CHAPTER 1: The First Meeting
"FAMOUS PRODUCER GRUESOMELY MURDERED" The front-page headline was brief but effective. Chief Inspector Ajit Khurana's brow furrowed as he read the article laying out the few known details of the crime.
The victim was a television producer who had been married twice and had four children, two from each woman. His body was found after it had been dragged to a landfill deposit site behind an ATM kiosk near a red light district. He had been brutally strangled, the legs in his bones broken by a blunt instrument. While the article was more interested in speculations regarding what he had been doing in that particular area, it was the broken legs that were causing the Chief the most worry.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Come in, Virat." The chief inspector laid down the paper and surveyed the young man who had walked into his office. A trim beard and mustache did not hide the youthful appearance of sub detective Virat Joshi, the youngest of his batch of recruits.
"I have a special job for you today." Inspector Khurana said. "There is a man arriving today at Indira Gandhi airport. I want you to receive him and bring him back here to meet me."
"Yes, sir." If Virat was disappointed by the task he gave no sign of it. As sub detective, he had resigned himself to such menial errands. But as his eye fell on the newspaper open at the Rohtak case he couldn't stop himself remarking on it. "Do we know anything more about the murderer in the case, sir? I read this victim's legs had been broken, too."
"Never mind that." The chief said dismissively. "We're working on it. You just get yourself to the airport. The man's name is Aditya. You'll need to pick him up at the reception."
“Sir.” Virat saluted and left, and the frown returned to the chief inspector's face as he gazed again at the paper.
* * *
At the airport, Virat stood scanning the crowd coming out of customs. A card reading ADITYA was held to his chest. There was a great rush through the gate, and Virat was afraid he'd miss his man as he scanned the rapidly shifting crowd.
“Are you from the police station?” A bespectacled man had walked up to him carrying a bag and pulling a wheeled suitcase behind him.
“You're Aditya?” Virat asked.
“Aditya Matthews. Hi.” The newcomer smiled as Virat introduced himself and the two shook hands.
They stepped out of the airport, and Virat was able to get a good look at his charge. He was shorter than Virat, coming up to his ear. The casual blue t-shirt he wore did not hide his broad-shouldered physique, and a pair of muscular arms that easily carried the heavy backpack slung at his side. The physique was at odds with the face, with the glasses sitting atop a smiling, good-natured face that had a certain childlike quality to it. He seemed to be around the same age as Virat.
The two made their way to the police car waiting in the reserved lot. Aditya placed his luggage in the back of the car and got in the front seat. Virat secured the bags in the back and got in as well. Aditya had found the newspaper Virat had bought to read up on the Rohtak case. He studied the piece intently while Virat started the engine.
"Another one." He observed as the car swung out of the lot.
"Yeah." It took a moment for Virat to register the remark. "What do you mean, another one?"
"Well, this isn't the first murder where the victim's feet were broken, is it? It's part of a pattern.”
“That's exactly what I thought.” Virat hesitated, wondering how much information his charge could be trusted with. But he could no longer resist the urge to discuss the case. “This one's gaining a lot of attention from the press because the man who was killed was a big shot producer, but this isn't the first victim of the murderer. There are at least eight other cases that we know of.”
“Starting with the murder in the Bandipur factory.” Aditya nodded.
Virat glanced at him. “Yes, we're pretty sure that's where it started. Are you a police officer, too?”
“I'm a psychologist with the Indian Defence Service,” Aditya said.
“Really?” Virat turned again to stare at him in astonishment.
“Why are you so surprised?” Aditya asked with a raised brow.
“Aren't you a little young to be a psychologist?”
“I'm still doing my Ph.D,” Aditya said. “I'm supposed to help the police set up a criminal profiling unit.”
“I see.” Virat nodded. “And you're originally from Delhi?”
“Allahabad.” Aditya leaned back in his seat. “I've been keeping an eye on the Delhi crime scene since finding out I was coming here. The cases of the murder victims with the broken feet caught my attention.” He frowned. “There was something about the methodology that feels familiar. Something at the back of my mind that I've been trying to remember. My guess is it's a serial killer operating from somewhere near Bandipur.
“Why Bandipur?”
“That's where it started. The killer usually works within a specific area. The first murder is often unpremeditated. Murder's a matter of impulse when it comes to serial killers. Once you begin, it becomes harder to resist. My guess is the killer was already in the vicinity of some other business before he committed the murder. Has anyone got a clue about what the man looks like?”
“Whoever he is, he's a big, strong guy and walks with a limp,” Virat said. “It takes a lot of strength to break someone's bones with pure brute force using a blunt instrument.”
“And the limp?”
