Chain of Custody Read online

  ‘It’s not easy, G … it’s not,’ she said softly. ‘I didn’t know being the other woman would feel like this.’

  He wrapped his arms around her. He could see she was hurting, but he didn’t know how to make it go away.

  ‘How long is she here for?’ she said against his chest.

  ‘I don’t know …’ he murmured. He felt her hold on him tighten. ‘Baby,’ he said.

  She tilted her chin and stared at him. Then, giggling, she said, ‘Baby! Where did that come from?’

  He smiled sheepishly. He didn’t know either. ‘May I have that coffee?’ he asked, dropping into a sofa.

  ‘Just coffee?’ She smiled.

  He looked at her. She was wearing a yellow shirt in some clingy material and white trousers. ‘You look like an egg,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ she asked, sitting by his side.

  ‘Good enough to eat.’ He smiled.

  Urmila pinched his cheek, and in his head Michael muttered: Bob, you are getting really good at buttering up the ladies!

  ‘There is someone I want you to meet,’ Urmila said suddenly, going into the bedroom.

  Gowda stared after her. When she returned, she bore a stuffed toy in her arms.

  The dog leapt from her arms and danced at his knees. ‘He wants you to pick him up.’ She grinned. ‘He was meant to go to a friend but I couldn’t resist him.’

  ‘Does he have a name?’ Gowda asked as the dog settled on his lap.

  ‘Mr Right.’

  ‘Where’s PC David?’ Santosh asked, glancing at the new man in the driver’s seat.

  ‘He is more familiar with the place we are going to,’ Byrappa said, getting into the backseat. ‘This is PC Shafi,’ he said by way of introduction, looking at him meaningfully, though Santosh would understand the point of that gaze only much later.

  ‘Are you sure you have the right autorickshaw?’ Ratna asked, as she got in beside Santosh.

  Byrappa nodded.

  ‘It didn’t take you very long.’ Santosh frowned.

  ‘Gowda sir knew exactly whom to call … so all I needed to do was follow up.’

  ‘Whom did he call?’ Ratna asked.

  ‘He has informants and connections everywhere,’ PC Byrappa said.

  ‘Who was it? Mohammed?’ Santosh asked.

  ‘How did you know?’ PC Byrappa asked.

  Santosh shrugged.

  ‘Mohammed led us towards an auto mechanic in that area,’ Byrappa said.

  The jeep pulled up outside a small block on a little road off Shyampur near Dr Ambedkar Hospital.

  Byrappa stepped out and walked towards a block of low-cost housing-board flats. Santosh and Ratna followed him. A little boy was riding his tricycle up and down the enclosed verandah of the ground-floor flat of G Block. He saw the approaching strangers and burst into loud sobs as he fled.

  ‘What happened?’ Santosh said, rushing towards the verandah.

  Byrappa stood transfixed. ‘I didn’t do anything, I didn’t even speak a word.’

  Ratna shook her head with a wry smile. ‘Weren’t you told as little boys that the police would come to get you, if you didn’t behave?’

  Byrappa grinned at the thought of his uniform frightening the child. ‘I just wish my uniform had the same effect on some of the hooligans I have to deal with.’

  ‘Why are you wearing a uniform anyway?’ Santosh asked Byrappa.

  ‘Special duty at the airport this morning,’ Byrappa replied.

  ‘The only thing is, if his father is at home, the boy’s cries would have sent him into hiding,’ Santosh said.

  ‘Do these flats have back doors?’ Ratna asked.

  Byrappa nodded. ‘I would think so.’

  ‘The two of you go in. I’ll wait in the lane behind. If he pops out from the back entrance, I’ll grab him,’ Ratna said, thrusting a file into Santosh’s hands.

  ‘You shouldn’t …’ Santosh began, but Ratna was gone.

  A middle-aged woman with a dupatta over her head came into the enclosed verandah. The little boy peered at them from behind her.

  ‘We are here regarding an enquiry. We think that the autorickshaw that belongs to …’ Santosh began in Kannada.

  The woman’s eyes widened.

  ‘Is Tejuddin here?’ Byrappa interrupted in a language that seemed to be a mixture of Urdu and something else.

  ‘This is the Urdu they understand,’ he said when the woman went back in. ‘The Shivaji Nagar Urdu. So all that flowery Kannada was wasted on her.’

