The king was outraged. ‘How dare you!’ he thundered. ‘The gold-plating machine was imported from Switzerland through proper channels. You can see the papers. We have the required import permits. No one questioned us then, so what gives you the right to question us now? As far as the rest of the antiques and jewellery that you are seeing here, they have been outside the vault for generations. They are in this room for repairs,’ Dharmaraja Varma snapped, not bothering to conceal his anger. ‘And now if you’re done with your insinuations and your accusations, gentlemen, I need to leave. The chief trustee of the temple will accompany you.’ And he stalked off.
The moment he left, Nirav turned to Vikram Rai. ‘Why the hell didn’t you pin him down? This was our best chance to nail him.’
‘Calm down, Nirav.’
But Vikram’s reassurances only irked Nirav further. ‘Calm down? We had him. The cops were here. The evidence of pilferage was here—’
‘We are not sure it is pilferage. We think it is.’ Rajan spoke for the first time.
‘Isn’t it obvious? Pot 1648 is here. We have only 869 pots in the vault. Which means that roughly seven hundred pots are missing! Each pot containing almost one kilo of gold. Seven hundred kilograms of gold that was probably melted in this contraption standing in front of you.’ And he pointed to the gold-plating machine. ‘At today’s price, the gold alone will be worth over two hundred crore. And you say that you think it is pilferage. I tell you this fraud should be in jail for what remains of his godforsaken life! No bail, no parole.’ Nirav moved his hands in the air, gesticulating wildly. ‘And you!’ He pounced on Vikram. ‘You sounded like you didn’t want to tread on his toes! As if you wanted to let him go. Without any explanation!’
‘Nirav! Stop and think for a moment,’ Vikram retorted. ‘Our brief is only to report any suspicious activity and irregularities. Not take action on them. Our job is to tell the court what we saw. What we’ve seen in the past thirty minutes will certainly make its way into our report. Over two hundred crore rupees worth of gold seems to have been systematically pilfered, as you have said. And there is no way that can be condoned. But we’re not the ones sitting in judgement here. Our job is to simply let the courts know, and let these gentlemen do theirs,’ he said pointing to Krishnan and Madhavan.
He looked at Rajan and requested, ‘Could you arrange to have the evidence in the room photographed and recorded, and take charge of the gold-plating machine?’
Rajan just nodded. ‘I will also get the lock replaced.’
‘Thanks!’ said Vikram as he walked out with Nirav.
63
Back at the hotel Kabir waited in his room for Madhavan and Krishnan to return. Plagued incessantly by a variety of thoughts, he finally decided to go out. As he exited the hotel a few security guards saw him and hurriedly came up to him. Wanting to be left alone, he shooed them away. In his hand was a sheet of paper—a map that tracked Subhash Parikh’s movements the night before he was murdered. He got into the car given to him by Kerala Police and told the driver where to go.
The trail began near their hotel where Padmanabha Swamy Temple Road intersected with MG Road. From there it went past the Kovalam Bypass Road and on to the highway. Subhash could not have covered this distance on foot. He must have taken a cab. Kabir made a mental note to ask the reception for the cab details.
The highway curved towards the sea. Thiruvananthapuram, by virtue of being on the western coast of India, had a long coastline. While parts of it were rocky, the bulk of it was sandy and made for a picturesque shoreline. Kabir drove for about 14 kilometres. At which point the trail turned right, towards the beach where a number of five-star hotels were located. Vivanta by Taj – Green Cove, Kovalam, was to the right and a few kilometres ahead was the Leela Hotel.
Kabir got out of the car and looked around. To his right was the main gate of the Taj. To his left, according to a sign, was a small passage that led to the private beach of the Taj Hotel. A strange configuration for a hotel, he thought. A public road separating the residences from the private beach—he hadn’t seen that in many hotels.
He ignored the thought and let his eyes wander. Going by the tracking data, Subhash had waited somewhere close by for about five to seven minutes that night. As he looked about he noticed two security cameras atop the main gate of the Taj. He stared at them for a few seconds before he got into the car, and asked the driver to enter the hotel.
