The Forbidden Daughter (35 page)

“The widow wasn’t even in the flat.”

“Then where the hell was she?”

“I don’t know. Maybe with her boyfriend, that doctor chap, Salvi.” Gowda gave him a sly wink. “It looks like the widow is having a love affair. She is quite a woman,
nah?
First she needles you with insinuations in public, and then she goes off with her boyfriend for some
majah.
” Fun.

Karnik’s jaw tightened at being reminded of his public humil-THE

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iation by a slip of a woman, one less than half his age, too. Fortunately only a handful of people had overheard the conversation, and nothing incriminating had been said—only insinuations, like Gowda said. But it was embarrassing nevertheless, especially for a reputable doctor. Gossip in this town could spread faster than a dysentery epidemic during the monsoon season.

He’d never forgive the little bitch for talking to him like that.

It was
her
pregnancy that had set in motion this bloody chain of events in the first place. And he’d never forgive that Salvi, either, the snotty young pediatrician, for being her champion. Maybe he
was
sleeping with her.

“I followed Salvi home after he left his office last evening,”

added Gowda. “I didn’t think she was with him. But who knows? All I can tell you is she definitely wasn’t in her flat when I broke in.”

“Thank God, or you would have given her a dose of chloroform, too—or worse, killed her. If that servant woman dies of an overdose, it will be one more murder on my conscience.” He blew out a shaky breath, thought about it for a moment. “So how are you planning to swap the child for the evidence without the police knowing about it?” Slanting an anxious look at Gowda, he asked, “You
are
planning to give the child
back,
I hope?”

“
Tsk-tsk,
” Gowda clucked, but said nothing.

“Promise me you won’t hurt the child and you will return her to her mother,” growled Karnik. A massive headache was beginning to set in and he rubbed his temples to keep it at bay. He felt sick.

“
Arré,
why are you having a fit? I’ll give her back, okay?”

“When?”

“I will make them a little more anxious, make them wait.”

He scratched the back of his head, probably working it out in his demented brain. “Leave the details to me. You just have to pay me for my services.”

Fear skittered down Karnik’s spine when he heard Gowda talk so casually. Things were spinning out of control. The man 256
Shobhan Bantwal

standing in front of him was a perverted bastard. How had he not recognized that right from the beginning? Why hadn’t he seen that maniacal gleam in his devilish eyes? As a doctor, he should have noticed the man wasn’t quite normal, despite the good looks and personable demeanor.

A heartless, knife-happy kidnapper-killer, who laughed about his crimes, was positively
not
normal.

The first time, what had started out as a harmless way to get the evidence back from Nikhil Tilak had ended up in Tilak’s murder. This time, what was meant to be a simple theft had turned into a kidnapping. Coming on the heels of the scene at the hospital, the police were bound to look at Karnik as the prime suspect.

It didn’t take a genius to figure it out, even if Gowda had assured him that Salvi’s message for Patil had been intercepted by him, therefore no one at the superintendent’s office knew about a call coming in for their boss.

Isha Tilak had probably already called all her friends and started an ugly rumor about Karnik’s alleged role in the kidnapping of her child. Before the sun came up, the police would be on top of it.

Then the media would go wild about the latest crime to hit the small, previously unsullied town of Palgaum: a beautiful, father-less baby girl kidnapped from her bed and her devoted nursemaid rendered unconscious with drugs. And the baby just
happened
to be the posthumous child of a recent, high-profile murder victim—and that murder was still under question. It was so damned dramatic, exactly what the public loved, a made-for-Bollywood type of sob story.

And then Karnik would be ruined for life—if he wasn’t already.

“I can’t go on with this,” he told Gowda after a minute of silent deliberation. He’d had enough. He was getting too old for this kind of excitement. Murder and kidnapping had no place in his ordinary life in this dull little town.

Gowda went still. “What do you mean?” His scowl was fero-THE

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cious. His mustache twitched with barely concealed fury, making Karnik’s head snap backward.

