Private India: (Private 8)

by James Patterson

The awkward moment passed, then Hari said, “The cooperation of the police is proving useful. We should have a picture of Aditi Chopra come through any second now.”

  Santosh felt his pulse quicken.

  Chapter 98

  “ARE YOU THERE?” she called.

  “Aditi, isn’t it? Aditi, I know it’s you.” She raised her head from the mattress, tried to squint into the gloom at the foot of the bed. Just beyond the reach of her eyesight was a figure who stood in the shadows, watching her.

  “I was an orphan too,” she called into the dark, trying to establish some kind of bond. “She abandoned you, didn’t she, to the orphanage?”

  Nisha had been doing some thinking in the hours since she’d recovered consciousness.

  “Lara Omprakash, the film director. The world saw her as this gorgeous, talented director, glamorous boyfriends like my boss Jack Morgan. But we know the truth about Lara, don’t we, Aditi? We know Lara for what she really was—gutless. A coward. She abandoned you, didn’t she, Aditi? Or have I got it wrong? Perhaps you know something I don’t. Perhaps Lara was simply trying to protect you. Was that what it was? Aditi?”

  In reply, silence.

  Nisha let her head fall back to the mattress in frustration. Then tried again. “Aditi, please, talk to me. I can help you. I know how you feel because I was an orphan too. I went to the Bombay City Orphanage. You were there, weren’t you? Elina, she was a bitch, right? Corrupt, right? You know, a lot of the grievances you have, a lot of people are going to look upon those as being perfectly justified. You’ve been treated badly, Aditi. But one thing I need to know. You’ve got to tell me, Aditi. Why me? What did I do to hurt you, Aditi, and how can I put it right?”

  There was no response. There was just a titter in the darkness and then the figure moved away.

  Chapter 99

  THE JOURNALIST AND the doctor had been talking. They were talking—but about what? What did the journalist want from the doctor?

  Or what did the doctor wants from the journalist?

  She had a story for her, perhaps. Something she had come to Mumbai to expose.

  But what? Santosh paced his office, eyes going to the remaining three names on the magnet board.

  Singer.

  Doctor.

  Journalist.

  The doctor was from Thailand. The singer spent time in Thailand. The doctor traveled from Thailand to Mumbai. The killer was a woman—a woman who wore men’s shoes, who looked like a man on the CCTV. Who clearly had the strength of a man …

  Or were there two killers? Was that it?

  A woman? Or a man?

  And then it hit him. The mistake he had made—a question he had failed to ask.

  He snatched up the lid of his laptop, retrieved a number, jabbed it into the phone, dialing incorrectly in his haste, hissing with frustration, having to dial again. He thought he knew the answers to his questions. He had to ask them anyway.

  “Dr. Uwwano, please?”

  Please let her be there. He glanced at his watch, realizing that he had no idea of the time, and it was morning, and Bangkok was an hour and a half ahead, so she should be at work.

  “Mr. Wagh,” she said, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  She sounded guarded. He knew he’d have to proceed carefully. “It’s … well, it’s a bit embarrassing, I’m afraid. Call myself a detective, but when we spoke the other day, there was something rather important I wasn’t quite sure of. You were telling me about the type of reconstructive work that Dr. Jaiyen was responsible for. Cosmetic surgery in the aftermath of a car crash, for example, and I’m afraid something you said hit a nerve and I rather cut you off.”

  “Yes,” she said slightly impatiently. “What was it you weren’t sure about?”

  “The other applications for her work: what are they?”

  “Well, Mr. Wagh, really any instance in which plastic surgery might be needed. I don’t really know what you’re—”

  “Gender reassignment, Dr. Uwwano. Was Dr. Jaiyen responsible for gender reassignment?”

  “Yes. She was one of the country’s most skilled surgeons in that regard.”

  Oh God.

  Santosh spoke slowly and clearly, keeping—or trying to keep—his emotions in check. “Dr. Uwwano, I have reason to believe that one of Dr. Jaiyen’s patients is behind a series of murders in Mumbai. I have very good reason to believe this, Dr. Uwwano, you have to trust me. I believe this person has kidnapped one of my agents. The pattern of the murders so far indicates very strongly that this person will kill my agent within the next eight or nine hours unless I can track this person down. Dr. Uwwano, I appreciate that what I am asking you may go against certain principles you hold, but I beg you, can you help me?”

