also obvious that she was the smarter of the two.
‘Who found the body?’ Rathod asked.
‘We…both did, sir,’ Reena replied.
‘Tell me about it.’
‘We were…well, we were here, s-standing
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