After a couple of minutes, Cardoza joined Windle in the meeting room.
‘Yes, lieutenant. How can I help you?’
‘Here we meet again, not in fortunate circumstances.’
‘Cirisha was much loved, lieutenant. Isn’t it tragic that we have to sit here and ponder over what could have killed her?’
‘Yes, Dr Cardoza. In my brief interactions with her, I always thought she was bubbling with energy.’
‘Her murder is a real mystery to everyone here.’
‘I met her husband.’
‘Who? Aditya?’
‘Yes. He feels that she was involved in some sleuthing. On Staring Down the Barrel. Aditya feels that this could have resulted in her death.’
‘There may be some truth there, lieutenant. She had stumbled upon some inconsistencies in the data. Actually, she had access to the raw data which formed the basis of the book. And that apparently had severe contradictions. She shared some of it with me; it had largely to do with data regarding the inmates in your prison, which was fudged. She felt that with the data she had, she could recreate and validate critical parts of Staring Down the Barrel and was sure that she could expose the inconsistencies.’
‘She had met me with the names of twenty-three inmates who had apparently been interviewed for the research. But many of them were either dead or had been released. She felt that the story in the other prisons could be the same.’
‘How did she get hold of this data? If what she said is true, then it could be extremely damaging to the university and James Deahl.’
‘Did you ask her?’
‘Yes, I did. But she didn’t tell me. I was confident that she’d share it with me at a more appropriate time. All she told me was that she wanted to go to Phoenix to investigate this further. But she died before she could go.’
Windle also queried Cardoza on Lucier and his proposal. Cardoza confirmed his interaction with Lucier and his suspicion that Deahl’s research was NRA-backed. But there was no concrete evidence to prove this.
Windle spoke to Cardoza for a few more minutes and handed over to him a laundry list of information that he wanted from him.
Cardoza glanced at the piece of paper. The list was long but uncomplicated: attendance records, time of arrival and departure from office along with dates, schedule of meetings, list of people she had met on work in the last week, call records from her office phone, swipe-card records indicating access to the building and a lot more.
‘Most of these are in the system. If you give me ten minutes, I’ll have someone pull this out for you.’
‘Wouldn’t mind if I get a cappuccino to go with it.’ Windle smiled.
In the next twenty minutes, Cardoza gave Windle almost all the information that he wanted. ‘I just need to confirm the list of official meetings that she had. I’ll email it to you by the end of the day. The rest of the information that you asked for is here in this folder,’ Cardoza said, handing Windle the documents.
‘Thanks, Dr Cardoza.’ Windle got up to leave. Cardoza gave him his visiting card. ‘In case you need anything else, please give me a call, or send me an email.’
‘Appreciate that. But before I leave, I wanted to check why you do not have CCTV monitoring in the Academic Block.’
‘Not sure. But I think it had something to do with privacy for the faculty. It was a decision made by the provost about four years ago. And no one questioned it.’
‘Thanks. Now if you will tell me how to get to Dr Deahl’s room …’
‘The floor above this. Last room on the left.’
‘Oh yes. I have been there. One last question, Dr Cardoza.’ Cardoza nodded. ‘What is your view on gun control?’
‘Unequivocally, my answer would be YES. Guns must be banned. Had guns not been available, my colleagues would still be alive. Richard Avendon too would be very much in our midst. I have seen the devastation that guns can cause. I fought in the Vietnam War and have seen with my own eyes the terrible, terrible damage that guns can inflict. We live in a civilized world, lieutenant. Guns have no place here.’
‘Do you own a gun yourself?’
‘I can’t be a Liberal and own a gun, lieutenant,’ Cardoza smiled.
‘Thank you, Dr Cardoza, have a great day.’ On his way to Deahl’s room, Windle glanced through the sheets of paper that Cardoza had given him. He skimmed through Cirisha’s record. The last time she had entered the facility was on 4th June—the same day that she had met Windle to discuss the Boston prison inmate data. She was murdered a day later.
A desperate Aditya told Shivinder everything he knew about the case. ‘I do not know what to do. David Windle knows everything about me. And even you. I think he knows why I went to Mexico with Dad.’
‘Our only hope, Aditya, is to find the set of papers that you pulled out from Richard’s locker and hand it over to David. Let him see for himself and then make up his mind.’
‘He has seen part of it. Cirisha showed him the data pertaining to his prison. But that was only one of the hundreds of other aberrations that she suspected.’
‘Where are the papers now?’
61
9th June 2008
Boston
Deahl got up from his chair, walked around his desk to the small round table at the right-hand corner of the room, and picked up a bottle of Dasani water. He cracked open the top and poured half a litre of it down his parched throat. Turning towards Windle, who was patiently watching his antics, he asked, ‘So, Lieutenant Windle, you want to know how well I knew the deceased?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘There are a number of deceased around here. I presume you are referring to Ms Narayanan.’
Lieutenant Windle was trying hard to control his annoyance at Deahl’s cockiness. ‘Cirisha Narayanan. This meeting is about her.’
‘Very good research faculty, she was truly committed to her work.’
