In the Name of God

by Ravi Subramanian

  ‘Oh, but he can,’ Murthy said, dashing Kabir’s optimism. ‘There is an escape route.’ He indicated the map in front of them. ‘It goes from the Swati Thirunal Palace to the Kowdiar Palace, the official residence of the king. From the palace there is another route which leads to the sea. No one has explored this path. It was sealed years ago to prevent unwanted access to the palace.’ He marked the coordinates on the map in front. ‘From the Swati Thirunal Palace to the Kowdiar Palace and from there to the sea.’

  The path Murthy had marked ended at a point close to the sea. As Kabir took a closer look at the map, a nameless fear took hold of him. He lunged for his phone and dialled a number. As he waited for the call to connect, he looked at the map again and then at Krishnan. The DGP too had realized what Kabir had seen.

  The point where Murthy had drawn a large X to indicate the exit point of the escape route was labelled on the map as Kuzhivilakom Temple. The temple which Madhavan had gone to inspect. The temple in whose vicinity both Subhash and Kannan were seen before they were murdered. Was there a connection?

  ‘The phone is switched off,’ he said grimly.

  87

  Krishnan immediately sent a message to the car that had taken Madhavan to the temple. Within five minutes Madhavan called back on Kabir’s number. He was on the road outside Taj Kovalam.

  ‘Wait for us. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.’

  ‘You want me to wait on the road?’

  ‘Wait in the coffee shop.’ Kabir hung up and turned to Krishnan. ‘Let’s go, quickly. We don’t know what is in there.’

  ‘Reinforcements?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I just don’t want Madhavan to go in there alone. He is a Tamil Nadu Police officer. If something untoward were to happen to him you’ll have lots to answer for. That’s why I asked him to wait. We don’t even know if we are overreacting.’

  Just as they were leaving Krishnan’s office the head of the mobile intercept and telecom surveillance team came in. ‘I have Mr Parikh’s phone records. I can bring them in whenever you are free.’

  ‘This evening. We are just heading out. I’ll call you the moment I am back,’ Krishnan said, rushing out of his office.

  In twenty-five minutes they were outside Taj Kovalam. Just as he was driving in, Krishnan spotted Madhavan and slowed down. The latter was standing at a cigarette kiosk outside the hotel and smoking. There were a few people around him, mostly locals. Madhavan was in plain clothes. Nobody seemed to have figured out that he was a policeman. As Krishnan brought the car to a halt, Madhavan subtly gestured, asking them to move on.

  They parked the car in the visitors’ parking and headed for the coffee shop. They had barely settled down in their chairs when—

  ‘Hello! How are you doing, Mr Khan? Wonderful to see you again.’

  ‘Same here!’ Kabir smiled delightedly at Pallavi.

  ‘Was the video of any use?’ she asked.

  Kabir looked at her sheepishly, for he had forgotten to thank her. ‘Oh yes.’ He grinned. ‘Very.’ As if it was an afterthought, he added, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Finally!’ Pallavi smiled. She turned to Krishnan then and introduced herself. ‘Welcome to the Taj, sir. I’m Pallavi, the general manager.’

  Krishnan didn’t bother to introduce himself. He just shook her hand and sat back in his seat.

  ‘So are congratulations in order?’ Kabir asked Pallavi. He had noticed the change in her job title when she introduced herself to Krishnan.

  She beamed in response. ‘What can I get for you today?’ she asked.

  Kabir asked for filter coffee and Krishnan asked for green tea.

  Madhavan and the beverages arrived at the same time.

  ‘What the hell happened?’ Madhavan asked the moment he reached their table.

  Unlike him, Kabir waited for the waiter to leave and then filled him in on what they had learnt from Murthy.

  ‘All the more reason to go there right away!’ Madhavan stood up again, raring to go.

  ‘Don’t be crazy, Madhavan!’ Krishnan chided. ‘Let’s not hurry this and mess it up.’ He pointed to the chair, imploring Madhavan to resume his seat. ‘Doing anything silly will tip off people. The royal family has unimaginable clout. One wrong step and we will be doomed.’

  ‘But didn’t you know about the royal family’s connection to this temple, sir?’ Madhavan asked Krishnan, surprised.

