Killer in the Shadows!

by Amit Nangia

  Naina hesitated. She knew where this line of questioning was headed, and she didn’t like it. Not one bit. “I had a glass of vodka,” Naina said through clenched teeth.

  Shukla then pulled up a bottle of Alprax pills and held it up in front of her. “And these? Did you take some before you went to sleep?”

  “I…I’ve had trouble sleeping. The doctor prescribed them. But I didn’t take one last night.”

  “We’re checking for fingerprints. You said you fought him. Do you think you injured him?”

  “I…I thought I stabbed him in his arm, but I’m not sure.”

  Abhay looked at Naina, his thoughts running crazy. He wanted to get inside the hospital bed right next to Naina. Even after last night’s ordeal, junior was nearly becoming senior on seeing Naina lying on the bed. To divert his mind, he lit a cigarette.

  “We’ll have the blood sample from the knife analyzed. It could have been a robbery attempt.”

  Shukla cleared his throat. “Umm Sirji, there’s something you ought to know…”

  Abhay shot Shukla a look of warning. “Later Shukla. Right now, we have a crime scene to investigate.”

  Shukla sighed and left the room.

  “I’ve been getting blank calls,” Naina said, hoping to tell her side of things before Shukla took his chance again. “And I’ve been hearing noises as if someone’s been hanging around outside my house. I told the police about it, but they haven’t done anything.”

  “I’ll look into it,” Abhay said as he kept staring into her beautiful eyes. Even in a hospital gown, she looked so sexy to him.

  “Thank you, inspector,” said Naina twisting her fingers together as she forced herself to meet his intense gaze.

  Abhay’s grey eyes grew a shade darker. Naina’s entire body tingled with awareness. He could help her. She had to make him believe her. She wasn’t crazy. The reporters and people who knew of her background would disagree, but she knew otherwise.

  She’d actually lived an active, professional life for the past few years in Mumbai as a successful divorce lawyer. Then she’d moved back to Allahabad, and strange things had started to happen. She’d been a frightened and withdrawn little girl when she’d left Allahabad. But she wasn’t a little girl anymore. And she was tired of running away from things.

  “Do you want me to call someone from your family to take care of you? Or would you rather go to a friend’s house?” Abhay questioned.

  “I don’t have any friends here,” Naina said as she walked towards the couch. She thought of Uncle Chauhan, her parents’ friend who lived only a few kilometres away. She hadn’t been around him much while she was growing up, but he’d always sent birthday cards and called regularly. And he was her last link to her parents. He had been their best friend. He was also a very rich man, probably one of the richest in Allahabad, and he cared for her deeply. She wouldn’t mind being with him at the moment because he had a wonderful way of cheering her up. But she didn’t want to bother him with her troubles. Instead, she thought she ought to tell the inspector a little bit about her past before he heard the distorted version from someone else.

  “Inspector, you’ve been so kind. It’ll help if you knew a bit about me. I was born here. My parents died when I was a child, so I moved to Mumbai with my grandmother.”

  “What brought you back to Allahabad?” Abhay asked.

  “After my grandmother died, I didn’t have any real ties to Mumbai. Also I was tired of the hustle bustle of city life. I am a divorce lawyer and I thought I could continue my practice here.”

  The truth was that she had to come back. Back in Mumbai, things with her boyfriend Ashish hadn’t gone too well. He had started getting obsessed about her. And she needed her space. Uncle Chauhan wanted to see her, and it seemed like everything had come together at once.

  After a few minutes, the curtains jerked open and a small doctor emerged, followed by a nurse. The nurse whispered something to the doctor and pointed to the two police officers. He examined them with tired eyes, and then walked over.

  “I don’t like people smoking in the hospital,” the doctor grunted.

  “That’s all right,” beamed Abhay, the cigarette waggling in his mouth. “I don’t like people jabbering away while I’m smoking, but I put up with it.” There was a burst of laughter by Shukla.

  Grinning broadly, Abhay puffed away at his cigarette, making as much smoke as possible. Something about Naina tugged at him. Maybe it was those enormous dark eyes. Or those high, sculpted cheekbones. Or the jet black hair that framed her lovely face like reams of silk.