“Seventh murder. The Dariyaganj case. He didn't get away from the crime scene fast enough. It was dark, and he was too far away to make out clearly, but the grocer who saw him leave the scene swore he was big and had a limp.”
“That gives us a bit to go on,” Aditya said musingly.
“Yeah, but not enough to round up suspects. We don't know his exact measurements, and we don't know whether the limp is temporary or permanent.”
“Did the police get any information from the Bandipur investigation?” Aditya asked.
Virat paused. “No, they didn't find anything.”
“No witnesses at all?” Aditya pressed him. “The first murder's usually the most sloppy. It happened inside the factory, didn't it? No one saw anything?”
“No witnesses were forthcoming,” Virat said. He paused for a moment, then added, “Because there wasn't an investigation.”
“Why not?” Aditya asked in surprise.
“Come on, man. You seem like a smart guy, do you really need me to spell it out?” Virat sighed. “No one conducted an investigation because no one cared. Up until yesterday, the victims were all laborers and sweepers. People who belong to that part of society disappear all the time, and the police rarely bother to even log the crime, let alone investigate it. This murder at the factory got a bit of attention because of the way in which it was committed, but it was really after the fifth or sixth murder with the legs broken that the police decided to have a proper investigation. By then, of course, most of the clues had dried up. But now that the latest victim is a rich guy from the nicer section of the city, suddenly it's front-page news and the police is sending everyone out looking for clues and leads.”
“I see.” Aditya paused. “I'm from the army. We're just trained to do our job, no matter who's involved.”
“Yeah, well, sorry to break it to you, but you'll find the police here a little different,” Virat said drily.
“You don't agree with their methods?” Aditya was watching Virat closely.
“I'm just a sub detective.” Virat shrugged. “My opinion doesn't count.”
“So the police is conducting the investigation from the last case instead of the first?” Aditya asked.
“I don't think they're seeing the serial killer angle in the investigation,” Virat said. “Psychological profiling isn't very popular among the police. The main team in charge of the investigation is still treating it as an isolated incident.”
“Then how about we go to Bandipur and look into it from the other angle?” Aditya asked.
“I'm supposed to get you to the station.” Virat reminded him.
“It'll only be an hour or so extra, and it'll be worth it if we find out something that helps with the case.”
Virat slowed down the car as he stared at Aditya with a frown. Aditya gazed back at him steadily. It would be insubordination. Virat knew that. He could get in trouble if he was away too long. He knew that too. But Aditya was right. No one was investigating the Bhandipur case.
“We'll have to wrap it up in under an hour,” Virat said as he turned the car towards Bandipur.
* * *
Bandipur was a decrepit shantytown situated off the NH10 highway. A profusion of tiny huts with tin roof sheds was packed tightly together in the narrowest of spaces. Virat parked the car next to the highway, and he and Aditya made their way in through the narrow alleys of the town.
“Try not to let on that we're with the police,” Virat muttered as families sitting outside their homes stared at them. “People here aren't very sympathetic to cops.”
“Got it.” Aditya nodded. “Should we ask them where the factory is?”
“There's only one in this area.” Virat pointed into the distance. A few hundred yards away, a hall loomed into view. They made their way down the main street where women sat washing clothes at a handpump while children played marbles in a corner. A few more curious looks were directed at them, but they were mostly ignored.
They reached the factory and entered through the front door, stepping over a pile of lumber gathered in front of the door. The factory had an air of desolation within it, the peeling paint on its walls. The door at the other side was swinging wide open on its hinges and several machines had been removed from the center of the floor, leaving large gaps on the ground. Yet there were signs of recent activity in the form of a pile of half-burnt wood and ashes and an ancient stack of playing cards lying on a small wooden table next to it.
“Looks like the workers still use it as a recreation room,” Virat remarked.
“Hey, what are you doing over there?” A rough voice called out from the doorway at the other end of the factory.
They turned to see four men coming towards them. The man leading the pack had a red scarf around his neck and carried a heavy cane. He seemed to be the leader of the group. Another man with a bald head carried a shovel over his shoulder with pieces of earth still adhering to it.
“Who are you?” The man with the cane demanded, marching over to stand in front of Aditya and Virat. “Don't you know this building has been shut down? No trespassers are allowed here.”
“Doesn't look like it.” Aditya gestured towards the pack of cards. “Is there someone we can talk to about the men who used to work here?”
“No, there isn't.” The scowl on the man's face deepened. “Now clear off, both of you.”
Virat found himself wishing he hadn't left his gun in the car as he mentally sized up the four men. They weren't particularly huge, but they did outnumber him and Aditya. And sounds of a fight breaking out might attract the attention of other residents to the area.
“We're looking for someone who used to visit this factory.” Aditya persisted. “Maybe a worker. A big man who walks with a limp.”