  ‘Don’t be an ass, Madhavan!’ Kabir looked at him angrily. ‘We left some important follow-up work and came to fetch you. Trust us when we say now is not the time to go poking about here.’

  ‘Well, then you should have stayed and done your follow-up work. Why come all the way?’

  Kabir didn’t bother to explain to him the rationale that he had discussed earlier with Krishnan. Hurriedly he changed the topic. ‘What were you discussing with the men at the stall outside?’

  ‘I was just beginning a discussion on the temples in the vicinity. I pretended to be a trader in antiques and asked them if they knew someone who had something I could buy. In Chennai the paan shops outside five-star hotels are a hotbed of such activities. The foreigners staying in those hotels are perfect clients for smuggled goods.’

  ‘What did they have to say?’ Krishnan was curious.

  ‘They don’t have anything now. But they keep getting stuff every now and then.’

  ‘From where?’

  ‘That he doesn’t know. They get a few pieces a month and he helps sell them off to foreigners staying at the hotel.’

  ‘How does he get his client?’

  ‘I asked him. He relies on the hotel staff to net him a client.’

  ‘You mean to say that all these guys are involved?’ Kabir was sceptical.

  ‘If the fellow is to be believed, everyone is.’

  ‘Unlikely,’ said Kabir. ‘He was probably boasting, trying to snare a new buyer.’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’ Madhavan rolled his eyes.

  Krishnan paid the bill and the three of them left. As they exited the gate and turned left Kabir looked out of the car window. The CCTV camera caught his attention. He turned to see what the camera was pointed towards. It was the cigarette kiosk. Tucked away in a corner of the road, the kiosk was placed in the most unobtrusive manner—people could buy cigarettes, stand there and smoke, without causing any trouble.

  ‘Stop the car!’ he said urgently.

  Krishnan applied the brakes with a screech and stopped the car. Kabir got out and darted back into the hotel, leaving Krishnan and Madhavan wondering what happened.

  88

  Back in Krishnan’s office, the mood was one of excitement. They had stumbled upon something wholly unexpected.

  When Krishnan’s assistant knocked on the door, a sense of calm descended on the three men. ‘The head of mobile intercept and telecom surveillance is here to see you.’

  ‘Send him in,’ Krishnan instructed as he was the one who had sent word for him to come in.

  ‘What do you have, Kutty?’ Kabir asked the tall, gangly man who walked in. They had met before.

  ‘We have analysed the data from Mr Parikh’s phone,’ Kutty began speaking. ‘There are seventeen such numbers to which he made a call in the last two weeks, but the call wasn’t answered. Of these, he spoke to six of them at various other points in time. That means that those six numbers are not his second number.’

  ‘Obviously!’

  ‘That leaves us with eleven numbers. Of these, three were in the vicinity of his own number whenever he called. Within thirty metres. One of them was Ranjit Dubey’s. Understandable because he was in the room next to Subhash’s. The second was Nirav Choksi’s. He was in the room diagonally opposite.’

  ‘And the third?’

  ‘Kannan Ramalingam’s.’

  ‘Kannan?’ All three of them exclaimed simultaneously.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Kutty answered, somewhat taken aback by their chorus. ‘The number was issued about two and a half weeks ago.’

/>   ‘This isn’t the regular number that Kannan used?’ Krishnan verified.

  ‘No, sir. This number is different.’

  All three men wore similar expressions of shock on their faces. Kabir looked at Krishnan. ‘Why would Subhash be calling Kannan? Unless . . . ’

  Kutty said, ‘By mapping the geo location of Subhash Parikh’s actual number and overlaying it with the locations of the new number we can safely say that this was Subhash’s second number. The locations match most of the time except for when Subhash was in the temple. Then, the phone was switched off.’

  ‘Makes sense,’ Kabir said. ‘When Subhash was in the temple he would not be carrying the second phone.’

  ‘What about calls made from the phone?’

  ‘Only one number,’ Kutty responded.

  ‘Whose?’

  ‘Padmanabha Dasa.’

  ‘Whaaat!!!’ A shocked Kabir looked at Krishnan, who had bent down in frustration and his head was almost between his knees.

  ‘I am beginning to believe in your hypothesis’ was all he could say.

