Compass Box Killer (19 page)

Raashi, in a frustrated, last-ditch effort, said, ‘Superintendent, can you please give us a photograph of Hari from your records?’

‘Sure,’ said the superintendent, ‘as soon as you apply through the proper channels.’ He turned and walked out of the room, leaving Virkar and Raashi staring at his receding back.

A few seconds later, the assistant superintendent walked into the room and announced that their meeting was over. Raashi and Virkar rose and followed him out without a word. But just before they could exit the formidable prison gate, Virkar excused himself to go to the bathroom. The assistant superintendent didn’t want to take any chances, so he had Virkar escorted by a guard all the way into the visitor’s toilets. Raashi was left standing alone near the prison office—a situation that she didn’t appreciate at all, for she suddenly became the cynosure of every passing eye. As long as Virkar was with her, nobody had dared to make eye contact, but as soon as she was alone, it was open season. Just when she was thinking that the intensity of everyone’s gaze would melt the clothes off her body, Virkar returned, looking nonchalant.

Raashi flung him a dirty look, and, without a word, flounced out of the prison, walking two steps ahead of him till they reached the Bullet parked in the visitor’s parking lot. When Virkar geared the Bullet on to the highway, Raashi, who was clinging to him on the back seat, exploding sarcastically into his ear, said, ‘Where to now, O mighty Lord Virkar?’

‘To Khade Bazaar in Belgaum,’ said Virkar matter-of-factly. Raashi was a little taken aback at his response.

‘Why?’

‘Rahmat Ali Peerzada, Hari’s ex-cellmate, the one who Hari tutored for his BSc degree, runs a small computer coaching class there.’

‘And how did you find that out?’

‘Through improper channels,’ Virkar laughed.

Behind him Raashi rolled her eyes in exasperation.

Virkar took his time laughing, and then finally said, ‘I bribed the guard who accompanied me to the prison toilet.’

W
hen they neared the city, they decided to split up. Virkar had realized that Khade Bazaar was an area where Raashi’s presence would work as a disadvantage. And, in any case, they needed to speak to the authorities at Hari Prasad’s engineering college to try and get a photograph from their records. Even though it may be a few years old, it was still something that they could work with. Virkar convinced Raashi that they would get results faster if they both pursued their leads individually. After dropping Raashi at the gates of the SUMYCO Institute of Technology, Virkar headed towards the crowded lanes of Khade Bazaar.

Khade Bazaar is one of the central shopping areas of Belgaum, something of a combination of Mumbai’s Mohammed Ali Road and Bhuleshwar. Its crowded lanes truly represent a mix of the Marathi-Kannada, Hindu-Muslim culture of Belgaum. The small shops that line the road are tightly bunched together and are always packed with people buying clothes, dry fruits and other household items. Virkar’s Bullet made its way slowly through the main road jammed with traffic. His eyes scanned the shopfronts for anything that indicated a computer coaching class. He had to make two passes up and down the road to finally spot the small sign for Bright Computer Education Classes. He had missed it before because it was dangling above a small shopfront between a readymade garment showroom and a pathology lab. Virkar looked for a place to park the Bullet. Not having found one close to his destination, he rode on and located a spot about 500 yards ahead.

But just as he was parking his Bullet, he saw a police jeep pass by him. He turned towards the Bright Computer Education Classes and saw the jeep stop right in front of his destination. Virkar turned his attention towards the window of a readymade garment shop that was now parallel to him. Keeping one eye focused on the entrance of the computer classes, he pretended to be very interested in the children’s clothes displayed in front of him. Suddenly, he saw two constables and a sub-inspector emerge from inside Bright Computer Education Classes; they were dragging a slim, middle-aged man along with them. The thick beard on the man’s face obscured almost all his features other than his sharp nose. The constables pushed the bearded man into the back of the jeep while the sub-inspector sat in the passenger seat. The jeep took off with a screech, blocking traffic. As it made a sharp U-turn, it roared past Virkar. The small crowd that had gathered to watch the show began to disperse.

