Putting the bottle down, he sat in front of Surya, who was now whimpering, his chest rising and falling as he tried to regain his breath.
John waited until Surya had calmed down, watching him through the mesh of the burqa veil. Surya’s chin hung on his chest, the top of his shirt damp with spittle and whisky, two streams of mucus running from his nose.
John sat forward, leaning his elbows on his legs, causing Surya to raise his head and look at him.
“Who... who are you? What do you want?” He sniffed. “Do you know who I am? You can’t do this to me.”
John reached up and lifted the veil over his head.
Surya peered at him, not registering at first, but suddenly, his eyebrows rose, his eyes widening in shock.
“You!”
John sat back in the chair and stared at him.
“Bastard! I’ll have you killed!”
“Really?” John curled one side of his mouth in a half smile. “And how do you propose to do that?”
“I’ll hunt you down. My people will hunt you down, you fucking English bastard.”
John nodded calmly.
“What makes you think you are getting out of that chair?”
“Someone will come. I have security downstairs. They will come.” Surya sniffed, cleared his throat, and spat at him, the globule of phlegm landing on the front of John’s burqa. John looked down at it and shook his head, then grabbed the bottle and stood up.
Surya started struggling and kicking at the cable ties holding him to the chair.
John walked around behind him, grabbed his hair, pulled his head back, and started pouring again. As Surya coughed and choked, he hissed, “No one is coming, Surya. No one knows I’m here.”
After a moment, he stopped pouring and moved back to the chair. He placed the now two-thirds empty bottle of Black Label back on the table and sat, waiting for Surya to get his breath back.
“You see, Surya,” he said once Surya’s breathing was back to somewhere near normal. “You hired two men to kill me.” John looked down at his gloved hands, turning them over as if examining them, then looked up at Surya and shrugged. “I can sort of understand that. You were upset.” He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “But what I will not accept is you coming after someone I love.”
Surya shook his head. “That wasn’t my instruction.”
John pointed his finger at Surya. “You paid them. You are responsible.”
“You killed my son.”
John jumped to his feet and leaned over the table, grabbing Surya by the throat.
“Your mother-fucking, shit-bag of a son raped and killed my wife. He and his friends deserved everything they got,” John snarled, squeezing harder and harder. Surya’s face darkened as the blood flow reduced. He struggled to free himself, but filled with rage, John tightened his grip, digging his fingers into the fat flesh of Surya’s neck. He wanted to squeeze the life out of this man, this man who had caused so much harm and destroyed the happiness in John’s life. John squeezed and squeezed until somewhere from the back of his mind a note of reason sprang forth. This wasn’t the plan.
John released his grip and straightened, shaking out his hands and fingers. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, calming himself as Surya panted. John stepped away and paced across the room. He needed to remain calm, not let anger get the better of him. Returning to his chair, he sat down and looked at Surya. The fight seemed to have gone out of him. Silent tears streamed down the side of his face as his lips quivered.
“He was my son...”
“He was an evil spoiled little shit.”
“My son...” Surya trailed off into sobs.
John studied him. He had no sympathy. Men like Patil dealt pain whenever they wanted their own way, but when it came back to them, they couldn’t handle it.
Surya raised his head slowly, “Maadhavi? Did you...?”
John snorted. “I’m not like you. She’s alive and well, but you’ll never see her again.”
Surya started sobbing again
John tilted his head to one side.
“Why are you sad? You raped her, took away her dreams, then kept her under your thumb, imprisoned in this ivory tower of yours.”
“No, no...” Surya shook his head. “She was free.”
“Really? If she didn’t do what you wanted, you would cut off the purse strings, make sure she wouldn’t get any work. Yes or no?”
Surya hung his head.
“Exactly. You are scum.”
Surya raised his head, a look of hope on his face. His words, when they came out, were a little slurred.
“I’ll give you money. How... much do you want?”
“It’s not about the money.”
Surya’s eyes rolled, and he blinked as if having trouble focusing.
“Then... what do you... want?” His chin dropped to his chest, and his eyes closed for a few seconds. He blinked them open again and shook his head, trying to clear the fog.
John watched him, waiting for the mixture he had fed him to take effect.
“Listen to me, Patil.” He lowered his head, so his eyes were on the same level as Surya’s. “Look at me.”
Surya looked up, but his eyes were unfocused.
“I could take your money and walk out of here with your promises to leave me alone.” John moved his head, keeping eye contact with Patil as his head lolled. “Listen to me.” Patil’s eyes closed. John reached forward and slapped him. “Look at me. But what about the others? What about women like Maadhavi? What about the people who would get in the way of your deals? The poor, the people with no power? No.” John shook his head. “The world will be better off without you.”
Surya’s eyes rolled back into his head, and his head fell backward.
John watched him for a moment, then stood and walked closer.
“Patil.” He slapped him on the cheek. “Surya.” No response. He was out cold. John exhaled, closed his eyes, took another deep breath, and exhaled slowly. Almost done. He knelt down, and taking out his pocketknife, began to remove the cable ties.