The car dropped him outside the hotel lobby and drove away to the parking. Kabir walked up to the desk, showed his badge and asked to see the head of security.
‘Can I get you the manager?’ the receptionist asked.
‘Anyone who can guide me through the property,’ he said. The head of security would have been ideal but in his absence Kabir was willing to settle for someone else.
Within minutes, a sari-clad young lady, who looked to be in her early thirties, walked up to him.
‘Excuse me?’ she said, handing him her card. ‘I’m Pallavi, the assistant general manager.’
Kabir, who had been expecting to see a middle-aged man dressed in a suit, was pleasantly surprised. The look on his face was a dead giveaway. ‘You must have been a star performer, Pallavi!’ he couldn’t resist saying.
Pallavi laughed. ‘It’s nice to see that people think that way. But that’s not true. This is one of the smaller hotels in the group and finding people to work here is always a bit of an issue. If someone puts their hand up, they are picked almost immediately. I am not a star, just an ordinary girl who put her hand up.’ She smiled again. Her smile was gorgeous. ‘Now tell me, how can I help you, sir?’
‘I’d like to see the security footage from the main gate for Saturday night.’
‘And what makes you think I would oblige?’ Although she was still smiling, ice had crept into her voice.
How can someone be so pretty, yet so rude, Kabir wondered. ‘Oh, I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I should have introduced myself.’ He brought out his ID and offered it to her. ‘Kabir Khan. CBI.’
Pallavi’s demeanour changed instantly. ‘Of course! If you could give me some background, it will help me get things done. I will, however, need to check with the group head of security.’
‘On Saturday, an individual went past your hotel gates at 9.36 p.m. and then again at 10.23 p.m. I want to see if he was with someone.’
‘Our feed is held in our server in Mumbai. I will have to requisition the footage.’
‘How long do you think it will take?’
‘I’m not sure. But they will need some more details. They won’t release the feed on the basis of an oral instruction. Yet I will ask.’
‘Perhaps you can tell whoever it is that this is an ongoing murder investigation?’ Kabir said coolly, ignoring Pallavi’s gasp. ‘The man whose footage I am looking for was found dead on Monday. He was a member of the Padmanabha Swamy Temple audit team. His death raises many questions, some of which point to the highest seat in the monarchy and possibly even in the government. We must get to the bottom of this. Quickly. Any delay will make it easier for the killer to escape.’
‘I will do my best to expedite the request, Mr Khan.’
Before he left Kabir gave her his card and said that he would be expecting a call from her. ‘We are staying at the Lotus Pond.’
Pallavi smiled ruefully. ‘I know. We tried our best to host the audit team. We were even willing to give out the rooms for free! This is a better hotel, certainly a better-managed one. Yet everyone chose to stay there.’ She shook her head. ‘We figured that the Lotus Pond management probably used their connections to help them swing the deal. It’s unfortunate, losing a deal like this. But, we move on in life, don’t we?’
Khan didn’t know what to say. He just smiled and walked out of the hotel to his car.
At the main gate he turned right on to the public road. About a kilometre ahead was the Shiva Parvathy Temple in Kuzhivilakom. The road passed through some areas where construction activity seemed to b
e going on. Kabir stopped the car and looked around. A portion of the land on the right was cordoned off and huge pits had been dug up. He couldn’t exactly figure out what was going on inside. He ignored that and walked; the Shiva Parvathy Temple was just about one hundred steps ahead.
At the temple gate Kabir consulted the map in his hand. Subhash had come here on Saturday night and spent over twenty minutes before turning back towards Thiruvananthapuram. Kabir looked around, puzzled. Something didn’t seem right. An enormous padlock hung on the gate along with a board that said the temple was closed for renovation. The date on the notification was from two years ago.
What was Subhash Parikh doing here that night?
64
Later that evening Kabir got a call from Pallavi. She came straight to the point. ‘Mr Khan, unfortunately the CCTV cameras at the gates were not working that night. They were repaired on Sunday morn—’
‘Is this a joke?’ Kabir snapped. ‘Is the entire state involved in this cover-up? Whenever we need any footage, CCTV cameras across the state seem to malfunction. How convenient! How can you not have camera feed for the gate at that time?’