  89

  Dharmaraja Varma was resting in his bedroom when Krishnan and Kabir came calling again. They had earlier interrogated the owner of the shop that sold the SIM card to Kannan, but the shopkeeper had no recollection of who had picked it up. There were no CCTV cameras to go back to either.

  The king didn’t like to be disturbed while he was resting, so Krishnan and Khan had to wait. Krishnan was still reeling from Kutty’s revelation that Subhash had called Thirumanassu. He was beginning to think he had no choice but to believe Kabir’s hypothesis.

  Almost an hour passed before the king arrived, completely unapologetic about the delay.

  ‘Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have encouraged such an unannounced visit. However, I understand that these are trying times,’ he said, a note of condescension in his voice.

  ‘Thank you for being so considerate.’ Kabir Khan’s sarcasm was not lost on Varma, but he merely glared at him.

  ‘You said you didn’t know Subhash Parikh.’

  ‘Is this an interrogation? Again?’ Dharmaraja Varma was visibly annoyed.

  ‘Well, not exactly, but not a casual conversation either,’ Kabir said. He wanted to take the lead in the conversation.

  Varma turned towards Kabir, a menacing look on his face. ‘I might be old, but my memory hasn’t failed yet. I had said that I had known him only for a week, maybe two.’

  ‘Had you ever spoken to him over the phone?’

  ‘Is there any restriction on that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then?’

  ‘Our records show that he spoke to you at least seventeen times in the two weeks leading up to his death.’

  Dharmaraja Varma looked at him blankly and didn’t offer any comment initially. But finding Kabir staring at him expectantly, he casually asked, ‘Did he?’ There was a grin on his face.

  ‘That’s what his telephone records say.’

  ‘His?’

  Kabir nodded.

  ‘Well, so many people call me. Every day. How do you expect me to remember everything?’

  ‘Didn’t you just say you have a great memory?’

  ‘Perhaps it has begun to fail me.’ He guffawed.

  ‘Did you ever meet him outside the temple?’

  Dharmaraja Varma stood up suddenly. ‘It is time for my evening walk, gentlemen. Next time, if you give me adequate notice, I will make sure my lawyers are present when we talk.’ He extended his right hand towards the two of them. ‘Just to make sure that nothing I say is misrepresented. I’m sure you understand.’ He started walking back to his chambers. A maid walked in with glasses filed with cold drinks.

  ‘It is okay,’ he said, sending her away. ‘Our friends were just leaving.’

  Just before he exited the room, he looked at the DGP and said, ‘Don’t you think it is a bit foolish to expect me to stay disconnected with what is going on in my Padmanabha Swamy Temple. The entire wealth of generations is stored there, and you expect me not to make efforts to get to know what is going on inside.’ He chuckled derisively. ‘As if the CBI was not enough, you too have joined them in their stupid endeavours, Krishnan.’ And he disappeared behind the door which shut by itself.

  90

  The drive back to the police headquarters was a traumatic one for Krishnan and Kabir.

  ‘So Subhash was his mole?’ Kabir was incredulous.

  The fact that the discussion with the king had not gone too well was worrying Krishnan. He knew that Dharmaraja Varma was not the forgiving kind. He would pull strings to make sure Krishnan’s indiscretion didn’t go unpunished. ‘But you know what,’ he added after a prolonged period of silence, ‘I still think he is not guilty.’

  ‘For the sake of humanity, for the sake of Kerala and for the sake of those who believe in him, I hope and pray that you are right.’ They were both quiet for a while, till Khan spoke again. ‘If Subhash was his mole . . . if he was feeding Varma all the information about what was going on inside the temple vaults, then what was Kannan’s connection? Why was the phone in Kannan’s name? Was he also a part of the clique?’

  They did not have any answers.

  ‘I hope Madhavan has something good for us,’ Krishnan prayed as he floored the accelerator. Madhavan had stayed back to interrogate the cigarette vendor, whom they had picked up outside the Taj.

  A detailed analysis of Subhash’s two mobile phones was waiting on Krishnan’s table when they returned to his cabin. One look at it and Kabir figured out what the issue was.

  ‘Between 9.30 and 10 p.m. on the night Kannan died, Subhash’s phone shows an increased use of data. Which probably means he was not calling through his carrier; he was calling over the Internet. WhatsApp possibly,’ he declared, showing the analysis to Krishnan. ‘See,’ he said. ‘The time that he was on the call, the data usage has gone up. Clearly he was smarter than we think. Mobile calls can be monitored. WhatsApp calls can’t.’

