Mousebite

by Ganesh Chaudhari

  ***

  Hormaz was exhausted. After being mum for months, Abu had spoken like there was no tomorrow. He had been listening to Abu’s account & asking pertinent questions for over 4 hours. He had waited for Abu to say that he would continue tomorrow. His back was aching like hell. But the information given up by Abu was a painkiller. Of course, it would have to be verified but if there was any truth in Abu’s claims, time was of essence. He continued walking to his office. It was a single flat in the Gandhi Bhavan near Cannught Palace. He took the stairs as pain jolted his spine on every step. The door to his office was open. He had asked his secretary to be available till night. It was only 6 p.m. now & Hormaz wanted to run over the 4 hour video of Abu’s session at least twice before the morning. He went straight to the walking machine near the window as his secretary hurried to him. The walker had a slightly broad hand rest & an all-in-one computer on it. It was a specially designed workstation for Hormaz. The all in one meant that there was no CPU, which went well with the limited desk space on the walker.

  “Good evening Sir. Can I get you some tea?” Hormaz’a secretary, a young man in his twenties asked.

  “Tea is all I want Bholey, nothing else.” The secretary left immediately after switching of all the main lights. Hormaz was going to be working through the night. Only a low light was glowing in the otherwise dark room. Hormaz climbed onto the walker & turned on the computer. Logging onto the NIA network, he opened the folder containing the videos of Abu on the server. He put on his headphones, stretched his back. He shifted his weight on each leg once before standing lightly as if preparing for a long run. He then hit the play button on the video player & focused on the screen.

  ***

  “I don’t want to discuss it. It is just a typical Mumbai khunnas between an old criminal & a young cop. Nothing serious.” Anees spoke in his usual mild tone to describe a run in with Jagtap. Kumar had reached Anees’s office half an hour after meeting Jagtap. It was so urgent for him that he had not bothered with an appointment or a disguise.

  He had ordered on a full digital sweep on Jagtap immediately. It meant a sweep on all the digital gadgets & services used by Jagtap & the people around him. As the NIA was being modeled on the Homeland Security in America, the snooping procedures were kept similar. Unlike the US though, the NIA was not immediately answerable to anyone for getting the proper permissions to put an individual under such surveillance yet. But this was important & hell, the guy in question was a government employee. Such preemptive action could always be disguised as “system testing” if it ever came to be investigated. Kumar had also seen the earpiece in Jagtap’s ear. It was hidden well but Kumar was close enough to see.

  A Mumbai cop, meeting an NIA “asset” with snooping equipment was bad news. It would show Kumar in a bad light if that rat of a Mumbai cop pulled something of value from his asset. The report of the sweep had been clear. There was nothing of value on Jagtap’s email(official & personal), nothing special in his cell phone messages. But the brat had taken out his memory card a few minutes before meeting Kumar. There had to be something to it. Because the phone had been powered down, getting a record of non cellular transfers was going to take some time. Kumar had asked his digital sweeping team to sweep Jagtap every 3 hours till further orders. The NIA rarely did this even for the most likely suspects, but when it came to a cocky officer with the Mumbai Police, such severity was a necessity for Kumar. He had then rushed to the Wheely to see Anees. He had told Anees that if Jagtap was bothering him, all he had to do so was tell him. But Anees had been cool about it.

  “I can assure you that he won’t bother you again.” Kumar understood that Anees was not going to change his mind soon. He was beginning to suspect that it was really Anees who had called Jagtap. He could not help notice the new looking Samsung Galaxy Note 2 in Anees’s hand. It was different from the old Blackberry phone that he used.

  “Thank you.” Anees smiled.

