Deja Karma Page 9

  ‘Thanks, Jay.’

  Kumar left the offices of Cooper & Singh at three.

  Jay kept thinking about the case for another hour. Why would Kumar lie when had the choice of the best advocate in the city even if he told the truth — however unsavoury that might have been for his advocate’s consumption the first time he heard it. Jay had promised to represent him even if he was guilty and Jay’s reputation wasn’t exactly Gandhian. He was known to represent those not innocent, but not evidently guilty. Why would Kumar take the risk? Additionally, Jay, and he knew humans well by now, had seen some strange confidence in Kumar’s eyes. It was no exact science, but then what was?

  In the car, later that evening, as Bhīma drove his boss back Jay was still a bit troubled. ‘There’s a conceptual problem, Bhīma.’

  ‘What is that hukum?’ Even his expression in the rear view asked what?

  ‘Vinay Kumar might not be the killer. Look elsewhere too, spread the net; look in his near quarters: his wife, his father, his friends and his political opponents. If we suspect only Vinay Kumar, at this moment, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. We might need to do some reverse engineering here — it could be anyone who didn’t want Gina to see our client. Ask your rats where the handgun came from.’

  Bhīma nodded.

  A stray thought passed through Jay’s head. Kumar had voluntarily given out the info that his father had disliked his relationship with Gina. Why? No one offered a pawn for sacrifice in this game. There had to be a trap somewhere. He made a mental note of it.

  ‘Thank you, Bhīma. Did you find out anything else today?’

  ‘Hukum, the Senior Inspector who handled your dad’s case retired as Superintendent of Police in Pondicherry. Retired SP Amrit Saxena.’

  ‘I remember the name, yes. It must have been him. Did they tell you where he is now?’ There was excitement in Jay’s voice, though he wasn’t sure what he could find out from the police officer decades after the murder.

  ‘I should find him too, hukum, it’s only a question of time.’

  EIGHT

  Conniving as it might sound, Bhīma was a creature of the night. It was normal rota for him to drop Jay home, check if Jay needed to go out for something; if not he took Sheeba for a run in the farmhouse grounds, have his dinner and slip out of the farmhouse. He owned a Royal Enfield, which he cherished riding.

  His first stop this evening was his office in the building, one floor below the esteemed offices of Cooper & Singh. The guards and doormen knew Bhīma worked ridiculous hours, and so no one even bothered what time he came and went. In any event, no one thought it was advisable to stop a man of Bhīma’s bulk.

  Bugging a car was the simplest thing, as the car’s battery supplied a potent power source and the acoustics in the cabin were un-rivalled. All one needed was a small transmitter and an even smaller, albeit extremely powerful, magnet. Money not being a problem for Jay, Bhīma used Adhesive Neodymium Magnets, which meant peeling the skin and sticking the tiny coin-sized magnet under the instrument panel where the battery wires came in and connecting the wire to micro GSM Listening Device, which, too, was small like a coat button. It took a practised hand like Bhīma’s under five minutes, once he could get access to the car. One such bug had been travelling in Vinay Kumar’s car. That bug tracked the car and transmitted voice to long-range transmitters that connected to other transmitters Bhīma had implanted elsewhere on electric poles across the city to create a loop of wired and wireless networks. Should someone go around snooping, they would never reach the ultimate receiver. Also, if one of these devices ever malfunctioned or got pulled off, the data — till that second — would have already been logged on Bhīma’s Mac; asynchronous transmissions from indicators like GPS or voice, were recorded 24/7 from various sources. Bhīma artfully analysed and put them in a chronological string for his boss.