Nonetheless Karnik put on his bravest front. He couldn’t show Gowda that he was scared stiff, terrified enough to piss in his pants. “Exactly that. I’m obviously dealing with a lunatic.

You have landed me in more trouble than it is worth.”

Gowda stepped forward and poked a long finger into Karnik’s bony chest, his eyebrows joined together over the bridge of his nose in an enraged knot. “Don’t blame this on me, old man! Nikhil Tilak attacked me like an angry bull when I asked him to hand over the stolen material.”

“Likely story,” Karnik shot back. His legs were shaking.

“I asked politely, but he turned on me. I only defended myself.”

“By stabbing him again and again? That was not self-defense; that was unnecessary butchering. If you had to kill him, why couldn’t you use your gun and put a quick bullet through the brain?”

“My gun is a registered firearm and the bullets are trace-able.” Gowda threw him a disdainful grunt. “You should know that simple fact. Don’t you watch any crime shows on television?”

“How would I know anything about guns?”

“Well, I do!” Gowda fumed. “And stabbing was the best way to make it look like an armed robbery gone wrong. And after all the trouble I went to for you, I found nothing in his office.”

“He was apparently not foolish enough to keep it in an obvious place,” Karnik hissed. “He kept it at home. And now his wife has it.”

“I’m telling you, it’s nowhere in that flat. She has nothing.”

“Then it could be in her father-in-law’s house, or her safe deposit box. Maybe that’s where Nikhil had always kept it.” He should have known an astute man like Tilak wouldn’t store incriminating data in an easily accessible place like his office.

“Aha! Then the only way she will give it to us is if she knows her child’s life depends on it.”

258
Shobhan Bantwal

Karnik slumped in his chair and blew out a long, labored breath. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.” The ringing in his ears had just gone up by several decibels. It was getting harder to breathe. What the hell was he going to do about Gowda, about the kidnapped child, about himself, his family?

Gowda leaned forward with his hands braced on Karnik’s desk, his face barely inches above Karnik’s. “You better get the money together.” His voice was menacingly low. “
I’ll
worry about the child. If losing her baby doesn’t work, I have something else that will work on Isha Tilak. I have a hunch the evidence is hidden in Salvi’s house. They were both in his house after she confronted you. They went to her flat late at night and he returned home with a bag on his shoulder. His house is probably where they’re hiding the material.”

Karnik shook his head. “Please, no more killing. I’ll give you the money I owe you. But just go away and leave me alone.” He shut his eyes and pressed his fingers over his temples. His mind was revolving in such tight circles that he couldn’t think or concentrate on anything at the moment. He was too dizzy for rational thought.

Straightening up from the desk, Gowda headed for the door.

“If the money is not in my hands by tomorrow, I’ll never leave you alone. My own reputation and career are at risk, Karnik. I have a family to support. You may be a rich old man, but I’m not.” He pointed a finger at Karnik, his hand emulating a gun.

“Don’t forget that, Doctor-saheb.”

Watching the man leave, Karnik knew Gowda’s threat wasn’t an empty one. That evil man would stoop to anything. To make matters worse, the bastard was a police officer. He was not only trained to kill, but he was bright enough to rise from a mere constable to the rank of inspector, greedy enough to get rich on bribes and crimes, and clever enough to cover up his bloody tracks.

It was Karnik’s bad luck that he had stumbled upon Gowda, or rather Gowda had found him, when he had unexpectedly THE

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come poking around to review Karnik’s records some two years ago. Somehow Gowda had got wind of the abortions and secretly approached him, talking about an investigation. He had also dropped subtle hints that if Karnik paid him a certain amount, he would forget the whole thing. So Karnik had paid him the requested amount, and everything had been blissfully quiet after that point.

Of course, at the time, Karnik had been so scared and naive that he hadn’t thought of questioning Gowda about the legiti-macy of the so-called investigation. In a state of panic, he had assumed it was an official directive from the police department.

It was only later, after he’d paid the man an exorbitant amount of cash, that he’d analyzed the whole episode, even wondered if Gowda had played the same trick on other doctors in town. The man was both conniving and convincing. He was evil.