“That's the guy who-” The youngest of the lot blurted out before he was silenced by a single furious look from the man with the scarf.
“No one like that ever worked here. Now, for the last time, clear off!”
“We're just looking to talk to the man.” Aditya stepped forward now, keeping his eyes on the youngest, who looked no more than a teenager. “We'll be willing to pay you for any information about him. That's all we're looking for, some information.” The man with the scarf clearly did not appreciate being ignored.
“I'm going to give you one last chance to walk out of here on your own.” He growled, the hand holding the cane rising threateningly.
“No. But thanks for the offer.” Aditya said politely. He took off his glasses and placed them on the table next to the cards before turning back to the four men. “We're going to need to talk to the kid alone, so I'd appreciate it if you'd all clear out.”
Their leader swore and stepped forward with his cane. “You're giving us orders? I'll throw you out myself!” Aditya's hand shot out and grabbed the cane, twisting it around its owner's neck before ripping it out of his hand and flinging it to the side. He grabbed the man by his collar and kicked him behind his kneecap before shoving him into the wall. The other two men shouted and ran forwards as well, the bald man brandishing his shovel.
But suddenly Aditya was moving as well. His feet wove with practiced ease around the two attackers as his knee came up to smash one of them in the stomach. The man fell to the ground, grimacing. The other raised his shovel, only for it to be caught in Aditya's grip. Three quick, punishing left hooks and the shovel was out of his hands, sailing through the air. One final kick and the man fell in a heap, wheezing. It was over before Virat, paralyzed by astonishment, could stir himself to help.
The fourth member, the teenage boy looked terrified and ready to flee. But Aditya held up a reassuring hand. “Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you. I didn't want to hurt them, either, but they kept sticking their oar in when we're in a hurry. What's your name?”
“N...Nandu.”
“Are you hungry, Nandu?” Aditya grinned at him, a disarmingly friendly, childlike grin. “I just came from the airport, and I'm starving. Do you know where we can get some chaat or something here?” He walked over to the table and reached for his glasses while the men groaned around them and tried to pick themselves up. “And then we have a few questions.”
* * *
“You want some more pepper?”
“No, this is great, bhaiyaji.”
Aditya, Virat, and Nandu stood at a chaat stand a block away from the factory. Aditya was watching Nandu as he eagerly tore into the vada pav and wondered when he had eaten last.
Aditya looked at Virat. Ever since coming out of the factory, he had been staring at Aditya, and he decided to help him out.
“Krav maga.” Aditya supplied. “What I did in the factory. It was a fighting style developed by Israeli forces during wartime. It's pretty efficient.”
“So krav maga was one of the courses you learned at psychology school?” Virat asked.
Aditya grinned at him. He took the chaat the owner offered him and dug in, trying not to think of the grubby hands of the server.
They were in a crowded part of the town now. Perhaps the man with the cane was looking for them right now. Perhaps he was busy arranging backup. Either way, they needed to get the information they needed and be on their way soon. Meanwhile, a curious knot of children ranging from seven to twelve years was watching them curiously from a distance.
“Your friends?” Aditya asked Nandu. “Ask them if they'd like some chaat, too.”
Nandu beckoned to the children imperiously, and they came forward, first cautiously, then eagerly when Nandu held up his cup. Soon, all the children were munching on chaat in a circle around Aditya and Virat.
“So, why was that guy trying to throw us out?” Aditya asked Nandu.
“He works for Moosa Bhai.” Nandu said. The food seemed to have removed the last of his reserves, and he grinned freely at Aditya. “This area belongs to Bhai, and he doesn't like the police getting too involved. A constable came asking questions after the murder that happened at the factory a month ago. But once he talked to Bhai on the phone, he cleared off pretty quick.”
Aditya looked at Virat. “Moosa?”
“Local thug. Smuggles liquor this side of the bridge.” Virat said. He addressed Nandu. “What do you know about the night of the murder?”
“It was over cards.” The twelve-year supplied eagerly, a scrawny child with startlingly bright green eyes. “After the factory closed down, the men used to play cards there. That night Moosa Bhai had given some bottles of rum as a gift to one of the workers who'd carried his stash for him from his village. Everyone had been drinking. Tunga was arguing with the man, who was a laborer over at the express building.”
“Do you know the name of the man?” Virat asked him.
“His name was Soura.” Another child piped up, his high-pitched voice cracking slightly. “I know 'cause my father had worked with him on the construction site before. He didn't come here again after that night.”
“What building did you say he was working on?” Virat asked.
The child pointed to a tall building in the distance still under construction.