Virkar stood still for a minute, trying to figure out his next course of action. Suddenly, he overheard a man who had emerged from the readymade garment shop say to a similarly bearded man behind the counter inside, ‘Poor Rahmat Ali…it’s difficult to lead an honest life after having been a criminal.’ The shopkeeper inside tut-tutted and went back to sorting clothes.

Virkar casually asked the man outside, ‘Where have they taken him?’

‘Where else?’ said the man. ‘To the local police station.’

Virkar walked back to the Bullet and made his way to the local police station after seeking directions. Once outside the station, he lingered, wondering whether to go inside and ask to meet Rahmat Ali Peerzada. But something inside him told him that his visit to the prison that morning and the fact that the police had picked up Rahmat Ali were linked. He decided to wait at a safe distance outside and observe the goings-on.

Afternoon turned to evening after a couple of hours and Virkar soon grew tired of staring at the entrance of the police station. As it began to grow dark, Virkar decided to go inside and ask to see Rahmat Ali after all. Suddenly, he saw Rahmat Ali emerge from within the gates with the look of a freshly beaten-up police detainee. He stood at the entrance and looked around as if trying to spot an empty autorickshaw. Virkar quickly gunned the Bullet and rode it towards him. But as he neared the compound of the police station, he saw another motorcycle ride out of a bylane and begin cruising towards Rahmat Ali from the opposite direction. The two men seated on the motorcycle were staring purposefully at Rahmat Ali. Virkar’s trained eye picked up on a sudden movement made by the man on the back seat; he saw that the man had his hand covered with a handkerchief. The way the man was holding his hand left no doubt in Virkar’s mind that he had a gun under the cloth.

Virkar glanced at Rahmat Ali who had no idea that he was in danger. Instinctively, Virkar swung his Bullet into the path of the other motorcycle. With the assured action of a man who knows his motorcycles, he jumped off the still moving Bullet just in time, letting it skid in the direction of the two men. By the time the two men became aware of the careening Bullet, it was too late. The Bullet smashed into their legs, throwing them forward as it continued skidding along the road, taking their motorcycle along with it. The two men flew into the air and the rider landed face-first on the bonnet of a passing car. Rolling on to the ground, he lay still. The man with the gun wasn’t that lucky; he, too, bounced off the car front but fell directly in the car’s path. A loud crunch was heard as his body came under the car. The gun in his hand skidded on the road, spinning and coming to rest in front of the shocked Rahmat Ali who stood rooted to his spot. The loud crash of the Bullet and the other motorcycle coming to a stop against a wall jolted him back to his senses. Virkar, by this time, had steadied himself and was walking towards Rahmat Ali.

Rahmat Ali took one look at the two crushed men and then at Virkar. Deciding not to linger around any longer, he turned and ran as if his life depended on it, which it probably did. Virkar made a move towards Rahmat Ali but was brought to a stop by the shrill whistle of a policeman who had emerged from within the police station. Realizing that the situation might soon get out of hand, Virkar instead ran towards his Bullet. In the confusion created by the crowd surrounding the two men, everyone had forgotten about the motorcycles. Virkar picked up the Bullet and saw that, apart from the scraped paint, the bike was fine. Lifting it off the ground, he rolled it into a bylane, quickly gunning it to a start and made his way away from the scene.

‘W
hat the hell happened to you, Virkar?’ asked a shocked Raashi as he entered the hotel room. Virkar caught his reflection in the almirah’s mirror and, for the first time that day, became aware of his dishevelled state. Night had fallen since Virkar’s departure from the Khade Bazaar area. He had turned the Bullet on to the highway and ridden out about thirty kilometres towards Goa. He had noted a busy highway hotel specializing in Goan food on the way, so, a couple of kilometres ahead, he had found an abandoned shed and hidden his Bullet inside and proceeded to walk back along the highway towards the restaurant. At the highway restaurant, he had hopped on to a passing State Transport bus and made his way back to Belgaum city. Alighting at the main bus depot, he had caught an autorickshaw to Sambhaji Chowk in Bogarves. Stopping the autorickshaw about half a kilometre from the hotel, he had completed the rest of his journey on foot. Standing outside the hotel for about fifteen minutes, he had observed every passerby until he was sure that no one was waiting for him. Then he had made his way back up to the hotel room, only to be greeted by a worried Raashi.

