by UD Yasha
‘I’d rather speak to you about it face to face,’ Meena said.
Through low-resolution images from the camera, I watched Meena look both ways towards the road to check if anyone was following her. We lived in a housing society that had a private road. The main city road of Baner was about seventy metres down the slope that led to the society. So, when Meena checked behind her, she should have gotten an exact idea of what or who was behind her.
‘Can you please let me in?’ Meena said. Her voice was softer this time.
‘Alright, give me a minute,’ I said and then turned to everyone.
I muted the microphone.
It was as if Radha read my mind. ‘You don’t know her,’ she said.
‘I know, and that’s why I’m going to meet her in my garage office,’ I said, throwing a hand to my right at the garage that occupied a large part of our garden. ‘You guys stay inside. I’m right across. There’s nothing to worry about.’
Meena Kiran. I kept trying to remember where I had heard the name as Radha, Rahul and Maa stepped inside the house along with Shadow. Once they were indoors, I walked to the gate and unlatched it.
Meena smiled as if she was meeting a very old friend. Up close, she seemed even more familiar although I was sure I had not met her before. She was almost as tall as me, which put her at about five feet seven inches. Her hair was tied in a bun at the back and her face bore no makeup. A small purse was hanging on her right shoulder.
‘Siya, I’m so glad to see you,’ she said and then turned around again to check the society road.
It was empty but for the cars parked on either side.
‘The rain is getting heavier,’ I said. ‘Let’s go to my office.’
Meena followed me in as I pulled up the garage shutter. I had not used the office much in the last six months, except to read in it every week. So, the air inside was fresh.
Only one thought occupied my mind as we sat on chairs opposite each other: How do I know this woman?
‘Thanks for letting me in,’ Meena said. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
‘Please go on,’ I said.
‘I don’t know how to say this. I guess there’s no right way,’ Meena said and then kept her purse on her lap.
As she finished her sentence, I remembered how I knew of Meena Kiran. The surname was what had initially rung a bell in my mind. Then seeing Meena at the gate, the familiarity had only grown. This cannot be happening. The realization hit me in my gut. Meena was the daughter of one of Zakkal’s early victims.
‘You’re Sakshi Kiran’s daughter, right?’ I said, my voice unsure of what this would mean.
Meena looked up from her purse. She nodded just as a tear streamed down her cheek. She wiped it with the back of her hand. I knew what was going to come next.
‘He’s back, Siya’ Meena said. ‘Zakkal’s back.’
Goosebumps spiked across my body as the words kept echoing in my mind. I tried to maintain my sanity. This day was going to come. We all knew it. Then, Meena answered the second question I had in my mind.
‘You must be wondering why I’m here or how I know Zakkal is back. He was in my house and has asked me to deliver you a message,’ Meena said and then broke down.
Chapter Three
Across town, Senior Inspector Kapil Rathod was excited to be back in the game. He had resumed duty three months ago but had been assigned menial work like clearing the ever-growing backlog in paperwork and training new police officers that had joined the CID. His original suspension was supposed to last for six months so he did not complain when ACP Shukla had let him back after three.
As much as he hated doing paperwork, sitting at home was worse. He had liked training new officers to some extent, which blunted the monotony of paperwork. But still, nothing could compare to the thrill of working on a real case.
Rathod stepped out of his house with a spring in his step. Just a minute ago, he had received a call from his partner, Mahesh Bhalerao—who had been recently promoted to the post of Senior Inspector.
‘Hello, partner,’ Bhalerao had said on the call. ‘From what I hear, it’s like Yamraj, the God of Death, has personally planned your welcome party. Even I don’t know what to expect but I was told that I’d need to see it with my own eyes to believe it. I’ve sent you the address of the crime scene. I’m reaching in thirty minutes as well.’
Rathod laughed. He had missed working with Bhalerao in the field. Bhalerao’s humour was at times downright objectionable but it had carried them through the dark times.
As Rathod got in his car, his mother came running down the staircase of their apartment building.
‘You forgot your prasad,’ she said.
Rathod was not religious like his parents. But he knew how difficult it was for the families of those working in law enforcement to see their loved ones put themselves in harm’s way every day. So, he had a smile on his face as he accepted the prasad, which was the food offered to Gods after praying to them. This time, it was simply a small piece of an Indian sweet called a milk cake.
‘You’ll do well, beta,’ she said. ‘Take care.’
As he bid farewell to his mother, Rathod pressed his foot on the accelerator, feeling the same level of excitement he had experienced before his first-ever case.
At the start of his suspension, Rathod was striking down dates on a calendar. But the act had seemed too depressing after the first twenty days so he had stopped. Being a police officer was all that Rathod had known all his adult life. Being back in the field now was like he had been reborn.
The address that Bhalerao had texted him was in an area called Mulshi, which was at the outskirts of Pune city. In the increasing evening rush coupled with the steady rain, it took him about an hour to reach the place.
The raindrops flashed blue and red on his windscreen as he pulled over outside the barricaded area. The place was a large farmhouse with vast open areas on all sides. Stepping out of the car, Rathod unfurled his umbrella. A junior hawaldar rushed to him.
