He walked to the rear garden and looked at the neat little rows of herbs and vegetables that Mrs. Kumar had planted. Something was out of place. He examined the soil. In one corner it had been disturbed. Santosh gazed at it a little longer. It seemed to be a cylindrical pattern with a rounded end. The manhole cover. If it were shifted sideways, wouldn’t it create a similar pattern?
He bent down and grasped the manhole cover. He pulled and it came off easily. He removed his worn scarf and tied it to the underside handle of the cover. He then gently nudged the cover back into place.
Santosh made his way around the house, carefully observing the doors and windows. Nothing had been broken or tampered with. The intruder would have picked a lock to get inside. Which one? Front or rear? The manhole was toward the rear and the main door at the front was visible from the gatehouse. More likely that the killer had used the kitchen door.
“You have exactly five seconds to get the hell out of here before I ask my men to arrest you,” came Sharma’s voice from behind. He had noticed Santosh’s absence from the study and had stormed outside to find him.
Santosh turned. His breath bloomed in the garden. “Whoever executed this murder planned it perfectly. Lots of preparation went into it.”
“Murder? Who says it’s murder?” bawled Sharma. “Looks like suicide to me. Yes, let’s go with that.”
“He duct-taped himself to the chair?” asked Santosh.
“I don’t need your fucking help, Wagh. Now get out before I take you into custody.”
Chapter 29
“WHO HAD MOTIVE to kill Kumar?” asked Santosh as he, Nisha, and Neel made their way to Neel’s Toyota. “Who were his enemies?”
“Every politician has hundreds,” replied Nisha. “But no one hated Kumar more than Jaswal.”
“And who were his friends? Often, real enemies may appear like friends and vice versa,” said Santosh.
Nisha took a folded piece of paper from her shirt pocket and handed it to Santosh. It was a printout of a photograph that showed Kumar with Patel and Chopra.
Chapter 30
NISHA LOOKED AT the six names on her smartphone yet again. They were the six remaining Truckomatic customers who needed to be traced. She ran a Google search on each and then she made the first call.
“Hello, could you put me through to your administration department?” she asked brightly.
“Anyone specifically?” asked the switchboard operator.
“No,” replied Nisha. “I need to discuss an insurance policy that is due for renewal on one of your company’s vehicles.”
After a few minutes of elevator music, another voice came on the line. “How can I help you?” asked the man.
“Hello, my name is Sherry,” lied Nisha. “The insurance policy on a black van owned by your company is about to expire and I was wondering if you would be interested in renewing it at a lower rate with us.”
“Black van? You mean our vanity van?”
“Yes, that’s the one,” replied Nisha. “My company can beat your current premium.”
“Do you charge extra for operating the vehicle outside city limits?”
“We usually do,” said Nisha. “But we could look at other ways to compensate for that. Is your vehicle used extensively outside Delhi?”
“Almost entirely,” replied the man. “The van is used whenever we have distant shoots, which is most of the time. It’s hardly ever in Delhi.”
Nisha repeated the process. It turned out that an airline used their van as a shuttle for their staff and it remained in service 24/7; a hotel had their van stationed in the entrance portico; and a pharmaceutical company stored theirs in Chandigarh, 250 kilometers away from Delhi.
Nisha crossed off the four companies and then turned her attention to the two names of individuals left on her list. One was a Bollywood actress. Nisha spoke to her secretary and confirmed that the customized van remained in Mumbai.
“Why did you register it in Delhi?” asked Nisha.
“Because Mumbai has lifetime tax while Delhi has annual road tax,” said the secretary. “Substantial cost saving.”
That left only one name—a “Mr. Arora.” She picked up the phone and dialed the number.
A receptionist answered saying, “Dr. Pankaj Arora’s office. May I help you?”
Chapter 31
“WHO IS THIS Dr. Pankaj Arora?” asked Santosh.
Nisha read aloud from the online biography. “Dr. Pankaj Arora, chief surgeon, Delhi Memorial Hospital. After completing his Bachelor of Medicine and Bachelor of Surgery…blah, blah, blah…He worked for several years as general surgeon at Sir Ganga Ram Hospital, New Delhi…blah, blah, blah…currently chief surgeon of Delhi Memorial Hospital.”
She showed him a printed page, complete with shot of Arora. His dark hair was slicked back, and an ill-fitting grin revealed a large gap in his front teeth.
“Good work,” said Santosh. “This heightens my suspicions about Delhi Memorial Hospital. It’s closest to the Greater Kailash house where the bodies were discovered. Now we find that Arora’s van could have been spotted at the house. Any information on my college classmate MGT?”
“Leave it with me,” said Nisha.
Chapter 32
THE ROLE OF the Irrigation and Flood Control Department was to protect Delhi from floods and provide drainage but, as with every other government department, it had the body of a Hummer and the engine of a lawnmower. Getting anything moving was next to impossible.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Wagh?” asked the superintendent engineer, after Santosh had made his way through a maze of corridors and bureaucrats to his office.
“I believe the drainage system of Delhi was used to access a house and commit a crime,” said Santosh, scratching his salt-and-pepper stubble. “I was wondering if you could tell me how someone might go about getting a detailed drainage map?”
The superintendent engineer opened a cabinet drawer, took out a rolled-up paper, and handed it to Santosh. “No special effort required. Anyone can get a copy of Delhi’s drainage map, for a fee.”
“And does the department maintain a record of those who paid the fee?” asked Santosh.
“Sure,” said the engineer. “But all we have is a name in a register. If someone supplied a false name, we’d have no way of knowing.”
Chapter 33
SHORTLY AFTERWARD, SANTOSH found himself at the Indian Medical Association for a meeting set up through the doctor in charge of his rehab at the Cabin in Thailand. Dr. Singh was Indian and his nephew was the president of the association.
Santosh asked directions to the president’s office and was soon making his acquaintance.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I know you’re busy,” said Santosh when the small talk had all but dried up. “So I’ll get to the point. Could you tell me more about Mangalampalli Gopalamenon Thekkaparambil?”
“The chief administrator of Delhi Memorial Hospital?” asked the president. “Sad story. Capable man. Tragic, though. Lost his only child when the boy was just nine.”
“How?”
“Wilson’s disease.”
“What is that?” asked Santosh.
“A genetic disorder,” replied the president. “Copper accumulates in the body’s tissues. It manifests as liver problems.”
“Rare?”
“Very. One in a hundred people is a carrier. The disease strikes only when both parents are carriers.”