Authors: Anish Sarkar
‘You’re right, Omar. We never did find the man who killed Rafat.’
I asked gently, ‘So where did Roy come into the picture, Kabir?’
‘I was coming to that.’ He was silent for a moment.
‘This was one of the most frustrating cases of my career. I tried every trick I’ve learnt in my twenty-five years of law enforcement. To recreate the scene in my mind, I went to Woodhouse Road one night at around four o’clock, the time we suspected the killer had come to dump the body. The street was dark and deserted, except for one man standing almost at the exact spot where the car had been parked.’
‘Roy?’
‘Yes, it was the man in the photograph you showed me.’
‘Are you sure it was him? You said it was dark.’
‘I flashed my torch in his face. It was definitely him. About your age, fair and big-built. He looked very fit, like he was in the military or something.’
Roy in the military? I didn’t think so. It would have made it difficult for him to have killed all those people. But he had always been a very physical kind of a guy.
I asked, ‘Did you speak to him, Kabir?’
‘I identified myself and asked him what he was doing there in the middle of the night. He said that he lived close by and was on his way home from a friend’s house. It wasn’t a very convincing explanation but I let it go. After all, this is a free country and there’s no law against being out on the streets at night.’
‘Did he tell you anything else?’
‘No. He walked off immediately. I didn’t see him get into any vehicle so maybe he did live close by.’
There was no guarantee of that, of course.
‘What was he wearing?’
‘I don’t remember but it wasn’t anything striking, that’s for sure.’
After a pause, Kabir said, ‘So this Roy has never contacted any of you in all these years?’
‘No. I don’t think anyone even knows he’s alive.’
‘Very strange. I wonder why.’
I could have told him but I chose not to. The three of us had agreed that we needed something more substantial to support our theory before going to anyone with it, especially the police. Kabir was a friend but he was also a police officer.
‘You said you weren’t convinced by what Roy told you. What do you think he was really doing there that night?’
‘I…don’t know. He was standing right at the place where Rafat’s body had been dumped but it could have been a coincidence. I didn’t really think much about it at that time. It was only after you told me about your friend and showed me his photo that all this came back to me. In hindsight, maybe I should have questioned him some more.’
I didn’t say anything. I guess Roy had done what criminals often do—return to the scene of their crime.
I asked, ‘Do you remember anything that might help us trace him?’
He thought for a moment and replied, ‘No, nothing. I’m sorry. But at least you now know for certain that your friend is alive.’
60
Neel
We decided to send our message to Roy through a newspaper advert.
The options were extremely limited. Especially when you have no clue where the person is. Or what name he might be living under.
Not that we didn’t try to think out of the box.
Omar proposed that we start a chain email. You know, the ones which end with a demand in bold font that the message should be forwarded to ten other people. And failure to do so would invite a fate worse than death. A surprising number of people continue to fall for this old Internet hoax. Sara came up with the idea of an SMS campaign. She had hired a direct marketing agency to promote her store. They had sent out text messages to lakhs of people. At a reasonable cost.
Not to be left behind, I suggested that we start a Facebook page or publish a YouTube video. I hadn’t quite figured out how it would work. But I had seen some of these things getting zillions of “Likes” and views. So it seemed like a pretty effective medium to reach out to the world at large. What I didn’t know is that getting visibility on these social platforms can be a very expensive affair. Except for that rare viral phenomenon.
In the end, we shot down all these ideas. None of them could help us reach the huge number of people who still read their newspaper every day.
I did some research. It was surprising that the readership of several Hindi papers far exceeded that of the most popular English one. Come to think of it, it shouldn’t have been such a surprise. Only a small percentage of our country’s population live in urban areas. But we could be absolutely sure that Roy would stick to the Queen’s language in his choice of newspaper. His Hindi used to be awful. Bordering on the hilarious, in fact.
We then debated the format of the advertisement.
