Compass Box Killer (6 page)

When he entered, the bomb squad officer gave him the thumbs up. ‘I’ve checked the whole place twice,’ he said. ‘No live IED and no compass box…’ He trailed off, noting the sudden discomfort on Virkar’s face. He quickly stepped away, fearing that Virkar’s stomach might react in response to the scenario in front of him—the effect of the single explosive device that had been used earlier in the day.

Dr Bhandari’s headless body was slumped on the chair before Virkar. His head had been torn away from his body and its contents generously deposited across the wall behind in a large spattering of blood and gore. Tearing his eyes away from the trickling blood and gristle on the wall, Virkar turned his attention back to the headless body. Surprisingly, the rest of his body was intact except for his right hand which hung limply by his side and ended in a bleeding stump, his palm and fingers having been blown away from the wrist.

Virkar willed himself not to throw up but his insides knotted in revulsion and anger—anger, as he knew that this gruesome murder could have been prevented if only his bosses had implemented his idea for a joint protection detail for the doctors rather than just posting a constable at their doors.

He turned his attention back to the bomb squad officer who nodded towards the fragments of the mobile phone collected in a tray. Virkar bent down and examined them closely.

‘Hmm…it looks like a small explosive was inserted into the phone which was detonated by a remote unit when Dr Bhandari started using it,’ Virkar thought out aloud.

The bomb squad officer shook his head. ‘It
was
the mobile phone that exploded, but I don’t think that there was an explosive inserted
into
it. Otherwise we would have immediately seen traces of the explosive chemical on the body as well as on the fragments of the phone.’ Virkar listened intently as the bomb squad officer continued. ‘It’s more likely that the suspect did something to the electronic circuitry and added a cheap duplicated battery rigged to explode by itself when the phone starts being used and heats up even a little. There have been cases where such a combination has led to extreme volatility.’

Virkar clicked his tongue in impatience. ‘How soon can you give me a full report?’ The bomb squad chief shrugged and pointed at the fragments. ‘I don’t know, saheb, since I don’t have much of the mobile phone left to inspect.’ Virkar threw him a frustrated look, and turned away to cast another glance at Dr Bhandari’s body that was now being photographed and examined by the medical examiners and the forensic team. ‘What I
can
tell you for sure is that the person who did this is an expert in technological matters and has a superb scientific brain,’ added the bomb squad officer with grudging admiration.

‘Hataa sawan ki ghataa, bhidu, kucch naya bataa,’ muttered Virkar to himself.

Suddenly, the sharp ringing of a mobile phone cut through the air of the now crowded room. Everyone froze. They looked at each other and then around them, half-expecting to find an unexploded mobile phone lying undetected somewhere. Virkar sheepishly pulled out the ringing phone from his pocket and held it up for all to see. The policemen went back to their respective work, tittering with embarrassment. Virkar’s phone flashed the Crime Branch headquarters’ number on its screen. Speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear, he remarked, ‘Apun log toh hain ghanti ke ghulam.’ Everyone in the room laughed out loud.

Virkar smiled and waved his hands to quieten the men as he took the call.

‘Hello?’ he said.

An on-duty sub-inspector gushed breathlessly into the phone. ‘Vir-Virkar saheb, a man calling himself Sandesh Jejurikar has just walked into the Tank Bunder Police Station with a compass box.’

R
aashi and her cameraman were standing in front of the young, dazed-looking man who had identified himself as Sandesh Jejurikar and who looked as though he had spent a day rolling around in a grass patch. Raashi’s mike was hovering near his face in an attempt to catch any sort of coherent sound bite. ‘How did you get the compass box?’ she asked the young man for the umpteenth time. She had been quite patient until now, but was slowly realizing that she may not get anything out of the man who still seemed to be under the influence of some drug. Raashi also kept an eye on the entrance of the Tank Bunder Police Station, half-expecting to see the swarthy Inspector Virkar come tearing through it and putting an end to the exposé she had managed to bribe her way into. She had offered a reward to any informer who would let her know anything about the case that had been kept tightly under wraps so far.

Raashi’s desperate attempt had paid off and a quick call had brought her running to the police station, baying for her Breaking News. ‘Please…tell me something…anything…about yourself.’ The desperation that could now be heard in her voice surprisingly had its effect. The young man began to speak in a halting voice. He talked about his childhood—growing up in the temple town of Jejuri in the Pune district; how he had studied hard and prayed to Khandoba every day to get him into University of Pune’s BPharm course; how he had come to Mumbai and got his first job at Kirti Pharmaceuticals; how he was the star performer in his department, etcetera.