91
Rajiv paused in the entranceway and gazed around the beautiful space surrounding him. A glistening white marble floor spread out before him and a flower display three times his height took up the center of the lobby, orchids and lilies sending soft fragrance through the air. A chandelier sparkled from the ceiling three floors above. He had been to a few fancy hotels before, mainly for work, once on his wedding anniversary when he had treated Aarthi to dinner, but this was special. Walking to the reception counter, which stretched the length of the wall on the left side, the three staff members avoided eye contact and pretended to be busy, studiously shuffling papers under the counter. Rajiv chose one, a young man in his twenties, and stood in front of him. The young man looked up nervously.
“Can I help you, Sir?”
Rajiv looked down at his name tag. “Shashank.” He gave the young man a big smile. “I need some help.”
Shashank glanced at his colleagues, but realizing he wouldn’t get any help from them, nodded.
“Surya Patil. Where does he go when he is here?”
“Sir...” Shashank shook his head. “Sir, I am not allowed to give that information.”
Rajiv sighed. “Do you see my uniform?”
Shashank gulped. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good.” Rajiv leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I suggest you answer my questions. If you don’t, you will have a lot more to worry about than your boss.” Rajiv smiled again. “Do you understand me?”
Shashank nodded unhappily.
“Good. Now, where does he go?”
Shashank lowered his voice, dropping his head. “The twenty third floor. Suite 2301.”
“He stays there?”
Shashank looked around, making sure his colleagues were out of earshot. He lowered his voice even more, so Rajiv had to lean forward to hear him.
“Maadhavi Rao.”
Rajiv frowned. “
The actress?”
Shashank nodded eagerly, warming to the subject.
“What about her?”
“Sir, she is his mistress. She stays there.”
Rajiv pursed his lips and nodded slowly. He had heard some unusual things in his time, but this was up there with the strangest. He didn’t get much time to watch films, but he knew who she was. He couldn’t understand what a beautiful, successful actress like her was doing with a fat old toad like Patil. He was old enough to be her father.
“Thank you.” Rajiv turned away, still puzzled.
Money and power—it had to be. A thought struck him, and he turned back to Shashank, whose look of relief at the end of the questioning quickly vanished. Rajiv pulled out his phone and scrolled to the photo app. He found the photo of John Hayes and held it up in front of Shashank.
“Have you seen this man?”
“No, Sir.”
“Look properly. His appearance may have been altered.”
Shashank peered at the screen again and shook his head. “No, Sir.”
Rajiv looked toward the other staff. “Call them. We’ll ask them too.”
Shashank’s colleagues came over, but they didn’t recognize John either.
“What has he done, Sir?” Shashank’s colleague, a young lady with a Bengali accent, asked. “He doesn’t look like a bad person.”
“None of your business.” Rajiv scrolled through the photos and pulled up the artist’s sketch of the intruder at Surya Patil’s house. He looked at it doubtfully. Based on the servant’s description, he wasn’t confident they would ever find the right person. Anyway, it was worth asking.
“How about this one?”
The three staff peered at the phone, their brows wrinkled, but all three shook their heads. “Sorry, Sir.”
“He looks like that cricketer,” added the Bengali girl. “The Australian one.”
Rajiv stifled a groan. “Thank you, you’ve—”
A loud crash followed by a scream and men shouting, cut him off. Spinning around, he saw people running outside the entrance. He stuffed his phone into his pocket and ran for the door.
92
Rajiv pushed his way through the silent crowd of armed police and hotel staff until he got to the front. Shit.
Where the windscreen of Surya Patil’s Mercedes used to be was a body, half inside the car, the legs splayed across the crushed hood. The driver sat inside, his face white with shock, his body covered in white powder from the airbags, and blood streaming from what looked like a broken nose.
“Everyone, stand back.” He raised his hands and stepped forward to get a better look at the body. Leaning forward, he angled his head so he could see inside the car.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he cursed. He straightened up and looked around, catching Ankit’s eye, nodding.
Ankit closed his eyes and shook his head. Rajiv looked at the body again, then turned and looked up at the hotel towering above them.
“No one touch the body,” he commanded. “Ankit, come with me. Quickly!”
Rajiv ran back into the lobby, Ankit hot on his heels. Spotting the reception staff by the door, Rajiv grabbed Shashank by the arm.
“Do you have a master key?”
Shashank nodded.
“Come with me.” Rajiv pulled him by the arm to the lifts. He stabbed at the button and waited impatiently for it to arrive.
“Which floor? I’ll take the stairs,” Ankit asked, adjusting his MP-5, so it hung behind him.
“Twenty-Three. The lift will be quicker.”
A chime announced the arrival of one of the lifts, and Rajiv pushed forward, pulling Shashank after them. They rode up in silence, and when the doors opened on the twenty-third floor, Ankit held up his hand, readied his MP- 5, and poked his head out into the corridor. Rajiv waited until he gave the all clear, then followed him out. They walked down the corridor to the suite, then Rajiv, holding his finger to his lips, beckoned Shashank forward and pointed to the lock. Ankit shook his head and held out his hand for the passkey. Shashank handed it over, and Ankit motioned for him to step back out of the way. Passing the keycard to Rajiv, he raised his weapon and stood ready.