Classifieds was the cheapest option. But they were only for people looking for something specific. Like a spouse or a house. Ours would have to be a display ad. Somewhere between a product commercial and a tender notice. We chose the top two English dailies. And hoped that Roy read at least one of them. Wherever he was.
It wasn’t cheap. Ms Moneybags Sara offered to fund it. Neither Omar nor I protested. There was no guarantee of success, of course. Maybe Roy was one of those new-age types who only checked the news online. Maybe he wouldn’t have time to read the paper on the day the ad was run. Maybe he subscribed to one of the lesser known publications.
There were too many imponderables. We just had to go ahead. Hoping for the best.
The text of the ad had to be short and cryptic. Yet leaving no doubt in Roy’s mind about what we were trying to convey. However, we had to do this without letting him know who was behind it. Addressing the message wasn’t a problem. Everyone used to call him Roy. We decided to leave Rachel’s name out. That would invariably have pointed the finger at us.
It was only while preparing the draft that a major snag in our plan came to light. How would we get Roy to a rendezvous if we didn’t know where he was? The country was a big place. I don’t know why this hadn’t struck any of us before.
Omar came up with the solution. We would have to give out a phone number in the ad. And ask Roy to call us. Using any of our numbers was too risky. So we would have to create a new connection for this purpose. Nowadays, it isn’t easy to even get a prepaid mobile card without a lot of documentation. In the end, Sara took one in her maid’s name. The young girl didn’t have a mobile phone. She was ecstatic when she learnt that she was going to get one after we were done.
The stage was set.
The ad was going to run for two days, Friday and Saturday. To maximise our chances. If Roy saw it, we would know pretty quickly. I was sure he wouldn’t waste any time in calling us.
61
I was absently flipping through the newspaper when something caught my eye.
The ad was quite prominent, bold lettering in a large box. It went: ‘Roy, I know about Jo, Anna, Sasha and the others. Call me on 8819111972.’
I was shocked. How could it be possible?
I took a few deep breaths and let the initial panic subside. This was really serious. In fact, it was disaster. Someone had not only made the connection between the killings but also…Anyway, that was the lesser of the two problems. How could I not have known?
I immediately thought of Rachel. She was dead but had she lied to me about not having spoken to anyone else? That was most likely now, though every instinct back then had told me otherwise. Perhaps someone had stumbled on to her story after her death.
Could it be those three? I was positive Rachel hadn’t told them anything otherwise they wouldn’t have blundered about in Goa for as long as they did. They would have gone straight to the police and destroyed me. They were still poking around, of course. I cursed myself for not finishing them off when I had the chance.
I read the ad again and again. There was an obvious window of opportunity for me there but I had to first find out who was behind it. Whoever it was, it almost appeared as if he wanted to…blackmail me. I would be quite happy if that was the case, for it would give me a way to get out of this. The man had no idea who he was dealing with.
I made a call. The person at the other end picked up instantly, as I knew she would.
I gave her the phone number from the ad and said, ‘Find out who it belongs to.’ I hung up without waiting for a reply.
She called back within fifteen minutes. ‘It’s a Delhi number, registered to a woman living in a slum near Nizamuddin.’
I thought for a moment. This was going to be easier than I had expected. ‘Send someone to her home and find out who she works for.’
This time, it took an hour. I guess I wasn’t surprised when I heard what she had to tell me.
Sara. Bitch.
What did she and those other two assholes take me for? Fucking amateurs.
I thought about Sara. It had been evident very early on that she lusted for me. I remember getting out of the pool one day and noticing her staring at me quite unabashedly. She was done swimming so I presumed she had stayed back to watch my race. Which I won, of course.
I went straight up to her, dripping water, and said, ‘Liked what you saw?’
She looked me in the eye and said coolly, ‘You were good.’
‘I know,’ I said.
She smiled. ‘Aren’t we modest?’