  Abhay rose from the chair and left as the doctor took his place next to Naina. Outside, Shukla was waiting for him. Catching sight of the inspector bearing down on him, Shukla quickly whispered something to a nurse, making her blush, then in a loud voice, said, “Don’t forget to call me.” She hurried off, giving an apologetic smile to Abhay as she passed.

  “Stay away from him, love,” Abhay called after her. “He meets men in toilets after dark.”

  “Sirji,” Shukla said, “I don’t think anyone tried to kill this psycho.”

  Abhay gritted his teeth. “Kya baat kartey ho Shuklaji. You shouldn’t call her a psycho. Kitni pyari ladki hai.”

  “Sirji, don’t you know who she is?”

  Abhay bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from cursing Shukla. “Is she a famous model? Miss Allahabad or Miss India, because she really looks like one.”

  “Sirji, woh baat nahin hain na. We’ve gotten a couple of calls from her before.”

  “Yes, she told me that. So why didn’t someone follow up on it?”

  Shukla grumbled in noticeable disgust. “Two weeks ago, she said someone was prowling outside her house.”

  “And?”

  “It turned out to be a stray pussy. I told you, she’s a total nut case, sirji.”

  Abhay smiled.

  “Sirji C A T, cat. Not the kind of stray pussy you are thinking about.” Shukla grinned at his remark.

  “Shut up, Shukla. There could have been someone there,” Abhay frowned.

  “She called again last week, saying that someone had been in her office.”

  “Oh, and what did you find?” Abhay arched an eyebrow.

  “Nobody. Sirji, I have seen many such cases. My guess is, she made it all up.”

  “Shut up, you pussy. Her injuries look pretty damned real to me.”

  “Well, she’s weird. Everyone who grew up around here knows about her.”

  “And why is that?” Abhay asked, growing tired of Shukla’s pussy-and-mouse game.

  “Because of what happened to her parents many years ago.”

  Abhay leaned against the wall. “What about her parents?”

  Shukla pulled out a wad of chewing tobacco, rubbed some on his hand and stuffed it into his mouth. “That’s the interesting part, sirji. Naina Sinha grew up around here, but she moved to Mumbai to live with her grandmother. Her parents died right here in this town in the same house. As per police records, the father killed the mother and then killed himself.”

  Abhay swallowed, feeling the cold bite of chill all the way down to his toes. He loosened the scarf around his neck. Through the glass window, he saw the doctor helping Naina. She looked pale and fragile.

  “They say Naina witnessed the whole thing, but she doesn’t remember it,” Shukla continued.

  A drop of sweat rolled down Abhay’s neck. “How old was she when it happened?”

  “Six,” Shukla paused, “There’s more. The reporters went nuts over the story. The girl had to see a psychiatrist.” Shukla spat a blob of reddish brown tobacco juice. “It seems to me like she still may be crazy. There were rumours that she might even have killed her parents. She was holding the murder weapon when the police arrived, and it was a knife from her kitchen. Kind of like the one she had last night. And she kept muttering that it was her fault. Some people say her grandmother whisked her away to cover it up.”

  A sigh of frustration
escaped Abhay.

  Naina and the doctor came to the door. She seemed vulnerable and troubled and she’d called him for help. He wanted to protect her. But what exactly was he protecting her from? From some killer or from herself? She could be telling the truth. But if Shukla was right and Naina was unstable, perhaps she hadn’t been attacked at all. He wanted to believe her, but he had to check the whole story first. And knowing about Naina’s past shed a whole different light on the situation.

  Naina brushed her straight black trousers and smoothened her peach silk shirt over her bandaged arm. As she walked into her office, a yawn escaped her. She hadn’t felt like getting out of bed because she had barely gotten any sleep. She’d tossed and turned in the bed, wondering who or why someone would attack her. But work was her salvation. Even though she’d always been a failure with people, especially men, she was a whiz at divorce cases – a skill and service her clients paid prime money for.

  “Ms Sinha, Devender Singh is waiting for you in your office,” Ria, her office assistant chirped. She looked marvellous; she had even polished her face full of makeup and her skin glowed. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a crisp black formal skirt and a black nylon jacket over a white cotton top.

