Investigation
We are a team called the Spellbinders. We are collaborating and writing a story for the Blogadda challenge “Game of Blogs”. The team is diverse, and we are having fun interacting with each other creatively. To know about us, join us here
The team members are Farida Rizwan, Sunita Rajwade, Bhavya, Ankita Singhal, Bushra M, Ryan Fernandes, Kunal Borah, Ankit Mahato, Deepa and me (Ritu Lalit)
The story up until now :
Chapter 1 Room No.4
Chapter 2 Table No 4
Chapter 3 If Looks Could Kill
Chapter 4 The Flower That Never Bloomed
Chapter 5 The Elephant Parade
Chapter 6 Chance Encounters and Changed Plans
Chapter 7 Relationships
Chapter 8 When Dreams Came True
Chapter 9 The Runaway Brat
Chapter 10 Where is Roohi?
Malik woke up the next day with a heavy head. He had come home late in the night after grilling everyone who worked in the building the missing child lived in. Habits are a pain, he thought. When he was younger, he could sleep till noon. He missed that. The phone rang and he picked it up. “Adil told me that you rang up last night?” His wife sounded angry.
“I did Nafisa. Good morning to you too. I wanted to tell you this case will take time.”
“Tell your boss to give you a hefty bonus. Did you have any dinner or were you trying to pin the murder on everyone you met?”
“I love you too,” he said.
“Altaf?” she said.
He sighed. “I forgot to eat. I will eat a good breakfast,” he admitted with reluctance. “Don’t fuss.”
“Tell me,” she said.
Altaf said, “The body was soft. The rigor had relaxed. We can’t pin it on the mad man. Boss does not want it to be the rich brat. The girl belonged to a neighbouring chawl. Kids from that chawl played hide and seek in the warehouse. She must have gone to sleep hidden there. Poor thing.”
“And?” she asked.
“Both men were at the beach. Both do not belong to the area. Both are suspects. One is in jail, poor man. The other sleeping at home, just because he is rich. It gets me angry,” he said. “What gets me angrier is the fact that I’ve not been able to meet the rich brat or question him.”
“He is young. He must be on Facebook and Twitter. Kids these days. Their days are accounted for, so is their location,” Nafisa said.
He chuckled. “You’re becoming quite a detective, my dear.”
She giggled, “I am Mrs. SP after all. Don’t forget to eat. Rukhsana is awake now. Bye.”
“Bye,” he said with a smile. Of course he had checked the Facebook and Twitter accounts. But Nafisa had reminded him of something. Cyrus had been in Jaipur and so had Tara and Roohi, they had come back the day Roohi had vanished. In his long career in the police force, he had learnt there was no such thing as coincidence.
He switched on the television. The news reporter was raising the same questions he did. The man was in shock, he had a head injury. So if he had an injury, who had caused it.
He had to meet Roohi’s mother. She had not met her when he investigated the building. Neighbours said her relationship with her husband was strained. One of them even said he would hit the child. To take out his frustration on his wife perhaps. His gut said someone was pinning the murder on her husband. Did they have enemies? Shekhar seemed to be his own enemy. He lacked the strong character of people who had bitter enemies. His wife on the other hand … His meeting with her earlier had been all too brief and she had been surrounded by her friends from the press.
…
Malik walked into Tara’s office and took a seat. It was a plush office, with a mahogany desk on which were pictures of Roohi and Tara in various places, the beach, mountains, and on a boat. Shekhar was not in them.
Tara walked in, dressed in a pale lemon sari with a red and lemon blouse. Her hair was tied up in a tight bun. She looked completely in control. This was one tough woman!
“Yes, SP?” she said distantly.
Malik looked at her, the dark circles under her eyes were the only sign that this carefully put up appearance was a façade. She was under stress. He wanted to crack the façade. He said softly, “Madam, I was just admiring the pictures of your daughter and you.”
She looked away, swallowing her agitation. “Your husband is not in the pictures …” he added.
“Shekhar does not like to travel,” she said, her voice cold.
“The DNA report from the body has come. It does not match Roohi’s,” he said.
“I told the officers that morning, the girl was not my daughter.”
“Yes yes, I know. Your husband thought it was, strange. But then how could he know? Genetically his DNA does not match hers. So there is a chance he got confused, am I right?”
She said in a cold whisper, “Get out. Get out, before I kill you.”
The façade had cracked. Her face had murderous rage on it. He smiled, got up and said, “Just a sincere advice. Do not threaten a police officer with murder. I will be back for more.” He added, “Good day to you. We shall meet again.”
He walked out and paused outside the door. Her intercom rang. She said sharply, “No, I will not take compassionate leave! The empty flat drives me mad, you understand. Mad!”
He smiled and walked away. He had succeeded. She was now agitated enough to do something stupid. All he had to do was wait.
…
He was eating lunch when his phone rang. It was his old batch-mate from the time he got into IPS. “Altaf, I hear you want to get to talk to the heir to Daruwala empire?”
“Yes I do. I am calling in all past favours.”
“He will be at Otters Club, the swimming pool, at 4,” his friend said.
“Thank you,” Malik said.
“We are quits now. Forget I called,” his friend said.
“My memory is adaptable,” Malik said with a smile and disconnected. He finished his lunch and went to Otters Club.
Loud laughter came from the pool side table where Cyrus and his group of friends, men and women drank and ate a late lunch. They were all dressed in swim suits. Malik sat for some time admiring their young and healthy bodies. Perks of the job …
When the waiter started giving him dark looks he sent his card over to Cyrus’ table. Cyrus joined him almost immediately. “Any news of little Roohi?”
Malik looked at the young man, his slim athletic body in a pair of swimming shorts, his upper body in a loose travelling robe. His eyes settled on the earnest blue eyes. Just like those in Roohi’s photo on Tara’s desk. A smile came on his face. So!
He said, “No news yet, Mr. Daruwala.”
“Call me Cyrus or Cy,” Cyrus said. “Mr. Daruwala is my father.”
“How well did you know Roohi?” Malik asked.
“I met her and her mother in Jaipur. She is a brat, cute and irritating little brat. I wish she comes back home safe. No one deserves the fate that little girl in the warehouse met,” he said.
“You said you were with a woman that night,” Malik asked.
“I was,” Cyrus said. “No, I will not tell you who she was. She has nothing to do with me or this case.”
“Keep your secrets, sir. We have ways of finding out,” Malik said with a smile. “We are trained for it. Besides our usual job of escorting and guarding politicians is so boring.”
Cyrus frowned, “Damn it man. Find the brat. Forget the lady!”
Malik smiled and made a mental note to investigate the mysterious lady as well as why the rich brat was so concerned about a girl he had met by chance at Jaipur. He got up and took his leave.
His next stop was not so pleasant. It was at the jail where Shekhar was under-trial.
The man looked lost. His prison uniform was stained with dal and his eyes were fixed on the wall behind Malik. They seemed to follow an unseen movement. Malik tried to prompt him to speak but Shekhar did not speak. After a while he began digging his nose, ignoring all attempts at conversation. Sighing heavily Malik went to the circuit house and began ringing up forensics for the tardy reports.
Investigations are the most tedious part of policing. All he could do was chip away at defenses and hope that someone would make a mistake. Wait and hope. And yes, question …
Tara’s cold anger was the highlight of his day …
Or was it Cyrus’ blue eyes?
***
This is Chapter 11. To read Chapter 12, click this link The Backstabber.
Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at BlogAdda.com. #CelebrateBlogging with us.