  She returned with an elderly man. ‘I am Tejuddin,’ he said, leaning on a Zimmer frame.

  Santosh opened his notebook.

  ‘You’re the owner of autorickshaw vehicle number KA-03-1585.’

  The man nodded.

  ‘Do you have a driver?’ Santosh asked.

  ‘No … we keep the autorickshaw for personal use. I call in one of the local boys to drive it when we need to go out.’

  ‘Your son?’ Byrappa asked, trying to peer over the man’s shoulder.

  ‘He’s in Saudi Arabia,’ the elderly man said. ‘Why? What’s wrong?’

  ‘We had some information that your autorickshaw may have been involved in a kidnapping,’ Santosh said, ignoring Byrappa’s frown.

  The elderly man shook his head. ‘You are mistaken. We don’t do such haram. Besides, I know when my autorickshaw is used and by whom.’

  The little boy was tugging at the old man’s kurta, urging him to come in.

  ‘Where is the autorickshaw?’ Santosh asked.

  ‘My nephew Rafiq has taken it for the day,’ the old man said, tousling the hair of his grandson. ‘Stop it, Abbas,’ he said sternly.

  ‘So who lives here?’

  ‘The two of us, our daughter-in-law and our grandson,’ the woman said.

  Byrappa nodded. ‘We’ll be back,’ he said cryptically, turning to leave.

  ‘The old man is speaking the truth, but she is hiding something,’ he said as they walked down the lane.

  ‘Yes, I thought so too,’ Santosh said, wondering where Ratna was.

  Santosh’s mobile rang. It was Ratna. ‘You had better hurry this side,’ she said in a low voice.

  Santosh gestured for Byrappa to follow him. Next to the block of flats was an empty piece of land hemmed in by a five-foot-high wall with a locked gate. Santosh hoisted himself over the wall. The ground was overgrown with tall grass and bushes. A guava tree stood laden with fruit. At the farther end of the ground was an extraordinary sight: scooters with dented sides and one with a half missing, as though it had been sawed in the middle; autorickshaws in various stages of disembowelment. A couple of cars that were recognizable as cars only from their shells.

  ‘What is this place?’ Santosh asked.

  Byrappa smiled. ‘This is where vehicles come to die.’

  Santosh darted a quick look at him. Who would have thought there was a poet in PC Byrappa!

  The plot was open on the other side, facing the railway line. Ratna was standing near a tree by a tender-coconut vendor.

  The coconut vendor stared at the sight of the two men emerging from the graveyard of autos. That’s what the ground was called – Auto Kabaristhan.

  Santosh walked towards Ratna. Under the next tree on the dirt road was a vehicle swathed in a blue plastic sheet.

  ‘He jumped over the wall at the rear of the flats and hid himself in the autorickshaw beneath the tarpaulin,’ Ratna said softly.

  ‘It looks like a car,’ Santosh murmured.

  ‘They have pushed a cart beneath it so it looks bigger at first glance. But one end of it doesn’t touch the ground and I could see it’s a cart,’ Ratna said, opening her bag and peering into it.

  Santosh turned his head carefully to his left. Byrappa nodded almost imperceptibly. In one swift motion they moved towards the swaddled auto. Byrappa pulled away the plastic sheet from the front of the vehicle. Within sat a young man. He looked barely nineteen. He leapt to his feet but Santosh grabbed
his arm. ‘Are you going to come with us without making a fuss or do you want me to handcuff you?’ Santosh growled. A very Gowdalike growl, Byrappa thought with grudging admiration.

  ‘I didn’t do anything wrong,’ the young man said, not bothering to hide his anger as he tried to pull his arm away.

  ‘In which case, why are you hiding?’ Santosh asked.

  Ratna stepped forward.

  ‘You,’ said the young man. ‘It’s you … I thought you were a fucking whore and I felt sorry for you … standing under the tree in the middle of the day.’

  Santosh raised his arm to smack the boy.

  ‘Don’t,’ Byrappa said. ‘He’s trying to rile you so you slap him. That’s exactly what he wants. Look across …’ A boy stood with his mobile phone aloft, capturing the goings-on. ‘Every motherf …’ Then, realizing it was Ratna he was talking to, he changed it to, ‘every street rat is a citizen journalist now!’

  The coconut seller was watching them. He had his mobile out too.