  ***

  The problem with being a cop is that you have to think like a criminal to be a good one. What would a criminal do when he gets his hands on what could potentially be evidence of a crime committed by someone else? Well, a criminal will realize that he does not have the resources or the authority to analyze it. But for his criminal mind that feeds on breaking the laws, he would do the smart thing. He would find a free lancer to do the analyzing. I am ok with computers & internet but to crack Achhu’s clue well in time, I need an expert. Obviously, I can’t use the help or apparatus at the department because this is unofficial. And the NIA can find out. I am sure by now cell phones & office phones of all the persons whom I know would have been put on monitoring by Kumar. He may lose interest in me in a day or two, but as of now, he would be hot on my trails. As Ulhas is driving me to office, I decide. I ask him to drop me off near the railway station. I take a fast local to Colaba. I call Kshipra’s office number from the Colaba station. She answers.

  “Hello Kshipra, so we are meeting for a ragada patties, right?” I don’t let her speak.

  “Are we?” There is a pause indicating a surprise.”Oh, of course we are!” Sharp girl! She remembers the code word that we used in our college days when things were fucked up.

  “Right, I am waiting at the railway station. If you come down now, you could go back in an hour.” I make my play.

  “Sure, I am on my way.” She terminates the call. I wait at the station. Just watching the local trains come and leave is engaging. Almost the identical number of people getting in & getting out. As if every train is orchestrated. The disciplined movement of people who are close to the doors of the coach to part ever so slightly for people who want to get in & who want to get out. Class & gender separation amongst the coaches. People with luggage standing right where the luggage compartment would stop on the platform. Disabled people too following the same trick to be right next to their assigned compartment. Everything running smoothly in a self disciplined manner even when there is a rush.

  Kshipra is at the station soon. She is wearing a blue kurta that is contrasting with her white salwar. She has a handbag in one hand. Her glasses rest on her head. If anybody is watching me,(I don’t think so, at least not yet.) it would never appear to him that she could be from law enforcement. She found me quickly once she entered the station as I was standing next to the frankies stall. We have had lot of eat outs here during the college days. She manages to smile.

  “Hello Jaggu, ragada-patties huh?” She is giggling now.

  “I was hoping that you would remember it.” I am really glad that she did.

  “Remember it? Come on, those in-the-shit memories are too vivid to fade.”

  “Ok. Can you spare 30 minutes?” I ask.

  “I am here. Ain’t I?” She cuts through the formality.

  Then we go for a walk. I thought about taking a local to CST or going to a restaurant but have to go for this. On the move is always better for me. I share the details from the mail with her. While waiting for her, I had found an internet café near the station. I must say internet café owners have become vigilant. The owner, a middle aged man demanded an id. I showed him my police id. Then I managed to get a print out of the mail from him. His laptop had a card reader. I pass on the printout to Kshipra. She reads it attentively.

  “I not very sure, but this looks like a digital will in action.” She says as we walk by the Leopold café, made famous by Gregory David Roberts in Shantaram & the terrorists on November 26th 2008.

  “What is that?” Anything that starts with “digital”, attracts my attention but requires due explaining.

  “With computers everywhere, people who have secrets or assets that can be managed digitally have started doing this. Suppose you have some secrets that are tied to your life or may help others after you are gone. So in the old days, you would keep them in a safe box or with a friend with instructions that they be made public after you are dead.” I think I know where this is going.

  “And you would keep a control mechan
ism. A phone call everyday or a visit at fixed times. If that does not happen, the secrets are to be made public. Achhu has been dead for two days now, so he could have programmed this to happen if he does not do a particular thing online every 48 hours.” She explains. People go by us. It is Mumbai, they are used to seeing people talking to themselves as they walk, so two people talking as they walk is below the attention seeking criterion. We are walking back to the station now.

  “So how do we access what he has to share?”

  “Well, it is clear that I can’t help you with that.” She says in a matter of fact tone.

  “Yes. We cannot use the office computers.”

  “Not only that, this mechanism could be tricky to master. It is better if a specialist does it.” She continues.

  “But it has to be someone from the outside & someone who we can trust.” She preempts my question.

  But I am not the one to back off from a verbal dual. She has to think I am good at this you know.

  “And someone whom I can afford.” See, smart.