* * *
The company that owned the rights to the building pointed out by the child was located eight kilometers away. Virat had to decide whether to report at the police station with the information they had, or continue with the investigation on their own. His final decision to choose the latter option was more a result of adrenaline than common sense. It would have felt like admitting defeat to hand over their findings to another team at this point.
“This is the last stop,” Virat said to Adity as they made their way up a multistory building. The offices of the company they were looking for were on the third floor. “We find out what we can from the company head, and then we get to the station with our findings.”
“Sure.” Aditya assented. “We'll just ask a few questions, see what we find and then we'll leave.”
They entered the office with the plaque reading Redwall Builders over the main door. The man at the front desk looked bored as he asked their names, but perked up considerably upon finding out that they were with the police. He ushered them to a set of cushioned chairs and went to get the manager of the company. A few minutes later he returned and led them inside the glass doors. The main office was situated at the end of a small hall lined with various rooms to the side. They entered the manger's room, and a portly man with a thick mustache and slightly bloodshot eyes rose to greet them.
“Good afternoon, officers.” The man said, extending a pudgy hand towards the two. “I'm Sharon Lall. How may I assist you?”
“Thank you for meeting with us, Mr. Lall,” Aditya said as all three sat down. “We know yours is a large company and you provide a variety of services in the construction business. We'd like to know if you maintain some kind of records of the laborers your company hires.”
“Well, yes,” Lall admitted cautiously. “The laborers are mostly illiterate workers who find it difficult to understand computer-related tasks, so there are no digital records. But we maintain physical records of our resources in ledgers in our storeroom. What is this question regarding?”
“There was a murder that was in the news this morning,” Virat said. “We think one of your former employees might be involved.”
Lall's eyes instantly became wary. “I think that is highly unlikely.” He said. “Our company does not deal with criminals, nor is it responsible for the conduct of our former employees.”
“I didn't say you were,” Virat said quickly. “We'd just like some information about-”
“I'm afraid I can't help you,” Lall said, getting to his feet. “Our records are confidential. They are strictly for company use, and we prefer not to get involved in any police activities. Now I'm afraid I have some other work to attend to. I'm sorry, I can't assist you further.” He raised a hand and pointed to the door. The two had no choice but to get up as well.
“You're obstructing a police investigation,” Virat said abruptly. “We're following the lead in an important case and we need to look through your records.”
“In that case, I want to see a warrant,” Lall said. His expression had turned cold now.
Virat paused, wondering if he should try to bluff it out. “We don't have one.” He finally admitted.
“Then you can leave now,” Lall said forcefully, his voice rising. “And in the future, think twice before trying to intimidate honest businessmen with your threats. I ought to register a complaint against you!”
The two beat a retreat, with the uncomfortable thought that they had been undeniably worsted.
“I shouldn't have told him what it was for.” Virat cursed himself. “He got scared of having his company name dragged in the middle of an investigation. This place is a dead end now. We should get back to commissioner Khurana and tell him about the man called Soura.”
“You see a dead end, I see a chance to get creative,” Aditya said. “Get to the car, and stay ready in case we have to make a run for it.” He handed his glasses to Virat. Before he could say anything, Aditya had turned to the side and disappeared behind a stack of boxed supplies.
Employees milled around Aditya as he made his way through the room to the urinal at the end of the hall. His eyes scanned the rooms along the way. A few curious looks were directed at him. In the distance, he spied a room labeled records and supplies. He changed direction and made his way to the room. He turned the handle and it opened.
He entered the room and quickly closed it behind him. Some of the workers had seen him and might be coming to check on him soon. He had to work quickly. The room was dust-filled and had an air of disuse to it. Boxes of supplies were piled up to the ceiling around him. To the side was a stack of steel shelves lined with ledgers. Aditya walked over to the shelves and began to read the labels. They had the names of buildings the company supplied business to. He spied the name of the building in Bandipur and pulled out the ledger. Flipping through the pages, he got to the section where the names of the laborers were listed next to a column with their phone numbers. He traced a finger down the list, until the name he was searching for appeared. Soura Khond, Kandhamal, Odisha.
As soon as he read the entry, the question that had been niggling at the back of Aditya's mind ever since he had first heard about the murders was answered. He knew he had found the killer. There was no picture, but there was an address next to Soura's name. Aditya took out his mobile and took of a picture of the page along with his phone number.
He could hear footsteps outside the door of the room he was in. There was no place to hide. There was, however, a half-opened ventilation window at the top of the other end of the room. Aditya took a few steps back and ran to the wall. One leg connected with the wall for a split second, bouncing off it and powering his body up as his left arm rose above him. He grabbed the ledge in front of the window and hoisted himself up, slipping out of the room just as the door of the room opened.