‘I don’t have time to explain; we have to get out of here now,’ said Virkar. As quickly as he could, he began to gather his things and shoving them into his backpack.

Raashi was a little slow to respond. ‘But…what happened?’ she asked again.

‘I’ll tell you when we’re safely out of here. Get your things together.’

Something in Virkar’s tone snapped her out of her daze. She, too, began to quickly stuff her things into her bag. But just as they were ready to leave, there was a knock on the door. Virkar froze. He raised his finger to his lips, motioning Raashi to be quiet. Then he removed the bed lamp from its socket and stood behind the door, poised to strike anyone who may come through it. He signalled Raashi to open the door.

Raashi walked up to the door and opened it only a crack. Peeping through it, she asked, ‘Yes? What is it?’

‘The man on the Bullet… I want to talk to him,’ said a shaky voice from the other side of the door.

‘Who are you?’ she enquired.

‘Rahmat Ali Peerzada.’

Raashi shut the door without saying anything. Virkar quickly exchanged positions with her, handing her the lamp and motioning her to strike if anything seemed untoward. Then he opened the door, but again only just a crack. Virkar saw the bearded man whose life he had saved earlier that evening.

Rahmat Ali Peerzada looked at him and said, ‘I’ve come to thank you and to tell you whatever you want to know about Hari Prasad.’

Virkar shot back, ‘How do you know what I want?’

‘The prison network works outside the prison, too, saheb. My network was a little slow today, but thanks to you, I’m unharmed.’

Virkar opened the door just enough to pop his head out and look up and down the corridor to see if Rahmat Ali Peerzada had any friends lurking in the shadows. Satisfied that the man was alone, Virkar opened the door and let him in. But as soon as he was in the room, Virkar pushed him against the wall and carefully searched his body for any concealed weapons. Rahmat Ali stood silently while Virkar conducted his search.

When Virkar was absolutely sure that Rahmat Ali was unarmed, he relaxed. In a brusque tone, he asked, ‘Why did they want to kill you?’

Rahmat Ali’s eyes were expressionless. ‘To answer that, I have to start from the very beginning.’

When Virkar nodded, Rahmat Ali took a deep breath and began: ‘Ten years ago, I was a small-time gangster in Belgaum. I was just hitting the big-time when I was caught in a case of attempted murder and jailed. I had spent two years in prison when a young man named Hari Prasad became my cellmate. He was also in for attempted murder. I found out that his case was quite flimsy, it was clear that he had been framed…but that’s a different story. Hari Prasad was a very intelligent young man, and although I didn’t get along with him at first, I soon became very curious about the books that he constantly borrowed from the prison library and read. Hari was more then willing to share and soon, he opened up a world of knowledge to me—knowledge that, I was surprised to find, fascinated me. So much so that I wanted to formally educate myself while in prison. Although Hari Prasad himself did not seek formal education, he tutored me till I obtained a BSc degree. That changed my life, and I decided to give up the life of crime and walk the path of honesty.’

Virkar interrupted at this juncture. ‘Look, we don’t have time, so please come to the point.’

Rahmat Ali nodded and continued, ‘Yes…yes. The prison authorities noticed Hari Prasad’s influence on me and began to direct other prisoners who were interested in being educated to him. Soon, Hari Prasad was given a small room in the hospital section of the prison where he conducted tuitions for students. He was also allowed to conduct experiments with chemicals found in the hospital as well as with herbs and plants grown around the prison area.’

Virkar tapped his feet, conveying his impatience. Rahmat Ali noticed this and quickened his pace. ‘And then one day, a prisoner called Bhushan Hegde was brought into the prison. Apparently he had been treated at NIMHANS in Bangalore for some sort of a mental disorder. But it soon became obvious that he hadn’t been cured. One day, in the prison hospital, Hegde attacked a fellow inmate with a blade and inflicted a deep wound. That inmate was HIV positive. Then with the same blade, now smeared with the blood of the HIV infected prisoner, he attacked two more persons, including a prison guard. He was finally subdued and thrown into the isolation cell, but the incident triggered a panic, as both the people attacked with the blood-smeared blade feared that they might have been infected with HIV.’ Rahmat Ali paused to take a breath.