  She stops abruptly. We have reached the station again. She smirks.

  “You are still the same kanjoos Jaggu. But you are lucky. This guy that I am referring to works for free.” She reflects on my tightfisted nature from college & offers help.

  “Free? So how can he be trusted?” Logical, right?

  “First, he loves these kinds of challenges. He is an authority on web based access from any digital medium. Computers, tablets, mobile phones even ATM machines. He designs them too. Second, he is a family friend. Third, he is writing a book on the impact of technology on routine life. You will have to let him use this story for his book if he finds it interesting.” That is what I meant. Nothing is for free.

  I have said goodbye to Kshipra. She has given me the contact details of the man who can help me with Achhu’s mails. She called him from a phone at the station & explained that he could assist me. But the guy is going to be available late in the evening. His name is Anirudhha. He is stays near Churchgate so late evening suits me just fine. I am wondering whether to get to the office or go home when my cellphone rings. It is Bhavna.

  “Hi Pandurang, are you busy?” Her voice flows sweetly in my ears.

  “No, tell me.” I hold my breath.

  “You know that Achhu’s body is still at the morgue, right?” She asks.

  “Yes, are they moving it?” I ask, fearing the worst.

  “No, no. I got a call from my father. Achhu’s father is in Mumbai. He is going to come over to claim the body. My father tried you at the office but you were out. So he asked me to pass on the message.” Dr.Desai does not keep a mobile phone.

  “What time is he expected?”

  “6.30 p.m.”

  “I will be there.”

  “Ok, bye.” The call is terminated. I do wish to meet Achhu’s father. It is strange that I feel like I have known Achhu for a while now. It started with his death & I am gathering information about him out of professional responsibility. The need for justice for his family is shared by me in a small way.

  The department had informed the family after I got the number from Anees. I start for the morgue.

  17

  Fathers

  How do you prepare for seeing the father of a young boy who died couple of days ago? What can you possibly say to console him as he collects the frozen, ripped body of his only son? What would be going on in his mind after knowing that his son was murdered? I have been at the morgue for a few minutes when Achhu’s father arrives. He is over fifty, not very tall & of average build. A trimmed moustache lines his sharp face. He is wearing a silk half shirt on his dull orange mundu, the traditional dhoti of Kerala. He is alone. I see him walk deliberately as an attendant ushers him in. I introduce myself briefly but he is not focused. His eyes have webs of red but no tears.

  Then the experience of Dr.Desai shows. When the grief is about to burst, it is best to open the floodgates rather than waiting for the explosion. He puts a hand on the shoulder of Achhu’s father & takes him to the dead body. I follow, unsure whether I should. As Dr.Desai shows him the body, there is a flash of recognition. Achhu’s father lets out a heart rending shriek & falls to his knees near the body. He cups Achhu’s face in his hands & I see rivulets of tears running down his cheeks. Dr.Desai’s hand is firmly on his shoulder like an anchor. I decide to wait outside.

  It is half an hour later that he walks out with Dr.Desai. Dr.Desai nudges him into a chair.

  “Let me get you a van.” He rushes away to get a transport for the dead body.

  “Are you investigating Achhu’s death?” He asks me. His sobbing has stopped & there is a semblance of composure. His English is straight forward just like the question.

  “Yes.” I put all that I have in me to look him in the eye.

  “Who killed him? He never hurt anyone.” He complains.

  “Did he speak to you recently? Did he seem frightened?” I inquire.

  “I spoke to him last week. He didn’t seem disturbed. He had come home less than a month ago. We had such a good time with him & his friend.”

  “What friend?” My police instincts are abuzz.

  “Seemed old to be Achhu’s friend. His name was Sumit Patel. Said he worked right next to Achhu’s office.” Then something strikes him.

  “His work. Is he dead because of where he worked? Is that it? ” Now he is shaking with anger.

  “Tell me. Is he dead because of Anees Vilayati?” He shouts.

