Brutal

by Uday Satpathy

  “Spare me pal. I’m just a discarded equity analyst who feeds himself by working as a researcher-on-hire,” Mrinal said. “With all due respect to your injurious profession, I ain’t a journo. I’m a desk jockey!”

  “Relax Mrinal. You don’t need to do anything there. Just hang around with me. I need an extra brain to get to the bottom of this.”

  “Do you media guys always use consultants this way?” Mrinal asked with a frown, making Prakash almost laugh.

  “You’re a genius. You need to be treated differently,” Prakash answered with a smile. He knew that a little bit of praise worked on his friend.

  “You are so sweet,” Mrinal replied with a mocking smile. “But I’ll charge overtime rates.”

  “I know, I know. You better justify your rates then.”

  “Hmmm. So where’s the party tonight?”

  13

  New Delhi

  Seema woke up with a start. She had passed out on her study table waiting for a response to her mail. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. Her reading lamp was still on. So was her laptop. She looked at her watch. 2 AM.

  She thought about shutting down her laptop and moving to her bedroom, but was tempted to check her mailbox one last time. She unlocked her machine and eyed her Outlook screen. One unread mail. There was a reply to her mail. She felt her heartbeat rise as she clicked on the mail. It was a very curt reply.

  ‘I know you are not an acquaintance of Nitin. So, who are you exactly, Seema? And why should I trust you?’

  Shit! Mr X or Miss X seems to know Nitin quite well. Seema understood that there was no point in hiding her identity now. She needed to build some trust. This is the only chance I am going to get. X might not respond if I bluff again. She began typing a reply.

  I am a journalist with Century News. Can we talk? I just want to understand why Nitin did what he did? Is there anything more to it?

  Not a single word will go out if you are not OK with it. But if you have something to say, why not confide in me? I have taken interviews of wanted Naxal leaders and Jihadi commanders, all with professionalism and trust. Only what they agree to, comes out as news.

  Trust me.

  Seema

  She clicked on the Send button and started praying for a response.

  14

  2:30 Am, Ambala City

  They hardly came across any traffic as their car made its way through Jalbera Road.

  “Take left from here and drive slowly,” Prakash instructed, as he counted the third lane from Manav Chowk. “And turn off the headlights.”

  Mrinal complied. He reduced the speed to almost 10 KM/hour. “Which house?” he whispered.

  Prakash didn’t reply. The darkness was making it difficult to locate things. He looked hard, trying to find any police tape stuck on the gates of the buildings passing by. He wondered whether Haryana Police even used those yellow ‘Crime Scene: Do not cross’ tapes or not.

  After a minute of anxious looking around, he was finally able to see the familiar yellow tape on the gate of a short building. Mrinal was about to stop the car in front of the gate when Prakash told him to move on.

  “Let’s keep the car a few houses away. We don’t want to alarm anybody by parking a car at night in front of the crime scene,” he said.

  They finally parked the car about 50 meters away in a perfect dark spot.

  “Now what, chief?” Mrinal said with a mocking face. “We break the doors and get in?”

  “I don’t think it’ll come to that. If my intel is correct, we will have no problem getting in.”

  “Can we be charged with ‘tampering with evidence’ or something like that?”

  “As far as I know, the crime scene has already been thoroughly sifted and investigated by the police. So, every piece of evidence that can have any relation with the dead man has probably been collected already.”

  “Wait a minute,” Mrinal asked. “What are we going in for if everything’s already collected?”

  “I have a hunch that we are going to find something.”

  “Wow. Sherlock Holmes,” Mrinal said and sighed. He looked nervous.

  But then Prakash was himself a bit nervous. Ashish, his fellow local correspondent for Globe News had told him that the police wasn’t able to find any key to Afroz’s house. So, they had just chained it from outside. It meant there might be a way to get in.