  He made himself a coffee and sat down comfortably in front of his already switched-on computer. His computer required SecurID and a memorised password for authentication. Unlawful establishments always require that additional level of security don’t they? As he logged on to the incoming data on the screen the red light representing records from Vinay Kumar blinked. But that was expected. It was foolish to assume Kumar wouldn’t speak a word while he was in the car, even if it was only a few words or sentences to the driver to request where to go next. And the car, too, had to move mapping his route. He put on the headphones to listen to the voices. There were many instructions given to the driver: addresses for visits, stop over for a pack of Gold Flake Kings. The conversation that Bhīma wanted to listen to, started twenty minutes later when Kumar called one of his close friends. The transmitter was sensitive enough to catch the ringtone that the earpiece of Kumar’s phone emitted while he waited for the call to be picked up. He listened to the entire twelve-minute conversation, and a wry smile passed his lips as he sipped his coffee: Jay’s instincts were appreciable.

  He downloaded all incoming data from Kumar and the routes that his car had travelled since the transmitter had been dropped in. The missing link was any conversation had outside of the car, which he swore to take care of shortly.

  Maybe next visit needed to be elsewhere. He beamed.

  Then copying all significant data on to a pen drive, he deleted the balance from memory, reset the flashing light, logged out, exited his office, locked it with the utmost care, and taking the lift down to his parked motorbike he rode away into the dark night.

  Bhīma was, indeed, a creature of the night.

  NINE

  The night was still and quiet, like all nights were when seen from the little balcony that hung from my first floor bedroom. The air was humid and the moon a sliver on the second day of its ascending. I took a generous sip and gulped; the liquid lava burnt its tracks as it travelled down my throat into the gullet. Just another normal never-ending evening in my life filled with questions and restlessness and shame, and frustration at the end of it all. I kept twisting and turning the facts in my mind, like a Rubik’s cube, but nothing fitted. Nothing fitted, since I had no new nugget of information. This, as Ali had so rightly warned, was going around in circles. It annoyed me nonetheless. Exasperation and exhaustion had schemed to get me down, but even together they had failed to drive my fucking insomnia away.

  I knew I was quite drunk now, but I didn’t want to lie in bed with my eyes closed only to toss and turn for a few hours. My drink was over; I decided to tiptoe down to get another one — this would be the last one, I promised myself — knowing Bhīma was out and Bahadur would have been asleep by now. The old boy worked hard all day and needed the rest. So did I, but the ghosts of the damned past wouldn’t let me.

  It was dark in the living room.

  Sam Cooper preferred it that way. Always. He sat on the sofa facing the windows, feet up on the ottoman, his hands laced behind his neck like they were supporting his head as he gazed out at the tranquil pool.

  ‘How have you been, Jay?’

  ‘Fine, thanks buddy. How about you? When did you come?

  ‘I found out about Mum, I had to come.’ Cooper didn’t care to respond to my question or the pleasantries.

  I liked the way he always made me feel the bond. He called Mum, Mum and not your mother or auntie or Mrs Singh. Mum.

  ‘How did you know about her passing away?’

  ‘You are a famous advocate, Jay. Whatever happens in your personal life does not remain personal for very long. As they say, if it doesn’t travel fast enough it probably isn’t worth being news. You insult my intelligence if you think I wouldn’t have figured out that you had left town.’

  ‘Uh-uh.’

  ‘She suffered a lot, didn’t she?’

  I didn’t know how to respond so I let the silence hang in the darkness.

  ‘Penance,’ he finally answered on my behalf. It was exactly what I had been thinking.

  ‘What?’

  ‘She atoned for what she didn’t do.’

  ‘Why did s
he punish herself then?’

  ‘Who knows? The secret has gone with her. But, death is only a word; Gita says it’s a word to express the passing from earth to another place, supposedly better. Only the body dies, Jay.’

  ‘But she didn’t even consider that by protecting some stranger she abandoned me, her own child?’

  ‘Are you still angry, Jay?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you be if she abandoned you, Cooper?’

  Even in college days, no one called Cooper by his first name.

  ‘Depends.’

  ‘Depends on?’

  ‘Well, it depends on why she did it.’

  ‘What or who could be dearer than her own child?’