  There was silence for a moment at the other end of the line.

  “You can ask your question, Mr. Wagh. I can only hope that circumstances allow me to answer.”

  “Did Dr. Jaiyen perform gender reassignment surgery on a patient named Aditi Chopra?”

  “You’ll have to give me an hour or so to check that information.”

  Santosh took a deep breath, cast his eyes to the ceiling of his office. “If you could do that for me, Dr. Uwwano, I would be most grateful. You may be helping to save a young woman’s life, and possibly many other lives too.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, Mr. Wagh.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Uwwano,” said Santosh. He very, very gently replaced the phone on its cradle, knowing he was this close—this close—to cracking the case.

  As long as he was in time to save Nisha.

  Chapter 100

  AT LEAST IF she were to die here she would go knowing that she had put up a fight. When the chemical-soaked cloth had come over her mouth Nisha had known she was in trouble. But she had also known that in real life chloroform doesn’t work the way it does in the movies—firstly, too much of it would kill her, and secondly, she had had minutes, not seconds, before it would work and she would be rendered unconscious.

  She had yelled, twisted, pulled herself up from under her assailant, dabbing with her fingertips on the carpet in the hope of retrieving her gun but then giving up and darting toward the studio, her attacker in pursuit.

  She had run into the body of Devika Gulati on the gym studio floor. A dim light had illuminated the yellow garrote around Devika’s neck. Her tongue had poked slightly from between those perfect lips. Her eyes had bulged from her skull. Her death was a foul corruption of her beauty.

  Nisha had fallen to her knees, feeling woozy now. She’d prayed the dose of chloroform wasn’t high enough to bring on an allergic reaction. She’d prayed she wouldn’t meet the same fate as Devika there on the studio floor. A pair of jeans-clad legs and sneakers had appeared before her eyes. Sneakers like her own, she’d realized, her brain producing random thoughts now, as her body and mind shut down and darkness descended …

  “What happened when you left the orphanage, Aditi?” she called out now.

  The figure was there again, she was sure of it. She was being watched.

  “I need to piss,” she called.

  At last her captor spoke.

  “I used to piss myself at the orphanage, when Elina Xavier beat me.”

  It was a man.

  “Come out where I can see you. Where is Aditi? What have you done to her?”

  “Where is Aditi? I am Aditi. Dr. Jaiyen saw to that. But Dr. Jaiyen became greedy. Dr. Jaiyen wanted to blackmail me. So like the others, Dr. Jaiyen had to die.”

  “Come on then,” Nisha growled at him, “show yourself. You’re dying to show yourself. Show me who you are and why you hate me so much.”

  He stepped out of the shadows.

  Chapter 101

  “YES, ADITI CHOPRA came to us for gender reassignment.”

  Santosh fought to stay calm, control his breathing. “What name did he leave with?”

  “She left with the same name with which she arrived, Mr. Wagh.”

  “Anything you tell m
e now—anything may help in saving people’s lives. Do you remember her?”

  “Oh yes. I remember her. She was visited by a man who arrived in a large black Mercedes, quite an entourage he had.”

  Nimboo. Her financier, no doubt.

  “He talked about wanting to study hairdressing when he left,” Dr. Uwwano was saying. “He wanted to work in Bollywood.”

  Santosh’s mind was working, thinking, He did—he did work as a hairdresser. He worked as a hairdresser to the Attorney General, which is why he was able to collect samples of his hair and leave them at the crime scenes.

  “One last thing, Dr. Uwwano. While I hate to risk casting aspersions upon your colleague, I must ask—is it possible that Dr. Jaiyen could have been blackmailing Aditi?”

  Uwwano’s voice was frosty now. “Well, of course it’s possible …”

  “In your opinion, is it likely?”

  “Dr. Jaiyen had a taste for what you might call the high life, and it doesn’t come cheap. Perhaps if she had discovered what Aditi was doing, maybe.”