  Both of them got out of the car. These were summer days, but the weather post-midnight here was cold. Prakash started walking towards Afroz’s house, with Mrinal following him. His trouser pockets were bulging with a few tools he had bought for this adventure. An electrical hardware shop had sold him an LED-based torchlight and a small hacksaw. He had also carried along his favourite Victorinox Swiss Army knife. I look like a burglar.

  On reaching the gate outside Afroz’s house, Prakash looked at the surrounding houses. No lights. No peeping Toms. The metal gate outside the small compound was not locked. Prakash opened it, taking extreme care to avoid making any noise.

  Prakash and Mrinal were now standing on the small ground in front of the veranda. There was a bike standing beside.

  Prakash moved up to the veranda and switched on his torch. He checked the door. A metal chain had been inserted into the door handles on either side of the door and then fastened with a lock. But because the chain was pretty long, it had become slack. So slack that the doors were almost half open. God bless Ashish. This is good.

  “I think we both are slim enough to get into the house through this opening,” Prakash whispered. Mrinal was standing right behind him.

  “This is a ridiculous way of securing a crime scene,” Mrinal said, grinning.

  “I have seen worse things in my life,” Prakash replied. “Now let’s get in.”

  He pushed the doors further in till the chain became taut. The opening was now wide enough to let them in easily. He lifted his right leg over the chain and then his left leg, and made his way inside. Mrinal followed suit.

  Both were greeted by absolute darkness and damp smelling walls. Prakash moved the torch around to take a view of the living room. He saw a small table with two plastic chairs. There was a kitchen to his right and the way to a bedroom to his left. He could smell a faint odour of chemicals in the room. Chemicals used by crime scene investigators.

  “Nothing seems to be of interest here. Let’s get into the bedroom,” Prakash whispered and started walking towards the bedroom. An eerie white chalk sketch on the floor greeted them. It was the outline of the body of the deceased.

  “Holy shit!” Mrinal was taken aback seeing the glowing outline. “I can’t believe I am doing this.”

  Prakash ignored his scared partner. He was a bit unsettled himself. He washed the room with torchlight again. The beam passed over a bed with a crumpled sheet tossed over it. A couple of pillows lay astray over it. At one corner of the room, a wooden cupboard attached to the wall stood partially open.

  He bowed down and pointed the torchlight below the bed. His eyes caught a medium sized metal trunk, which appeared to be opened recently. He hauled it out. Its lock was broken. Seems the police have gone through this also. He pulled the lid. It opened with a shrill metallic creak, which made both of them cringe. In response, Prakash immediately turned off the torch. Let’s hope no one has heard it.

  After a few moments, he turned on the torch again and flashed it inside the trunk. There were a few clothes and some documents. Prakash fixed the torch between his jaws and rummaged through them. There were photocopies of his education certificates. Afroz seemed to be a well-educated man. A copy of his degree certificate put him as a civil engineer. He also found a few packets of empty SIM cards. He passed them to Mrinal.

  “Will the mobile numbers written on these packets be of any help?”

  “I will have to see,” Mrinal said, putting them in his trouser pockets.

  Prakash was busy sifting through the documents, when Mrinal nudged him.

  “Did you just hear that?�
�� Mrinal whispered. He sounded spooked.

  “Hear what?”

  “I heard some movement in the other room.”

  A chill ran down Prakash’s spine. He immediately switched off the torch. Both of them went silent for a moment, trying to listen to any movement. Nothing. They could only hear dogs barking somewhere far away.

  Prakash continued his work. But he was not able to find anything useful. He closed the trunk and shoved it under the bed again. He now pointed the torch towards the cupboard. This is our last hope.

  As he walked towards the cupboard, something started to bother Prakash – a half-formed thought trying to take shape. Probably something, which should have been in this house, but wasn’t there. What is it? What is it? What is it? Come on!

  Getting no answers, he ignored his feelings and looked inside the cupboard. Clothes – both ironed and crumpled lined the racks. There was a drawer too. He opened it. It contained a bike key, a few visiting cards from local shops and a photo frame. He picked the latter. It looked like a recent photo of Afroz, standing with a man. Who are you?