‘Mr Khan,’ Pallavi responded calmly, refusing to take the bait. ‘I told you that the gate cameras were malfunctioning that night. I did not say that we don’t have any camera footage for that time.’ There was tremendous poise in her voice. Kabir realized why she had become the assistant general manager of the hotel at such a young age.
‘I’m sorry?’ he said.
‘I said, that I told you that the cameras were malfunctioning. I never said that the feed was not available.’
‘Isn’t that the same thing?’
‘Almost, but not quite,’ she said.
Kabir resisted the urge to ask her what she meant. Her mind games were irritating him, but he was also beginning to enjoy them.
‘On Saturday night there was a wedding in the hotel. The wedding procession was at the gate around the same time that you wanted the feed for.’
‘Hmm’ was all Kabir Khan could say.
‘I asked for the wedding videographer’s recording. Fortunately, it covers the gate and the area that you want. If I recollect correctly, you want the footage from 9.20 to 9.38 p.m.? Right?’
‘Excellent!’ Kabir said admiringly. ‘Can you send it to me?’
‘On its way, sir!’ He could hear the smile in her voice. ‘But please do not drag the hotel or its employees into this.’
‘I shall do my best,’ Kabir promised.
‘The courier left with the CD some ten minutes ago. He should be reaching your hotel soon.’
Sure enough, the CD was in Kabir’s hands fifteen minutes later. Madhavan had joined him in his room by then as well. Without wasting a minute, Kabir opened his laptop and played the CD. It was a Punjabi wedding. The baraat was dancing in a crazed manner around the groom as he approached on horseback while the band belted out a hip-hop tune.
At 9.36 p.m. in the video clock, wearing a cream shirt and jeans, Subhash Parikh came into view. He was carrying an iPhone in his right hand and was walking by the side of the road, trying to avoid the baraat. He was alone. The audit team had been advised not to venture out alone, but there he was, all by himself.
Subhash walked past the baraat and stopped right in front of the hotel. He looked around—perhaps to make sure he had not been followed or maybe to look for someone. He stood there, fiddling with his phone. As Kabir watched the video he made a mental note to ask for a higher resolution image of the screen of the phone, just to try and see if he could make out what was on it.
After a couple of minutes Subhash suddenly brought the phone to his ear. The fact that he didn’t speak immediately suggested he was the one making the call. A few moments passed and then he could be seen shouting into the phone, possibly trying to be heard over the noise being made by the band. He was still gesticulating furiously and speaking agitatedly when the camera started to pan across. In a few seconds Subhash would no longer be in the frame. The call over, he could be seen putting the phone in his pocket.
Kabir watched intently. The video had just five seconds remaining. Two seconds before the end he hurriedly tapped the spacebar and paused the video. He peered at the screen for a moment, then turned and looked at Madhavan.
‘Did you see what I just saw?’
Madhavan nodded.
‘How could this happen?’ Kabir looked shocked.
65
DGP Krishnan was in office early that day. Kabir Khan had called him at 5 a.m. and asked to meet him as soon as possible. It was 6.45 a.m. by the time they met. Kabir inserted a pen drive into the DGP’s computer and brought up the video on the screen.
‘Whose wedding is it?’ Krishnan asked.
‘Does it matter?’
‘Not really, no . . .’ Krishnan said as he went back to watching the video. ‘Can’t we just watch the relevant portions?’ he complained as an office boy brought in some fresh filter coffee, and poured it out for him.
‘No,’ Kabir said shortly.
‘The video’s about to end, Khan,’ Krishnan said, reaching for his filter coffee. ‘What’s so important about watching Parikh yell on the pho—’ He stopped speaking abruptly, the tumbler of coffee halfway to his mouth, his eyes focused on the screen. Turning towards Kabir, he muttered, ‘What does she have to do with Subhash Parikh?’
‘My guess is as good as yours.’
‘What do we do now?’ he asked Kabir.