Raashi gritted her teeth with impatience. She wanted to cut short the babbling barrage of useless information but decided to let him get warmed up before steering him towards what she really wanted to know. Suddenly, a familiar booming voice cut through the young man’s prattle. ‘What’s going on?’

Before Raashi could react, Sandesh was pulled away into the interrogation room by the two flustered-looking constables who had earlier generously given her the access she had desired. No stranger to quickly changing scenarios, the sharp-witted Raashi immediately turned her mike and cameraman towards Inspector Virkar. She didn’t want to lose this opportunity to grill the man who had brushed her off at their last meeting.

‘Inspector Virkar, another compass box has been found and the man who has brought it in has no idea where he got it from. What do you have to say about this?’

Virkar’s voice cut through Raashi’s shrill pitch. ‘Have you seen the compass box?’ he asked, shooting her a pointed look.

Raashi stuttered a quick, ‘No.’

‘Then how can you be sure that such a compass box exists?’ asked Virkar dismissively.

‘I have been informed by reliable sources,’ Raashi shot back.

‘Acchha…so tell me, who are your sources, madam? Let me also see how reliable they are.’

Raashi flushed. ‘I cannot reveal my sources.’

Virkar cocked an eyebrow at her and smiled. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you. You have saved them from losing their jobs. Now if you will excuse me, I have to do mine.’

Raashi knew that she was checkmated, but flung a last barb at the departing Virkar. ‘We’ll see how good you are at yours. We are watching and waiting…and so is the public.’ Virkar let that one bounce off his back as he strode into the interrogation room. Raashi turned to the camera. ‘That was Inspector Virkar, who is rumoured to be responsible for the many slip-ups that have made this case more difficult than it really is. We shall be talking to his superiors at the Crime Branch to seek absolute clarity on the issue. With camera person Raju Bhonsale, this is Raashi Hunerwal for
Crime Update
.’

Inside the interrogation room, the young man—who had now gained a semblance of coherence—was telling Virkar about the sequence of events that had brought him to the Tank Bunder Police Station. His last memory of the previous night was of stopping for a quick drink at the Gokul Bar behind The Taj Mahal Hotel where he had bumped into a slim, young man called Nandu in the crowded urinal, and how the well-spoken and intelligent Nandu had later befriended him at the corner table in the air-conditioned section frequented by medical representatives. Nandu had then ordered half a bottle of Old Monk, and after a few drinks and a lot of talking, had got him totally drunk. The young man couldn’t remember anything after that. He had recovered from his drugged state sometime earlier this evening to find himself in the small jungle-like area in front of the Hindustan Lever Mill in Sewree.

Virkar let out an audible sigh. So that was how the killer got hold of Sandesh Jejurikar’s Kirti Pharmaceutical employee card.

‘I don’t know anything about the compass box, Inspector saheb,’ continued Sandesh, now close to tears. ‘It was only when I had slightly recovered from my daze that I noticed it stuffed into my trouser pocket. It was wrapped in brown paper with a message written on it.’ Virkar picked up the brown paper packet lying on the table next to the compass box. The small, neat block letters written on it said: GO TO THE NEAREST POLICE STATION.

Sandesh’s pleading eyes met Virkar’s. ‘I came here, saheb. It took a little time as I had to walk and keep asking people for directions,’ he said. Virkar now turned his attention to the compass box on the table. On opening it, he found another note written in blood. This one plainly said: Find Nigel Colasco.

This time, the name seemed vaguely familiar, but before Virkar could jog his memory, the on-duty sub-Inspector who was hovering nearby, spoke up. ‘Virkar saheb, Nigel Colasco is a lawyer and popular NGO activist who is well connected with the Mumbai police.’

Virkar turned towards him. ‘Where is he based?’ The sub-inspector, desperate to involve himself in the high-profile case, said eagerly, ‘His NGO office is situated on P. D’Mello Road near the Cotton Green station.’ As Virkar got up to go, the sub-inspector cleared his throat. He clearly did not want to miss his chance of ingratiating himself to an officer from the Crime Branch. ‘Inspector saheb, if you’re leaving to find Colasco, you don’t have to go far. He’s sitting with our senior inspector in his cabin,’ the man said in a meaningful tone. ‘Our senior inspector saw the note and immediately summoned him, long before you arrived.’ Virkar stopped in his tracks, realizing to his dismay that he was going to have to get involved in departmental and jurisdictional politics. The sub-inspector lowered his voice till it was barely audible. ‘Saheb, our senior inspector is a very…er…ambitious man.’ Virkar hated these opportunistic officers who tried to muscle their way into investigations in the hope of gaining some credit.