  Ratna walked towards him. ‘If you don’t erase what you’ve recorded, I’ll have you taken into custody,’ she said under her breath. The man did as he was told. He waved to the boy across the road, shooing him: ‘Ja, ja!’

  Byrappa hooked a finger through the loop in the young man’s trousers. ‘Take your hands off me,’ he snarled.

  ‘It’s either this or handcuffs,’ Byrappa said in a conciliatory voice that made Santosh glance at him. That’s experience, he thought, suddenly out of his depth.

  ‘Walk,’ Byrappa said. ‘Let’s see what Tejuddin has to say …’

  A small group of people followed them back to Tejuddin’s house. A small group of militant young men.

  One of them hollered, ‘It’s all planned by them. They are taking one of us away for no reason.’

  Santosh turned his head to look at them. A young boy screamed, ‘That policeman, it’s he who grabbed Rafiq bhai …’

  Ratna’s face was pale, he noticed. ‘Should we ask for reinforcements?’ She asked nervously.

  PC Shafi stepped out of the Bolero. He walked towards the mob. ‘Kya so … what’s going on?’ he asked the young man with a skull cap who was turning a shade of vermilion from the heat and his rising fury.

  ‘You think you can come here and take one of us just like that?’ Skull Cap bristled.

  Shafi frowned. ‘Don’t turn this into them and us, you idiot. This is an enquiry about a kidnapping case.’

  ‘Kidnapping?’

  ‘Yes, a twelve-year-old girl. And as a devout Muslim, you should know that nowwhere in the Koran does it say that it’s all right to kidnap a young girl.’

  ‘You harami,’ Skull Cap said, raising his hand to slap the young man.

  ‘Stop it,’ Byrappa said, lapsing into Urdu. ‘No need for you to play the police. That’s what we are here for!’

  Skull Cap turned and waved his hand to disburse the mob. ‘Ja, ja,’ he called out. ‘This is police business. No need for us to get involved with what this harami has done.’

  Santosh and Ratna exchanged glances. There was nothing as frightening or as fickle as a mob.

  The commotion had brought Tejuddin back to the verandah. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked, his voice trembling at the sight of the police and a crowd of curious neighbours. ‘Rafiq, what did you do?’

  ‘Who is he?’ Byrappa asked, thrusting the young man forward.

  ‘I didn’t do anything, mamu,’ the boy mumbled. ‘I am being accused. It’s because we are Muslims.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Shafi said. ‘Do you know what he did?’

  It was time for him to step in, Santosh decided. ‘Shafi, I suggest you take care of the crowd. We’ll handle this.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Tejuddin asked again.

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘A relative. My son thought we needed a young man around to help us; I am not what I used to be.’ He gestured to the walker he clutched, his knuckles turning white as he gripped it tightly.

  ‘Sit down, Tejuddin,’ Santosh said gently as he led the elderly man to a bench in the verandah.

  ‘What have you done, Rafiq?’ The old man’s voice shook as he sat down.

  The young man’s belligerence had drained away. His head drooped. ‘I just wanted some money of my own. Not handouts from Mami and you.’

  ‘And?’ Santosh probed. He was little more than a boy, he realized, seeing the faint dusting of hair on the boy’s upper lip.

  ‘One of the boys I met at the petty shop said he knew how I could make some money. All I had to do was drive an auto, preferably a private one. Mamu’s stood under its tarpaulin. I didn’t think I was commiting a crime.’

  ‘This boy’s name?’ Ratna interrupted.

  ‘Vasu,’ Rafiq said.

  ‘So this Vasu is your contact.’ Santosh leaned forward.

  ‘No, not Vasu. He gave me a number. I called the number and I was told where to go,’ Rafiq said and suddenly stopped. The enormity of what he had done struck him. It had been only duplicity at that point, and not a real crime.

  ‘Give me the number,’ Ratna said, opening her notebook. Rafiq took his phone out and scrolled down the contacts list. He began reading out a number, and then another, and then one more.

  ‘How many are there?’ Ratna asked, looking up from the notebook.

  ‘Five. Each time I am given a new number.’

  ‘So you have used the auto five times …’ Santosh said.

  ‘You son of a pig, you filthy dog … is this how you repay me for taking you in?’ Tejuddin burst out. ‘What have you used my auto for? What? What?’

  ‘The girl and the woman you picked up at St Mary’s Basilica. Where did you drop them?’ Byrappa asked impatiently.