‘Then why would anyone kill her?’
‘It’s tragic. But who am I to say? Everyone around is speculating. Someone says that she didn’t have a good relationship with her husband. Which Indian wife would stay away from her husband for this long? It’s only recently that he joined her in Boston. Some even speculate that maybe there was a Richard angle to it. She was close to him, which probably didn’t go down well with her husband. Everyone will have their own interpretation.’
‘Yes. I know. Some even say that she was killed because she had stumbled upon some irregularities in your research, and that spooked the NRA, and together, you eliminated her.’
‘Rubbish!’ Deahl’s face went red. ‘There is nothing in the research which is fabricated. You are wrong, lieutenant, and quite frankly, your allegation is very insulting.’ Deahl’s voice was beginning to shake. He was furious but was trying to control his anger.
‘I can understand. People do gossip about these things. It’s very easy to rubbish and attribute motives to certain actions. By the way, just to let you know, Staring Down the Barrel claims that during the research process, you interviewed twenty-three inmates from my prison. This never happened.’
‘Is that so?’ Deahl looked concerned. ‘I need to investigate this internally. Richard was handling that leg of the research. I am not sure how he managed it or how his team put together that data. I can’t validate everything that my team puts together, you see, lieutenant. Now that you say it, I will get it verified.’
Windle moved on. ‘When was the last time you met Cirisha?’
‘A few days ago. Can’t remember the exact date. I had forgotten something in my room and had returned to pick it up. I met her at the elevator. It was late at night and she was the only one there on the second floor. She didn’t have any reason to be there and she seemed nervous. That was the last I spoke to her, I think.’
‘Did you ever get the feeling that she was trying to accuse you of deliberately misleading the public into believing in your philosophy of gun rights for all?’
‘Half the country says
that my research is reassuring, while the other half claims that the research is rubbish. Who do you believe? Take your pick, lieutenant.’
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
‘No. I didn’t think so,’ he replied curtly.
‘What is your role in Cambridge Partners, the Boston-based hedge fund?’
‘Is this some kind of interrogation? If it is, I would appreciate it if you could give me sufficient notice, so that I can request my lawyer to join me in these discussions. It’s better to be prepared. You never know what will get misinterpreted. Thank you, Lieutenant Windle.’ And Deahl got up from his chair.
On the way back, a not-so-happy Windle made a phone call. ‘Is this the New York Times? May I speak to Christopher Jenkins?’ The call went on for fifteen minutes, after which Windle hung up.
62
10th June 2008
Boston
Aditya was at home that evening. Shivinder was worried about the money in his GB2 account in Geneva. Aditya used his Mexican connections and transferred all the cash lying in GB2 Geneva to Enrique Nieto’s account in GB2 Mexico. A corresponding credit appeared in the San Diego account of Enrique, which was controlled by Aditya. The money was now safe. They still did not have full control over the money—the collections from the franchisee security deposits—lying in GB2 in Mumbai.
Aditya spent the rest of the day trying to patch up parts of the house that had been torn apart during the assault on Narayanan. The doors had been restored and security alarms installed. But the inside of the house was still a mess.
That afternoon, too, the detectives from Windle’s team spent over three hours with him. It had become a routine for them. This time, Shivinder was also around. The detective found it extremely strange that two friends who had turned bitter foes had suddenly found solace in each other’s company.
After they left, Shivinder went off to visit the lawyer they planned to hire. This was going to be a longer process than what either of them had ever imagined.
Aditya walked to the garage to pull out some tools from the kit hanging on the wall. His car was parked there. He switched on the lights, walked to the far end beyond the car and plucked a hammer from the wall. He needed it for putting a few nails through the hard wood of the cupboard. He turned back and was crossing the car, when he looked inside casually. A big box was lying in the boot. Carefully, he carried the box into the house, wondering how he had forgotten to remove it after he brought it back from MIT on the day of Cirisha’s memorial.
Memories of that day flashed before him as he cut open the box.
At the top were several files—work permits, visa papers, income statements and so on. A photoframe with a wedding photo of the two of them was next. Awards, mementoes and stationery formed the next few layers. There was a picture of the entire team. He recognized a few of them from community dinners. There was also a strip of medicine. Like her mother, Cirisha too was diabetic and needed regular medication.
At the bottom of the pile were a few plastic folders with papers in them. He pulled them out. In one of them was the printout of the email which Cirisha had intended to hand over to Windle—Richard’s cryptic email. He had seen the email earlier when they were trying to crack open the lockers at the fencing facility. Back then, Cirisha had SMSed the image to him. It didn’t prevent him from clicking a picture of the email with his iPhone again. This email was the root cause of Cirisha’s involvement in this mire, he thought.
There was nothing else of significance in the box. He packed everything back in it, taped it up and dumped it in Cirisha’s study. As he turned back, Cirisha’s pretty face beckoned him. It was lying on the floor, sandwiched between the study table and the wall. A red band around the photograph made it easier for him to pick it up. He looked at it for a while. The white plastic around her photo had browned. It was a long while back that she had got it made. The photo was almost a decade old. Not much had changed. He reached for it and picked it up. Bringing Cirisha’s MIT identity card up to his lips, he kissed it, looked at it adoringly and kept it back on the table. She was not going to come back.