Madhavan had been silent all this while. Now he said, ‘This proves that this woman is in Thiruvananthapuram. But where is she now? Where has she been hiding? We have activated all our information channels—every single bit of information we could get, we have got.’
‘We have her number. We can track her down,’ Kabir declared.
‘We have?’ Madhavan asked.
‘Can’t you see? Subhash must be calling her. The moment he disconnects the call, she appears. I can only imagine he was calling her to locate her. And when he saw her, he hung up.’
‘I don’t think it was Shreyasi that he called.’ Madhavan was firm. He replayed the last few seconds of the video again. ‘It’s true, the moment he disconnects, Shreyasi does appear. But she doesn’t have a phone in her hand.’
‘How long does it take to slip it inside the bag?’ Kabir countered.
‘Not long, but where is her bag?’ Madhavan paused the video at the point when she entered the frame. Kabir looked carefully. Madhavan was right. She didn’t have a bag in her hand. And she was wearing a sari.
‘It could have been a normal call to someone else,’ Madhavan reasoned.
‘But to whom?’ Krishnan was lost in thought. This someone could be the key to the entire case.
DGP Krishnan picked up his intercom and pressed a button. ‘I need you to run a check on Subhash Parikh’s mobile number. On Saturday, a day before he died, I want to know who all he called between 9.30 p.m. and 9.45 p.m., and if he received any calls during that time. You have ten minutes.’
‘This is an interesting connection,’ Kabir remarked thoughtfully. ‘There is something extremely fishy about this.’
‘Knowing Parikh could be a coincidence. They are in similar trades.’ Krishnan played the devil’s advocate.
‘Hmm . . . It’s possible. Possible but not probable. We won’t know unless we get to the bottom of this. And until we do that, all possibilities have to be considered.’
The intercom rang.
‘Yes?’ Krishnan barked. ‘That was quick. Tell me.’
The DGP’s face transformed as he heard the answer. One didn’t need to be a genius to figure out that everything was not right.
‘Are you sure?’ Krishnan asked and waited for the answer before he hung up. He grabbed a glass of water kept on the table and gulped down half its contents.
‘Parikh neither made nor received any calls that night.’
‘Or maybe he did,’ Kabir reasoned. ‘Just that he made them from a different phone. A seco
nd phone.’
66
Concerned at the turn of events the chief minister of Kerala called for a meeting of the top officials of the state police that day. Krishnan asked Kabir to accompany him to the meeting. Vikram Rai was also summoned.
As expected Dharmaraja Varma and the chief minister walked into the room together.
‘So, Mr Krishnan,’ the chief minister began, ‘this is proving to be a lot more complicated than what it had seemed when it all began.’
‘If the loss of two lives is “complicated”, then yes, sir.’
‘Human life is precious, Krishnan. Two people have died. The press is baying for my blood. If we can’t protect people in and around the temple, whom can we protect? If we cannot safeguard the lives of guests in high-security areas, then that raises questions about the effectiveness of our police force.’
‘Respectfully, sir,’ Kabir Khan said, ‘if more than two hundred crore worth of gold can be pilfered from under our noses, where is the guarantee that we can protect anybody?’
‘Don’t speak out of turn, officer,’ the chief minister chided Kabir and turned to Krishnan, ignoring what Kabir had said. ‘What are we doing to give people the confidence that things are under control?’
‘Another investigation?’ Vikram Rai butted in with a straight face and a hint of derision in his tone. ‘An open, honest and thorough investigation for a change . . .’ He looked pointedly at Dharmaraja Varma.
‘What do you mean, Mr Rai?’
‘Well, sir, with due respect, you call for this meeting and then walk into it arm in arm with Dharmaraja Varma . . . It doesn’t instil confidence in the idea of a fair investigation, does it?’ Kabir responded even though the chief minister had directed the question at Vikram. He was furious that the chief minister was taking them to task when he should have been asking them the facts of the case and taking an update. He was reasonably certain that the king had given him his own version of events and the chief minister had believed it to be gospel.
In the Name of God Page 16