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t “someone”, maybe it was just shame. Imagine the shame if she had come out with the truth, whatever that might have been. Or what if she had killed herself too. How would that have been any better for you?’

  ‘It’s difficult for me to imagine.’ I sulked.

  ‘There isn’t much point in fostering grudges against the souls who’ve departed. And top that — she was, after all, your mother, Jay.’

  ‘You may have a point. Drink for you, Cooper?’

  ‘I was waiting for you to ask. Yes, please.’

  ‘What will you have?’

  ‘What a rhetorical question, Jay, how long have we known each other?’

  ‘Since college, why?’

  ‘You know what we drink when we are together, don’t you?’

  ‘The strongest strength whisky in the bar… would cask strength Single Malt do?’

  ‘Thanks. Make it a double for me please.’

  ‘I know. No water, no ice—’

  ‘That’s like the Jay I know. Do you mind putting on some music, too, please?

  ‘What would you—’ I stopped mid-sentence; I knew exactly what we listened to since I had known Cooper. He always said there was a connection between Jazz and Whisky. I put on Nina Simone and “Either Way I lose” sprang to life.

  I poured two double fingers of Aberlour A’Bunadh for him — the only cask strength whisky I currently had in my bar: 59.7% vv. I carried it to him and left it on the side table next to where he sat. He didn’t even bother to look at the glass or me.

  ‘Thanks, Jay,’ he uttered when I returned to the bar.

  I poured myself another drink and looked at him. He still sat motionless looking out at the pool.

  ‘Did you go through her belongings?’

  ‘Why should I?’ I took a sip.

  ‘Who knows what you may find?’

  ‘Her lover’s photo?’ I was full of cynicism.

  ‘Or possibly your father’s killer’s.’

  ‘Ha, you know Mum didn’t recover from her insanity, hence in all probability she, perhaps, never got any time to clear out. All I might expose is something that proves her guilt—’

  ‘Or her innocence?’

  ‘Cooper, I am worn-out. I think you should sleep too.› The big gulp of potent whisky had gone straight to my head. I quickly swallowed the whole thing in one go and, I think, that did the trick. ‹You leaving now or in the morning?›

  ‘Haven’t decided. Leave me here and I’ll see myself out after I finish my drink. Let the music be on.’

  ‘Can you drive? It’s not a problem, Bhīma should be back soon, he can drop you back.’

  ‘Let the big man sleep, I don’t need him. I have my driver waiting.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Good night, Jay.’

  ‘Good night, Cooper.’

  TEN

  Bhīma was in the garden making Sheeba exercise till she could take no more while Jay ate his breakfast watching the two through the glass. His brain was still numb. Bahadur had cleaned up the crystal and put everything back in the bar. Or her innocence, Cooper’s words from the previous night still resonated in his head. But he had no time. He was already late for the office. There was a court hearing in the afternoon, albeit trivial but he had to get sober by then. Black coffee, as black it could be, as often as he could take.

  ‘Do you have Mum’s little trunk we carried back from Jaipur?’ Jay queried as soon as he was on the road with Bhīma.

  ‘Jee hukum.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘There are some recordings from Vinay Kumar’s car that you may want to hear, hukum.’

  ‘I have to prepare for court the entire morning. Why don’t you play it now in the car?’

  Bhīma nodded, pulled the pen drive out of his pocket and put it in the USB drive.

  Vinay Kumar’s voice came clearly through the speakers. It was a tête-à-tête with some close friend called Praveen who apparently knew Kumar had a mistress and who was dead — murdered — and that Kumar was a possible suspect.

  ‘I didn’t do it, Praveen. I just got picked up in the night by the police, and it was then that I first came to know about it,’ Kumar stressed.

  ‘You’ve hired Jay Singh?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. He’s the best in the business.’

  Did the idiot want to say there were other good ones that went out of business? Jay smiled.

  ‘Thanks. He gives me confidence.’

