Chain of Custody (8 page)

‘Are we going to the factory?' Moina asked.

One of them nodded. The other one said, ‘You could call it that!'

The factory had looked nothing like the factory Moina had built in her head. She had imagined a long hall with many sewing machines behind which many women sat sewing garments. There would be giant tubelights on the ceilings and it would be air-conditioned so their sweat wouldn't stain the garments. There would be laughter and chit-chat and over the weekends, they would go shopping or to watch a film.

Instead, she was led into a narrow street flanked by tenements. At the end of it was a building painted a pale pink that had turned brown in some patches and grey in others. There was a godown on the ground floor, and a staircase went up two floors. There was a curious stillness to the place as they climbed the stairs.

Moina realized something wasn't right. Where were the other girls? The noise and chatter of a factory floor? There wasn't even a signboard. But they flanked her from the front and back, and there was nothing she could do but follow the man who led the way. And at the end of the staircase, Daulat Ali had been waiting for her.

He had led her into a cubicle where another girl stood. They had gazed at each other uncertainly. Sanya had smiled first. ‘Where are you from, didi?' she asked.

She had come from Bangladesh too. From Daulatpur. Moina hadn't ever gone beyond Faridpur. That had been her world. Beyond its circumference, she always thought, lay another world which was nothing like her own. But Sanya's Daulatpur, her home and circumstances, seemed different from Faridpur and her life. Sanya had been twelve.

But they had not had much time together. Sanya had been taken a few hours later. She had heard a high-pitched scream and then a silence that had boomed in her ears.

No one had come near her for the rest of the day.

The next day a plate of food was thrust towards her. In the corner was a plastic paint tin. That was to be her lavatory. She had sat huddled, wondering how she could try and escape.

Daulat Ali rapped hard on the plywood wall of the cubicle. ‘What? Are you still here?'

Moina grabbed a towel, her soapbox and a shampoo satchet and went to the opposite cubicle. She may as well wash her hair while she had access to water, she thought. She drew the curtain gently and said to the child, ‘Come with me.'

The child cowered and clung to the bed she was sitting on. When Moina went closer, she flinched and began to scream.
Moina placed her palm – the wounded palm where a bar of flesh was testimony to the crossing she had made – across the child's mouth. ‘Ssh …' she said.

The child was dressed in what looked like a school uniform. A blue kameez and a white shalwar. A white dupatta was still pinned to the kameez in a V-shape. Her hair was done in two braids with blue ribbons. Her face was streaked with tears and she looked like she hadn't eaten or slept in days.

Moina said gently, ‘Where are you from?' The child shook her head. She didn't understand Bengali. Moina touched her lip with a finger to gesture silence. Then she touched her chest and murmured, ‘Moina.'

The child gazed at her through eyes filled with tears. ‘Nandita,' she said.

Gowda glanced at his watch. He had twenty minutes to cover eleven kilometres. They were still at Hennur Bande and the traffic showed no signs of speeding up. They still had three traffic lights to get past. ‘What were you thinking of, taking this route at peak hour?' Gowda sighed.

‘I thought we could take the outer ring road and turn into Thanisandra at Nagawara Lake. I know a way from there to Saharkarnagar. Once we get there, Kodigehalli is not too far. I thought we would get there ahead of time.' PC David thumped the steering wheel impatiently.

Deputy Commissioner of Police Sainuddin Mirza was a stickler for punctuality and he wasn't going to look kindly on Inspector Gowda if he was late for the appointment.

‘Is there an alternative route we can take to get past this bottleneck?' Gowda asked, peering at the rearview mirror.
Fortunately, there seemed to be enough space for them to manoeuvre out of the line of traffic gathering behind them.

‘There is a route, sir, but the road – if you can call it that – is horrible,' David said quickly. Gowda in a good mood was hard enough to handle but Gowda in a bad mood … David shuddered.

‘Just go,' Gowda said, glancing at his watch again.

David turned into a road that led towards Narayanpura. He seemed to be guided by some mysterious satnav located within his skull as he swerved into alleys and raised dust on mud roads. Gowda watched the countryside unfold before him in amazement. A field of cauliflowers here. A field of marigolds there. A stream over which was a tiny bridge. A small temple beneath a giant peepul tree. A makeshift stone bench by a casuarina grove on which an old man sat dozing, leaning against a staff. A flock of sheep grazed while a dog stood among them. Who would have thought such tiny pockets of seemingly bucolic bliss lay hidden just a few kilometres away from the city that was heaving and bursting at its seams? For a moment he wished he were on his Bullet. He would explore these roads one day soon, he decided.

David drove up to the DCP's office with a couple of minutes to spare. Gowda looked at himself in the rearview mirror and smiled in practice. He was ready for all the fake smiles and enquiries of well-being he would have to endure in the brief walk down the corridor and up the steps to Mirza's chamber.

The DCP's room was a paean to minimalism, thought Gowda wryly. A heavy wooden table with a sheet of glass on top sat right in the middle. A table that was conspicuously bare except for DCP Mirza's laptop that was open and humming. Flanking the
table on either side were units that he knew held books and an assortment of this and that. A nest of phones sat on top of one of the units and a deep brown leather briefcase sat alongside. A striped Turkish towel draped the back of the chair. It occurred to Gowda that the towel's twin lived on his chair. He didn't even know why it was there or who had placed it. Gowda wondered if that was what differentiated a public servant from a private sector employee – the striped Turkish towel on the chair back that said so much without saying anything at all. Of the complacency born out of job security, the lassitude of babudom, slavery to bureaucracy and red tape. And yet, DCP Mirza was nothing like that. Speaking of whom, where had the DCP disappeared?