  “I don’t know. But I will find out.”

  “If my son is dead because of him, then god help him.” He speaks to himself.

  “Did Achhu have a betting problem? Did you know about it?” I ask as he may leave anytime. He looks at me with widened eyes. I am not sure if that is surprise at Achhu’s betting or at my asking about it.

  “You need not answer if it is uncomfortable.” I clarify.

  “No. I need to answer that.” He speaks resolutely.

  “Achhu had a betting problem. I suppose that was the only problem. He was a bright boy. Particularly bright with computers. I earn just enough to feed the family so when he wanted to go away I let him. That was 7 years back. He went to Kochi first & then came here. He earned enough to support himself in the city. I & his mother never asked how much he earned, where he stayed & he too was reluctant to share it. He was home couple of times a year & shared stories of the big city. We were happy for him. Just when it looked like he was finding his footing here, his betting problem arose. We started getting calls from all sorts of people on the home phone demanding money. Some of them threatened to maim Achhu or even kill him unless the money was paid. They enjoyed telling us how he had lost the money at betting. We suffered.

  Achhu called to say that it was true & that he would sort it out. The calls stopped for a month but then started again. This time they were threatening to come to my place & take away whatever I had. Sensing that things could go out of hand, I decided to come to Mumbai. One of my neighbors knew Anees, so he asked me to meet him because of the kind of people involved. I met him with Achhu. He settled the debt & dealt with the lenders but asked Achhu to work for him. There was no way for Achhu to refuse him & he took the job. I didn’t know Anees’s business back then. But once I came to know of his background, it was too late.” He pauses.

  “Was the betting problem sorted in 2011?” I ask to confirm my khabari’s information about it being a bet on the Cricket World Cup.

  “Yes. Last year.” He confirms.

  “The van is here.” Dr.Desai is back.

  I manage to note down the mobile number of Achhu’s father before he leaves. I promise him that I will do my best to nab the killer. He insists on being kept up to date. I walk back to Dr.Desai’s office. He is in his large chair with his feet up on the table.

  “I hate my job when it comes to this.” He says.

  “I am happy that you were around when he came by.” I crash into another chair by the table.

 
; “So how’s the investigation going? Any breaks?” He asks casually. This could be a trick question. If Bhavna is as close to him as she claims, then she may have told him everything. So I play it straight.

  “Officially, I am off the case. It is an NIA investigation now.”

  “Is it? Then that man could get justice soon enough.”

  “What can I say? Not my case.” I try to keep it short.

  “Tell me Pandurang, are the NIA guys as wound up as the CBI or they are professional & smart?” He asks for it.

  “Well, I am sure you have seen professional & smart assholes before. The man handling the case is one of that kind.” I admit the truth. Dr.Desai laughs loudly. Bhavna walks in at that moment.

  “Hello papa.” She announces herself. She smiles. At me.

  “Hi.” I manage to say. She’s looking gorgeous as usual. She is wearing a sunflower yellow kurti with red colored slacks. Her eyes are sparkling in a happy looking recognition. I am painfully aware of Dr.Desai’s presence.

  “Should we go for tea?” She asks her father after an uneasy silence takes over.

  “No, I have something to finish. You two carry on.” He says. As we walk out the cabin, I realize that Dr.Desai is not drunk. The strong rum vapors are missing from his office.

  ***

  I walk with Bhavna, looking for a decent place to have tea. But she is walking decisively. So I follow her. She takes me to the Kamat Tea house. We take up a table away from the door & close to the fan. The guy at the cash counter smiles at Bhavna.

  “You come here often?” I ask.

  “Many times. Father is a regular here. They even have a backdoor entry for tea at night.” She says. She asks what I would have & orders the special tea for both of us.

  “Did you meet Achhu’s father?” She queries.

  “Yes. It was painful to see him but Dr.Desai helped.”

  “Is this your first solo murder investigation?” This has not occurred to me yet!

  “It is.” I admit.