  A cracking sound hit his ears. As if someone had tripped over an obstacle. He flashed his torchlight across the room. Mrinal was not there.

  “Hey, Mrinal. Where are you?” Prakash whispered.

  No reply.

  He walked towards the living room. When he reached the door joining the two rooms, a ghostly figure leaped out of nowhere and gave him a solid jab on his face. Prakash yelped, lights flaring in his brain like numerous camera flashes at once. Before he could react, another blow struck his wrist and his torch was flung away.

  A third punch would have hit his face again had he not ducked on time. The assailant’s hand went on to hit the wooden door, evoking a stifled cry from his mouth. But, the man quickly improvised and Prakash was not ready for it. His knee rammed into Prakash’s chest with a massive force. He slumped to the ground, writhing in pain.

  The attacker was wearing heavy boots. Lying on the ground, Prakash heard the thuds from the man’s footsteps proceed into the bedroom. What followed were sounds of the trunk being pulled and the cupboard being opened.

  He took out his Swiss Army knife and pulled out the part that converted it into a knife. Carrying it in one hand, he wriggled away from the door where he was lying. Feeling dazed, he summoned all his strength, taking support of the wall to stand again. A smell of burning touched his nose. What is the man up to?

  He heard the thak-thak sound from the heavy boots again. The man was coming out of the bedroom towards him. Prakash held the knife tightly in his hands. As soon as the man passed in front of him, he plunged the knife into what felt like his shoulder. The man whimpered in pain. But like a trained professional, he swung his elbow forcefully in a reflex action. It crashed into Prakash’s jaw, tossing his full body backwards. His head struck the wall. There was no turning off the flash bulbs in his brain now. Before his mind blanked out, he thought about Mrinal. Was he dead or alive?

  * * *

  “Prakash… are you OK?”

  Someone was whispering in his ears. His eyes opened for a second, but shut down again, dazzled by the dim light in the room. He opened his eyes again, slowly this time. His neck felt numb, something icy pinching his skin. He realized he was lying flat on the cold concrete. Someone was standing bent over his body, holding a lighted mobile phone. It was Mrinal. He’s alive. Good.

  Prakash took the support of the wall behind him and stood up. His head was spinning. He waved his palm over his scalp. A burst of pain shot through his body when his fingers touched a wound behind his head. The area was moist. Blood.

  “Who the hell was he?” Prakash asked.

  “I wanted to ask you the same thing,” Mrinal replied. He sounded jittery. “The son-of-a-bitch punched my eye.”

  “How long have I been lying there?”

  “10-15 minutes… who knows? I wasn’t fucking counting seconds.”

  “Let’s get out….” Prakash stopped before completing his sentence. “Is something burning?”

  Mrinal nodded.

  Prakash snatched the mobile phone from him and dashed into the bedroom. He saw that the metallic trunk had been pulled out and a plume of smoke was coming from it. He bent over it. There was nothing but smouldering ashes in the box. He went towards the cupboard. It seemed empty. The drawer was also empty, except for the key.

  “It seems things were taken out of this cupboard too, and then burnt,” Prakash said.

  “So, your gut feeling was correct,” Mrinal said, hunched over the trunk fire. “Somebody going so far to destroy evidence means that there is some conspiracy going on.”

  “That’s what’s worrying me. Let’s get out of here quickly. We are like sitting ducks here.”

  Both of them hastened towards the living room and wriggled out of the front door. Prakash could feel a throbbing pain in his chest as he walked. His jaw was also hurting.

  They rushed towards their car, which now appeared to be so distant. Prakash reached the vehicle first and looked behind. Mrinal was walking like a drunkard – completely dazed.

  “You OK?” he asked.

  “Yeah… kind of,” Mrinal groaned.

  “You want me to drive?” He felt as if his chest was squeezed between the jaws of a monkey wrench, but still offered, feeling a bit apologetic for putting Mrinal in danger.

  “No. I can do it,” Mrinal said, opening the driver-side door. Prakash took the seat beside him.