  “He’s on the rampage this morning,” she added.

  Naina smiled. “I expect him to be. He not only received my client’s divorce papers, but he just learned he owes her a long list of things and a huge sum of money.”

  Ria sipped her tea. “You want me to dial 100 if he starts shouting like a maniac?”

  “You think we will get some real help on dialing 100!” Naina said mockingly. “Ideally his lawyer should be speaking to me but I think I can handle him.”

  “Well, good luck with him,” Ria said, turning back to the computer.

  Naina mumbled a thank you, squared her shoulders, reminded herself of the assertiveness training classes she’d taken in Mumbai and waited for the roaring.

  A short, arrogant individual wearing an expensive-looking camel-coloured overcoat, peered distastefully towards her. Devender Singh offered her a mechanical greeting as she entered.

  She’d disliked the man the moment she’d met him. He reminded her of the villainous characters Shakti Kapoor used to play in Hindi movies. Short and stooped, he had tiny, red-rimmed, deepset eyes; his face was greasy and black and grey with stubble. His nose, large and route-mapped with tiny red veins, cried out for the urgent attention of a handkerchief. Matted hair flopped over the large collar of the overcoat, which had been made for someone much bigger. He was the Chief Manager at the State Bank of Allahabad, but everyone believed that he had accumulated a lot of money through wrong routes.

  “Hi, Mr Singh. What brings you here today?”

  Perched on the red leather chair near her desk, Devender Singh looked positively in a rotten mood. He didn’t mince his words when he spoke. “You have no right to screw up my life. You are the reason for my divorce. And now you want me to pay such a huge amount.”

  The anger in his baritone jostled her already taut nerves. But she refused to show it. Instead, she met his anger with a confident smile. “Mr Singh, I am only your wife’s lawyer. It was she who feels that you are an ass and decided to divorce you. I’m sorry it worked out like this, but I am just doing my job.” She said emotionlessly while fiddling with a pencil.

  Singh’s cheeks ballooned with anger. Furiously, Singh snatched the pencil from her hand and hurled it to the floor. Pushing his face to within an inch of hers, he said, “You know this will cost me a lot of money.”

  Naina could smell whiskey on him and it was only 9 a.m. Bewda kahin ka! No wonder his wife wants to divorce him, she thought. But Naina refused to let him faze her. “I am a good attorney, and I’m also honest to my clients. Your wife will get what she is entitled to and I will ensure that she does. I am not going to cheat my conscience.”

  A vein bulged in Singh’s pale forehead. “Sometimes, Ms Sinha, you have to look beyond your job. There are worse things than can happen to you. Remember, I know where you live. Dekh lunga tujhe.” He threatened her as he picked up his briefcase and left.

  Naina exhaled a shaky breath at his implied threat. Could it have been him who had attacked her the night before? The phone rang with a sharp trill that made her jump. Forcing herself to steady her voice, she picked up the receiver.

  “Naina, my dear, this is Uncle Chauhan. How are you?”

  Naina relaxed, grateful for the familiar voice. She’d missed talking with him lately. “Uncle Chauhan, how nice it is to hear from you! I’m fine. I just got rid of a nasty client, but tell me how you are.”

  Pradeep Chauhan laughed. His voice sounded shaky, and Naina realized that age had crept up on him while she had been away. “I am good, now that you’re back. Well, tomorrow night, we’re having a reception in honour of my son Girish, and I want you to be there.”

  “What’s the occasion?” Naina asked. Although she didn’t remember Girish very well, Uncle Chauhan had kept her abreast of his son’s political activities through his mails and phone calls.

  What the mails didn’t say was that Girish Chauhan was trouble. Big trouble. He was the son of Pradeep Chauhan, who had been the member of Parliament for the longest time. He had money and he had influence, owning businesses as diverse as security organisations, newspapers, and commercial radio stations. He constantly criticised the police in his newspapers, and was known to be a permanent alcoholic. A rich spoiled brat.

  “It’s a kickoff for his campaign,” Uncle Chauhan said, the pride evident in his voice.