Back then, Gowda had also hinted that he’d do most anything to make extra money on the side. That’s the reason why Karnik had gone to him for help when Tilak had become a threat. But that was his first big mistake. That single error was now turning into a ghastly nightmare: one gruesome murder, one kidnapping, and heaven knew what else in the future.

Gowda had just mentioned something else—something perhaps deadly.

The media would cover every sordid detail, just like they had with Tilak’s murder. This would turn into a sequel to that story.

Palgaum had never seen so much excitement.

What other horrors were about to break out? Karnik cringed at the thought.

He absently massaged his shoulder. It had begun to throb.

His throat felt dry and his stomach churned. He didn’t know how much longer he could go on like this. His blood pressure problem had escalated recently. He was suffering from insomnia and heartburn once again, too.

His wife was worried about his deteriorating health. She had even called their son and daughter about her concerns, and those two had started asking him curious questions.

260
Shobhan Bantwal

On a tired breath he leaned back in his chair and stared at his hands for a very long time—a killer’s hands. And yet, they were trained to be healing hands.

The clock on his desk read 2:16 AM. There would be no sleep for him tonight.

He shut his eyes—and wondered if it was better to die than to lose face and end up in prison.

Chapter 29

There was a knock on the study door. “Vivek.”

Karnik’s eyes flew open. Oh no! Neela! “Yes?”

The door opened and he turned his head to see his wife standing on the threshold.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” he asked her, wondering how long she’d been standing there. There was something about her still-ness and expression that made him wonder how much she’d heard.

Her kaftan looked rumpled, and her graying, plaited hair was disheveled, which meant she’d probably just climbed out of bed.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she answered, studying him with that anxious look she had more and more lately, which seemed to cast a shadow over her pleasant face. “And you never came to bed.”

“Try to sleep, Neela.” He felt too ill to face an interrogation by his wife. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“That’s what you said two hours ago.”

“I was busy!” he snapped.

“You don’t look busy. And you don’t look well,” she murmured. “Is it the angina again?”

He nodded. “Don’t worry. I just took my pills; I’ll be all right.”

“That
man
was here again—the computer repairman,” she said, approaching him. It was the way she said it—wariness bordering on accusation—that told him she knew more than she was letting on.

262
Shobhan Bantwal

His fists tightened. “How long were you standing outside the door, Neela?”

“Long enough.” She pulled up a chair beside him and sat down. “Isn’t it time you told me what is going on, Vivek?”

Her eyes continued to search his face. What was she looking for? Guilt? Shame? Regret? He was suffering plenty of all three, and then some. The physical pain in his upper body more than matched his emotional torment.

“It’s nothing.” He dismissed her question with a wave. “Just a complicated computer problem.”

She placed a hand on his arm. “
You
know and
I
know he isn’t a computer repairman.” When he opened his mouth to deny it, she cut him off. “Show me a single repairman in Palgaum who works at this time of the night.”

“I—” He didn’t know what to say. His wife was too damn perceptive.

“I’m not stupid, Vivek!” Her grip on his arm tightened. “This has to do with the Tilaks, doesn’t it? And please don’t try to deny it.”

He was silent for a minute. He’d never heard such angry reprimand in his wife’s voice in the more than four decades he’d been married to her. “How much did you hear?”

“Most of it. But then I had suspected it long before tonight.”

His labored breath came out in a hiss. “How?”

“I’m not blind, either,” she said. “You have been stressed and restless for well over a year now. Your blood pressure and heart problems have escalated. What is
happening
to you?”

“I’m seventy years old, Neela. Hypertension, heart problems—these things come with old age,” he said, rubbing his burning eyes.

“Does dishonesty and immorality come with old age, too?”

When his eyes went wide at her cutting sarcasm, she added,

“Oh yes, I know more than you think. I have been observing you very closely. You had something to do with Nikhil Tilak’s death, didn’t you?”

Dear God! She knew! She’d known all along. He scrubbed THE

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