  “Did you see the face of the man?”

  “The last time I checked human beings couldn’t see shit in darkness, Einstein!” Mrinal whined. After a few seconds, he said apologetically, “The bastard hit me from behind first. And then gave me a black eye…. No. I wasn’t able to see him.”

  “Must have been a tough guy. I stabbed him with my Swiss knife, though.”

  “How glad would I be to pump a bullet into that man’s ass?” Mrinal leaned his head on the steering wheel for a few moments, taking a couple of deep breaths. Then he lifted his head and growled, “Let me ask you a pretty straight-forward question. What the ‘fuck’ were we looking for in that house?”

  “When we went inside, I was just looking for random clues. But now I know what I’m looking for – Afroz’s mobile phone. The police were also looking for his phone, but could not locate it.”

  “So you thought you could become a cowboy and find something so obvious which the investigators missed?”

  “He might have hidden it somewhere.”

  “Yeah… in some underground safe, which can be opened by a secret key,” Mrinal sneered. “Good heavens!”

  His words struck Prakash like a bolt from the sky. There was a ‘key’ and he had never paid proper attention to it. How could I have missed this?

  “I am going back,” Prakash said with excitement.

  “Now what?” Mrinal protested.

  “I’ll tell you. Just wait here for me.”

  Prakash got down and ran towards the house. He went in, holding his own mobile phone for light. He rushed towards the cupboard and took out the key from its drawer. It’s a bike key. Bad miss.

  He came outside and threw light over the parked bike. He found what he was looking for. There was a small storage case above the engine. He inserted the key in its lock. It opened. There was a crumpled polythene bag inside.

  Prakash brought his mobile phone close to the bag and started sifting through its contents. There were a few tools for bike repair, a first aid kit…. and a mobile phone. Voila.

  He took the phone and kept back all other stuff in the bike. Exactly when he turned, he saw a jeep pull over at the gate. A red light was blinking over its roof. Police. Shit!

  15

  Raman stood under the cover of darkness in a narrow alley overlooking Afroz’s house. His fists were clenched, teeth digging into his lips in anger. Sultan, you son-of-a-bitch. Sultan was the man he took his orders from. The man responsible for this madness. He felt like a fool to have followed his b
oss’s instructions and gone back to the crime scene. In fear that one of the papers might lead investigators back to him, Sultan had ordered him to burn and destroy every document present in Afroz’s house.

  Raman had refused point blank. He was an assassin and not a clean-up guy. But, his boss was adamant. He said he had no other guys in this region to fall back on. And it would not be a tough job. ‘Just get in. Pile up all the documents. And light a fire. That’s it.’

  He took up the assignment, only because he didn’t want to piss Sultan off. The man was dangerous. But by doing so, he was breaking his policy of not doing anything with any assignment once it was over. Many a times in the past, this policy had saved him from landing into unnecessary problems, like the one he was in now.

  He looked at his blood soaked shirt. The wound wasn’t deep, but was bleeding profusely. The presence of two men inside the house was totally unexpected and had taken him off-guard. His immediate reaction would have been to use a silencer on his gun and take both of them out. But that would have opened a new can of worms. So, he had decided to use hand-to-hand combat to disable the guys momentarily.

  But one of them had surprised him by stabbing him. It pained like hell.

  Still, pain was not his immediate concern. He was more worried over what the man had found in Afroz’s bike. I should have paid attention to the key.

  He would have pounced on the man now itself, but there was a police jeep standing outside the house. Someone must have noticed the smoke and then informed the police.

  He kept looking at the police jeep from his position. There was a slight argument between the policeman and the other guy. The officer ordered the latter to sit in the jeep and then drove away. Shit! Will have to wait till he gets out of custody.

  The man’s accomplice was also nowhere to be seen, turning this operation into a big failure. Sultan should have listened to me, Raman grumbled. But now, the asshole would not hear any excuses. He would want the case closed. I will have to finish off the matter. Quickly.