  “Like father like son, huh?” Naina quickly prompted.

  Uncle Chauhan laughed. “Yes, yes, quite like that! He is filed for candidature for the next Lok Sabha elections.”

  “Wow,” said Naina. “What time is the party?”

  “Seven o’clock.”

  “Sounds great! I’ll be there,” Naina said. She was tempted to tell her uncle about the incident, but she didn’t want to ruin his moment.

  Later that afternoon, there was a light knock on Naina’s door and Ria poked her head in. She was like the cuckoo bird hiding in a clock. At scheduled intervals, she would peep out and then go back inside the clock. “There’s a package for you.”

  Naina squinted in confusion at the brightly wrapped package. “For me?” Who could be sending her a present, she mused.

  “Maybe it’s from a secret admirer,” Ria said with a wink before slipping out of the door.

  Naina removed the small card and read it silently. “Something to remember me by. See you soon.”

  It had to be from Ashish. But what did he mean he would see her soon? She’d told him she wanted her time and space. Chaep kahin ka! For heaven’s sake, she’d moved to Allahabad to get away from him. Gingerly, she fingered the delicate baby pink bow and pulled it open. The pale red paper came away easily. A small tape recorder lay in the box.

  She pulled it out and pressed the Play button. “So ja rajkumari, so ja.” A familiar song started to play. A song that took Naina back to her past. Her mother used to sing a lullaby to this tune when she was a child. A chill slithered up her spine. Her hands shook so violently that the tape recorder fell onto the desk with a thud. The song droned on. Naina covered her ears to drown out the sound. She could almost imagine her mother’s soft voice singing the words.

  Inspector Abhay Pandey stood in the open doorway of Naina’s office, one hand gripping the shiny doorknob, the other fiddling with his red scarf, stupefied as he watched what was going on in front of him. He closed the distance between himself and Naina in a few quick strides.

  “I didn’t mean to do it,” Naina spoke so quietly that Abhay had to lean forward to take in what she was saying. He didn’t have a clue what she meant or even if she knew what she was saying, but he needed to snap her out of this delusional state.

  “Ms Sinha,” he said, gently nudging her shoulder, “Ms Sinha, can you hear me?”

  A childlike cry escaped her. Al
though he told himself this was strictly business, that this woman might be psychotic, his heart wrenched seeing her like this. All he could see was a sad little girl who was lost and alone.

  Ria also heard Naina’s cry and came into the room. She was shocked to see the otherwise composed Naina in this state. “I’ll get some water,” she said and scurried off.

  “What…how long have you been standing there?” Naina said. Her voice was weak and distant.

  “Not long,” Abhay replayed the details of her file in his head. The lack of evidence from the night before complicated things even more. The knife had shown only one blood type and that too of Naina. He needed more information from Naina. “We need to talk.”

  Ria rushed in and bent down to hand over the glass to Naina, she gave him a bird’s-eye view of a deep, inviting cleavage.

  “Who sent you this box?” Abhay paid attention to Naina instead.

  “I don’t know,” Naina said in a listless voice.

  Abhay turned to Ria. “What did the messenger look like? Was it a courier service?”

  Ria bit her lip. “I…I didn’t see who it was. I went to the restroom and found it on my desk when I returned.”

  “Kya baat karti ho Ria. You should take your work more seriously.” Abhay shook his head observing Ria’s small legs. He preferred long-legged women, but could definitely try new genres in life. After all, she had other body parts than just her legs. She had dark, shiny, well-brushed hair, a scrubbed, glowing face, a snub nose, and a broad grin, and yes, nicely shaped breasts.

  “I take good care of my work and I can actually take care of anyone really well.” She smiled at him. The sort of smile that crept under his pants and gently stroked him.

  “Why don’t you go home, Naina?” Ria suggested.

  Naina nodded.

  “Can we go someplace to talk?” Abhay asked.

  Naina’s dark eyebrows arched in surprise.

  “About your case,” Abhay clarified. “We need to discuss what we found at your house.”

  Naina nodded and grabbed her purse. “Okay. Let’s go to the cafe around the corner.”