Second Lives (20 page)

He was strong. Very strong. For a couple of seconds, he didn’t react. Clearly surprised by my ambush. Then he caught my arm with two large hands. Pulled it away easily. As he started to turn, I brought up my other arm and hit him hard in the face with my elbow. We had been taught in our hand-to-hand combat courses that the elbow is a powerful weapon. Much more effective than the fist. The blow should have felled him. He staggered for a moment. Then came at me with a muttered expletive.

I sidestepped. Hit him in the solar plexus. It had no effect. He turned and swung a punch back at me. It hit me near the shoulder. I rocked back. Nearly falling to the ground. Had that struck me elsewhere, I would have been out for the count.

I knew I had to end this quickly. He approached again. I chopped him hard behind the ear with the edge of my hand. This time, he went down. I immediately knelt with my knees on his chest. Gave him a flurry of slaps.

I asked, ‘Who sent you here?’

He moaned but didn’t reply.

I hit him on the nose. Hard enough to really hurt but not break it. ‘I’ll break every bone of your face if you don’t tell me.’

‘I…don’t know. I just deliver the packet…to this house.’

‘Who gives it to you?’

He was silent. This time, I broke his nose. I knew I was being excessively brutal. It seemed to be the only way to get him to talk.

He howled in pain. Struggled to push me off.

I looked around. There was no time for a prolonged interrogation out in the open. If any vehicle came by on the road, the driver would undoubtedly see us in his headlights. And perhaps stop to check what was going on. I thought of dragging the man into the Omni. He was powerful. It wouldn’t be easy. He could even use the opportunity to get away.

I decided to try a different tactic. ‘Look, I know you may be just a delivery boy but do you have any idea why you’re being asked to do this?’

He shook his head. I felt he was telling the truth.

‘Then let me tell you. Twelve years ago, a seventeen-year-old girl was murdered. She was sliced open like an animal carved by a butcher, and her body was left to rot in a lake. A poor sweeper in the area was paid off to plead guilty to the murder, so that the actual culprit could escape. He was hanged last year for a crime he was innocent of.’ I pointed up at the terrace on the hill. ‘His widow lives in the house there. The packet you left outside her door contains money, part of the deal the real killer struck with her unfortunate husband and is still honouring.’

His eyes had gone wide. He had obviously been unaware of all this. I knew I was taking a gamble. It appeared to be working.

‘The same man has killed many more people after that, mostly defenceless girls. He always covers his tracks, like he has done here, and probably continues to live a normal life in full view of society, his secret safely hidden.’

The man asked in a weak voice, ‘Who…are you?’

‘That’s not important. All I can tell you is that two of his victims were people close to me.’

His head slumped. The fight had gone out of him. ‘The money is always sent to me by post. I…don’t know anything. If I did, I would’ve told you.’

‘Think again! Remember that you’re working for a monster, a man who has committed unspeakable horrors. There has to be something you know about him.’

There was the dull roar of a truck approaching in the distance. I shook the man roughly and said, ‘Come on, tell me!’

After a pause, he said, ‘Three months ago, a man…came to see me at my house. It was the day I made the drop. He asked me several questions—I got the impression he was checking whether…I was doing the job properly.’

‘What did the man look like?’

‘He was tall…and big. Very fair, like a foreigner. But there was something…scary about him.’

I felt my pulse race. ‘Anything else?’ I asked, dreading the answer.

The man thought for a moment. ‘Yes, I clearly remember that…he had six fingers on his right hand.’

50

Omar

‘It started with the mysterious death of another close friend—Rachel. All of us were part of the same group in school.’

I told Kabir about our suspicion that Rachel might have been killed because of her investigation into the Anna Grishin case. I didn’t go into too many details and omitted the possible link to other murders altogether.

He listened intently. Finally he said, ‘So what’s the connection to this Roy? I still don’t understand.’

I took a deep breath. ‘It struck me that we’ve put in so much time and effort into figuring out why Rachel died but when Roy disappeared all those years ago, we just accepted that he’s dead without asking too many questions.’

‘The situation was very different. And all of you were just school-kids.’