  Some kind of hairdresser to the stars, thought Santosh. A celebrity hairdresser. It would give him the access he needed. The film sets, to women’s houses, a face they trusted. It would make sense that Bhavna had somehow got in the way while researching her article.

  “Thank you, Dr. Uwwano, thank you. You don’t know how helpful you’ve been,” he said, and was about to end the call when she stopped him.

  “Do you think Aditi is responsible for those murders, Mr. Wagh?”

  “I’m very sorry to say, Dr. Uwwano, but yes.”

  She sighed, as though somehow not surprised. “There was something … damaged about her, even more so than … Well, many of our patients have what you might call ‘issues.’ But with Aditi, she was a beautiful girl. Now that I have reviewed her case file, I remember some of the nurses were commenting as though it was a waste of such a gorgeous creature, and of course we don’t see it that way—but in any case there was something about her beauty, as though it had caused her great hurt in the past.”

  “I think you’re right, Dr. Uwwano,” agreed Santosh. “And I think that for Aditi having a sex change wasn’t enough. You’re right, her beauty had caused her great misery. In the end she took it out on all womankind.”

  He finished the call, knowing he had it now. He had all the pieces except for the last one.

  “Hari, where’s that mugshot?”

  “Coming, boss,” called Hari from the other room.

  He hobbled through to Hari’s desk just as the picture appeared on Hari’s screen.

  She had been right, Dr. Uwwano. Aditi had been beautiful. She had her mother’s high cheekbones and her full mouth. She had her father’s eyes.

  “Look,” he said, almost to himself, as he leaned forward, placed one hand on the screen at Aditi’s brow, cutting off her hair, another one on the lower half of her face. Left just the eyes, the rise of the nose, and the mouth.

  “Look who it is,” he said.

  Chapter 102

  AAKASH STEPPED OUT of the shadows.

  Nisha stared at him, hardly able to believe her eyes, and yet … it all made sense. Her head dropped back to the mattress with frustration, surprise, and, if she was honest with herself, even relief that although she was going to die she would at least die knowing the answers to her questions.

  “You don’t remember, do you?” he said.

  “I remember you from the Shiva Spa, Aakash. You lied about having no celebrity clients, didn’t you?”

  He smiled, almost apologetically. “I’m afraid so. But I mean from before, when you fucked up my life?”

  “‘Before’? You were a woman, then?”

  He pulled a face, as though smelling something bad. “Don’t remind me. Yes, I was born wearing the wrong skin. Born a woman.”

  “Born Aditi Chopra?”

  “Very good, yes. You would have got there in the end, wouldn’t you? You know my famous mother, then?”

  “And your famous father.”

  Aakash chuckled and jutted his chin slightly, preening in spite of it all. He was a good-looking guy, thought Nisha. He would have been a devastatingly attractive woman.

  “Back then Nalin D’Souza was a big shot in a law firm who abandoned her the moment she got pregnant. You were right about her. She was gutless. She left me at the orphanage when I was eight.”

  “And she’s the source of your Durga fascination?”

  “Fascination?” scoffed Aakash. He curled a lip. “Hatred is the word I think we’re looking for. Yes, Mother was a worshiper of Durga. ‘Pray to Durga if you’re ever in trouble, Aditi.’ And you know what? I did. And you know what good it did me? Fuck all. It brought me to the orphanage, where I met Elina Xavier—the enforcer from hell, who’d cane me mercilessly, hold my head under water, make me piss my pants with fear. She’d fly into a rage and try to strangle me with her bare hands.”

  Strangulation, thought Nisha. That figured.

  “Durga brought me the riots that burned me out of my home and took me into the clutches of Ragini Sharma. Durga brought me cops who raided the brothel. Durga brought me you, Nisha Gandhe.”

  And now she understood. “Oh God. I busted you?”

  “Yes!” he said, with a flourish. “Enter Nisha Gandhe, stage left, fearlessly raiding the brothel and ensuring I was prosecuted for possession of narcotics, even though the drugs weren’t mine.”

  “I was a junior officer,” protested Nisha. “I was acting on the orders of my superiors.”