  ‘Do you suspect anyone?’

  ‘I know my father and my wife were against my relationship with Gina, but none of them could stoop so low to kill… you know what I mean?’

  ‘Of course I do, Vinay. I know both of them, they aren’t that sort of people.’

  ‘Praveen, I am too stressed.’

  ‘That’s why I called. Listen, why don’t you come over? I have a guest coming, we’ll have a few drinks and you can relax.’

  ‘Who’s this guest?’

  ‘You’ll love to meet this hot number, believe me.’

  That was pretty much all. No furtherance was required for Kumar to change course and go to Praveen’s place as the GPS revealed.

  ‘Do we know where Praveen lives?’ Jay asked when the recorded call concluded.

  ‘Vinay Kumar went to Praveen’s house straight after the call and stayed the night. The car was parked in GK II all night.’

  Bastard. The mistress’s body hadn’t even come out of post-mortem and Kumar was spending a night with a friend and a guest, a hot number.

  Then again, people are wired differently. Some get maudlin for weeks, even years while others move on faster than many can imagine. That aside, the conversation didn’t absolve Vinay of the crime. Even though Kumar spoke to a close friend, with whom he had a sleepover arranged, it did not mean Kumar was foolish to own up to killing his mistress.

  ‘Keep the recordings on, Bhīma.’

  ‘Jee Hukum.’

  ‘Get some more equipment ready and buy some heads to lease it out. Distance yourself; it should never be traced back to us. Do it utterly sub rosa, my friend.’

  Bhīma nodded.

  The day at office was usual snafu: appeals to be prepared, client engagements, overlooking files and one court appearance, which Jay conferred with the client and delegated to one of his junior advocates to attend on his behalf without divulging the obvious reason. He wasn’t drunk, but he wasn’t completely sober given the previous night’s long drinking session; to cap it all the hearing was in the same courts as Justice Chowdhary’s office and, heaven forbid if the judge bumped into Jay by accident. The risk was simply too high if he was caught a second time. He knew that the next time it wouldn’t just be an informal reprimand. It would be judicial. Why go near a shark when you have blood on you? Moreover, Jay, since the time he had got to the office, was keen to get back home to look at this moth-er’s belongings. In truth he wondered why he hadn’t done so before he left in the morning. ‘Or her innocence’ in Cooper’s voice had been echoing in his ears, verbatim.

  ***

  Back at home Jay fixed a drink and went into his room. Bhīma had been instructed to leave the trunk that they had carried from Jaipur, in Jay’s bedroom. The trunk was sacrosanct whether or not he found something of consequence in it. This was hi
s mother’s trunk, and he wanted to see everything personally without any intrusion. He sat on his bed and observed the unopened wooden chest for a while as if some genie would rise from it. Nothing moved. Then, collecting enough nerve to unlock it, he looked into it purposelessly; he wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

  The smell of mildew hit him. It seemed like even his mother hadn’t opened the thing for a while. Good, it might contain something she’d forgotten to hide, but then — was there a need for her to cover anything when she had already taken the blame? The brain was needlessly yapping. There wasn’t much in the chest anyway. Her clothes were, obviously, not kept in this. There was her mangalsutra, which, Jay remembered, she wore only on occasions. Some titbits of jewellery — nothing of real value, a non-precious bracelet that simply disgusted Jay — he remembered the same being on her wrists first time when they had returned after seeing Swamijee. He, probably, gave it to her. Out of sheer annoyance he slammed the chest shut and went down to refill his glass; he didn’t want Bahadur to bring him one and see this mess. Once down in the lobby, memory played intermittent scenes from his childhood. Thoroughly defeated, he gulped down some whisky quicker than he should have. He knew he still wanted to go up and scrutinize what was in there, but he wanted to delay it all the same. The chest wasn’t proving any of her innocence. Or her guilt for that matter.

  An hour later when he had cooled down a bit he climbed the stairs.