Sara was wearing a sleeveless blouse with two buttons undone, revealing more than a hint of her perfect breasts. Her long, slim legs emerged from a pair of shorts as brief as knickers. Everything about her oozed sensuality—her striking body, her husky voice, her lazy posture, her brazen attitude. I knew that some of my mates were quite infatuated with her but honestly, she didn’t have that impact on me. Not quite yet.
‘You want to go somewhere for a bite to eat?’ she asked. ‘You must be hungry after all that exercise.’
I hesitated, then agreed.
A lot has happened since then but at least I had given her what she wanted.
I felt relieved after learning who was behind the newspaper ad. The situation wasn’t as bad as I had thought. It wouldn’t be difficult to handle.
I picked up the phone again and dialled another number.
62
Neel
I was amazed at the number of crank calls we got after the ad was published. Heavy breathing. Laughter. Silence. Sex talk. Even downright filthy abuse. There was one woman who said that she was Joanna. And asked me if I would marry her. I guess she had misread the text of the ad.
Omar had joined us the previous day. It felt good to be all together again. I knew in my heart that this whole business was now rapidly heading towards its conclusion.
By Sunday evening, we were completely dejected.
Sara sighed. ‘Roy’s not seen the ad. Otherwise he would have called by now.’
Omar said, ‘Do you think this whole thing is a wild goose chase? I still sometimes find it difficult to believe that Roy will suddenly turn up miraculously alive after all these years.’
‘No, Omar. Let’s not second-guess ourselves anymore.’ Sara wagged her finger at him. ‘And don’t forget that you’re the first one amongst us who thought Roy may not be dead!’
‘I know I did but let’s be clear that all this is still pure conjecture. There’s not a shred of real evidence to support our theory. We’re just hoping against hope that Roy will call us but if he doesn’t, we’re back to square one.’
I decided to butt in. Before another argument broke out between them. ‘We need to give it more time.’
Sara shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. What would he be waiting for?’
I said, ‘Maybe he’s trying to check things out before calling.’
‘What can he check out? There was hardly anything…’
Sara was interrupted by the ringing of her phone. From the pursing of her lips, I gathered that the number flashing wasn’t a familiar one. She took the call.
Omar and I could partly follow the conversation. We looked at each other anxiously. Sara’s face was ashen as she hung up. She said weakly, ‘Roshni’s disappeared.’
I asked, ‘The maid, right?’
She nodded. ‘That was her father, saying she didn’t return home after leaving for work in the morning yesterday. He was asking me if I had any idea where she might be…’
This was really bad news. Sara was cribbing in the morning that the girl had bunked again. We hadn’t imagined it was anything serious.
‘The phone number in the ad was in her name,’ said Omar dully. ‘My great fucking idea.’
Sara was close to tears. ‘Something must have happened to her. It’s just too much of a coincidence.’
I remembered the petite, cheerful girl. She was only nineteen years old. Had another life been snuffed out in this unending saga of death?
Sara wrapped her arms around herself. ‘I don’t understand why he would target the girl. What has she done?’
‘He must have somehow found out her name and address from the phone company’s records.’ My voice was grim. ‘Then his men would have taken her away for interrogation.’
She shuddered. ‘I don’t even want to think about what they must have done to her.’
We fell silent. Cursing ourselves for having involved the girl in this sordid affair. She had probably ended up paying the ultimate price. For absolutely no fault of hers.
I said, ‘Isn’t there anything we can do?’
‘Her family has already informed the police. I guess we can only pray now.’
I looked at Omar. He was sitting with his head hanging. I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘Omar, we’re all equally to blame for this.’
He didn’t reply.
Sara said, ‘We should have just used one of our numbers. He anyway knows it’s us by now, because the first thing Roshni must have told them is who she works for.’
That hadn’t struck me. Now it seemed obvious. ‘I’m guessing Roy won’t bother to call anymore. He’ll just come for us here.’
Our plan was to get Roy to meet us. Then confront him. The assumption was that the first contact would be over phone. We would figure out our next course of action after finding out where he was. I realised that our entire focus was on the phone call. We hadn’t fully thought through the next steps.