  Aakash gave a short, dry laugh. “If you’re trying to say you haven’t earned your place as the ninth Durga, dear Nisha, then I must respectfully disagree. I kept trying to explain to you that the drugs weren’t mine, but you never listened.”

  He reached into his back pocket and withdrew a yellow scarf. She felt a whimper build in her throat but stifled it.

  Don’t give him the satisfaction.

  Chapter 103

  ALL AROUND THE car were spanking new structures—corporate towers shimmering with steel and glass facades. Albert Mills stood out like an eyesore, a desolate island of abandonment and neglect surrounded by a sea of prosperity.

  This, though, was where a trace on Aakash’s cell phone had led them.

  Santosh turned in the passenger seat. Behind him was Jack, checking his Colt, and Hari, who stared out of the window with a vacant, cloudy expression. In his lap he held his Glock, thumb stroking the safety catch.

  “I don’t like the look of those guns,” said Santosh. “We need to take him alive. Aakash is the leverage we need to find out information about the attack.”

  Jack nodded. “Hari?” prompted Santosh. Hari tore his gaze from the window and Santosh dreaded to think what thoughts had been plaguing him. Good God, what had they done to him?

  “Yes, boss, understood,” replied Hari, with a forced smile.

  A token security guard at the gate sleepily prevented their car from driving through. Rather than arguing with him, Mubeen rolled down his window and silently handed over a five-hundred-rupee note to the man. His sleepy scowl was suddenly transformed into a toothless smile and he snapped to attention, offering his smartest salute to them.

  “Does anyone stay or work from here?” asked Mubeen.

  “No, sahib,” replied the guard. “All the industrial sheds are absolutely empty. Only one single north-facing shed has been rented out to an upcoming beauty parlor, but no one uses this gate to get there. There is a rear entrance to the mill premises and the architects and designers come and go through that. Renovation work is yet to start.”

  “Tell us how to get there,” said Mubeen.

  They drove on. Santosh spoke into a walkie-talkie—speaking to an army of cops waiting half a mile away.

  Chapter 104

  “AND YOUR DEFENDER, that was Anjana Lal, wasn’t it?” said Nisha.

  Aakash cocked his head at her. “Have you thought of becoming a detective? You’re really rather good at it.”
<
br />   “And in prison you met Devika Gulati?”

  He pulled another face. “Yes. Evil sex-mad bitch that she was. She violated me repeatedly in the most disgusting and demeaning manner possible.” He shuddered at the thought. “She was an angry woman—confused about her sexuality—and took out all her anger on me.”

  “How did you eventually get out of her clutches?”

  “Munna. I discovered a plot to kill him, told him, and received his undying gratitude in return. When I was released he arranged for me to find refuge in one of Nimboo Baba’s ashrams. For the first time in my life I was at peace.”

  “You became close to Nimboo Baba?”

  “Well, yes, and Nimboo Baba is a very naughty boy. He is what you’d call a pansexual, with a special liking for trans men.” Aakash pushed up the sleeves of his jacket and pointed at himself. “That’s me. So when I admitted to him that I hated women—they had tormented me for most of my life—and that I did not want to be female anymore, and I wanted to become a male, well, that sent him into a state of frothy longing. Nimboo Baba arranged for me to become a man—and in return I agreed to let him have his way with me.”

  “It was in Thailand you met Priyanka Talati, wasn’t it? What did she do, Aakash? What did she do to inspire your hatred?”

  He cast her a withering look. “Drunk one night, she tore at my clothes and discovered my secret. Her laughter cost her her life.” He stopped. “Oh, that’s it. We’ve reached the end. Every victim accounted for.” He smiled at her. “Even you.”

  Standing by the side of the bed like an attentive nurse, he lifted her head and passed the scarf behind her neck, gathering the two ends by her throat. “I don’t usually have the chance to savor my kills like this,” he said in the tone of someone breaching a confidence. “God, some of them struggled. They really struggled.” His eyes went misty for a moment. “Mother struggled the most, especially when she knew it was me.” He let the ends of the scarf drop and with a hairdresser’s gesture he reached to pull Nisha’s hair free of it. “There,” he said. “Much better.”