Aditya steadied himself against the ledge on the outside of the room. He spotted a water pipe next to the window. He grabbed the pipe and climbed down, marveling at the close call. A few more seconds delay and he would have been caught red-
“What are you doing here?” Aditya froze, then slowly turned. An elderly man was staring at him in amazement.
“Oh... hi.” Aditya paused, disconcerted at the sudden appearance.
“What are you doing?” The man repeated. “Where on earth did you come from?”
“I was coming from the Redwall builder's offices,” Adity said. “I was... checking something...” His voice trailed away feebly.
“Are you a thief?” The man demanded, seizing Aditya's hand. “Were you stealing something from one of the offices?”
“Of course not,” Aditya said, trying to politely get his arm out of the man's grip. “I was meeting Mr. Lall on the third floor on a private business. You can ask him about me.”
“I'm going to.” The man said grimly, steering Aditya towards the building's entrance. “And you're coming with me, too.”
“Sure. All right.” Aditya fell into step beside the man. “Let me just-” He took advantage of a temporary relaxing of the man's grip to yank his hand out of reach and break into a run towards the high wall separating the building from the street outside.
Aditya ran at full speed and rapidly climbed up the wall. He spied Virat on the other side of the road waiting in the car. “We need to go.” He shouted, and Virat looked up at him in amazement.
Virat started the engine, even as the shouts increased inside the compound. Aditya jumped down from the high wall and rolled to the ground, bounding up at once and crossing the street at a run. Cars honked at him and a truck came to a screeching halt inches away. Two guards shot out of the gate and came running towards him. But Aditya had gotten to the car. Without stopping to open the door, he jumped in through the window. “GO! GO! GO!”
“What the hell did you do?” Virat roared even as they peeled out of the driveway, the guards yelling after them.
“Had to break into the storeroom.” Aditya panted.
“Oh, man, I am so screwed,” Virat muttered, gripping the steering wheel tightly as they sped through the traffic. “Lall's going to tell Khurana, and then I'm off the force.”
“Not if you hand him the Rohtak killer,” Aditya said.
Virat's ears pricked up. “You mean you found something?”
“I found him,” Aditya said. He opened the image of the document and enlarged the print. “Listen to this. Soura Khond. A laborer from Kandhamal in Odisha. Lives in Bhoorigully, Marwa.”
“So we have his name and address,” Virat said. “But how do we know for sure it's him?”
“You don't know who the Khonds are, do you?” Aditya said. “We studied them when we were having a class on ritualistic murders in ancient India. Listen to this,” He had opened the internet on his mobile and was browsing the web until he found the page. “The Khonds, an aboriginal hill tribe, have a supply of victims who are bought as children or have volunteered. They are slain while bound to a cross, but at one stage they are given a stupefying drug and their legs are broken.” He looked at Virat. “You see? The killer's a laborer originally from Odisha whose method of murder is based on the ancient traditions of his people.”
“So what do we do now?” Virat asked.
“We know his address. So we have our next stop. Just pray he hasn't moved since.”
“Did you kill someone inside that building?” Virat asked as he saw the last of the guards disappear in the rearview mirror. “And where did you learn to jump? I've never seen a human move like that who wasn't training to be a ninja.”
Aditya chuckled. “Well, this old guy saw me coming down the water pipe from the third floor. I had to ditch him and climb over the wall.” Aditya's chuckling turned to laughter as he recounted the full ludicrousness of the past ten minutes. Virat could not help but join in. Soon the two were roaring with laughter. Virat had to pull the car over to a stop.
“And the ninja thing is called parkour.” Aditya managed to finally gasp out. “I've been learning it since childhood. It's usually done wearing slacks. You know what my biggest worry while scrambling over the wall was? That my jeans don't split open.”
Virat started laughing again but controlled himself with an effort. “Right, this thing isn't over yet.” He said, taking a deep breath as he restarted the car. “Time to get serious. What's the last stop on our little road trip for the day?”
“Marwa.”
* * *
Marwa was a basti that resembled Bhandipur but was slightly more developed. Instead of the patchwork of tin-roofed sheds, there were more solidly built brick houses, sometimes reaching up to the second floor. The roads were better made and busier, with people milling around wooden carts selling everything from plastic toys to vegetables.
They had no difficulty finding Soura's house. Many people knew him, although his reputation seemed far from stellar. Several inquiries later they were introduced to a wizened old woman who, as soon as Virat handed her a hundred rupee note, remembered where Soura lived and agreed to lead them to his hut. Following the woman, they ended up at the heart of the basti where a number of hastily assembled tent-like huts were packed closely together near a garbage disposal site where a pack of dogs was scavenging for food.
“Is Soura in trouble?” The woman inquired as they stopped outside the hut. “What do you want with him?”