63
11th June 2008
Boston
When Deahl drove into the MIT parking lot, it was fuller than what he had seen over the years. On a regular day, there would be about eight to ten cars. However, that day there were over twenty-five cars parked. His intuition was telling him that there could be trouble today. When he got closer to the Academic Block, he could see what the problem was. He continued walking. Flashbulbs started going off, almost in unison. When they saw him, the journalists standing outside the Academic Block started running in his direction. They had been waiting for him since morning.
‘There has been some talk going around that the data, which is the basis of Staring Down the Barrel, is doctored. What do you have to say about that?’ They all had the same question.
‘Rubbish!’ Blood rushed to his cheeks. He was furious. ‘What are you talking about? I have no clue,’ Deahl snapped. It was a bad start to the day.
‘Is the inmate data incorrect?’ someone screamed. So that’s where it came from. That asshole David Windle had leaked the information to the press.
‘Your allegations are ridiculous and undeserving of a response.’ He continued walking and entered the Academic Block. The door shut behind him; the journalists couldn’t get in and were left outside holding their mics and video cameras. Deahl first called the security in-charge of the block and gave him a dressing down for having allowed the press into the campus. He then called Windle. ‘Who the hell authorized you to talk to the press?’
‘Pardon me?’
‘How did the press get wind of the issue we discussed yesterday? How could you tell them?’
‘Must I remind you, Dr Deahl, I take instructions from the American government, not you or your university or your sponsors. Have a good day, Dr Deahl.’ And he slammed the phone down.
Christopher Jenkins had spread the word and in a matter of hours, the whole media circle knew about the controversy surrounding Staring Down the Barrel. The NRA was upset by the turn of events. Lucier called Deahl and advised him to hold a press conference and address all the questions. Deahl grudgingly agreed.
64
11th June 2008
Boston
Around the same time, not so far away, Aditya had just woken up. He made himself a cup of coffee and sat by the window reminiscing about the past. The last twelve months had been pure hell. First it was his job, then his wife, then his father-in-law and now, he faced the prospect of being convicted for his wife’s murder. ‘Whoever said you pay for your sins in your next life was wrong. Here I am paying for my sins in this life itself,’ he thought. As his eyes panned the outside of the house, he saw his overflowing mailbox. Cirisha was always the one who cleared it. He had to get used to doing things on his own now. He staggered to his feet, walked up to the mailbox and began pulling out what looked like junk mail. Credit card offers, a few newspapers and discount coupons.
There was also a rejection letter from Cambridge Partners. They had displayed amazing alacrity in sending him that. They presumably wanted to document the reason why they had met him. The very sight of it got him agitated. He swung around and in one sweeping motion of his hand, began pushing all the mail furiously into the garbage bin sitting right next to the mailbox. As he turned around to head back into the house, he saw from the corner of his eye, a yellow paper sticking out of the bin. In a flash, he picked it up and stared at it in surprise. Thank God Cirisha was not around, else she would have given him grief over this!
Back inside, Aditya was keeping himself busy, trying to get the house back in shape. His mind kept oscillating between thoughts of Cirisha, Narayanan, GB2, his job, his career and his life back in India. He remembered how Cirisha had pinched his ears hard when she had found out that he had bribed a traffic constable on being caught for jumping a red light. Her absence was beginning to turn into a ghost-like presence.
<
br /> He walked to the table, picked up the yellow speeding ticket and looked at it. ‘You could have got me in trouble,’ he said. His eyes skimmed over the ticket from top to bottom subconsciously.
And that’s when he saw it.
It struck him like a lightning bolt. The colour drained from his cheeks. He read it again. Then for the second time. And then again and again. It was not a speeding ticket that he had been handed. It was in Cirisha’s name. But more importantly, it was for the car that she used to drive. He looked at the date. It was the same day that she died.
Time of offence: an hour and a half before her body was found.
65
11th June 2008
Boston
Aditya stiffened a little the moment he heard the voice over the phone. ‘Lieutenant? Aditya here. I need to talk to you.’
‘Tell me. I am a bit tied up. So please keep it short.’
‘The day she was killed, Cirisha had gone to MIT.’
‘What?’
‘Yes.’
‘But MIT is in a different direction. Boston Public Garden is to the east of Glen Evelyn Drive, whereas MIT is a fair distance to the west. And she was in her jogging gear.’
‘Yes. I know. But that day, in the morning, she was spotted close to the institute, driving at a very high speed.’
‘By whom?’
‘The traffic cameras. The pilot cameras that the traffic department has installed at the 93rd entry into the northbound carriageway of the Massachusetts Turnpike.’ Windle knew that the 93rd entry into the turnpike, northbound, was on the road leading to the turnpike from MIT. Anyone getting on to the highway from the 93rd entry was in all likelihood coming from MIT.
Bankerupt (Ravi Subramanian) Page 22