Rajiv stood to the side of the door, reached forward, and swiped the passkey in the lock. The lock whirred and clicked, the light turning green, and he pushed down on the handle. Ankit shouldered the door open, his MP-5 held ready, finger curled around the trigger and scanned the room. The door swung behind him, and Rajiv stuck his foot in the gap to prevent it closing. A moment later, Ankit called out, “Clear.”
Rajiv glanced toward Shashank. “Stay outside. No one comes in.”
Shashank nodded, happy not to get more involved.
Rajiv stepped inside the room and allowed the door to close behind him. Ankit stood, his weapon hanging by its sling, staring at the open balcony door, the evening breeze blowing the curtains toward him. He looked back at Rajiv and shrugged.
Rajiv turned his attention to the room.
“Have you touched anything?”
“No.”
“Good. Don’t.” He walked over to the coffee table and noted the whisky glass and the almost empty bottle of Black Label. Beside it, among a faint dusting of white powder, was an empty foil strip of pills. He knelt down and peered at the label.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.” Rajiv looked up. “I can’t read the label and don’t want to touch anything yet.” Standing, he looked around—no sign of foul play. The suite was tidy, no sign of a struggle. He walked over to the balcony and stepped outside. Looking over the edge, he could see the crowd around the Mercedes far below. He turned and stepped back inside.
Ankit was watching him. “I didn’t think he was the type.”
“Type?”
“Suicide.”
Rajiv shrugged and let his eyes scan the room again, looking for something out of place. He walked over to the kitchenette and the bar—an unopened bottle of vodka, a half empty bottle of Botanist, and no other used glasses. Taking out a pen, he lifted the lid of the rubbish bin—empty. He switched his attention to the bedroom. Walking in, he noticed the unused bed, the little brass Ganesha on the bedside table, and a copy of the book Eat, Pray, Love beside it with a bookmark showing it was half read.
He moved to the en suite. It hadn’t been used that day. Below the mirror were a couple of women’s perfume bottles and on a shelf in the shower cubicle, numerous shampoos and conditioners. He stepped into the dressing room, filled with women’s clothing and shoes. There were a few empty hangers and spaces where shoes had been removed. A woman stayed here, which corroborated Shashank’s story, but it looked like she hadn’t been there today. Rajiv walked back out into the living room.
“I’ve seen enough. Let’s go.”
They stepped out into the corridor where Shashank was waiting.
“No one is allowed in this room. No one. Understand me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Stay here until one of my men comes up.”
Rajiv turned to Ankit.
“Let’s deal with the body.”
93
Back downstairs, while Ankit set up a cordon around the Mercedes, Rajiv sent one of the uniformed constables up to guard the suite, made some calls, then went to inspect the body. He stood with his hands on his hips, wondering what would drive someone to throw themselves out of a twenty-three-story window, especially a man who seemed to have it made—one of the most powerful men in the state with untold wealth. It made little sense. Why would he do it?
He felt a presence at his side and turned to see Ankit beside him.
“Why would he do this?”
“Who knows?” Ankit shrugged. “His wife left him, maybe that’s why?” He wrinkled his nose. “You can smell the booze on him. Maybe he just fell over?”
“No. The balcony rail is too high.” Rajiv shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. If he was suicidal, then why go to all the trouble getting security to protect him.�
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Ankit turned to Rajiv.
“I’ve given up trying to understand these people a long time ago. I just do what I’m trained for, ignore their insults, their strange habits, and every couple of months, I get to go home and see my wife and kids.” He turned back to look at the body. “Can’t say I’m sad to see him go, to be honest.” He shrugged. “I’m glad he landed on his own car and not one of mine. Imagine the paperwork.”
One of Ankit’s commandos walked over and murmured something to Ankit.
“Where is he?”
The commando pointed toward a middle-aged man in a suit, hovering at the edge of the cordon.
“Let him through.” Ankit turned back to Rajiv. “The G.M.”
Both men turned and watched the man approach. His eyes darted toward the body, and he grimaced.
“Are you the hotel manager?” Rajiv asked.
“Yes, Anil Kripalani.” He held out his hand, his eyes flicking from the body to Rajiv and back again.
“Detective Inspector Rajiv Sampath.” Rajiv gestured to Ankit. “Captain Ankit Sharma, Special Ranger Group.” He waited for Ankit to shake hands before continuing.
“We’ll have this cleared away soon, but no one is to enter his suite until I say so.”
“Yes, Sir.” The G.M. looked at the body again. “This is terrible. That’s Surya Patil.”
“Yes. Tell me, who is staying in his suite?”
“Ah…” The G.M. cleared his throat. “Miss Maadhavi Rao, the actress.”
“And where is she now?”
“Well, that’s what I tried to tell Sir.” His eyes went to the body again. “Earlier. She left this morning. She went to the airport.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. She went in the hotel car.”
“Do you know where she was going?”
“Yes, she told the driver she was going to Dubai for a few days.”
Rajiv pursed his lips and nodded. “Okay. We’ll be out of your hair as soon as we can. Please, don’t speak to the press until we make an official statement. I’m sure your hotel won’t want publicity of this nature.”
Reprisal Page 21