“We're with Redwood Builders,” Virat said quickly. “We wanted to see if he was available to work on another building project.”
“He'll be glad to meet you then.” The woman said. “I know he's been searching for work for so long now without getting anything.”
“Can he still work?” Aditya asked. “We heard he'd had an accident.”
“Aye, but that was his own fault.” The woman shook her head. “He was always beating up the dogs around here. Always kicking them and throwing things at them. Then one day one he tried to set fire to the tail of one of the bigger dogs, and the mutt came at him and bit his leg. He was shouting and screaming something awful. I'll let him know you called.”
“Actually, we'll wait in his room for a bit,” Aditya said. “We don't want to have come all the way over here for nothing.”
The woman hesitated. Aditya continued to smile at her reassuringly as he and Virat opened the cardboard door blocking the entrance and entered the tent.
* * *
He moved through the twisting lanes of the basti, wincing as sharp tendrils of pain ran up his leg. Bad enough he had gone for seven days now without work. No one wanted to hire a lame laborer. He was hungry and in pain. The month-old wound on his leg had become infected, and the powder he had got from the hakim to rub on his wound had only aggravated the injury. He had taken his anger out on the man coming out of the ATM. But it turned out he was a famous man, and suddenly the police and the press were looking for him. He would have to be more careful now.
He turned a corner and came into view of the hut in which he lived, and stopped. Two men were standing outside his tent, talking to the old washerwoman who lived nearby. He crouched down behind an idling truck and watched them. Were they cops? Reporters? Had they somehow found out about him? His sense of panic rose as he saw them enter his tent. He turned and limped away, trying to put as much distance between himself and the men as he could.
* * *
“I don't know if we fooled the woman, but we need to be quick,” Virat said. They were inside Soura's hut, rooting through his belongings in search of clues. There was very little of value in the single room, with a moldy blanket and pillow in a corner and a tiny stove next to it. “What kind of evidence are we looking for?”
“There are certain signs serial killers exhibit from a young age,” Aditya said as he combed through a small pile of grimy documents near the bed. “But the signs are mostly psychological. Physical evidence usually takes the form of prolonged bedwetting, cruelty to animals, and a fascination with burning things. I'm guessing in Soura's case, the first instance of murder was an accident. An argument that turned into a fight. But then he developed a taste for it, treating the killings as ritual sacrifices in the tradition of his people. Every serial killer experiences a period of depression after a murder that lasts until they kill again. In this case, the periods are getting shorter and shorter, which means the next murder could be in the next few days unless we find him.”
Virat had found a ration card kept inside a small plastic bag. The old black and white picture in the card showed a man with a large flat nose and thick, bushy eyebrows staring sullenly at the camera.
“This looks recent enough to be useful,” Virat said, passing the card to Aditya.
“Excellent,” Aditya said, examining the photo closely. “This should be enough to go on at the moment. We need to get in touch with the team in charge of the Rohtak murder.”
“How about one of us goes to the station and the other one stays back to keep an eye out for Soura's return?” Virat suggested. “Make sure he doesn't slip away.”
Aditya agreed. The two emerged from the tent and saw the old woman hovering around the entrance curiously.
“We'll be back to see Soura,” Aditya said with an ingratiating smile. “Could you give us a call if you see him?”
“He was here just now.” The woman said.
“What do you mean?” Virat said sharply.
“He came, he saw you two, and he went away.” The woman pointed up the road they had come down. “Does he owe you money or something?” Without answering, the two raced up the road. They found themselves at an intersection whose each road was blocked by a seething mass of people.
“We'll never find him at this rate,” Virat said, whirling on the spot as he scanned the crowd. “This whole place is like a maze.”
“Keep your phone out and wait for my call,” Aditya said, taking off his glasses and placing them in his pocket. He began to move towards a wall of a nearby house with slow, measured steps.
“Where are you going?” Virat shouted after him.
“We need a higher vantage point,” Aditya called back. Suddenly he broke into a run, and bounded up the side of the wall, catching onto the top and hoisting himself up.
Virat kept one eye on the crowd while he followed Aditya's progress as he leaped expertly from one roof to another, steadily gaining higher ground as the curving streets of the basti unfolded beneath him like a map.
Finally, he reached the roof of the highest building and stopped. He took out his mobile and dialed Virat's number.
“Hey!” An angry voice came from behind Aditya. “What are you doing on my roof?”
“Just a minute, uncleji,” Aditya said without turning around. “Virat? I need you to call Soura's number. Keep him talking as long as possible.”
“Get off my house or I'll call the police!”
“You might have to do that anyway.” Aditya placed the mobile in his pocket and began to scan the crowd. He was here somewhere...