  ‘But we still don’t know whom he called.’

  91

  Pallavi had sent across the CCTV feed from outside the gates for the entire week. Kabir wanted to check the activities at the cigarette shop, particularly of the kind that Madhavan had spoken about.

  He spent the whole night watching the tapes, analysing every individual who came to the cigarette shop, the money that changed hands. Occasionally, at night, he noticed a few foreign tourists spend a little extra time with the shopkeeper and eventually leave with a small packet. Every now and then, it was an Indian. It didn’t take Kabir long to figure out that the shopkeeper was trading in meth. Narcotics trade was banned, but this was not Kabir’s immediate concern. He was fighting a different battle. After making up his mind to forward the relevant clipping to Krishnan, he watched the entire week’s video footage on fast-forward. When he didn’t find anything, he started playing it all over again.

  At 6 a.m. Madhavan walked in with two cups of coffee. ‘Anything?’

  Kabir yawned, raised his hands above his head and stretched. Accepting a cup, he said, ‘Waste of time. What does our man have to say?’ he asked, referring to the cigarette vendor.

  ‘Not much. He claims to be an intermediary who just prospects. In case someone is interested, he refers them to a supplier who then calls the customer.’

  ‘Interesting!’ said Kabir. He yawned again.

  ‘Have you been at it all night?’ Madhavan asked, pointing at the screen. Kabir nodded wearily. ‘Well, watching it again isn’t going to get you anywhere. Take a break!’ Madhavan nudged him off the chair and started randomly watching the footage on the laptop.

  Kabir gratefully stumbled off to the bathroom to freshen up.

  A few minutes later, Kutty arrived, carrying two folders. ‘Krishnan sir is on his way. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes. These came last night,’ he said, setting the folders on the table. Then he left declaring that he was going to get himself some coffee.

  Kabir emerge
d from the bathroom and walked up to the table. He casually glanced through the file that Kutty had left on the table. It was the analysis of the call records of Lakshmi Narain Sharma and Dallu Driver, whose real name was Dilip Patankar. Kabir had asked for them just before he left Mumbai. There was nothing in the report which stood out. No correlations, no common numbers, no patterns. Sharma’s electronic trail was cold. Either he had covered up his tracks brilliantly or he had no role to play, and was just an innocent bystander. It was more likely he was the latter. Experience had taught Kabir that amateur criminals found it difficult to cover their tracks successfully in the modern age.

  The analysis of Patankar’s records was far more interesting. The most common numbers he had called were of five other cab drivers in Mumbai. All of them Ola drivers.

  ‘Did you find anything?’ Krishnan walked in, followed by Kutty.

  Kabir nodded absently and continued to read the report. Halfway through, he looked up and asked, ‘If someone calls you for a carpentry job, and you have a number of carpenters working for you, would you give the job to one of them or to a third party.’

  ‘Obviously my own carpenter. Why will I pass an opportunity to make money?’ Madhavan said.

  ‘Unless, of course, your carpenters are not free or not skilled enough to carry out the job,’ Kutty commented.

  ‘Hmm.’ Kabir kept reading. ‘Why would Dallu give the job of picking up Subhash Parikh to Lakshmi Narain Sharma and not to one of the five Ola cabs that he runs?’

  ‘What?’ Madhavan paused the video and looked at him.

  ‘According to this’—he held up the file—‘Patankar is a one-time cab driver himself. His fortunes changed for the better when he bought five cabs and enrolled them with Ola. His lifestyle improved tremendously, and now he is the proprietor of a small cab company. Still he gave the task of picking up Subhash Parikh to Lakshmi. Isn’t that strange?’

  ‘There’s something fishy here,’ agreed Madhavan.

  ‘It might be worth finding out when he went from being a driver himself to an aggregator for Ola. Were his cabs already booked the day Lakshmi was at the airport? Sending another driver is understandable if all five cabs were plying elsewhere at that time, otherwise it is a bit strange.’ He looked at Madhavan and said, ‘Can I have my laptop? I need to mail Mumbai Police. I’ll call them in a couple of hours.’