  This time Santosh took the front seat for himself. The sense of power it gave him filled him with a confidence he had thought was lost to him forever.

  Shafi darted a quick look at Santosh’s face. There was a grim set to it which was faintly reminiscent of someone he knew. His eyes widened. Santosh was pretending to do a Gowda. Wait till he told Byrappa and David about that.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Santosh frowned.

  Shafi almost choked with laughter. The boy had even made Gowda’s tone his. He shook his head. ‘Nothing, sir, I just remembered something … a joke.’

  Santosh allowed his mouth to twist a little in a Gowda-like grimace.

  None of them spoke as Shafi followed Rafiq’s directions, which were all over the place.

  ‘Do you know where we are going?’ Ratna glared at him. ‘Or are you just messing with us?’

  ‘Boli magane,’ Byrappa murmured into his ear. He paused. ‘Oii chinal ka, you know what we do to smart boys, don’t you?’

  Rafiq swallowed and suddenly remembered the precise location, down to the granite blockyard adjacent to the building. When the police vehicle pulled up outside the old unplastered structure, a young boy was working on a tyre. The boy stood up hastily. From the shop next door, a man peered out.

  Byrappa stepped out. Rafiq sat still, unwilling to step out. ‘This is the place?’ Byrappa asked, looking at the floor above. It seemed vacant.

  Rafiq nodded.

  Santosh and Ratna followed Byrappa as he climbed the staircase that led to the top floor. It was an unfinished room and there was nothing there except a blue plastic barrel, a mound of bricks and an alcove with a makeshift door.

  ‘Did he get it right?’ Santosh asked Byrappa.

  Ratna darted towards the blue barrel. Something had caught her eye. She peered at it. A bindi was stuck on the side of the barrel. A teardrop of a bindi with a sparkling stone.

  ‘He did get it right. Look at this …’ Ratna pointed.

  ‘It could be anyone’s.’ Byrappa leaned forward to look.

  ‘Don’t touch it,’ Ratna said. From her handbag she pulled out a clear plastic sleeve and drew the bindi into it.

  Santosh looked at her and the handbag in admiration. What else did the bag hold, he wondered.
Suddenly a thought struck him. ‘Byrappa sir,’ he hollered across the room. ‘What’s chinal ka?’

  Ratna turned her head to hide a smile. Byrappa flushed. He walked towards Santosh and muttered, ‘Did you have to shout it? It means backstabbing dick.’

  Santosh swallowed. ‘Chinal ka,’ he said under his breath. It had a nice ring to it.

  The Member of the Legislative Assembly was busy, his PA had said on the phone. But Pujary wasn’t going to be deterred by that. The MLA needed people like him to continue his reign.

  MLA Papanna was in an enviable position. He had stood as an independent candidate from Bangalore North and won. Now he was being wooed by all the major parties. And so Papanna had begun to grow bigger than the white sandals he wore as part of his white attire – white shirt, white trousers, white sandals and a wristwatch with a white strap. The black hue of his skin glistened against the white and made him unforgettable and hence invincible. Pujary watched the MLA hold court in the outhouse attached to his residence.

  In the long hall with a high roof and open sides into which an aluminium mesh had been placed, the MLA met everyone who came to see him. He called it his open house and Pujary realized why the man had won with an overwhelming majority. He sounded sincere, he sounded like he really meant to help in every possible way and he sounded like he expected nothing in return but goodwill. When he smiled, his rather large plank-like teeth with a visible space between the front two gleamed with kindliness.

  Across the room, MLA Papanna’s gaze met Pujary’s. The man tilted back his head and said something to his PA. The man nodded and walked towards Pujary.

  ‘MLA sir will see you in ten minutes,’ he said softly.

  Pujary nodded. The PA was a new man. Whatever happened to the old one, he wondered.

  Pujary glanced at his watch. He knew the MLA would see him do it. He leaned back in the red plastic chair and closed his eyes. He was exhausted.

  The lawyer was hard work. He had thought the offer of the college girl would soften him up. But it seemed to have had the reverse effect. In fact, he had taken it upon himself to lecture Pujary.

  ‘I don’t know what you think you are doing but this certainly is not the way to go about it,’ he had said when Pujary had gone to meet him. The way to deal with an offensive attack was not to retaliate, Pujary knew.