‘Bhalerao sir is waiting for you,’ the hawaldar said. ‘He has asked me to take you to him.’
Rathod gave a firm nod of his head. He took a moment to look around. Driving down there, Rathod had observed that the locality was quiet and on a usual day, there would have been no sign of human life anywhere close to the farmhouse. It was remotely located with the nearest highway at least fifteen minutes away. The tree cover was also moderately thick. While he was eager to be back in the field, a part of him was restless, knowing what was in store for them inside the farmhouse. Along with the hawaldar, he walked to Bhalerao’s car. A small white van with a strobe light on top was parked next to it.
A woman who was sitting inside the van handed them plastic overalls. They both slipped into them and took off for the entrance of the farmhouse. Usually, Bhalerao would have given Rathod a bear hug to greet him. But Bhalerao was silent. They followed a small walkway that was surrounded by a garden. Most of the small saplings in it had dried up while the larger trees were still standing strong.
‘What do we know so far?’ Rathod asked Bhalerao.
The expression on Bhalerao’s face told Rathod to be prepared to hear the worst. Usually, that meant multiple murders in their world.
Bhalerao said, ‘This farmhouse is called The Green Estate. Its owner is an Indian guy who has been living in the UK for the past twenty years. From what I hear, he’s from a wealthy family. Farmhouses, buildings, penthouses…the entire deal. But the owner passed away two months ago. Heart attack, nothing suspicious. His empire was based on borrowed money. And as it so happens, it turns out the guy was borrowing more than he was earning. When he died, his business collapsed. His family could not pay back any loans, including the one on which this farmhouse was bought. A legal mess but we have bigger problems. The bank sent its people over earlier today and they found dead bodies inside.’
‘How many?’ Rathod asked.
‘No idea. But the bank’s empl
oyee who reported the bodies has not been able to speak for the past two hours. The hawaldar who reached the crime scene said and I quote “it’s a fucking slaughterhouse”. Our team is on its way. You’re the first member to reach.’
Rathod and Bhalerao walked through a garden of flowers for about four minutes before they reached the actual entrance of the farmhouse. A large staircase with high pillars on either side signalled its entrance. The farmhouse itself seemed large like everything else on its premises. It was two-storeyed and the construction spread over at least four thousand square feet.
On reaching the top of the stairs, they saw two hawaldars standing next to a man.
‘That’s the bank employee who found the bodies,’ Bhalerao said. ‘His name is Shaun Richards.’
Shaun looked like he was in his mid-forties. His eyes were swollen red and his hand was shivering. In it, he was holding a pendant with a cross on it while he whispered a prayer.
‘We’ll talk to him once we check what’s inside,’ Rathod said.
A hawaldar gave them a hand towel to dab their plastic overalls dry. They ducked under the yellow duck tapes and entered the living room.
‘You’ll also need this,’ he said, handing them face masks. The bodies are in the garden on the terrace,’ the hawaldar said. ‘I saw them. The place looks a mess.’
A different hawaldar guided them inside. Rathod took a moment to feel the ambience. The air inside was damp as if fresh air had not been able to seep in for a while. But the living room floor did not have a thin layer of dust on it, indicating that it had been cleaned not so long ago. It was a huge place but looked even bigger because of the extremely high ceilings. The architecture looked old because of the grandiose style, the excessive use of columns, large windows and arches. To add to the theme, a big old staircase opened up in the middle of the living room.
The hawaldar led the way as Rathod and Bhalerao walked to the terrace. The old style of architecture was consistent throughout the house.
On reaching the top, the hawaldar pointed at a corridor and said, ‘Just follow the corridor and it’ll open into the terrace.’
As they reached the end of the corridor, Bhalerao said, ‘The moment of truth.’
They first noticed the number of dead bodies. There were six of them. All at various stages of decomposition. Rathod and Bhalerao had seen various dead bodies in their career but seeing six with varying degrees of damage was gut-wrenching. Rathod cleared his throat and adjusted his mask.
The bodies were kept on a five-foot-tall bed of soil. Some were partially buried while the others were not. Rathod guessed that all were buried at some point and that scavengers had preyed on them in due course.
‘What the hell,’ Bhalerao whispered under his breath.
‘I’ve never seen something like this,’ Rathod said.
The bodies were arranged at one end of the terrace. The furthest one had decomposed the most such that only its skeletons remained. The one closest to them was decaying but still had flesh. Different coloured fluid had leaked out of it. The ones in the middle ranged from being only skeletons to having very little flesh.
They next noticed the flies in the air. The bodies had been covered with temporary plastic tents, but the flies were still buzzing outside the plastic, eyeing the feast that lay in front of them. Far in the sky, in the fading sunset, they also saw the silhouettes of vultures. The farmhouse was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a moderately-thick forest. No one but the scavengers would have known they were there.
Rathod knew that buried bodies took anywhere between eight to twelve years for complete decomposition. But in this case, all of them had been dug out and preyed on by birds, insects and worms. He would have to wait for the medical examiner to present him the findings. Given the extent of damage to most of the bodies, the forensic department was going to have to work overtime.