Virkar sighed. ‘Na jaal, na jhinga, pun dariya mein khas-khas.’

T
he forty-two-inch flatscreen television in ACP Wagh’s living room now came alive with the 9.00 p.m. news playing on the CrimeNews channel. ACP Wagh had had a rough day at the Crime Branch and had just poured himself his first peg of Old Monk. He had received an SMS from Raashi earlier in the day, requesting him to tune into
Crime Update
that evening. The overly made-up reporter appeared on the screen, the sky-blue contact lenses in her eyes flickering with determination as she stood outside Framjee House, a crowd of onlookers and policemen in the backdrop. She began by bringing viewers up-to-date with the gruesome murder of Dr Prabhat Bhandari and then continued, ‘Today, in Breaking News brought to you exclusively by
Crime Update
, we reveal the story behind the cover-up of a deadly serial killer.’ Wagh took a large swig of his Old Monk, riveted by the young woman’s dramatic delivery. ‘This heinous criminal is now known in police circles as the Compass Box Killer. Reliable sources have informed us that this serial killer leaves behind a student’s geometry box next to the body of his victim. Each compass box has a note written in blood, supposedly his own, telling us the name of his next victim.’ Raashi paused and smirked at the camera. ‘What are the police doing about this killer’s deadly rampage? We questioned the officer in charge of the investigation, Inspector Virkar, but he had only this to say…’ The image on the screen now cut to a sour-looking Virkar, who intoned, ‘Who are your sources?’ This was played in a loop with Virkar repeating, ‘Who are your sources?’ ad nauseum.

When all the comic potential of Virkar’s pithy line had been extracted to the hilt, Raashi came back on the screen, looking visibly bewildered.

‘Good acting, lady,’ Wagh smirked, draining the last of his Old Monk.

Raashi raised a quizzical eyebrow, slowly milking the moment. ‘We would like to advise Inspector Virkar that instead of asking such questions from us, he should concentrate on his investigation which is fast spinning out of control. The Compass Box Killer has already struck twice. We have learnt from reliable sources that he has delivered yet another compass box naming his next victim. Senior police officers remain unavailable for comment and we dare not ask Inspector Virkar for more information because all he will say is…’ The scene once again cut to Virkar mouthing, ‘Who are your sources? Who are your sources? Who are your sources?’

Raashi appeared on the screen once again, her voice now rising theatrically and her index finger jabbing the air. ‘The people want
answers
to these killings. We want to know
who
the next victim on the list is so we can put him under surveillance. The unfortunate episode of Dr Prabhat Bhandari’s death should
not
be repeated.’ Raashi took a deep breath and continued, ‘We, the people of Mumbai, are
not
afraid. But will the police listen to us—the citizens, the common man? Or will another person be sacrificed like Dr Bhandari?’

Raashi walked with the mike, unfazed by the thronging crowd collecting behind her. ‘Will the police take any action against Inspector Virkar for not being able to save the life of an honest, innocent doctor, despite having received a warning that he is the next victim?’ Raashi finished with the triumphant flourish of a rabble-rouser who has achieved her objective.

ACP Wagh reached for the remote and switched the television off. He had seen enough. He glanced at the three mobile phones neatly laid out on the white hand towel on the small glass side table next to the sofa he was sitting on. He picked them up one by one and turned them off. He sank back into his plush leather sofa, recalling Virkar’s plea to save Dr Bhandari by requesting he oversee the twenty-four-hour protection detail for all the potential victims. ACP Wagh shrugged off his guilt and coldly evaluated the facts. Self-preservation was his natural instinct and he had honed it to perfection over the years. He began formulating his course of action which, basically, involved doing nothing. He knew that the media would soon start hounding him. He was, after all, Virkar’s boss, the venerated ACP of the Crime Branch’s murder squad. Wagh steepled his fingers, an idea forming in his mind. He decided to remain unavailable for media comments and let the vultures make Virkar their scapegoat. Only when the media went hoarse blaming Virkar for the second killing by being lax about following the clues would he step in and make a sweeping statement that would appease the media hounds and smoothen out the ruffled feathers of his own superiors. He made a mental note to spend some time with this upstart Virkar someday and teach him a thing or two about being media-savvy—that is, if the poor fellow survived this case.