“Papa, who is that man?” The residents of the house and interested neighbors had begun to gather around the spluttering owner of the house.
“What's he looking at?” Another voice inquired.
“Did he come in through the verandah?” A child's voice chimed in.
“Throw him off the roof.” A fourth voice advised censoriously.
Aditya ignored the crowd and continued scanning the streets. An elderly man carrying groceries. A skeletal man hauling a bag of rice on his back. A portly man dragging his cycle alongside him. A huge, hulking man limping along the road, before he stopped to open his mobile.
Aditya narrowed in on the man. Large flat nose. Bushy eyebrows. It was Soura. He was examining the number on the mobile screen before turning it off. He took a few steps forward before his mobile started ringing again. This time he stared hard at the number. As he looked up from his mobile, his eyes met Aditya's, standing motionless on top of the roof. For a moment the two stared at each other. Then the man turned and broke into a loping run, moving away as fast as his lame leg would allow him.
Aditya was already dialing Virat's number.
“He's on the intersection to your left, moving towards the east.”
Aditya turned to the crowd that had gathered behind him and raised his hands. “Thank you for your cooperation. And now I will honor your wish and leave. Oh, and call the police.” With that, he took a running jump and bounded off. There were gasps and screams as he landed on the neighbour's roof ten feet away.
* * *
Virat ran down the road Aditya had directed him towards. The crowd around him seemed to have become thicker. He turned a corner and saw a huge man in the distance moving rapidly away.
“Move! Move!” He shouted to the people in his path as he raced after the man. He was in a common food market. Hawkers stood next to their stands, haggling with buyers and proclaiming their wares to the public. He navigated the crowd with difficulty amidst complaints and threats from the people he pushed aside. Finally he was able to find a clear path and raced again towards his target.
The killer's leg seemed to be giving him trouble. His speed was decreasing with each step until he staggered to a stop, panting as he clutched his leg, teeth gritted in pain. He turned to see Virat coming towards him, and his expression changed. A dangerous light glinted in his eyes as he suddenly reversed direction.
Virat did not have time to draw his gun when Soura suddenly launched himself at him. He was a huge man and fought with the feral desperation of a cornered animal. Virat's hands found his gun, but it was knocked aside. Two huge hands closed around his neck and began to strangle him. People standing by looked on with fascinated horror, yet no one moved to interfere.
Suddenly Virat felt the grip around his neck loosen. Soura was pulled off him and thrown aside. In his place stood Aditya. “Are you all right?”
Virat nodded, unable to speak as he coughed violently. He gestured urgently towards Soura. The killer had gotten to his feet, and now Aditya turned to face him. Again Soura threw himself forward, the pain in his leg seeming to feed his fury.
Aditya took two steps forwards and stepped sharply to the side, catching Soura's outstretched hand and throwing him off balance. He smashed his face into the killer's jaw. Soura grunted in pain as one of his hands was twisted behind his head at a painful angle. A knee smashed into his gut. Once. Twice. Three times. The knee rose one more time but stopped midway. Aditya lowered his leg and loosened his grip on Soura's wrist. The killer collapsed to the ground and lay there in a crumpled heap, panting and whimpering in pain.
Virat had gotten to his feet and retrieved his gun. He joined Aditya in front of the huddled figure lying on the ground.
“Now we can go to the police station,” Aditya said, and Virat nodded as the two gazed down at their captured prey.
* * *
“Who exactly gave you permission to undertake this investigation?” Cheif inspector Khurana asked grimly.
Virat looked suitably abashed as he stood at attention in the chief inspector's office. They had brought Soura to the station less than an hour ago. Once the preliminary report had been filed, they had been directed straight to Inspector Khurana's office.
“I convinced him to do it, sir.” Aditya stepped forward. “It was my idea to go to Bandipur. I felt we had a perspective on the case that the team in charge of the investigation lacked.”
“Then you should have called the station,” Khurana said, his expression not relaxing in the slightest as he turned to Aditya. “You should have communicated your opinion of the case to me so I could direct the intelligence to the appropriate authorities.”
“I didn't feel we had time, sir,” Virat spoke up, his gaze steady as he faced the chief officer. “It's not Aditya's fault. I made the decision on my own. I'm sorry I went against your orders, but I didn't feel we had time to spare.”
The chief looked at the two for a long moment. “In the present case, seeing as this is Aditya's first time, and you two did catch the man, just this once I'm willing to overlook your insubordination. But this will be the last time you take matters into your own hands. We're police officers, not vigilantes.”
“Yes, sir,” Virat said at once, feeling relieved.
“Now I'd like a word in private with Officer Matthews.” The chief nodded towards the door. Virat saluted in silence and left the room.
The chief settled in his seat and stared at Aditya appraisingly.