‘I know. Even in hindsight, I don’t think we could have done anything else back then.’ I was quiet for a moment. ‘But I thought I could do something now, maybe to bring closure in my own mind. The guilt of being indirectly responsible for whatever happened to Roy hasn’t left me for a single day these past twelve years.’

Kabir shook his head. ‘From what you’re telling me, there’s little doubt that your friend is dead. What is it you want to find out now?’

‘Since his body wasn’t found, isn’t there a chance, however small, that he’s still alive?’

‘I seriously doubt it, Omar. If he was alive, I’m sure he would have contacted someone, a friend or a relative, in all this time. And in drowning cases, it’s not unusual for the body not to be found.’

‘Let’s say that Roy somehow survived the river. He loses his memory but someone finds him and gives him medical assistance, food, a home perhaps.’

Kabir put a couple of fries in his mouth and said, ‘Life isn’t a Hindi movie, my friend.’

I persisted. ‘Please bear with me, Kabir. Suppose Roy were to be alive today, hypothetically speaking, how could I go about finding him?’

‘It would be a Herculean task. If someone chooses to change his identity in our country, voluntarily or involuntarily, it would be virtually impossible to locate that person.’

I remained quiet.

He sighed. ‘Omar, around eleven thousand people go missing just in Mumbai every year. Two-thirds of those are adults, who leave home because of some strained relationship in the family or because they’re mentally unstable. Many of them return of their own accord.

‘The situation is alarming with children. According to the National Crime Records Bureau, a child goes missing in India every eight minutes. Over one-third of them are never found. Most children are kidnapped for human trafficking, illegal organ transplantation, prostitution, forced labour in factories and homes. Many are brought into the begging trade, often mutilated for higher earning potential.’

I had no idea it was that bad. ‘It’s almost like an epidemic.’

He nodded. ‘Exactly. You remember the gruesome Nithari killings of 2006? More than forty women and children disappeared from a hamlet near Delhi over a period of two years, without anyone realising that they were falling prey to a serial killer. It was only after that that the government really began to focus on missing people, especially children. The attitude of the police has also changed dramatically. There are now dedicated bureaus for missing persons in all major police departments.’

‘So you think that police records might help to find out what happened to Roy?’

‘No, there wouldn’t be anything from that long ago. Also, if the case was closed, it wouldn’t show up in our records anyway.’

‘What about unclaimed bodies?’

Kabir rubbed the sides of his temple. ‘That’s a huge problem for the police. You wouldn’t believe the number of unidentified bodies that turn up across the country each day. Most are accident or murder victims. With our resources, it’s impossible to keep the bodies for too long so what we usually do is take photographs and then dispose of them.

‘Naturally, there’s a lot of debate and criticism around this. The biggest issue is of justice. With the body gone, the case usually remains unsolved and a murderer can go unpunished. A seasoned criminal knows this, and often removes all means of identification of his victim so that the person becomes just another statistic in the database.’ He paused. ‘I personally don’t see what else the police can do, given the circumstances.’

The man we were after did exactly the opposite. He always seemed to pick highly visible targets. I said, ‘So there’s a database?’

‘Yes, each state has its own database, and most have it accessible to the public via the Internet. For example, the Delhi Police Web site has records of over thirty thousand unidentified bodies, though many are without photographs.’

I perked up. ‘So I could go and check on these police sites?’

He gave a rueful smile. ‘Omar, they don’t have anything dating back more than a few years. There are simply too many cases.’

‘Are you saying there’s nothing I can do?’ I couldn’t keep the frustration out of my voice.

He thought for a moment. ‘There are detective agencies which specialise in finding missing people. I can recommend a couple of names, if you like. You can also place an advertisement in the newspapers or television.’

The ad sounded like a good idea but it would be an expensive proposition. I wondered if it was worth it, given how slim the chances of Roy being alive were.

Kabir said sympathetically, ‘I wish I could be of more help. But that’s the way things are.’ He looked at his watch, indicating that it was time for him to go.

I drained the last of my coffee and stood up. ‘I understand, Kabir. Thanks for your advice anyway.’