A minute later, the DCP emerged from the bathroom attached to his chamber. Gowda stood to attention and saluted.

‘You've lost some weight,' the DCP said by way of greeting.

Gowda grinned. ‘I've been working out, sir, and I've resumed running.'

‘Are you sure running is advisable at your age?' a voice asked from behind Gowda.

Gowda shut his eyes in dismay. How could this orangutan in a uniform arrive just like that? He'd had Gajendra do some discreet probing to check on his schedule for the day and had been told that the man had a hearing at Mayo Hall.

DCP Mirza looked just as surprised and dismayed to see Assistant Commissioner of Police Vidyaprasad. The man was a nuisance and unfortunately had political connections that went high up. Despite the scandal of the corporator case where there had been a great deal of speculation and some evidence of his dealings with the corporator, including steamrolling Chikka's bail, he had sneaked back into his seat with just a rap on his knuckles. In fact, it had made him more smug than before and twice as
dangerous. Gowda and Vidyaprasad in the same room was, as his Ammi would say, like keeping a mongoose and a snake together.

‘I thought you had a hearing this afternoon,' Mirza said, waving for Vidyaprasad to sit down.

There were two chairs to the left of the table. And it was one of these that Vidyaprasad slid into. He looked at Gowda appraisingly as he sat down.

‘It has been shifted to next week. The judge's wife passed away this morning,' the ACP said. ‘Bloody nuisance, if you ask me.'

Then, shifting his gaze to Gowda, he asked, ‘I say, what brings you here, Gowda? You know, don't you, that all enquiries need to be routed through me.'

Gowda chewed on his lip thoughtfully. What on earth was he going to do? He knew that no matter what his request, the ACP would either turn it down or keep it pending, merely as a matter of routine.

‘What about that monastery issue? Have you been to meet the priests?'

‘I just got back from Markapur this afternoon and there was a missing case to be looked into. I'll inquire about the monastery issue by this evening.'

‘Who went missing? A calf? These rural stations …' The ACP rolled his eyes and guffawed.

‘A twelve-year-old girl, sir,' Gowda said quietly.

‘She must have run away to a relative's home. It's exam time, I say. That's what these children do. But the monastery rape could become a human rights and communal issue. So look into it ASAP. And send me a full report,' the ACP snapped.

DCP Mirza took a deep breath. ‘Vidya,' he said, using a diminutive rather than the dickhead's full name to soften what
he was going to say next. ‘I have a confidential matter to instruct Gowda about. Would you excuse us for a few minutes?'

Vidyaprasad's eyebrows rose high as his hairline. ‘Confidential matter?' he asked incredulously.

‘Yes,' the DCP said in his firmest voice. ‘Confidential.' He paused pointedly, waiting for the ACP to leave his chamber.

When the ACP had shut the door, Mirza looked at Gowda who had trained his gaze on a paperweight that sat on one of the units, holding down a sheaf of papers someone had brought in.

‘Yes, Gowda, what can I do for you?' he asked.

Gowda smiled. ‘It's about Sub-inspector Santosh, sir.'

‘How is he?' the DCP asked quietly.

‘He's fine. He needs to go for voice therapy. But, sir, I think he's ready to resume duty.'

‘So what's the problem?' the DCP asked. ‘You don't think he is?'

‘He is as ready as he ever will be. But this is a man who has had an almost fatal encounter. So I was wondering if we could assist in the transition from hospital bed to uniform,' Gowda said carefully.

The DCP's mobile beeped. He picked it up and said, ‘Let me call you back.'

Gowda saw he had the DCP's full attention. ‘Sir, the CWO at the Neelgubbi station has gone on compassionate leave. The grapevine tells me he won't return till he can arrange a transfer to his hometown. So I was wondering if …'

‘Good idea,' the DCP interrupted, smiling. ‘I knew I was going to have to sort it out. Santosh will make a good CWO. In fact, there is a smart assistant sub-inspector called Ratna whom I have identified for the assistant CWO post. I'll send the orders out. Meanwhile, they can come in for the orientation tomorrow.'

Gowda rose. ‘In which case, sir, I won't take up any more of your time.'

The DCP leaned back in his chair. ‘Don't give up on running or fitness, Gowda. I know you are a fine officer and I have great hopes for you.'

Gowda nodded and stepped out. ACP Vidyaprasad stood in the corridor, talking into his mobile phone. A new one, Gowda noticed. The latest iPhone. Where did he find the money for such fancy gadgets? Not on his police salary for sure.

The ACP gestured to Gowda to stop. But Gowda pretended to read the gesture wrong. ‘An urgent matter has come up, I just heard from the control room. I'll send you the report by the evening,' he called out, striding away.

Gowda raced down the steps, much to David's astonishment, and ran towards the Bolero.

‘What's the matter, sir?' he said even as he ran to catch up with Gowda.

‘We need to leave immediately,' Gowda said, clambering into the seat.

‘What's wrong, sir?' David asked again.

‘I didn't want to talk to someone,' Gowda said as they turned onto the main road.

David grinned. He had seen ACP Vidyaprasad walk in, and everyone knew that Gowda and the ACP were two wrestlers in a ring, sizing each other up all the time. For the moment, it seemed that Gowda was not in the mood to grapple and preferred to flee the spot.