Chapter Three
"How are you feeling now?" Sarthak offered a glass of water.
Massaging his own forehead, Rajan gladly took it and emptied the glass in three continuous large gulps.
Sarthak again pressed the question with a weak, fatherly smile. "Are you sure you don't want to go home and rest? I can drive you to your place."
Still in daze of the shock of what he had witnessed had unsettled his ways of reasoning. Fifteen years, he thought, for fifteen years the murderer had remained low and suddenly on his birthday there was again a similar grim event. He tried to evade the conclusion, presumed other considerations, but every time his musings got concentrated on the same point. It made him shuddered, hairs on his arms bristled. "Do you think...", he managed to say, "...that it was him?"
Sarthak remained silent.
Rajan raised his head, and for the first time after his black-out, he realized they were in a different room, resting on the cushioned sofas. He registered that Sarthak's forehead was creased with concern. "Thanks."
Sarthak clamped his hand. "This must have been traumatic for you."
Rajan turned his gaze to the hearth at one corner of the room. The fire was alive, devouring the wooden logs. "How this can be possible?"
"Rajan," Sarthak gave a little shake to his grip. "The murder had similar patterns like your father's, but that doesn't prove anything. He or she can be an impostor."
The young cop took a deep breath and sighed it out through his mouth. He repeated it for a couple of times until he felt the confidence building inside him was enough to control his mind. Once content, he rose on his feet and started pacing the room, his instincts were finally at work. "Did Mr.Mehra have any criminal record ?"
"No," Sarthak responded to his officer. "As a matter of fact, he is...I mean he was a philanthropist. I think he was a noble businessman."
Businessman. Philanthropist. These words froze Rajan's feet to the carpet. His father was too a businessman and philanthropist. He was aware that the acts of helping poor people were just to cover a dark secret from the society. Whoever the murderer was, something more than the victim's professional wealth had compelled him to repeat this gruesome act. Then something struck him. "No eye witnesses?"
Sarthak dejectedly shook his head. "Security guards were sedated with sleeping pills in their meals, I guess. All CCTV cameras are tripped."
"Servants?"
"They are denying now, but I believe a rougher interrogation can yield something fruitful."
Rajan dropped on the sofa. This was odd. When his father was killed, there was no one in the house apart from him, while here, a whole team of servants were dozing under the same roof. He smiled. He found a disruption between the patterns. "This is not the man in the golden mask."
"I hope you won't say the same after watching this," Sarthak said, handing him a CD. "We found it beside the body."
"What's this?" Rajan took the disc and flipped it to other side. His heart forgot a beat. A small label beamed at him. Written on it was Happy B'day.
"I better leave you alone," Sarthak said, rising. "You'll find the laptop in that bag." He pointed to a carrying bag inclined at side of the sofa.
Surprised, Rajan asked, "What's in it?"
"The murderer had recorded his killing," Sarthak revealed. "He deliberately left it behind, Rajan. This is no more a case now. It’s a game. A challenge you must accept, or I fear he would deliver more his gifts."
Without wasting any further moments after Sarthak left the room, Rajan unzipped the bag and placed the laptop on the table. As the screen began to glow and the system started booting, his patience began to thin. He inserted the disc and double clicked on the single MP4 file it had. The video player popped open.
The screen showed Mr. Mehra's room from an oblique angle, covering the entire room. A black clad figure appeared from the door, a long knife in his hand. Mr. Mehra seemed unaware about someone's presence as he was busy on his phone.
Rajan blinked.
Stealthily, the golden masked man seized his target in surprise and tossed him on the bed. Before Mr. Mehra could resist, he stuffed the glittering gift paper on in Mr. Mehra's mouth. And then the knife hit its mark. Mr. Mehra's heart.
Rajan bit his lips. With fleeting courage, he clicked on the rewind button. Seeing the video again and again was like torturing himself, each time it eroded the suppressed memory of his father's death, each time he was living the nightmare. When he was about to give up, he noticed a shadow shifting at the door-frame. A realization dawned upon him.
Next instant, he was out of the room, searching for Sarthak.
“Where is Mr. Mehra’s family?”
Stunned to his sudden outbreak, Sarthak took a moment for responding. “He is a divorced man. He had his ten-year-old son as a family.”
“His son,” he muttered. “Where is he?”
“Sir,” Sarthak interjected. “Better to leave that fragile life away from this mess. The news of his father’s death has already put him in a delicate state. He is no condition to deal with your questions.” Rajan nodded and made his way to the boy’s bedroom. Two police men were guarding the door. Their body stiffened as they noticed Rajan.
“How is he doing?” he asked.
One of the policemen answered. “Not good, sir. He hasn’t eaten anything.”
Nodding, Rajan pressed the door inside. The room was dark. He searched for the switches, but couldn’t find any in the darkness. Luckily, the moonlight filtering through the only window bleached a square on the floor. And in that square he noticed a dark figure huddled, sobbing.
“Hey, champ,” Rajan whispered, squatting beside the boy.
The boy didn’t look up. He continued to whine, his whole body trembling.
Rajan licked his lips and said, “I understand how you are feeling. I had been at your place fifteen years before."
The boy raised his head, his tears glistening in the moonlight.
“Yes,” Rajan assured him. “Fifteen years back my father was killed in the same manner, probably by the same man. A man in the golden mask. The memory still haunts me.” He swore he didn’t want to share this secret with anyone, but he despised his father when he was alive. “I was a child and for simple reasons he used to beat my mother.” Hatred laced his tongue. “Once he hit Maa so hard that blood oozed out from her head. And I sat there, scared, helpless, watching Maa being tortured by the monster I used to call my father.”
The boy stopped sobbing. “Did you wish for his death?”
Rajan looked at him, shocked. “How did you know?”
“Because I wished the same.”
Dumbstruck, Rajan stared at him, wondering how their fates could be so similar. Was it some kind of prank? “You mean…”
The boy nodded. In his croaky voice, he said, “The reason for my parent’s divorce is my father. I watched them squabbling every night. One day he returned from his office, frustrated. I asked him the reason. He slapped me! Mom defended me and that was her mistake.”
Rajan leaned ahead. “What did he do to her?”
The boy’s body stiffened. “He dragged her by hair to their bedroom. I ran for my mother but he shut the door on my face. I banged the door, pleading, and all I can hear was her screams. I don’t know what he did to her, but the next morning a doctor was called for her injuries. My father was a beast. Mom could not even eat by herself. I used to feed her, saying that when I’ll grow up, I’ll take her away where we could live happily. But she had different plans. She divorced her, however, she failed to proclaim me legally.”
Rajan clapped him on his shoulder and rose.
“Will you catch him?”
Rajan turned back to the boy. “Yes, I have to.”
“But he didn’t do anything bad.”
What could Rajan possibly reply? Even he was in dilemma. For the world, whoever this masked man was a criminal, but on his birthday he provided him the best gift – the end of his mother’s suffering
s. Deep down he was glad that someone killed his father.
“Can you save him if I tell you who is he?”
“What?”
“I saw his face,” the boy said, picking up something from behind. The golden mask. “He said it was his last gift. But I don’t know his name.”
“Is he here?”
The boy nodded.
Rajan's heart started thudding against his chest. He offered his hand - the boy grabbed it – and he pulled him up. “There is no need to be scared. Come.”
Rajan ushered him to the passage. In front of them was the door of Mr. Mehra’s bedroom wide opened. Rajan didn’t want anyone to know that boy was watching them, especially the suspect. “Who is he?” he asked.
The boy raised his finger and Rajan saw the man behind the golden mask.
The Gift Page 3