“You're very young.” He said at last.
Aditya could think of nothing to say to that.
“And you don't seem to have any regard for the proper protocol.” Inspector Khurana continued. “Am I to understand this is how you will conduct yourself at this station in the future as well?”
“My orders are to keep a low profile,” Aditya said evenly. “I'll follow orders as far as possible, sir. I have no desire to flout your authority. But I'm sure you understand my mission entails conducting some personal investigations as well from time to time.”
“How many people know why you're really here?”
“Only Mr. Singhania,” Aditya said. “He was worried that people within the police force might have been compromised and advised me to keep the matter quiet for the time being. As the case becomes clearer, I'll share my findings with the rest of the force.” The police chief did not seem pleased with the answer. He continued to study Aditya in silence.
“I will have to trust you know what you're doing since your case is technically outside my jurisdiction.” Inspector Khurana leaned back in his chair. “Do you have a place to stay?”
“I'll sort that out soon. Inspector Virat very kindly offered to help me arrange my living quarters. I can start work at the station in a few days.”
“Very well, then.” The chief inspector studied the table for a moment before looking up at Aditya. “All I can say for the time being is, welcome to the station, and I hope you are met with success in your mission.”
“Thank you, sir.”
* * *
"This is a pretty nice place," Aditya remarked as he dragged in his suitcase behind him. "Thanks for letting me stay here. It'll be easier to keep my stuff with you till I find a place of my own."
Virat had taken Aditya to his apartment in Hakikat Nagar. It contained two small rooms and a tiny kitchen that doubled as a living room.
"No problem," Virat said. "You can use the extra room while you look for an apartment. I'll take you to some places tomorrow where you can rent rooms cheap. Besides, it helps to have a roommate who knows what to do if there's a serial killer looking to strangle you."
Aditya laughed. “I get that all the time.” He took off his shirt and went into the bathroom to rinse his arms and face.
“You must be pretty tired. First day in Delhi and you're welcomed by a serial killer.” Virat commented.
"Nothing that a little sleep won't take care of." Aditya said as he came out of the bathroom. His broad shoulders and muscular chest and arms were at odds with the childlike face and scholarly air the glasses lent him. All-day long Virat had been baffled by his strange new friend, and he could not contain himself any longer.
"So, you mind telling me who you really are?" He asked bluntly as Aditya searched in his bag for a new shirt. "The chief inspector said you're a criminal psychologist. But you're clearly more than that. I've never seen anyone fight the way you did, and I was trained by the police. And then you suddenly turn into a ninja and start jumping off of buildings.”
Aditya had put on a green T shirt and was gazing thoughtfully at Virat. It was difficult to believe him to be anything other than a young student at the moment. His muscular physique was suddenly not as noticeable. All that Virat was conscious of were the dark, piercing eyes sizing him up, seemingly able to look into his very soul.
Aditya had delibrated over how much to tell Virat, and had finally decided to trust him with the truth. The police force might have been compromised, but Aditya knew he would need allies. Virat had proved today that he was willing to put his life and career on the line to do his duty.
"I was recruited by the research and analysis wing of the indian defence service." Aditya said at last, settling down on a beanbag chair lying near the table.
“You're with RAW?” Virat stared at him in surprise. “What do they want with the Delhi police?”
“Did you hear about the police car that blew up on it's way to the high court last month?” Aditya asked.
“Sure.” Virat nodded. “They were carrying a drug smuggler to court when the van exploded. Faulty gas tank.”
"What if I told you it wasn't an accident?" Aditya's tone had changed. The hint of playfulness was gone as his smile disappeared. Suddenly Virat was conscious of a powerful mind, far more dangerous than all the physical feats of strength he had seen that day.
"There is a man in this city," Aditya said, leaning back in his chair. "A man who makes things happen. Accidents occur. People disappear. Money finds its way into the pockets of criminal defense lawyers. Mob bosses have access to classified information. A chain of command connects the most powerful criminals and the most inexplicable crimes in this city."
"And at the end of it all, there is the man. That same man whom we can never find. Whose name we don't know. Or his address. Or his face. The only clue to his presence is his work. The work is evident throughout the city and beyond. This man is known only by the designation assigned to him. X. He is the one I'm after. We may have wrapped up the incident at Bhandipur, but this is where my real investigation begins."
A silence followed Aditya's pronouncement as he rose from his chair. He strolled over to the window and stood gazing out of it.
"Ours," Virat spoke up. "I'm in this, too. We'll catch him together."
"Then it shouldn't take too long," Aditya said lightly, the smile back on his face as he glanced back at Virat. But his expression turned grave again as he turned to gaze out at the city, and absent-mindedly drew an X on the windowpane.