Rathod walked along the soil bed. The smell of decay seeped in through his mask so he held his breath. He realized that all bodies had been dressed up just before being buried. Though now, the clothes were in tatters because of the scavengers.
‘There is a method to this madness,’ he said.
‘This is one nasty serial killer,’ Bhalerao said, joining Rathod by his left elbow.
‘And it looks like the most recent victim did not die long ago.’
Because the decay and scavenging on the two most recent victims were not yet complete, their bodies appeared the most gruesome. Rathod leaned over the most recent victim to spot any injuries or marks on the body. He squinted his eyes as he pulled out a torch and held it against the body. All he could see was decaying flesh and some bones along with maggots who were having a feast inside.
Rathod shook his head, realizing there was no point in him spending any more time with the bodies.
‘We’ll start by looking into the owners of this place. The guy is dead now but maybe his relatives and friends,’ Bhalerao said.
Rathod narrowed his eyes. ‘I don’t think any of them would be involved. Well, at least not directly. Maybe the killer knew one of them and frisked off their keys or knew about this farmhouse being empty. But apart from that, and that is a stretch, I don’t think we’re dealing with someone ordinary here.’ Rathod swept a glance across at the six bodies once again. ‘Whoever is capable of doing this is a freaking monster.’
Chapter Four
Meena Kiran had buried her face in her hands while she was wailing. I stood next to her and stroked her back. As she heaved for air while crying, I thought back to why she had seemed familiar to me the first time around.
During the years when Maa was missing and presumed dead, the investigation into her disappearance had always occupied my mind. I had followed every possible clue and met hundreds of people to find out what had happened to maa. When I had realized that Maa’s disappearance was connected to a serial killer preying on women across India, I had examined each and every possible victim.
At that point, I had come across Swapna Kiran. Swapna was Meena’s mother and had disappeared into thin air just like my mother. They used to stay in Mumbai back then. I had even spoken to Meena’s father on the phone. The night Swapna had disappeared, her bathroom had been splashed with blood, just like the Maa's bathroom on the day she had vanished.
Eventually, almost six years ago, when the police had traced those crimes back to Zakkal, they had found the bodies of some women who were believed to have been killed by him. But not all of his victims were found as some women—like Maa—were in the care of Zakkal’s protégé Ranjit Kadam. They were eventually rescued two years ago when we caught Ranjit, only to realize that the entire plot all along was to create the perfect recipe for Zakkal to escape jail.
As I thought back to that period, a chill ran up my spine when I recalled the night we had been led to a field where Zakkal had arranged ten glass jars around a small lamp. Five jars had human hearts while the other five had human hair. It was Zakkal’s perverted way of telling us that five women were dead and five were still alive. That’s how I had gotten to know for certain that Maa was still alive. Swapna Kiran was amongst the other women still alive. The last I heard, which was soon after Zakkal had escaped from prison, Swapna was recovering from the brutal trauma she had endured while she had been in the captivity of Zakkal first, and then Ranjit. I remember Rathod telling me that the police had put a security detail outside the houses of the women who had been rescued back then. But it had been more than two years since Zakkal had escaped. Having security of any kind, even a junior hawaldar cost money. The security detail would have lasted a few weeks at the most.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Meena said, wiping her tears as more streamed down her face. ‘It’s just that I’m very scared. My mother…she’s still not alright. She still wakes up in the middle of the night every week. She is afraid to even stay alone for more than a few minutes. I’m just too scared, Siya. I truly am.’
My heart went out to Meena. I had some idea of what might have b
een going through her mind. I had been experiencing a form of a similar fear, anger and frustration for the last six months. I could not imagine how much harder it must have been for Meena. At least I had a background in criminal investigations. Meena and her mother had gone through a lot already.
‘I understand. Don’t worry about anything. Take your time,’ I said. ‘I’ll get you some coffee.’
I crossed to the coffee machine in the garage and poured us both cups. I handed Meena one. We sat in silence for a while as Meena gathered her thoughts. I knew the pain that Zakkal had caused her. Meena would have believed that her mother had died a long ago while she was still abducted. She must have felt the pain that accompanies death. But then, two years ago, that would have changed. Getting her mother back would have changed her life altogether. The almost-impossible situation had played out—the person she loved the most in her life had returned.
But now, being contacted by Zakkal again would have ripped open the wounds that had faded away on the return of her mother. I let her be and observed her closely as she sipped her coffee. She must have been roughly as old as me which put her in her early thirties. Her eyes were baggy and her voice had quivered every time she had spoken. She was dressed in a white salwaar and light green kurta. It was a long seven minutes before she spoke again.
'I'm better now,' Meena said almost as soon as she finished her coffee. She gulped hard as if she was summoning up the courage and said, 'He was in my house. That bastard. He entered my bedroom. I wasn't there then but I think that was by design. He didn't want me there. Instead, he wanted me to find something that he had left behind. He put it in my drawer of undergarments. I'm just glad he did not keep anything in my mother's room. I fear what would have happened if she had found this letter in her room instead. I'm glad it was me. I haven't even told her about this.'
‘I know this is hard beyond imagination. This should not be happening. Can you please show me what Zakkal left in your drawer?’ I said.