‘Out of curiosity, do you have a photo of your friend?’

As it happened, I had a nice snap of the five of us in one of my Facebook albums. I logged in on my phone and showed it to Kabir. ‘There, that’s Roy on the right.’ Even though it was an image scanned from an old print, every feature of his face was captured in clear detail.

Kabir took the phone from my hand and looked at it for several seconds. His expression changed.

I asked, ‘What is it?’

‘Omar, I’ve seen this face somewhere! I can’t remember where but it’ll come to me.’ His eyes were shining. ‘Forget everything I said—your friend is definitely alive.’

51

Sara

I just got off the phone with Omar.
Roy is alive.
I simply can’t believe it!

The events of that terrible night twelve years ago flashed through my mind.

I had been on edge all evening. The idea to get Roy drunk was mine, of course.
In fact, I had planned the entire trip with a single objective in mind.
It had nothing to do with adventure sports or enjoying nature.

I casually mentioned that it was a shame Roy was a teetotaler, and it was high time we did something about it. As I had expected, the others took up the refrain with enthusiasm. When there is alcohol-induced merrymaking going on, no one wants to have a spoilsport in their midst.

Omar was the one who eventually kept spiking Roy’s Coke without his knowledge, until he was totally wasted. Not to leave anything to chance, I surreptitiously added a small pill to his last drink. The person who had given it to me had assured me that it was guaranteed to knock anyone out for several hours.

I hadn’t consumed any alcohol myself all evening, though I pretended to be as blown as everyone else. It wasn’t easy with all the tension inside me but I don’t think the others figured out. Roy and I had hardly spoken through the trip but he kept giving me strange looks.
Maybe he was getting a premonition of what was going to happen.
I couldn’t look him in the eye, and made sure that I sat as far away from him as possible.

We called it a night at eleven-thirty. Roy had passed out much earlier. I went to my own tent and closed my eyes. I wanted to give it another couple of hours before doing anything. Rachel had taken a painkiller for her ankle, and was soon snoring gently next to me. I kept looking at my watch, willing its hands to move faster.

When the appointed time came, I quietly unzipped the sleeping bag and put on my jacket. I hadn’t changed into my nightclothes anyway. I tiptoed across to Roy’s tent and poked my head in. To my utter dismay, I saw that he was sitting up. There was a terrible stench inside! He must have awakened to throw up. It should have struck me that as a first-time drinker, there was a good chance this would happen.

He turned and saw me. ‘Sara?’ His voice sounded almost normal!
He had recovered faster than I had anticipated.
The pill hadn’t had any effect, obviously.

I managed to give a half-smile and said, ‘I couldn’t sleep, and thought I’ll check on you.’

He grimaced. ‘I feel terrible. My head feels like it’s going to burst.’

‘Why don’t you come out and get some fresh air?’
I was already improvising, hoping my voice was loud enough to be heard behind me.

Omar, who was sharing the tent with Roy, was out like a light. It was a good thing I had given him the pill as well, and it had worked in his case thankfully.

Roy got up and crawled out gingerly, as I held the canvas flap open. I reached in for his pullover and handed it to him. He put it on and said, ‘Sara, I know things have been awkward after what happened between us but I hope we can move on.’

I didn’t reply but began to walk towards the river. He followed hesitantly. My heart began to beat fast as the sound of the rushing water grew louder! The sky was cloudy and it was quite dark. The only illumination came from the small lantern burning in the middle of our campsite, which we had left behind.

I stopped near a large rock almost at the waterline, and said, ‘Let’s sit here.’

I hadn’t heard anything but I assumed he had come after the two of us. There had been no chance to discuss the change of plan. Roy and I sat down on the rock, facing the river. He said, ‘You were right, I already feel better.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dark figure rise behind him. I hissed, ‘Not for long, you fucking bastard.’

He started to turn towards me in surprise when the wooden log smashed down on his head with sickening force. His body twisted and he fell to the damp ground without emitting a sound. For a moment, I thought he was already dead. I knelt down and put my hand over his heart, feeling a faint, irregular pulse.